The Vulcans were pleasantly surprised to find that they were not lost to the endless void of space, with Captain T’Erev being especially profound in her gratitude. She was also relieved to discover that one missing crew-member was alive, although not so well, and was recovering in sick bay.
“You’re welcome to see him yourself,” Ah’zhen suggested. “I was thinking of checking on him. Maybe you can help us with something.”
T’Erev raised an eyebrow but didn’t ask any questions until they reached Selek’s bedside. He was unconscious, and lines of warm blue light shone over his shoulders and arms. Virtual needles had closed the most serious cuts, while others were cauterized with precision lasers, and now the computer monitored his breathing and heartbeat. His right hand was the only thing out of order. It was gripping the hilt of a sword, and the long, narrow blade was also covering part of his chest and torso.
“We have an awkward problem,” Ah’zhen turned to the doctor to let her explain.
“His nervous system is uninjured,” the Doctor said, referring to a screen above the bed. “We don’t understand why he won’t let go of it.”
T’Erev studied the charts for a moment.
“Hm,” she leaned forward and regarded the unconscious soldier. Then she spoke, and the force in her voice startled the nearby Xyrillians.
“Major Selek, open your hand and relinquish your weapon. That’s an order.”
Selek’s eyelids fluttered, and his fingers loosened their vice-like grip on the hilt of his sword. Two orderlies were nearby to snatch it up quickly, while the doctor and her assistant tended to Selek’s right arm.
“He saved the ship, and maybe all of us.” Ah’zhen said, as they stepped back to let the medics work. “17 Klingons, and that’s just the kill count. It doesn’t include injuries.”
“I expect a full debriefing on the incident,” T’Erev spoke as they left sick bay, “but first I have to see to the well-being of my crew.”
“Certainly,” Ah’zhen said, “Please join me for dinner, we’ll discuss the mission at length, as well as how to make room on the Apis for two starship crews.”
“Three, if you count the Major and his team,” T’Erev pointed out. “My ship and crew were but a means to an end. They carry the crucial information about the relic itself.”
Ah’zhen led T’Erev into her Situation Room. The walls shifted from light green to dark blue. Ah’zhen swept her hand past a section of the wall and it turned into a viewscreen that showed how the Xyrillian ship had been bound to the Klingon one.
What followed was a briefing similar to what Selek had seen, but without the simulation. Ah’zhen explained the mechanics of the ship, how most of it was organic in nature and structure, the Targs, and how Selek had driven the invaders back singlehandedly and saved the ship.
“Fascinating,” T’Erev was referring to both the design of the ship and the story of Selek and Ah’zhen’s common ancestry. ‘But two questions remain. Why the galactic interest in an old Vulcan artefact, and why would Selek have taken such a risk?
The captains made a mutual agreement to discuss both issues when Selek regained consciousness. In the meantime, they discussed the logistics of fitting two starship crews into the relatively small space of the Xyrillians, and what steamed vegetables were available for their evening meal.
*
Selek was in a deep sleep for almost two days. He dreamed of deserts, grilled plomeek, and starships, and as he returned to consciousness, his mind turned to memories.
That school day was normal, but dinner was an adventure. He was about ten years old, and he usually took the shuttlecraft home with the other students, but today his mother was waiting for him.
She came to get him in a private shuttlecraft, one that she was piloting herself. It was just the two of them on the way home. He waited patiently for an explanation.
“We’re having a guest for dinner,” She finally explained, “an old colleague of mine from the Enterprise.”
Selek was secretly hoping for Captain Archer.
“His name is Charles Tucker,” was her voice actually cheerful, even…excited? “He was the ship’s Chief Engineer. He already met you once, but you were just a baby.”
Selek had heard of Charles Tucker. He was often in the history books right next to Archer, so it was still an exciting prospect.
“The history books say he was deceased,” Selek said, “I read he was killed in an accident.”
“It was a serious incident, and he was thought deceased at first,” T’Pol spoke as she maneuvered the shuttlecraft into the discreet landing pad behind their home. She continued as an answer to her son’s doubtful look, “not all of the history texts have been corrected.”
Selek raised an eyebrow in her direction.
“I’ve told you, space is unpredictable and often illogical. We’ll be dining here. Tripp…uhm…Mr. Tucker has insisted on preparing a meal for us.”
“Something Terran?” Selek was distracted from the puzzle of Tucker’s survival by the prospect of exotic food.
“Yes, that would be a logical choice.” As they approached the home, she gave him a few more instructions.
“It’s not necessary to be formal,” T’pol said. “Humans prefer more casual dress. You can also remove your lenses.”
Selek blinked in surprise.
“There’s nothing unusual about blue eyes on Earth,” she added. “Come into the main room when you’re ready.”
It was difficult for Selek to contain his excitement as he slipped out of his school uniform and into a casual bodysuit. It was a strange and alarming moment when he picked the lenses out of his eyes. He was accustomed to keeping this secret and removing them only before bedtime had become a safe, reliable habit. Walking into the common room, without his school uniform or dark lenses, his vulnerability was overwhelmed.
