The Expanse - J.M. Dillard [39]
She was also violating a Vulcan principle by going off with a shipload of humans, armed with weapons and—at least, from her culture’s perspective—bent on destroying another world to protect their own. This went against T’Pol’s own beliefs; but she possessed one thing her Vulcan contemporaries did not.
Trust in Captain Archer, and his crew. While her—former, T’Pol forced herself to add mentally—superior, Ambassador Soval, saw humans as completely incapable of rational thought, T’Pol had been the first Vulcan to truly work among humans. True, they were highly emotional; but Archer and his officers tempered their emotion with compassion and logic. She trusted them to shun violence whenever possible, even in their attempt to stop the Xindi.
That morning, T’Pol had put a hand upon her Vulcan uniform and pulled it from the closet. It was illogical to keep it; she moved to pull it from the hanger, intending to throw it into the recycler ... But something stayed her hand. It seemed more than a uniform; it was an entire life.
Tentatively, she put the uniform back in the closet.
And then she chose one of the brightest colors of the civilian clothes she’d brought, and slipped into the suit without pause. At the mirror, she carefully combed her hair into the style most approved by the diplomatic corps; only then did she hesitate, and stare at her image for a few seconds. The distraction of being in the Expanse, and giving up her career, had caused her to forego her usual trims; her bangs and the hair at the nape of her neck had grown longer. She most definitely no longer looked the part of a Vulcan ambassadors aide.
Quite deliberately, she put her fingers into her hair and tousled it. She was a renegade now, no longer bound by tradition. She was a civilian who had cast her lot with humans, and there was no point in maintaining an unnecessary degree of formality.
After breakfast, she’d reported to the command center for duty. To her surprise—she was always early, arriving before anyone else—Lieutenant Reed was already there, as well as Captain Archer. Reed noticed the difference in her appearance at once, and did a mild double take, which he immediately suppressed; Archer did not even notice.
The captain was seated at one of the monitors, his expression almost as grim as the day he had first announced the attack on Earth; his brow was deeply furrowed, making him look older than he was. The strain of the situation was wearing on him; a Vulcan commander would realize the logic of having to endanger those on his ship in order to achieve a greater good, but T’Pol imagined the situation was different for a human. Since she had first met Archer, she had noted his tendency to take the safety of every crew member personally, as if he were responsible for any harm that came to them.
“Good morning, Captain, Lieutenant,” T’Pol said upon entering. Greetings were illogical and unnecessary, but, as a diplomat, T’Pol had been trained in such idle pleasantries.
“Morning, Sub-Commander,” Reed answered.
Archer did not reply, did not even glance up.
T’Pol took her place and set to work.
Time passed before the captain finally spoke; he did not meet her gaze. His tone was uncharacteristically tense. “How long till we get there?”
T’Pol did not need to check the chronometer; she had noticed the time upon her arrival, and made the calculation easily in her head. She also knew, because of her time on Earth, not