THREE DAYS LATER . . . . . .
“Very superstitious,
Writing's on the wall,
Very superstitious,
Ladders bout' to fall,
Thirteen month old baby,
Broke the lookin' glass
Seven years of bad luck,
The good things in your past . . . . . . . .
Stevie Wonder's song played very softly in the background as Tamarra meditated. Unlike the vast majority of her race, she believed that music helped her to meditate. This was the first time since Team Solon arrived she was able to have quality quiet time.
The first item she focused her mind on was the fact that the demographics of Team Solon did not look right to her.
“Why does this team look strange?” she asked, herself mentally, as she backtracked and focused on each face.
Then she had it. Every one of Solon's team was male! If this was supposed to be a big scientific study, where were the female experts in sociology and xeno-psychology? If she was not mistaken, there were many renowned Vulcan women in both fields, yet not even one of them were here!
“Computer, stop music.” she called, as she stood and tapped her comm badge.
“Captain, we may have a serious problem.” Tamarra said.
“Let me guess. Our guests again?” Tyr's irritated voice asked.
For some strange reason frequent fights and vehement verbal disagreements had broken out among the crew. Bickering and controversy was to be expected on any ship, and with any crew. No matter how disciplined the crew, the opposite opinion could set off fireworks at any time.
However among The Insurrection's crew there had always been a Pride and Family atmosphere. During the past 72 hours, it seemed to have completely broken down. Fistfights and donnybrooks broke out everywhere, filling up Sickbay with patients, and leaving Captain Anasazi at his wits end.
“Yes, it has to do with our guests.” Tamarra replied. She wanted desperately to say the word “pests”, instead of "guests" but she restrained herself. “I believe I need to have another talk with Solon.” she continued.
“Never enter enemy territory without covering your six. Take Xena and some of her people with you, just in case.” Tyr's voice, warned. Concern evident in his voice.
“Were you quoting Drago, Sir?” Tamarra asked. Inspired by the mention of "Ancestor's Breath" she had been studying some of it's texts. However she had not read the particular passage Tyr had quoted. She was also trying to lighten the mood a bit.
“No, Commander. Just Nietzschean Common Sense. Captain out.” Tyr replied. His mood had lightened, just a bit.
Tamarra sighed and put in a call to Lt Commander Anol. Then she prepared herself to visit Solon.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Very Superstitious - Chapter 16
Free Enterprise - Very Superstitious - Chapter 16
“I do not trust Solon, Sir.” Tamarra said.
She was sitting in front of Captain Anasazi's desk. He was sitting back in his chair with his chin propped on his right fist. Of course he was staring intently at her.
“The way a cat watches a rodent.” she thought, and fought the urge to squirm.
“Solon is your Uncle. . . .” Khan started.
“I don't care if he is the President of the Federation. I still do not trust him any further than I can throw him.” Tamarra insisted. Tyr leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and muttered something under his breath, catching both Khan and Tamarra off guard.
“What was that, Sir?” she asked, and frowned. She could've sworn she heard him say something in Spanish. Her adopted parents had taught her Spanish. After all the family ranch and farm was on the Texas/Mexico border and they had Mexican Indios as ranch hands.
Before their discovery, Nietzscheans basically spoke one language and a few scattered dialects. But, when they joined the Federation and Starfleet, their close affiliation with other races gave them to opportunity to learn other languages. Tyr was multi-lingual, and was especially partial to the Human “romance languages”.
“Drago dijo tantas veces a los enemigos peores vienen del corazón de uno de orgullo." he repeated in Spanish. “Drago oft said, one's worst enemies come from the heart of one's own Pride.” Tyr translated, as he gazed directly at Tamarra.
Transaltion: One's own family could be your worst enemies!
“Now that we've identified the enemy, what are we going to do?” Khan asked no one in particular. Tyr tapped the comm badge on his chest.
“Captain Anasazi to Lt. Commander Anol.” he said.
“Anol here, Sir!” was the prompt feminine reply. Lt Commander Xena Anol was The Insurrection's Nietzschean Chief of Security.
“I need a security detail to discretely watch our guests.” Tyr ordered.
“Forgive me, Sir. Watch as in protect?” she asked.
Xena had to ask, because if it was for protection, whom were they protecting the Vulcans from? Themselves? Us?
“Or do you want us to watch for probable cause? If that is the case, you may also need us to perform apprehensions. Since they are considered dignitaries, are there any specifics you want me to abide by, Sir?” Xena continued. The savoy Security Chief was leaving nothing to chance. Dealing with guests of this nature was a tremendous pain in the neck.
“The instant you see or suspect anything untoward, throw their backsides into the brig! If they scream diplomatic immunity, tell them there is no diplomatic immunity ON MY SHIP!” Tyr ordered. He was leaving nothing to chance, either.
“Aye, Sir. I'm on it!” Xena replied, then she yelled for one of her subordinates before the connection was cut. After which, Tyr had himself a good laugh.
“Oh-oh!” Khan thought. “He's having waaaay too much fun!”
“Holy crap! Look what I've started.” Tamarra thought. It was good to see the Captain laugh for a change, but this laughter had a maniacal tone to it.
"Or is it just me suspecting this?" she wondered.
“Might I remind you, Sir, that we have dinner with our guests in approximately four hours.” Khan said.
“Well, my appetite just went right out the airlock, but I will be there.” Tamarra said, as she stood. Tyr grunted his agreement, for he detested those functions, also.
“Class A's, Sir?” Khan asked.
“No. Traditional.” Tyr replied.
Standard operating procedure was that the Captain and command staff dressed in their Starfleet dress uniforms ( Class A's ) to formally receive and welcome dignitaries and diplomatic personages. However, it was up to the individual Captain to make the ultimate choice of what his command staff should wear.
In Tyr's case, "traditional" meant that he was definitely wearing something Nietzschean.
“And if it is anything like the outfit that he wore to dinner a few nights ago, Team Solon is in big trouble!” Tamarra thought.
* * * * * * * *
Four hours later, the command staff of The Insurrection and the Vulcans were waiting. They were waiting because Captain Anasazi and Yeoman-Counselor Khan were late.
Tamarra hung her head to hide a smile, because she knew exactly what Tyr was up to. The man rarely did things without making some kind of nonverbal statement. He was going to be late because he wanted to make a grand entrance.
All conversations stopped as the doors opened and in strode Captain Anasazi with Khan at his heels. Tamarra forced herself not to stare. He was dressed in black boots, black leather pants, a CHAIN MAIL singlet, a deck length sleeveless cape, his gauntlets were bejeweled, and his bone blades were individually encased in matching bejeweled sheaths, plus he was armed.
Tyr was definitely dressed to impress. However, instead of the "come hither" look he had projected to her during dinner, Tyr was now sporting the "Bring it on!" look! If anything, he looked prepared to start his own personal Armageddon.
"He still looks sexy as hell, though!" Tamarra thought, as Kori gave her a discrete poke, reminding her to breathe. Team Solon froze in various stages of action as they stared with their own special brand of Vulcan intensity.
Tyr commandeered a corner and his staff surrounded him, causing a division in the room. Team Solon stood on one side and Team Insurrection stood on the other. Gynn, the head steward slipped in and spoke to the Captain.
“Would you like anything special from the kitchen, Sir?” she asked.
The event was being served buffet style, but, rank had it's privileges. The Captain could place an order and it would be processed for him in minutes. Nietzscheans detested replicated food so Gynn probably had a salad or some similar healthy item stashed away just for Tyr.
“No thank you, Gynn. I will not be eating tonight.” Tyr replied, as he sipped a glass of fruit juice. Kori stared at him.
“Captain, this is a diplomatic event. You are supposed to eat at diplomatic events as a show of good faith.” The Klingon CMO, insisted.
“According to Drago Musuveni, there are three things you do not do in the presence of enemies. Eat, sleep, or turn your back.” Tyr quoted, word for word from “Ancestor's Breath”. A life directing tome written by Drago, who was the "First Nietzschean", and adopted by all Nietzscheans as their Bible.
Even though Nietzscheans have been generically engineered with the ability to ingest most poisons without suffering side effects or death, they do not like to tempt fate, or The Divine.
“ . . . . .So, I do not break bread with the enemy.” Tyr continued, indicating the Vulcan party across the room.
