Okay, my friends. Okay.
I really think this time here we are.
Yes, I feel that we're going to finally understand something in this nonsensical story.
Although ... although ...
I really think this time here we are.
Yes, I feel that we're going to finally understand something in this nonsensical story.
Although ... although ...
Eh, this is a problem, it is undeniable, but we're patient, aren't we, my friends?
So, do not lose heart.
So, do not lose heart.
Play It again, Sam.
Chapter Four
That's pleasant. Vulcans don't indulge in life's pleasures. Personal hygiene is merely behooving and logical, but I must admit that I'm starting to understand and to relish, sometimes, the way Humans are in the habit of joining necessities with delightfulness.
Like the shower. Vulcans have it, obviously, but they don't wallow in the enjoyment of its spurting warm water.
Like I have learned to do.
Maybe I should feel guilty for that; it is a deviation from the traditional Vulcan path. But I don't feel so, I find this relaxing and... useful. Similar somehow to meditation.
I turn slowly around, eyes closed, savouring the feel of the toasty water against my skin.
Soft and strong and warm, almost like the touch... the touch...
Oh, T'Pol, stop it! Stop thinking of that dream. AND STOP THINKING OF...
For the umpteenth time since I awakened, I try to reset my brain, while the water keeps on caressing my body.
Naked, like in my dream.
The steam winds it. It's...it's sensual, like the nearness of my nude body to the nude body of the Commander... in my dream.
I realize that my efforts are futile. The reality and the sensations of my dream dominate my mind. I can't detach myself from them.
Why? And why did I dream? In spite of my meditation? And why did I have this... this peculiar dream? And why can't I stop thinking of it?
I... I know why, I...
No! That's untrue! There is another reason. Yes! The reason is not that I... that I...
I turn off the faucet a little bit petulantly, open the shower door and grab my bathrobe.
I wrap myself up with it. It is comforting, like the embrace...
I almost jerk. That must end!
It is absolutely necessary that I examine attentively that strange thing I found when I analyzed the sensor readings of the planet and its environs.
A space anomaly, that's sure, but how freakish. I've never seen anything similar to it, and, as far as I can remember, there is no trace in the Vulcan database.
A sort of little throb, a pulsation in space's weft, full of energy, indefinable and elusive, gambolling... yes... gambolling here and there, whimsically, in space, all around the planet. And all around Enterprise.
Maybe I should speak of it to the Captain. No. It would be better if I had more information first. He could ask me why I wanted to undertake this research in regard to the planet and I should respond. That would be embarrassing, considering the... recent issues we have had between us.
"Captain the fact is that I dreamed."
"You?"
"Yes."
"I thought Vulcans don't dream."
"That's why I want to do this research."
"Well, I can understand that you wanted to find the reasons why you dreamed, but frankly you acted rapidly. Maybe the dream's subject had something to do with that?"
"Captain, I would prefer not to go deeper into details."
"No?"
"No, Captain."
"You?"
"Yes."
"I thought Vulcans don't dream."
"That's why I want to do this research."
"Well, I can understand that you wanted to find the reasons why you dreamed, but frankly you acted rapidly. Maybe the dream's subject had something to do with that?"
"Captain, I would prefer not to go deeper into details."
"No?"
"No, Captain."
No. Better if I wait to have something more defined. I learned how curious Humans can be, and the Captain is no exception. Not infrequently he tends to be insistent, using the pretext that the captain has to know everything on his ship. And even if I... were hiding the truth, this would be equally inexpedient, unworthy of a true Vulcan.
Mh... perhaps... perhaps if I reveal my discovery to the Commander, he could help me. He may be...may be handsome, that's undeniable, and also irritating, even that is undeniable, but he is also smart and - how would he say it? - sharp, yes. And then... then... he has that strange thing that Humans call intuitiveness. That has always worked well with my logic. Actually... actually it's true that we have been capable of being a very "close-knit team" in... "lots of different circumstances."
BUT NEVER WILL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES BE LIKE THOSE OF MY DREAM!
Never!
And the warmth I feel on the tips of my ears is simply the consequence of the passage from the shower's heat to the colder environment of my room. Nothing else than that!
Professional relationship. Only that. Why should the Commander be different from the Captain? Because of his attractive aspect? Or for his hair, so sunny and charming? Or for those eyes, blue and shining? Or for his smile? WHAT ABOUT HIS SMILE, WHICH MIGHT BE ENTHRALLING?
And what has his scent? WHAT? NOTHING!
Nothing.
The Commander is merely a man like all the others. And... and Human, in addition! And illogical and unpredictable and emotional and volatile and annoying and...
And...
And he cannot be the Commander of my dream!
Never will my dream be anything else but a dream, an illogical and bizarre dream.
And if, at this moment, I want to see the Commander and to talk with him, it is only because I know that he might be of some help to me in order to understand what that strange space anomaly is.
ONLY FOR THAT!
During this day I will call him and...
Mh, but...but what will I say to him?
