RoH 22

Regret All The Flaws

Stardate 2260.359, 1545 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Office (Christmas Eve)

The comm shrilled, disturbing Spock’s meditation and Jim’s concentration. He should have been working and had at least progressed to scowling at the first of a dozen reports that needed to be read and signed and filed. Without looking up from the report on his PADD, Jim switched on the speakers.

“Captain, something has come up that I need to discuss with you and Mr. Spock at your earliest convenience,” Commander Paul requested. He was still on the bridge, with fifteen minutes to go until the Beta Two team would take over. “In your office at sixteen-hundred?”

“Sure,” Jim replied. He frowned. If Paul wanted to see them the second he got off shift, whatever he had to tell them was a) important and b) unpleasant. And the tone of his voice … Jim didn’t like it. Paul wasn’t the kindest or nicest officer on board, but as head of Diplomacy he did have a way with words normally. Now, however, he seemed almost beyond politeness.

Fifteen minutes later, the three of them sat at the small conference table in Jim’s office. Yeoman Rand served Spice coffee – Jim had managed to increase his caffeine threshold to three cups a day again, although admittedly with plenty of milk and sugar – and a plate of tiny sandwiches, before she disappeared again.

“Well, Commander, what’s up?” Jim asked, leaning forward, hands folded around his cup.

“I have received a top-secret transmission from Starfleet Command,” Paul said, “a sabotage warning for all Federation starships.”

Jim went cold. A clichéd reaction, perhaps, but he couldn’t help it – especially with the warning from Khan in mind that Nyota had relayed to him when they were still in orbit around Arrakis. “What happened?”

“Two incidents. So far. The first happened three weeks ago when the USS Farragut rendezvoused with the ChR Destrix at the border of the Romulan neutral zone near Miridian to transport members of a Romulan cult to New Vulcan,” Commander Paul explained. “An extremely delicate situation. The Romulans have made an effort to improve diplomatic relations with the Federation since the Nero incident. Mostly because they fear retaliation for the destruction of Vulcan. Of course that’s a less than ideal foundation for political interaction, to put it mildly. As a result, the negotiations concerning the relocation of the veothir s’thaai – the Children of Logic – took almost a year.”

“What went wrong?” Jim thought that even without outside “assistance” that thing would have gone wrong. “Delicate” was not the term he’d use for that kind of thing. Disaster spelled all over it? Shit waiting to happen? Yeah, that.

“On the Romulan side, yellow alert for their whole fleet along with orders to proceed to the neutral zone. Falsified inside information was leaked that the deal wasn’t about relocating some weird philosophical cult, but retrieving Federation spies. On our side it was worse. Along with the veothir s’thaai, a bomb showed up in the transporter room of the Farragut. Sensor readings indicated that the bomb was of Romulan origin. Seemingly it had been beamed on board along with them. The only way to save the Farragut was to beam the bomb randomly into space, at a safe distance from the Farragut and the Destrix. Needless to say, the impromptu fireworks didn’t appeal to the Romulans. Thankfully Captain Hendrix kept his head and managed to review the transporter logs before the situation escalated into armed conflict. The logs revealed at least that the bomb couldn’t have been transported with the veothir s’thaai. The captain of the Farragut turned himself over to the Romulans while her science department tried to figure out what the hell happened. Thankfully their navigator – Max Jones – is about as much a computer genius as Mr. Spock here. Sabotage. The bomb was based on Romulan blueprints but fabricated on Earth, and a crew member of the Farragut had tampered with the sensors. But not just any crew member – a crew member who’d died on the old Farragut during the destruction of Vulcan. Somehow the clearance of the deceased had been reactivated and used to manipulate the sensors.”

“Holy shit. That—” Jim broke off, shaking his head as a memory hit him. A minor incident in February, one of the first things he’d had to deal with after he’d been released from the hospital to start getting the Enterprise ready for the five-year mission. “And the second incident?”

“The USS Antares suffered a collapse of the life support systems after the visit from Andorian scientists. A computer virus in the system, and a genetically engineered virus to emulate Andorian shingles in the AC.”

“Let me guess,” Jim said, “the version control puked up that a crew member who died during the Nero thing had fudged with the system. Same as those issues with the warp core simulator that Scotty reported back in February.” In October 2259 the version control of the simulator software on the Enterprise had revealed illicit modifications – entered by a deceased crew member. At that time Jim hadn’t known yet if he’d make a full recovery or if he’d get back the ship. Scotty had logged the malfunction, filed a report, and Chekov had inserted a trap to catch the perpetrator. As soon as Jim was back in charge in February, the Chief Engineer had approached him about the issue in person. But there had been no evidence that allowed them to take further action, and they had never caught anyone interfering with the simulator again.