So, for the rest of the evening, they stood around and talked. Tamarra was pleasantly surprised to find that both Tyr and Khan stayed at her elbow. Because, whenever she looked up, she received hard, disapproving glares from Team Solon. Their “esteemed” leader seemed to be especially incised.
“Oh hell! What terrible thing have I done now?” she thought, as Tyr skillfully maneuvered her so that her back was to them briefly.
“I am leaving, before I spew.” Tyr stated, simply. Tamarra forced down the urge to laugh out loud. The man certainly had a way with words.
For emphasis, Tyr drained then crushed his glass in his right hand. He slammed the remnants to the deck, and stalked out, taking his staff with him.
* * * * * *
“He's such a Drama King!” Tamarra thought, as they all entered the lift together.
“Captain, you need to stop by Sickbay and let me clean that glass out of your hand.” Kori said.
Kori was well aware that Nietzscheans were capable of healing a lot faster than their Human cousins. The trick was to get the glass out of his hand quickly, so the epidermis would not heal up over it. . . . . .
“That went well. What do you have planed as an encore?” Khan asked.
“I'd like to fire a couple hot ones into their nacelles.” Tyr rumbled.
“But, they don't have a ship.” Tamarra stated. Privately horrified that she was thinking along the same lines. There was something about Team Solon that was unsettling. She just couldn't put her finger on it yet.
“Find an abandoned garbage scow, beam them onto it, and I'll take it from there.” Tyr replied, confidently, as he debarked the lift in the company of Kori.
“I'm sure you would.” Tamarra thought, and smiled, as the lift doors closed.
“I do not trust Solon, Sir.” Tamarra said.
She was sitting in front of Captain Anasazi's desk. He was sitting back in his chair with his chin propped on his right fist. Of course he was staring intently at her.
“The way a cat watches a rodent.” she thought, and fought the urge to squirm.
“Solon is your Uncle. . . .” Khan started.
“I don't care if he is the President of the Federation. I still do not trust him any further than I can throw him.” Tamarra insisted. Tyr leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and muttered something under his breath, catching both Khan and Tamarra off guard.
“What was that, Sir?” she asked, and frowned. She could've sworn she heard him say something in Spanish. Her adopted parents had taught her Spanish. After all the family ranch and farm was on the Texas/Mexico border and they had Mexican Indios as ranch hands.
Before their discovery, Nietzscheans basically spoke one language and a few scattered dialects. But, when they joined the Federation and Starfleet, their close affiliation with other races gave them to opportunity to learn other languages. Tyr was multi-lingual, and was especially partial to the Human “romance languages”.
“Drago dijo tantas veces a los enemigos peores vienen del corazón de uno de orgullo." he repeated in Spanish. “Drago oft said, one's worst enemies come from the heart of one's own Pride.” Tyr translated, as he gazed directly at Tamarra.
Transaltion: One's own family could be your worst enemies!
“Now that we've identified the enemy, what are we going to do?” Khan asked no one in particular. Tyr tapped the comm badge on his chest.
“Captain Anasazi to Lt. Commander Anol.” he said.
“Anol here, Sir!” was the prompt feminine reply. Lt Commander Xena Anol was The Insurrection's Nietzschean Chief of Security.
“I need a security detail to discretely watch our guests.” Tyr ordered.
“Forgive me, Sir. Watch as in protect?” she asked.
Xena had to ask, because if it was for protection, whom were they protecting the Vulcans from? Themselves? Us?
“Or do you want us to watch for probable cause? If that is the case, you may also need us to perform apprehensions. Since they are considered dignitaries, are there any specifics you want me to abide by, Sir?” Xena continued. The savoy Security Chief was leaving nothing to chance. Dealing with guests of this nature was a tremendous pain in the neck.
“The instant you see or suspect anything untoward, throw their backsides into the brig! If they scream diplomatic immunity, tell them there is no diplomatic immunity ON MY SHIP!” Tyr ordered. He was leaving nothing to chance, either.
“Aye, Sir. I'm on it!” Xena replied, then she yelled for one of her subordinates before the connection was cut. After which, Tyr had himself a good laugh.
“Oh-oh!” Khan thought. “He's having waaaay too much fun!”
“Holy crap! Look what I've started.” Tamarra thought. It was good to see the Captain laugh for a change, but this laughter had a maniacal tone to it.
"Or is it just me suspecting this?" she wondered.
“Might I remind you, Sir, that we have dinner with our guests in approximately four hours.” Khan said.
“Well, my appetite just went right out the airlock, but I will be there.” Tamarra said, as she stood. Tyr grunted his agreement, for he detested those functions, also.
“Class A's, Sir?” Khan asked.
“No. Traditional.” Tyr replied.
Standard operating procedure was that the Captain and command staff dressed in their Starfleet dress uniforms ( Class A's ) to formally receive and welcome dignitaries and diplomatic personages. However, it was up to the individual Captain to make the ultimate choice of what his command staff should wear.
In Tyr's case, "traditional" meant that he was definitely wearing something Nietzschean.
“And if it is anything like the outfit that he wore to dinner a few nights ago, Team Solon is in big trouble!” Tamarra thought.
* * * * * * * *
Four hours later, the command staff of The Insurrection and the Vulcans were waiting. They were waiting because Captain Anasazi and Yeoman-Counselor Khan were late.
Tamarra hung her head to hide a smile, because she knew exactly what Tyr was up to. The man rarely did things without making some kind of nonverbal statement. He was going to be late because he wanted to make a grand entrance.
All conversations stopped as the doors opened and in strode Captain Anasazi with Khan at his heels. Tamarra forced herself not to stare. He was dressed in black boots, black leather pants, a CHAIN MAIL singlet, a deck length sleeveless cape, his gauntlets were bejeweled, and his bone blades were individually encased in matching bejeweled sheaths, plus he was armed.
Tyr was definitely dressed to impress. However, instead of the "come hither" look he had projected to her during dinner, Tyr was now sporting the "Bring it on!" look! If anything, he looked prepared to start his own personal Armageddon.
"He still looks sexy as hell, though!" Tamarra thought, as Kori gave her a discrete poke, reminding her to breathe. Team Solon froze in various stages of action as they stared with their own special brand of Vulcan intensity.
Tyr commandeered a corner and his staff surrounded him, causing a division in the room. Team Solon stood on one side and Team Insurrection stood on the other. Gynn, the head steward slipped in and spoke to the Captain.
“Would you like anything special from the kitchen, Sir?” she asked.
The event was being served buffet style, but, rank had it's privileges. The Captain could place an order and it would be processed for him in minutes. Nietzscheans detested replicated food so Gynn probably had a salad or some similar healthy item stashed away just for Tyr.
“No thank you, Gynn. I will not be eating tonight.” Tyr replied, as he sipped a glass of fruit juice. Kori stared at him.
“Captain, this is a diplomatic event. You are supposed to eat at diplomatic events as a show of good faith.” The Klingon CMO, insisted.
“According to Drago Musuveni, there are three things you do not do in the presence of enemies. Eat, sleep, or turn your back.” Tyr quoted, word for word from “Ancestor's Breath”. A life directing tome written by Drago, who was the "First Nietzschean", and adopted by all Nietzscheans as their Bible.
Even though Nietzscheans have been generically engineered with the ability to ingest most poisons without suffering side effects or death, they do not like to tempt fate, or The Divine.
“ . . . . .So, I do not break bread with the enemy.” Tyr continued, indicating the Vulcan party across the room.
So, for the rest of the evening, they stood around and talked. Tamarra was pleasantly surprised to find that both Tyr and Khan stayed at her elbow. Because, whenever she looked up, she received hard, disapproving glares from Team Solon. Their “esteemed” leader seemed to be especially incised.
“Oh hell! What terrible thing have I done now?” she thought, as Tyr skillfully maneuvered her so that her back was to them briefly.
“I am leaving, before I spew.” Tyr stated, simply. Tamarra forced down the urge to laugh out loud. The man certainly had a way with words.
For emphasis, Tyr drained then crushed his glass in his right hand. He slammed the remnants to the deck, and stalked out, taking his staff with him.
* * * * * *
“He's such a Drama King!” Tamarra thought, as they all entered the lift together.