Mh... perhaps... perhaps if I reveal my discovery to the Commander, he could help me. He may be...may be handsome, that's undeniable, and also irritating, even that is undeniable, but he is also smart and - how would he say it? - sharp, yes. And then... then... he has that strange thing that Humans call intuitiveness. That has always worked well with my logic. Actually... actually it's true that we have been capable of being a very "close-knit team" in... "lots of different circumstances."
BUT NEVER WILL THESE CIRCUMSTANCES BE LIKE THOSE OF MY DREAM!
Never!
And the warmth I feel on the tips of my ears is simply the consequence of the passage from the shower's heat to the colder environment of my room. Nothing else than that!
Professional relationship. Only that. Why should the Commander be different from the Captain? Because of his attractive aspect? Or for his hair, so sunny and charming? Or for those eyes, blue and shining? Or for his smile? WHAT ABOUT HIS SMILE, WHICH MIGHT BE ENTHRALLING?
And what has his scent? WHAT? NOTHING!
Nothing.
The Commander is merely a man like all the others. And... and Human, in addition! And illogical and unpredictable and emotional and volatile and annoying and...
And...
And he cannot be the Commander of my dream!
Never will my dream be anything else but a dream, an illogical and bizarre dream.
And if, at this moment, I want to see the Commander and to talk with him, it is only because I know that he might be of some help to me in order to understand what that strange space anomaly is.
ONLY FOR THAT!
During this day I will call him and...
Mh, but...but what will I say to him?
"Commander, I would like to ask for your cooperation in order to clarify something I found regarding Kreetassans' planet."
"You did some research about it?"
"I did."
"Is there anything which bothered you?"
"Commander, I would prefer not to go deeper into details."
"No?"
"No, Commander."
"You did some research about it?"
"I did."
"Is there anything which bothered you?"
"Commander, I would prefer not to go deeper into details."
"No?"
"No, Commander."
Mh, no. That doesn't work. That... that damned, as he would say, percipience he has would make him suspicious, and I... I learned that it's difficult to hide something from him. Probably the better thing is that I go into the matter casually, taking advantage of some conversation, altogether casual, and during a... casual encounter, which would be altogether fortuitous. Yes, that is the right way.
Mh, maybe...
I look at the clock. It's early morning. I know that the Commander is in habit of eating breakfast... bright and early, like he would say. He doesn't sleep much, works continually and is used to repeating the phrase, "the morning has gold in its mouth."
Well, I think I understand what he means, but what I am unable to understand is how it is possible that sometimes he pronounces another idiom, and with the same certitude, an idiom that, apparently, if its meaning is the one I think it has to be, is in full contrast with the first. What is it? Ah, yes. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
Really cryptic and somewhat clashing with the workaholic, which the Commander appears to be, and still a very good fit for him, especially if one thinks that he sounds like he is teasing himself while saying it.
Surely the Commander is a tangle of contradictions, and that makes him really interesting.
Mh. Mh...mh...
Yes. Viewed from this perspective, things can be seen in another light.
Sure, considering the incomprehensible mixture of intelligence and illogicality that the Commander is, it is perfectly understandable that I find him absorbingly interesting. That and nothing else, absolutely N-O-T-H-I-N-G E-L-S-E, is the reason why he is so... intriguing to me. In fact, no other Human man can be so demonstrative of the Human being's way. He is an absorbing and useful object for scientific observation about Human behaviour, and this - just this - makes me think of him... so often. All that plus the fact that indubitably his scent is peculiar for that of a Human and, consequently, equally worthy of some interest on my part, made my subconscious misinterpret my thoughts about the Commander, and so I ultimately dreamed that dream.
I look at my image in the mirror, tightening the bathrobe around me. My face looks... satisfied. Well, maybe this is not very Vulcan-like, but I can't help but think this isn't bad. It is always very satisfying when logic manages to settle all things in the right way. And this is what has just been happening.
I succeeded in putting everything in the right place. My logic didn't fail me.
The Commander's likeable aspects - his athletic appearance, the pleasant sound of his voice together with the attractiveness of its cadence, the intriguing appeal of his offhanded and brisk manners blended with the niceness of his gentlemanly deportment - as far as they can be true and real, have nothing to do with any sort of attraction he is able to exert over me. They are NOT the reasons that I dreamed about him, and that I dreamed about him... the way I did. It has merely been the work of my subconscious, deceived by my inner thoughts, owing to the illogicality of the dreams.
And not even his scent, as far as it is unique and as far as it struck me - inexplicably - all along, is a valid reason.
My logic has found the reasons for the substance of my dream.
These reasons and no other ones.
NO OTHER ONES.
Satisfaction grows inside me. I am the same logical Vulcan woman I was before I met Humans and... and Commander Charles Tucker the Third.
Now two other things remain to be explained logically.
First: Why did I dream in spite of meditation? That's important because finding the cause is necessary in order to shield some others of my race from the possibility of a repetition of this dangerous event.
Second: Why did the dream's substance appear to be so real that I found it... very hard to distinguish reality from the subconscious's unreal constructs?
It's logical to presume that these things are connected, that they are two sides of the same problem. It's likewise logical to presume that that never seen phenomenon I detected could be the root of both contingencies.
