Three Months On Vulcan

Chapter 1

Three Months on Vulcan

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my wacky imagination. No copyright was harmed in the spinning of this quirky little tale.
Characters/Pairings: Trip/T’Pol, Soval, T’Les, Amanda Cole
Rating: PG-13 (language, adult situations, sensuality)
Genre: Alternate Universe/Humor/Romance
Summary: When grad student Trip Tucker lands a scholarship to spend a semester at the engineering institute on Vulcan, he gets more than he bargained for.

A/N: HopefulNebula was one of the winners of the reviewer’s contest at the Delphic Expanse. Her reward? A custom fanfic written by moi. :) (I’m so honored!)

What she wanted in her story: 1). Trip & T’Pol, 2). A misunderstanding of some kind, and 3). Something uniquely alien.

What she didn’t want in her story: 1). Taking “These Are the Voyages” as canon (so with you there, hon), 2). Anything dark in tone, and 3). Character death.

With her permission, I went AU. Hopefully, this meets her expectations.

Lots of information taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, Memory Alpha and Memory Beta. (And some stuff from Enterprise episodes.)

Finally, special thanks to Honeybee for wielding the red pen!

=/\=

Month One

Note to self: When offered a spot in an exchange program on a desert planet, think twice before accepting.

I didn’t know a body could sweat this much and still function. In the short walk between the transport station and my ride, I soaked through my clothes. And my duffle bag suddenly getting damn heavy didn’t help either. On paper, gravity 1.4 times that of Earth’s hadn’t sounded so bad. Reality turned out to be something else entirely. At this rate, they’d be shipping me back in a box before the semester was up. There was no way in hell I was going to survive this.

Ahead, next to a rusty colored vehicle, a Vulcan stood holding a sign with my name in delicate script: “Charles Tucker III.” Between the bulky robes he or she wore and the sweat dripping in my eyes, I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. How a person could wear so much fabric in this heat, I’d never understand. Hell, I’d gladly strip down to my underwear if I thought it’d make a difference. It probably wouldn’t.

“I’m Charles Tucker,” I said, making the ta’al with my hand as I approached. Up close, I guessed my escort was a middle-aged female—or a very effeminate male. I went with the former.

She returned the salute. “You may call me T’Les,” she said, opening a compartment in the back of the vehicle.

I slung my bag into the trunk and rubbed my forehead. “Call me Trip.” I had to stop myself from extending my hand. When I got accepted in the exchange program, they spent hours drilling into me proper social protocol. It boiled down to: “Don’t touch anything or anyone, don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong, and generally, it’s best to keep your mouth shut.”

T’Les opened a door and gestured for me to hop in. The temperature inside the vehicle was moderately better—still sweltering, but at least I didn’t feel like my skin was going to melt off.

I blew out a sigh of relief. “Thanks for the ride.”

“Expressing gratitude is an Earth custom.” Her tone was cool as she pulled the vehicle away from the station.

Not exactly the response I was expecting. “Okay.” I glanced at her, wondering if I’d already offended someone in my first ten minutes on the planet. Her expression was placid—completely unreadable. Oh yeah, this was going to be buckets of fun. “So,” I said, trying to make conversation, “they didn’t tell me where I was gonna be staying.”

“On your application, you indicated a desire for cultural immersion,” T’Les said, not bothering to look my way. “I will be hosting you during your visit.”

“Thank you for putting me up.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Sorry,” I said, wincing. “My mama taught me good manners—uh, human manners, that is. It’s a habit.”

T’Les raised a brow. “There is no offense where none is taken.”

“I like that.” I grinned.

When she said nothing else, I figured she wasn’t up for chatting. I leaned back in my chair and took in the scenery. It was a desert, but not like the endless golden dunes of the Sahara. Vulcan was more russet with broken, rocky hills and patches of plant life. Kind of like Arizona—but not quite.

At some point, I must have nodded off. I woke to T’Les saying my name, my legal name, and from her expression, I gathered she’d been trying to rouse me for a bit.

“We have arrived,” she said. Apparently satisfied I was alert enough to catch her meaning, she exited the vehicle.

