Setting the Course: Five Year Mission

Chapter Eight - You Are What You Eat

April 3, 2156 1900 - Enterprise, in orbit around Andoria (Procyon VIII)

Archer had survived his epic hangover and was functional enough on Thursday to attend the negotiations that he had been assigned to complete.  He knew, of course, that Andorians did not observe April Fool's Day, but he mentally held his breath the next couple of days until Saturday morning when an Andorian freighter delivered ten large, unmarked shipping containers.  The negotiations and equipment were top secret even from the crew so far.  Trip and T'Pol were in the need to know group, but he decided to save the news for their scheduled dinner that evening.

Trip and T'Pol arrived on time, and they were all seated in the Captain's Mess.  The steward brought in their meals: Hunan style deep fried rock cod with spicy sauce and rice for Jon, vegetable lasagna for T'Pol, and catfish (of course) for Trip.  Trip asked the steward for some Tabasco but was told they were out.

They began eating.  Jon asked T'Pol, "How are the logistics projections coming, T'Pol?"

She paused in dissecting the lasagna.  "I believe we will be able to make the transect without requiring resupply, but I have been reviewing Chef's spreadsheets and we do not have sufficient storage space for all of the food he wishes to bring.  If we follow his planning we will have dry foods stored in the hallways for the first year."

Archer savored a bite of cod before responding.  "Well, what's the alternative?  I really want us to be prepared to be self sufficient on this trip.  I would hate to turn back because we ran out of food."

T'Pol looked at him levelly.  "Vulcan missions have extended for many years without huge amounts of food through the use of hydroponics and recycling via the protein resequencers.  Enterprise's recycling capabilities are completely adequate to feed the crew indefinitely."

Trip had been quiet but now made gagging noises.  "Oh, don't get me started on 'toilet to table,' T'Pol.  Tastes like crap because it is crap.  Crew morale will go straight into the, well, toilet,'" he said.

She took a bite of lasagna, chewed completely and swallowed before responding, "That is completely illogical.  The output of the protein resequencers is completely sanitary and acceptably palatable.  Perhaps if I led a seminar for the crew detailing the recycling steps and how there is no possibility of fecal material actually contaminating the final product they would be more receptive."

"No matter how many seminars you hold, the answer is still going to be 'yuck'.  We all know where the input is coming from."

"Indeed.  And yet, you are consuming that catfish with apparent pleasure."

"Well, it's catfish.  There's nothing wrong with it.  I know this didn't come out of the resequencer."

"I am not an expert on edible fish, but I have read that catfish is known as a 'bottom feeder,' scavenging food from riverbeds, and it is not a discriminate feeder."

Jon was rapt.  He could see where T'Pol's logic was going, though it seemed that Trip was a step behind.  He used his chopsticks to eat another piece of cod.  Erika Hernandez had introduced him to it at a restaurant in San Francisco when they were last in port and it had rapidly become a favorite of his.  Chef had gotten it just right.  Must have gotten the recipe through some kind of culinary espionage.

Trip speared a piece of catfish with his fork and popped it into his mouth.  "Well, I like it.  What's your point?"

She unhurriedly cut another piece of lasagna, chewed and swallowed.  Trip stewed.  Oh, she knew exactly what she was doing thought Archer.  "My point is that many sewers discharge into rivers; many, to this day, in North America, with little or no treatment.  Therefore, logically, that, " she pointed to Trip's catfish with her fork, "may well have consumed human fecal material during its lifetime."

Jon was enjoying this one.  Definitely T'Pol was ahead on points so far.

Trip spluttered a bit.  "It's not the same!"

T'Pol raised her eyebrow.  "Really?"

"No!  This is natural."  He gestured at his plate.  "People feel OK about eating it.  Where I come from, catfish is sacred."

"You are saying that it is an emotional response, and therefore illogical."

"Well, maybe it is. And it's because you wouldn't know an emotion if it came up and bit you that I have to be the morale officer on this ship and worry about how all of us illogical humans FEEL."

T'Pol stiffened slightly.  The temperature in the little room seemed to drop ten degrees.  Mentally, Jon kicked himself.  He should have stopped this one a little earlier.  He wasn't quite sure how to fix it, though.  Well, it was their mess.  Maybe they should fix it.  He took his spoon and spread a little sauce on his rice and then scooped up a spoonful.  He wondered to himself, how the hell do people manage to eat rice with chopsticks?

She replied, "To a Vulcan that is a compliment.  I believe the correct response when receiving a compliment from a human is 'Thank you.'  Thank you, Commander Tucker." 

#

T'Pol returned her attention to her lasagna.  Inwardly she was hurt.  It was illogical to be upset at being called unemotional.  It WAS a compliment to a Vulcan.  What was wrong with her?  Why did she need Trip's approval?  She summoned her control, seething inside.  She would not get up and leave.  She would continue to eat their stupid food. 

Lasagna was illogical.  Why did the pasta need to be boiled and then baked?  Why so many layers?  Boil the pasta, then one layer of sauce and then sprinkle the cheese on top.  So much effort for a dish was wasteful. 

But I like it, a tiny voice told her. 