“Captain, you need to stop by Sickbay and let me clean that glass out of your hand.” Kori said.
Kori was well aware that Nietzscheans were capable of healing a lot faster than their Human cousins. The trick was to get the glass out of his hand quickly, so the epidermis would not heal up over it. . . . . .
“That went well. What do you have planed as an encore?” Khan asked.
“I'd like to fire a couple hot ones into their nacelles.” Tyr rumbled.
“But, they don't have a ship.” Tamarra stated. Privately horrified that she was thinking along the same lines. There was something about Team Solon that was unsettling. She just couldn't put her finger on it yet.
“Find an abandoned garbage scow, beam them onto it, and I'll take it from there.” Tyr replied, confidently, as he debarked the lift in the company of Kori.
“I'm sure you would.” Tamarra thought, and smiled, as the lift doors closed.
Head To Head - Chapter 15
Disclaimer: Greetings! It's me again! This is just a friendly reminder to let you know that this story is not written strictly according to Star Trek / Andromeda CANNON, so you are going to see some strange goings on. Please have fun and enjoy the story anyway. . . . .
Free Enterprise - Head To Head - Chapter 15
After she left the Lion's Den, Tamarra took the lift down to the VIP quarters which were located just below Officer's Country. She stepped out of the lift to a crowded corridor. Shipping crates, Insurrection officers and Vulcans dominated the scene.
Tamarra wormed her way through the morass and found her way into the Quad. She found Solon in his tiny office having a “heated” discussion with two of his aides. Upon seeing her, he ended his conversation, and the aides left.
According to her Vulcan family history, Solon was Soval's identical twin. Soval was the more “personable and outgoing” one, while Solon was the aloof and withdrawn introvert. Rumor had it that he had taken his brother's assassination very hard. So much so, that his personality changed, and his wife left him. In essence, Solon had become a “hard” man to deal with. Even for Vulcans. . . . .
“Uncle Solon. I bid thee greetings.” she said formally, as she held her hand up in the Vulcan salute.
“I bid thee greetings, T'Marr.” Solon intoned, as he mirrored her gesture. Tamarra winced inwardly, when he mentioned her Vulcan name.
“Here goes nothing.” she thought.
“Uncle Solon. I must respectfully ask that you no longer address my by that name.” Tamarra said. Solon's face turned even sterner as he lifted an eyebrow at her. A sure sign of displeasure.
“We have lift off!” Tamarra thought.
“That is an illogical request, since that is your name,” Solon challenged.
“I officially submitted a request to change my name back to Tamarra. I would appreciate it if you would address me by that name from now on.”
“Has your close affiliation with the Nietzscehans prompted this decision?” Solon pressed, sounding like a prosecuting attorney questioning the witness for the defense.
“WT . . . . . .” she though, and nearly frowned.
“No it has not. Illogical as it may sound, I happen to like my Human name better.” Tamarra replied with equal fervor.
“I will endeavor to remember it.” Solon replied.
“Thank You.” she said. Glad she had won that small victory. “Do you and the team have everything that's needed?” she continued.
"Yes we do, although our accommodations are a bit cramped.” Solon replied.
“Yes, well that can not be helped! You decided to make this so-called visit at the last minute. Then decided to bring every man and jack! Let them all sleep on the deck and hang from the bulkheads for all I care! The Insurrection is a warship, not a diplomatic shuttle!” she thought.
“Your complaint is so noted.” Tamarra stated. “Oh, by the way. Captain Tyr Anasazi, out of Victory by Barbarossa, of the Kodiak Pride, is my Captain and superior officer. He will be respected as long as you dwell within the Insurrection's bulkheads and breathe her recycled air! Have I made myself clear?” she continued, authoritatively. Solon glowered back at her, resentful that she would order him about.
At that second, Tamarra went from being Solon's niece to looking every inch the Starship Commander. She'd also deliberately went out of her way to recite Tyr's bloodline, to apparent Solon's chagrin.
“For someone who is planning to do this big study on how Nietzscehans interact with others, Solon certainly doesn't appear to like them very much. Or perhaps, that's just my paranoid opinion.” Tamarra thought.
“Understood.” Solon replied, solemnly.
“Good day, Uncle Solon.” she said.
“Good day. . . . . . .Tamarra.” Solon replied.
* * * * * * *
Riding in the lift back to the bridge, Tamarra did something very strange for a Vulcan.
“YES!” she shouted, as she did a fist pump.
Free Enterprise - Head To Head - Chapter 15
After she left the Lion's Den, Tamarra took the lift down to the VIP quarters which were located just below Officer's Country. She stepped out of the lift to a crowded corridor. Shipping crates, Insurrection officers and Vulcans dominated the scene.
Tamarra wormed her way through the morass and found her way into the Quad. She found Solon in his tiny office having a “heated” discussion with two of his aides. Upon seeing her, he ended his conversation, and the aides left.
According to her Vulcan family history, Solon was Soval's identical twin. Soval was the more “personable and outgoing” one, while Solon was the aloof and withdrawn introvert. Rumor had it that he had taken his brother's assassination very hard. So much so, that his personality changed, and his wife left him. In essence, Solon had become a “hard” man to deal with. Even for Vulcans. . . . .
“Uncle Solon. I bid thee greetings.” she said formally, as she held her hand up in the Vulcan salute.
“I bid thee greetings, T'Marr.” Solon intoned, as he mirrored her gesture. Tamarra winced inwardly, when he mentioned her Vulcan name.
“Here goes nothing.” she thought.
“Uncle Solon. I must respectfully ask that you no longer address my by that name.” Tamarra said. Solon's face turned even sterner as he lifted an eyebrow at her. A sure sign of displeasure.
“We have lift off!” Tamarra thought.
“That is an illogical request, since that is your name,” Solon challenged.
“I officially submitted a request to change my name back to Tamarra. I would appreciate it if you would address me by that name from now on.”
“Has your close affiliation with the Nietzscehans prompted this decision?” Solon pressed, sounding like a prosecuting attorney questioning the witness for the defense.
“WT . . . . . .” she though, and nearly frowned.
“No it has not. Illogical as it may sound, I happen to like my Human name better.” Tamarra replied with equal fervor.
“I will endeavor to remember it.” Solon replied.
“Thank You.” she said. Glad she had won that small victory. “Do you and the team have everything that's needed?” she continued.
"Yes we do, although our accommodations are a bit cramped.” Solon replied.
“Yes, well that can not be helped! You decided to make this so-called visit at the last minute. Then decided to bring every man and jack! Let them all sleep on the deck and hang from the bulkheads for all I care! The Insurrection is a warship, not a diplomatic shuttle!” she thought.
“Your complaint is so noted.” Tamarra stated. “Oh, by the way. Captain Tyr Anasazi, out of Victory by Barbarossa, of the Kodiak Pride, is my Captain and superior officer. He will be respected as long as you dwell within the Insurrection's bulkheads and breathe her recycled air! Have I made myself clear?” she continued, authoritatively. Solon glowered back at her, resentful that she would order him about.
At that second, Tamarra went from being Solon's niece to looking every inch the Starship Commander. She'd also deliberately went out of her way to recite Tyr's bloodline, to apparent Solon's chagrin.
“For someone who is planning to do this big study on how Nietzscehans interact with others, Solon certainly doesn't appear to like them very much. Or perhaps, that's just my paranoid opinion.” Tamarra thought.
“Understood.” Solon replied, solemnly.
“Good day, Uncle Solon.” she said.
“Good day. . . . . . .Tamarra.” Solon replied.
* * * * * * *
Riding in the lift back to the bridge, Tamarra did something very strange for a Vulcan.
“YES!” she shouted, as she did a fist pump.
D-Day - Chapter 14
Free Enterprise - "D" Day - Chapter #14
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” Tamarra quoted mentally to herself as she and Captain Anasazi, Yeoman-Counselor Khan, Chief Medical Officer Kori and Lt Commander Gilgamesh rode the lift down to the main transporter room.
Before entering, Tamarra gave herself a once over to make sure everything was okay. Checking her face in the shiny surface of the bulkhead
“Making sure there is nothing unseemly hanging from my nose, and no green leafy things "adroning my teeth.” Tamarra thought.
