The Joy Machine 04 - The Ambassador
Title: The Joy Machine
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
The names of the various Denebian species are from Diane Duane’s book My Enemy - My Ally. The appearances, however, are mine. The Nanking colony and the background of personnel officer Nancy Wong are my inventions.
And no, T’Pel isn’t an original character. Remember, Vulcans are notoriously long-living. I won’t give you any more clues… yet.
CHAPTER 4 - THE AMBASSADOR
“Computer; what’s our ETA in the Deneb System?
“By current velocity 38 hours, 50 minutes.
“Computer; where can I find the quarters of Dr. T’Pel?”
“Deck E, level 4, section 3A.”
“Computer; establish intercom-contact to Dr. T’Pel’s quarters.”
“Contact established.”
“Good,” Chief Wong activated her intercom unit. “Wong to T’Pel.”
“Go ahead,” a calm, slightly cool voice answered, and the face of the Vulcan woman appeared on the screen.”
“I wanted to ask you for details about Denebian customs, Dr. T’Pel.”
“I assume you mean the indigenous people of Deneb II?”
“Of course,” Nancy Wong had had enough practice concerning the unnerving Vulcan accuracy due to her previous years aboard the Enterprise; Mr. Spock had been an excellent teacher in this area. “Lieutenant Xon told me you’d be the best-informed people in this field of expertise.”
“He was certainly correct,” T’Pel answered, without false modesty. “If you could come to my quarters, say at 15:6.3, I would be able to give you all information we have available at the moment.”
“Excellent. Thank you for your help.”
“No need for that. I am only doing my job. T’Pel out.”
Once again, Nancy reminded herself that she shouldn’t take such reactions personal from a Vulcan (to tell the truth, sometimes she found it damn hard), then she hurriedly went to finish the work she’d started before she had to appear at T’Pel’s. Exactly 13 minutes, 26 seconds later, she shut off her terminal, and after another 32 seconds, she entered the turbolift.
“Deck D, level 4,” she said, and the cabin started.
Four seconds before the appointed time she pushed the Vulcan sociologist’s door buzzer. The door opened at once, and T’Pel came forth from the aft section of her quarters to greet her. According to Vulcan custom, she was wearing a widely cut, comfortable tunic and tight, stocking-like trousers.
“You are remarkably punctual, Chief Wong,” she said as a form of greeting.
“I have learned to accommodate to the people with whom I work,” Wong entered the room carefully, allowing her body to get used to the Vulcan gravitation and temperatures in it. “To be the personnel chief of a Constitution-class cruiser is a more or less social occupation. One needs a great deal of discretion not to step on any toes.”
For a moment, T’Pel’s face went as blank as only a truly bewildered Vulcan could look like. Wong could almost see as several folders in the biological computer commonly known as the Vulcan brain were opening.
“Ah,” T’Pel finally said. “I see. A Terran expression.”
“Exactly. I knew you’d figure out in no time.”
Nancy Wong had only met T’Pel once - fleetingly, when the Vulcan scientist came aboard - and now she saw her first impression confirmed: T’Pel was dark, slender and amazing. Like most humans, Wong had automatically expected a pale, aristocratic figure before their first meeting, and the exotic sight she’d finally got was the exact opposite of her expectations. T’Pel had mahogany skin, and unlike most Vulcan women, she wore her thick, jet-black hair short, like a smooth iron cap. Her long, graceful neck and elegantly pointed ears made her resemble a light-footed gazelle, and her large, slightly slanted dark eyes and artistic gestures only made the resemblance stronger.
“I hope the Vulcan environment does not bother you,” T’Pel said, inviting her visitor further in with a gesture. “Most Terrans would find the time spent in my quarters decidedly uncomfortable.”
“I’m not a Terran,” Wong took the proffered seat; it was hard like all Vulcan seats. “I’m of Chinese origins, true, but I come from the Nanking colony.
“The one in the Tau Ceti System? If I remember correctly, it was one of the very first Earth colonies.
“That is correct. The first colonists were almost entirely Chinese people who fled Earth in the end of the 21st century because of the overcrowded cities. My great-, great-, great-, great and a few other times great-grandparents were among the founders of the colony.”
“Nanking is a planet with a gravitation slightly above Terran standard, is it not?”
“1.09 G. Barely a difference. But the average temperatures are rather high: between 26 and 28 degrees Celsius. In the hot seasons they can rise above 40 degrees Celsius; aside from the mountain areas, of course.”
“It might be interesting to visit your world one day,” T’Pel said thoughtfully. “The socio-cultural development of such a homogenous culture must be fascinating. But you have come because of Deneb II.”
“Indeed,” Wong secretly enjoyed copying the Vulcan speech patterns. It was almost like playing theatre. When T’Pel realized it, she gave no sign.
“Very well,” she said. “Deneb II, or as its inhabitants call it, K'rta, is the only planet in the Deneb System with an indigenous, civilized culture; I meant only the System of Deneb A, of course. It has a population of 1.8 billion people. They have more or less humanoid looks and have reached grade G on the Richter scale of cultures.
“Meaning: they have just developed the technology that makes them capable of interstellar space travel,” Wong concluded.
“More or less,” T’Pel nodded. “They have been a member of the Federation for quite some time, to use a sloppy expression, although they were not among its founders.”
“How humanoid are they exactly?”
“Well, I am no anthropologist,” T’Pel replied, “but for me, they look like Terrans, save the colour of their skin, the shape of their eyes and the structure of their foreheads. In my opinion, they possess a high grade of natural aesthetics. Judge yourself.”
She switched her viewscreen on and displayed a file from the historic databases of Memory Alpha. The picture showed a slender, broad-shouldered man: according to the scale on the bottom, he could be 165-170 centimetres tall. His skin was pale blue, paler even that that of the Andorians. He had short, blue-grey hair and very youthful looking features. The line of his nose was continued in two fine ridges that shielded the inner corners of his eyes. There was a crystal shard imbedded in both his temples.
“The shard is implanted by every Denebian right after they reach sexual maturity,” T’Pel expected. “It is some kind of meditation crystal that helps them focus their mental abilities. Denebians are partially telepathic, but they can only use this ability with the help of those crystals and in short range.”
“They do seem a bit decadent,” Wong said, as the Denebian man seemed somehow child-like and immature to her.
“That is a widely-spread misconception,” T’Pel answered. “Denebians are very calm and friendly by nature. Some theories say it comes from the fact that their original ancestors had been reptilians, although they’ve developed into a warm-blooded species somewhere along the line of their complicated evolution process. Their culture is very old, and aside from art and science they kept archaic martial arts and a survival test that could be compared with the Vulcan kahs-wan. Besides, they still create their incredible architecture without the help of machines… well, mostly.
Nancy Wong, who had said pictures of Denebian cities, was impressed. “How is that possible?”
