Chapter 1: Don't Try This At Home

Sausalito, March 1st 2149

"You have to reconsider, T'Pol-kan!" the venerable Ambassador pleaded. "We have most sophisticated equipment in the embassy to satisfy your need for exercise."

"With all due respect, Tela'at," she replied calmly, holding her superior's gaze. "First of all, to use a human expression, I am sick of running in the same spot for hours on the treadmill. It is repetitive and fairly limited in regard to which muscle groups are exercised. I wish for a more comprehensive workout. I have gained one point two-five-six kilograms of weight since I arrived here. At sixty-four years of age I'm not quite prepared to become as overweight as you are."

"Child!" Soval admonished her for the unseemly address.

"Is it logical to weigh more than what is healthy, Ambassador?" she answered defiantly, knowing that she was close to insubordination. "The training facilities in the compound are deficient. This assessment is not subject to discussion."

She saw the Ambassador sigh and sit down, directing an uncharacteristically unconcealed look of exasperation at her.

"Had I known what challenge your late father would impose on me by making me your En'ahr'at I would have declined to accept the privilege T'Pol-kan. What logic lies in donning armor and brutalizing an opponent – or being brutalized yourself?"

"Is this your attempt at human sarcasm, Tela'at?" she asked back. "As for the combat – you apparently never saw a game of football before or you would know that no combat is involved. There is competition, sometimes mildly physical, but the goal is not to cause injury or death."

"I did watch it," the Ambassador argued and started a playback of a recording on the computer opposite him, evidently to lend weight to his words. "That is why I oppose the idea."

T'Pol watched the recorded game and looked at her superior, wondering if he was suffering from age-induced dementia. "Tela'at, this is not football. The ball in this game is mainly played by hand and has the shape of an egg, so logic dictates that this game should be called 'hand-egg', not football. Football is played with a spherical ball and using the feet only, as the name implies."

"You refer to soccer, child," he replied drily, apparently understanding where the communication error had occurred.

"No, Tela'at, I refer to football. I witnessed the game several times during my basic human cultural training at the London Institute."

"Humans are not logical creatures, T'Pol," her superior and godfather, as humans referred to a paternal En'ahr'at, explained calmly. "On this continent they call that particular game 'soccer', because for reasons that elude my understanding they gave the name 'football' to this much more volatile game." He indicated the recording still going playing on the monitor. "But this does not matter. Your choice of the other game would indeed be more civilized, but it would require you to wear clothing that is... ," he hesitated. "Somewhat revealing, at best. And it does not appear to be an activity becoming a female even if human females indeed engage in it."

The young Vulcan closed her eyes as her instinctive reaction was a most unseemly snort of sarcasm, but she caught and suppressed it in time.

"I do not wish to be confrontational, Tela'at, but what difference does the attire make? In fact the clothing used during the game might be of smaller size, but it obscures the shape of my body more than our uniforms do. I submit that I will garner less unwanted appreciation from human males wearing the competitive apparel. Seeing my exposed legs and arms will surely not inflame their 'imagination' as much as our tight-fitting uniforms do. At least that is my experience."

For the second time her superior and paternal En'ahr'at failed to hide his consternation.

"Now I understand why V'Nur always maintained that you would have an answer to everything. Apparently I cannot convince you to forgo this immersion in human activities, but answer me one question. As neither San Francisco nor Sausalito have a female soccer team, where do you wish to play?"

"Sausalito has a professional team – the 'Sausalito Mariners', which plays in the second division. In absence of a dedicated female team, I wish to try out for the male team. I suggest that Vulcan physiology enables me to be competitive in such an arena, since my natural strength is equivalent, if not superior, to that of the average human male."

"It was his idea, was it not?" the ambassador asked in a heightened voice. "This ... acquaintance of yours – the human engineer."

"If you refer to Lieutenant Tucker then you are mistaken. Indeed he did invite me to watch one of the team's games and was most helpful in explaining the parts of the competitive rules to me that I had not yet fully understood. Yet, the impetus to join them was mine, as I was less than impressed by the performance of one of their players and determined that I could perform the task with more accuracy."

"Overestimation of one's own ability is an emotional indulgence, T'Pol-kan," the gray-haired Ambassador reminded her, but T'Pol was not prepared to concede the point.

"I have carefully evaluated my own ability to engage in the activity. I will neither shame myself nor the Vulcan people by being inept."

"I have a great deal to consider in meditation," the Ambassador said and left the office in what T'Pol thought to be unusual haste, if not – to use the human expression – 'a huff'.

"Hi there."

"Good afternoon Lieutenant," T'Pol said to the young human, who had apparently waited for her outside the Vulcan compound. Without further communication she started walking towards the park, the human walking alongside.

