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Tuvok paused in front of the new display case of the Voyager Museum, wrestling down his guilt.
The ship that had been his home for seven years was barely recognizable as a historical artifact. Cordoned-off barriers led visitors along a predetermined route. Costumed mannequins of his shipmates were posed at their stations. Even the air smelled different, less like coffee and Neelix’s spices and more like industrial cleaner (and a little like smoke). Shiny new panels spoke of hasty repairs to the most recent damage the ship had incurred.
It was inexcusable that the crew of the Cerritos had been endangered by his negligence. His illness might have been farther advanced than he would admit when Voyager had returned to the Alpha Quadrant, but he should still have been more thorough in his supervision of the security team as they prepared the ship for decommissioning. He should know by now that even the smallest oversight - an alien orchid, a dormant macrovirus, an improperly deactivated Borg alcove - could escalate into a threat.
And speaking of small oversights, how had he not noticed the young compatriot standing beside him?
She was about his daughter’s age, small and slim, her chin-length hair held back by a blue headband that matched her Starfleet science uniform. The lieutenant junior grade pips on her collar gleamed as if new-made. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back, watching him closely out of wide dark eyes.
Their Human colleagues would have thought her impassive, but to him, she positively vibrated with eagerness. She wanted very much to ask him something, but as he was the elder, she was waiting for him to speak first.
“Greetings, Lieutenant.” He saluted her with the ta’al. “You are assigned to the Cerritos, correct?”
“Yes, Commander.” She returned the salute. “T’Lyn, science division.”
“Tuvok, security. Formerly assigned to the U.S.S. Voyager.”
“I recognize you. I have studied the ship’s logs.”
Tuvok had not agreed with Starfleet Command’s decision to declassify those logs. Informative as they might be to fellow officers, he was not comfortable with certain events in his career becoming public knowledge. (Honestly, the idea of anyone knowing about Tuvix made him sick.) He wondered how much this young woman knew, before sternly reminding himself that he was not responsible for how others perceived him. Besides, he sensed no condemnation in her manner, only respect.
“Sir … ” T’Lyn took a tiny step closer. “May I ask you for advice?”
“You may.”
“How do you endure serving with so many offworlders?”
She glanced pointedly at a group of very young officers who were following Tuvok’s shipmates around, resembling nothing so much as a litter of puppies from Admiral Janeway’s kennel. An Orion scientist listened raptly, hands clasped under her chin, as the Doctor expounded on the topic of AI ethics. An engineer with a cybernetic eye waved a schematic padd at a mildly irritated Commander Torres. A purple-haired man in command red blushed and trembled as he held out a commemorative plate for a smiling Janeway to sign. A woman with a curly ponytail, also in red, hung back with her arms crossed and a smirk on her face, but as soon as Janeway was out of earshot, the ponytailed woman joined her purple-haired friend in squealing and jumping up and down.
T’Lyn cut her eyes back to Tuvok, as if to say: Do you see what I mean?
Tuvok did see it. This child could have been himself ninety years younger: fumbling with the collar of his twenty-third-century uniform, not knowing that Human senior officers did not expect their juniors to bring them tea, hopelessly confused about the difference between an insult and a joke. He had sulked around the Excelsior like an adolescent, so was it any wonder Captain Sulu had treated him like one? He had no regrets - his hiatus from Starfleet had given him precious years with T’Pel and the children - but he had to admit that he had missed an opportunity there.
“I take it,” he said, “You did not transfer to Starfleet by choice?”
“I was dismissed from the Vulcan Expeditionary Group,” T’Lyn said tightly, tension in every line of her small frame. “For insubordination.”
“That must have been difficult.”
“It is.”
“If I may ask … with what insubordinate act were you charged?”
“I followed my intuition.” T’Lyn flushed pale green and looked away. “I saved my crew, but I did so against orders.”
“I see.” Tuvok was reminded of his younger self more and more. “Intuition can be useful. I, too, rely on it to protect my crew.”
“You do?”
“If you have read Voyager’s logs, you may recall an incident involving Bajoran hypnosis … ”
“I remember.” Her eyes widened. “Is that how you knew the phaser was defective?”
“Indeed.”
T’Lyn’s silence churned with the force of a Vulcan mind reevaluating its entire worldview. Tuvok waited patiently for the storm to settle behind her eyes.
