Vignette, sequel to "Takeover Bid", set late in season five. In
happier times, unlikely friends reflect on literature, letters and
love.
Disclaimer: Tom, B'Elanna and Tuvok come from Paramount, or possibly
Viacom. The story comes from me, or possibly Dornford Yates.
Any comments welcome - daverogers@geocities.com
T'Hain's Dictates of Poetics
"May I join you, Mr. Paris?"
"My pleasure, Tuvok." I spoke with utter candour. While we had been
passing through the Commonwealth of Trade, a loose association of
peaceful worlds, he and I had at last commenced our oft-postponed
holonovel project, and my respect and admiration for my superior
office had grown into true friendship, offered... and accepted.
"In the light of your interest in Vulcan literature, I have prepared
this text for you as an illustration of T'Hain's Dictates, to
demonstrate how the narrative must flow logically from the established
parameters of the situation." He handed me a PADD, atop which was
proudly displayed the title, "Takeover Bid".
"Tuvok, I'm touched. That was really thoughtful of you." A slight
inclination of his head acknowledged my thanks; knowing his moods now,
I supplied the smile he could not.
"I have used a traditional Vulcan teaching method, basing the text on
a situation of great emotional impact for the student. This acts to
reinforce emotional control techniques, while giving the lesson
personal relevance."
"Don't tell me", I asked, grinning roguishly, "that you've actually
written the steamy love scene between the handsome pilot and the
sultry, passionate Chief Engineer?"
Strong, slender arms gently entwined themselves around my neck from
behind, and my senses were delightfully assailed by the familiar scent
of plasma coolant from the one who had breached the walls about my
heart. The most beautiful voice in the galaxy purred, "We would have
written it ourselves, Tuvok, but somehow there was always more
research to do."
"I share the entire crew's appreciation of your diligence, Lieutenant
Torres," my friend replied, raising an eyebrow in what I had come to
know for the Vulcan equivalent of a hearty laugh, "but in fact Mr.
Paris features only briefly in the piece. It concerns primarily,
rather, your reactions to the receipt of a letter."
Silky hair fell about my shoulder as my lady moved to sit by my side.
"The letter from your father, Tom, remember? So you're pretending it
actually got through?"
"I have hypothesised that the letter was received, but not delivered
to Mr. Paris. You, Lieutenant, chose instead to destroy it."
"But Tuvok, I could never do that. It would be dishonourable." A frown
crossed my lady's exotically adorned forehead, but I could see there
was no anger in her. Of late she had found many better ways to
relieve her tensions, all of which involved my whole-hearted
participation; we had been so whole-hearted of late that this was the
first frown I had seen from her in many days - in public, at least.
"I am no less aware of the dictates of Klingon honour, Lieutenant,
than of the dictates of logic. It was necessary, therefore, that the
Admiral's letter contain a suggestion even more dishonourable,
presenting you with a moral dilemma..."
"...which is resolved in an act of righteous anger!", my lady cried,
her eyes wide with excitement. "Tuvok, this reads like a Klingon
morality tale. My mother would approve." Her laugh was quite free of
bitterness, testament to the healing within her, healing that I hoped
my efforts had aided.
Left behind momentarily in their enthusiasm, I tried to contribute.
"And the principles of poetry dictate that B'Elanna should destroy the
message because only she had access to it?"
"Not necessarily, Tom." Her tone had the kindness of a mother to a
favoured child, and I could tell she was amused at my simplicity. "The
messages were pretty fragmented, so quite a few people got fragments
of other messages." She returned her attention to the text, and
studied it more intently.
A more subtle suspicion began to manifest itself within me. "Tuvok,
your letter from T'Pel was quite long, wasn't it?"
My friend dropped his arms to the sides of his chair, preparing to
rise. "I regret, Mr. Paris, that I must discontinue this interlude.
Duty calls. However, let me present you with one further train of
logic. If another had obtained this letter, he or she might choose to
wait until your relationship was better established, then reveal it to
you in a more circumspect manner. This way, you would be warned of
your father's intentions, while the career and reputation of a
Starfleet Admiral could not be harmed by an unkind interpretation of
his words."
"But why would anyone go to such trouble?"
Risen, he paused briefly to conclude. "Because of a conflict between
his loyalties to a superior officer he admired and respected, and a
man he considered," his voice falling almost to a whisper, "a valued
friend."
As I watched him leave, my lady recalled me to her with a gasp. "Oh,
Tom, it all makes sense now! Tuvok concealed the letter so you and I
could still love each other. Tom, how can you ever repay him?"
Her eyes outshone the brightest stars of the Delta Quadrant as I
breathed, "By loving you all the more."
THE END
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