Her Mom taught her that before appearing at special events, a woman should always check such things. Funny thing, Kori stepped up and did the very same thing, the second Tamarra walked away . . . . . .
“Making sure my nose and ridges are not shiny.” Kori thought.
Both Tyr and Gilgamesh were being typical Nietzscheans, and carried sidearms as well as their handy-dandy, all purpose cutting implements. A wicked version of a K-Bar, or Bowie knife.
“Before this is over, I might have to borrow one of those.” Tamarra thought. Kori long had designs on her consorts weapon. Klingon's were great lovers of swords and daggers, so they appreciated a good “toothpick” when they saw one.
The team had already materialized and out of the group of perhaps 25, Khan and Tyr recognized Solon first. The family resemblance was striking. But it ended there, for the man presented a stern, school teacher visage.
“That's Solon.” Tamarra whispered to Tyr. He nodded once, and she immediately knew what it meant. It was that “I'll take it from here.” look.
“Greetings, I am Captain Tyr Anasazi. . . . . “ Tyr started.
“Yes I am well aware of who you are. Are our accommodations ready?” Solon asked, cutting the Captain off in the middle of his welcoming speech. Tyr glared at the Vulcan and would've growled if Khan had not poked him with a carefully extended talon. Tyr turned to glare Khan upon feeling the sting. Then Khan, Kori and Gilgamesh all glowered at Solon.
“OMG! Uncle Solon! That was so rude!” Tamarra said. She restrained herself mightily from saying “freakin'”. All around them, Vulcans stopped their work to raise their eyebrows at her outburst.
“T'Marr, we will speak later in private. Right now we must set up our equipment to begin our study. Time is of the essence.” Solon said, as he, lifted some equipment onto an anti-grav sled. To Tamarra it looked as if they had packed enough to stay a year.
“What the hell is Solon up to?” she wondered, as she frowned at Team Solan's retreating backs. There was a tiny detail niggling her mind, but she couldn't quite get a handle on it. She looked up and noticed everyone had gone and headed straight back up to the bridge and to The Lion's Den.
* * * * * * *
“No, Tyr. You cannot space them.” Khan said patiently and sagely. He watched as the Nietzschean Captain paced his office like a huge black cat. Tyr Anasazi was furious! The one thing you did not do was cut off an Alpha Nietzschean while he was quoting his bloodline!
“They beam on to MY ship, insult ME and expect hospitality from ME AND MY CREW?! I'll show them hospitality, in the nearest airlock!” Tyr bellowed, as, Khan crossed his arms, stood his ground, and gazed coolly at his friend.
He was about to answer Tyr's tirade, when Tamarra stumbled in. She had run from the transporter room to the nearest lift, and from the lift she had dashed into the Lion's Den, not realizing that Khan and Tyr were engaged in a “heavy conversation”. The atmosphere in the Ready Room was so volatile, it could've been ignited with one spark.
“Captain! Sir! I beg forgiveness on the behalf of my Uncle.” she blurted. Either Solon had no clue as to the gaff he'd just committed or he knew and did not care. Tamarra was hoping it was the former instead of the latter. She prayed it wasn't the latter. . . . . . .
“Why? Is he not man enough to come and ask me himself?” Tyr challenged. Khan pulled his whiskers back slightly. Tyr's tone had calmed down tremendously in her presence.
“I believe he does not know enough about Nietzschean culture to realize what he did was a horrible faux pas.” Tamarra answered.
“Let us hope that is so. In the meantime he has a temporary reprieve.” Tyr stated, as he crossed his arms, displaying his boneblades which were now at half mast.
“Thank you, Sir.” Tamarra replied, casting a shy smile in Tyr's direction before she exited.
“Tyr? What have I told you about that posture?” Khan asked, patiently. Tyr glanced at his Katay friend and rolled his eyes. However, the boneblades now lay flat against the back of his forearms.
“She was not intimidated.” Tyr replied, as he shrugged.
“That's because she loves you, you thick-skulled Nietzschean dolt.” Khan chuffed. “Save that posture to use on your enemies. Speaking of which, what do you intend to do with Solon and his people?”
“I will watch and wait.” Tyr stated, ferocity returning to his voice. In Khan's eyes, it looked like the so-called scientists had just become Tyr's prey. . . . .
"As the ancient Earth film star named Mister T, used to say 'I pity the fool'." Khan thought.
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” Tamarra quoted mentally to herself as she and Captain Anasazi, Yeoman-Counselor Khan, Chief Medical Officer Kori and Lt Commander Gilgamesh rode the lift down to the main transporter room.
Before entering, Tamarra gave herself a once over to make sure everything was okay. Checking her face in the shiny surface of the bulkhead
“Making sure there is nothing unseemly hanging from my nose, and no green leafy things "adroning my teeth.” Tamarra thought.
Her Mom taught her that before appearing at special events, a woman should always check such things. Funny thing, Kori stepped up and did the very same thing, the second Tamarra walked away . . . . . .
“Making sure my nose and ridges are not shiny.” Kori thought.
Both Tyr and Gilgamesh were being typical Nietzscheans, and carried sidearms as well as their handy-dandy, all purpose cutting implements. A wicked version of a K-Bar, or Bowie knife.
“Before this is over, I might have to borrow one of those.” Tamarra thought. Kori long had designs on her consorts weapon. Klingon's were great lovers of swords and daggers, so they appreciated a good “toothpick” when they saw one.
The team had already materialized and out of the group of perhaps 25, Khan and Tyr recognized Solon first. The family resemblance was striking. But it ended there, for the man presented a stern, school teacher visage.
“That's Solon.” Tamarra whispered to Tyr. He nodded once, and she immediately knew what it meant. It was that “I'll take it from here.” look.
“Greetings, I am Captain Tyr Anasazi. . . . . “ Tyr started.
“Yes I am well aware of who you are. Are our accommodations ready?” Solon asked, cutting the Captain off in the middle of his welcoming speech. Tyr glared at the Vulcan and would've growled if Khan had not poked him with a carefully extended talon. Tyr turned to glare Khan upon feeling the sting. Then Khan, Kori and Gilgamesh all glowered at Solon.
“OMG! Uncle Solon! That was so rude!” Tamarra said. She restrained herself mightily from saying “freakin'”. All around them, Vulcans stopped their work to raise their eyebrows at her outburst.
“T'Marr, we will speak later in private. Right now we must set up our equipment to begin our study. Time is of the essence.” Solon said, as he, lifted some equipment onto an anti-grav sled. To Tamarra it looked as if they had packed enough to stay a year.
“What the hell is Solon up to?” she wondered, as she frowned at Team Solan's retreating backs. There was a tiny detail niggling her mind, but she couldn't quite get a handle on it. She looked up and noticed everyone had gone and headed straight back up to the bridge and to The Lion's Den.
* * * * * * *
“No, Tyr. You cannot space them.” Khan said patiently and sagely. He watched as the Nietzschean Captain paced his office like a huge black cat. Tyr Anasazi was furious! The one thing you did not do was cut off an Alpha Nietzschean while he was quoting his bloodline!
“They beam on to MY ship, insult ME and expect hospitality from ME AND MY CREW?! I'll show them hospitality, in the nearest airlock!” Tyr bellowed, as, Khan crossed his arms, stood his ground, and gazed coolly at his friend.
He was about to answer Tyr's tirade, when Tamarra stumbled in. She had run from the transporter room to the nearest lift, and from the lift she had dashed into the Lion's Den, not realizing that Khan and Tyr were engaged in a “heavy conversation”. The atmosphere in the Ready Room was so volatile, it could've been ignited with one spark.
“Captain! Sir! I beg forgiveness on the behalf of my Uncle.” she blurted. Either Solon had no clue as to the gaff he'd just committed or he knew and did not care. Tamarra was hoping it was the former instead of the latter. She prayed it wasn't the latter. . . . . . .
“Why? Is he not man enough to come and ask me himself?” Tyr challenged. Khan pulled his whiskers back slightly. Tyr's tone had calmed down tremendously in her presence.
“I believe he does not know enough about Nietzschean culture to realize what he did was a horrible faux pas.” Tamarra answered.
“Let us hope that is so. In the meantime he has a temporary reprieve.” Tyr stated, as he crossed his arms, displaying his boneblades which were now at half mast.