“Exactly,” Commander Paul acknowledged curtly.

“I’d like to think that the guy – Maurice … Morris something or other – Iarty, wasn’t it? – who offed himself on Arrakis trying to blow up the Spice crawlers was our saboteur,” Jim said. “Unfortunately he wasn’t anywhere near the Enterprise in February.”

What a way to hit off the festive season, Jim thought, exchanging a glance with Spock. Instead of enjoying a carefree Christmas, they – and a good number of crew members – would be tied up in systems checks and more systems checks. Could we have caught them if— No. I can’t think like that. He took a deep breath. What’s done is done … or rather, what wasn’t done wasn’t done. Damn.

“I guess we’d better invite Lieutenant Romaine to join the party. Spock – you or Elbrun?” Jim remembered only too well his incredulity when Scotty of all people had approached him in February. Scotty had presented suspicions but no evidence that Lieutenant Romaine had manipulated the warp drive simulator using the access codes of a dead member of Starfleet as well as accusations of attempted sexual harassment (with Scotty as the victim, which seriously?). So not the kind of problem he’d anticipated having to deal with his very first week back on active duty. As neither Scotty’s investigation of the simulator nor Jim’s conversation with Romaine had yielded anything substantial beyond the fact that she had indeed worked for Admiral Marcus previously, Jim had logged his own report of the incident and then put it out of his mind.

“As this is not an emergency – yet,” Spock said calmly, “I believe the correct course of action would be to request Dr. Elbrun’s aid.”

Commander Paul nodded. “I’d prefer that, too. If my understanding of telepathy versus empathy is correct, Dr. Elbrun’s intervention would be much less intrusive. At this point of the proceedings we must assume that she is innocent of any malfeasance.”

Yeah, fuck. They should get so lucky that Romaine was the perpetrator they were looking for. Jim punched the comm link. “Dr. Elbrun, I need you in my office. Now.”

Elbrun arrived, was brought up to speed, and sat down next to Commander Paul. Spock went to get Lieutenant Romaine himself.

Jim watched her face carefully as she entered, two steps ahead of Spock. She stopped in her tracks, taking in the scene – himself, Commander Paul, Dr. Elbrun. She paled and nervously pressed her lips together into a thin line, before she stood at attention. “Captain, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes, Lieutenant. Do you remember the conversation we had in February, regarding irregularities in the output of the simulator in Engineering that you programmed?” Jim asked. Spock stepped up next to her. The door hissed shut.

Next to Commander Paul, Dr. Elbrun’s eyes blazed like a black supernova as the Betazoid concentrated on picking up on changes in Romaine’s emotional signature.

Romaine shifted on her feet. Jim thought she turned a surprised – or shocked? – gasp into a quick inhalation of breath just in time. “Yes, sir. You asked me if I knew anything about how such a malfunction might have occurred. I described several possible explanations. Then you discussed standards of appropriate behavior between crew members with me.”

Jim nodded. “Indeed. Do you have anything to add to that conversation by now?”

Her reaction to that question was odd. She should have turned more nervous, not less. And now – with a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and focused on Commander Paul. “Sir, my ID is S31D7009, special agent Amira Romanov, department for terrorism analysis and counterterrorism, five year field assignment on the Enterprise in connection with the Admiral Marcus investigation.”

“You’ve got to be FUCKING kidding me!” Jim slammed his palms on the table in front of him.

Dr. Elbrun shook his head unobtrusively. The harsh lines around Commander Paul’s mouth deepened with displeasure as he examined Romaine/Romanov with a stony stare, his pale green eyes cold. “No, sir. The ID is valid, as is the designation of investigation and department.”

Jim inhaled sharply and balled his hands into fists. “Well, Lieutenant Romaine – I assume you prefer to remain incognito? – I guess you’d better sit down.”

Spock opened the wall closet to retrieve an additional chair with calm, precise movements. After he had positioned the chair at the small end of the table, he returned to his seat next to Jim. He must be – not exactly shielding, but dampening the transference of the Bond. Jim did not feel alone in his mind, but he also sensed no particular reaction from Spock. Probably better. He didn’t think his first officer was any more thrilled with this development than he was.

Commander Paul slid his PADD over to Romaine, who scanned the transmissions quickly. “Sir, my placement on the Enterprise was specifically to investigate the prior sabotage in Engineering during the Marcus conspiracy, as well as to keep an eye on new crew members with access to vital systems. In the light of the recent incidents, I believe there is one officer who should be questioned as soon as possible – Assistant Chief Engineer Elena Amell.”

Jim frowned. Amell had proved herself to be reliable in a crisis during the rescue of the V’tosh ka’tur. More than that, he genuinely liked her, and he knew that Scotty loved the woman. But of course that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Oh hell. He nodded, indicating that Romaine should continue.

