Broken Bow - Diane Carey [23]
“Yeah?” Tucker blurted. “How about war? Disease? Hunger? Pretty much wiped ’em out in less than two generations. I wouldn’t call that small potatoes.”
“It remains to be seen whether humanity will revert to its baser instincts.”
“We used to have cannibals on Earth.” Tucker leaned closer to her and wagged his eyebrows. “Who knows how far we’ll revert? Lucky for you this isn’t a long mission.”
“Human instinct is pretty strong,” Archer supported. “You can’t expect us to change overnight.”
At this special moment in their relationship, T’Pol succeeded in snapping the breadstick with a rather tidy final cut. She slid the piece onto her fork. “With proper discipline, anything’s possible.”
She then ate the piece, as if that were really something worth showing off.
Archer managed not to groan. If this turned out to be the only level on which they could converse, then the whole ship was in trouble. Couldn’t they be more honest? Talk about important things? Treat each other like intellectual equals instead of zoo animals gaping at each other’s quirks over insurmountable gates?
This seemed so unproductive ... and it really wasn’t why he had asked her here, or Tucker either. Wasn’t there some way to break through to her?
They ate in silence, which seemed to suit T’Pol perfectly well. Apparently Vulcans didn’t take meals as social lubrication. This was more like church. It even had the nasty glances from the naughty kid.
Just when Archer thought his head would blow off, Tucker shifted on his seat and asked, “So, Miss TeePol, how long you been on Earth?”
“A few weeks, this occasion. I am not permanently living there.”
“Yeah? Where’d you go to school?”
“At which level?”
“Well ... the latest level.”
“I am Ambassador Soval’s apprentice in interplanetary sociopolitical studies.”
“Really? Got any military training? Like, ever piloted a ship before?”
“Trip,” Archer cut off. “She doesn’t have to pilot the ship. We have helmsmen for that. She’ll get through the next eight days just fine with our support system.”
Don’t badger. Tucker got the message and fell silent again.
T’Pol finished her vegetables and immediately stood up. “Thank you for inviting me to your meeting. I shall return to my post. I have many studies. I must acquaint myself with the vessel in order to be an effective senior officer.”
Archer got to his feet—something he really didn’t have to do as commanding officer—and escorted her to the door. “I hope this is only the first,” he said graciously. “Thank you for coming, Sub-Commander.”
“Yes, Captain. Enjoy your evening.”
And she was gone. Archer stared for a moment at the closed door.
“Not bad,” Tucker commented, “for an ‘impulsive carnivore’ such as yourself, Captain.”
Archer shook his head in wonderment at all this. “But you notice how forgiving they are of anything the Klingons do, no matter how savage. Humans are unenlightened, but Klingons are ‘diverse.’ ”
“Uppity hypocrites. What a surprise.”
“Hey, don’t underestimate her. She did, after all, conquer that primitive breadstick with superior discipline.”
Tucker laughed.
“Oh, give her some credit,” Archer allowed. “At least she knows she’s not familiar enough with the ship to be effective yet, and she admitted it. That’s not all bad.”
“You’re bending,” Tucker warned. “No bending allowed. Vulcans never bend for us, remember?”
“Are you ready to go to warp four point five?” Archer asked, changing the subject to something they both liked much better than Vulcans.
“Already?” Tucker sat bolt upright. “It’s only been—what?—ten hours!”
Archer gave him a sly look and a dangerous grin. “What are we waiting for?”
Tucker seemed to be stricken numb. “I don’t know ... I guess I’m used to bureaucrats and sleepy admirals making the progressive decisions. Twenty memos and a month of means testing, feasibility studies, and role definition.”
“We don’t define roles here anymore, Trip. We make a list, cut it in thirds, and give everybody a piece. Let’s gather the operative minds and take the bridge.”
“Delta