So in the final analysis, it's of the utmost importance that I analyze that freak phenomenon very attentively and very soon, availing myself of the helpful aid of the Commander. Now that I am able to regain my Vulcan composure, I'm sure I will be capable of not revealing to him why I felt this research was necessary, which actually could be embarrassing. He is not the captain, who needs to know all, and he is capable of being discreet, if needed.
Maybe I might leverage his undeniable concern for other people to gain his cooperation. And... and his concern doesn't exclude me. Not at all.
Not...not at all.
Obviously because I'm a member of the crew, because I am a member of the ship which is under his control as Chief Engineer. Surely nothing more than that.
And... it's only logical that I feel gratified to have his concern and respect. I toiled to gain the crew's reliance.
I look again at the clock. Better not waste time. The logic of my reasoning, regarding the opportunity to go casually into the matter of my request to the Commander during a casual conversation with him, is still perfectly valid. Obviously, it's a matter of logical strategy that I initiate such a... casual encounter. Consequently, if I hurry, it's probable that I can meet the Commander in the Mess Hall, while he is eating his breakfast. This logical strategy will allow me to not delay the solution to such an important issue, because it's true that "the morning has gold in its mouth." I, too, have been seen sometimes eating my breakfast in the Mess Hall at an early hour.
Yes. It's a matter of logical strategy. That's the reason why it's necessary I meet the Commander soon.
Now.
A matter of logical strategy.
Nothing else than that.
I dress hastily and head for the door.
Mh... maybe...
I halt and go toward my bathroom. I enter it and look again at the mirror.
I observe my image.
Mh...
I... I do not think I'm disagreeable. Even... even when viewed by a Human man.
Probably a little too stern by Human standard, but... if try to soften a tiny bit...
Yes. That... that could work.
Human men are very sensitive to women's features, and the Commander is no exception.
Most likely a little... softness on my part could be useful to make him even more willing to help me.
It's... it's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
I turn around and rush to the door of my quarters.
I open it and go out into the corridor, still desert at this very early hour.
I scurry along the corridor. I don't want to lose the opportunity to meet the Commander.
It's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
While hurrying, I check my hair. I want to appear as winsome as possible.
It's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
Mh, maybe...
I look at the clock. It's early morning. I know that the Commander is in habit of eating breakfast... bright and early, like he would say. He doesn't sleep much, works continually and is used to repeating the phrase, "the morning has gold in its mouth."
Well, I think I understand what he means, but what I am unable to understand is how it is possible that sometimes he pronounces another idiom, and with the same certitude, an idiom that, apparently, if its meaning is the one I think it has to be, is in full contrast with the first. What is it? Ah, yes. "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
Really cryptic and somewhat clashing with the workaholic, which the Commander appears to be, and still a very good fit for him, especially if one thinks that he sounds like he is teasing himself while saying it.
Surely the Commander is a tangle of contradictions, and that makes him really interesting.
Mh. Mh...mh...
Yes. Viewed from this perspective, things can be seen in another light.
Sure, considering the incomprehensible mixture of intelligence and illogicality that the Commander is, it is perfectly understandable that I find him absorbingly interesting. That and nothing else, absolutely N-O-T-H-I-N-G E-L-S-E, is the reason why he is so... intriguing to me. In fact, no other Human man can be so demonstrative of the Human being's way. He is an absorbing and useful object for scientific observation about Human behaviour, and this - just this - makes me think of him... so often. All that plus the fact that indubitably his scent is peculiar for that of a Human and, consequently, equally worthy of some interest on my part, made my subconscious misinterpret my thoughts about the Commander, and so I ultimately dreamed that dream.
I look at my image in the mirror, tightening the bathrobe around me. My face looks... satisfied. Well, maybe this is not very Vulcan-like, but I can't help but think this isn't bad. It is always very satisfying when logic manages to settle all things in the right way. And this is what has just been happening.
I succeeded in putting everything in the right place. My logic didn't fail me.
The Commander's likeable aspects - his athletic appearance, the pleasant sound of his voice together with the attractiveness of its cadence, the intriguing appeal of his offhanded and brisk manners blended with the niceness of his gentlemanly deportment - as far as they can be true and real, have nothing to do with any sort of attraction he is able to exert over me. They are NOT the reasons that I dreamed about him, and that I dreamed about him... the way I did. It has merely been the work of my subconscious, deceived by my inner thoughts, owing to the illogicality of the dreams.
And not even his scent, as far as it is unique and as far as it struck me - inexplicably - all along, is a valid reason.
My logic has found the reasons for the substance of my dream.
These reasons and no other ones.
NO OTHER ONES.
Satisfaction grows inside me. I am the same logical Vulcan woman I was before I met Humans and... and Commander Charles Tucker the Third.
Now two other things remain to be explained logically.
First: Why did I dream in spite of meditation? That's important because finding the cause is necessary in order to shield some others of my race from the possibility of a repetition of this dangerous event.
Second: Why did the dream's substance appear to be so real that I found it... very hard to distinguish reality from the subconscious's unreal constructs?
