Of course beaming him up is going to fix all of their problems - nothing else is likely to go wrong ... 
ST: The Endurance of Jesse Yeager
- Thread starter TheLoneRedshirt
- Start date
prime directive bending, medical issues, a crew full of personal demons...sounds like an ordinary starship to me, even if it is a galaxy away.
It's not a good sign that I asked myself what Tamura was thinking before I had even read it. Endurance is not going to have a great track record if they keep this up. No medals here, nah-huh.
And why is Yeager not willing to consider a cybernetic leg, for Pete's sake? He'll be able to run faster, jump higher and maybe one day join an elite team of crimefighting ... oh wait, wrong story.
And why is Yeager not willing to consider a cybernetic leg, for Pete's sake? He'll be able to run faster, jump higher and maybe one day join an elite team of crimefighting ... oh wait, wrong story.
Thanks for the kind words, Sam. No promises (it's been nine years since I began this story) but I would like to add more to this.
Seconded. And while we are makining requests, remember a little story called The Lady and The Sword? Anyone...? Bueller?
I liked The Lady and the Sword. The resurrection of the Excalibur after the M-5 incident was amazing to behold.
Okay, okay, now you're just piling on! Might as well drag Captain Grace McAfee and Captain Artemis Slayd out of the necro-files also. I feel like a grave robber. 
We're just reminding you of the great times that you had some awesome stories, TLR.
TLR, reading your Bluefin stories inspired me to actually sit down and do what I'd always wanted to do but never managed to achieve.
Chapter 17
USS Endurance
Stardate 54194.3
Standard orbit - N'ilmuta IV
(Author’s Note: I apologize for the brief hiatus . . . if you can call nearly nine years brief. With some prodding and encouragement from some of my fellow writers, I’m once more putting pen to paper . . . or in this case, pixels to screen . . . to revisit the USS Endurance on her mission to Andromeda. I sincerely hope I can recall the character’s names and why in the name of Thor's Hammer they are blundering about another galaxy. So, picking up where we left off in 2008 . . . )
Sick Bay
Office of the CMO
“Alright, Captain . . . let’s talk,” said Benessa Shain, the ship’s petite Betazoid Counselor. Her large brown eyes twinkled in bemusement at Captain Yeager’s discomfiture. She gestured to a chair in which, reluctantly, Yeager seated himself.
He sighed and folded his arms. “Okay, what shall we talk about?”
“Let’s begin with ‘George.’ Why did you give your bio-synthetic leg a name?”
“You know, Counselor, I’ve already had this conversation with Dr. Menendez. Why don’t you just compare notes with her?”
“I will. But please, humor me.”
Yeager fixed the Counselor with what he hoped was an intimidating gaze. It had about as much effect as trying to stare down a shuttle craft. Shain merely folded her arms and maintained that maddening, impish smile.
“Okay. Fine. I gave the damn leg a name so I could focus better, so I could make it part of me . . . so to speak. The rehab work was a pain in the ass . . . slow, frustrating, and, well, it just . . . it just . . .”
“It made you mad, didn’t it?”
“Of course it made me mad!” he replied with sudden vehemence. He stopped, realizing he had risen from his chair.
Sitting back down, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “I’m sorry, Counselor. That was rude of me.”
“Sorry for what? Being angry? I don’t think you’re mad at me, are you, Captain?”
“No. No, of course not. You’re just doing your job.”
She pulled up a small stool and sat, peering at Yeager. “It’s okay to be angry sometimes, Captain. And I think one of the reasons you gave your leg a name is to give your anger a target.”
He lifted his head with a jerk, startled. “Now that’s just . . .” his voice faded.
Counselor Shain grinned. “Crazy? No, it’s not. And you’re not either. But I do think you’re taking out a lot of latent hostility on ‘George.’”
“Uh, Counselor, I came to Sickbay to get George fixed, not to hurt him . . . it . . . my leg.”
“Did you realize, Captain, that you have a more grueling workout routine than nearly everyone else on the ship? More-so than even some of the Vulcan and Andorian crew members?”
“I’ve always worked out hard. You should know my background, I used to compete in triathlons. It’s something I enjoy.”
“Really? Care to explain why you deactivate the safety protocols when you work out? Why you push yourself to the point you nearly pass out from pain or overexertion? Why you are a regular visitor to Sickbay because you’re bruised or bleeding? Sorry, sir, but unless you’re into masochism, I’m not buying it. Who are you punishing, Captain?”
The question caught Yeager off-guard. “I’m not sure what you mean, Counselor.”
She was silent for a moment. Staring at him with those large, brown eyes, her elbows on her knees and her fingers steepled under her chin, Yeager felt like the Betazoid was peering right through him.
“My personal and professional ethics prohibit me from reading your mind. But I can’t help feeling the waves of pain that roll off you every time I’m within 50 meters of you. And it’s not just physical pain, Captain, though I know your leg hurts. It’s something much deeper. Emotional pain that you think you've buried. But you're wrong.”
They were both silent for a moment. Finally, Yeager spoke.
“You’re plowing old ground. I’ve seen dozens and counselors and doctors since I lost the Axanar. I’m not unique, not in the least. There are hundreds, thousands perhaps, of people just like me that suffered physically and emotionally because of the war.”
She leaned in, placing her hands on the arms of his chair. She was so close he could smell the fragrance of the shampoo she used.
“And none of them are commanding a starship in a galaxy far, far away. ‘George’ is your scapegoat, Captain Yeager. George is your crutch. George is the symbol for everything you lost in the war. Face it Captain; you hate that damn leg and losing it might be the best thing that could happen to you.”
He blinked, partly in surprise at the brazen invasion of his personal space, partly in stunned disbelief at her bluntness.
Before he could form a rebuttal, they were interrupted when the door to the CMO’s office opened. Dr. Menendez appeared, her expression grim.
“We have a situation,” she announced without preamble.
* * *
Sickbay
Diagnostics Table
“What happened?” demanded Yeager as Dr. Menendez, Dr. Pumjey, and several nurses swarmed around the small, furry creature that lay seemingly lifeless on the diagnostics table.
Commander Tamura glanced at T’Vel. Yeager could tell his First Officer was not happy.
“You tell him,” directed Tamura, his voice unusually sharp.
The Vulcan Science Officer seemed unperturbed. “We were observing this native creature when it was alerted to our presence when Ensign Jurling inadvertantly activated his tri-corder.” She paused, “The tri-corder was not in silent mode.”
Yeager pursed his lips. “And? . . .”
“And that’s when T’Vel shot the poor sod with her phaser,” added Pralax.
“Not helping,” observed Tamura through gritted teeth.
Yeager shifted his gaze from one senior officer to another before pointing to them as a group.
“You three, my ready room, five minutes.”
He turned to Dr. Menendez and pointed at the diagnostics table. “Doctor, you and your team, take care of him . . . her . . . it . . . just, keep the creature alive but sedated.”