“Thank you, Sir.” Tamarra replied, casting a shy smile in Tyr's direction before she exited.
“Tyr? What have I told you about that posture?” Khan asked, patiently. Tyr glanced at his Katay friend and rolled his eyes. However, the boneblades now lay flat against the back of his forearms.
“She was not intimidated.” Tyr replied, as he shrugged.
“That's because she loves you, you thick-skulled Nietzschean dolt.” Khan chuffed. “Save that posture to use on your enemies. Speaking of which, what do you intend to do with Solon and his people?”
“I will watch and wait.” Tyr stated, ferocity returning to his voice. In Khan's eyes, it looked like the so-called scientists had just become Tyr's prey. . . . .
"As the ancient Earth film star named Mister T, used to say 'I pity the fool'." Khan thought.
Preperations - Chapter 13
NOTE TO READERS: What does T'Marr look like, You wonder. Well, T'Marr looks like “T'Pol” from "Enterprise" ( see photo ). Only she is taller ( approximately 5'11 ) and weighs more ( 185lbs ), she has red hair ( in the same short haircut ), and big green eyes, and she is in excellent shape. Sorry, but I like my heroines to be Lucy Lawless types. . . . . . . . Ho boy! I hope I didn't destroy someone's fantasy. . . .
Free Enterprise - Preparations - Chapter #13
For the next two days Tyr saw very little of T'Marr. It stood to reason because she was still on her “vacation”, plus she was preparing to receive her uncle and his team. When Tyr did see her, she seemed distant and aloof, which saddened him greatly.
“She's not doing that to you on purpose, Tyr.” Khan stated. The Insurrection's Captain sat morosely at his desk and stared at nothing in particular. He was in another of his “Black Funks”.
“She's preparing herself to meet her Uncle Solon and his Vulcan compatriots. You must remember, T'Marr was raised with Humans and though Vulcan, behaves like a Human. She has become comfortable enough around us to be her real self. Now, she has to pull the portcullis down, the drawbridge up, and man the murder holes.” Khan continued. The Nietzschean was sufficiently well versed in ancient Human warfare to understand the castle references.
“That means T'Marr is afraid she will not be accepted by her peers, so she must put up a front.” Tyr replied.
“Bingo!” Khan called. Of all the races in Starfleet, the Vulcans perplexed him the most.
It seemed that with their so-called purge of emotions, they unleashed a whole set of unforeseen problems. The worst being when the entire race split in two, over Surak's teachings. One half of Vulcan's society simply refused to have it shoved down their collective throats. So, those now known as the Romulans, left to seek out thier own planets and start their own civilization while the Vulcans stayed.
"The way I see it, the Vulcans were still chasing their own away. . . . . ." Khan thought, as T'Marr's face came to mind.
There was a storm brewing around her that was so vast that, for the first time in Khan's life, he could not articulate it. And even if he did manage to explain it to Tyr, the poor man would never comprehend it. This was clearly one of those times when the Revelational Guide advised Katay precogs to be quiet and watchful. A poke here, a nudge there, that was all that was needed during such times.
“It is a pity an entire race deemed it necessary to shield themselves so.” Tyr stated, bringing Khan out of his reverie. The Nieztschean rocked back in his chair and put his booted feet up on his desk.
“You do not know ancient Vulcan history, do you?” Khan asked.
“Khan, do I look like I have time to read all of that crap?” Tyr asked, as he gazed up at the Katay and frowned.
The sheer volume of stuff which screamed for the Captain's attention on a daily basis was nearly overwhelming. But, he'd organized the information in priority order, then had The Insurrection's computer READ IT TO HIM while he worked out in his private gym, or relaxing in his quarters, or in his Ready Room. Obviously reading or listening to Vulcan history would have to move up to the head of the line.
“Very well, I will give you a short tutorial. But, you will have to do some research and homework my friend. It's time you learned about T'Marr's Vulcan roots.” Khan admonished. He quickly launched into a short explanation of Vulcan history starting with The Tenents of Surak.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile, T'Marr was having herself a good cry in the privacy of her own quarters. She hated distancing herself from the crew and Tyr, but she had to in order to prepare herself for Solon's visit. And that not only hurt, but sucked big time. . . . . . . .
Vulcan shielding was a lot like the reverse of peeling an onion, it went on in layers. Since she hadn't been using it to it's full capacity for a while, she needed some time to build it back up. T'Marr was not sure she would be able to restore it properly in time for Solon's visit. Knowing Solon, he would take one look at her and would know she was “not right”.
"So be it then." she thought.
T'Marr was tired of being a phony. She just wanted to be herself. She liked having emotions and being emotional . . . . within reason. But, it seemed that every Vulcan she met wanted to give her a total make over into a Super Vulcan. That was simply not going to ever happen. Not as long as she drew breath.
“Perhaps this is the perfect time for me to take a stand.” T'Marr thought fiercely, as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She gazed at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. One good look and anyone in their right mind would know she'd been boo-hooing, but, that was alright. She was among friends.
“The first thing I must do is to file an official petition for a name change. I want my Human name back.” she thought, as she went to the closet and picked through her selection of Vulcan robes. Unfortunately, Team Solon's presence meant more diplomatic dinners. Something Tyr detested to no end.
“Poor babe.” she thought as she held up a dark purple robe. She smiled and chuckled to herself for calling Tyr a babe. The Alpha Nietzschean stood 182.88 centimeters (6'4”) and weighed approximately 129.27 kilos (285 lbs) and that was NO BABE!
“No laughing allowed!” T'Marr admonished, as she slapped the back of her own right hand. It served to make things even funnier, and she laughed harder.
“Oh-oh! I foresee a BIG screw up and a BIG dust up!” she thought and sighed, once she had calmed down. Right there she decided it would be better to make enemies of the Vulcans, than to lose her friends on the Insurrection.
Free Enterprise - Preparations - Chapter #13
For the next two days Tyr saw very little of T'Marr. It stood to reason because she was still on her “vacation”, plus she was preparing to receive her uncle and his team. When Tyr did see her, she seemed distant and aloof, which saddened him greatly.
“She's not doing that to you on purpose, Tyr.” Khan stated. The Insurrection's Captain sat morosely at his desk and stared at nothing in particular. He was in another of his “Black Funks”.
“She's preparing herself to meet her Uncle Solon and his Vulcan compatriots. You must remember, T'Marr was raised with Humans and though Vulcan, behaves like a Human. She has become comfortable enough around us to be her real self. Now, she has to pull the portcullis down, the drawbridge up, and man the murder holes.” Khan continued. The Nietzschean was sufficiently well versed in ancient Human warfare to understand the castle references.
“That means T'Marr is afraid she will not be accepted by her peers, so she must put up a front.” Tyr replied.
“Bingo!” Khan called. Of all the races in Starfleet, the Vulcans perplexed him the most.
It seemed that with their so-called purge of emotions, they unleashed a whole set of unforeseen problems. The worst being when the entire race split in two, over Surak's teachings. One half of Vulcan's society simply refused to have it shoved down their collective throats. So, those now known as the Romulans, left to seek out thier own planets and start their own civilization while the Vulcans stayed.
"The way I see it, the Vulcans were still chasing their own away. . . . . ." Khan thought, as T'Marr's face came to mind.
There was a storm brewing around her that was so vast that, for the first time in Khan's life, he could not articulate it. And even if he did manage to explain it to Tyr, the poor man would never comprehend it. This was clearly one of those times when the Revelational Guide advised Katay precogs to be quiet and watchful. A poke here, a nudge there, that was all that was needed during such times.
“It is a pity an entire race deemed it necessary to shield themselves so.” Tyr stated, bringing Khan out of his reverie. The Nieztschean rocked back in his chair and put his booted feet up on his desk.
“You do not know ancient Vulcan history, do you?” Khan asked.
“Khan, do I look like I have time to read all of that crap?” Tyr asked, as he gazed up at the Katay and frowned.
The sheer volume of stuff which screamed for the Captain's attention on a daily basis was nearly overwhelming. But, he'd organized the information in priority order, then had The Insurrection's computer READ IT TO HIM while he worked out in his private gym, or relaxing in his quarters, or in his Ready Room. Obviously reading or listening to Vulcan history would have to move up to the head of the line.