It's logical to presume that these things are connected, that they are two sides of the same problem. It's likewise logical to presume that that never seen phenomenon I detected could be the root of both contingencies.
So in the final analysis, it's of the utmost importance that I analyze that freak phenomenon very attentively and very soon, availing myself of the helpful aid of the Commander. Now that I am able to regain my Vulcan composure, I'm sure I will be capable of not revealing to him why I felt this research was necessary, which actually could be embarrassing. He is not the captain, who needs to know all, and he is capable of being discreet, if needed.
Maybe I might leverage his undeniable concern for other people to gain his cooperation. And... and his concern doesn't exclude me. Not at all.
Not...not at all.
Obviously because I'm a member of the crew, because I am a member of the ship which is under his control as Chief Engineer. Surely nothing more than that.
And... it's only logical that I feel gratified to have his concern and respect. I toiled to gain the crew's reliance.
I look again at the clock. Better not waste time. The logic of my reasoning, regarding the opportunity to go casually into the matter of my request to the Commander during a casual conversation with him, is still perfectly valid. Obviously, it's a matter of logical strategy that I initiate such a... casual encounter. Consequently, if I hurry, it's probable that I can meet the Commander in the Mess Hall, while he is eating his breakfast. This logical strategy will allow me to not delay the solution to such an important issue, because it's true that "the morning has gold in its mouth." I, too, have been seen sometimes eating my breakfast in the Mess Hall at an early hour.
Yes. It's a matter of logical strategy. That's the reason why it's necessary I meet the Commander soon.
Now.
A matter of logical strategy.
Nothing else than that.
I dress hastily and head for the door.
Mh... maybe...
I halt and go toward my bathroom. I enter it and look again at the mirror.
I observe my image.
Mh...
I... I do not think I'm disagreeable. Even... even when viewed by a Human man.
Probably a little too stern by Human standard, but... if try to soften a tiny bit...
Yes. That... that could work.
Human men are very sensitive to women's features, and the Commander is no exception.
Most likely a little... softness on my part could be useful to make him even more willing to help me.
It's... it's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
I turn around and rush to the door of my quarters.
I open it and go out into the corridor, still desert at this very early hour.
I scurry along the corridor. I don't want to lose the opportunity to meet the Commander.
It's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
While hurrying, I check my hair. I want to appear as winsome as possible.
It's a matter of logical strategy.
Nothing more than that.
Ahhh, good! A hurray for the shower's inventor.
Do you want to smooth out fatigue? Take a shower.
Do you want to regain energy? Take a shower.
Do you want to forget troubles? Take a shower.
Do you want to forget... I frown, under the warm flowing water. Do you want to forget that dream? Take a shower.
Sure. It will help you.
But it isn't true.
Oh, stop it, man!
I switch off the faucet.
You say that no woman alive is more pestiferous than her, but then you are incapable of forgetting that dream. And... of her in that dream. You are really a tangle of contradictions, my dear Chief Engineer.
I can't help but laugh. Hey! That dream had indeed had a bad influence on you, Commander, didn't it? Since when do you use the expression she utilizes when referring to you? And since when do you feel that it's... sweet? Pleasant?
Some sort of anger begins to arise inside me. Damn woman! Not even the shower is capable of coming out on top against her! What was always able to calm me, doesn't work now. May all the Vulcan females be damned perpetually! And Sub-Commander T'Pol ahead of all of them! How is it possible she can be capable of bamboozling me not only when I am awake, but also when I am asleep? And even making my intimate moments in the shower unsatisfactory. Damn kick on the ass of an irritating Vulcan bitch!
I briskly open the shower's door and come out. With a quick and miffed gesture, I grasp a towel and vigorously start to dry my body.
Bitch!
Bitch...
I slow little by little my gestures.
Bitch. No, you can't say that of her, man. That's untrue and unfair.
Different, sure. She's not Human; she's Vulcan. She can't be or behave like a Human woman. She is not. But... bitch... Why should she be that? She is simply who she is.
And...
I sit down slowly on my bed, the towel wrapped around my hips.
And... she is a damn lonely Vulcan female.
Strange, this thought... I'd never had it before. What was the thought of that other Trip, the Trip of my dream?
[And the strength, the courage to be alone - the only Vulcan on a ship surrounded by unfriendly Humans? Doesn't this strength count?
Have we placed any value on the strength to try to understand these Humans, which are judged by her race as a sort of barbarous cavemen? To want to share their efforts and their hopes? Against her own preconceptions? To defy her prejudices, the habits and the beliefs of her whole life, of the culture she grew up in?
Isn't this - THIS! - her true strength? The strength we Humans, so ready to blame her and her race, are constantly in search of?]
These thoughts.... these thoughts... could they mirror the truth? Could all that be true? And... it's strange that I manage to remember them perfectly, as if they were my own, not the thoughts of that other Trip, that...that foreign person who was in my dream.