He turned to Counselor Shain and pointed. “You! . . . later. Much, later.”
Yeager turned to leave the room.
“Captain!” Shain spoke up over the harried conversation surrounding the Kreenja. “Catch!”
Yeager instinctively reached out and snatched the walking cane that the Counselor had tossed his way.
“Just in case,” she said with a smile.
* * *
Captain’s Ready Room
Fifteen minutes later
Yeager sat behind his desk, regarding Tamura, T’Vel, and Pralax with a look of incredulity.
“You shot the creature. With a phaser.” Yeager was trying with great difficulty to remain calm.
“Yes, Captain, at the lowest stun setting. As I have already explained . . . twice . . .” she glanced at Pralax with a look that, for a Vulcan, indicated she was contemplating murder.
The Captain held up a hand. “Okay, I can understand the logic that led you to take such action . . . but why bring the creature back to the ship? Hell, you were trying to avoid cultural contamination. Why not just let him sleep it off?”
“Captain, there is no guarantee the creature would simply ‘sleep it off’ as you put it. If it were to retain any memories of the encounter, it might possibly share the experience with others of its kind. And, being a sentient being of a type we have not encountered, it is possible that even the lowest stun setting may have done it severe injury. That could only be ascertained in our sickbay and gives us a chance to more closely examine the creature.”
“Oh yes, a nicely done job and wonderful excuse to violate General Order One,” quipped Pralax, earning a glare from Yeager.
“Button it, Pralax. Commander Tamura, you’ve been awfully quiet. As I recall, you were the man in charge on the away mission. What’s your take on this?”
The First Officer sighed. “Honestly, Captain, T’Vel had no choice. The creature was making a bee-line right for Pascal and Estoban. If she hadn’t stunned him, the situation would be worse.” He shook his head. “It was a category five cluster frak. My away team, my responsibility”
Yeager shook his head. “No, Commander, this is on me. We’ve had two disastrous away missions in a row. I’m pushing too hard; the crew isn’t ready for this yet.”
Tamura and Pralax began to protest but Yeager gestured them to silence. “We’ll discuss this in greater detail later. Commander T’Vel, please return to sickbay and see if you can be of assistance. Our priority is to return the creature safely home, none the worse for wear, and with no memories of its visit to the Endurance. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Captain.”
“Mr. Pralax, see that a class IV orbital probe is programmed and launched. We can at least keep an eye on the planet’s inhabitants from a distance. Hopefully, no harm has been done.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You and T’Vel are dismissed. Mr. Tamura, I’d like a few more minutes of your time.”
The Vulcan and the Trill departed. By their stiff postures, they were not comfortable in each other’s presence.
Yeager gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, Osamu.”
Tamura did so with a sigh of weariness. “Gods, what a mess,” he breathed.
Yeager leaned back in his chair, regarding his long-time friend. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“You’re right, Jesse.”
“About what?”
“We’re not ready for this. We weren’t allowed a shake-down cruise, the crew hasn’t gelled, hell, I still don’t know half the officers by name yet.” He fixed his gaze on Yeager.
“What was the hurry to get here, Jesse?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. To be honest, I got caught up in the excitement . . . the opportunity to visit another galaxy. That’s why I joined Starfleet, to boldly go, etc., etc. I thought that opportunity had sailed when the war came and . . . well, you were there. Then Admiral Hendricks shows up out of the blue and offers me Andromeda on a plate. I was skeptical at first but,” he gestured around. “Here we are, on a brand new, state-of-the-art starship on which the paint isn’t yet dry, the crew hasn’t settled in, with an apparent feud between the Chief Science Officer and Tactical Officer, and a C.O. who may be bat-shit crazy.”
Tamura nodded. “Accurate. Harsh, but accurate. You summed it up quite well.”
Yeager snorted. “Thanks. You could have at least protested a little about the C.O.’s sanity or lack thereof.”
“Why? I’ve known you for fifteen years. Sanity is way over-rated. I prefer bat-shit crazy . . . it fits you.”
The Captain chuckled, somewhat surprised to find he felt better. “Setting aside that rather grim assessment, what do you recommend, Commander?”
“I think we should take it a little slower . . . send out some probes . . . work on drills to build teamwork and sharpen our responses . . . allow Pralax and T’Vel to battle to the death with lirpas.”
“Tempting. How about you have a sit-down with Pralax and find out why T’Vel gets his shorts in a bunch. I need them working together, not at each other’s throats, do you read me?”
“Loud and clear. One other thing, Jesse.”
“What?”
“Something still bugs me about Protector K’linthra.”
“You getting xenophobic on me, Osamu?”
“You know better. Honestly, I like her, but I feel like she’s holding back some things. Possibly some really important things.”
“Commander, you are one paranoid son of a bitch.”
“Thanks. I get it from Mom’s side of the family.”
“It’s also one of the reasons you’re an excellent First Officer. With that in mind, I’m adding a second assignment besides establishing a peace treaty between Pralax and T’Vel.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Just spend some time with our Andromedan tour guide. See if she’ll shed more light on the Dark H’lranthians.”
Tamura rolled his eyes. “Bad pun, Jes.”
“I’m serious.”
The Japanese First Officer picked up on the subtle change in Yeager’s tone. “Alright. I’ll do my best.”
Yeager picked up the cane, examining it with a slight frown. “You always do.
* * *
Sick Bay
“What is the status of the creature, Doctor?” asked T’Vel upon entering Sickbay.
Dr. Menendez wore a weary smile. “Stable, it would seem. Fortunately for us, his anatomy is not terribly different from mammals commonly found in our corner of the Milky Way. There does not appear to be residual neurological damage from the phaser stun.”
At this, the Vulcan seemed to relax just a fraction.
“Of course, we have no idea what normal vital signs should be for this species. Still, all its systems seem to be functioning well.”
“Is there something you can give it to inhibit short-term memory?”
Menendez frowned. “Perhaps, but I will need additional blood and tissue analysis first. I have him under a mild stasis field. It should keep him sleeping without introducing sedatives that might have unintended side effects.”
“Him?”
The doctor smiled. “Oh, yes. Definitely a ‘him.’ All the right parts are there. His physiology is similar to a Terran Meerkat, though with a much more highly developed brain.”
“Indeed? Most interesting. I would appreciate the opportunity to study your findings, Doctor, but it is quite imperative we return him to the planet as soon as possible, lest he be missed by other of his kind.”
“And with no memory of his visit to the sky chariot?”
T’Vel lifted an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Menendez chuckled. “It was a joke, T’Vel. Never mind. Let me get back to work. We need a plan to erase two hours of this little fellow’s life.”