“Sir, Lieutenant Amell turned down a prestigious lab job at a top Starfleet research facility to take a standard Engineering job on the Enterprise – grunt work, really. However, just one month after her arrival, she was promoted to Assistant Chief. Although she had no prior experience serving on a starship. Apparently, she has managed to inveigle the Chief Engineer into entering a romantic relationship that is completely out of character for the man. The irregularities of the simulator results occurred when testing dangerous modifications of the warp core she had suggested. I am concerned that this was nothing but a particularly clever ruse to hide serious sabotage.” Romaine fell silent and placed Paul’s PADD back on the table.

“Suggestions?” Jim requested curtly.

“Since Mr. Spock and Dr. Elbrun are already present,” Commander Paul said wearily, “I suggest we ask Lieutenant Amell to join us.”

“Sir, neither empathic nor telepathic interventions are foolproof,” Romaine objected. “Captain, we have reasons to assume that the organization backing both Humanitarians for Earth and Humans First is none other than Terra Prime. If that is true, their ‘soldiers’ will be prepared.”

Jim considered the objection, the practical implications. How would an organization like Humans First prepare one of their goons for the possibility of capture? “Spock?”

“Most likely a mental trigger to drive them insane, taking out the mind of the interrogator along with their own. Additionally, poison, probably a fast acting nerve gas, hidden in a medical implant,” Spock suggested, perfectly composed. “However, I do believe if I meld with Dr. Elbrun first, and then access Lieutenant Amell’s mind, the danger is minimal. A scan will ascertain if any implants are present; they can be removed before questioning.”

Dr. Elbrun nodded. “There’s no guarantee it will work, but I think with that precaution it would be a reasonably safe intervention.”

“Okay.” Jim looked at Commander Paul and Lieutenant Romaine. “Any objections?”

“No, sir.”

With a heavy heart, Jim alerted Bones and had him summon Amell to sickbay for the scan. “Take all necessary precautions, Doctor McCoy,” he warned. He knew how much Bones would hate the whole procedure. “That’s an order.”

If Amell truly was a terrorist, they wouldn’t get a chance to question her, but at least she wouldn’t be able to kill anyone else on her way out. Commander Paul commed security. Of course. A necessary precaution. Only sensible. Jim realized that he still had no damn clue just how unpleasant his job as captain could get.

Twenty minutes later, the door to his office opened, and Bones appeared with Lieutenant Amell in tow. “No implants of any kind, Captain,” Bones reported, his expression pinched and bitter. “She’s clean.”

Jim almost sighed with relief. The fact that she was standing in front of him now, pale and confused, hopefully meant that she was not the saboteur they were looking for. “Thank you, Doctor McCoy. Would you please inform Mr. Scott that I need to talk to him? Just send him up.”

“Of course. Captain.” Jim hated the way Bones looked at him – as if he were a stranger – and left without a word, although he knew that it was better than Bones’s vociferous objections to mental invasions of privacy.

“Sir?” Amell asked nervously.

“Lieutenant Amell, we need your assistance in order to examine the possible sabotage of the warp drive simulator that you reported in February,” Jim said, attempting to keep his tone as neutral as possible. “Do you agree to allow Mr. Spock to examine your memories of the incident?”

For a second, she stared at him, clearly taken by complete surprise. “Sure,” she blurted, “Of course I agree, Captain. I have nothing to hide.”

Jim allowed himself a tight smile. “Thought so, Lieutenant. Mr. Spock, Dr. Elbrun, are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain.” Elbrun nodded. Spock approached Lieutenant Amell slowly. Jim realized that Spock didn’t believe that the woman posed any threat, and that he did his best not to scare her and to put her at ease. “Lieutenant, I will perform a light mind meld to examine your memories of the incident. Please focus on what you remember. That will help me to avoid seeing any other reminiscences that you may prefer to keep private.”

“Yes, sir.” Amell swallowed hard and flushed, but didn’t flinch when Spock gently touched the left side of her face.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock said softly, “my thoughts to your thoughts.” Spock didn’t close his eyes, but it was clear that he didn’t see the room anymore, didn’t see Jim, didn’t hear Amell gasping for breath.

Suddenly visions exploded into Jim’s mind, secondhand memories thrust at him through the Bond:

“None of these make sense, Len,” Scotty said. “Your modifications should have resulted in more of these readings to show a change, even if you did ‘fuck up’ … which you didn’t, by the way.” He pointed at the PADD. “And there’s no explanation for the output to the plasma injector to be worse, other than something is wrong with the simulator itself.”

“But it’s brand new,” Len said. “It was tested before they sent it up.”