I lower my head pensively. This dream... this dream... is really peculiar. I know that dreams are not infrequently the way our subconscious brings to light what is buried deep down inside us, truths we are incapable of recognizing in the reality of the world which surrounds us. Was this dream the way in which my subconscious wanted me to acknowledge the hidden and... and noble strength T'Pol possesses?
Such a great and... fascinating strength that it might make it possible that I could... I could fall in love with her?
I snort. Nah! This is foolishness. That I can find her... appetizing, well! This has to be taken for granted, darn it! With that bum she has, not to mention the... remainder. But... in love with her! It would be necessary that I was really another Trip. Ridiculous. And equally it was impossible for T'Pol to be in love with me, like she was... like she was in my dream.
Nah, nah. What that other Trip, the Trip of my dream, thought of her exasperating way of behaving, of interacting with the others, can't be contested.
[Which of her strengths do the others recognize? WHICH SORT OF STRENGTHS? Which, for Beelzebub queue's sake?!?
The strength to be rigorous? And firm? And steady? And stern? With everyone and even with herself? The strength to be logical and determined? And icy? Glacial? Unapproachable? A real kick in the ass?]
A real kick in the ass. That's what she is. Just that, for... for Beelzebub queue's sake?!?
Sure. Of course. Indeed.
But... if by chance there was only some sort of reaction from her or rather an alteration of her Vulcan ways which would ameliorate the animosity she feels around her? To lessen the amount of time she spends in solitude?
And it doesn't have to be forgotten that the majority of the crew is male, and she is beautiful and Vulcan and... exotic and consequently even more... exciting for a handful of primitive Human males.
Like... like for the Captain. Just so. Like for the Captain!
And this propensity from the males surely doesn't make her very popular among most of the females on the ship.
She must defend herself somehow, and in what the hell other way can a Vulcan female defend herself and try to survive and combat her solitude, if not in the only way she knows?
A Vulcan female who... doesn't have the tools?
I get up and go toward my bathroom to finish my morning preparation. I feel meditative and engrossed in my thoughts. That's not my own. Is... is it that other Trip? Can a dream that I was almost incapable of remembering become so vivid because that other Trip... the Trip of my dream...is as real as me? And he wants me to recognize...
To recognize... what?
I look at my face in the mirror. What is that puzzled expression on it? Why these thoughts? Why do I feel this way? Why the hell has a galling Vulcan female come so impudently to my mind? In my dreams and even in my thoughts while I am fully awake? Just right after that the Captain... What does she want from my life, holy shit?!? What does that other Trip want from me? What... what does he want me to recognize?
That I...that I...
I grasp the razor and begin to shave nervously. With... with rage. Against myself.
I watch myself fixedly while I shave.
Oh, come on, man! But what the devil are these thoughts which swirl in your brain? Don't you remember who she is? Don't you remember the wrath which blew up inside you when she ignored your proffered hand? When she turned her back to you? How can you forget her haughtiness? How can you forget that, in your heart, you swore to pay her back for her superciliousness?
Could you forget all that because of....
I stop shaving. I observe the face of the man in the mirror. It's my face. And, nevertheless, it looks... foreign.
... Because of those wonderful eyes of hers? Of those eyelashes, so long and delicate? Of that little nose which begs to be caressed on the tip, tenderly and delicately, with the soft touch of willing lips? Of those delicious pointed ears which must be nibbled? Of those lips... fragrant... turgid... which demand... to be kissed... passionately?
Because of that subtle perfume... alien... unknown... enthralling... which emanates from her tiny, shapely, charming figure?
Because of those small hands of hers, of those willowy arms that would fit so well around... around my... my...?
The foreign man in the mirror scrutinizes me. Attentively. Is he... that other Trip? Is he... tempting me?
Is he suggesting to me that... that if I were acting like him, if I were saying to T'Pol that I... that I...
And that, maybe, in this case, she... she could... she could...
SHE COULD WHAT!?! For Satan's horns! Could she, by chance... reciprocate... reciprocate... my... my... ?
MY ANYTHING!
My a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, may I be damned! Anything!
Anything.
And then.... she... she is a block of ice. A... a frostbound iceberg. She's the queen of frost. How could it be possible that a... a feeling, the tiniest feeling, can come from such a frosty marble statue?
Yeah. Sure. Of course. It's impossible and absurd to think that things could be anything more than simply professional from me toward her.
Sure.
I finish my shaving with only a few moves. Nervily.
Sure.
Sure. But... considering all that, why... why the hell, if she is this damn algid ice doll... why the hell does she search for me no matter whatever... whatever need she has?
She doesn't say it, no, she doesn't say... but... yes... after all... she does that.
And... I must admit... I must admit that I do the same with her. When I am in need... when I am in need...
OH MAN! But this is nothing strange! Obviously, you merely search for the advice of the most skilled person on the ship! The one who has the greatest experience. Because that's absolutely true. And you search for her advices only because of that. Only that.
Nothing more than that.
And she... she... obviously... she knows that I am well up in my own expertise. And when she needs someone who is able to give her some help in regard to technical questions, or... or, considering my extroverted character, in regard to some issues connected with Human beings, she - LOGICALLY - searches for me. ONLY THAT.