* * *
USS Endurance
Stardate 54194.3
Standard orbit - N'ilmuta IV
(Author’s Note: I apologize for the brief hiatus . . . if you can call nearly nine years brief. With some prodding and encouragement from some of my fellow writers, I’m once more putting pen to paper . . . or in this case, pixels to screen . . . to revisit the USS Endurance on her mission to Andromeda. I sincerely hope I can recall the character’s names and why in the name of Thor's Hammer they are blundering about another galaxy. So, picking up where we left off in 2008 . . . )
Sick Bay
Office of the CMO
“Alright, Captain . . . let’s talk,” said Benessa Shain, the ship’s petite Betazoid Counselor. Her large brown eyes twinkled in bemusement at Captain Yeager’s discomfiture. She gestured to a chair in which, reluctantly, Yeager seated himself.
He sighed and folded his arms. “Okay, what shall we talk about?”
“Let’s begin with ‘George.’ Why did you give your bio-synthetic leg a name?”
“You know, Counselor, I’ve already had this conversation with Dr. Menendez. Why don’t you just compare notes with her?”
“I will. But please, humor me.”
Yeager fixed the Counselor with what he hoped was an intimidating gaze. It had about as much effect as trying to stare down a shuttle craft. Shain merely folded her arms and maintained that maddening, impish smile.
“Okay. Fine. I gave the damn leg a name so I could focus better, so I could make it part of me . . . so to speak. The rehab work was a pain in the ass . . . slow, frustrating, and, well, it just . . . it just . . .”
“It made you mad, didn’t it?”
“Of course it made me mad!” he replied with sudden vehemence. He stopped, realizing he had risen from his chair.
Sitting back down, he spoke in a more controlled tone. “I’m sorry, Counselor. That was rude of me.”
“Sorry for what? Being angry? I don’t think you’re mad at me, are you, Captain?”
“No. No, of course not. You’re just doing your job.”
She pulled up a small stool and sat, peering at Yeager. “It’s okay to be angry sometimes, Captain. And I think one of the reasons you gave your leg a name is to give your anger a target.”
He lifted his head with a jerk, startled. “Now that’s just . . .” his voice faded.
Counselor Shain grinned. “Crazy? No, it’s not. And you’re not either. But I do think you’re taking out a lot of latent hostility on ‘George.’”
“Uh, Counselor, I came to Sickbay to get George fixed, not to hurt him . . . it . . . my leg.”
“Did you realize, Captain, that you have a more grueling workout routine than nearly everyone else on the ship? More-so than even some of the Vulcan and Andorian crew members?”
“I’ve always worked out hard. You should know my background, I used to compete in triathlons. It’s something I enjoy.”
“Really? Care to explain why you deactivate the safety protocols when you work out? Why you push yourself to the point you nearly pass out from pain or overexertion? Why you are a regular visitor to Sickbay because you’re bruised or bleeding? Sorry, sir, but unless you’re into masochism, I’m not buying it. Who are you punishing, Captain?”
The question caught Yeager off-guard. “I’m not sure what you mean, Counselor.”
She was silent for a moment. Staring at him with those large, brown eyes, her elbows on her knees and her fingers steepled under her chin, Yeager felt like the Betazoid was peering right through him.
“My personal and professional ethics prohibit me from reading your mind. But I can’t help feeling the waves of pain that roll off you every time I’m within 50 meters of you. And it’s not just physical pain, Captain, though I know your leg hurts. It’s something much deeper. Emotional pain that you think you've buried. But you're wrong.”
They were both silent for a moment. Finally, Yeager spoke.
“You’re plowing old ground. I’ve seen dozens and counselors and doctors since I lost the Axanar. I’m not unique, not in the least. There are hundreds, thousands perhaps, of people just like me that suffered physically and emotionally because of the war.”
She leaned in, placing her hands on the arms of his chair. She was so close he could smell the fragrance of the shampoo she used.
“And none of them are commanding a starship in a galaxy far, far away. ‘George’ is your scapegoat, Captain Yeager. George is your crutch. George is the symbol for everything you lost in the war. Face it Captain; you hate that damn leg and losing it might be the best thing that could happen to you.”
He blinked, partly in surprise at the brazen invasion of his personal space, partly in stunned disbelief at her bluntness.
Before he could form a rebuttal, they were interrupted when the door to the CMO’s office opened. Dr. Menendez appeared, her expression grim.
“We have a situation,” she announced without preamble.
* * *
Sickbay
Diagnostics Table
“What happened?” demanded Yeager as Dr. Menendez, Dr. Pumjey, and several nurses swarmed around the small, furry creature that lay seemingly lifeless on the diagnostics table.
Commander Tamura glanced at T’Vel. Yeager could tell his First Officer was not happy.
“You tell him,” directed Tamura, his voice unusually sharp.
The Vulcan Science Officer seemed unperturbed. “We were observing this native creature when it was alerted to our presence when Ensign Jurling inadvertantly activated his tri-corder.” She paused, “The tri-corder was not in silent mode.”
Yeager pursed his lips. “And? . . .”
“And that’s when T’Vel shot the poor sod with her phaser,” added Pralax.
“Not helping,” observed Tamura through gritted teeth.
Yeager shifted his gaze from one senior officer to another before pointing to them as a group.
“You three, my ready room, five minutes.”
He turned to Dr. Menendez and pointed at the diagnostics table. “Doctor, you and your team, take care of him . . . her . . . it . . . just, keep the creature alive but sedated.”
He turned to Counselor Shain and pointed. “You! . . . later. Much, later.”
Yeager turned to leave the room.
“Captain!” Shain spoke up over the harried conversation surrounding the Kreenja. “Catch!”
Yeager instinctively reached out and snatched the walking cane that the Counselor had tossed his way.
“Just in case,” she said with a smile.
* * *
Captain’s Ready Room
Fifteen minutes later
Yeager sat behind his desk, regarding Tamura, T’Vel, and Pralax with a look of incredulity.
“You shot the creature. With a phaser.” Yeager was trying with great difficulty to remain calm.
“Yes, Captain, at the lowest stun setting. As I have already explained . . . twice . . .” she glanced at Pralax with a look that, for a Vulcan, indicated she was contemplating murder.
The Captain held up a hand. “Okay, I can understand the logic that led you to take such action . . . but why bring the creature back to the ship? Hell, you were trying to avoid cultural contamination. Why not just let him sleep it off?”
“Captain, there is no guarantee the creature would simply ‘sleep it off’ as you put it. If it were to retain any memories of the encounter, it might possibly share the experience with others of its kind. And, being a sentient being of a type we have not encountered, it is possible that even the lowest stun setting may have done it severe injury. That could only be ascertained in our sickbay and gives us a chance to more closely examine the creature.”
“Oh yes, a nicely done job and wonderful excuse to violate General Order One,” quipped Pralax, earning a glare from Yeager.
“Button it, Pralax. Commander Tamura, you’ve been awfully quiet. As I recall, you were the man in charge on the away mission. What’s your take on this?”
