Chapter Text
Kirk and the landing party materialised on the transporter pad to be greeted by Spock.
“Casualties on DeMarco’s team, Spock?”
“DeMarco and Adebayor are in sickbay.”
His face fell and the security team’s elation at a successful exercise in distracting Jomadai also took a hit.
“Doctor McCoy would take it amiss I should have the temerity to comment on what is very much his sphere of expertise, but I do not believe their injuries are serious.”
He dismissed the security team, with compliments for their work. They dawdled, ears pricked up for any news on their counterparts. Like them he was curious, unlike them he had the luxury of seeing for himself and he steered a course for McCoy’s domain, Spock fell into step.
“Where is the girl?”
“In sickbay with her bondmate. The Vulcan healer arrived exactly twenty-two minutes ago and she is also with them. The Matli ships, which had been keeping station on Enterprise have withdrawn; it would appear a change of administration is gathering pace as we speak.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Jomadai signals us for aid within the hour. I planted the seed of him being our Gammenori intermediary and I have a feeling it will take root, once he’ staring at the wrong end of a much anticipated comeuppance.” Trukoi’s tales, of intimidation and assassinations to rid the field of those who would oppose the first minister, made sympathising with the man an uphill struggle.
“The Matli will have objections.”
“Yes, but if the Gammenori give up some of the Matli disappeared, I’m confidant they’ll come round. Anyway, it’s not as if Jomadai will escape justice; I’d merely prefer to see it meted out by cooler heads and a proper judicious process.”
They arrived at sickbay to find Nurse Chapel treating the two security men in McCoy’s outer office. “We’re giving our Vulcan guests a little privacy, sir,” she said. The outer office was brightly lit, the rest of sickbay less so.
He nodded, indulged his nosiness in allowing his eyes to stray to the bio-bed Siran occupied, but his view was obstructed by two Vulcan females, one robed in Vulcan attire, the other much, much younger wearing Matli clothing.
Adebayor, gulped at the arrival of both his captain and first officer. He blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair. “Sorry, sir, I messed up real bad. I slipped and sprained my ankle, sir.”
A bark of laughter escaped DeMarco. “Good thing, too, or that Matli goon would not have have tripped over you and run me through with that ornamental spear instead.”
“Your team secured your objective. That’s good enough for me, Adebayor.” A resistant Adebayor still wished to throw himself on his sword. “Take the compliment in the spirit it was intended, Ensign.”
“Aye, Captain.”
In contrast there was nothing reticent about DeMarco, who sported an ear to ear, cat got the canary grin, only faintly marred by the enormous black eye developing on the right side of his face.
“Forgot to duck?”
“Something like that, sir. Mission went like clockwork, Captain. We infiltrated the site of their power generator, knocking that out brought the transporter block down, and the ship beamed up the captive within seconds.” DeMarco’s mood turned serious. “Not a moment too soon, sir. Looks like they were getting ready to dispose of their prisoner’s remains. It seems they were just waiting for the deed.”
Vindictive alright. What final shred of empathy he might have had for Jomadai withered and died
“Well done, you and your team, Lieutenant Commander.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Get some sleep, both of you, and I shall be pleased to receive your formal report by 1400 hours tomorrow, DeMarco.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chapel finished her work on her two charges and they promptly scarpered. Chapel retreated to put away the tools of her trade, and that left only Spock to witness his inquisitiveness. Siran’s bondmate had her back to him, listening attentively to what the healer had to say, head tilted to one side denoting engagement of her full attention. He was at a loss to understand what they intended, until Spock played interpretor.
“The healer will endeavour to establish a mind-meld with Siran’s bondmate and then Siran himself; in his abused state, I doubt he would trust anyone other than her, but she is a little young, a little inexperienced to initiate a healing trance in another.”
The figure on the bed stirred and by some miracle opened his eyes. “T’Kar? You are safe?”
She took the seat someone had left at the bedside and leaned over him to brush his hair tenderly away from his banged up face, fingers seeking out familiar psi points. “And in health, husband. Take my strength, feel my thoughts.” Gentle, soothing words that morphed into the familiar litany of someone establishing a mind-meld.
This? This was the termagant Tay had feared for his brother? More evidence of how a terror of pon farr could summon up non-existent horrors?
Spock stared at the read-outs above the bio-bed. An eyebrow beginning a precipitous climb toward his bangs.
Even he, though with the aid of Siran’s bio-signs laid out for him, could surmise what had just happened and couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips. “She just made you eat your words, didn’t she?”
“Indeed, Siran’s life signs are beginning to stabilise. He is in a healing trance. I confess I am quite impressed.”
If he were to bet, the healer, a person of mature years and presumably one who’d seen it all in her time, similarly shared their surprise. She swept her gaze over the readouts on the bio-bed, but drew out her own more familiar hand scanner from a pocket inside her robe and ran that over Siran’s form; pleased enough at the results that she closed the device with a clack of finality.
“My work, such as it is, is done,” she said to McCoy, who had withdrawn to a quiet corner of sickbay to allow his guests space. “You may call for my assistance, when you are ready to rouse the patient.”
xxx
The delegation assembled in rec room one in readiness for departure as soon as Enterprise entered standard orbit around Vulcan, and the thing that had been bugging Kirk, since they broke orbit at Matli would be contained no longer.