“They are said to possess impressive telekinetic abilities that are somehow linked to the natural radiation of the planet’s core. There is no proof for that theory, but the Denebians believe it. Which is the reason why they have hesitated to dare the step into interstellar space for so long. They are afraid to lose their paranormal abilities, which would be a serious break with their culture and the way of life they have led so far.”
“Have those concerns been confirmed?”
“Not to my knowledge; at least not until the most recent reports. It is possible that the core radiation does play a certain role, but a lot less important one than the Denebians would like to believe. This fact weakens an ancient myth, but it also means the renaissance of a very old and impressive culture.”
“And how do they call themselves?”
“Well, there are four different subspecies on Deneb II; the only visible difference is in the shades of their skin colour. According to old lore, these differences were more significant a few millennia ago. However, in the meantime they have intermarried so often that all differences are of cultural nature today. So, the most common among them are the Klaha; they are considered by other races the typical Denebians. This picture, too, shows a Klaha, by the way. The Eyrenii are somewhat taller in average, their skin is a darker blue, and they are known as the best artisans and diplomats. The !hew,” T’Pel here made a sound Wong wouldn’t have been able to reproduce for the life or her, “are fragile, relatively fair-skinned - like the Andorians - and they are said to be interested in all things concerning science and technology. Finally, the Deirr: they are stocky, very strong, rather dark-skinned, and they make up the agrarian population, mostly. The four species do not have a common name.”
“Can you tell me something about Ambassador H’R’Krsna himself?”
“Of course. He’s an Eyreni; he comes from a very old family with great reputation but practically no influence. That’s typical for Eyrenii clans: they are noble, well-respected, highly gifted - but at the same time, they have no wealth or political influence. Nevertheless, they are often elected as diplomats because they can represent the interests of their world effectively and persuasively.”
“Are there any particular rituals or protocols that have to be taken into consideration?”
“Barely. However, you shouldn’t proffer a Denebian your hand - that is understood as an invitation to sexual activities. The greeting is a slow bow with clasped hands while they say ‘welcome’. The same is by farewells, only that in that case you are supposed to say ‘blessing’.”
“That’s indeed easy. Any dietary requirements?”
“None. Denebians prefer vegetables but they are not entirely vegetarian. You can offer fish, for example. As for beverages, you are free to offer anything you want. Denebians drink all sorts of alcohol, although - due to their reptilian ancestors - they are completely immune against the toxic side effects.”
“Why do they drink it at all, then?” Wong wondered. “Usually, people intend to suffer said side effects.”
The remark was intended as a joke. T’Pel, however, proving the complete lack of humour in the Vulcan psychological make-up, answered in all seriousness.
“I don’t have any exact data to my disposal in this matter,” she said. “Presumably, they are either fond of the taste, or they appreciate the social aspect of consuming alcoholic beverages.” Seeing Wong’s smile, she frowned in obvious confusion. “Should I have said something… humorous?”
“Oh, no, at least not intentionally; of that I’m certain,” Chief Wong tried very hard to keep a straight face. “It’s just… I keep forgetting that Vulcans tend to take rhetoric questions literally. I intended to make a joke myself; unfortunately, I have addressed the wrong person with it.”
“I see,” T’Pel touched her fingertips together with the characteristic Vulcan gesture. “Theoretically, I should have recognized your… joke for what it was. However, my mentors have always pointed out that I cannot consider myself as a true sociologist under the age of fifty Vulcan years, due to the lack of experience. Apparently, they were right.”
“It’s only a matter of time, I guess,” Wong said comfortingly, even though T’Pel didn’t really make the impression to be in need of comfort. “You haven’t spent much time with such emotional creatures yet, have you?”
“It depends on your interpretation of ‘much time’,” T’Pel replied thoughtfully. “It is true that I have promoted from the Vulcan Academy of Sciences only a year ago and have been doing theoretical research since then. But I was, in fact, born on Terra and have spent my childhood there. My parents used to work for several joint scientific programs there.”
“Interesting. How did you end up on the Enterprise, of all ships?” Chief Wong asked before adding hurriedly, “In case this question won’t violate your privacy, of course.”
“Not at all,” the Vulcan answered calmly. “You are the personnel officer here; it is your right to know things about the crew other people would not know. Besides, it is no secret. My father, Lieutenant Commander Sonak, is a Starfleet officer and serves in a dual position aboard the new Intrepid: as First Officer and as science officer. I could have got an assignment on his ship. However, I wanted to go to the borders, where new races and new civilizations can be discovered. At this time, the Enterprise is the only Constitution-class ship to begin a brand new mission to previously uncharted territory. I applied officially, like everyone else - although I must admit that my father did support my application.”
“He must have very good connections to the Old Man, then,” Wong remarked. “Captain Kirk doesn’t like civilians aboard, and usually he’s well able to get what he wants.”
“Admiral Nogura has always been a sponsor of my father,” T’Pel answered calmly, revealing that she knew all too well who was meant by the popular but quite disrespectful nickname. “When Commander Spock retired, my father was offered Spock’s expected position, the command chair of the research vessel USS Grissom. Admiral Nogura was most disappointed when my father refused.”
“He refused?” Wong asked, completely bewildered. The Grissom was the newest research vessel, equipped with the latest inventions of technology; the most revered captains (more than one of them wearing the rank of a Commodore) bent backwards in desperate efforts to get that very command chair.
T’Pel tilted her head to the side, with that typical Vulcan gesture Wong had seen by Spock so often.
“My father found that he was not old and experienced enough to accept so much responsibility just yet. Besides, he is first and foremost a scientist. Accepting the burden of a command of his own would barely leave him any time for research. And that would not be in accord with his personal agendas.”
“Oh, I can certainly understand that,” Wong nodded. “I’ve just been promoted to Lieutenant J.G. - and will most likely retire wearing the same rank insignia - but I’m absolutely content with it. It’s not my ambition to become a commanding officer, although the administrative area would offer me relatively good chances to climb the career ladder.”
“I had the impression that humans had an almost instinctive urge to assume positions of power and influence,” T’Pel said.
“We of the Nanking colony are Tan-Daoists. Power doesn’t play a significant role for us. Above all else, we want to achieve power over ourselves, which takes approximately a lifetime at best, so that we don’t have the time or energy to hunger for any other kinds of power.”
“I see that I shall have to visit your world one day,” T’Pel said. “Are you the only one of your kind aboard?”
Wong laughed. “In fact, I’m the only one in the whole Starfleet,” she said. “Our people believe that one doesn’t need to cross the Galaxy to find the Dao. If one can achieve the most important thing in life while sitting peacefully at home, why should one undertake long journeys at all?”
“You must have different insights, though. After all, you have been in Starfleet for... how long exactly?”
“This is my ninth year in service. Yes, I’ve always been a little different. Perhaps due to the fact that my mother was an off-worldler: a sociologist who only came to Nanking from Kanton/Terra some thirty years ago to study our teachings. She fell in love with my father and married him, but she was never able to completely absorb the way of thinking there. And all of us seven children have turned out a little different. We are curious, more restless, tainted with wanderlust. I’m the oldest, and so far the only one who dared to act on it. But I’m sure that at least some of my siblings will follow me in time. Do you have any siblings?”