“Very well, I will give you a short tutorial. But, you will have to do some research and homework my friend. It's time you learned about T'Marr's Vulcan roots.” Khan admonished. He quickly launched into a short explanation of Vulcan history starting with The Tenents of Surak.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile, T'Marr was having herself a good cry in the privacy of her own quarters. She hated distancing herself from the crew and Tyr, but she had to in order to prepare herself for Solon's visit. And that not only hurt, but sucked big time. . . . . . . .
Vulcan shielding was a lot like the reverse of peeling an onion, it went on in layers. Since she hadn't been using it to it's full capacity for a while, she needed some time to build it back up. T'Marr was not sure she would be able to restore it properly in time for Solon's visit. Knowing Solon, he would take one look at her and would know she was “not right”.
"So be it then." she thought.
T'Marr was tired of being a phony. She just wanted to be herself. She liked having emotions and being emotional . . . . within reason. But, it seemed that every Vulcan she met wanted to give her a total make over into a Super Vulcan. That was simply not going to ever happen. Not as long as she drew breath.
“Perhaps this is the perfect time for me to take a stand.” T'Marr thought fiercely, as she wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She gazed at her face in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot. One good look and anyone in their right mind would know she'd been boo-hooing, but, that was alright. She was among friends.
“The first thing I must do is to file an official petition for a name change. I want my Human name back.” she thought, as she went to the closet and picked through her selection of Vulcan robes. Unfortunately, Team Solon's presence meant more diplomatic dinners. Something Tyr detested to no end.
“Poor babe.” she thought as she held up a dark purple robe. She smiled and chuckled to herself for calling Tyr a babe. The Alpha Nietzschean stood 182.88 centimeters (6'4”) and weighed approximately 129.27 kilos (285 lbs) and that was NO BABE!
“No laughing allowed!” T'Marr admonished, as she slapped the back of her own right hand. It served to make things even funnier, and she laughed harder.
“Oh-oh! I foresee a BIG screw up and a BIG dust up!” she thought and sighed, once she had calmed down. Right there she decided it would be better to make enemies of the Vulcans, than to lose her friends on the Insurrection.
Kimshe? What Kimshee? - Chapter 12
Free Enterprise - Kimshee? What's Kimshee?
- Chapter #12
The Alpha Shift Bridge Crew looked up when Captain Tyr strode off the lift, and down to the last man, woman and being, and all exchanged “the look”. Oh-oh, Kimshee's about to his the fan!
Gilgamesh vacated the chair and sat at an auxiliary station, and melted into the background. All was quiet as Captain Anasazi spent the next three hours glowering at the main viewer, growling and snapping out rapid-fire orders.
Nietzscheans are capable of functioning on little to no sleep, depending on the circumstances. But, a Nietzschean suffering from lack of sleep was dangerous be around. So, the crew did well to step lightly around Tyr.
Only one being dared to place himself directly in the line of fire. Khan. Everyone heard when the lift doors opened and saw Khan step out and head for The Lion's Den. Tyr gave him five minutes, placed Gilgamesh in charge of the comm and followed Khan's lead. On the bridge everyone battened down the hatches.
Ever alert to Tyr's moods, Khan saw the storm clouds the moment he stepped onto the Bridge.
“The man had a wonderful dinner last night with T'Marr, what the heck could have possibly gone wrong?” Khan wondered.
“So, how was it?” Khan asked. He knew, but, the counselor in him HAD to ask. Tyr was standing in his favorite spot, at the viewport and staring morosely at the stars. It was cathartic for him. The Nietzschean shrugged his muscular shoulders, in response.
“That's all?” Khan asked, as he imitated his superior and friend's action. He sensed the mood shift and prepared for the onslaught. A normal red-blooded Human being would've run for the hills.
“What would you have me to say, Cat? Nietzscheans do not date! In case you have not noticed, Nietzscheans have strict ritualized means of choosing their mates, for the express purpose of keeping the species pure. Love has no place in that ritual. Call it a purely business transaction, what ever you like. It is our way! Period!” Tyr thundered at Khan, as his expression turned murderous.
“Tyr, you are so full of crap, your eyes are brown.” Khan challenged, as he dared pull his whiskers back in a smile. “You mean to tell me that after the Matriarch has selected her champion, there is no love felt between them?” he continued.
“There is the exchange of bloodline information, and blood tests. . . . . . No, there is not.” Tyr insisted, as he shrugged again. He was simply not in the mood to delve into a treaties on Nietzschean mating.
“You lie, Tyr. I hear that the husband must cater to his Matriarch if he . . .” Khan started.
“If you already know these things, why do you ask?” Tyr shot back, cutting Khan off.
“I'm just trying to get you to admit that under that persona of a supposedly perfect genetic specimen . . . . . .” Khan interjected.
“I am what?” Tyr shouted.
“Human! Despite Paul Museveni's lofty intentions, he used the Human genome as his foundation. That means you still possess the same Human desires for self worth, to love and be loved as your Homo Sapien cousins. Even though you deny it, you Tyr are just a Human!” Khan continued.
“And you are just a freakin' cat!” Tyr hissed, accusingly.
“Guilty as charged.” Khan replied, as he executed a sweeping bow.
Arguments, heated debates, fights, and civil wars had been started among the Katay, by that statement. Had Tyr not been such a close and dear friend, Khan would've ripped his face off for saying it.
“There, now do you feel better that you've said that?” Khan asked.
“No, I do not. Forgive me.” Tyr muttered, as he crossed his arms, faced the viewport and actually pouted. Khan briefly wondered what the Nietzschean would do if he could “see himself”. Right now, the fearsome Captain resembled a petulant child.
“You're forgiven.” Khan replied.
“Khan, what do I do about T'Marr?” Tyr asked, after a few minutes of companionable silence.
“What do you mean?” Khan asked. He was well aware of what Tyr was asking, but, again he had to ask.
“I am woefully inept in the . . . . . . Human . . . . . . concept of dating. . . .” Tyr began. He said the word “dating” as if it were both sour and very bitter, and scrunched up his face with distaste, to boot.
When Paul Museveni created the first Nietzscheans, he kept them isolated in a remote location, for fear he and his creations would be hunted down and destroyed. As a result, a super-species of Humans developed completely without knowledge of the rich cultures they had descended from.
Oh, Museveni made sure they were soundly indoctrinated in Darwinism, and Dawkinite genetic competitiveness, and the works of Nietzsche. They were discovered and befriended by the Katay. The two races formed a close and lasting alliance like the Ying and Yang which was instrumental in getting them both accepted into the Federation and Starfleet. Much like what the Vulcans did with Humans.
“You just befriend her, Tyr. Befriend her and she will learn to trust you and eventually love you.” Khan replied. “That means being pleasant for a change, Tyr. You can't go around ticked off at the universe all of the time. It's bad enough you terrify the crew. You don't want to scare off your lady love. . . .” Khan continued, but Tyr growled like a Doberman and cut him off.
“. . . . . That too has to stop.” Khan warned, as he wagged a finger at Tyr. The Nietzschean sighed, rolled his eyes and looked back at the stars.
“Bye the way, just in case, watch out for the Vulcan Nerve Pinch.” Khan warned as afterthought. Tyr turned to gaze at Khan with both eyebrows raised.
“The Vulcan Nerve Pinch?” he asked. This was the first time in Tyr's Starfleet career he'd ever had such close and extensive contact with a Vulcan. Therefore he was clueless about their most infamous defense mechanism.
“I do not know if it is as effective on Nietzscheans as it is on Humans, but. . . . .” Khan began, and went on to explain in detail how the Nerve Pinch was applied.
* * * * * * * * *
Ten minutes later, Tyr was leaving the Ready Room to return to the comm, with Khan right behind him. Suddenly Khan huffed. Attuned to his friend, Tyr stopped. The door opened and T'Marr was standing in the doorway, ready to press the buzzer.
“I need to speak to you in private about an urgent matter, Sir.” she stated simply, after getting over the initial fright of being right up in Tyr's grille. She honestly didn't know whether she was more frightened to death or turned on. She immediately slammed and dogged down her Vulcan mental shields.