Only that.
Nothing more than that.
Yeah. Sure.
Of course.
I come out of the bathroom, let the towel fall down and begin to dress slowly.
Nothing more than that, indeed. Even if... even if I don't believe that I am deceiving myself when I think that she feels glad... yes, glad... whenever we work together and whenever we achieve good results from our work.
Like me, on the other hand. But that... that... is logical, as she would say. It is gratifying, when people are capable of reaching their aim, working together so as to improve their job.
Sure. The... the same is valid for me, obviously. That's why I... feel glad when I work with her. Only that.
Nothing more than that.
Or... or maybe is there something else in her attitude toward me? Namely... She... she feels lonely. That... that is true, after all. There is no need to be that other Trip, the one of my dream, to acknowledge that this is true. Maybe... probably... when, after... after we have argued, I smile at her, meaning that I feel glad that we have reached a good result, she... she feels less lonely...she feels glad that someone... ME... smiled at her. All that is very Human, certainly. But she has been learning to know Humans. A little.
Maybe...maybe she has been also learning to know... to know me. A little. Just a little, at least.
And so... who knows... somehow, she could feel... for me... she could...
Oh nonsense!
And then, why the hell might I want that she... that she...?
I AM NOT THE TRIP OF MY DREAM! I am THIS Trip!
Enough, now!
Time to go to work. And to cease to have these thoughts.
And to think of my dream.
I get dressed. I am ready.
Go to the Mess Hall, man. As you are in the habit of doing every morning. At the earliest hour. Aren't you the one who says constantly that "the morning has gold in its mouth"?
I reach my door and open it. I go into the empty corridor. People are not yet crowding it. Yeah, they are wiser than me. They know that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
I walk quickly toward the Mess Hall for my breakfast.
Maybe... it's possible that... I will find the Sub-Commander there. Sometimes she takes her breakfast there. It's rare, but she does that from time to time.
In the early hours.
Alone.
Perhaps... if I meet her... I might... I might chat her up. Casually. Without wanting to bicker. I might make this clear with my words. And also with my deeds. Yes. I might invite her to share her breakfast with me.
I might tell her that Humans are in the habit of doing this, so as not to feel... not to feel alone.
And I might justify my words and my invitation simply with my well-known chutzpa.
She would raise her eyebrow and then... yes... then she would accept.
Of course, because, Vulcan or not, annoying or not, it is true that she is smart and curious and...
... alone.
And I could see to it that she feels less alone.
Yes.
And that would be simple courtesy. Yes. Simple, pure courtesy.
Simple, pure courtesy toward an... an important member of the crew. As she... as she has become. An... essential...member.
Pure Human courtesy.
Only that.
Nothing more than that.
Do you want to smooth out fatigue? Take a shower.
Do you want to regain energy? Take a shower.
Do you want to forget troubles? Take a shower.
Do you want to forget... I frown, under the warm flowing water. Do you want to forget that dream? Take a shower.
Sure. It will help you.
But it isn't true.
Oh, stop it, man!
I switch off the faucet.
You say that no woman alive is more pestiferous than her, but then you are incapable of forgetting that dream. And... of her in that dream. You are really a tangle of contradictions, my dear Chief Engineer.
I can't help but laugh. Hey! That dream had indeed had a bad influence on you, Commander, didn't it? Since when do you use the expression she utilizes when referring to you? And since when do you feel that it's... sweet? Pleasant?
Some sort of anger begins to arise inside me. Damn woman! Not even the shower is capable of coming out on top against her! What was always able to calm me, doesn't work now. May all the Vulcan females be damned perpetually! And Sub-Commander T'Pol ahead of all of them! How is it possible she can be capable of bamboozling me not only when I am awake, but also when I am asleep? And even making my intimate moments in the shower unsatisfactory. Damn kick on the ass of an irritating Vulcan bitch!
I briskly open the shower's door and come out. With a quick and miffed gesture, I grasp a towel and vigorously start to dry my body.
Bitch!
Bitch...
I slow little by little my gestures.
Bitch. No, you can't say that of her, man. That's untrue and unfair.
Different, sure. She's not Human; she's Vulcan. She can't be or behave like a Human woman. She is not. But... bitch... Why should she be that? She is simply who she is.
And...
I sit down slowly on my bed, the towel wrapped around my hips.
And... she is a damn lonely Vulcan female.
Strange, this thought... I'd never had it before. What was the thought of that other Trip, the Trip of my dream?
[And the strength, the courage to be alone - the only Vulcan on a ship surrounded by unfriendly Humans? Doesn't this strength count?
Have we placed any value on the strength to try to understand these Humans, which are judged by her race as a sort of barbarous cavemen? To want to share their efforts and their hopes? Against her own preconceptions? To defy her prejudices, the habits and the beliefs of her whole life, of the culture she grew up in?
Isn't this - THIS! - her true strength? The strength we Humans, so ready to blame her and her race, are constantly in search of?]
These thoughts.... these thoughts... could they mirror the truth? Could all that be true? And... it's strange that I manage to remember them perfectly, as if they were my own, not the thoughts of that other Trip, that...that foreign person who was in my dream.