I stumbled out, my legs hitting the ground with a hard thump. Back on Earth, I weighed about seventy-seven kilos. Here? About thirty kilos more. No wonder they put me in a killer fitness regime before I shipped out. Not that I had minded going from a scrawny grad to a more beefy fellow—Natalie had certainly enjoyed my new physique. I needed every ounce of new muscle to carry my now heavy body—and duffle bag—from the vehicle to the front gate.

T’Les led me through an enclosed garden. Well, “garden” wasn’t quite the right word for it. There were a couple plants, but the area was mainly decorated with odd-shaped sculptures. The house itself was pretty much made out of windows—something that would infringe on privacy if it weren’t for the high, hand-carved walls surrounding the garden and house.

Inside, the décor was minimalist—almost Asian in style. I made a mental note to ask for permission to photograph the place. Lizzie would love the design—being an amateur architect, and all.

“The guest quarters are on the south end of the house,” T’Les said, pointing in the direction I ought to go. “You may wish to rest before aru-yem.”

I nodded, swallowing the thank you itching to escape my lips, and headed off to find a bed. I hoped Vulcans didn’t sleep on wooden benches. My sorry-ass body was aching for a soft mattress.

The guest quarters consisted of a large bed (with a mattress, thank heavens), a wardrobe, and a short stool-like chair in front of a pot full of what looked like coals. The room was adjoined with a small bathroom—I think. I didn’t recognize any of the facilities. It was going to be real exciting trying to figure those out.

I dropped my duffle bag and plopped onto the bed. Thankfully, there were only two windows in the room, high on the south and east walls. I might not be a prude, but I’d sleep better knowing someone couldn’t accidentally peep on me while walking around the grounds.

I lost consciousness before I could pull up the blanket.

=/\=

“Mister Tucker.”

I rolled over, squinting at the silhouette darkening my doorway. The voice, while feminine, hadn’t sounded like T’Les. “Yeah?” I croaked.

“It’s time for the evening meal.” With that, she disappeared.

It took me a few minutes to get fully awake—my bladder did a good job helping out the process. In the bathroom, I stared at the accommodations for what seemed like a half-hour before deciding the oval basin near the floor was probably their version of a toilet. There was a hole in the center, and that’s what I aimed for, praying to whatever god the Vulcans believed in that I was right. As soon as my, uh, stream hit the bin, it activated some kind of vacuum—sucking away my waste through the hole. After I finished, a thin layer of liquid coated the basin from its lip to the center. A sharp scent wafted up, mildly astringent.

Washing my hands was a little less interesting. The small rectangle sink was motion activated, but it was pretty finicky about how much water it’d let me use. Not really a surprise, there—considering this was a desert planet.

I tried to smooth my ragged hair and straighten my rumpled clothes before heading out of the guest quarters. I wasn’t my picture-best but figured T’Les and whoever else would forgive me for looking a little disheveled after such a long trip.

My hostess was setting square plates of food on the low table in the living room when I emerged. She glanced up at me and waved a hand toward one of the strange bench thingamajigs beside the table. As I sat, my stomach let out a growl. Fortunately, T’Les seemed unfazed by the sound. She settled herself across from me.

Another woman—a gorgeous woman aside from her bowl haircut—joined us from the kitchen area. She seemed to be about my age—though, being a Vulcan, there was a good chance she was twice as old as me. She didn’t wear the bulky robes T’Les seemed to favor, but had on an outfit that seemed to hug every curve of her body. My mouth went dry as I gaped at her. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remembered I had a girlfriend back home. What was her name again?

“This is my daughter, T’Pol.” T’Les’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “She is taking a sabbatical from her position on Earth.”

T’Pol. That name sounded familiar, but from where? I swallowed thickly. “Pleased to meet you.” Again, I had to stop myself from offering to shake hands. I didn’t know how the folks in the diplomatic corps managed to adapt to alien cultures so easily.

T’Pol inclined her head, but didn’t appear particularly pleased to meet me. “You are participating in the interspecies engineering exchange program.”

Now, T’Les sounded a bit uppity when she spoke—hell, most Vulcans did—but T’Pol’s tone was downright snooty. It raised my hackles.

“Yep,” I said. “The idea is the more we understand about alien technology, the better intuitive leaps we can make in engineering designs.” I gave her a cheeky grin. “Only the best and brightest get into the program. And I don’t mean to toot my own horn—” (I did.) “—but I am the best and brightest my world has to offer.”

