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There’s a chime at Philippa’s door.
“Come in,” she calls, putting her padd aside.
It’s the boy. And she never in her life thought that she might one day be calling someone nearly two feet taller than her “the boy” but he’s so new to this world that he might as well be a child, and she feels an odd protectiveness over him, so it’s as true as anything else.
He stands in her room, hands pulling awkwardly at his coat. Robe?
“How are you settling in?” she asks. “Is there anything wrong?”
“It is… incredible,” he says, spreading his hands as if to encompass the entire ship, or universe. “There is so much for me to learn. And I am truly grateful for your hospitality.”
She smiles. “But?”
“There is... some sort of vibration,” he says. “From the computers, or the engines. I don’t have the words for it yet. I don’t believe humans have the ability to sense it.” He hesitates, which is how she knows there’s something wrong. “It is… painful. And it is interfering with my sleep. I don’t want to trouble you for anything more when you have done so much for me, but-“
“I see.” Philippa nods. “Thank you for telling me. I will ask Engineering to make the necessary adjustments.”
He looks more than a little worn, but whether that’s due to pain or having stayed up all night studying, she can’t guess. Saru hasn’t complained of anything since he came on board, not the food or the temperature or the accommodations, so Philippa suspects this errant vibration is doing worse than interfering.
“If it’s too much trouble, I can…”
She knows he’s not nearly as timid as he’s acting. If he were, he wouldn't be here. But he is impeccably polite, which some less-attentive people might take as timidity.
So she smiles at him. “It is the custom of Starfleet to do what we must to accommodate new arrivals. You are hardly the strangest alien we’ve met, Mr. Saru.”
He responds to that with a clicking noise that she’s sure is sardonic amusement. She’s heard the others call him inscrutable, but she finds she can read him easily enough. His face might not be nearly as expressive as most humanoids, but he’s quickly learning to punctuate his words with nods and gestures that make it very clear what he’s thinking to anyone who pays attention.
It’s very charming. Starfleet would be fools not to love him.
Engineering isn’t happy about the request.
“Another EM-sensitive species? We’re not recalibrating the entire fleet again,” Lieutenant Rostel says dismissively. “Remember what happened when the Xaldon joined? That took months of tuning and refitting and then it turned out they could dampen it with headsets.” The others behind her nod and whisper to each other in agreement.
“Then it is fortunate for you that there is only the one of him, and he’ll only be here a few days.” Philippa says. She might not have the rank to put behind it, but her withering glare is quite enough to make some of them reconsider. “Adjust the systems, or give him some shielding. It should not be a difficult task for someone of your experience.” She pulls out a padd. “Or should I tell the Chief Engineer that you are satisfied with your work causing pain to a newly-contacted species?”
That shuts them up pretty quickly. But she won’t be surprised if there’s a few more bugs and glitches in her own quarters than usual in the coming days.
It didn’t take the quartermaster long to synthesize some decent civilian clothes to fit their guest. He’d marveled over the consistency of the fabric for a few moments, and then asked to study the synthesizer algorithms. With a mind like that, he’ll fit right in with Starfleet scientists and engineers.
The boots took a little more effort, but they figured it out eventually.
“Digitigrade, huh,” the quartermaster drawled when Saru had thanked them and gone back to his guest room with a bundle of clothing and a stack of padds. “Well I’ll be. Haven’t seen that in a while. Ensign Hrran, was it? Though hers were paws.”
Philippa shrugged. “New life, new civilizations. Some of them will need different shoes. If you ask me, that’s the least interesting part of the whole expedition.”
“Eh, you need good shoes if you’re going to be exploring new worlds,” the quartermaster said, eyeing Philippa’s feet. “Don’t come crying to me when you get blisters.”
“I’ll be sure not to.”
He’s a quick study, Saru is. After only a few days, he’s already figured out most of their computer interfaces, and he’s busied himself with the educational modules, the ones on language and culture most of all. When Philippa peeks at his logs, it seems he’s looked at a little of everything, including a brief foray into some early 22nd century Earth television, Andorian martial arts, and ancient Vulcan philosophy. There’s also a number of science and engineering journals, and many old Starfleet logs. Of those, he’s spent the most time on accounts of other First Contacts, of how new worlds were integrated into the Federation.