It had been three weeks since she had met the young alien male in her capacity as a member of the Embassy delegation that oversaw the human engineering projects. For reasons she could not explain, she had spent time nearly every day in spirited debate with the engineer and after several days she had accepted his invitation to spend the afternoon together if their schedules permitted. As a result they had done so exactly nine times since then.

He was a most skilled engineer, something that she had known already from reading the reports she had been given before reporting for duty at the Vulcan embassy two months ago, but she had seen him 'in action' and had determined that, if anything, the reports did not reflect the full extent of his talent. As the humans had started to build their first warp five vessel, scheduled to be finished within the next two to three years, she thought that whoever would be the captain, he or she would be remiss not to select this human as the chief engineer.

Today was such a joint afternoon again and she was wondering what the human would suggest as an activity this time. He had once taken her on a 'sightseeing tour', a predefined circular journey through San Francisco that served the purpose of introducing the interested visitor to the landmarks the humans deemed noteworthy. Another time he had invited her to a human restaurant, sensibly one that served a substantial variety of vegetarian meals, and afterwards he had taken her to watch a football game of the Sausalito Mariners, of which he was apparently a fervent supporter.

Through conversation with a human language instructor, a very young female named Hoshi Sato, who had helped her learn the human standard language, she knew that these recurring meetings were called 'dates' and that her being invited repeatedly to join him on them was a sign of romantic interest on the part of the human male. Since she was already betrothed to a Vulcan male, however disagreeable that arragement might be, reciprocating the romantic interest was not possible, yet somehow she could not bring herself to demand cessation of these invitations – or even mention, at some convenient moment, the existence of that betrothal contract.

Not only was the lieutenant's company rather agreeable, it also allowed her to leave the confines of the Vulcan Embassy, safe in the knowledge that she was accompanied by someone knowledgeable about the alien planet's customs.

"It didn't go too well, did it?" the human asked, abruptly ending her silent contemplation.

"Ambassador Soval, quite foreseeably, did not approve of the idea," she replied dryly. "He considers it unbecoming a female."

His eyebrows quirked up interrogatively. "So what will you do?"

"My planned course of action does not require the Ambassador's approval."

The human laughed and she was reminded of how agreeable she found this sound. Laughing was not unknown to Vulcans, but it would only occur with individuals suffering from Bendii syndrome, like her father's uncle V'Cren, who in old age had his emotional control eradicated by the debilitating illness. Hearing a human laugh, more specifically this particular human, was a much more agreeable sensation, knowing that it was normal, even desirable, for them.

"So you're set on goin' through with it?"

"Of course I am, Lieutenant. I do, however, need to acquire the necessary apparel. I believe you offered your assistance with that."

"Yes I did," the human replied, his amused admiration for her determination apparent. "And a Tucker isn't goin' back on his word. There's an Intersport shop right around the corner. Let's go."

"What can I do for you Ambassador?"

"I am not here in an official function, Maxwell, so according to our agreement we may address each other by name in private," Soval said, taking a seat on the chair his human host had offered.

"Ok, so what is it Soval? I know you don't like being called out for it, but you look a bit ... upset."

"I am indeed unsettled. I believe you know T'Pol, my new aide?" Soval asked, carefully observing the human's reaction.

"Sure. People tell me she's rather easily approachable and you know this hasn't been the strong point of your staff for quite a while."

The Vulcan nodded acceptance of the compliment, taking the implied criticism within it with trained ease; it was, after all, a justified complaint.

"Indeed. It is unfortunate that I am forced to rely on aides like Tos. He is suited to many functions, but an Ambassadorial aide is unfortunately not one of them." He relished the sound of his friend's laughter, suppressing a faint, unworthy twinge of regret that Vulcan manners did not allow him to indulge in such informality himself.

"I am, however, concerned by how far T'Pol wants to immerse herself in human customs," he continued, a little reluctantly. "In fact, she wants to join the local soccer team, despite the fact that it is a male team."

"Please tell me she's trying out for striker!" the human demanded, and Soval was taken aback by the unexpected reply. "God, Gonzales is shit. He couldn't hit a barn door from two yards out!"

Soval looked at his companion, knowing that his expression was probably not as neutral as Vulcan decorum demanded. Maxwell's whole demeanor had transformed; it was obvious that the news interested him deeply – unfortunately not in the way he had been anticipated. Indeed, the human was looking eagerly at his watch.

"Soval, the tryouts are today at seventeen hundred. That's two hours from now. Your shuttle still here?"

"It is indeed."

"Good, let's go!"

Well, it was not exactly what he had expected, but it seemed churlish to refuse. Moderating his response to a mild raising of the eyebrows, Soval stood back to allow his suddenly animated friend to lead him from the room towards the ambassadorial shuttle he had arrived in.

"Umm, well, ma'am, that's a thing you'll have to buy on your own," the human said with obvious unease. "The sports bras are up that aisle."