…

“There!” Keenser stabbed his finger at the screen to stop it.

“What’s going on?” Len sat next to Chekov.

“I found the routine that seemed to be causing the problem,” Chekov replied. “But it was strange, because it didn’t match the pattern of the other routines. It was definitely written by an outside person. So we’re checking the version control to see when the update was made, and Keenser just found it. The update was submitted on 2259.275 by Lieutenant Travis Holt.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Scotty leaned over to look at the screen. “Holt never modified this program.”

“How do you know?” Len asked.

“He was killed during the attack by Nero,” Scotty said.

…

“Sabotage?” Chekov shook his head. “Why would anyone want to sabotage Lena’s experiment?”

Len looked up at Scotty. “Romaine installed the software,” she said. “I met Lieutenant Boma in the hallway on my way to get the coffee and mentioned the trouble I was having. He said Romaine insisted on installing it herself.”

“But that was weeks before the changes were made …”

As suddenly as the stream of memories had started, it was cut off, and Jim was back in the present with a gasp and a blinding headache. “Son of a—” He broke off, rubbing his temples.

Spock stepped back from Lieutenant Amell, his face flushed in a delicate sage-green hue. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant.”

Amell blinked. She was now white as a sheet, trembling all over, and she had tears in her eyes. “No problem, sir. Did you – did you discover what you were looking for?”

Jim shook his head. “Thankfully, no.” He stared at Romaine for a moment. “Lieutenant Amell, thank you for your cooperation. Two things. One, Lieutenant Romaine is not under suspicion for sabotage, but we have reason to suspect there is – or are – saboteurs on board. Therefore I need you to be on your guard and triple-check all systems as unobtrusively as possible. Please discuss the issue with Mr. Scott and report back to me tomorrow. Two, if you experience any discomfort whatsoever, please report to Doctor McCoy. Any questions?”

“N-no, sir,” she stuttered. Flushing again, she turned to Romaine. “I–I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I—”

“Lieutenant Amell, I know that when we first met I made you … uncomfortable,” Romaine replied. “I want you to know that was just part of the job – to suss out saboteurs. Nothing more. And that you reported me, that was your job, too. I won’t hold it against you if you don’t.”

Amell nodded. “Of course not, Lieutenant.”

“Very good, Lieutenant Amell,” Jim said. “You may go.”

Commander Paul quickly rose to his feet and led Lieutenant Amell to the door, dismissing the waiting security men with a low-voiced command. When the door closed behind the Assistant Chief Engineer, Paul returned to his seat.

“Well,” Jim said with a sigh, “I have to admit that I am relieved – I would have hated being wrong about her after the thing with the pirates. But that puts us right back to square one where possible saboteurs on board are concerned.”

“Lieutenant Amell has definitely no knowledge about how the malfunctions occurred and who perpetrated them beyond what she reported,” Spock stated. “I also picked up on memories and emotions associated with her career on the Enterprise and her relationship with Mr. Scott. I believe the motivation for her choosing a starship over a comfortable position in a lab was – I think the correct phrase is ‘to do her part’ – to make up for the atrocities Marcus is responsible for? She witnessed the destruction of the Vengeance and lost many friends in the catastrophe, as well as her home.”

“Yeah,” Jim agreed. “I got that, too.” When Commander Paul frowned at him, he added, “Spock transferred his impressions to me, what he picked up from her thoughts. She’d never help those fuckers. And I know Scotty. He’s not just loyal to a fault, he’s also too much of a perfectionist. If he promoted Amell to Assistant Chief, he did that because she’s a damn genius and not because she’s great in bed.”

Dr. Elbrun broke the somewhat awkward silence that followed Jim’s statement. “Her emotional state is stable. She was confused and nervous, but not scared. There’s emotional trauma in the background that fits Mr. Spock’s assessment. I definitely sensed no attempt whatsoever to hide anything. Most of all, no hatred or anger, only fading grief, and a strong undercurrent of love and loyalty.”

“Very well,” Commander Paul said. “Then we can rule her out as a suspect on all counts.”

“Since the manipulations of the simulator occurred before the launch of the mission, maybe there is no saboteur on board after all,” Spock suggested. “Or not anymore, after Iarty’s unsuccessful attempt to sabotage the Spice crawlers.”

Jim snorted. “We should be that lucky. No; the Enterprise is the flagship. Everyone knows we’re charged with critical missions. And Iarty wasn’t the one to fool around with the warp core simulator—”

The piercing alarm of the fire alert shrilled, an instant rush of hot adrenaline and icy panic. “Fire alert on deck four, section six. Fire alert on deck four, sec—”

“That’s Bones!” Jim was up and running before anyone else could react.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.359, 1700 hours, Deck 4, CMO’s Quarters (Christmas Eve)

“Fire alert on deck four, section six. Fire alert on deck four, section six.”