“Yes and no,” T’Pel answered thoughtfully. “My twin brother, Sengar, has moved to the desert of Gol a few years ago, which means that he is practically dead for us now. The kolinahru are not allowed to keep any connections with their relatives, not even mental ones. That is why Sengar is not marked in our files.”
“Do you regret his choice?” Wong asked, risking a typical Vulcan lecture about the illogical nature of regret.
T’Pel, however, reacted differently.
“We used to be very close,” she replied simply. “You must know that twins are a rare thing on Vulcan, and they have an exceptionally strong mental bond that forms itself in the womb already. When Sengar chose to go to Gol and cut our bond, I suffered a deep shock, a mental trauma not unlike. The healers treated me for nearly a year. But I am beyond that now.”
That might be true. Nevertheless, Nancy Wong had the irrational urge to embrace the young Vulcan woman and murmur comforting nonsense into that pointed ear of hers. Of course she’d never do that. T’Pel must have felt her intention, though, because she gave her a slight smile of the Vulcan sort: the one that only appeared in her eyes.
“You Terrans are so generous with your compassion that it almost makes me feel ashamed,” she said, without the slightest trait of irony.
“Isn’t shame illogical?” Wong teased gently.
Once again, T’Pel tilted her head to the side. Her dark eyes shone brightly but ironically, but this mild irony was directed against herself.
“Of course it is illogical,” she said, “but not even Vulcans are perfect.”
“That’s a relief to hear,” Wong giggled. “Mr. Spock seemed to have a different opinion about that.”
“Pride,” T’Pel said gravely, “is illogical as well.”
At that, Nancy Wong laughed heartily, and T’Pel laughed, too, although only with her eyes. Then they parted, and the personnel officer returned to her office with the feeling that she’d just made a new friend.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov, the security chief of the USS Enterprise, checked the honour guard lined up to greet Denebian ambassador H’R’Krsna one last time. This was the very first time his men - his men - were part of a diplomatic reception; it’d have been terrible if Captain Kirk wouldn’t find everything in best order with them. But not even his keen - and worried - eye could find any fault: the new dress uniforms looked as if they had been painted onto the officers, the phasers stuck into the belts with micrometer precision, and the guards stood at attention, as Dr. McCoy liked to say, “straight like a candle”.
On the left, three humans: the lanky, broad-shouldered Stephen Garrovick, the big, muscular, dark-skinned Mohammed Jahma and the small, seemingly fragile Keiko Tamura, with her cherry blossom face and her deadly fast hand. On the right, three extraterrestrials: Lamia Ar’rhaniach, with her antennae peeking out from her cotton-soft white hair, and with those shockingly green eyes in her blue face; a Centaurian, Zalan Su’chay, barely different from a human at first sight, and Sdan, a slender, quiet Rigelian who - like most Vulcanoids - was a lot stronger than he looked.
The Denebian shuttle had docked in the meantime, and now the computer was telling all interested parties that the hangar deck was being pressurized and the atmosphere had reached the required mix. Kirk gestured to Chekov who pushed the buttons of manual control and the slide doors opened with the usual whoosh. Stephen Garrovick blew the traditional, ear-splitting melody on his pipe, and the Denebian ambassador could finally leave the docking corridor.
He was a slender male, with turquoise skin; most likely a lot older than he looked for the human eye. The left shoulder and the high collar of his greyish blue tunic was adorned with a patch of black leather, and a similar strip ran across his chest from the right to the left, from the collar to the seam of the tunic, like the strap of an old-fashioned tricorder. In the front corner of the black leather shoulder patch there were three deltoids and a thin strip of some silvery material, like rank insignia. On his left breast, he wore an ivory-looking label with his name, written in Standard. On his right breast, at the same height, the symbol of the Denebian Confederation could be seen: a round emblem, adorned with a blue and a white gem. Black trousers and sandals completed his official garment.
As T’Pel had foretold, the ambassador had more or less humanoid looks; what’s more, he was positively handsome, even by human measures. At first sight, only the colour of his skin and the differences in the bone structure of his head stood out. The line of his unusually short nose continued in the slanted lines of his brows that shadowed the inner corner of his clear, grey eyes more than the human measure, and his very high, oval forehead had the same pattern as the Trilobites in prehistoric Earth. His hairline began on the top of his head, and his slicked-back hair was more greyish than his skin, almost silver. All in all, he looked more like a young clerk from some alien space agency than a diplomat on an important mission.
He was apparently used to the slight confusion caused by his appearance because he smiled and took the initiative at once. Folding his very slender, long-fingered hands, he bowed slowly, and greeted the gathering in a completely accent free Standard.
“Greetings from the government of Deneb II,” he said in a pleasant tenor. “I’m honoured to travel with you.”
Kirk shook off his surprise and awkwardly returned the Denebian gesture of greeting.
“Welcome aboard, Ambassador. May I introduce your colleagues? This is Sire Tigh, representing the Twelve Worlds of the Kobol sector.”
This being an official reception, Tigh was wearing the wide-cut, flowing white robes of a Councillor. He repeated the gesture of greeting with surprising ease (Kirk wished he could move around with the same dignity), and then he introduced Cassiopeia who was standing on his side.
“My diplomatic attaché, Cassiopeia of Gemini.”
“I’m honoured to make your acquaintance,” the ambassador bowed to the blonde woman in the revealing evening dress. “Greetings, Cassiopeia of Gemini.“
“Our personnel officer, Chief Wong,” Kirk continued the introductions, and Nancy Wong bowed in the most traditional way of her people. “She will look after your well-being as long as you are aboard the Enterprise.”
“Call me if you are in the need of anything,” Wong encouraged the diplomat, who inclined his head as a sign of gratitude.
“And this is Dr. T’Pel, a historian and sociologist from Vulcan,” Kirk finished. “She will work with you during this mission.”
“I welcome your choice,” the ambassador replied, and to everyone’s surprise, he raised a slender blue hand to the traditional Vulcan ta’al salute. “Live long and prosper, venerable T’Pel.”
T’Pel’s only reaction to the Denebian diplomat’s familiarity to Vulcan rites was a raised eyebrow. She folded her hands, bowed, and replied in Denebian. “H’r-ien, srr H’R’Krsna.”
Now it was the ambassador’s turn to be surprised. “You speak our language?”
“I speak many languages,” T’Pel replied simply, “although I was told that my accent is too hard for proper Denebian. I haven’t managed to pronounce your multiple consonants softly enough so far.
“That would hardly be possible for you,” the diplomat admitted. “For that, you’d need a forked Denebian tongue.”
“Do you mean it in the morphological or in the rhetorical sense?” Cassiopeia asked, and everyone laughed. Everyone but the Vulcans, of course.