T’Pol lifted a brow. “Surely such a statement doesn’t speak well for humanity.”

I scoffed at her comment, my cheeks burning in anger. “You don’t know me, and you obviously don’t know my people.”

“On the contrary,” she replied, disdain plain in her eyes, “I’ve had adequate enough association with humans to form an accurate opinion.”

“Doesn’t the very definition of ‘opinion’ make it impossible for it to be accurate?” I shot back. My temper was starting to get the best of me.

“For a human, yes.” T’Pol picked up the wooden tweezer utensil next to her plate. “Vulcans are not subject to emotion. Our opinions are based in logic.”

“Yeah, I bet.” It struck me then where I’d heard the name T’Pol before. One of my poker buddies was a graduate student in xenolinguistics. He complained at nearly every game about his hard-assed professor in Vulcan phonology. He called her the Ice Princess. He called her other names, too.

I snatched a piece of something off my plate and shoved it in my mouth to keep from making a more biting retort. It probably wouldn’t look too good on my record if I got kicked out of T’Les’s house the first night I arrived. I wasn’t going to let T’Pol screw this up for me.

As I chewed, I noticed that the room had gone dead quiet. Both women stared at me as if I’d sprouted a third eye. “What?” I asked after I finished my bite.

“We do not touch food with our hands.” T’Pol waved her utensil to accentuate her point.

My face turned bright red. I knew that, of course. It had been one of the many rules I’d been briefed on—don’t touch anything or anyone—but I’d forgotten it in the heat of our argument. I could swear there was triumph in T’Pol’s olive green eyes as she gazed at me—as if I had further proven her opinion that humans were bumbling idiots.

I was caught in a conundrum. The polite thing to do—at least, if they were human—was to apologize. Or to thank T’Pol, grudgingly, for reminding me. I picked up the wooden pincer thing and took another bite—properly this time. T’Les gave me a brief nod of approval before returning to her meal. T’Pol seemed disappointed. I guess she was expecting more arm-pit-scratching ape behavior from the human. Score one for Trip Tucker.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, I spoke up. “So, do all Vulcan female names start with a t?”

“Only those who will one day become clan leaders,” T’Pol answered, that cold smugness back in her eyes.

“It is a heavy responsibility,” T’Les cut in, giving her daughter a reproachful look. “The t signifies belonging to the clan. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one or the few. The matriarch must give herself completely in the service of the clan.”

“Oh,” I said, impressed despite how much T’Pol got on my nerves. “Are you the matriarch?” I directed the question to T’Les.

“No. I am next in line.” She took a sip from her cup. “I understand that clans on Earth have a patriarchal order.”

“A long time ago, but our families have evolved since then.” This was the kind of discussion I’d been hoping to have—interesting and polite.

“I have observed that humans place little value on family order, or family needs.”

And of course, T’Pol had to ruin the conversation with her judgments.

“What makes you say that?” I narrowed my eyes at her. My temper was a hop, skip and a jump away from flaring up again.

“Human children choose their own path in life,” she said. “They place their wishes ahead of those of their parents.”

“That’s because it’s our parent’s wish that we choose our own path,” I replied, setting down my utensil and standing. I’d lost my appetite. “You know, for all your belief in infinite diversity in infinite cultures, you sure as hell have a narrow-minded view of my people.” I turned to T’Les. “I apologize if I’m being rude, but I think I’ll retire for the evening, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course.” T’Les bowed her head.

I had only one regret as I walked away: I didn’t ask how a person bathed in this place.

=/\=

I wouldn’t be bragging if I said that I was probably the smartest damn engineer on Earth. I’d even been contracted by Starfleet a few times to work with the boys at Jupiter station. I heard the whispers that I was the next Henry Archer—that I might be better than Henry Archer, but it never went to my head. I loved the work itself more than any back-slapping from my peers. There was no greater high than pushing the boundaries of warp theory, or coming up with a new design that turned current warp mechanics on its head. It was even better when I got to test my hypotheses myself.

Here on Vulcan, it turned out that I was pretty average when it came to this stuff—more like remedial, if I was being honest. My fellow students at the Vulcan Engineering Institute could do advanced calculus in their heads in a split second. I could too, just not that fast. On top of that, Vulcan warp theory was completely foreign. If they based everything in logic, it was no logic I understood.