Carolyn had spent a quiet afternoon with T’Peri and the two Vulcan toddlers. She had contributed ginger biscuits, and T’Peri had replicated Vulcan spice tea. Carolyn hadn’t been sure if Jo would be patient enough with the Vulcans. But she needn’t have worried. T’Peri had delighted the children with an impromptu juggling show. Afterwards Thorby and Jo had played with T’Mir and Solok, a kind of Vulcan tetris that was supposed to train the logic of infants, while the adults had talked about Vulcan and Terran culture and the vagaries of life in space. In a typical irony of fate, the alarm sounded no more than five minutes after they had decided to drop that topic and Carolyn and the children were getting ready to leave.

“Stay with T’Peri,” Carolyn ordered Thorby and Jo. “Do what she says.”

Then she ran to the cabin. Leonard had the afternoon off, and for once he’d admitted that he was exhausted, he’d been planning to take a nap—

She ran headlong into a wall – no, collided with a tall, muscular figure jumping out of the turbolift in front of Leonard’s quarters. Stumbling backwards, dizzy, she would have fallen if the captain hadn’t caught her arms. He barely waited for her to regain her balance before charging into the cabin. Behind Carolyn, several of the V’tosh ka’tur came running, and half a dozen crew members spilled from the other turbolift, all of them brandishing fire extinguishers

“Leonard,” she gasped and hurried after the captain.

Fire-suppression foam filled the living area of the cabin up to Carolyn’s knees. Smoke made it impossible to see more than vague shapes of furniture, of people. A spicy scent of forest and resin and fried electronics tickled her nose, and the air was filled with – a flurry of – hail – nails – needles?

“It’s the godforsaken replicator!” Leonard cursed somewhere out of sight. “The bloody thing just won’t STOP.”

“DADDY! DADDY!” Jo was screaming in a panic, shrill and hysterical, at the top of her lungs. Of course it had been too much to hope for that she’d stay with T’Peri. “Daddy? Daddy?! Is that snow?”

“Computer, emergency shutdown of the replicator, quarters of McCoy, Leonard,” the captain ordered.

“Replicator disconnected,” the computer acknowledged.

The hailstorm abated. Seconds later, the ventilation system sucked away the last swirls of smoke. The scene revealed before Carolyn’s eyes was bizarre.

In the middle of the room, Kirk stood up to his thighs in fire-suppression foam, damp spots creeping up his ass. Beyond the replicator, Leonard crouched in the corner of the room, protectively hunched over … what even? And in the open door, Jo and Thorby were hanging on to each other, both of them hysterical, laughing and crying at the same time.

“Bones?” Kirk asked, taking a careful step toward Leonard. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, fuck you. Bloody replicator bastard scum.”

Carolyn blinked. That was strong language even for Leonard. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who had that reaction. Kirk stopped in his tracks and stared. “No, but thanks for offering. Bones, what the hell were you trying to get out of the replicator that messed it up so badly?!”

Leonard straightened up, visibly clinging to the last shreds of his dignity. He took a step forward, then he gestured with a flourish to a tall, purple something he’d been guarding in the corner. “A Christmas tree,” he said stiffly. “It was supposed to be a surprise. Someone told me once that you can get everything out of the replicator with the correct code.”

“A Christmas tree!” With a squee, Jo plunged into the foam, dragging Thorby along. “Daddy!!!”

“Emphasis on correct,” Kirk muttered. Then he turned, addressing the crowd of security guys and V’tosh ka’tur hovering just outside the door. “Okay, everyone, I think everything’s under control now. Thank you for your prompt reaction. That’s exactly what we need in an emergency.”

The V’tosh ka’tur disappeared without comment. The security men hung around another moment or two, torn between captain’s orders and curiosity. Then they, too, reluctantly withdrew.

By the time Jo and Thorby had reached Leonard, they had calmed down to occasional giggle fits. Bemused, Carolyn watched Thorby’s serious face. He didn’t look amused at all. But now and again, he would turn to face Jo and … chuckle, low sounds of boyish laughter, a little hoarse and surprising in their sweetness. His eyes sparkled and crinkled at the corners.

Then she heard the gentle rumble of the turbolifts, and fast footsteps approaching. Scotty and Spock burst through the door at the same time. Spock was pale with more than apprehension, Scotty looked livid. Whatever had happened to put both of them in such a mood?

“Wha’ the hell, Jim?” Scotty snarled. “How could ya? Ya had no right tae treat her like a criminal!” Then he rounded on Spock, positively shaking with fury, hands balled into fists, ready to strike out. “And you! Wha’ the bloody hell did ya do tae her?”

