Chapter 10 - Vulcan Telepathy Boot Camp

Enterprise's new Subcommander teaches Trip and T'Pol the art of mind-melding to recover from their neurological shock and to avoid a repeat performance of Trip's violent face-plant, meanwhile Malcolm finally spots the Illyrians, who are limping home in first gear.

=/\=

"Computer, start recording!"

"Acting Captain, Commander Malcolm Reed, starlog March 27h, 2155. We are en-route to New Xindus on a diplomatic mission to mediate inter-racial talks between the Xindi, with the goal of reinstating the Insectoids in the Xindi council. This mission has been requested by the Aquatics. The estimated arrival time is 8 weeks from now.

After their neurological shock, Captain T'Pol and Commander Tucker have regained consciousness and have started a rehabilitation program under the observation of Subcommander Soval. The ambassador has been temporarily relieved of his diplomatic posting and his former rank of subcommander has been reinstated for the duration of this mission by the Vulcan Ministry of Security. Since he is a trained field-medic in addition to his diplomatic training, I have assigned him as assistant medical officer in Doctor Phlox's department. We hope that his diplomatic experience will be of help when we arrive at New Xindus. Until then he will oversee the rehabilitation training of our senior officers, who are expected to return to duty tomorrow.

The engine tests, conducted under the observation of acting Chief Engineer Lieutenant Anna Hess, have been successful, and we have now a safe cruising speed of warp 5.75 at our disposal. We plan to use this unexpected speed surplus to make a detour. We hope to find the Illyrian vessel that we were forced to strand when we took their warpcoil by force. Although the incident happened almost a year ago, we could still cut their return journey by two years if we manage to find them and give them one of our spare warpcoils."

"Computer, stop recording."

=/\=

"Although it is understandably disturbing, I still do not understand how the mental picture of a cloned child created for the sole purpose of dying could cause such a violent reaction in Captain T'Pol," Phlox inquired, looking at his new assistant medic for explanation. "And what possible purpose could the creation of a hybrid binary clone serve?"

"Concerning the purpose of creating the clone, the answer is disturbing, but fairly obvious. There were comparable racist tendencies on Vulcan during the tenure of Administrator V'Las. Many misguided individuals on both Earth and Vulcan claimed that condoning the conception of hybrid offspring would endanger the purity and the very survival of their respective races."

"Subcommander, you can't be serious," Phlox exclaimed in exasperation. "How can a miniscule minority of hybrids endanger a race of billions of individuals?"

"I did not claim that those views were logical, Doctor. Creating a hybrid child and letting it die under public scrutiny would enable the perpetrators of that crime to claim that Human-Vulcan hybrids were not viable, in the hope of discouraging inter-species relationships, thus adding dubious credibility to their racist views."

"Unbelievable," Phlox muttered wide-eyed. "But that does not yet explain the violent reaction of Captain T'Pol."

"Even though the child was not born of her womb, T'Pol would have inevitably established a maternal bond, especially considering her extraordinary telepathic abilities. The death of the child would have caused an unimaginable agony, severing that bond. It is unlikely that she would have survived this. Subsequently, Charles might also have lost his life due to the severing of their mating bond. Most full-blooded Vulcan pairs do not share the luxury of such a strong bond."

"I understand," Phlox replied, as he began to understand the magnitude of Soval's explanation. "She realized that this endangered both her unlikely offspring and her mate. The instinctive Vulcan defensive reflexes caused that violent reaction."

"Indeed. Adding the fact that T'Pol's emotions have always been close to the surface and that Charles is not yet proficient at shielding his mind, her reaction caused a cascading effect which incapacitated both mates."

"Have you established a recovery regime that will allow both of them to avoid such episodes in the future?" Phlox asked with unconcealed concern. "After all, we cannot risk both of them becoming incapacitated whenever their bond is threatened. I do not know how many more of these shocks Commander Tucker can overcome."

"The most important task is to improve his telepathic abilities. They are fairly remarkable already, even for a Vulcan. They are the result of frequent touch-telepathic contact during their neuropressure sessions, according to his own testimony. Touch-telepathic contacts are almost negligibly weak in comparison to the intense mental connection of a mind-meld. I recently melded with Charles and I found his mind to be most surprisingly adaptable. If my estimations are correct, he might even reach a level of telepathic ability that might allow him to initiate a mind-meld on his own, albeit most likely only with T'Pol or possible future offspring."