Two weeks into classes, I was floundering. The math itself made sense, but how the Vulcans applied it seemed upside-down and backwards. Every time I thought I was close to catching on, we moved onto something even more confusing. I shared my frustration with T’Les one evening when T’Pol wasn’t around. (I’d let hell freeze over before I admitted any weakness to the Ice Princess. She was always on the hunt for ways to take me down a notch or ten.)

T’Les suggested my issue was a culture gap rather than something to do with my intelligence—as I’m sure T’Pol would have told me. That’s how I found myself in a class on Vulcan history, taught by the most cantankerous Vulcan I’d ever met. It seemed to be Soval’s sole purpose in life to take every offense lobbed at him—imagined or otherwise.

There were two things that made putting up with the ornery professor worth it (aside from getting a better grasp on the logic behind Vulcan warp theory): Lots of field trips, and a class primarily made up of folks who worked at the Earth embassy. Humans. Goddamn wonderful humans.

“Behold,” Soval said, pointing to a crater filled with rocky formations that almost resembled broken buildings, “the City of Shadows. Lore tells us that the Warlord D’Vir endeavored to be the first to develop space flight, and in order to prevent D’Vir’s success, a rival Warlord Nu’Val attacked with neutron bombs. Over one million lives were lost here.”

Amanda Cole, a soldier from the embassy who I’d become friends with, elbowed me. “Watch this,” she whispered. She threw her hand into the air. “Mister Soval? I thought Vulcans were peaceful people and never went to war. I mean, killing millions just to keep one guy from getting into space doesn’t seem logical.”

Soval let out an exasperated sigh. “Miss Cole, I’d ask if you were feigning persistent ignorance or if your intelligence is truly this lacking, but I’d prefer not to know the answer.” He muttered something in Vulcan under his breath.

I snickered along with Amanda as Soval droned on about the history of Vulcan spaceflight. Normally, it was a subject I’d find fascinating, but our teacher was only expounding on the impact of space travel on Vulcan culture rather than the mathematics behind it. He’d get to some of that later—in the classroom. One of the blessings and curses of Vulcan nature was their absolute thoroughness.

“Hey, you want to come to the embassy for beers when we get back?” Amanda asked while we were hiking back to the transports.

“Do you even need to ask?” I grinned.

“Great!” She flashed me a brilliant smile, linking her arm in mine. “I hope you don’t have any plans for tomorrow, because we’re going to get smashed.”

I laughed.

Soval stood by the vehicles, glaring at each of the students as they filed into the transports. After a couple weeks in his class, I figured it was his default expression.

“Mister Soval, I think that was your best class ever!” Amanda exclaimed when she brushed past him. “I can’t wait for the next one, though I don’t know how you’re going to top it.”

I bit my lip to keep from chuckling.

Soval’s eyes went flat. “Indeed, Miss Cole. I’m certain you will wait with bated breath, to borrow the human vernacular, to be under my tutelage once more,” he replied, sarcasm dripping in his tone.

Amanda pretended to be shocked. “Oh, my God! How did you know?”

I shook my head and pushed her into the transport. “Give the man a break.”

Behind us, I heard Soval grumble, “Ish-kan kitau goh sut t’patam.”

That child only brings headaches.

“Hey,” I said, turning around. “Ein t’etek stariben Vuhlkansu.” Some of us speak Vulcan. Basic mastery of the language was one of the requirements on my application. Mastery of pronunciation was a whole ‘nother ball of wax, though—which was why I was content to let Vulcans think I couldn’t speak or interpret their native tongue.

Amanda popped her head out of the car. “Yeah, and I’m not a child.” She winked at our instructor and plopped back onto her seat.

Soval’s response was another weary sigh.

A few hours later, I sat on a stool in the embassy bar, throwing back bourbon with Amanda and swapping childhood stories about Florida. I hadn’t gotten drunk in many years, having left my frat party days behind when I got my undergrad degree. After putting up with austere Vulcan decorum for the last four weeks, I was aching for a little nostalgia.

The bartender filled our drinks, and Amanda lifted hers high in the air. “To our professor. May he ever be stern.”