Oh shit, Carolyn thought. She turned to Jo and Thorby. “Jo,” she asked, her voice as calm and firm as she could manage, “take Thorby and go to stay with T’Peri. I’ll come and get you later. Now.”

Jo gave her a wide-eyed, scared look, but she obeyed promptly. Good girl. “Come on, Thorby. Let’s go.” The kids ran from the room.

Kirk met Carolyn’s eyes, a look of painful gratitude in his eyes. Thankfully, the children had also distracted Scotty for a moment. Long enough for Spock to back away carefully. He didn’t speak or raise his hands. Only his dark eyes betrayed that he was concerned, both about Thorby and the captain. Just as obviously he wanted to defuse the potential for violence. Kirk for his part stepped directly into Scotty’s line of vision, protectively drawing the man’s attention away from his husband, forcing the Chief Engineer to focus on himself. From the corner of her eye, Carolyn saw that Leonard was already gearing up to his usual belligerence, no doubt already pushed to the limits of his temper thanks to the replicator accident. For a moment, Carolyn wondered how the situation could be peaceably resolved – without brawl between three or even four members of the command crew.

Once again, Kirk surprised her. He looked from Scotty to Leonard and back. Then he helplessly shook his head, before he slumped down on the sofa, disappearing up to his chin in slowly melting fire-fighting foam. The effect was so ridiculous – the gesture so disarming – and Kirk looked so pathetic, that both Scotty and Bones stopped basically midstride, deflating, the proverbial wind taken out of their sails.

All right. Only one thing left to do now, Carolyn thought and hurried to Leonard’s desk and his private whisky bar. A moment later she handed a glass of Ardbeg to Scotty and Leonard, before she turned to Kirk. Again she glimpsed that grateful, agonized expression in those extraordinary hazel eyes. When she held out the bottle of whisky, he gave the tiniest shake of his head. Thankfully, she had anticipated that reaction, although she’d been thinking of Spock when she’d grabbed the small bottle of fancy spring water. Unobtrusively, she handed Kirk a tumbler with water and some ice cubes. Next, she cautiously approached Spock, offering him a choice of whisky or water. Another surprise – he chose whisky. Carolyn put the bottles on the coffee table. At last she put her hands on her hips and turned to level a stern stare at Leonard and Scotty, with a quick, worried glance at Kirk and Spock.

“If you think you can behave like actual Starfleet officers now, I’ll go and figure out how to get this mess cleaned up,” she told them. “But if you’re determined to behave like the worst brats in my classes, I’ll gladly stay here and play teacher. Your choice.”

Scotty blinked at her owlishly, too flustered to offer any resistance. “Ah… aye, sir – lass.”

“Great,” she said and pointed at the armchair that was still mostly invisible in the foam. “Sit.”

To her surprise, the Chief Engineer obeyed. Must be the Ardbeg. She turned to Leonard. Please, she thought. I have no idea whatever happened now, but he’s your best friend, and tomorrow is Christmas day … light in dark places, hope reborn, and all those ancient clichés and superstitions. And Jo was looking forward to this first Christmas on the Enterprise so much, with the frantic fervor of a much younger child, a little girl who couldn’t remember the last Christmas she had spent with her father. Carolyn did her best not to sigh with exasperation at Leonard’s glowering. What would Jocelyn have done in this situation? Because her best bet was to do the exact opposite.

In the end she settled for a quick touch, briefly clasping Leonard’s left arm. “I’ll go and talk to Jo and Thorby. I’m sure they can stay with T’Peri for dinner today.” Grasping at straws to come up with an excuse to get the hell out of the way, she went on, “Then I’ll head down to Maintenance and get a cleaning crew organized. If you need more time than an hour or so, you should relocate.” She smiled at him and escaped from the room with its dank foam, replicated Christmas tree, pigheaded men and all.

♦♦♦

Stardate 2260.360, 1700 hours, Deck 5, Captain’s Quarters (Christmas Day)

Leonard sat in one of Jim’s armchairs and nursed hot eggnog. The concoction was gruesome; based on synthehol and replicated in one fell slurp.

Across from him on the couch, Spock and Thorby sat cross-legged, facing each other, their right hands lifted to gently rest their fingers on the meld points of the other. Their eyes were open, and they were gazing at each other. Thorby’s pointy little face was very solemn, but peaceful. Spock’s expression betrayed the most curious mixture of concentration, apprehension, and gentleness. For a moment Leonard wondered what exactly they were doing, how it felt. He shook himself and turned away, focusing his attention on the middle of the room. Jim and Jo had set up the misbegotten Christmas tree and were now busy replicating ornaments and putting them on the crooked, purple monstrosity.