The First Officer sighed. “Honestly, Captain, T’Vel had no choice. The creature was making a bee-line right for Pascal and Estoban. If she hadn’t stunned him, the situation would be worse.” He shook his head. “It was a category five cluster frak. My away team, my responsibility”
Yeager shook his head. “No, Commander, this is on me. We’ve had two disastrous away missions in a row. I’m pushing too hard; the crew isn’t ready for this yet.”
Tamura and Pralax began to protest but Yeager gestured them to silence. “We’ll discuss this in greater detail later. Commander T’Vel, please return to sickbay and see if you can be of assistance. Our priority is to return the creature safely home, none the worse for wear, and with no memories of its visit to the Endurance. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, Captain.”
“Mr. Pralax, see that a class IV orbital probe is programmed and launched. We can at least keep an eye on the planet’s inhabitants from a distance. Hopefully, no harm has been done.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You and T’Vel are dismissed. Mr. Tamura, I’d like a few more minutes of your time.”
The Vulcan and the Trill departed. By their stiff postures, they were not comfortable in each other’s presence.
Yeager gestured to one of the chairs. “Have a seat, Osamu.”
Tamura did so with a sigh of weariness. “Gods, what a mess,” he breathed.
Yeager leaned back in his chair, regarding his long-time friend. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“You’re right, Jesse.”
“About what?”
“We’re not ready for this. We weren’t allowed a shake-down cruise, the crew hasn’t gelled, hell, I still don’t know half the officers by name yet.” He fixed his gaze on Yeager.
“What was the hurry to get here, Jesse?”
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. To be honest, I got caught up in the excitement . . . the opportunity to visit another galaxy. That’s why I joined Starfleet, to boldly go, etc., etc. I thought that opportunity had sailed when the war came and . . . well, you were there. Then Admiral Hendricks shows up out of the blue and offers me Andromeda on a plate. I was skeptical at first but,” he gestured around. “Here we are, on a brand new, state-of-the-art starship on which the paint isn’t yet dry, the crew hasn’t settled in, with an apparent feud between the Chief Science Officer and Tactical Officer, and a C.O. who may be bat-shit crazy.”
Tamura nodded. “Accurate. Harsh, but accurate. You summed it up quite well.”
Yeager snorted. “Thanks. You could have at least protested a little about the C.O.’s sanity or lack thereof.”
“Why? I’ve known you for fifteen years. Sanity is way over-rated. I prefer bat-shit crazy . . . it fits you.”
The Captain chuckled, somewhat surprised to find he felt better. “Setting aside that rather grim assessment, what do you recommend, Commander?”
“I think we should take it a little slower . . . send out some probes . . . work on drills to build teamwork and sharpen our responses . . . allow Pralax and T’Vel to battle to the death with lirpas.”
“Tempting. How about you have a sit-down with Pralax and find out why T’Vel gets his shorts in a bunch. I need them working together, not at each other’s throats, do you read me?”
“Loud and clear. One other thing, Jesse.”
“What?”
“Something still bugs me about Protector K’linthra.”
“You getting xenophobic on me, Osamu?”
“You know better. Honestly, I like her, but I feel like she’s holding back some things. Possibly some really important things.”
“Commander, you are one paranoid son of a bitch.”
“Thanks. I get it from Mom’s side of the family.”
“It’s also one of the reasons you’re an excellent First Officer. With that in mind, I’m adding a second assignment besides establishing a peace treaty between Pralax and T’Vel.”
“I’m afraid to ask.”
“Just spend some time with our Andromedan tour guide. See if she’ll shed more light on the Dark H’lranthians.”
Tamura rolled his eyes. “Bad pun, Jes.”
“I’m serious.”
The Japanese First Officer picked up on the subtle change in Yeager’s tone. “Alright. I’ll do my best.”
Yeager picked up the cane, examining it with a slight frown. “You always do.
* * *
Sick Bay
“What is the status of the creature, Doctor?” asked T’Vel upon entering Sickbay.
Dr. Menendez wore a weary smile. “Stable, it would seem. Fortunately for us, his anatomy is not terribly different from mammals commonly found in our corner of the Milky Way. There does not appear to be residual neurological damage from the phaser stun.”
At this, the Vulcan seemed to relax just a fraction.
“Of course, we have no idea what normal vital signs should be for this species. Still, all its systems seem to be functioning well.”
“Is there something you can give it to inhibit short-term memory?”
Menendez frowned. “Perhaps, but I will need additional blood and tissue analysis first. I have him under a mild stasis field. It should keep him sleeping without introducing sedatives that might have unintended side effects.”
“Him?”
The doctor smiled. “Oh, yes. Definitely a ‘him.’ All the right parts are there. His physiology is similar to a Terran Meerkat, though with a much more highly developed brain.”
“Indeed? Most interesting. I would appreciate the opportunity to study your findings, Doctor, but it is quite imperative we return him to the planet as soon as possible, lest he be missed by other of his kind.”
“And with no memory of his visit to the sky chariot?”
T’Vel lifted an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
Menendez chuckled. “It was a joke, T’Vel. Never mind. Let me get back to work. We need a plan to erase two hours of this little fellow’s life.”
* * *
I like it. I can't wait to read more, TLR.
You've whetted my appetite, my good man. Me thinks I'll have to reread the story once more--I'd forgotten how much I liked this crew.
I'll second Bry's estimation of this crew, they're fantastic! I love the sarcastic back-and-forth between Yeager and Tamura. Here's hoping they can set this crew to rights, as Andromeda doesn't seem a terribly forgiving place thus far.
And memory wipes often prove more problematic than anticipated, meaning they could do everything 'right' from this point forward, and still screw the pooch on the old Prime Directive anyway.
I'm eager to see what means Tamura uses to get Pralax and Hair-Trigger T'Vel to stop squabbling.
And memory wipes often prove more problematic than anticipated, meaning they could do everything 'right' from this point forward, and still screw the pooch on the old Prime Directive anyway.
I'm eager to see what means Tamura uses to get Pralax and Hair-Trigger T'Vel to stop squabbling.
Chapter 18
USS Endurance
Stardate 54195.6
Captain’s log: Stardate 54195.6
We have successfully returned the creature to N’ilmulta IV, none the worse for wear I hope. Dr. Menendez and the medical staff are to be commended for the care provided to the native creature and finding an effective but safe treatment to ensure it would have no memory of its encounter with the away team.
Unfortunately, this incident and the previous tragedy on the third planet has led me to postpone any further away team planetary missions. It is obvious we need more training, better protocols, and perhaps most important, time to get to know and trust one another. It would seem that this is especially true for my senior officers. While I have known and trusted Tamura and Pralax for many years, our Chief Science Officer, Chief Engineer, Chief Medical Officer, and Ship’s Counselor are still new to me and to each other. Master Chief Jones has things well in hand with the non-coms and enlisted crew. I wish I could say the same for our officers. That falls on Commander Tamura and, ultimately, to me.