“Here, here.” I clinked my glass with hers, then threw back the burning liquid. “Why do you give him such a hard time?”

Amanda grinned. “Because I’m bored and it’s fun.” She leaned closer. “I’ll let you in on a secret. I kinda like him.”

I raised my brows. “You like him? Mister Cranky-Pants Vulcan?”

“Not that way, you perv!” She batted my arm, laughing. “Although, if he were sixty years younger and willing, I might be into him.” At my exaggerated look of disgust, she laughed again. “Seriously, though. He’s the most interesting Vulcan I’ve ever known. They’re all so robotic, you know? Soval… Well, he’s not. He’s sarcastic and mean. I swear there’s a well of passion corked up inside that man just begging to be released.”

“Now I know you’re drunk.” I took her glass away. “I’d better get you to your quarters.”

“Ha!” She snorted. “Like a MACO needs help from a pansy-ass engineer!” She nearly tumbled off her stool. “I’ll do the escorting, thank you very much.”

I snickered, rolling my eyes. We were both pretty sauced—her more than me—and it took a few wrong turns before we found her room. We earned a few odd looks as we crashed into walks, giggling like idiots. Man, it felt nice not to worry about rules.

After three tries, Amanda finally got her room code right and the door slid open. “You’re wasted, Mister Tucker,” she said. “You can crash in the extra bunk. My new roommate hasn’t arrived from Earth yet.”

I waved my hand. “I’d better not.”

“Oh, come on.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the room with her. “What’s that Vulcan family going to think if you show up drunk? Better to face them sober tomorrow, right?”

There was a certain logic to her statement. Deep down in my gut, though, something seemed not quite right about this scenario, but my brain was a tad fuzzy when it came to thinking straight. “All right.”

“Good.”

As soon as the door closed, Amanda planted her lips on mine. I was almost tempted to kiss back, to accept the offer her hips were making by way of grinding into me. Sex was one of the many comforts of home I missed, but my mama raised a gentleman not a cad.

I pushed Amanda away. “I can’t,” I said, wiping her lipstick from my mouth. “I’ve got a girl back home.”

Her eyes widened as she stepped farther back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” She sank into the chair at her desk, hands over her face. “Oh, God. I’m so stupid.”

“Hey, now.” I patted her shoulder. It felt awkward after what had just transpired. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” I hadn’t thought of Amanda that way, still didn’t despite my body’s response to her kiss. It hadn’t occurred to me before now to let her know I was off the market.

Amanda pressed her forehead against the desk. “I think I’m going to die of humiliation.”

I took that as my cue to take off. “I’m really sorry,” I said before leaving.

Fortunately, the Vulcan public transit system was the kind of logic that even a drunken fool of a human could understand. I made it back to T’Les’s in one piece, with nary an accidental scenic route.

The house was dark when I arrived. Both women were probably meditating in their private quarters. All the better. I’d rather not suffer T’Pol’s scathing recriminations if they could be avoided. I made it three steps past the front door when I saw the dark figure sitting in the living room. I tried to tip-toe through the room. When the figure stirred, I crossed my fingers it was T’Les. She was a helluva lot more tolerant than her daughter.

“You missed aru-yem.”

It was not T’Les. Son of a bitch.

“Aw, hell.” I sighed. “Sorry ‘bout that.” I didn’t wait for a response before high-tailing it toward my room. I was not up to bandying words with the Ice Princess.

T’Pol had other ideas, though. She followed behind me as she said, “You should have sent us a communique as courtesy dictates.”

I ground my teeth. “I said I was sorry.”

“We prepared food for you.” The woman wouldn’t let up.

I spun around and had to steady myself against the wall. “How many more times do you want me to apologize?” I glared down at her.

She clasped her hands behind her back, oblivious to the daggers I was staring at her. “Where were you?”

“Having drinks with a friend at the embassy.” Why was I telling her?

“Who is this friend?” Her eyes bored into mine.

I shook my head. “None of your damn business.”

She pursed her lips ever so slightly. “It is my business, Mister Tucker, when your behavior reflects poorly on this clan.”