I lower my head pensively. This dream... this dream... is really peculiar. I know that dreams are not infrequently the way our subconscious brings to light what is buried deep down inside us, truths we are incapable of recognizing in the reality of the world which surrounds us. Was this dream the way in which my subconscious wanted me to acknowledge the hidden and... and noble strength T'Pol possesses?
Such a great and... fascinating strength that it might make it possible that I could... I could fall in love with her?
I snort. Nah! This is foolishness. That I can find her... appetizing, well! This has to be taken for granted, darn it! With that bum she has, not to mention the... remainder. But... in love with her! It would be necessary that I was really another Trip. Ridiculous. And equally it was impossible for T'Pol to be in love with me, like she was... like she was in my dream.
Nah, nah. What that other Trip, the Trip of my dream, thought of her exasperating way of behaving, of interacting with the others, can't be contested.
[Which of her strengths do the others recognize? WHICH SORT OF STRENGTHS? Which, for Beelzebub queue's sake?!?
The strength to be rigorous? And firm? And steady? And stern? With everyone and even with herself? The strength to be logical and determined? And icy? Glacial? Unapproachable? A real kick in the ass?]
A real kick in the ass. That's what she is. Just that, for... for Beelzebub queue's sake?!?
Sure. Of course. Indeed.
But... if by chance there was only some sort of reaction from her or rather an alteration of her Vulcan ways which would ameliorate the animosity she feels around her? To lessen the amount of time she spends in solitude?
And it doesn't have to be forgotten that the majority of the crew is male, and she is beautiful and Vulcan and... exotic and consequently even more... exciting for a handful of primitive Human males.
Like... like for the Captain. Just so. Like for the Captain!
And this propensity from the males surely doesn't make her very popular among most of the females on the ship.
She must defend herself somehow, and in what the hell other way can a Vulcan female defend herself and try to survive and combat her solitude, if not in the only way she knows?
A Vulcan female who... doesn't have the tools?
I get up and go toward my bathroom to finish my morning preparation. I feel meditative and engrossed in my thoughts. That's not my own. Is... is it that other Trip? Can a dream that I was almost incapable of remembering become so vivid because that other Trip... the Trip of my dream...is as real as me? And he wants me to recognize...
To recognize... what?
I look at my face in the mirror. What is that puzzled expression on it? Why these thoughts? Why do I feel this way? Why the hell has a galling Vulcan female come so impudently to my mind? In my dreams and even in my thoughts while I am fully awake? Just right after that the Captain... What does she want from my life, holy shit?!? What does that other Trip want from me? What... what does he want me to recognize?
That I...that I...
I grasp the razor and begin to shave nervously. With... with rage. Against myself.
I watch myself fixedly while I shave.
Oh, come on, man! But what the devil are these thoughts which swirl in your brain? Don't you remember who she is? Don't you remember the wrath which blew up inside you when she ignored your proffered hand? When she turned her back to you? How can you forget her haughtiness? How can you forget that, in your heart, you swore to pay her back for her superciliousness?
Could you forget all that because of....
I stop shaving. I observe the face of the man in the mirror. It's my face. And, nevertheless, it looks... foreign.
... Because of those wonderful eyes of hers? Of those eyelashes, so long and delicate? Of that little nose which begs to be caressed on the tip, tenderly and delicately, with the soft touch of willing lips? Of those delicious pointed ears which must be nibbled? Of those lips... fragrant... turgid... which demand... to be kissed... passionately?
Because of that subtle perfume... alien... unknown... enthralling... which emanates from her tiny, shapely, charming figure?
Because of those small hands of hers, of those willowy arms that would fit so well around... around my... my...?
The foreign man in the mirror scrutinizes me. Attentively. Is he... that other Trip? Is he... tempting me?
Is he suggesting to me that... that if I were acting like him, if I were saying to T'Pol that I... that I...
And that, maybe, in this case, she... she could... she could...
SHE COULD WHAT!?! For Satan's horns! Could she, by chance... reciprocate... reciprocate... my... my... ?
MY ANYTHING!
My a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g, may I be damned! Anything!
Anything.
And then.... she... she is a block of ice. A... a frostbound iceberg. She's the queen of frost. How could it be possible that a... a feeling, the tiniest feeling, can come from such a frosty marble statue?
Yeah. Sure. Of course. It's impossible and absurd to think that things could be anything more than simply professional from me toward her.
Sure.
I finish my shaving with only a few moves. Nervily.
Sure.
Sure. But... considering all that, why... why the hell, if she is this damn algid ice doll... why the hell does she search for me no matter whatever... whatever need she has?
She doesn't say it, no, she doesn't say... but... yes... after all... she does that.
And... I must admit... I must admit that I do the same with her. When I am in need... when I am in need...
OH MAN! But this is nothing strange! Obviously, you merely search for the advice of the most skilled person on the ship! The one who has the greatest experience. Because that's absolutely true. And you search for her advices only because of that. Only that.
Nothing more than that.