Two figures were standing there by the lounge chairs and center table, and they were speaking in hushed, excited tones. His mother turned towards him, and he would always remember the smile on her face. She had never looked happier or more beautiful.
“Selek,” she said, her voice strangely breathless, perhaps because she was speaking the Terran vernacular, “This is Charles Tucker, the Chief Engineer of the Enterprise.”
Charles Tucker regarded the Vulcan child for a long moment. Then he extended his hand, as Terrans do.
“Call me Tripp,” he smiled broadly, and Selek felt his own smile break through as he reached forward. He took a queue from the adults in the room and spoke in English.
“Hello, Tripp.”
The chat over dinner was energetic, even cheerful. Tripp had made something called jambalaya. It was colorful and hot, just as Selek had imagined a dish from Earth would be like. Tripp explained that original recipes had included aquatic animals, but this dish had been modified to accommodate a vegan diet.
“The secret is really in the peppers and spices anyway,” Trip explained, “This is Creole as opposed to Cajun, with the tomato base. I made the extra-spicy version. Do you like it?”
“I certainly do,” and Selek was telling the truth. He was especially fond of the long grain rice, which had a pleasant, chewy texture. Rice wasn’t common on Vulcan, given that it took so much water to produce. “What kind of peppers did you use?”
This led to an animated discussion about something called the Scoville scale, which Terrans used to measure the heat of these delectable plants. The main one used in this dish was called the habanero, but Trip had also included ghost peppers and jalapenos, a wide range to impress a Vulcan palate.
“It’s delicious,” Selek declared, and proceeded to ask about culinary traditions in the American south. The discussion turned to literature as they tidied up, and Trip mentioned a book called The Yearling, “if you want to read a book about Florida.”
They sat in the garden for a while, and with the stars wheeling overhead, they contemplated space. Tripp talked about a place called Cape Canaveral. “They call that part of Florida the Space Coast. You should come and see it someday, Selek.”
And Selek thought, what a fantastic idea. It was the best dinner ever, and the last thing he remembered was falling asleep between Trip and his mother on the garden bench.
Good night, son.
*
He felt someone squeeze his shoulder. Selek opened his eyes.
“Welcome back,” It was Ah’zhen, the real one this time, wearing the same uniform as in the simulation. “How do you feel?”
Selek sat up and tested his limbs. Other than being sore, and covered in various cuts and bruises, he felt sound.
His memories came rushing back to him. A dream about the Enterprise. A sword, a sister, a pig? What was that smell?
From his sitting position in the infirmary bed, Selek saw a movement beneath him, and recognized the Targ from the garden.
“It’s been lying under the cot since we took you to sick bay,” Ah’zhen explained, “And of course, there’s no moving him.”
The Targ was a juvenile, but still big enough to choose a spot and keep it. He was staring up at Selek with big, dewy eyes.
“Your wounds are healing well,’ Ah’zhen said, “Can you stand up?”
Two orderlies helped him stand at his full height. The Targ regarded him with fascination.
“Where did you find me?” Selek asked, speaking to Ah’Zhen but staring at the Targ.
“In the garden, thanks to this brave fellow,” Ah’zhen nodded towards the pig. “If not for him, we might not have reached you in time.”
“But Selek, why did you go alone? We’re expected to debrief your captain soon enough. Can you explain yourself?”
Selek hesitated for a moment before launching into his usual Vulcan spiel about duty and taking the responsibility in order to expose his crewmates to less danger…
“That’s enough,” Ah’zhen spoke sharply. The orderlies cringed. “Stop making excuses. What did you see that would make you want to throw your life away?”
Ah’zhen was angry, but she didn’t want to admit that she had also been scared. What would have made a Vulcan do such a thing?
Then she remembered that Selek was half-human and caught her breath. He’d been looking at the media feed.
“Did you see something about Vulcan?”
He slowly blinked, and she knew she was on to something.
“I saw a report about a place on Vulcan. I place I know, the Tinsha Monastery. It’s been destroyed, along with…several of the residents.”
When he said the last part, his voice seemed to tighten and narrow. The captain acted immediately.
“Computer,” she said curtly, “Give me any recent reports about the Tinsha Monastery on Vulcan.”
The computer responded immediately.
“Tinsha Monastery. Location, Vulcan. Four solar days ago, the Tinsha Monastery was badly damaged during what is currently being called a terrorist attack. The Cult of Maripol has claimed responsibility. The Mother Superior was fatally wounded and most of the casualties were on the upper floors. The damage is extensive and the missing are presumed dead.”
“I want a full manifest,” she snapped. Selek’s cheeks had turned grey. “A full list of the dead, missing, and survivors.”
“The Vulcan High Command is keeping the details confidential. The identity of the…”
“You were sent by the Monastery,” she said. “You…you must have someone there.”
Selek remained silent.
“We have a debriefing with the crew this afternoon,” she said quietly but firmly, “at 0200 hours. Can I expect your attendance?”
Selek knew she was being facetious. It was not a request.
