Deep within the Delphic Expanse, there was a region with an enormous number of spatial anomalies.
The existence of spatial distortions was nothing new. All of the versions of the NX-01 had encountered them. They pushed and pulled at the ship, its cargo, and even its crew if you were unlucky enough to come into intimate contact with one.
However, this particular anomaly field was different.
The anomalies existed due to the placement of gravimetric spheres within the Expanse. However, in this particular region, the creation of a sphere had somehow failed. Abandoned, the half-built sphere's very existence still created spatial distortions and pockets of space where a vessel as large as a starship could hide.
And, within one of these pockets of hidden space, there was a planet. As planets go, it shouldn't have been much. It was small, it did not have a moon, and it should not have had either water or an atmosphere. However, the presence of the nearby failed sphere kicked up excessive amounts of chi spectrum radiation. This radiation had the effect of adding enough heat, light and gravity so that the planet could possess gifts that were far more impressive that it should, by all rights, have had.
On its surface, there was water. And there was rocky land, too. Light on that world was dappled and mottled. There was neither a true day nor was there a true night. It remained in twilit limbo.
And on its surface, there was activity.
A cannibalized wreck was the most prominent feature on the landscape. It provided shelter for a curious detachment of souls.
The inhabitants – Ikaarans – were not native to the little world. And they did not intend to stay. But there was little they could do.
They had crashed perhaps an Earth year earlier, although they knew nothing about Earth. They had sent out a distress call, but it seemed obvious that the message had never reached its intended destination. Perhaps it had never reached any destination.
Their mission had been one of farming, so they were uniquely suited to having a go at finishing the unwitting terraforming work that the presence of the uncompleted sphere had started. Industrious, thrifty and hard-working, they did their level best to make the planet feel like home.
There were fewer than ten of them still living. Eight mounds silently attested to just how difficult the first winter had been.
Winter. It was an absurd name for a world that had no seasons. A better name would have been time before the harvest. But winter was a descriptive enough appellation.
They were all female, save one. He was older, and had been originally brought on board to be their captain and chaperone. To the women, he was ancient, yet he was scarcely forty-five. Notch-nosed and dark-haired like the rest of them, he spoke, "What is our status?" he inquired.
"Verinold," said a raven-haired woman, her tongue clicking and popping as she spoke their language, "We have enough food for thirty-seven days. The first of the olowa trees will not begin to fruit for at least forty-one days."
"We will consume three-quarter rations, then, Esilia," he said to her.
"Lemnestra, do you have a report?" Esilia asked a shorter woman nearby – the Science Officer.
"I do," she said, "our water supplies are holding steady, despite needing to water our crops. We have enough water to last us until long after the olowa trees have all fruited, and the tofflin begins to send out new shoots. The water recycling unit is operating at maximum efficiency. Dakiza has done well."
"That is excellent news," said Verinold, "Dakiza?"
"I cannot tell if the makeshift transceiver is operational. Izquilla and I have been sending a new distress call, but we cannot tell whether it is being heard by anyone."
"That may be for the best, as I doubt there is anyone out here but Imvari slaver ships," he said.
"Would it be so much worse if they were to capture us?" Lemnestra asked. "At least they would feed us." She waved a tired hand at the others. Everyone was gaunt.
"They will work you to death," warned Verinold.
"Does not the same fate await us here?" Lemnestra persisted.
"I would rather work myself to death here, where at least I can be free," Esilia declared. "The end may be the same, but the pathway at least is different."
"That may not matter so much when we become hungrier, and need to bury more of our own." Lemnestra said.
=/\=
On the Enterprise, Jonathan Archer sat in the command chair on the Bridge. "What's the news on finding better hiding places?" he asked Travis.
"I don't love this solution," admitted Travis Mayweather, "but we may need to start thinking about hiding in anomaly fields."
"They could damage the ship, and repairs might prove difficult or impossible," explained T'Pol, looking up from the Science station. "Are you certain that this is the best course of action?"
"Well, I'm running out of options," Travis stated. "That gas giant is good for when the other NX-01 is in the Paradise system, but they go right through there whenever they head to Amity. And then there's a star cluster formation, but it's pretty close to the thermobaric clouds. Talk about damaging the ship."
"Let's make this a priority," the captain commanded, "take every available resource you need. I don't want just one or two possible hiding places – I want us to have at least a dozen options." T'Pol nodded. The captain continued, "And another thing – the other NX-01 farmed on those two planets. We can probably take a small share from each of them and make it look like weather damage, but I don't wanna be counting on that. We're going to need our own planet."
"Records indicate," T'Pol stated, "that there are few unclaimed worlds in this sector. We cannot wait for terraforming. And we should not encroach on a planet that has already been claimed by another power."
"Remember that Osaarian pirate?" Jonathan asked. "If we get desperate – if people start to really starve – we might find that our morals begin to become, let's just say, a little looser."
"Sir," Hoshi interjected, "there's also the matter of taking from the other NX-01's stores. Not only don't we want to be seen, we also don't want them to starve and become desperate, either."
"Plus Chang and Curtis would be on that Amity planet," Travis pointed out, "who's to say what they would see? They'd have no qualms about spilling the beans and telling the older NX-01 about us."
"The crew also needs a purpose," T'Pol stated. "That was a part of the cause of some of the earlier bad behavior in the other version. The crew was simply unfocused. Locating hiding places and embracing agriculture should provide adequate work for all."
"There's always piracy," the captain joked. A raised Vulcan eyebrow was the only proffered response.