“Well, it would probably ruin my reputation as a diplomat to stick out my tongue right at the reception,” Krsna grinned. “As far as I know is a gesture like that considered an insult on Terra. Therefore, you must believe my word of honour, at least for the time being, that Denebians have, indeed, a forked tongue, like Terran snakes or lizards. We are a reptiloid species, after all... more or less.“
“Interesting,” Cassiopeia commented. “Goes the similarity so far that you’d shed your skin, too?”
Kirk paled when he heard the light-hearted question, foreseeing terrible diplomatic complications already. Krsna, however, didn’t seem bothered by Cassiopeia’s curiosity.
“I haven’t experienced anything like that by myself yet,” he replied in the same light-hearted manner, “but I’m still fairly young, and our elders love to keep an air of mystery about them where their vital functions are considered. Best you ask me again in thirty standard years - perhaps I’ll be able to give you a proper answer then.”
Kirk felt the necessity to interfere, before the entire situation got out of control and turned into some sort of TriVid sitcom.
“We have assigned one of the V.I.P. quarters to you, Ambassador. Chief Wong will show you the way. We’re seeing us in the evening, at the reception. If you’d excuse me now… duty calls.”
“Of course, Captain,” the Denebian nodded politely. “I won’t hinder you in the fulfilling of your duties. Sire Tigh, would it be possible that you told me something about your peoples? We’ve received the official Starfleet reports, but I’d be interested in more details.”
“I’d be honoured, Ambassador,” Tigh replied, “but it’s really all right if you simply call me Colonel Tigh, like everyone else.”
“As you wish,” Krsna said cooperatively as they walked towards the turbolift. “May I ask what’s the difference - if, indeed, there is one?”
“Well, Sire is a title every member of the Quorum is given due to their office. My rank is something I’ve achieved through personal efforts.”
“And you’re proud of it, I assume?” It wasn’t really a question. Tigh shrugged.
“Sort of. The truth is, I haven’t chosen to become a warrior - it was a necessity. However, my rank signals that I’ve served my people well and faithfully, and that’s something I’m proud of, yes.”
“How comes that you’ve accepted a diplomatic assignment, then?” Krsna asked. “It has been my experience that professional soldiers are seldom interested in diplomacy.”
“That’s correct,” Tigh admitted. “But we have peace now… for the first time since a thousand yahrens… I mean years. The Quorum has selected me because I’m used to the dangers of space; and I’ve been assigned to this particular ship because my spouse serves aboard the Enterprise.”
“How interesting!” Krsna cried out in delight. “I hope you’ll introduce me to your lady?”
“If that’s your wish,” Tigh suppressed a grin at the enthusiasm of the Denebian.
“Most definitely,” Krsna said eagerly. “You see, Colonel, this is my very first deep space mission, and I’d like to learn as much about humans as possible.”
“In that case, you should ask for Cassiopeia’s assistance,” Tigh suggested. “She’s absolved a specific training considering human social behaviour.”
“Oh, really?” Krsna’s eager face mirrored delightful interest; deep blue interest, as Nancy Wong would put it later, and the colour and the expression together were so funny that she could barely suppress a giggle. “Well, Lady Cassiopeia, in that case you’ll have to put up with my company on a regular basis, I’m afraid.”
“I’d be happy to help, Ambassador,” Cassiopeia smiled. “You can visit me on the rec deck or in the Officers’ Lounge any time you want. Right now, however, I must leave you in Chief Wong’s capable hands. She’ll help you to settle in.”
“Actually, I’d hoped that we can talk some more,” Krsna said, addressing his words at Tigh.
The colonel shook his head. “Unfortunately, at the moment it’s not possible. But Captain Kirk is holding an official dinner to honour you tonight. We’ll meet there again.”
“Very well,” the Denebian diplomat gave in, albeit still a bit unwillingly. “I’ll give myself in your hands then, Chief.”
“This way, your excellence,” Nancy Wong gestured towards the turbolift, shepherding her prey into the cabin.
Cassiopeia gave Tigh a long, half-suspicious, half-conspiratory look. “I didn’t know you’re such a busy man, Colonel.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” Tigh admitted. “But I had to shake off his blue excellence somehow, so that poor Wong could do her job. She’s more on her back than spoiling that curious youngling, after all. I wish I had half as much work aboard.”
“You don’t really know what to do here, do you?” Cassiopeia asked.
Tigh shrugged, pulling the wide sleeves of his robe tighter, so that they won’t sweep the floor.
“That’s a matter of perspective. I don’t have anything to do officially, of course, but twenty-four centares a day wouldn’t be enough to fill the gaps of my knowledge. I’ve taken a few curses on Earth, of course, mostly in the area of subspace navigation and the likes, but that was still far from enough. What I don’t know about Starfleet technology would fill several tomes of a lexicon.”
“What are the actual topics you’re working on?”
“Command curses of the Starfleet Academy. I’ve already qualified myself as a navigator and a helmsman - in fact, I was told to be the best human astronavigational mathematician they’ve ever met - but in order to be qualified for a command chair of a warp-capable vessel, I still have to prove myself in a couple of other areas.”
“Securing yourself another job, in case politics won’t work out?” Cassiopeia teased.
“I fervently hope that the Libran folk will chose someone else for the next cycle, so I could finally get my own command,” Tigh replied seriously. “I’ve been working for that all my life.”
“If anyone, you certainly deserved it, Colonel,” she nodded. “But what if you get re-elected?”
“I’ll bow to the will of my people,” Tigh replied, depressed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nancy Wong showed the Denebian ambassador around the VIP quarters, explained him everything he needed to know, then she made attempts to leave.
“Oh, do you really have to leave already?” Krsna asked sadly. “Everyone seems so eager to get rid of me.”
He was saying this with such an innocent, almost child-like sadness, that Wong’s heart went out to him.
“It’s not about you, Ambassador,” she explained. “But people have to do their work here. Be patient till the evening; you’ll get introduced to half the crew on the party.”
“I like parties,” Krsna said in a slightly complaining tone, “but I’d actually prefer to get the people know personally, first.”
“That’s what computers are for,” Wong pointed out. “There is a great deal of general data about all senior officers that’s not classified. I assume you’re familiar with Federation-issue computers, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Krsna answered, just a little bit indignantly. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I’d like to spend all my free time in their company. I’m not a Vulcan, you know. I prefer living beings to machines.”
Wong shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ambassador. Right now, you barely have another choice.”
“All right,” Krsna sighed, with such a deep blue disappointment on his face that Wong had to bit her lips in order to withhold her laughter. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Afraid not,” she said. “You’ll have to do without my presence.”
“Why?”
“I’m not a department head,” Wong explained. “I’m just the quartermaster.”
She bowed in Denebian fashion and left the company-loving diplomat alone. The man was old enough, after all, and she had things to do.