"Fascinating," Phlox enthused and put one of the recent brain scans of Commander Tucker on the view screen. "I may have a theory about his talent for telepathy. This is the region that has seen constant heightened activity ever since the bond between Commander Tucker and Captain T'Pol has been known to exist. It is fair to assume that it is the region that adapted to telepathic contact, as it is underused in the average human brain. It is part of the region that has received transplanted tissue from the mimetic symbiont. The Lyssarian Desert Larva which we used to grow the mimetic symbiont did also equip Sim with the complete experience and memories of Commander Tucker. This would only be possible if it possessed considerable telepathic and emphatic abilities."

"I do not know much about this species, but your theory appears to be sound. It would provide a logical explanation for Charles' exceptional disposition to telepathy, and for the location of the adapting cerebral region. It certainly warrants further study."

"I must conduct more research on the matter," said Phlox with almost overzealous enthusiasm.

"I shall now pay another visit to my patients," Soval interrupted Phlox's ramblings. "It would be prudent to conduct regular brain scans of Charles to validate that regular mind-melds do not prove too taxing on his mind."

"I agree," Phlox replied and watched as Soval left sickbay to visit the recovering pair.

=/\=

Trip opened the door, revealing their visitor to be Soval.

"Come in, 'Subcommander'," he offered with a boyish grin. The thought of the much older and wiser Soval being of equal Vulcan rank as his youthful mate, or at least of equal rank as she had been before she became captain, had been a constant source of entertainment over the last few days. Thankfully, Soval had taken the relentless teasing of the only human member of his clan in good humor.

"Thank you, Charles," he replied. Trip's grin widened when he saw Soval's very elevated 'brow of mildly annoyed amusement'.

Trip observed the exchange of wordless nods between Soval and T'Pol before the clan chief addressed them.

"Was your meditation successful?" he asked Trip. The engineer had to remind himself that it was Vulcan tradition to address the male, even if the female was the topic of the conversation.

"Yeah, quite well; I got a bit foggy in the head after an hour, this being my first day without the pain-killers, but T'Pol got in a full five hours."

"Very well," Soval explained. "We shall start a regimen of regular mind-melds today. We will keep our first contact short to avoid overtaxing your recovering mind, Charles, and we shall extend the duration progressively. For the moment, I will initiate the melds, but once you are sufficiently proficient in the practice, you shall initiate the meld, T'Pol-kan, and you will conduct them without my participation in the future."

T'Pol nodded her agreement, as did Trip.

"In addition to improving Charles' telepathic abilities, we must also instruct him in mental shielding techniques to avoid either of you inadvertently overwhelming your respective mate's emotional control again."

"Agreed." T'Pol consented, and joined Trip on the meditation cushions. Soval sat down facing them and brought his hands to their faces. Trip felt Soval's fingers come to rest on the appropriate contact points before he drifted off.

=/\=

Soval looked around and found himself in an endless, completely void, white space. Raising an interested eye-brow, he turned to observe his two charges, who stood at a comfortable distance and stared at each other in unconcealed awe. As far as he was aware, his niece had only been in two mind-melds – an aborted, coerced one and the medical one with which T'Pau had healed her Pa'nar Syndrome. Charles had only experienced the very brief contact when Soval had evaluated his latent telepathic abilities. It was apparent that the two young minds before him had not expected the exceeding intensity and intimacy that was part of a mind-meld with their respective mate. The wise old Vulcan wondered how they would react to the even more intimate contact which would characterize a meld without his participation.

Soval watched Charles approach him, while T'Pol stayed behind, still staring at her mate in disbelieving surprise.

"Isn't much of an interior designer, is she?" the human remarked and waved his arm, pointing at the white vastness inside T'Pol's mind. Almost as expected, the elder noticed T'Pol's eye-roll, which signaled her annoyance.

"The visual presentation of one's mind is a highly subjective decision. While T'Pol-kan's selection may appear... fairly Spartan, it has no degrading influence on the function of her mind."

"So what does yours look like?" he asked.

Soval was about to start lecturing him about this unseemly curiosity before he reminded himself that a non-curious human was about as unimaginable an idea as a docile Andorian or a well-spoken Tellarite. Remembering that the young human was merely acting naturally, he explained: "I prefer the ancient ruins of Gol for my time of contemplation. It may present an opportunity for your first lesson. Modify the vista to meet your preference."

"How?"

