Chapter 28: Ship In A Bottle

"Captain, he's back on the surface. I can't guarantee that all of his internal organs are where they're supposed to be, but the transporter worked just fine when we got him."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Rostov," Jon answered the intercom call and rolled his eyes.

"Doctor Phlox, please report to my ready room."

"On my way captain."

"Have we finished installing the technology?" Shran asked.

"Yes, commander," Talas, his first officer replied. "If I may ask, Commander. We are here to repay your debt. Was it really worth getting into their debt again?"

"This transporter technology takes us years ahead," Shran insisted, pointing his antennae forward aggressively. "And debt or not, these pink-skins will cross our path often, if we like it or not. They may live only for a hundred years, but they are a remarkable species. They are destined to become important. And I plan to be part of that process."

"They prefer negotiating over fighting," Talas growled with disgust. Shran backhanded her and the impertinent female landed on the ground.

He glared at her as she looked back at him, properly intimidated.

"A good warrior gives his life for a worthy cause. A dumb warrior wastes it for the sake of fighting. Remember that Lieutenant!"

"Yes, Commander," the Lieutenant replied, properly chastened and went back to her tactical console.

"I see you have not given up your childhood habit of eating dirt, T'Pol-kan," their unexpected savior said with a very elevated eyebrow, and helped a very dirt-covered T'Pol back to her feet. Trip could have sworn that, if he was allowed to, the Vulcan would have cackled.

"Darlin' is there anything I need to know?" Trip quipped, but his grin disappeared when he saw her enraged look, and more importantly, he could feel her offense at his overly intimate address.

"Do not be offended, child," her father said. "I am much better informed than you would think. I know your desired mate is a human and if it makes any difference to you, I approve of your choice. I believe the human in question is you commander, are you not?"

"Yes, sir, and if it makes any difference to you, I will give my life for your daughter if I need to."

"Let's hope it will not come to that, young man. Follow me, we should seek shelter. The High Command has started conducting patrol flights. It is only a matter of time before we will be located."

They entered a cave, the entry of which T'Pol's long-lost father and Soval closed with rocks. Somewhat self-consciously Trip helped T'Pol to remove the dust from the front of her catsuit and cleaned her face with some of the water that was normally meant for drinking. By the time she was looking fairly presentable again, the two Vulcans had sealed the entrance.

"Father, you did not speak a single word of human standard when we last met?" T'Pol asked.

"Indeed I didn't. Did you not listen to the recordings I gave to the Eldest Mother?"

"I must admit I only managed to listen to them until you were adrift in your escape pod, fearing you may die. At that time our mission became somewhat turbulent and I never found the time to listen further," T'Pol confessed.

"I was saved by a human freighter, the UECS Baikal. They accepted a great financial loss to make the detour to save me and three other crew members, who had survived. Learning their language and learning more about them was the least I could offer in return for their generosity."

"The Baikal? Isn't that ship run by Captain Rostov?" Trip asked.

"Indeed it is," the Vulcan said. "Many Vulcans would probably censure me for it, but I consider Nikolai Rostov a good friend."

"Misha Rostov's dad," Trip explained upon seeing T'Pol's questioning look.

"Indeed he spoke with much pride about the fact that his son serves on Earth's first deep space vessel. The galaxy is a small place, is it not?" T'Pol's dad offered.

"Father, where is mother? Our clan has unjustly been blamed for the bombing of the embassy," T'Pol asked.

"Most of our clan members are hiding in the T'Kareth sanctuary. Your mother is safe for now. Two weeks ago our leader Syrran of the house of Surak died in a sandfire, but T'Pau was able to save his katra and has since assumed leadership of the clan."

"T'Pau is only thirty-two years old, father, she's barely out of adolescence," T'Pol argued.

"But she is wise beyond her years, and is now guided by none other than Surak's spiritual essence."

"With all due respect, sir," Trip noted. "If she has Surak himself in her head. Shouldn't she or this Syrran fella before her have found Surak's teachings by now if they're really hidden in the Forge somewhere? Unless of course he has forgotten where he put it. Two thousand years is a long time."

