Chapter 10: The Bet

Hoshi looked up, watching Trip work on his computer. It was hard to believe with how much patience he took his fate and worked around the limitations of his battered body.

Granted, his newly restored sexual functions did remove a rather big problem they had had before and she and T'Pol had properly taken him to the task, but the biggest challenge was still lying ahead – restoring his vision. The idea of Arik Soong to go for the infrared spectrum seemed counter-intuitive at first, but perhaps therein lay the solution. Trip already had become accustomed to alternative methods by learning to use echo-location.

The Bajorans, who had developed these experimental devices, had spent a lot of effort on scanning the visible spectrum of light, but even if they were to improve those things, Trip would never be able to make out more than rough shapes and the sheer amount of raw data emitted by those sensors was simply too much for the brain of any humanoid.

Using infrared scanning, she had worked out, they could reduce the data by only recording temperature differences. Since different materials had different rates of conducting heat, the sensors could deliver a rather accurate image of his surroundings. Of course it would not be what one understood as 'normal vision', but if Trip would prove as adaptable as he'd been up to now, he could end up being able to 'see' more than any of them could. For instance, he'd be able to see micro-fractures in metallic objects, something that would help a lot in engineering.

In essence, and it was ridiculous how obvious that solution was, they were developing a very sensitive thermal imaging camera. The technology had been around for two-hundred years, but the challenge was to prepare the data in a way that they could be processed by a human brain using the help of cybernetic implants. She let out a small sigh and went back to her calculations.

T'Pau hesitated for a moment, but the encouraging smile of Mr. Reed and his insistence that it was time to confront her adoptive father gave her the strength to go ahead.

It had been a week since father had suffered through the ignominy of producing that statue and while the result of his work had certainly exceeded all expectations, he had avoided all contact since then, in shame of what he had to do to produce it. Even the spirit of the Eldest mother had been remarkably quiet since then. Residing in her mind, but not fully connected with it, the katra of the clan's deceased matriarch had not been a witness to what distress her unusual request had put the human in, but by now she must have had realized what an exceedingly impossible request she had made. T'Pau decided to confront the katra of T'Para within the next few days.

Mr. Reed's request that she should use 'more human' ways of expressiveness in her attempt to reconnect with her distressed En'ahr'at had of course caused some confusion, but Trok, being of a rather expressive species himself, had given her detailed instructions on how to express her affection for the human, who had gone against everything his culture had taught him to satisfy the sometimes challenging traditions of her clan.

As she had practiced with Trok, much more frequently than strictly necessary, she walked up to her adoptive father, who was immersed in his work. She slung her arms around his torso from behind and rested her cheek against his. For a long time he didn't say anything, but she could see that he was moved, since a number of tears escaped from under the dark glasses that hid his dysfunctional eyes.

"I bet Trok or Malcolm told you to do that," he said, his voice breaking with emotion. "I really appreciate the gesture, but it doesn't fit your nature T'Pau."

"I did not want to offend you," she said, confused by the rejection of her gesture. "I have grown quite fond of these methods of interaction.

"Sit down," he requested, patting his knees. Somewhat awkwardly she sat down in his lap, facing him.

"Remember, one day you're supposed to return to that job of First Minister and out-Vulcan the lot. I'm happy that you try to blend in more, but you can't allow yourself to become too humanized, darlin'. First and foremost you're still a Vulcan."

Quite deliberately, she allowed her emotional control to lapse and snorted.

"Father, my chosen mate is an Andorian, my en'ahr'at is human and 'for the record' – as Mr. Reed is so fond of saying – I would not have it any other way. There is no way I will ever be First Minister again. If I have learned one thing in the time I have spent here, it is that the Vulcan way is not always the only way."

A very human smile adorned his features and she decided it was a definitively agreeable look.

"Well then you might wanna give daddy a big ol' hug."

She delivered the desired expression of affection that she had practiced with Trok so often. While different from when she embraced Trok, she found it was no less agreeable. They rested, holding each other for a long time. In fact, she noticed that her adoptive father had started to cry.

T'Pol carefully took the tray and balanced the three cups of coffee on it. The substance didn't agree with her body, not even the smell did, but hospitality required that his beverage be served when having human guests.

"Trip, you're preaching to the choir. If it was for me, you'd be back in Starfleet R&D in a heartbeat, disability be damned. But we're ruled by too many damn politicians."

It was Admiral Gardner, who had delivered this rather unfavorable statement. Unfortunately, he was discussing with her mate, who was not known for his diplomatic skills.

"I don't want to be in R&D, Admiral, I want a ship!" her mate demanded and even to her that sounded like an impossible request. I appeared that Admiral Gardner was not prepared to be overly diplomatic either.

"Trip, there's no polite way to say this, but you're blind for chris' sake..."

"Oh really? That explains why it's always so dark in here," her chosen snorted with no little amount of sarcasm lacing his voice. T'Pol didn't quite understand what her beloved human meant to achieve with his confrontational attitude.

"Listen, sir. You've sacked a lot of good people. Travis might have lost an arm, but I know his bionic one is doing its job just fine. He's flying a ship right this moment and you can bet he's doing it better than some of those limp-dicks who come out of the academy these days."

"TRIP!" she heard Hoshi's scandalized gasp upon hearing his vulgar language.