“This must be serious, because she is in uniform.” Tyr thought. For she still had four days left on her “vacation”.
Tyr and Khan stepped back to allow her entrance into The Ready Room proper.
“Sir, in two days Solon will be arriving with a team of xeno-sociologists from The Vulcan Academy of Sciences. “ she announced.
“Why?” Tyr demanded.
“Solon claims that they wish to study Nietzscheans at work and living in a close environment with other races.” she replied. Tyr frowned because the Vulcans should've known by now that Nietzscheans were capable of "playing nice with others."
“There has to be hundreds of Starfleet vessels out there that have mixed crews. Why this ship in particular? ” Tyr demanded, once again.
“Solon is my Uncle, Sir. And he is using this as as excuse to check on me, Sir.” T'Marr replied, as she blushed a very light tint of green. Tyr noticed and filed that fact away for later.
“Let them come. We will be ready for them.” Tyr stated. Khan's ears pricked up. He'd heard of that same declaration made by numerous men and women of war, upon approach the of an enemy.
“Divine have mercy! We'd better lock down all of the weapons lockers!” Khan thought. If Tyr had his way, he would roam the Insurrection's corridors packing a Guass rifle, hunt, and pick them off one by one.
“Sir, I just want you to know that I tried to get them to cancel this fiasco, but they were already in route.” T'Marr apologized, before hastily taking her leave. Tyr immediately turned to Khan.
“I believe this will put our little experiment on hold.” Tyr sighed. After all, he couldn't very well “date” T'Marr while her uncle and his “people” were on board and watching them from all angles.
“No it doesn't. There is more than one way to skin a cat.” Khan declared, then immediately winced upon realizing his gaff. Tyr roared with mirth. Khan could not help but join in.
* * * * * *
Outside, the bridge crew sighed with relief.
"At least they're not tryin' to kill each other." whispered Ensign DeMato. Everyone shushed him, but agreed.
- Chapter #12
The Alpha Shift Bridge Crew looked up when Captain Tyr strode off the lift, and down to the last man, woman and being, and all exchanged “the look”. Oh-oh, Kimshee's about to his the fan!
Gilgamesh vacated the chair and sat at an auxiliary station, and melted into the background. All was quiet as Captain Anasazi spent the next three hours glowering at the main viewer, growling and snapping out rapid-fire orders.
Nietzscheans are capable of functioning on little to no sleep, depending on the circumstances. But, a Nietzschean suffering from lack of sleep was dangerous be around. So, the crew did well to step lightly around Tyr.
Only one being dared to place himself directly in the line of fire. Khan. Everyone heard when the lift doors opened and saw Khan step out and head for The Lion's Den. Tyr gave him five minutes, placed Gilgamesh in charge of the comm and followed Khan's lead. On the bridge everyone battened down the hatches.
Ever alert to Tyr's moods, Khan saw the storm clouds the moment he stepped onto the Bridge.
“The man had a wonderful dinner last night with T'Marr, what the heck could have possibly gone wrong?” Khan wondered.
“So, how was it?” Khan asked. He knew, but, the counselor in him HAD to ask. Tyr was standing in his favorite spot, at the viewport and staring morosely at the stars. It was cathartic for him. The Nietzschean shrugged his muscular shoulders, in response.
“That's all?” Khan asked, as he imitated his superior and friend's action. He sensed the mood shift and prepared for the onslaught. A normal red-blooded Human being would've run for the hills.
“What would you have me to say, Cat? Nietzscheans do not date! In case you have not noticed, Nietzscheans have strict ritualized means of choosing their mates, for the express purpose of keeping the species pure. Love has no place in that ritual. Call it a purely business transaction, what ever you like. It is our way! Period!” Tyr thundered at Khan, as his expression turned murderous.
“Tyr, you are so full of crap, your eyes are brown.” Khan challenged, as he dared pull his whiskers back in a smile. “You mean to tell me that after the Matriarch has selected her champion, there is no love felt between them?” he continued.
“There is the exchange of bloodline information, and blood tests. . . . . . No, there is not.” Tyr insisted, as he shrugged again. He was simply not in the mood to delve into a treaties on Nietzschean mating.
“You lie, Tyr. I hear that the husband must cater to his Matriarch if he . . .” Khan started.
“If you already know these things, why do you ask?” Tyr shot back, cutting Khan off.
“I'm just trying to get you to admit that under that persona of a supposedly perfect genetic specimen . . . . . .” Khan interjected.
“I am what?” Tyr shouted.
“Human! Despite Paul Museveni's lofty intentions, he used the Human genome as his foundation. That means you still possess the same Human desires for self worth, to love and be loved as your Homo Sapien cousins. Even though you deny it, you Tyr are just a Human!” Khan continued.
“And you are just a freakin' cat!” Tyr hissed, accusingly.
“Guilty as charged.” Khan replied, as he executed a sweeping bow.
Arguments, heated debates, fights, and civil wars had been started among the Katay, by that statement. Had Tyr not been such a close and dear friend, Khan would've ripped his face off for saying it.
“There, now do you feel better that you've said that?” Khan asked.
“No, I do not. Forgive me.” Tyr muttered, as he crossed his arms, faced the viewport and actually pouted. Khan briefly wondered what the Nietzschean would do if he could “see himself”. Right now, the fearsome Captain resembled a petulant child.
“You're forgiven.” Khan replied.
“Khan, what do I do about T'Marr?” Tyr asked, after a few minutes of companionable silence.
“What do you mean?” Khan asked. He was well aware of what Tyr was asking, but, again he had to ask.
“I am woefully inept in the . . . . . . Human . . . . . . concept of dating. . . .” Tyr began. He said the word “dating” as if it were both sour and very bitter, and scrunched up his face with distaste, to boot.
When Paul Museveni created the first Nietzscheans, he kept them isolated in a remote location, for fear he and his creations would be hunted down and destroyed. As a result, a super-species of Humans developed completely without knowledge of the rich cultures they had descended from.
Oh, Museveni made sure they were soundly indoctrinated in Darwinism, and Dawkinite genetic competitiveness, and the works of Nietzsche. They were discovered and befriended by the Katay. The two races formed a close and lasting alliance like the Ying and Yang which was instrumental in getting them both accepted into the Federation and Starfleet. Much like what the Vulcans did with Humans.
“You just befriend her, Tyr. Befriend her and she will learn to trust you and eventually love you.” Khan replied. “That means being pleasant for a change, Tyr. You can't go around ticked off at the universe all of the time. It's bad enough you terrify the crew. You don't want to scare off your lady love. . . .” Khan continued, but Tyr growled like a Doberman and cut him off.
“. . . . . That too has to stop.” Khan warned, as he wagged a finger at Tyr. The Nietzschean sighed, rolled his eyes and looked back at the stars.
“Bye the way, just in case, watch out for the Vulcan Nerve Pinch.” Khan warned as afterthought. Tyr turned to gaze at Khan with both eyebrows raised.
“The Vulcan Nerve Pinch?” he asked. This was the first time in Tyr's Starfleet career he'd ever had such close and extensive contact with a Vulcan. Therefore he was clueless about their most infamous defense mechanism.
“I do not know if it is as effective on Nietzscheans as it is on Humans, but. . . . .” Khan began, and went on to explain in detail how the Nerve Pinch was applied.
* * * * * * * * *
Ten minutes later, Tyr was leaving the Ready Room to return to the comm, with Khan right behind him. Suddenly Khan huffed. Attuned to his friend, Tyr stopped. The door opened and T'Marr was standing in the doorway, ready to press the buzzer.
“I need to speak to you in private about an urgent matter, Sir.” she stated simply, after getting over the initial fright of being right up in Tyr's grille. She honestly didn't know whether she was more frightened to death or turned on. She immediately slammed and dogged down her Vulcan mental shields.
“This must be serious, because she is in uniform.” Tyr thought. For she still had four days left on her “vacation”.
Tyr and Khan stepped back to allow her entrance into The Ready Room proper.
“Sir, in two days Solon will be arriving with a team of xeno-sociologists from The Vulcan Academy of Sciences. “ she announced.
“Why?” Tyr demanded.
“Solon claims that they wish to study Nietzscheans at work and living in a close environment with other races.” she replied. Tyr frowned because the Vulcans should've known by now that Nietzscheans were capable of "playing nice with others."