Chapter 05 - Shadows and Memories
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
The names of the various Denebian species are from Diane Duane’s book My Enemy - My Ally. The appearances, however, are mine. The Nanking colony and the background of personnel officer Nancy Wong are my inventions.
And no, T’Pel isn’t an original character. Remember, Vulcans are notoriously long-living. I won’t give you any more clues… yet.
CHAPTER 4 - THE AMBASSADOR
“Computer; what’s our ETA in the Deneb System?
“By current velocity 38 hours, 50 minutes.
“Computer; where can I find the quarters of Dr. T’Pel?”
“Deck E, level 4, section 3A.”
“Computer; establish intercom-contact to Dr. T’Pel’s quarters.”
“Contact established.”
“Good,” Chief Wong activated her intercom unit. “Wong to T’Pel.”
“Go ahead,” a calm, slightly cool voice answered, and the face of the Vulcan woman appeared on the screen.”
“I wanted to ask you for details about Denebian customs, Dr. T’Pel.”
“I assume you mean the indigenous people of Deneb II?”
“Of course,” Nancy Wong had had enough practice concerning the unnerving Vulcan accuracy due to her previous years aboard the Enterprise; Mr. Spock had been an excellent teacher in this area. “Lieutenant Xon told me you’d be the best-informed people in this field of expertise.”
“He was certainly correct,” T’Pel answered, without false modesty. “If you could come to my quarters, say at 15:6.3, I would be able to give you all information we have available at the moment.”
“Excellent. Thank you for your help.”
“No need for that. I am only doing my job. T’Pel out.”
Once again, Nancy reminded herself that she shouldn’t take such reactions personal from a Vulcan (to tell the truth, sometimes she found it damn hard), then she hurriedly went to finish the work she’d started before she had to appear at T’Pel’s. Exactly 13 minutes, 26 seconds later, she shut off her terminal, and after another 32 seconds, she entered the turbolift.
“Deck D, level 4,” she said, and the cabin started.
Four seconds before the appointed time she pushed the Vulcan sociologist’s door buzzer. The door opened at once, and T’Pel came forth from the aft section of her quarters to greet her. According to Vulcan custom, she was wearing a widely cut, comfortable tunic and tight, stocking-like trousers.
“You are remarkably punctual, Chief Wong,” she said as a form of greeting.
“I have learned to accommodate to the people with whom I work,” Wong entered the room carefully, allowing her body to get used to the Vulcan gravitation and temperatures in it. “To be the personnel chief of a Constitution-class cruiser is a more or less social occupation. One needs a great deal of discretion not to step on any toes.”
For a moment, T’Pel’s face went as blank as only a truly bewildered Vulcan could look like. Wong could almost see as several folders in the biological computer commonly known as the Vulcan brain were opening.
“Ah,” T’Pel finally said. “I see. A Terran expression.”
“Exactly. I knew you’d figure out in no time.”
Nancy Wong had only met T’Pel once - fleetingly, when the Vulcan scientist came aboard - and now she saw her first impression confirmed: T’Pel was dark, slender and amazing. Like most humans, Wong had automatically expected a pale, aristocratic figure before their first meeting, and the exotic sight she’d finally got was the exact opposite of her expectations. T’Pel had mahogany skin, and unlike most Vulcan women, she wore her thick, jet-black hair short, like a smooth iron cap. Her long, graceful neck and elegantly pointed ears made her resemble a light-footed gazelle, and her large, slightly slanted dark eyes and artistic gestures only made the resemblance stronger.
“I hope the Vulcan environment does not bother you,” T’Pel said, inviting her visitor further in with a gesture. “Most Terrans would find the time spent in my quarters decidedly uncomfortable.”
“I’m not a Terran,” Wong took the proffered seat; it was hard like all Vulcan seats. “I’m of Chinese origins, true, but I come from the Nanking colony.
“The one in the Tau Ceti System? If I remember correctly, it was one of the very first Earth colonies.
“That is correct. The first colonists were almost entirely Chinese people who fled Earth in the end of the 21st century because of the overcrowded cities. My great-, great-, great-, great and a few other times great-grandparents were among the founders of the colony.”
“Nanking is a planet with a gravitation slightly above Terran standard, is it not?”
“1.09 G. Barely a difference. But the average temperatures are rather high: between 26 and 28 degrees Celsius. In the hot seasons they can rise above 40 degrees Celsius; aside from the mountain areas, of course.”
“It might be interesting to visit your world one day,” T’Pel said thoughtfully. “The socio-cultural development of such a homogenous culture must be fascinating. But you have come because of Deneb II.”
“Indeed,” Wong secretly enjoyed copying the Vulcan speech patterns. It was almost like playing theatre. When T’Pel realized it, she gave no sign.
“Very well,” she said. “Deneb II, or as its inhabitants call it, K'rta, is the only planet in the Deneb System with an indigenous, civilized culture; I meant only the System of Deneb A, of course. It has a population of 1.8 billion people. They have more or less humanoid looks and have reached grade G on the Richter scale of cultures.
“Meaning: they have just developed the technology that makes them capable of interstellar space travel,” Wong concluded.
“More or less,” T’Pel nodded. “They have been a member of the Federation for quite some time, to use a sloppy expression, although they were not among its founders.”
“How humanoid are they exactly?”
“Well, I am no anthropologist,” T’Pel replied, “but for me, they look like Terrans, save the colour of their skin, the shape of their eyes and the structure of their foreheads. In my opinion, they possess a high grade of natural aesthetics. Judge yourself.”
She switched her viewscreen on and displayed a file from the historic databases of Memory Alpha. The picture showed a slender, broad-shouldered man: according to the scale on the bottom, he could be 165-170 centimetres tall. His skin was pale blue, paler even that that of the Andorians. He had short, blue-grey hair and very youthful looking features. The line of his nose was continued in two fine ridges that shielded the inner corners of his eyes. There was a crystal shard imbedded in both his temples.
“The shard is implanted by every Denebian right after they reach sexual maturity,” T’Pel expected. “It is some kind of meditation crystal that helps them focus their mental abilities. Denebians are partially telepathic, but they can only use this ability with the help of those crystals and in short range.”
“They do seem a bit decadent,” Wong said, as the Denebian man seemed somehow child-like and immature to her.
“That is a widely-spread misconception,” T’Pel answered. “Denebians are very calm and friendly by nature. Some theories say it comes from the fact that their original ancestors had been reptilians, although they’ve developed into a warm-blooded species somewhere along the line of their complicated evolution process. Their culture is very old, and aside from art and science they kept archaic martial arts and a survival test that could be compared with the Vulcan kahs-wan. Besides, they still create their incredible architecture without the help of machines… well, mostly.
Nancy Wong, who had said pictures of Denebian cities, was impressed. “How is that possible?”
“They are said to possess impressive telekinetic abilities that are somehow linked to the natural radiation of the planet’s core. There is no proof for that theory, but the Denebians believe it. Which is the reason why they have hesitated to dare the step into interstellar space for so long. They are afraid to lose their paranormal abilities, which would be a serious break with their culture and the way of life they have led so far.”