As Yeager closed out his log entry, his desk terminal chimed softly and a message appeared on the screen:
“Your presence is requested in Holodeck 6 at 1400 hours today. Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. Bring George and your cane.” - Counselor Banessa Shane
He shook his head, partly in annoyance, partly in amusement at the Sherlock Holmes reference. Yeager looked at Max who lifted his head expectantly from his dog bed.
“I guess a Conan Doyle fan can’t be all bad, huh, Max?”
The big Lab thumped his tail in agreement. Yeager reluctantly acknowledged the Counselor’s message, stood and made his way to the door of his cabin. He paused to stare at the cane leaning against the corner. George was aching mightily this morning. With a grumble of irritation, he snatched the cane and departed for the bridge.
Sick Bay
Dr. Menendez was finishing her medical log entry when she heard a tapping on the transparent aluminum office door. Glancing up, she saw the ship’s Counselor. The CMO beckoned for her to come in.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor, but I was wondering if I could speak with you concerning the Captain?”
The CMO smiled and gestured to a chair. “Please, come in. And call me Lori. We are going to be working together for five years, after all. I think the ‘Doctor - Counselor’ back and forth will get tiresome.”
Shain sat and returned the smile. “Thanks, I will. And call me Banessa. By the way, I heard you were able to send the monkey-cat back home.”
“Monkey-cat?”
“That’s what some of the Human medical staff called it. We don’t have monkeys or cats on Betazed, so I had to look it up. Apparently no such hybrid actually exists.”
The CMO laughed, “Oh, I would certainly hope not. Anyway, he’s back home and hopefully safe, sound, and blissfully unaware that he was abducted by aliens.”
“Agreed.”
“But you didn’t come by to talk about our furry temporary guest.”
“No. Actually, I wanted to talk with you about ‘George.’”
The doctor blinked in momentary confusion, then nodded. “Ah, yes. The Captain’s leg. I’m afraid I can’t report any progress on regenerating the nerve sheathing.”
“Good.”
The CMO blinked again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, I tend to be abrupt. Doctor . . . Lori, I think the rejection issue with his leg, with ‘George’ is psychosomatically induced. My belief is that the leg will heal or be rejected based on how and if the Captain comes to terms with the root causes of his pain, mainly the overwhelming sense of loss and responsibility he still feels for his wife, the crew of Axanar, and, yes, his leg.”
Menendez leaned back in her chair, momentarily speechless.
“Wow,” the CMO said at last, “that’s a lot to take in. Are you sure of this?”
“Nothing’s certain. But it fits, doesn’t it?”
Lori regarded the Betazoid counselor. “Last night when I came to get the Captain, I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to him . . . at least the last part.”
“You mean when I got in his face about ‘George’?”
“Yes. Honestly, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I have to say . . . I’ve never seen a counselor so . . .”
“Brazen? Coarse? Rude?” She smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
“Actually, I found your direct approach refreshing. It’s just that I’ve been around many ship’s counselors, quite a few Betazoid like yourself, and I’ve never encountered one like you before.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. Yes, actually, I’m quite sure of it. Care to share how you decided on the ‘blunt truth’ approach?”
“Four years in the Border Service before Counselor training tended to hone my approach. You practice a lot of ‘blunt truth’ in the Outland Expanse. Honestly, I learned more from Captain Artemis Slayd about figuring out people than I did in school. Being a Betazoid, I can pick up on emotions as easily as you can tell if a room is hot or cold. During my stint on the Dragonfire I discovered that most beings, particularly Humans, are quite adept at lying . . . especially to themselves. I happen to be good at calling them on their bullshit.”
The CMO laughed again. “You are blunt! Where did you pick up the Terran idioms?”
“Here and there,” she replied, vaguely. “Back to Captain Yeager, we’re meeting again at 1400. I’m going to once more attempt to convince him his leg problem is in his head. Will you back me on this?”
Menedez considered this. “You’re the expert when it comes to the Captain’s state of mind and psychological maladies. But I have an ethical obligation to try to ‘fix’ the physical problem through medical means.”
“Even though such means don’t exist?” parried Shain.
“They don’t exist yet. I will concede that the rejection process he’s experiencing with the leg may be psychosomatic in nature. Look, Benessa, I’ll meet you half-way. I will continue my research into reversing the nerve-sheath deterioration. You try to exorcise his demons. If, in the process, his leg improves, all the better. If not, hopefully I will have a means to reverse the rejection.”
“Fair enough I suppose, though in all honesty I think he would be better with a cybernetic limb and quite literally sever his relationship with ‘George.’
The doctor winced. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that point. Obviously, as CMO, you will have the final word. Still, wish me luck with my meeting with the Captain.”
“Oh, absolutely. Break a leg, Banessa.”
The startled expression on the Betazoid’s face caused Lori to laugh.
“You haven’t heard that idiom, I take it?” said the doctor, still chuckling.
“No . . . is it from Earth?”
Lori nodded. “It’s a centuries old expression from American entertainment. It means, ‘good luck.’”
Shain brightened. “Really? How extraordinary; I’ll have to remember that one. And how apropos to the situation at hand. Thanks, Lori!”
The Counselor bounded from her chair and departed, full of energy and enthusiasm. Lori Menendez shook her head.
“That young woman is a force of nature,” she muttered as she returned to her medical log.
* * *
Camelot (Nine Forward)
Commander Tamura glanced around the crowded lounge and spied his quarry. He made his way to a table by one of the large viewports where Lt. Commander Grelden Pralax nursed a pint of dark ale.
“Drinking by yourself?” asked Tamura.
“Not anymore; have a seat Osamu.”
The First Officer settled into a chair across from his long time friend and colleague. A waiter appeared and Tamura ordered club soda with lime.
Pralax raised his brow at Tamura’s drink selection. “Giving up strong drink?”
Tamura shook his head. “No, I’m still on duty and synthehol ranks with de-caf coffee in the top ten most useless things ever created.
The Trill lifted his glass. “Here, here.” He regarded his friend, noting Tamura’s reserved expression.
“So, if the First Officer is here and on duty, this must be official business. Am I to be keel-hauled? Hung from a yard-arm? Forced to endure Klingon opera?”
Tamura’s club soda arrived and he took a sip. “None of the above . . . yet. I would like to know why you’re giving our Chief Science Officer so much grief. That’s not like you.”
Pralax took a draught of ale and wiped his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know . . . perhaps it’s her perpetual smugness and air of superiority that chaps my arse.”
“Not buying it, buddy. You’ve worked with Vulcans before without any issues. Besides, smug and superior are cultural pastimes for Vulcans. It’s like a rite of passage.”
The Tactical Officer suddenly appeared uncomfortable. Pralax stared out the viewport, not meeting his friend’s gaze.
Tamura frowned. “What’s up? Hey, it’s me . . . talk!”
Pralax sighed and turned to face Tamura. “It’s not me, really, it’s, um . . . Erlon.”
The Commander blinked in surprise. “Erlon, as in your previous host?”