"Try," Soval answered cryptically and watched Trip. He saw how the humans eyes narrowed and the tip of his tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek – a gesture that T'Pol-kan had explained to him was an indication of deep thought and concentration.

Mere moments later the three found themselves in a garishly colored, simplistic looking world. Startled by an increasing howling sound from above, Soval looked up and saw a dark object falling in their direction. Taking a few steps aside he avoided being hit as the charred, black object hit the ground and revealed itself to be a facsimile of an animal, vaguely resembling an Earth canine. Its limbs were twisted in an anatomically unsound fashion after the fall.

Bewildered, Soval watched the creature repeatedly giving chase to a bird-like animal which emitted most peculiar 'meep, meep' sounds, while the canine tried to catch or maul it, which in every attempt ended with the canine suffering some sort of misadventure that defied basic medicine, anatomy and the laws of physics. It was using physically unsound contraptions apparently made by an entity called 'ACME'.  Any logical mind would have foreseen the rather unfortunate outcome of such folly. In other instances it was the contraptions themselves which broke the laws of physics. It appeared as if it always happened in a way that guaranteed maximum harm or discomfort to the canine creature.

Looking towards his two charges, he saw Charles sitting on the ground laughing hysterically, while T'Pol stood nearby, watching her mate with an unconcealed smile. While it was neither unseemly nor unheard of for a Vulcan to openly express emotions within their own mind like that, such an unmistakable and lasting display was rather rare, especially if a 3rd party shared the experience.

"You appear to be equally amused by this... carnage," Soval stated in surprise.

"Not at all, Tela’at; It falls into a category of human humor that I have yet to comprehend, but I take great comfort in hearing Trip laugh. It is a great source of emotional contentment."

"Fascinating," Soval uttered, and watched Charles's wild display of joy.

=/\=

6 weeks later

Trip straightened his shirt collar before sitting down in front of the view screen. The next bulk-transmission to Earth was scheduled for the next morning, and he was long overdue for a video-message to his folks. The last one had been almost 3 weeks ago.

"Computer, start recordin'!"

"Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!

Thought I'd record a quick message before my two Vulcan drill sergeants show up for the next round of 'Vulcan telepathy boot camp'. Don't worry, it's not half as bad as it sounds. In fact, I like it a lot."

T’Pol suddenly interjected a mental comment. We are not in a... camp, nor does our practice involve any foot wear, ashayam.

"You don't get it, darlin'. Ask Hoshi. Oh... err... sorry folks. You see, T'Pol just spoke to me in my head again; started last week. While it's sure nice to hear her voice without her being in the same room, it can be confusing if I’m  not prepared. And that's not even considering that she can nag the hell outta me and I can't even walk away from it, like Dad does when he gets an earful."

T’Pol obviously found that comment impossible to ignore. Vulcans do not nag.

"The hell they do, darlin'. Oh... sorry. Did it again. Too bad I can't talk back to T’Pol... yet. Phlox and Soval think that with more training I will be able to, but for now my powers end at flashing her pictures and simple thoughts. Not that it isn't a funny thing, mind you. She can pick up what I say out loud though, which is why she keeps commenting on my message."

Please refrain from practical demonstrations. T’Pol added.  I am in a department meeting with Malcolm.

"Yesterday Soval had me training to show her pictures by prompt. When he asked me to show her an 'animal used for riding', I flashed her a picture of Porthos with hooves and a saddle..."

Stop laughing please, ashayam. You are distracting me. I do not wish to 'shut you out', but I may be forced to do so if you can't erect your own shielding.

"Sorry, darlin'. Anyway... folks, you should have heard it. T'Pol actually laughed again – in my mind of course, not out loud, but I swear to God, that's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard or thought. If she wasn't the captain of this boat, I'd be flashing her silly images all day just to hear it."

It is gratifying to know that you remember my... 'day job'.

"Oooh, a Vulcan zinger before lunch time. Gimme a moment folks..."

Thank you.

"Mom, dad, sorry 'bout the interruption, but I had to pull myself together somewhat. As funny as it is to mess with T'Pol's mind, when we're on duty it can be a serious distraction, and I'm still learning to shield my stray thoughts. I hope one day it'll become second nature, but for now I still need to stop what I'm doing to get my shields up. Certainly isn't easy to be bonded to a Vulcan, but I wouldn't have it any other way. It's the best thing that ever happened to me."

"So, how's things over there dirtside? Hope to hear from you soon.