"I'm making you an offer right now," her mate continued, ignoring Hoshi's protestation. "Give me a ship for a tactical exercise. I will staff it with all the people you've sacked because the Romulans wounded them and I will beat none other than Malcolm Stuart Reed in battle."

"And I am supposed to believe that this will be a fair contest?" the Admiral asked, irony in his voice. T'Pol recoiled slightly as the implied accusation would no doubt offend Malcolm.

"With all due respect, Sir," came Malcolm's reply, his voiced clipped like it always was when he felt offended. "I have fought species you don't even know about yet, at a time when you still thought the scariest thing you'll ever see was the Teletubbies. Do you seriously believe I would throw a fight? For the record; if it was for Hoshi, T'Pol and me, we'd rather Trip stayed right here. None of us has any wish to sit next to his hospital bed for seven months again. But when he wants to get back on a ship, neither of us doubts that it is because he thinks he can make a difference. I'll fight him tooth and nails just to make sure he stays at home. None of us wants to fear for his life again, but at the same time I know it won't be one of the easier fights I've been in."

The Admiral sighed. "I should have known I wouldn't like it when the four of you asked me for a personal talk. Trip, I can only repeat what I've said before: I wasn't any happier than you having to discharge so many good people. Many of them wouldn't even have gotten a disability pension if I hadn't threatened them with a very public resignation from Starfleet. You can hear 'this man is only fifty-six percent disabled' only so many times until you offer those politicians to damage them 'only fifty-six percent' with your bare hands."

"I understand that there are reservations against an unsighted Captain, Admiral," T'Pol argued. "It is of course a rather drastic example of allowing someone with a disability to serve in Starfleet. But instead of considering our request something that puts you in a difficult position, why do you not consider it a second attempt at correcting a political decision that you apparently find as wrong as we do?"

"Alright," the Admiral sighed again. "Let's say I would be willing to pitch your idea. I would have to present it to the same people who saw fit to discharge Trip in the first place. So how do you want to do it practically? You must have thought about that before asking me for something like that."

T'Pol started to present their case.

"Of course, Admiral. There are a few positions on the ship which cannot be realistically filled by disabled persons. While a communications officer could do the work without problems, even when bound to a wheel chair, the same cannot be said for the tactical officer or chief engineer. These positions have to be filled with able-bodied personnel. Commander Hess and Lieutenant Tholos have already signaled their wish to fill these positions should the test be conducted.

"All persons requiring wheelchairs will be using one of the models produced by Malcolm's factory. As you know, they can navigate autonomously."

"What about something as easy as reading reports or getting from A to B on the ship?" the Admiral asked once T'Pol had finished her explanation.

She watched as Trip stood and walked over to the Admiral. Only her keen hearing could register the surreptitious little tongue clicks with which he facilitated his echo location. Her mate grabbed the stunned officer's zip and closed it fully.

"I know we have it a bit warm in here," he said. "But an Admiral with his uniform hanging half open. Really, sir."

T'Pol's eyebrow crept up in amusement and she could see that Malcolm and Hoshi had a very hard time not to laugh out loud about the Admiral's stunned look.

"Okay, Trip, I bite. How?"

"Echo location, sir. But I wouldn't even have to use that. Although I've made progress learning to walk again, I would use the wheelchair on the ship. It gets me to places faster than I could, even if I had a seeing-eye dog. Porthos volunteered for that job by the way."

Even the Admiral was amused about the last statement, knowing that it was meant in jest.

"Reading a report is the easiest thing in the world," her mate continued and using his echo location, he quickly found the PADD lying next to him on the coffee table. "This thing is called the TactoPADD II, Hoshi's latest prototype. For you it looks like a normal PADD and you can read and use it like one. But when I activate the piezoelectric elements embedded in the display, the software automatically generates an overlay in braille that I can easily read. We can produce thousands of them per day. And on top of it, it has a third mode of operation. Activate the speech recognition and it displays what is spoken in a room with an indicator showing where the sound is coming from."

"Okay, you've really given it some thought," their visitor acknowledged."

"We've given it a lot of thought," Trip insisted. "I don't want this for me. I wouldn't want T'Pol, Hoshi and Malcolm to live in constant worry, and frankly, for the rest of my life I don't want to be away from them ever again. I want to prove that disabled people can serve on a ship. This isn't 1990, we have bionic limbs and wheelchairs that can be safely operated by blind people."

"Alright," the admiral sighed in defeat. "I'll present your suggestion to the authorities, but I wouldn't yet call all the people you have in mind. I doubt it has any chance of being approved."

She had to die and reside within the young one's mind before she felt as apprehensive as she did now. Perhaps the day when they were awaiting word from Charles' mission came close, but then she had been gripped by fear and worry.

She hadn't integrated herself in T'Pau's mind as was often the case with other katra's. Mostly her spirit was dormant, not registering what what went on in the young one's mind or the outside word. After all, T'Pau stood at the begin of her intimate life and it would have been a grave intrusion into her privacy if the katra she carried would be witness to it.

The usual white void around her changed into a rather serene scenery. That meant T'Pau was reaching the deep meditative trance that was needed for her mind to connect with the katra she was wearing and T'Para saw herself appear as an image that matched her last day as a living, corporeal being. The scenery was the same it had always been: the beautiful island the young one had once visited for several days with Charles, T'Pol, Malcolm and Hoshi, back in a time when the four children were still in denial about the fact that their union did not fit into traditional views.