Erlon Pralax had been a scientist of renown, an explorer, adventurer, mercenary, and breaker of hearts. He also had the reputation of gambler, hard drinker, and serial adulterer. Grelden, Pralax’s current host, was equally awed and embarrassed by his predecessor. He seldom spoke of him, even to close friends such as Tamura or Yeager. But as with all joined Trill, the memories of previous hosts remained with the symbiont, for better or for worse.
“Of course, Erlon my previous host! Who’d you think? Erlon my hair stylist on Rigel IV?” he snapped with considerable asperity.
A few heads turned from other tables. “Lower your voice, Lt. Commander Pralax,” ordered Tamura quietly but firmly.
Pralax seemed to deflate. “Sorry . . . sir. Damn.” He took another pull of ale.
Tamura made a “let’s go” gesture and stood. Pralax followed, glumly.
They made their way to Tamura’s office, an ante-room of his quarters set up for the administrative work of the First Officer.
“Sit,” ordered Tamura as he went to the replicator. He ordered a spiced Rigellian coffee for Pralax and a Colombian blend for himself. He passed the aromatic, steaming mug to the Trill who looked up with a concerned expression.
“Coffee? God’s I really am up crapper creek, aren’t I?”
Tamura sat behind his desk and watched his friend as he sipped his own steaming brew. “No, not yet. Right now, we’re off the record. But if you don’t explain the row between you and T’Vel, there will be repercussions, capiche? Jesse has enough on his plate without two of his senior officers staring daggers at each other. The crew notices, Pralax. Morale is already shaky with two frakked up away missions.”
The Tactical Officer forced a smile. “So it’s ‘put on a happy face for the good of the service,’ is it?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Tamura’s eyes narrowed and his voice grew cold. “No, Mr. Pralax, it is grow the hell up and act like a goddam Starfleet officer! We can’t drop you off at the nearest starbase with transfer orders and a handshake. There aren’t any damn starbases or replacement officers in this galaxy, or have you forgotten?”
Pralax seemed ready to retort but instead exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “There is history between Erlon and T’Vel’s mother,” he said, quietly.
Tamura frowned. “History, what kind of ‘history?’”
Pralax took a sip of spiced coffee and lifted an eyebrow in reply.
Realization struck Tamura. “Oh. OHHH. That kind of history.”
The Trill nodded, obviously embarrassed. “It was long ago, more than a standard century ago. Erlon was a rounder and could charm the ears off a Ferengi. T’Nar was Erlon’s laboratory assistant in those days. Her marriage to Sudek was . . . less than fulfilling, even by Vulcan standards.”
“Whoa - are you saying Erlon and T’Nar . . .”
“Nothing quite so sordid as that,” replied Pralax, quickly. “But while they were on a scientific expedition, isolated and pretty much on their own, something about T’Nar’s biological clock went out of whack. It might have been something about gravitational fields or mold spores in the atmosphere, who knows? Suffice it to say that the seven-year-itch hit T’Nar in year five, and she was a loooong way from Vulcan and her mate. Add a not-so-convenient ion storm in the vicinity to frinx up communications, and we find the Trill and the Vulcan lady all by their lonesome selves.”
“So Erlon . . .?”
Pralax twisted the mug in his hands and didn’t meet Tamura’s gaze. “So Erlon did what he did, saving her life in the process. I won’t lie and say anyone twisted his arm, the randy bastard. 'Course, he thought he was being chivalrous. When T'Nar came to her senses after the fact, she had a different opinion of the matter.”
Tamura whistled. “Good Lord, you don’t mean that T’Vel is . . .”
Pralax nearly choked on his spiced coffee. “What? Oh, no, no, no, Gods no, . . . such inter-species liaisons seldom produce offspring. That usually involves a team of specialized doctors or wizards or some such. No, there was no child as a result.”
Tamura folded his hands behind his head and put his feet on the desk. “So, help me out here. I get why this may be awkward, but . . .”
The Trill brayed with laughter. “Awkward? Awkward? Getting drunk and procuring a tattoo of your lover, only forgetting her name and applying your ex’s name is awkward. Spilling scalding hot coffee on the lap of a fleet admiral is awkward. Strolling through the ship’s corridor whilst naked and singing tunes from The Mikado, is awkward . . .”
Tamura interrupted. “Actually, that one you’ve done . . .”
“My point is, Osamu my dear fellow, that doing the nasty with a married Vulcan is about as far beyond awkward as we are from the bloody Milky Way! It registers about a 20 on a scale of 10 on the Vulcan shame meter.”
“In fairness to Erlon, he did save T’Nar’s life, did he not?”
“To Vulcans, that is quite beside the point. To be sooo steeped in logic, they are as uptight about horizontal recreation as your Earth’s Amish folk of five centuries past. Hell, the Amish seem like drunk Risans compared to the Vulcans.”
Tamura was trying very hard not to laugh. “And that’s why you and T’Vel are so tense around each other? For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t you, Grelden, it was Erlon.”
Pralax spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “It makes no difference. For a joined Trill, the memories of prior hosts become your own memories. In a sense, it's like I'm the cad who took advantage of T'Vel's mother.”
"But you didn't. And again, let me remind you if Erlon hadn't, ah, come to the rescue then T'Nar would have died and T'Vel wouldn't exist!" Tamara shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."
"You're using Human logic. That's not the same as Vulcan logic. Did you know there are 37 different words for 'shame' in the Vulcan language?"
Tamura waved that thought away. “Wait a minute. How do you know that T’Vel knows all this?”
“Oh, she knows alright. She knows. I’m certain of it. It radiates from her like some sort of guilt ray.”
“Well then. You and T’Vel are going to have to talk it out and come to some sort of understanding whereby you can work together in a harmonious manner, for the good of the ship and for the good of our mission. That’s an order, Mr. Pralax.”
The Trill looked despondent. “Couldn’t you just push me out an airlock instead?”
* * *
USS Endurance
Stardate 54195.6
Captain’s log: Stardate 54195.6
We have successfully returned the creature to N’ilmulta IV, none the worse for wear I hope. Dr. Menendez and the medical staff are to be commended for the care provided to the native creature and finding an effective but safe treatment to ensure it would have no memory of its encounter with the away team.
Unfortunately, this incident and the previous tragedy on the third planet has led me to postpone any further away team planetary missions. It is obvious we need more training, better protocols, and perhaps most important, time to get to know and trust one another. It would seem that this is especially true for my senior officers. While I have known and trusted Tamura and Pralax for many years, our Chief Science Officer, Chief Engineer, Chief Medical Officer, and Ship’s Counselor are still new to me and to each other. Master Chief Jones has things well in hand with the non-coms and enlisted crew. I wish I could say the same for our officers. That falls on Commander Tamura and, ultimately, to me.