No surprise there. Philippa might have grown up running along the beaches of her hometown, but technology and space travel and aliens were always something normal to her, something known. She can’t imagine what it must be like to come into all of that when you’ve lived your whole life without it. Been told to fear it.
He’s told her so many times how his people evolved to fear the world, to spend every moment searching their surroundings for threats and predators. Teaching himself that the natural sights and sounds of a starship aren’t indicative of danger is an exhausting process.
But he’ll endure it, she knows that for sure. It’s the least she’d expect from anyone brave enough to leave their home behind and walk into a universe of unfamiliar people and untold dangers.
It takes a bit of research and some double-checking with Medical about what’s safe for both of their biologies, but by the time Saru arrives, Philippa has a range of vegetarian and seafood dishes spread out on the table. Some are Earth foods she remembers from Malaysia, and some she’s never heard of at all.
She can see the delight on his face when he enters.
Philippa makes sure to taste a bit of everything. She’s not disappointed. There’s Altarian seaweed salad, light and crunchy. A rich potato curry with Vulcan spices. Her favorite is a stir-fry of nuts and beans in a sweet, sticky glaze stained bright red with pepper. Saru seems to favor a fish stew and the little plate of pickled lotus roots.
As they eat, they talk about what he’s been studying, what he thinks of the ship, the things that still confuse or worry him about Federation society and technology.
When Philippa sets her dish aside, Saru is still nibbling on a plate of fruit. She spares a moment to be very pleased with herself for finding something he likes. And to regret that they will not have much more time together.
“I had Engineering make some changes,” she says. “Has that helped at all?”
He nods. “Yes, very much. Thank you.”
“Good.” So the engineers had kept their word. “I’ll send you the specifics of the modifications so you have them to hand next time you need them. You must continue to ask for what you need when you leave here,” she reminds him. “I advise you not to be shy about it. The world can handle a little shaking up, in my opinion.”
She certainly knows how stubborn a bureaucracy could be, whether it’s the Starfleet Admiralty or a civilian government. She’d had to fight to be allowed to find the man who’d sent out those too-advanced communications from a pre-warp world. And now, he’d have to do the same for himself. But there was one thing that would make it easier.
“One last piece of business.” She takes a padd from her desk. “I told you that part of this mission involved securing you refugee status. I received a response today. The process is almost complete. When it’s finished, you’ll have the same rights as any Federation citizen.”
She presses the padd into his hands. He takes it as if it is some great gift.
“Thank you,” he says, paging through the documents, holding the padd tight like it’s the only proof in the universe that he belongs here, like he hasn’t already proved that beyond any doubt..
“We will reach the starbase tomorrow,” Philippa says. “You will present yourself at the Commander’s office to complete the paperwork. I can stay for a day or two, to help you find your way around, but then I must return to the ship.” She’s going to miss his company.
He lifts his eyes from the padd and fixes her with a sharp, curious gaze. “What are your plans for me there?”
“I don’t have any plans for you. That’s your choice, Saru.”
He stares at her for a moment, as if he’s not quite sure he’s got the translation right. “What do you mean?”
She smiles. “One of the primary principles of the Federation is self-determination,” she explains. “That means you need to ask yourself, what do you want to do?”
The idea, it seems, is entirely new to him. Philippa refuses to think of the rest of his people, still held under terrible circumstances, still denied that freedom.
He gazes out the window, watching the distant stars.
“Everything here is new to me. I wouldn’t know where to begin. But, if I could… I suppose I would like to be like you. To be able to travel between the stars and speak to other races.”
She can’t even express the warm feeling that goes through her at that. Inspiring the youth. How proper of her, she thinks with a silent laugh.
She smiles. “Apply to Starfleet Academy. I can show you how, and I can offer a letter of recommendation. From there, you can determine your own future.” She would ask nothing else.
“I will,” he promises.
She’s not usually one for unfounded hopes. Her life has taught her not to rely on wishes. But believing that Saru will be successful? She doesn’t think that’s wishful thinking at all.