“Do your Starfleet shipmates value your intuition?” she asked eventually, in the small voice of someone whose gifts had been too little valued in her life.
“They do,” said Tuvok gently. “As, I believe, your shipmates will value yours when they come to know you.”
T’Lyn looked over at her Cerritos crewmates again. The four officers Tuvok had noticed earlier were taking holoimages of each other, holding two fingers up behind each other’s heads or sticking their tongues out at the imager. At second glance, Tuvok recognized the two men from their portraits in the display case: the purple-haired one was Boimler, the engineer was Rutherford, and it was thanks to them the U.S.S. Voyager had reached the museum in one piece. The four of them were joking out of sheer Human bravado, as if they hadn’t just risked their lives to preserve a piece of history. (Using, of all things, Neelix’s pernicious cheese.)
T’Lyn did not take her eyes off them this time. Intuition told Tuvok that, despite all her disapproval, she wished she could join them.
“The High Command has been in the habit of treating Starfleet as a disposal site for misfits since before the Federation was founded,” he said. “Ironically, it is often those same misfits - T’Pol, Spock - who make the greatest discoveries, and do you know why?”
“Because … ” T’Lyn frowned, like one of his Maquis trainees struggling for an answer, before suddenly relaxing. Her hands, which had been clasped tightly together at her back, loosened visibly. “Because their minds were open. ‘Infinite diversity - '”
“' - in infinite combinations,’” he finished the quote in unison with her. He had often thought that, like many of Surak’s sayings, it ought to be drummed into the heads of schoolchildren less often and lived more in practice instead. He would not be surprised if T’Lyn thought the same way.
“Exactly, Lieutenant. Your transfer is only a punishment if you make it one. It could be the opportunity of a lifetime.”
T’Lyn inclined her glossy black head to him with gratitude and respect.
“And if I may offer another piece of advice? You may want to work on your telepathic shielding. When offworlders embrace diversity, they sometimes do so in the literal sense. Prepare,” he said, in a portentous tone that would have made his Human friends laugh, “To be hugged.”
“Noted,” T’Lyn said, her eyes twinkling.
A high-pitched squeal made them both turn around. The Orion woman was hurrying toward them, beaming, dragging the others in her wake. “T’Lyn! And is that Commander Tuvok? Oh my gosh, it’s such an honor. Can we take a holo with you? Pleeease?”
“Yo, sir!” The ponytailed woman tossed him a flippant salute. “Sorry we almost broke your ship. In our defense, Boims here fixed it.” She ruffled the purple hair of her companion, who was still cradling his autographed plate.
“It was mostly Rutherford who fixed it,” said Boimler, blushing.
Rutherford scratched the back of his head and smiled. “Just doing my job.”
“It was well done, Lieutenants,” said Tuvok. “Though I must apologize for the necessity. If I had been more diligent … ”
Superior officer or not, Mariner interrupted him with a snort. “You? Pft! Like it was your idea to stick holoemitters all over the ship and let Chaotica run loose? I read your logs, Commander, and I don’t think so.”
“That’s right,” said Boimler. “Also, if I remember Starfleet protocol correctly - and, ahem, I usually do - isn’t it the repair team’s job at Utopia Planitia to go over the ship one more time and weed out the dangerous stuff?”
“Also,” the Orion’s face turned a darker shade of emerald, “About the orchid? I, um, I think that’s on me. I didn’t cover it up and, uh, some petals fell off while I was cataloging.”
“While we were cataloging,” T’Lyn corrected, moving to stand beside her fellow scientist in solidarity. “It was my oversight as well, Lieutenant Tendi. In any case, it does not matter whose fault it was. All we can do is be more careful in the future.”
Her logic was sound. Tuvok nodded to her just as she had done to him a moment ago.
“Exactly,” Tendi chirped. “Told you all T’Lyn was brilliant! Now, say schplit!”
She looped her arm through that of her Vulcan colleague, pulling her into the group that surrounded Tuvok, while holding out her holoimager with her free hand. T’Lyn, who could have easily evaded that maneuver, permitted it without a single sign of protest. Neither did Tuvok while the young people gathered around him, radiating physical and spiritual warmth as they did.
The resulting image was of a beaming Orion, three laughing and/or grimacing Humans, and two contented Vulcans in the middle.
Infinite diversity, indeed.