“Spock?” Aware of Vulcan acuity of hearing, he spoke in a tone barely above a murmur. “May I ask you something delicate as my friend and not as my first officer?”
Spock’s posture stiffened and he gave him a wary eye. “Sir?”
Okaay, that went well. Maybe it was because he had been watching Siran and T’Kar, and Spock thought he was going to touch upon the the ‘p’ word. Well, the pair and their interaction did intrigue him. They seemed to intuit their youth, their junior status, would insulate them from the injury to careers and standing about to be visited upon their elders. They formed a sharp contrast to the rest of the delegation, who, Vulcan control notwithstanding, presented a deflated and dejected aura.
“We agree that the delegation’s mission to Matli was a calamitous failure?” he asked.
A wrinkle appeared between Spock’s brow. Not the question he’d anticipated. “An unfortunate but fair assessment.”
“So, I have been wondering about T'Pau and just how ruthless she might be.”
Spock stilled and carefully placed his hands behind his back. “Never underestimate her, Jim.”
His gaze searched out Iskar, sitting in magnificent isolation from any other member of his team, and he felt sorry for him. Not much fun having your ass handed to you. “You know I marvelled at how fast the Orions arranged for the seizure of Matli ships, until it occurred to me that this was something T'Pau already had primed and ready to roll, but she wanted it to appear to be at my instigation. She could have set the ball rolling earlier and given Iskar some much needed relief, except she really had no intention of cutting him any breaks, did she?”
Spock plucked at his elbow and steered them until they were as far from the delegation as the confines of the rec room would allow. Even then, Spock copied his near murmur. “I have no proof, but it would not surprise me if T'Pau manoeuvred behind the scenes for Iskar to be selected. His family is associated with the isolationist movement on Vulcan, although his chosen field of endeavour would make one question whether he supports their aims.”
“His blindness to nuance and subtext served T'Pau very well, I should imagine.” Offering the observation that he thought Iskar a little thick was probably too on the nose. “So, tell me, you ever think the objectives of the mission were a little ridiculous?”
The wrinkle between Spock’s eyes deepened. “Ridiculous?”
“They were ostensibly designed to assuage Matli fears of Vulcan expansion in this sector as Gurad continues to prosper, and offered the lure of new trading opportunities with Federation worlds, with protection of said new trade by Starfleet thrown in for good measure.”
Spock said nothing, but he had his close attention.
“It’s only when one turns the whole farrago of nonsense on its head, that any sort of clear picture emerges. One, rather than assuaging Matli fears, the actual design of the mission was to convey a threat — veiled, but a threat nonetheless — in pointing up Gurad’s expansion in this sector was here to stay and that the Matli should get used to the idea, because Gurad possessed the capacity to take care of itself. Two, the last thing the Matli wanted was any sort of closer association with the Federation or any political and cultural hegemony that outlaws the trade in sentient beings, not when the Matli’s bosom pals were the Gammenori, and it must have worried the Matli that trade would be subject to interference. Three,” he huffed, disturbingly almost one with Admiral Komack’s disgruntlement in being drawn in to perform the manipulations of others, “well, bringing Starfleet into the equation was somewhat over egging the pudding, in my opinion. Even if it did serve to back the Matli into a corner, with predictable results.”
“Yes,” Spock said with a fine economy of words, then seeing that hardly satisfied, continued, “All through T'Pau’s life people have underestimated her; she is advanced in years, but yet she remains in authority, while those who opposed her have—”
“—long since bitten the dust.”
“If you will. She is every inch the Machiavelli you are beginning to suspect her to be. Lately, it is the isolationists in Vulcan society who have attempted to gain the upper hand, but T'Pau always out-manoeuvres her adversaries, none of whom are a match for the level of ruthlessness she is prepared to employ.”
Including sending someone into a situation without a firm grasp of the political actualités, where innocents were also involved? He really didn’t want to think ill of the old trout, who had engaged his good will after she came to bat for he and Spock in the aftermath of Spock’s wedding, but his gaze again strayed to Siran and T’Kar, engaged in conversation with Uhura, and he knew he was being foolish. Sure enough in the wake of this debacle, the pressure was off T'Pau, who wasted no time in pursuing her advantage.
Spock divined his thoughts. “One has only to invoke the needs of the many, outweighs the good of the few. It is a creed, like many, open to abuse.”
I’ll say. He kept the thought to himself.
“Captain, may we change the subject? I have a profound distaste for politics.”
Spock was in luck. A change of subject presented itself in the form of Siran on an approach vector.
“Captain Kirk,” Siran said. “I offer my apologies for the injuries I caused to your person.”
Interesting, somewhere along the line, someone had imparted a little human politesse. “After Jomadai’s goons went to work on you, an apology is hardly required.”
“Perhaps, but my actions were all the more egregious, since they are apparently becoming an unfortunate habit.”
At that last bit, he stared, while Spock pricked up his ears curious for more. A stab at humour? Yep, the gleam in the eye gave the game away.