See ya later, guys… and a peace 'n long life from T'Pol, too."

Ashayam, our meeting is over. It appears that Malcolm has noticed that I was slightly distracted. He asked me if we were 'fiddling each other' in our heads. What does he refer to and what does playing a musical instrument have to do with it?

Instead of flashing her an unmistakable picture, Trip just sank to the floor laughing.  He was sure T'Pol would enjoy his radiating mirth much more than an honest answer.

=/\=

When head nurse Melinda McFadden came to start her shift in the intensive care unit that for over two months had been housing the still comatose Captain Erika Hernandez, she met a very familiar situation. Wearing a white lab coat, a haggard looking Captain Archer was gently wiping the patient's face with a wet cloth, performing the morning hygiene. That would normally be her own job, but she had given up demanding it back ever since the Starfleet hero had taken it over without asking anyone, weeks ago.

While many in the clinic were genuinely moved by Captain Archer's devotion to Captain Hernandez, lately worry about him had been expressed by many. He seemed to completely neglect his own welfare over that of Erika Hernandez. He would come in the early morning, sit and read to her, perform the morning hygiene before leaving to attend to his duties, only to return in the evening and sit with the patient until deep in the night, sometimes just gently brushing her hair and softly speaking to her.

Today things would be different, and the worry about Captain Archer made way for a feeling of great relief. Just half an hour ago the Vulcan healers had agreed that it was now safe to get her out of the artificially induced coma.

"Good morning, Captain."

"Good morning, Melinda. How often have I asked you to call me Jon, now?"

"I stopped counting after the 100th time," she said with an apologetic smile. "But I have told you just as often why I can't."

"I know," he agreed, and she could clearly sense his exhaustion just from the way his voice sounded.

Time to give out the Christmas presents, she thought with glee.

"I have something for you," she said with a big smile, and handed over a PADD.

=/\=

He pushed the "show message button", unsure what to expect.

Hello Jon,

You are hereby ordered to take two days off. First of all, Ambassador V'Lar has complained that you look like hell in her roundabout Vulcan wa,y and more importantly I've been informed that Erika will be taken out of the coma. Since I gather that you would be even more useless than usual if you couldn't be there when she wakes up, I have made sure that you can. Just try to get at least enough sleep to not end up in a hospital bed yourself.

When you get back to duty on Wednesday, report to my office. We have a meeting with a blue guy who wants to become a Starfleet captain.

All the best for you and Erika,

Gardner, Admiral.

"Sorry," he muttered and turned away from the nurse, feeling embarrassed by the tears of joy he was unable to fight back.

"It's okay," he heard her say softly. "I'll give her the injection now. She should start to wake up in one or two hours. Just summon the doctor when she comes to."

"Thanks," he uttered in a weak voice, still trying to stop the tears.

=/\=

He felt a pang of guilt when he saw T'Pol flinch for a split-second.

"Sorry. Guess that was a tad too quick, wasn't it?"

"Yes. But do not concern yourself. It will take time before you can control the speed with which you modulate your mind's shielding. "

"Ok, I'll try again."

She flinched again.

..ry... try.. harder.

He saw T'Pol's eyes open wide. "I heard your thoughts."

"What?"

"Did you plan to say 'Sorry, I will try harder'?" she asked.

"I'd have thrown in a 'darlin' there, too, but yeah. Did I get it through to your mind?"

"Partially. Some fragments were missing."

"Who-hoo. I'm getting better at this. Okay, let's try the shielding bit again."

He saw her flinch.

Damn!

=/\=

He had lost track of time. Had it been one hour or two, maybe even three?

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt a twitch of the hand he'd been holding the entire time. Coming out of his lethargy, he noticed her eyes were open, but unfocused.

"Hi there," he said softly. "Erika, can you hear me?"

"Jon?" she replied, barely audible, as her voice was hoarse after months of inactivity. His heart started to pound when he realized that she had recognized him.

"Where are you, Jon? I can't see you."

"Shhh, everything's okay," he said soothingly, and put his hand on her forehead to stop her from rolling her head left and right aimlessly. With the other hand he reached over to summon the doctor.

=/\=

Erika sighed in frustration. Even though Jon and the doctor had repeatedly assured her yesterday that her eyesight would be returning in a matter of days, it was still a haunting experience to wake up after the first night of sleep, rather than coma, in complete darkness without any idea what time it was. It almost drove her insane.

