Chapter 1: The Consultant

Shivering slightly as the cold air of the night chilled her sensitive skin, she closed her jacket, made from synthetic leather, to suppress the unbidden reaction of her body to the cool temperatures. This was the distinct downside of wearing human clothes – they did not possess the thermal lining of the Vulcan 'cat suits', as the Humans referred to the garment. The logic of naming the apparel after an animal that hid its small build behind fur in a way that made it look much sturdier, did most certainly elude her. Besides, the attire did the exact opposite.

This was why she did not wear them when visiting places that hosted many humans engaging in recreational activities. Vulcans did not pay much attention to superficial attributes like the shape of their bodies, which was after all only a shell for ones katra. For humans apparently it did matter, because the younger specimens eagerly worked on the configuration of their outer shells, some even having parts of their body surgically optimized for appearance. Since human males did not encounter any condition like the plak-tow, evidently evolution had programmed human males to react to visual stimuli and equipped human females with the ability to provide them through their appearance.

Obviously her own appearance fit into Earth's more preferred profiles and as a result she received an inordinate amount of scrutiny and attention from human males. The decision to purchase human clothing that did not emphasize her physique as much as the Vulcan attire had been made easier by a young human female, whom she had met by chance when she was visiting a human shop to procure clothing. The young human had introduced herself as Hoshi Sato and had provided advice on which clothing would make her less noticeable. What she remembered most about her unexpected guide was that she spoke Vulcan without a discernible accent. Notably, while Ms. Sato was skilled at selecting clothing that hid the shape of the Vulcan's body, she had selected clothing for herself which appeared to have been crafted during periods of severe fabric shortage.

She regretted having to wait until nightfall before venturing out into the human city. Her temperature problem would have been less severe during the day, but openly expressing interest in getting to know human culture had become a hazardous undertaking since Administrator V'Las had come to power. Why so many Vulcans preferred to be ignorant of the fact that the new government's decisions often lacked logic was hard to understand. Many of them were most likely associated with V'Las's clan and therefore accepted his erratic leadership for political or personal gain – a mindset that a small number of years ago would have been considered illogical and unseemly.

Almost weekly, Vulcans were recalled home, their position at the Earth Embassy filled with new arrivals that either belonged to clan dvinsu ekon-ak or wished to belong to it, trying to ingratiate themselves with the ruling clan through servitude and arranged marriages. Their suitability to the position they were taking seemed to have been a rather inconsequential criterion in the selection process. Forcing down the momentary disgust at such a disagreeable weakness of character, she continued her way back to the Vulcan compound.

Apparently it was now her turn to be recalled. Soval had alerted her to the fact and had suggested a clandestine meeting at United Earth Starfleet's headquarters under the guise of consultations about the launch of the first warp five capable human vessel. The humans had estimated that the ship would be ready for trials in a month's time. Much to her and Soval's indignation, the High Command had made it known that they wished the launch to be delayed by as much time as possible without alerting the humans. These orders were outrageous, but they fit in with what she had come to expect from the new government.

After carefully observing her surroundings she entered the ambassador's office using his private door, which allowed her to remain unseen by any of the compound's denizens, especially those who might feel inclined to report her illicit excursions...

"Won't you at least think about my offer, Malcolm?"

Malcolm Reed eyed the man with suspicion. He would have thought that Harris got the clue about his intention to end his career as a pet assassin by his request to be transferred out of the section and into the fleet. And as if that wasn't a clear enough hint, the fact that he was willing to accept a de-facto demotion to Lieutenant should have been a dead give-away as the fleet had all but retired the rank of Lieutenant-Commander. Sometimes Harris was just too bloody thick or just impertinent. Who could know with this man?

"I had assumed that I have made my intention abundantly clear, Captain, Sir," Malcolm said and put an annoyed emphasis on the man's official rank.

"We've just had Falkner walk out and now you. How can I work without the best men I have?"

He didn't buy the flattery. "With all due respect, Sir; If you would have used your 'best men' for something other than exterminating people like flies for almost two years now, maybe we would both still be here. We used to be an organization that worked for the good of Earth. Now we're just like the bloody Camorra, minus the ransom demands. You've been ordering assassinations, a dozen for a sixpence. That's no longer the section I signed up for."

"You know that certain things are necessary," Harris insisted cryptically and Malcolm felt like socking the man.

"People like you, Sir are responsible for the god-awful image we have with the Vulcans. Every other week a runabout ploughs into the undergrowth and hover cars have developed rather worrying explosive tendencies. The Vulcans can smell a flea's fart from a mile away and hear it, too. Did you really expect them not to notice? Now they require Starfleet to test every new device or vessel repeatedly before allowing it into service."

"Well, I guess I can't change your mind," Harris sighed theatrically. Malcolm suppressed a snort. How much more pathetic pleading would he have to listen to before being dismissed?

Maxwell Forrest moved Soval's small device from his pocket to his hand and surreptitiously activated it with his palm. Calmly he looked at the models of various current and retired ship designs that were lined up in the glass case on the wall. When he felt the pulsations of the device, he slowly moved along until the vibrations started getting weaker again.

No doubt, Tos really isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, he thought to himself in reference to Soval's slippery deputy ambassador, who couldn't have his arrogant nose farther up V'Las' rear-end if he were a sniffer dog for hemorrhoids.

You'd think he'd get tired of this, Maxwell cackled mentally as he removed the small listening device attached to the back of the model of the Grand Canyon, the first ship he had served on as a fresh-faced ensign.

Let our recycler sing you the song of our people, he mused as he dropped the little device into the waste chute.

Only moments later he saw Soval approach with a female in tow – a very attractive female.

"Maxwell," Soval said in way of greeting and Maxwell answered in kind. "Was your harvest bountiful?"

"Same old," Maxwell said and couldn't suppress a chuckle. "He didn't even bother to look for a different hiding place."

"It is fortunate that Tos appears to be the quadrant's most inept operative," Soval delivered dead-pan and both Soval and his female companion raised their eyebrows in unison, which Maxwell assumed meant, that like the ambassador she was amused.

"May I introduce – Subcommander T'Pol," Soval explained with a nod at the woman. "I have mentioned her before."

"Indeed you have," Maxwell replied and exchanged nods with her, before directing his attention back to Soval. "So what did the toads in Shi'Kahr come up with this time?"

"T'Pol has been recalled. The reasons are of no concern. What is of concern is that she will most likely be persecuted."

"If you mean to ask for asylum," Maxwell interrupted before the Ambassador could voice such a request.

"Not at all, Admiral," Soval denied, much to the admiral's relief. "I would not wish to bring you into such a precarious political situation. But I wish to nominate her for the consultant role you suggested. It would be most helpful if she was selected."

"How would that help?" Maxwell asked back. "If they want to take her away from Earth and back under their thumb, the High Command wouldn't possibly agree to that."

"On the contrary," Soval said and handed over a PADD.

Maxwell thumbed through the translation of a Vulcan directive in which Soval was instructed to get Subcommander T'Pol installed as an operative on the experimental human vessel. After exhausting all options to delay the launch of the vessel, he was to exert influence on Starfleet, so that the vessel's first long-distance test flight would be one to Vulcan, where Subcommander T'Pol would be exchanged for a surgically altered operative.