“I am glad to see you are a lot healthier than when we picked you up.”
“For which I offer my thanks for you and your crew’s efforts in rescuing my wife and I.”
“Enterprise,” Spock said, “was assigned to render all aid and assistance. The results were the natural and logical outcomes of our assignment. One does not thank logic.”
“Indeed, Elder. I am, however, aware other races do not share our reliance on logic. Learning the customs and etiquette of other species is surely helpful to any who wish to pursue a diplomatic career.”
“That seems eminently logical to me, Mr Spock.” Why pass up a perfectly good opportunity to tease?
Spock ignored the dig and let his curiosity have its way. “You have a prior acquaintance with Captain Kirk?”
“I met him twelve point two months ago, Elder.”
“We were both on a passenger vessel at the same time. The company were kind enough to let me hitch a ride back to Enterprise.”
“The Captain secured passage for myself and my companions to Vulcan, where I had urgent business to address,” said Siran, which gave Spock pause at the realisation of straying too close to an unfortunate topic.
“I see your urgent business over there talking to Uhura.”
“Yes,” Siran said, surprising him in being so matter of fact, “may I present to you she who is my wife.”
“I should be honoured.” Honour it was. He had received some sense of how proprietary Vulcan males could be around their mates from meeting Sarek. Age probably had no bearing on that instinct.
Hardly had the comment escaped Siran’s lips, than some bondmate sleight of mind drew T’Kar to their sides.
“Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, allow me to present my colleague, T’Kar.” Siran demonstrated his youth by unconsciously puffing out his chest. “And my wife.”
He resisted a snort of amusement. Yeah, as if anyone were in any doubt.
T’Kar gave her husband a look, more faintly chiding than outright censuring. She inclined her head, “Captain.”
“T’Kar,” he said, returning the courtesy in the same vein. Lucky boy! Bright, intelligent eyes, neat cap of dark hair, a rather pretty, petite woman. Despite her spouse’s immature display of pride in her — like showing off a new puppy — she seemed unconscious of her appearance and certainly did nothing to draw attention to herself. Like the rest of the delegation, she wore simple Enterprise issue coveralls, the delegation’s luggage having been left far behind on Matli. The only variance of that attire, a brightly coloured scarf or shawl thing, he would bet was a loan from Uhura. The shawl offered a clue she was perhaps having difficulty in adjusting to Enterprise’s ambient temperature and provided yet another indication of the pair’s youth.
“I am fortunate.” Siran offered T’Kar the finger touch, the customary greeting between spouses.
Well, weren’t they the sweetest.
If he thought Spock would disapprove of the display, that was not the case. Unlike the pair’s associates in the delegation. Perhaps Siran’s immaturity, the prospect of what he might say to an outsider alarmed them, for they called the pair over to attend their elders in a peremptory manner. Something about their manner suggested a parent remonstrating with a child, which reminded him.
“You know, Spock, while we’re at Vulcan, if you wished for a little shore leave to visit your parents, I am sure we could get along without you just fine for a few days.”
“That will not be necessary, sir.”
He expected more of an explanation, that Spock’s parents were offworld, perhaps. Nothing. A glance at Spock showed his gaze remained locked upon Siran and T’Kar.
“To be wed at such a premature age.” Was that a shiver? Dread? Something, a flicker of empathy and compassion, surfaced behind Spock’s eyes, a reckoning of what Siran would have had to endure before coming out the other side, perhaps, mingling with his own painful recollections.
“Well, they seem to be doing well enough now.” T’Kar’s shawl slid off a shoulder; Siran, mid conversation, tucked it back in place. “A wise man once said: gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.”
An exasperated Spock searched his memory, dark shadows retreating. “Einstein. Hardly appropriate in this context, Captain.”
No, but it brought you back from wherever you just went. “Uhura’s right. They do make a cute couple. Don’t you think?” En garde, o’ pal of mine.
Spock summoned a bland equanimity. “Vulcans are not capable of being cute, sir.
He studied the couple, tilted his head. “Oh, I don’t know, Mr Spock. One might not think ‘cute’ and ‘Vulcan’ a natural pairing, but…
The bland expression morphed into a haughty, lofted eyebrow.
“I bet your mother would say you were cute as a baby. I bet she has the pictures to prove it.”
From haughty to withering. “My mother is human.”
“And would know cute when she saw it. Ergo...”
Spock’s heart wasn’t in the match. “Siran and his bondmate have a felicitous paring. Siran’s parents chose well.”
Unlike Spock’s, whose choice almost got a two birds with one stone payoff.
“Siran says you previously assisted him?” Spock asked.
“Yes.” He flashed him a grin. “Jealous?”
“Curious.”
“It’s a story about a Vulcan, who wasn’t quite himself and attempted to steal a ship to return to Vulcan in a hurry.”
“Ah, one of those stories.”
“If you have the time, or interest, I’ll fill you in on what little there is to tell over chess and a nightcap in my quarters. Say twenty-two hundred hours.”
Fair warning of the thing that dare not say its name, but Spock’s curiosity had been piqued. Curiosity warred with a subject Vulcans usually found excruciating.
Curiosity won.
“I look forward to it, Jim.”
The End