And she... she... obviously... she knows that I am well up in my own expertise. And when she needs someone who is able to give her some help in regard to technical questions, or... or, considering my extroverted character, in regard to some issues connected with Human beings, she - LOGICALLY - searches for me. ONLY THAT.
Only that.
Nothing more than that.
Yeah. Sure.
Of course.
I come out of the bathroom, let the towel fall down and begin to dress slowly.
Nothing more than that, indeed. Even if... even if I don't believe that I am deceiving myself when I think that she feels glad... yes, glad... whenever we work together and whenever we achieve good results from our work.
Like me, on the other hand. But that... that... is logical, as she would say. It is gratifying, when people are capable of reaching their aim, working together so as to improve their job.
Sure. The... the same is valid for me, obviously. That's why I... feel glad when I work with her. Only that.
Nothing more than that.
Or... or maybe is there something else in her attitude toward me? Namely... She... she feels lonely. That... that is true, after all. There is no need to be that other Trip, the one of my dream, to acknowledge that this is true. Maybe... probably... when, after... after we have argued, I smile at her, meaning that I feel glad that we have reached a good result, she... she feels less lonely...she feels glad that someone... ME... smiled at her. All that is very Human, certainly. But she has been learning to know Humans. A little.
Maybe...maybe she has been also learning to know... to know me. A little. Just a little, at least.
And so... who knows... somehow, she could feel... for me... she could...
Oh nonsense!
And then, why the hell might I want that she... that she...?
I AM NOT THE TRIP OF MY DREAM! I am THIS Trip!
Enough, now!
Time to go to work. And to cease to have these thoughts.
And to think of my dream.
I get dressed. I am ready.
Go to the Mess Hall, man. As you are in the habit of doing every morning. At the earliest hour. Aren't you the one who says constantly that "the morning has gold in its mouth"?
I reach my door and open it. I go into the empty corridor. People are not yet crowding it. Yeah, they are wiser than me. They know that "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."
I walk quickly toward the Mess Hall for my breakfast.
Maybe... it's possible that... I will find the Sub-Commander there. Sometimes she takes her breakfast there. It's rare, but she does that from time to time.
In the early hours.
Alone.
Perhaps... if I meet her... I might... I might chat her up. Casually. Without wanting to bicker. I might make this clear with my words. And also with my deeds. Yes. I might invite her to share her breakfast with me.
I might tell her that Humans are in the habit of doing this, so as not to feel... not to feel alone.
And I might justify my words and my invitation simply with my well-known chutzpa.
She would raise her eyebrow and then... yes... then she would accept.
Of course, because, Vulcan or not, annoying or not, it is true that she is smart and curious and...
... alone.
And I could see to it that she feels less alone.
Yes.
And that would be simple courtesy. Yes. Simple, pure courtesy.
Simple, pure courtesy toward an... an important member of the crew. As she... as she has become. An... essential...member.
Pure Human courtesy.
Only that.
Nothing more than that.
May the First Healer help me! Okay, Denobulans dream vividly, sometimes so vividly that their dreams can seem to be veritable hallucinations. But, dreams like this one...
And luckily, it was a dream!
But... people... do you think? Do you think of me, acting in... in that way? I mean... such a message to the Professor Sotutto? That I am brave, okay... may this be. But, I am not a fool. I am not ready to do something so brainless. It would be professional suicide.
Eh no! Not at all.
Though all that sounds so real.
For my wives' heads! What a dream! Indeed real. No, more lifelike. Yes, thus it has to be called.
Really lifelike.
I smile broadly while I, yet half-asleep, drop my legs over the edge of the bed.
Yes, lifelike.
I head cheerfully toward the bathroom I have for my personal use in the sickbay, to make my matutinal ablutions.
Strange. I find it difficult to make my way because my vision... my eye...
Oh yes. Lifelike, incredibly lifelike.
Go figure! I even have the impression that my eye is hurting and half-closed.
And luckily, it was a dream!
But... people... do you think? Do you think of me, acting in... in that way? I mean... such a message to the Professor Sotutto? That I am brave, okay... may this be. But, I am not a fool. I am not ready to do something so brainless. It would be professional suicide.
Eh no! Not at all.
Though all that sounds so real.
For my wives' heads! What a dream! Indeed real. No, more lifelike. Yes, thus it has to be called.
Really lifelike.
I smile broadly while I, yet half-asleep, drop my legs over the edge of the bed.
Yes, lifelike.
I head cheerfully toward the bathroom I have for my personal use in the sickbay, to make my matutinal ablutions.
Strange. I find it difficult to make my way because my vision... my eye...
Oh yes. Lifelike, incredibly lifelike.
Go figure! I even have the impression that my eye is hurting and half-closed.
********************************
Well, that's enough! This is the last time! In the next chapter you have to show us the end of this skein! Do you understand, Puck? Now my readers will click on the image on the right and they will be able to read in the next chapter what devil is hidden in this whole story. And that, my dear Puck, is an ultimatum! I absolutely do not want to pass for a liar with my friends and readers! Oh ... ahem ... viz ... well, yes ... no ... well ... |