"A... 'bra'?" she asked, not quite understanding what her companion was referring to and why he suddenly adressed her with such formality.

"A ... well ... support for ... these," the engineer explained, his face flushing with a deep red tinge. As he stammered his explanation his cupped hands hinted at lifting mammary features that males of neither species possessed.

"My breasts will not need support, Lieutenant," she explained, not really understanding why the human suddenly had such problems communicating. "Earth's gravity is lower than that of my planet."

"They're still going to bounce around," a female voice said from behind, and T'Pol turned to see the young linguist – Hoshi Sato.

"I'm sorry to barge in, I just happened to overhear your conversation. The lieutenant is right, you'll need a sports bra if you engage in anything that requires fast movement." She darted a look that was bright with amused sympathy at the clearly embarrassed engineer.

"Since Lieutenant Tucker is obviously uncomfortable with the subject, would you help me procure such an item, Miss Sato?"

"Sure," the young human said and T'Pol saw in the easy way she and the lieutenant smiled at each other that the two of them had obviously met before. She didn't quite understand, why that thought made her uncomfortable.

"Maxwell, does this garishly colored garment have any particular importance?" Soval asked.

The Admiral had directed the shuttle towards his own residence, where the human had changed into a equally garishly colored blue jacket and adorned himself and his guest with a scarf that read 'Mariners Forever'. The bemused Vulcan inspected the woolen item around his neck. It was the same garish blue as his friend's jacket.

The transformation in his friend's manner appeared, if anything, to have grown more pronounced. His whole manner exuded enthusiasm. "Soval, we are not going to a Mariners tryout without fan gear and hell, if you've seen it, maybe you'll accept T'Pol's choice. Alternatively there's of course the chance that she won't make the team, in which case your worries are unfounded."

"She will 'make the team'," Soval insisted, surprising himself by the forcefulness of his statement.

"'Nother one caught the Mariners bug," the human said, laughing, which confused Soval, as he had not been hunting any insects. Sometimes the human vernacular was infuriatingly confusing.

"Are you here by accident?" T'Pol asked, looking at herself in the mirror. She had tried on the proposed item in the changing booth, while the young human female waited outside.

"Yes and no," the human answered cryptically from the other side of the curtain that served as the booth's door. "Actually I was planning to come here, but not till later; but when I saw the two of you enter, I changed my route and came here first. It's the first time I've ever seen a Vulcan enter a sports shop and I became a bit curious."

"If I may ask," the Vulcan replied, taking off the garment again, now standing in front of the mirror with a bare torso. "Do you know Lieutenant Tucker?"

"We've met," the other woman replied, and T'Pol could hear from the vocal inflection that her conversation partner was not entirely comfortable with the question.

She pushed the curtain of the changing booth aside.

"You do not need to worry, Miss Sato; if you have any intimate designs on Lieutenant Tucker..."

Her sentence was rudely interrupted by the young human violently shutting the curtains again, with a yelp of,

"Good grief, T'Pol, you're half-naked!"

"I apologize. Is this offensive among humans?" she asked, donning her T-shirt and stepping out of the booth again. The thought of having unwittingly offended her human friend Charles was a surprisingly dismaying one.

"Not an offense," the young linguist said and T'Pol could see that the human female was trying hard not to laugh. "But look."

She looked in the indicated direction. At some considerable distance she could see Lieutenant Tucker staring at her in shock.

"You've just given the poor guy a view he's going to dream about for weeks and you've given me an inferiority complex."

"So humans are ... inconvenienced ... by seeing a partially unclothed body," T'Pol stated the obvious.

"Not so much 'inconvenienced' as... 'aroused'," the young human replied, her face somewhat pink – a color similar to, but not as extreme, as she had seen on the lieutenant's fetures earlier. "Nature hardwired males to ... react, especially if one looks as spectacular as you do. Are you trying to say Vulcans don't mind being seen without clothes?"

"Some do 'mind'," T'Pol explained. "But many others don't. The body is merely a shell to house our katra. I believe humans call it 'a soul' and Vulcans are not programmed to react to visual stimuli."

"Well, I think I know which camp you belong to," the linguist said with visible amusement as they walked towards the human male, who was still standing frozen in place, and who seemed – for some inexplicable reason – unable to meet her eyes.

"I will take my leave for the tryouts, Lieutenant," T'Pol said to her human companion. "You are not obliged to wait for me if it does not fit your schedule."

"I'll be here," he replied absent-mindedly. He had been this way since they had left the sportswear shop. Thankfully Miss Sato had spontaneously decided to accompany them. T'Pol wasn't altogether sure if Lieutenant Tucker would be able to function without supervision. She was still uncomfortable, not knowing why the Lieutenant and the young female seemed to be so familiar with each other, but the worry about Charles' confused state overrode her reservation against the other female's presence. Such feelings were unseemly anyway.