"It is my belief that Surak does not trust Vulcans of this time. Even if we are opposed to the current government, we are still tainted by two-thousand years of corrupted interpretations of his teachings. I believe if anyone will find them, you will, commander."

"I? With all due respect, sir, it will take all of my strength to even get to that sanctuary alive. And how am I supposed to find your equivalent of the bible in a place I've never been to before?"

"Neither of us can give you an answer to that, commander, but if my brother says you will find the Kir'Shara, I submit you most likely will. V'Nur had always had an uncanny talent for making accurate predictions. Unfortunately there is no equivalent of a lottery on Vulcan."

It had been the first time that Soval had spoken after meeting T'Pol's dad. Trip looked at him his mouth hanging open.

"W-was that a joke Soval?" Trip asked with a chuckle, but his moment of amusement was replaced by sudden realization.

"Wait-a-minute ... You said brother. Does that mean... ?"

"Yes, commander, I am T'Pol's uncle."

"The things you learn when staging a rebellion on an alien planet," Trip sighed in a mixture of bewilderment and amusement in equal parts.

"A rebellion, Commander?"

The question of T'Pol's father brought him back to awareness of their current situation.

"Well, sir, Jon is in orbit accompanied by thirty-five heavily armed Andorian battle cruisers. You wouldn't think we'd leave here with that V'Las fella still in power, would you?"

"It would indeed be a missed opportunity," Soval agreed, much to Trip's surprise.

"So, doctor, what are we looking at?" the captain asked. Why Phlox thought that everyone could read DNA like a book was a riddle he would probably never solve.

"For all intents and purposes, captain, this looks like an Okazaki fragment of Vulcan DNA."

"By the way you phrased that, I suppose it isn't?" the ship's tactical officer, currently standing in as first officer, added dryly. In regards to showing little to no emotions, he certainly stood in for T'Pol the captain thought before concentrating on Phlox's answer.

"Indeed it is not, or not entirely anymore, Lieutenant Reed. This particular strain proves that Administrator V'Las has evolved to live in much cooler temperatures than is normal on Vulcan."

"How long would it take evolution to make these changes to Vulcan DNA?" the captain asked.

"I can't give you an estimate as accurate as Commander T'Pol usually does, but I would say between one thousand five-hundred and three thousand years. Any longer period would have made more noticeable changes to an individual's appearance."

"You said more noticeable doctor. Does that mean there were any deviations from normal Vulcan appearance?"

Jon looked at Malcolm in surprise. He had totally missed that small nuance in Phlox's speech. It reminded him that his current XO was a former operative, trained to pay attention to even the smallest details.

"None that you would have noticed," the doctor said and displayed a close-up of V'Las' face. "Denobula has developed most advanced methods of cosmetic and reconstructive surgery as injuries to our delicate ridges and mammary tumors requiring amputation are regrettably common on our world. One of my nine medical degrees is in that field of practice. I immediately noticed the scars that can only result from ablating bone substance. I've marked them in color for you."

A blue-colored V appeared on the administrator's forehead. The picture changed and Jon suddenly saw a mock-up of V'Las with prominent V-shaped ridges on his forehead.

"This, captain, is what administrator V'Las, which I doubt is his real name, looked like before being surgically altered to look like a contemporary Vulcan."

"I'm starting to think that every alien out here is just looking like a human with a few bumps and ridges on his head," Hoshi said and shook her head.

"Trust me, dear, there are species who look very different and we're lucky we've not yet met them so far."

Jon hid his grin behind his hand. For all his attention to detail, Malcolm had not really noticed that massive slip-up until Hoshi had given him one of her beautiful thousand-watt-smiles. The Brit muttered an abashed apology. It was good to see that there were still things that could rattle the otherwise almost Vulcan-esque composure of the tactical officer.

"There is a long-standing belief on Denobula that there was a proto-humanoid race, who 'seeded' the galaxy, so to speak. There are a few completely different races, like the Andorians, but many races that Denobulan ships have encountered do indeed bear little differences. You are not that different from your primate ancestors yourself."

"I tend to think we've evolved a bit since then, doctor?"