“Have those concerns been confirmed?”
“Not to my knowledge; at least not until the most recent reports. It is possible that the core radiation does play a certain role, but a lot less important one than the Denebians would like to believe. This fact weakens an ancient myth, but it also means the renaissance of a very old and impressive culture.”
“And how do they call themselves?”
“Well, there are four different subspecies on Deneb II; the only visible difference is in the shades of their skin colour. According to old lore, these differences were more significant a few millennia ago. However, in the meantime they have intermarried so often that all differences are of cultural nature today. So, the most common among them are the Klaha; they are considered by other races the typical Denebians. This picture, too, shows a Klaha, by the way. The Eyrenii are somewhat taller in average, their skin is a darker blue, and they are known as the best artisans and diplomats. The !hew,” T’Pel here made a sound Wong wouldn’t have been able to reproduce for the life or her, “are fragile, relatively fair-skinned - like the Andorians - and they are said to be interested in all things concerning science and technology. Finally, the Deirr: they are stocky, very strong, rather dark-skinned, and they make up the agrarian population, mostly. The four species do not have a common name.”
“Can you tell me something about Ambassador H’R’Krsna himself?”
“Of course. He’s an Eyreni; he comes from a very old family with great reputation but practically no influence. That’s typical for Eyrenii clans: they are noble, well-respected, highly gifted - but at the same time, they have no wealth or political influence. Nevertheless, they are often elected as diplomats because they can represent the interests of their world effectively and persuasively.”
“Are there any particular rituals or protocols that have to be taken into consideration?”
“Barely. However, you shouldn’t proffer a Denebian your hand - that is understood as an invitation to sexual activities. The greeting is a slow bow with clasped hands while they say ‘welcome’. The same is by farewells, only that in that case you are supposed to say ‘blessing’.”
“That’s indeed easy. Any dietary requirements?”
“None. Denebians prefer vegetables but they are not entirely vegetarian. You can offer fish, for example. As for beverages, you are free to offer anything you want. Denebians drink all sorts of alcohol, although - due to their reptilian ancestors - they are completely immune against the toxic side effects.”
“Why do they drink it at all, then?” Wong wondered. “Usually, people intend to suffer said side effects.”
The remark was intended as a joke. T’Pel, however, proving the complete lack of humour in the Vulcan psychological make-up, answered in all seriousness.
“I don’t have any exact data to my disposal in this matter,” she said. “Presumably, they are either fond of the taste, or they appreciate the social aspect of consuming alcoholic beverages.” Seeing Wong’s smile, she frowned in obvious confusion. “Should I have said something… humorous?”
“Oh, no, at least not intentionally; of that I’m certain,” Chief Wong tried very hard to keep a straight face. “It’s just… I keep forgetting that Vulcans tend to take rhetoric questions literally. I intended to make a joke myself; unfortunately, I have addressed the wrong person with it.”
“I see,” T’Pel touched her fingertips together with the characteristic Vulcan gesture. “Theoretically, I should have recognized your… joke for what it was. However, my mentors have always pointed out that I cannot consider myself as a true sociologist under the age of fifty Vulcan years, due to the lack of experience. Apparently, they were right.”
“It’s only a matter of time, I guess,” Wong said comfortingly, even though T’Pel didn’t really make the impression to be in need of comfort. “You haven’t spent much time with such emotional creatures yet, have you?”
“It depends on your interpretation of ‘much time’,” T’Pel replied thoughtfully. “It is true that I have promoted from the Vulcan Academy of Sciences only a year ago and have been doing theoretical research since then. But I was, in fact, born on Terra and have spent my childhood there. My parents used to work for several joint scientific programs there.”
“Interesting. How did you end up on the Enterprise, of all ships?” Chief Wong asked before adding hurriedly, “In case this question won’t violate your privacy, of course.”
“Not at all,” the Vulcan answered calmly. “You are the personnel officer here; it is your right to know things about the crew other people would not know. Besides, it is no secret. My father, Lieutenant Commander Sonak, is a Starfleet officer and serves in a dual position aboard the new Intrepid: as First Officer and as science officer. I could have got an assignment on his ship. However, I wanted to go to the borders, where new races and new civilizations can be discovered. At this time, the Enterprise is the only Constitution-class ship to begin a brand new mission to previously uncharted territory. I applied officially, like everyone else - although I must admit that my father did support my application.”
“He must have very good connections to the Old Man, then,” Wong remarked. “Captain Kirk doesn’t like civilians aboard, and usually he’s well able to get what he wants.”
“Admiral Nogura has always been a sponsor of my father,” T’Pel answered calmly, revealing that she knew all too well who was meant by the popular but quite disrespectful nickname. “When Commander Spock retired, my father was offered Spock’s expected position, the command chair of the research vessel USS Grissom. Admiral Nogura was most disappointed when my father refused.”
“He refused?” Wong asked, completely bewildered. The Grissom was the newest research vessel, equipped with the latest inventions of technology; the most revered captains (more than one of them wearing the rank of a Commodore) bent backwards in desperate efforts to get that very command chair.
T’Pel tilted her head to the side, with that typical Vulcan gesture Wong had seen by Spock so often.
“My father found that he was not old and experienced enough to accept so much responsibility just yet. Besides, he is first and foremost a scientist. Accepting the burden of a command of his own would barely leave him any time for research. And that would not be in accord with his personal agendas.”
“Oh, I can certainly understand that,” Wong nodded. “I’ve just been promoted to Lieutenant J.G. - and will most likely retire wearing the same rank insignia - but I’m absolutely content with it. It’s not my ambition to become a commanding officer, although the administrative area would offer me relatively good chances to climb the career ladder.”
“I had the impression that humans had an almost instinctive urge to assume positions of power and influence,” T’Pel said.
“We of the Nanking colony are Tan-Daoists. Power doesn’t play a significant role for us. Above all else, we want to achieve power over ourselves, which takes approximately a lifetime at best, so that we don’t have the time or energy to hunger for any other kinds of power.”
“I see that I shall have to visit your world one day,” T’Pel said. “Are you the only one of your kind aboard?”
Wong laughed. “In fact, I’m the only one in the whole Starfleet,” she said. “Our people believe that one doesn’t need to cross the Galaxy to find the Dao. If one can achieve the most important thing in life while sitting peacefully at home, why should one undertake long journeys at all?”
“You must have different insights, though. After all, you have been in Starfleet for... how long exactly?”
“This is my ninth year in service. Yes, I’ve always been a little different. Perhaps due to the fact that my mother was an off-worldler: a sociologist who only came to Nanking from Kanton/Terra some thirty years ago to study our teachings. She fell in love with my father and married him, but she was never able to completely absorb the way of thinking there. And all of us seven children have turned out a little different. We are curious, more restless, tainted with wanderlust. I’m the oldest, and so far the only one who dared to act on it. But I’m sure that at least some of my siblings will follow me in time. Do you have any siblings?”
