Chapter Text
Tomorrow Never Tells
Chapter One
06 June, 2155
1500 hours
Enterprise NX01
The Bridge
“You owe me one, Pinkskin.”
The words came from behind him.
Jonathan Archer didn’t know whether to grin or groan.
“Shran!” he exclaimed, leaping from his chair. He spun to see the Andorian stepping from the lift, and realized there was nothing to decide.
The grin was already spreading over his face as he took one, two, three steps across the bridge and saw his own pleasure reflected in his friend’s blue features as well as in the tilt of his antennae.
Still, there were those words. Those oh-so-familiar words going back and forth between the two of them, from the time when they’d first encountered each other at P’Jem in ‘51.
While the idea of being in the other’s debt had never given him the sleepless nights Shran claimed to have endured, still a suggestion of uneasiness stirred in Jonathan’s gut. Even if there had been a hint of amusement lurking in the words, just how serious was this latest “owe me one” business going to prove, anyway? “What are you doing here?”
“When he transported over from the ore freighter, Captain,” Lieutenant Malcolm Reed cut in from his position half a step behind Shran. “He said he wanted to speak with you directly, without, as he explained it to me ‘half the galaxy tapping in on the transmission’. I’ve already checked. He’s unarmed.”
“Almost unarmed,” said Shran, one finger stroking a ceremonial scabbard at his waist.
Jonathan stared at him. Shran, traveling by ore freighter? It wasn’t his new ship, was it? That would be quite a comedown for a commander in the Andorian Imperial Guard. Or was it simply the quickest, most convenient means he’d had at his disposal for a conversation he wanted kept private? “What is this about?”
“Alone, Captain, if you will.”
“Follow me,” Jonathan gestured toward the door to his ready room. “Commander T’Pol, you have the bridge.”
As she rose from her position at Science and strode toward the center seat, she paused long enough to nod a brief and respectful acknowledgement to the Andorian. One that, Jonathan was gratified to note, Shran returned without hesitation.
So, here was another indication that the Coalition was working. Not so long ago, Vulcan and Andoria had been poised for war.
Their exchange put a certain lightness in his step as he led his visitor into the small room off the bridge. As the door hissed shut behind them, they stood shoulder to shoulder for a silent moment, gazing at the strange and glorious star-field streaming past the window, before Jonathan stole a side-eyed glance at Shran. Was it a bittersweet sight for a captain who no longer had a ship to command?
“Sit down,” Jonathan waved him toward a seat and opened a small, temperature controlled cabinet. Several squat, rounded glasses and a pyramid shaped bottle glistened inside. “I trust you’ll join me?”
Shran accepted the offered glass. He studied the shimmering pale blue liquid and the delicate tendrils of steam rising from it while he waited for Jonathan to fill his own. A suggestion of a smile touched his lips before he raised the drink and held it out in a brief salute. “To the Coalition of Planets.”
Though it was more a clunk then a chime, there was an understood ring of triumph in the meeting of glasses. “The Coalition,” Jonathan echoed, slipping into a seat across the table from Shran and taking a small, lip-tingling sip, followed by a deep breath. “Now, tell me. What, exactly do you want?”
“You wound me, Pinkskin. After all these years we’ve known each other…”
“Yes, exactly. After all these years we’ve known each other. Out with it, Shran. What’s on your mind?”
Sighing, Shran swirled the liquid in his glass until the rising steam flowed upward in slow spirals. Behind the veil of drifting vapor trails all trace of amusement faded from his features, leaving them strain-worn and weary. “I’ve come to ask you to accompany me to Andoria,” he said. “To bear witness at a hearing.”
Jonathan sipped, slow and careful as the Andorian brandy blazed a trail down his throat. Was Shran’s government bringing him before the Imperial Guard’s equivalent of a court-martial for loosing his ship in the Romulan attacks late last year? If so, they’d sure taken their time about it. Either politics on Andoria were shifting in a new direction or the justice system didn’t run any faster their than it did back on Earth. Of course, the Guard might be exploring the possibility of re-instating Shran to a position of command. Weighing his worthiness against an unknown number of others to captain a newly built ship. If this was going to be a request to act as witness on Shran’s behalf, there was a lot he could testify to about his honor and courage…
Before he could say anything, Shran continued.
“It concerns Jhamel.”
“Jhamel?” It had been several months since Jonathan had seen her, but he well remembered the small, slight Aenari girl. As clear as his memory was of her delicate, almost translucent porcelain skin and fall of shining silvery hair, it paled before his recollection of her determination and courage. She had been willing to risk her life in an attempt to end an escalating series of telepathy-enhanced acts of Romulan aggression. “Is she all right?”
“Physically, she’s well enough. She has been staying in our capital city, with Tallas’s family, actually, studying our culture and teaching us something of her own.” For a moment, Shran’s features softened, his manner became reflective, almost wistful. “Some of the old folktales that she’s written down which have been passed down to generation after generation of their children are filled with mystery and wonder. They are really… quite amazing.”
Unless he missed his guess, Jonathan decided, it was actually Jhamel herself that Shran found to be quite amazing. But…
He frowned. Studied his friend’s face. “You said this is about a hearing. Is Jhamel in some kind of trouble?”
“Yes, dammit!” Shran’s empty glass clattered to the table as he surged to his feet. His fists clenched, his antennae stiffened. Carefully contained fury was written in every movement as he paced the room, in every word that he kept from rising to a shout. “She has been called back to the Northern Wastes to face a summary hearing of charges in the Aenari Hall of Discourse.”
“They’re doing this in secret?”
“No. The Aenar are making no attempt to keep the proceedings quiet. But the Andorian and Aenari governments have no diplomatic relations as yet, which is why I came…” Shran gestured toward the window, beyond which, presumably, the freighter waited. “…in a completely unofficial capacity. Since I am Andorian, the Aenar will neither recognize me nor any testimony I might wish to give. So, Captain, I’ve …”
“Come to collect on that one I owe you?” Jonathan topped off the two glasses, sending new wisps of steam rising between them. “Well, I have no problem with speaking on behalf of any actions Jhamel took while she was here on Enterprise. What, exactly, are the Aenari officials proposing?”
“Their Arbiters of Justice…” Shran almost spat the words. “Plan to pronounce on her a sentence of permanent banishment!”
“What? Jhamel? Banished?”
Jonathan knew he’d heard Shran’s words, but where was the sense in them? Banish that brave, gentle girl from her home? Isolate her from any of her people she might still have ties with? Especially when she’d lost her brother Gareb only months ago?
Gone were the idealistic days when much could surprise him, but somehow, this was an almost unbelievable idea! That she should be subjected to such harsh treatment! Especially by a race that considered itself peace loving and enlightened! It was about the last thing Jonathan had expected to hear. “Why? What reason did they give?”
“They say,” Bitterness was apparent in Shran’s tone, but the small shake of his head announced that he found the story as bewildering as Jonathan did. “That she has banished herself by choosing to forsake the principles of her culture to willingly take part in an act of war.”