Concentrating on noises around her, she noticed some idle chatter from outside. Obviously it was at least day already.

"Good morning, Miss Hernandez," she heard the head nurse say.

"Good morning. At least you dropped the captain. I don't need to be constantly reminded that I should be on a ship now," she sighed bitterly.

"Well, I didn't manage to get her to do that, so you've got one over me," a second, very familiar voice added.

"Jon?"

"Well, who else did you expect, honey?"

She felt how he gently caressed the back of her hand.

"I guess I'll leave you two alone for a while," the nurse said, and although she could not see it, Erika was sure that the nurse wore a grin when she left the room.

"What's going on, Jon? You haven't called me honey since..."

"Since I had to report to Max to be ordered to leave you, I know. But one of the last things he did before he died was to make sure that that wouldn't happen again. Gardner trashed the order and gave his blessing. That means... if you still want this bitter old warhorse."

She felt a soft kiss on the back of her hand and gave his hand a soft squeeze in return.

"There's enough hay in my stable for an old warhorse," she whispered and her eyes became moist with tears of joy as she realized what he had said. "But you'll soon ship out again. Do you really think it could work?"

"We’ll both ship out, together," he said and she could hear the boyish glee in his voice.

Old warhorse my bottom, she thought. "Care to enlighten me? If I'm ever going to ship out again, that certainly won't be very soon, and how could I be on your ship without being busted back to Commander?"

"Because it'll be your ship, I'll just be some Commodore playing fleet commander on your boat."

"Breathe on me, Jon. Did you drink?" she asked in disbelief.

Instead of used air being blown up her nostrils, she felt a passionate kiss that she eagerly returned. Well he's certainly sober.

"Okay, you didn't drink," she conceded breathlessly. "So you're serious that I'll get the flagship and we'll be stationed together?"

"Dead serious, honey. And no need to rush it, it'll be at least 10 months until Atlantis is completed.

"They really go with the old space shuttle naming theme," Erika observed.

"Yes."

"Well at least this time I get one with the name of a shuttle that survived," she answered her frustration clearly audible.

"Hey, hey," he said and she felt the soft pat on her hand. "You did what you could. The ship survived and nobody was killed. Shran was impressed by your battle maneuvers, and it's not easy to impress an old warrior like him. You must have one helluva helmsman."

"Well, thank your own," she said and the smile returned to her face. "Most of the simulator trainings have been styled after a certain Travis Maywheather. Hartman, my chief helmsman, has a serious case of hero worship going on."

"He'd like to hear that."

"Did they give my ship to Fletcher?"

"Yes. First they thought she was too young, but being short of captains, they didn't have much choice."

"She's a good one. So what happened with your ship? Did Trip take over?"

"T'Pol did. Gardner wanted Trip, but he took exception to being taken away from his engines."

For the first time since the fateful battle Erika laughed. "Why am I not surprised? If it was legal he'd probably marry his engines."

"Don't think so; He's got a much more attractive option at hand."

=/\=

"God almighty," Trip wheezed, rolling off her. "Soval certainly didn't kid us."

"Vulcans do not... kid," she replied, equally out of breath. "The mind-meld enhances the intimacy of a coupling considerably."

"And I thought Malcolm has a knack for understatement," he answered with a chuckle. "10 billion humans don't have the slightest idea what they're missing."

"Ten billion and two," she corrected with an elevated eye-brow.

"Huh?"

"Ensigns McInally and Kusnezova are apparently not very skilled in the use of birth-control medication. Ensign Kusnezova is 1.3 months pregnant and Dr. Phlox is convinced that they are expecting twins."

"Oh dear," Trip answered and started laughing. "They send us out on a diplomatic mission and we get back with more crew than we left with. I'm not sure that's what Forrest had in mind when he trashed the no-frats."

"Indeed. But it gives us another problem."

"Which one?"

"They have asked me to marry them, and I am not sure if it is appropriate for a Vulcan to preside over a human wedding."

"Why shouldn't it? You’re the captain and you have the right to marry them. All the proceedings are documented in the database. They wouldn't have asked you if they thought you'd be the wrong person to marry them."

She did not answer.

"The problem is something completely different, isn't it?" he asked, propping himself up to look her in the eyes. "You're worried that people don't accept you as the captain."

"You told me yourself that Starfleet would have preferred you as the captain."

"That's because they haven't seen the inside of a ship since their last visit to the museum. They don't know what the crew thinks. Hell, you would've won this crew over just with your idea to give them the captain’s mess as a dating place."