“Yes and no,” T’Pel answered thoughtfully. “My twin brother, Sengar, has moved to the desert of Gol a few years ago, which means that he is practically dead for us now. The kolinahru are not allowed to keep any connections with their relatives, not even mental ones. That is why Sengar is not marked in our files.”
“Do you regret his choice?” Wong asked, risking a typical Vulcan lecture about the illogical nature of regret.
T’Pel, however, reacted differently.
“We used to be very close,” she replied simply. “You must know that twins are a rare thing on Vulcan, and they have an exceptionally strong mental bond that forms itself in the womb already. When Sengar chose to go to Gol and cut our bond, I suffered a deep shock, a mental trauma not unlike. The healers treated me for nearly a year. But I am beyond that now.”
That might be true. Nevertheless, Nancy Wong had the irrational urge to embrace the young Vulcan woman and murmur comforting nonsense into that pointed ear of hers. Of course she’d never do that. T’Pel must have felt her intention, though, because she gave her a slight smile of the Vulcan sort: the one that only appeared in her eyes.
“You Terrans are so generous with your compassion that it almost makes me feel ashamed,” she said, without the slightest trait of irony.
“Isn’t shame illogical?” Wong teased gently.
Once again, T’Pel tilted her head to the side. Her dark eyes shone brightly but ironically, but this mild irony was directed against herself.
“Of course it is illogical,” she said, “but not even Vulcans are perfect.”
“That’s a relief to hear,” Wong giggled. “Mr. Spock seemed to have a different opinion about that.”
“Pride,” T’Pel said gravely, “is illogical as well.”
At that, Nancy Wong laughed heartily, and T’Pel laughed, too, although only with her eyes. Then they parted, and the personnel officer returned to her office with the feeling that she’d just made a new friend.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov, the security chief of the USS Enterprise, checked the honour guard lined up to greet Denebian ambassador H’R’Krsna one last time. This was the very first time his men - his men - were part of a diplomatic reception; it’d have been terrible if Captain Kirk wouldn’t find everything in best order with them. But not even his keen - and worried - eye could find any fault: the new dress uniforms looked as if they had been painted onto the officers, the phasers stuck into the belts with micrometer precision, and the guards stood at attention, as Dr. McCoy liked to say, “straight like a candle”.
On the left, three humans: the lanky, broad-shouldered Stephen Garrovick, the big, muscular, dark-skinned Mohammed Jahma and the small, seemingly fragile Keiko Tamura, with her cherry blossom face and her deadly fast hand. On the right, three extraterrestrials: Lamia Ar’rhaniach, with her antennae peeking out from her cotton-soft white hair, and with those shockingly green eyes in her blue face; a Centaurian, Zalan Su’chay, barely different from a human at first sight, and Sdan, a slender, quiet Rigelian who - like most Vulcanoids - was a lot stronger than he looked.
The Denebian shuttle had docked in the meantime, and now the computer was telling all interested parties that the hangar deck was being pressurized and the atmosphere had reached the required mix. Kirk gestured to Chekov who pushed the buttons of manual control and the slide doors opened with the usual whoosh. Stephen Garrovick blew the traditional, ear-splitting melody on his pipe, and the Denebian ambassador could finally leave the docking corridor.
He was a slender male, with turquoise skin; most likely a lot older than he looked for the human eye. The left shoulder and the high collar of his greyish blue tunic was adorned with a patch of black leather, and a similar strip ran across his chest from the right to the left, from the collar to the seam of the tunic, like the strap of an old-fashioned tricorder. In the front corner of the black leather shoulder patch there were three deltoids and a thin strip of some silvery material, like rank insignia. On his left breast, he wore an ivory-looking label with his name, written in Standard. On his right breast, at the same height, the symbol of the Denebian Confederation could be seen: a round emblem, adorned with a blue and a white gem. Black trousers and sandals completed his official garment.
As T’Pel had foretold, the ambassador had more or less humanoid looks; what’s more, he was positively handsome, even by human measures. At first sight, only the colour of his skin and the differences in the bone structure of his head stood out. The line of his unusually short nose continued in the slanted lines of his brows that shadowed the inner corner of his clear, grey eyes more than the human measure, and his very high, oval forehead had the same pattern as the Trilobites in prehistoric Earth. His hairline began on the top of his head, and his slicked-back hair was more greyish than his skin, almost silver. All in all, he looked more like a young clerk from some alien space agency than a diplomat on an important mission.
He was apparently used to the slight confusion caused by his appearance because he smiled and took the initiative at once. Folding his very slender, long-fingered hands, he bowed slowly, and greeted the gathering in a completely accent free Standard.
“Greetings from the government of Deneb II,” he said in a pleasant tenor. “I’m honoured to travel with you.”
Kirk shook off his surprise and awkwardly returned the Denebian gesture of greeting.
“Welcome aboard, Ambassador. May I introduce your colleagues? This is Sire Tigh, representing the Twelve Worlds of the Kobol sector.”
This being an official reception, Tigh was wearing the wide-cut, flowing white robes of a Councillor. He repeated the gesture of greeting with surprising ease (Kirk wished he could move around with the same dignity), and then he introduced Cassiopeia who was standing on his side.
“My diplomatic attaché, Cassiopeia of Gemini.”
“I’m honoured to make your acquaintance,” the ambassador bowed to the blonde woman in the revealing evening dress. “Greetings, Cassiopeia of Gemini.“
“Our personnel officer, Chief Wong,” Kirk continued the introductions, and Nancy Wong bowed in the most traditional way of her people. “She will look after your well-being as long as you are aboard the Enterprise.”
“Call me if you are in the need of anything,” Wong encouraged the diplomat, who inclined his head as a sign of gratitude.
“And this is Dr. T’Pel, a historian and sociologist from Vulcan,” Kirk finished. “She will work with you during this mission.”
“I welcome your choice,” the ambassador replied, and to everyone’s surprise, he raised a slender blue hand to the traditional Vulcan ta’al salute. “Live long and prosper, venerable T’Pel.”
T’Pel’s only reaction to the Denebian diplomat’s familiarity to Vulcan rites was a raised eyebrow. She folded her hands, bowed, and replied in Denebian. “H’r-ien, srr H’R’Krsna.”
Now it was the ambassador’s turn to be surprised. “You speak our language?”
“I speak many languages,” T’Pel replied simply, “although I was told that my accent is too hard for proper Denebian. I haven’t managed to pronounce your multiple consonants softly enough so far.
“That would hardly be possible for you,” the diplomat admitted. “For that, you’d need a forked Denebian tongue.”
“Do you mean it in the morphological or in the rhetorical sense?” Cassiopeia asked, and everyone laughed. Everyone but the Vulcans, of course.