“There has to be hundreds of Starfleet vessels out there that have mixed crews. Why this ship in particular? ” Tyr demanded, once again.
“Solon is my Uncle, Sir. And he is using this as as excuse to check on me, Sir.” T'Marr replied, as she blushed a very light tint of green. Tyr noticed and filed that fact away for later.
“Let them come. We will be ready for them.” Tyr stated. Khan's ears pricked up. He'd heard of that same declaration made by numerous men and women of war, upon approach the of an enemy.
“Divine have mercy! We'd better lock down all of the weapons lockers!” Khan thought. If Tyr had his way, he would roam the Insurrection's corridors packing a Guass rifle, hunt, and pick them off one by one.
“Sir, I just want you to know that I tried to get them to cancel this fiasco, but they were already in route.” T'Marr apologized, before hastily taking her leave. Tyr immediately turned to Khan.
“I believe this will put our little experiment on hold.” Tyr sighed. After all, he couldn't very well “date” T'Marr while her uncle and his “people” were on board and watching them from all angles.
“No it doesn't. There is more than one way to skin a cat.” Khan declared, then immediately winced upon realizing his gaff. Tyr roared with mirth. Khan could not help but join in.
* * * * * *
Outside, the bridge crew sighed with relief.
"At least they're not tryin' to kill each other." whispered Ensign DeMato. Everyone shushed him, but agreed.
After Dinner - Chapter 11
AUTHOR'S NOTE: “Tamarra” is T'Marr's Human given or first name. She Vulcanized it while studying on Vulcan.
Free Enterprise - After Dinner - Chapter #11
It was five hours later and T'Marr was still awake and burning the midnight oil. She'd gotten undressed, gotten cleaned up, donned her sleepwear. Then she re-hung all of her scattered clothing and was now sitting at her desk in front of her computer console.
She had received a sub-space transmission from her Vulcan uncle Solan reminding her that an important family event was coming up soon. And of course her Vulcan side of the family were anxious for her to attend. Well, not anxious. . . . . . more like looking forward with great anticipation to her being in attendance.
It had been nearly seven years since she had last set foot upon the burning sands of Vulcan, and seen the “Vulcan side of her family”. Honestly, T'Marr was in no rush to return to Vulcan any time soon. Although Vulcan was her original planet of origin, there were too many bad memories associated with it. She sent off a polite but terse reply that she would not be attending, explaining that duty calleth and she could not get away.
T'Marr, then tucked her legs under her semi lotus style and prepared to do her own personal research by first reviewing the past night's events.
After getting off to a bumpy start, dinner with Captain Tyr had been very pleasant. Their conversation had revealed some of his likes and dislikes. One thing he disliked was her new hairstyle and told her so. He also hated the shade of lipstick she wore.
T'Marr smiled realizing that a Human female would've “went off” on him saying those things. As a matter of fact, she didn't like them either. But, the hairstyle was Lieutenant JG Della Sanchez's idea, who'd insisted it would make her more attractive.
“Hah! I looked like a plucked chicken!” T'Marr thought, and smiled. “And that lipstick probably made me look like a courtesan. Next time Tamarra, stick to what you know.”
It was funny how Tyr now knew practically everything about her, but she didn't know that much about him. T'Marr blamed that on being too distracted by the delicious food, and being awe struck by the handsome Nietzschean sitting in front of her. She was amazed she was able consume her meal without choking.
The man certainly knew his way around the kitchen! She was a tad disappointed that the lasagne didn't contain meat. But, he didn't know that she consumed meat.
It's true that all Vulcans were vegetarians and echewed eating meat. But, she'd been raised on Earth and had eaten poultry and fish. After all, her Human family lived on a ranch, and they raised their own crops and livestock.
T'Marr stopped eating meat when she went to Vulcan for her so-called “cultural studies”. But every once in a while, the cravings for grilled chicken breast or salmon would come back with a vengence.
“I'd better tell him soon. Before I have to resort to snatching things off his plate!” she thought, and smiled.
She then accessed The Insurrection's data banks for information on the Nietzschean race, and settled in for some very long and detailed reading.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile in Tyr's quarters all was dark, still and quiet. No, he was not asleep. Tyr Anasazi out of Victory by Barbarossa of the Kodiak Pride, was sitting at his desk and “wool gathering”.
He had fully intended to make a personal log entry but, the only words he could think of were Khan's words: “Beautiful Vulcan Flower.” Over and over and over again. Despite the horrid hairdo and the loathsome lipstick, T'Marr WAS a “Beautiful Vulcan Flower.”
He glanced at the desk chrono which said 0315 hours and rolled his eyes. He doubted he would get much sleep, but, he sighed and went through the motions anyway.
* * * * * * * *
In Khan's quarters, he was just going to bed also.
“What is it, my husband?” Sabra asked. When her mate didn't sleep, she didn't either.
“It begins.” Khan said, simply.
Free Enterprise - After Dinner - Chapter #11
It was five hours later and T'Marr was still awake and burning the midnight oil. She'd gotten undressed, gotten cleaned up, donned her sleepwear. Then she re-hung all of her scattered clothing and was now sitting at her desk in front of her computer console.
She had received a sub-space transmission from her Vulcan uncle Solan reminding her that an important family event was coming up soon. And of course her Vulcan side of the family were anxious for her to attend. Well, not anxious. . . . . . more like looking forward with great anticipation to her being in attendance.
It had been nearly seven years since she had last set foot upon the burning sands of Vulcan, and seen the “Vulcan side of her family”. Honestly, T'Marr was in no rush to return to Vulcan any time soon. Although Vulcan was her original planet of origin, there were too many bad memories associated with it. She sent off a polite but terse reply that she would not be attending, explaining that duty calleth and she could not get away.
T'Marr, then tucked her legs under her semi lotus style and prepared to do her own personal research by first reviewing the past night's events.
After getting off to a bumpy start, dinner with Captain Tyr had been very pleasant. Their conversation had revealed some of his likes and dislikes. One thing he disliked was her new hairstyle and told her so. He also hated the shade of lipstick she wore.
T'Marr smiled realizing that a Human female would've “went off” on him saying those things. As a matter of fact, she didn't like them either. But, the hairstyle was Lieutenant JG Della Sanchez's idea, who'd insisted it would make her more attractive.
“Hah! I looked like a plucked chicken!” T'Marr thought, and smiled. “And that lipstick probably made me look like a courtesan. Next time Tamarra, stick to what you know.”
It was funny how Tyr now knew practically everything about her, but she didn't know that much about him. T'Marr blamed that on being too distracted by the delicious food, and being awe struck by the handsome Nietzschean sitting in front of her. She was amazed she was able consume her meal without choking.
The man certainly knew his way around the kitchen! She was a tad disappointed that the lasagne didn't contain meat. But, he didn't know that she consumed meat.
It's true that all Vulcans were vegetarians and echewed eating meat. But, she'd been raised on Earth and had eaten poultry and fish. After all, her Human family lived on a ranch, and they raised their own crops and livestock.
T'Marr stopped eating meat when she went to Vulcan for her so-called “cultural studies”. But every once in a while, the cravings for grilled chicken breast or salmon would come back with a vengence.
“I'd better tell him soon. Before I have to resort to snatching things off his plate!” she thought, and smiled.
She then accessed The Insurrection's data banks for information on the Nietzschean race, and settled in for some very long and detailed reading.
* * * * * * *
Meanwhile in Tyr's quarters all was dark, still and quiet. No, he was not asleep. Tyr Anasazi out of Victory by Barbarossa of the Kodiak Pride, was sitting at his desk and “wool gathering”.
He had fully intended to make a personal log entry but, the only words he could think of were Khan's words: “Beautiful Vulcan Flower.” Over and over and over again. Despite the horrid hairdo and the loathsome lipstick, T'Marr WAS a “Beautiful Vulcan Flower.”
He glanced at the desk chrono which said 0315 hours and rolled his eyes. He doubted he would get much sleep, but, he sighed and went through the motions anyway.
* * * * * * * *
In Khan's quarters, he was just going to bed also.
“What is it, my husband?” Sabra asked. When her mate didn't sleep, she didn't either.
“It begins.” Khan said, simply.
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