Stupid humans.  Vulcan ships did not need a morale officer.  Vulcans did not need to have their emotions coddled and egos stroked.  Maybe she would be better off on a Vulcan ship far away from humans and Commander Tucker!  She used her knife to cut another piece of lasagna and then stabbed at it with her fork, forcefully enough to clink loudly against her plate.

Trip looked abashed.  He knew he'd gone too far.  "Jeez, I'm sorry T'Pol.  I shouldn't have said that."

"There is no need to apologize for complimenting me on my lack of emotions Commander.  I have worked hard for that control."

"Well, I didn't mean you couldn't do your job.   I think you're a damn good first officer even if I handle the morale officer part of the job."

She looked at him.  "Thank you."  His apology did make her feel better.   It was illogical.

"And you're right about the protein resequencers.  But it will improve morale to have real food, all the same."

"It is not logical to complain about humans being illogical.  There may be a paradox in there somewhere.  I will have to review the Kir'Shara again to see if Surak had any wisdom on that point."

#

Jon allowed himself a small smile - crisis averted!  Civilians may now emerge from their bunkers!  He couldn't resist so he said, "Surak seemed to be right at home in my head.  I didn't hear any complaints from him about illogical behavior."

T'Pol turned on him.  Uh oh, target acquired thought Jon.  "Surak was known for his ability to handle uncomfortable situations," she said before returning to her lasagna.

They continued eating.  After a bit, T'Pol turned to the captain and said, "I must confess curiosity.  We had to empty cargo bay five for those shipping containers from Andoria.  What do they contain?"

Archer smiled.  "You wouldn't believe me if I said Andorian ale, would you?"

Trip laughed.  "I saw those crates, they're enormous.  You planning on retiring and starting your own bar, Captain?  Archer's Extraterrestrial Tavern?"

T'Pol traded a look with Trip.  "I do not think the Captain's liver would survive that amount of alcohol," she said.

"OK, it's not Andorian ale.  This is, however, top secret.  This is even secret from the other Coalition governments for the moment."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Those ten crates are Andorian shield generators.  We agreed to buy fifty percent of our needs from Kralek Heavy Industries AND we got the right to manufacture units under license.  I got full schematics, training manuals, even the theory of operations and some Andorian physics textbooks to go along with."

Trip whooped.  "Hot DAMN!  That'll be something, won't it?  I have been so tired of patching holes in the hull every time we get in a fight."

T'Pol looked down at her plate and then said, "I regret that Vulcan has been unwilling to share this technology with Earth."

Archer tried to console her.  "We've gotten a lot of other help and technology from Vulcan.  We probably wouldn't be out here to get shot at without Vulcan."

"Nevertheless, I feel my home world could be a better ally."

Trip shook his head. "T'Pol, you've done everything you could to improve relations.  You've always stood by us, no matter the cost."  He started to reach out to her, then stopped himself.

Archer looked at her gently.  "We'll keep working at it.  Earth can do better too.  I don't like keeping this arrangement secret from Vulcan.  But, that's where we're at now.  Trip, that thing needs enough power and bracing that we're going to have to wait until we're at Jupiter Station to install it.  I want you and T'Pol and Malcolm to start going over the specs.  The Andorians made some suggestions on how to install it and we're going to be taking a couple of specialists back with us as well.  I made sure with Starfleet that Enterprise gets the first one and that you have complete control over the install."

Trip smiled almost as widely as Phlox could.  "That is the best news I've had in a long time.  Oh, this is going to be fun!"  He got a little thoughtful.  "So, what did we have that the Andorians wanted badly enough to trade for?"

"Well, we paid them a lot in cash.  And we traded them transporter technology, with the same kind of agreement. Erickson Enterprises is going to be pretty busy."

Trip said, "Hold on a minute.  I thought they already had transporter technology. They beamed Soval right out of his quarters that time!"

"No, the Kumari had a transporter.  Shran horse-traded for it from the Orions.  It was the only one in the fleet.  They didn't have the plans or anything other than the operator's manual.  The Orions don't build them themselves; they get them from some unknown source.  The only other source we know of for transporter technology is Earth.  Even Vulcan buys them from Emory.  He says he charges them extra as revenge for V'Kar telling him the idea of the Heisenberg Compensator was stupid and illogical."

T'Pol spoke up.  "The Heisenberg Compensator is illogical.  Only a human could have conceived of such a concept."

Trip said, "Well, humans and whatever race the Orions are buying from."

T'Pol took another bite of lasagna.  "Another race as illogical as humans."  She looked at both of them in turn and raised an eyebrow.  "Fascinating."

Trip said, "So cash and transporter technology.  Anything else?"

"Well, to get the textbooks I threw in a case of tequila.  And all of our Tabasco sauce."

"Oh no, you didn't."  Trip had had his own encounter with Prairie Dogs at Archer's hands.

"Yep, I did.  I made one for Shran and he seemed to like it and so did the boys from the Imperial Guard and Kralek.  Guess I've started a new trade."

T'Pol was now confused.  "What did you introduce to the Andorians?"

Trip and Jon looked at each other.  It was almost like telepathy.  "Well," said Archer, "it's kind of hard to describe.  I think you'll just have to try one."