As Yeager closed out his log entry, his desk terminal chimed softly and a message appeared on the screen:
“Your presence is requested in Holodeck 6 at 1400 hours today. Come if convenient. If inconvenient, come anyway. Bring George and your cane.” - Counselor Banessa Shane
He shook his head, partly in annoyance, partly in amusement at the Sherlock Holmes reference. Yeager looked at Max who lifted his head expectantly from his dog bed.
“I guess a Conan Doyle fan can’t be all bad, huh, Max?”
The big Lab thumped his tail in agreement. Yeager reluctantly acknowledged the Counselor’s message, stood and made his way to the door of his cabin. He paused to stare at the cane leaning against the corner. George was aching mightily this morning. With a grumble of irritation, he snatched the cane and departed for the bridge.
Sick Bay
Dr. Menendez was finishing her medical log entry when she heard a tapping on the transparent aluminum office door. Glancing up, she saw the ship’s Counselor. The CMO beckoned for her to come in.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Doctor, but I was wondering if I could speak with you concerning the Captain?”
The CMO smiled and gestured to a chair. “Please, come in. And call me Lori. We are going to be working together for five years, after all. I think the ‘Doctor - Counselor’ back and forth will get tiresome.”
Shain sat and returned the smile. “Thanks, I will. And call me Banessa. By the way, I heard you were able to send the monkey-cat back home.”
“Monkey-cat?”
“That’s what some of the Human medical staff called it. We don’t have monkeys or cats on Betazed, so I had to look it up. Apparently no such hybrid actually exists.”
The CMO laughed, “Oh, I would certainly hope not. Anyway, he’s back home and hopefully safe, sound, and blissfully unaware that he was abducted by aliens.”
“Agreed.”
“But you didn’t come by to talk about our furry temporary guest.”
“No. Actually, I wanted to talk with you about ‘George.’”
The doctor blinked in momentary confusion, then nodded. “Ah, yes. The Captain’s leg. I’m afraid I can’t report any progress on regenerating the nerve sheathing.”
“Good.”
The CMO blinked again. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, I tend to be abrupt. Doctor . . . Lori, I think the rejection issue with his leg, with ‘George’ is psychosomatically induced. My belief is that the leg will heal or be rejected based on how and if the Captain comes to terms with the root causes of his pain, mainly the overwhelming sense of loss and responsibility he still feels for his wife, the crew of Axanar, and, yes, his leg.”
Menendez leaned back in her chair, momentarily speechless.
“Wow,” the CMO said at last, “that’s a lot to take in. Are you sure of this?”
“Nothing’s certain. But it fits, doesn’t it?”
Lori regarded the Betazoid counselor. “Last night when I came to get the Captain, I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to him . . . at least the last part.”
“You mean when I got in his face about ‘George’?”
“Yes. Honestly, I did not mean to eavesdrop, but I have to say . . . I’ve never seen a counselor so . . .”
“Brazen? Coarse? Rude?” She smiled. “Guilty as charged.”
“Actually, I found your direct approach refreshing. It’s just that I’ve been around many ship’s counselors, quite a few Betazoid like yourself, and I’ve never encountered one like you before.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“I think so. Yes, actually, I’m quite sure of it. Care to share how you decided on the ‘blunt truth’ approach?”
“Four years in the Border Service before Counselor training tended to hone my approach. You practice a lot of ‘blunt truth’ in the Outland Expanse. Honestly, I learned more from Captain Artemis Slayd about figuring out people than I did in school. Being a Betazoid, I can pick up on emotions as easily as you can tell if a room is hot or cold. During my stint on the Dragonfire I discovered that most beings, particularly Humans, are quite adept at lying . . . especially to themselves. I happen to be good at calling them on their bullshit.”
The CMO laughed again. “You are blunt! Where did you pick up the Terran idioms?”
“Here and there,” she replied, vaguely. “Back to Captain Yeager, we’re meeting again at 1400. I’m going to once more attempt to convince him his leg problem is in his head. Will you back me on this?”
Menedez considered this. “You’re the expert when it comes to the Captain’s state of mind and psychological maladies. But I have an ethical obligation to try to ‘fix’ the physical problem through medical means.”
“Even though such means don’t exist?” parried Shain.
“They don’t exist yet. I will concede that the rejection process he’s experiencing with the leg may be psychosomatic in nature. Look, Benessa, I’ll meet you half-way. I will continue my research into reversing the nerve-sheath deterioration. You try to exorcise his demons. If, in the process, his leg improves, all the better. If not, hopefully I will have a means to reverse the rejection.”
“Fair enough I suppose, though in all honesty I think he would be better with a cybernetic limb and quite literally sever his relationship with ‘George.’
The doctor winced. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree on that point. Obviously, as CMO, you will have the final word. Still, wish me luck with my meeting with the Captain.”
“Oh, absolutely. Break a leg, Banessa.”
The startled expression on the Betazoid’s face caused Lori to laugh.
“You haven’t heard that idiom, I take it?” said the doctor, still chuckling.
“No . . . is it from Earth?”
Lori nodded. “It’s a centuries old expression from American entertainment. It means, ‘good luck.’”
Shain brightened. “Really? How extraordinary; I’ll have to remember that one. And how apropos to the situation at hand. Thanks, Lori!”
The Counselor bounded from her chair and departed, full of energy and enthusiasm. Lori Menendez shook her head.
“That young woman is a force of nature,” she muttered as she returned to her medical log.
* * *
Camelot (Nine Forward)
Commander Tamura glanced around the crowded lounge and spied his quarry. He made his way to a table by one of the large viewports where Lt. Commander Grelden Pralax nursed a pint of dark ale.
“Drinking by yourself?” asked Tamura.
“Not anymore; have a seat Osamu.”
The First Officer settled into a chair across from his long time friend and colleague. A waiter appeared and Tamura ordered club soda with lime.
Pralax raised his brow at Tamura’s drink selection. “Giving up strong drink?”
Tamura shook his head. “No, I’m still on duty and synthehol ranks with de-caf coffee in the top ten most useless things ever created.
The Trill lifted his glass. “Here, here.” He regarded his friend, noting Tamura’s reserved expression.
“So, if the First Officer is here and on duty, this must be official business. Am I to be keel-hauled? Hung from a yard-arm? Forced to endure Klingon opera?”
Tamura’s club soda arrived and he took a sip. “None of the above . . . yet. I would like to know why you’re giving our Chief Science Officer so much grief. That’s not like you.”
Pralax took a draught of ale and wiped his mouth. “Oh, I don’t know . . . perhaps it’s her perpetual smugness and air of superiority that chaps my arse.”
“Not buying it, buddy. You’ve worked with Vulcans before without any issues. Besides, smug and superior are cultural pastimes for Vulcans. It’s like a rite of passage.”
The Tactical Officer suddenly appeared uncomfortable. Pralax stared out the viewport, not meeting his friend’s gaze.
Tamura frowned. “What’s up? Hey, it’s me . . . talk!”
Pralax sighed and turned to face Tamura. “It’s not me, really, it’s, um . . . Erlon.”