“Well, it would probably ruin my reputation as a diplomat to stick out my tongue right at the reception,” Krsna grinned. “As far as I know is a gesture like that considered an insult on Terra. Therefore, you must believe my word of honour, at least for the time being, that Denebians have, indeed, a forked tongue, like Terran snakes or lizards. We are a reptiloid species, after all... more or less.“
“Interesting,” Cassiopeia commented. “Goes the similarity so far that you’d shed your skin, too?”
Kirk paled when he heard the light-hearted question, foreseeing terrible diplomatic complications already. Krsna, however, didn’t seem bothered by Cassiopeia’s curiosity.
“I haven’t experienced anything like that by myself yet,” he replied in the same light-hearted manner, “but I’m still fairly young, and our elders love to keep an air of mystery about them where their vital functions are considered. Best you ask me again in thirty standard years - perhaps I’ll be able to give you a proper answer then.”
Kirk felt the necessity to interfere, before the entire situation got out of control and turned into some sort of TriVid sitcom.
“We have assigned one of the V.I.P. quarters to you, Ambassador. Chief Wong will show you the way. We’re seeing us in the evening, at the reception. If you’d excuse me now… duty calls.”
“Of course, Captain,” the Denebian nodded politely. “I won’t hinder you in the fulfilling of your duties. Sire Tigh, would it be possible that you told me something about your peoples? We’ve received the official Starfleet reports, but I’d be interested in more details.”
“I’d be honoured, Ambassador,” Tigh replied, “but it’s really all right if you simply call me Colonel Tigh, like everyone else.”
“As you wish,” Krsna said cooperatively as they walked towards the turbolift. “May I ask what’s the difference - if, indeed, there is one?”
“Well, Sire is a title every member of the Quorum is given due to their office. My rank is something I’ve achieved through personal efforts.”
“And you’re proud of it, I assume?” It wasn’t really a question. Tigh shrugged.
“Sort of. The truth is, I haven’t chosen to become a warrior - it was a necessity. However, my rank signals that I’ve served my people well and faithfully, and that’s something I’m proud of, yes.”
“How comes that you’ve accepted a diplomatic assignment, then?” Krsna asked. “It has been my experience that professional soldiers are seldom interested in diplomacy.”
“That’s correct,” Tigh admitted. “But we have peace now… for the first time since a thousand yahrens… I mean years. The Quorum has selected me because I’m used to the dangers of space; and I’ve been assigned to this particular ship because my spouse serves aboard the Enterprise.”
“How interesting!” Krsna cried out in delight. “I hope you’ll introduce me to your lady?”
“If that’s your wish,” Tigh suppressed a grin at the enthusiasm of the Denebian.
“Most definitely,” Krsna said eagerly. “You see, Colonel, this is my very first deep space mission, and I’d like to learn as much about humans as possible.”
“In that case, you should ask for Cassiopeia’s assistance,” Tigh suggested. “She’s absolved a specific training considering human social behaviour.”
“Oh, really?” Krsna’s eager face mirrored delightful interest; deep blue interest, as Nancy Wong would put it later, and the colour and the expression together were so funny that she could barely suppress a giggle. “Well, Lady Cassiopeia, in that case you’ll have to put up with my company on a regular basis, I’m afraid.”
“I’d be happy to help, Ambassador,” Cassiopeia smiled. “You can visit me on the rec deck or in the Officers’ Lounge any time you want. Right now, however, I must leave you in Chief Wong’s capable hands. She’ll help you to settle in.”
“Actually, I’d hoped that we can talk some more,” Krsna said, addressing his words at Tigh.
The colonel shook his head. “Unfortunately, at the moment it’s not possible. But Captain Kirk is holding an official dinner to honour you tonight. We’ll meet there again.”
“Very well,” the Denebian diplomat gave in, albeit still a bit unwillingly. “I’ll give myself in your hands then, Chief.”
“This way, your excellence,” Nancy Wong gestured towards the turbolift, shepherding her prey into the cabin.
Cassiopeia gave Tigh a long, half-suspicious, half-conspiratory look. “I didn’t know you’re such a busy man, Colonel.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m not,” Tigh admitted. “But I had to shake off his blue excellence somehow, so that poor Wong could do her job. She’s more on her back than spoiling that curious youngling, after all. I wish I had half as much work aboard.”
“You don’t really know what to do here, do you?” Cassiopeia asked.
Tigh shrugged, pulling the wide sleeves of his robe tighter, so that they won’t sweep the floor.
“That’s a matter of perspective. I don’t have anything to do officially, of course, but twenty-four centares a day wouldn’t be enough to fill the gaps of my knowledge. I’ve taken a few curses on Earth, of course, mostly in the area of subspace navigation and the likes, but that was still far from enough. What I don’t know about Starfleet technology would fill several tomes of a lexicon.”
“What are the actual topics you’re working on?”
“Command curses of the Starfleet Academy. I’ve already qualified myself as a navigator and a helmsman - in fact, I was told to be the best human astronavigational mathematician they’ve ever met - but in order to be qualified for a command chair of a warp-capable vessel, I still have to prove myself in a couple of other areas.”
“Securing yourself another job, in case politics won’t work out?” Cassiopeia teased.
“I fervently hope that the Libran folk will chose someone else for the next cycle, so I could finally get my own command,” Tigh replied seriously. “I’ve been working for that all my life.”
“If anyone, you certainly deserved it, Colonel,” she nodded. “But what if you get re-elected?”
“I’ll bow to the will of my people,” Tigh replied, depressed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nancy Wong showed the Denebian ambassador around the VIP quarters, explained him everything he needed to know, then she made attempts to leave.
“Oh, do you really have to leave already?” Krsna asked sadly. “Everyone seems so eager to get rid of me.”
He was saying this with such an innocent, almost child-like sadness, that Wong’s heart went out to him.
“It’s not about you, Ambassador,” she explained. “But people have to do their work here. Be patient till the evening; you’ll get introduced to half the crew on the party.”
“I like parties,” Krsna said in a slightly complaining tone, “but I’d actually prefer to get the people know personally, first.”
“That’s what computers are for,” Wong pointed out. “There is a great deal of general data about all senior officers that’s not classified. I assume you’re familiar with Federation-issue computers, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” Krsna answered, just a little bit indignantly. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I’d like to spend all my free time in their company. I’m not a Vulcan, you know. I prefer living beings to machines.”
Wong shrugged. “I’m sorry, Ambassador. Right now, you barely have another choice.”
“All right,” Krsna sighed, with such a deep blue disappointment on his face that Wong had to bit her lips in order to withhold her laughter. “I’ll see you tonight, then.”
“Afraid not,” she said. “You’ll have to do without my presence.”
“Why?”
“I’m not a department head,” Wong explained. “I’m just the quartermaster.”
She bowed in Denebian fashion and left the company-loving diplomat alone. The man was old enough, after all, and she had things to do.
Chapter 05 - Shadows and Memories