“We should have angel hair,” Jo decided. “Silver angel hair. It will be awesome.”

Jim took a step back and scrutinized the effect of a twinkling golden shooting star at the top of the tree. “Really, Jo? Are you sure? Purple and silver? Sure you don’t want a rainbow mix? And what next, baby unicorns and pegasi?”

Jo stuck her tongue out at Jim. “Nope. Mermaids and kittens.”

Jim shook his head but obediently wandered over to the replicator. The tip of his tongue caught between his lips, he frowned at the panel.

“Angels are supernatural beings found in mythologies of various species throughout the universe. The most common depiction presents humanoid creatures with feathered wings and halos. In the Terran Judeo-Christian tradition angels are religious messengers and executioners based on winged Assyrian protection gods,” Thorby piped up without turning away from Spock. “It is not logical to attempt to replicate something that may not exist.”

“Ah, Thorby, better get used to it,” Jim said. “Humans do lots of illogical things.” The replicator whined and whirred. Then several objects tumbled out of the slot. “Sometimes those illogical things even work.” He turned to Jo and held up a number of translucent silvery and golden shapes. “Here you go. A sun, a moon, one, two, three … seven stars, a unicorn, a pegasus, a mermaid … and a kitten.”

Leonard watched how Jo bounced toward Jim to grab her new treasures. Then his daughter squealed and held out a black silhouette for him to admire. “Oh, look, it’s Pash-yel!”

“Indeed it is,” Leonard agreed. He scowled at Jim, who was still poking at the replicator. “Why is it that you get assorted Christmas paraphernalia out of the replicator no problem, and I nearly burn down the ship in the attempt to produce one scrawny excuse of a Christmas tree? By rights trying to replicate a non-existent mythical object should have transported us into some kind of freaky alternate universe or at the very least produced a crazy time-space anomaly.”

“Because I’m a serious hacker and you’re not even a wannabe, that’s why.” Jim narrowed his eyes at the replicator screen, then stabbed at the panel again. “But mostly because your code contained a virus. It put the replicator into an infinite loop after the first execution. So, instead of creating one Christmas tree starting with the trunk and ending with the needles, it started over again, only backwards, and went haywire over the needles. As a result, the primary energizing coil overheated. That’s what got you the fireworks – the last load of needles ignited before the replicator broke down.”

Cradling his drink in both hands, Leonard winced. Maintenance had assured him that they could return to their quarters in three days – when the living area had dried out and the last remnants of smoke and fumes had been purged from the air. Until then, he was stuck in his old quarters along with Scotty’s super-sekritt and extremely stinky still, and the kids resided in style in the captain’s cabin. It was Christmas, and Jim wouldn’t hear of them stuck on camp beds. Jo had decided it was all an awesome adventure, and Thorby had said nothing, as usual. Faced with Jim’s hard stare, Leonard had taken his cue from Thorby and remained silent, too.

The replicator hissed, and a mess of silvery strands spilled into Jim’s hands. Angel hair. And as far as Leonard could tell, its creation hadn’t triggered any kind of cosmic calamity.

“Come on,” Jim said and fluttered the glittering filaments at him. “Help us. Serious stuff can wait for once.” The tension visible around his eyes hinted at how serious that stuff was, and Leonard felt even worse. When had his entire existence turned into such a clusterfuck? Not enough that he felt professionally out of his depth faced with the assorted complications of Vulcan voodoo messing with people who mattered to him, his private life was going to hell in a hand basket. He sucked as a friend; he was a failure as a father; and he had no damn clue what to do with a woman he actually liked.

“Yes, Daddy!” Joanna begged, voice and eyes bright. “Help us! And we still need candles, Uncle Jim.”

The hell of it – he couldn’t even remember the last time he’d spent Christmas with his daughter. “Alright, kiddo.” Leonard put down the cold dregs of the eggnog and got up. “Let’s see what we can do.” He held out his hand to Jim.

When the tree was done, the wonky purple thing looked utterly ridiculous – adorned with silver lights, silver angel hair, fairy tale ornaments (and a black kitten), and green Vulcan gingerbread men.

They’d actually needed Scotty to make the lights work. Spock, of all people, had declared the situation an Emergency. Jim, of course, had agreed. The idea that Scotty and his girlfriend might have had plans didn’t seem to occur to him. Somehow the next step in the Christmas drama had involved Elena drafting Carolyn and her father to help with the lights. Why one of the three most brilliant engineers on board insisted on the presence of people who didn’t have the slightest clue how replicators or LEDs worked, escaped Leonard. But he knew better than to question the logic of women, no matter which department they belonged to. And although Carolyn’s father war out of his depth where replicators were concerned, he could contribute to a discussion of what constituted a good whisky and was happy to do so, too. Currently, Commander Paul was involved in a serious debate of the merits of blended versus single malt with Scotty on the sofa that not even Carolyn dared to disturb. Where the three bottles on the coffee table had come from, Leonard didn’t want to know. However, when he heard Scotty’s grand sweeping statement “that no sane person can drink whiskey”, Leonard was ready to intervene. It was his solemn duty as a Georgian country doctor to defend the reputation of bourbon. At the very least, he wanted to steal a drink for himself.