"It was the logical thing to do. We do not need it, as we have a dining table in our quarters, while the crew has no privacy for romantic activities. Do you think that is the only reason for the crew’s acceptance?"

"No, it isn't. You just don't realize the impact you have on the crew."

"What do you mean?"

"My gut tells me that you doubt your people skills."

"This has nothing to do with your intestines; we just completed a mind-meld."

"Okay, okay, it was worth a try. But I was distracted; we were making love at the time," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"While I have several years of experience in interaction with humans; until my captaincy I had limited contact with anyone outside my own department, and you do know how troubled my interaction was in our first year."

"And you learned. Now let's see... Remember the trouble with Chef after you allowed the crew to book the captain’s mess for dates?"

She nodded.

"How did you solve the problem?"

"You know that; you've seen the orders."

"Yes, you freed up a storage room and had my people install a second small galley where people could make their own meals for dates instead of pestering Chef."

"Hoshi told me that Humans consider it romantic to prepare a meal for a date with a potential mate."

"Okay, and what happened then?"

"Nothing, the problem was solved satisfactorily. I received no further grievances from Chef."

"You solved the problem and shelved it, like you do with your emotions."

"Of course," she answered and Trip could sense her growing defensiveness. "It would be illogical to do a performance review of myself."

"No need to be upset, darlin'. I didn't say it was wrong. You did what every Vulcan would do. But that's why you missed the much bigger impact of your idea."

"Which was?"

"Well let's see. It began with the problem that Larson from hydroponics cannot cook, so she went to ask Kusnezova, who can. In exchange Kusnezova's beau McInally got a big ol' massive bouquet of red roses for his next date with Kusnezova, and you just told me the results of that."

"Indeed."

"Well, word got round, and next time Larson didn't even need to ask someone. People were volunteering. Same with Rostov. The only thing that man can fry is a warp coil, so Taylor from the armory cooked for him and Anna, and as a thank you he carved her a Jesus statuette from genuine fried-injector-metal. See a pattern here, darlin'?"

"The crew interaction expands, especially between different departments," she analyzed after a moment of contemplation.

"Right. But it doesn't end there. One day Mattes, one of the Germans in our team, ganged up with Chef and they did a theme-day, preparing all sorts of typical German cuisine. That was the day when Malcolm and I had this massive Eisbein and you and Hoshi this swabian allgau stuff. Next month it was Rolland from ops, who did an all-French day."

Next thing was that Mattes and Kriegel went ahead and drew-up, built and installed a small brewery installation in the second galley and started cookin' up genuine German beer."

"Which is why you and Malcolm still drink beer during our evening dinners," she completed. "I had begun to question my logic, because Malcolm's secret supply should have run out by now."

"Yep," he answered with a broad grin. "And that led to the final piece in your master stroke. With a steady supply of beer at hand, Mattes and Kriegel started to book the captain's mess each Wednesday night to play something called Skat with Phlox."

"What is that?"

"Some obscure game with cards. Mattes once explained the rules to me, but I gave up after an hour; too much math and logical calculations in that for me."

"Maybe I would be interested in learning the rules."

"Darlin'," he said with a mock-exasperated eye-roll. "From what I've understood of those rules, you would be able to memorize each round and calculate the other hands just from when they bailed out of the bidding. You'd win just about every game. Nobody would play more than two rounds with you."

"Unfortunate," she answered and Trip had to chuckle about seeing her 'brow of enormous giggle'.

"So, you see, one small problem solution and you practically doubled crew morale."

"But I did not notice any of those developments. Does that not mean I have been remiss in my duties?"

"Why should you? None of all that affects the running of the ship, at least not in a negative way."

"I still do not understand why nobody made me aware of any of these new recreational activities."

"Would you take part in any of them?"

"No."

"See. And you consider praise illogical, so why should someone come up and say 'Great idea'."

"Indeed."

"Darlin', if something's wrong in the crew, you'll know it. Hoshi, Malcolm, Phlox, Mayumi and myself are the five officers who report to you directly. We all know what you want to know and what you think is redundant. You're doing perfectly fine."

"I'm gratified to hear that."

"Now, on to more important things," he whispered and slung his arm around her. "Wanna meld?"

In a display of utterly rotten timing, the com chirp denied him the answer.

"This is Commander Reed. Captain, Commander, please come to the bridge, we've located the Illyrians."

 

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