I ran my hand over my face and groaned. “Two things.” I held up two fingers—I think. “First, how many times do I have to tell you my name is Trip? I call you by your name, maybe you could call me by mine. As courtesy dictates.” I stepped closer to her, forcing her to back up. “And second, I’m sick and damn tired of you picking on me every chance you get. I’m a smart, respectful, nice guy and you treat me like I’m some mangy animal that needs to be put down.”

“You are barely civilized.” Her eyes grew wide when her back touched a wall.

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about.” I leaned over her, resting my arm above her head to keep from falling over. “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid if you took that stick out of your ass, and tried—honest to God, tried to get to know the real me, you’d find out you like me. And heaven forbid you like a goddamn uncivilized human being—because that would screw up your ‘accurate’ opinion of me and my people.” I snorted. “What does your prophet say? ‘Ma etek natyan—teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on.’”

God, I hoped what I said was, “We have differences. May we, together, become greater than the sum of us.” And if that’s what I said, I hoped to hell it wasn’t a marriage proposal in her culture.

She stared up at me, speechless for the first time in our association. I was pretty sure that meant I won this round, and I should have walked back to my room, reveling in my victory.

Thanks to the alcohol, however, I couldn’t hold off stupid for that long. And what came out of my mouth next, after such a brilliant argument, was the king of all stupid.

“Damn, you smell good.”

Yep, I actually said it out loud. I wish I could say after that comment, I shuffled off to my bed with my tail between my legs, but I was transfixed by her beauty instead. Over the last few weeks, her general unpleasantness put me off from finding her as attractive as I had that first day. But free of inhibitions, I was utterly distracted by her full lips. To my shame, I wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to have her hips grind against me like Amanda’s had earlier. I might not have thought of my soldier friend that way—even after lots of beer and bourbon—but I sure as hell could think of T’Pol that way. All sorts of intimate positions flashed through my head. If I wasn’t drunk, it would have scared the shit out of me.

“You smell like fermented grain,” T’Pol said in a breathy voice.

It was just the slap in the face I needed. I backed up, despite the overwhelming urge to take her into my arms and taste her. Anyone who smelled that good had to taste good too. Like a mix of exotic spices and honey. I backed away faster, almost tripping over my feet.

“I’m gonna go to bed now,” I said, thrusting a thumb over my shoulder. I left her standing there, gawking at me. There’d be hell to pay tomorrow—in more ways than one.

=/\=

Waking up with a hangover was bad enough. Waking up with a hangover and a decent enough memory of the events of the previous night was worse. Waking up with a hangover to the sound of a gong at the butt-crack of dawn and a decent memory of the previous night was the pinnacle of god-awful. At the moment, dying seemed like the most viable option.

“Trip.”

Just when I thought I’d reached the worst of the worst, T’Pol was standing in my doorway. I half-considered hiding under the covers and pretending I was still out cold.

“Trip,” she said again.

Yeah, there was no escaping this. I sat up, catching the blanket before it fell off me. Last night, the combination of gallons of alcohol and the unrelenting heat of Vulcan made it seem like a good idea to sleep in just my birthday suit.

“What is it?” My voice was thick and gruff.

“It is customary for guests to prepare the morning meal.”

I blinked at her, not quite registering the words coming from her mouth. “What?”

“We must prepare asal-yem.” She stepped into my room, holding a cup.

I held up a hand. “Wait, I’ve been here for a month, and this is the first I heard of it.”

“My mother wished for you to acclimate to the longer days on Vulcan before introducing this tradition,” T’Pol said, moving to the foot of my bed.

I narrowed my eyes. “And I suppose you suggested today would be a great day to start?” I wouldn’t put it past her.

T’Pol raised a brow. “T’Les has no knowledge of your inebriated state last night. I assure you this is coincidental.” She held out the cup to me. “This tea will help ease any headache you might have.”

I wrapped the blanket around myself before reaching for the drink. I took a sip and nearly spat it back in the cup. “That tastes like sh—” I cut off when I glanced at T’Pol. She stared down at me with a canted brow. “Uh, it’s awful. What’s in it?”

“Root from a shek-tukh tree,” she said, retreating. “Hurry.”

I drained the cup in one gulp and held my breath to keep from retching all over my bed. It took an iron stomach to handle tea from an iron tree, I supposed. The nausea passed, and my headache got a little better.

It wasn’t until I was half-dressed that I realized T’Pol had called me by my name.