But at his side, Carolyn laughed softly. She linked her arm with his and drew him a few steps backwards. “Look,” she whispered. “Really look.”

Jo and Thorby sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. Somehow the black Barque kitten Pash-yel had managed to sneak into the captain’s quarters and was now curled up in Thorby’s lap. The kids weren’t touching, but Thorby was leaning his head at exactly the same angle Jo did to admire the Christmas tree.

Somehow Spock and Jim had managed to fit themselves into one and the same armchair again, defying the laws of physics. The armchair was conveniently pushed back against the wall on the other side of the Christmas tree. Leonard couldn’t see precisely what the two of them were doing with their hands over there, but he strongly suspected they would be arrested for doing it in a public place on New Vulcan.

On the couch, Len raised a mug of hot chocolate so liberally laced with Bailey’s, he wasn’t sure if the mixture shouldn’t be called Bailey’s with hot chocolate. When Scotty produced a fourth bottle seemingly out of thin air, she rolled her eyes, laughed, and clinked her mug against his tumbler in Christmas cheers. Commander Paul shook his head at their antics but returned the gesture with his own glass. Then he eloquently pointed at the bottle right in front of him. So far, the great whisk(e)y dispute of Christmas 2260 obviously remained unresolved.

Pash-yel chose that moment to stretch the way only happy kittens can, languid and long, a slender, sleek black question mark, spilling over into Jo’s lap. His daughter giggled with delight. How he loved that sound.

He backed away from the scene and leaned against the wall, blinking hard. When a warm hand touched his arm, he wasn’t surprised to find Carolyn standing there. “She was such a happy little kid,” Leonard whispered, “all laughter and sunshine and mischief. After the divorce … not so much. Not that I was allowed to visit often enough to know for sure. And last year, I don’t think I’ve heard her laugh like that once.” He shook his head. This was the wrong time and the wrong place to get so maudlin. “Small wonder,” he added. “She watched her mother die. Was stuck in a hospital for months. First as a patient and then because I only made it outside Starfleet Medical for the custody hearings. But her stepfather didn’t want her. Can you imagine not wanting her?” Helplessly, he shook his head.

“No, I can’t,” Carolyn replied. “And you’re right.” She smiled, soft and a little bit sad. “Sunshine and mischief. That’s the best way to describe her. Now,” she asked, briskly, in a tone she must have learned from Christine Chapel. “How about some mulled wine? Real one, not replicated.”

“Won’t say no to that,” he admitted. Then he took a deep breath and sat down on the floor next to Jo. She promptly cuddled against him, ignoring Pash-yel’s protests. The kitten promptly turned his back on her, focusing his attentions on Thorby. Leonard put his arm around his daughter. Against the back of his hand, he could feel the body heat of her little Vulcan Bondmate.

This was not what he’d wanted for his daughter if he’d been given the choice. Growing up in such a dangerous environment without a mother. Facing the challenges of a difficult relationship before she was a teenager. But of course life didn’t work that way. Already Jo wiggled out of his embrace again, her focus on Thorby and the kitten once more. Purrs and giggles mingled.

Carolyn pressed a hot mug of spice-laced red wine into his hand. Then she settled down next to him with a contented sigh only to curse under her breath when she spilled hot wine over her hand. Watching her lick the red liquid from her skin made him flush with a heat that had nothing to do with alcohol at any temperature.

What was that Vulcan saying Spock always annoyed Jim with when he was ranting about fate and fairness and the universe and all the rest? Right. Kaiidth – what is, is.

It could be worse.

♦♦♦

“Christmas it seems to me is a necessary festival; we require a season when we can regret all the flaws in our human relationships: it is the feast of failure, sad but consoling.”
– Graham Greene, Travels With My Aunt

♦♦♦♦♦♦

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Author’s Notes:

• “veothir s’thaai” is based on grammar and vocabulary at the Imperial Romulan Language Institute.

• Captain Hendrix and Max Jones are textual allusions to “Starman Jones” by Robert A. Heinlein.

• Ardbeg is an awesome single malt whisky.

• Background information for this chapter can be found in the awesome tie-in stories for “The Resilience of Hope”: “Hope for Tomorrow” and “RoH: Lower Decks” by Aranel Took.