The Commander blinked in surprise. “Erlon, as in your previous host?”
Erlon Pralax had been a scientist of renown, an explorer, adventurer, mercenary, and breaker of hearts. He also had the reputation of gambler, hard drinker, and serial adulterer. Grelden, Pralax’s current host, was equally awed and embarrassed by his predecessor. He seldom spoke of him, even to close friends such as Tamura or Yeager. But as with all joined Trill, the memories of previous hosts remained with the symbiont, for better or for worse.
“Of course, Erlon my previous host! Who’d you think? Erlon my hair stylist on Rigel IV?” he snapped with considerable asperity.
A few heads turned from other tables. “Lower your voice, Lt. Commander Pralax,” ordered Tamura quietly but firmly.
Pralax seemed to deflate. “Sorry . . . sir. Damn.” He took another pull of ale.
Tamura made a “let’s go” gesture and stood. Pralax followed, glumly.
They made their way to Tamura’s office, an ante-room of his quarters set up for the administrative work of the First Officer.
“Sit,” ordered Tamura as he went to the replicator. He ordered a spiced Rigellian coffee for Pralax and a Colombian blend for himself. He passed the aromatic, steaming mug to the Trill who looked up with a concerned expression.
“Coffee? God’s I really am up crapper creek, aren’t I?”
Tamura sat behind his desk and watched his friend as he sipped his own steaming brew. “No, not yet. Right now, we’re off the record. But if you don’t explain the row between you and T’Vel, there will be repercussions, capiche? Jesse has enough on his plate without two of his senior officers staring daggers at each other. The crew notices, Pralax. Morale is already shaky with two frakked up away missions.”
The Tactical Officer forced a smile. “So it’s ‘put on a happy face for the good of the service,’ is it?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Tamura’s eyes narrowed and his voice grew cold. “No, Mr. Pralax, it is grow the hell up and act like a goddam Starfleet officer! We can’t drop you off at the nearest starbase with transfer orders and a handshake. There aren’t any damn starbases or replacement officers in this galaxy, or have you forgotten?”
Pralax seemed ready to retort but instead exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. “There is history between Erlon and T’Vel’s mother,” he said, quietly.
Tamura frowned. “History, what kind of ‘history?’”
Pralax took a sip of spiced coffee and lifted an eyebrow in reply.
Realization struck Tamura. “Oh. OHHH. That kind of history.”
The Trill nodded, obviously embarrassed. “It was long ago, more than a standard century ago. Erlon was a rounder and could charm the ears off a Ferengi. T’Nar was Erlon’s laboratory assistant in those days. Her marriage to Sudek was . . . less than fulfilling, even by Vulcan standards.”
“Whoa - are you saying Erlon and T’Nar . . .”
“Nothing quite so sordid as that,” replied Pralax, quickly. “But while they were on a scientific expedition, isolated and pretty much on their own, something about T’Nar’s biological clock went out of whack. It might have been something about gravitational fields or mold spores in the atmosphere, who knows? Suffice it to say that the seven-year-itch hit T’Nar in year five, and she was a loooong way from Vulcan and her mate. Add a not-so-convenient ion storm in the vicinity to frinx up communications, and we find the Trill and the Vulcan lady all by their lonesome selves.”
“So Erlon . . .?”
Pralax twisted the mug in his hands and didn’t meet Tamura’s gaze. “So Erlon did what he did, saving her life in the process. I won’t lie and say anyone twisted his arm, the randy bastard. 'Course, he thought he was being chivalrous. When T'Nar came to her senses after the fact, she had a different opinion of the matter.”
Tamura whistled. “Good Lord, you don’t mean that T’Vel is . . .”
Pralax nearly choked on his spiced coffee. “What? Oh, no, no, no, Gods no, . . . such inter-species liaisons seldom produce offspring. That usually involves a team of specialized doctors or wizards or some such. No, there was no child as a result.”
Tamura folded his hands behind his head and put his feet on the desk. “So, help me out here. I get why this may be awkward, but . . .”
The Trill brayed with laughter. “Awkward? Awkward? Getting drunk and procuring a tattoo of your lover, only forgetting her name and applying your ex’s name is awkward. Spilling scalding hot coffee on the lap of a fleet admiral is awkward. Strolling through the ship’s corridor whilst naked and singing tunes from The Mikado, is awkward . . .”
Tamura interrupted. “Actually, that one you’ve done . . .”
“My point is, Osamu my dear fellow, that doing the nasty with a married Vulcan is about as far beyond awkward as we are from the bloody Milky Way! It registers about a 20 on a scale of 10 on the Vulcan shame meter.”
“In fairness to Erlon, he did save T’Nar’s life, did he not?”
“To Vulcans, that is quite beside the point. To be sooo steeped in logic, they are as uptight about horizontal recreation as your Earth’s Amish folk of five centuries past. Hell, the Amish seem like drunk Risans compared to the Vulcans.”
Tamura was trying very hard not to laugh. “And that’s why you and T’Vel are so tense around each other? For Pete’s sake, it wasn’t you, Grelden, it was Erlon.”
Pralax spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “It makes no difference. For a joined Trill, the memories of prior hosts become your own memories. In a sense, it's like I'm the cad who took advantage of T'Vel's mother.”
"But you didn't. And again, let me remind you if Erlon hadn't, ah, come to the rescue then T'Nar would have died and T'Vel wouldn't exist!" Tamara shook his head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."
"You're using Human logic. That's not the same as Vulcan logic. Did you know there are 37 different words for 'shame' in the Vulcan language?"
Tamura waved that thought away. “Wait a minute. How do you know that T’Vel knows all this?”
“Oh, she knows alright. She knows. I’m certain of it. It radiates from her like some sort of guilt ray.”
“Well then. You and T’Vel are going to have to talk it out and come to some sort of understanding whereby you can work together in a harmonious manner, for the good of the ship and for the good of our mission. That’s an order, Mr. Pralax.”
The Trill looked despondent. “Couldn’t you just push me out an airlock instead?”
* * *
I was not expecting that from Mr Pralax
I agree with Bry. That's an awfully interesting way to describe an awkward situation.
Has X-mas come early this year? Not one, but two new chapters of this seemingly lost but never forgotten tale? Outstanding. And after reading these, hard to believe you kept us away from this for such a long time. Shame on you.
So much good stuff here but the interpersonal stories are the true gem, from the captain and his conflicted relationship with "George", the plain-spoken counselor (love the Slayd connection!), to the mouthy Trill and his surprising history with the Vulcan science officer, it's all pure gold. As for the latter, I cannot wait for that conversation to unfold. Oh so awkward.
So much good stuff here but the interpersonal stories are the true gem, from the captain and his conflicted relationship with "George", the plain-spoken counselor (love the Slayd connection!), to the mouthy Trill and his surprising history with the Vulcan science officer, it's all pure gold. As for the latter, I cannot wait for that conversation to unfold. Oh so awkward.