=/\=
In Sick Bay, Sandra Sloane sat on a stool as Doctor Phlox put together an injection. Nearby, a bat squealed in its cage. "Have the shots been working, do you think?" he inquired.
"I think so," she said, "And Brooks has been a lifesaver. I'm beginning to really appreciate him."
"That's wonderful," said the Denobulan. "Now, just a moment." He injected the side of her neck. "We're all done." He smiled at her with his overly wide Denobulan grin.
"Doc, can we talk a bit?"
"By all means. What's on your mind, Crewman?"
"I've been reading my old logs. And what I said about people was really bad."
"You were depressed."
"I was horrible," Sandra confessed, "it's like my whole world view was completely skewed. I felt like I was superior to all of the women on board, it seems. And then I sold my own body like a cheap hooker."
"Crewman –"
"Doctor, I did it for a better spot on the chow line. I did it so that I could change shifts. I did it for a saved seat at an Observation Lounge concert, a dusting of my quarters and a laundered uni. Hell, I even did it for a ripe peach!"
"Depression is a powerful malady."
"I don't dispute that, Doc. I am living proof of that. But it's the things I said about people in my logs, too. I called people all sorts of vile names. I manipulated Sophie Creighton into taking care of my own daughter because I was too self-absorbed to do so. I humiliated Lieutenant Reed – and he was my boss at the time."
That confirmed something Phlox had read in his records about Reed being overly cautious with the women on the ship. "I see," he said after a pause.
"When I was growing up," Sandra said, "I was shunted back and forth while my folks got a divorce. This was, I was eight or so. My mother got herself a boyfriend really fast. And that new fellow, he was, let's just say, he was an influence."
"How so?"
She paused to take a breath. "He had just about every prejudice you can think of. He was anti-alien, anti-Muslim, anti-Asian, anti-Semitic, and anti-gay."
"Oh."
"I didn't know any better then. I used to repeat what he said. I idolized him, 'cause he stuck around whereas it was my own father who had left. To my mind, my stepfather was just the most amazing thing."
"Children can be very influenced by adults."
"Right. And Mom and I both wanted to distance ourselves from Dad. It wasn't until High School that I started to realize it was all wrong. My mother, too – the bloom was definitely off the rose for her by then, too."
"And so you were able to change yourself."
"Exactly," Sandra said, "and I can see, in my logs, that I slid right back into it. Frankly, I'm surprised that I got such a light sentence after that trial."
"Crewman, do you ever think that you should be behaving that way now?"
"Of course not."
"Then I'd say the injections are working very well eh?" asked the Denobulan.
=/\=
T'Pol left lunch early in order to visit Engineering to discuss the matter of attempting to camouflage their warp trail. She had finished and was returning to the Bridge when she heard footfalls behind her. Her Vulcan hearing was acute, so she was able to pick out that it was a man of average height, so it was not someone very tall like Major Hayes or Crewman Torres, nor was it a shorter man like Lieutenant Reed, Crewman Delacroix or Crewman Willets. The tread was somewhat light as well; hence it was neither Chef Slocum nor Crewman Haynem. She turned slightly.
It was Crewman Chang. "Hey, baby," he said, "I've got some time in between, y'know, things. And I've got this problem with my neck." He rubbed his own neck a little. "I was wondering if you could help me with a little neuropressure."
"You should speak with Doctor Phlox about obtaining an analgesic injection," T'Pol advised, turning to leave. Chang made no move to leave. The Vulcan exterior was calm. "Mister Chang, are you ill?"
"Never felt better." He came closer. "Look, we all know you did it with Tucker last time. And it's pretty obvious you're less than thrilled at repeating history. So how's about trying something new?" He came even closer and she backed up a step. "It's not a little something new, if yanno what I mean."
"You are out of line, Crewman," she said, "the Starfleet Manual is rather clear on the matter of sexual harassment."
"In case ya hadn't noticed, babe, the Manual's out the window."
"I will report you to your superior officer."
"Reed? He's too busy trying to figure out why he ended up with that dog of a waitress," Dan said, smirking, "'Course she's probably just a beard. You do know what I mean by that, don't you?"
"A cover for homosexuality," T'Pol stated, "however, Crewman," she leveled her gaze at him as a door swished open, "Often those who are overly concerned about others' sexuality – or who see homosexual activity when there isn't necessarily any – those persons tend to be closeted themselves."
He grabbed her arm roughly. "You get in my quarters and you'll know I'm anything but some closeted faggot."
"Hey! Hey! Hey!" yelled Tripp, running down the hall. "What the hell's goin' on around here?"
"We were just having a discussion," Chang said.
"The Crewman was just leaving," T'Pol added, glaring at Dan.
"Crewman," Tripp said, "I bet Lieutenant Reed's got somethin' for ya to do. And if he doesn't, I'm sure I can give him a buncha suggestions."
"I'm not on duty," Chang said smugly, "I'm on the night shift now."
"Then your only logical activity right now would be sleeping," T'Pol stated.
Chang glared at them both. "Empty beds are cold."
"Cry me a river. Excuse me if I don't feel too sorry for ya," Tripp retorted, "Now get back to your bunk."
Dan looked back at them once before departing. Tripp said, "Did he really bother you?"
"I am unharmed."
"So he did bother you. T'Pol, you gotta tell the captain and Malcolm. Last time, things got outta hand because people didn't say anything. It all festered, and then it ended up escalating until he and some other guys committed actual crimes."
"Mister Chang is still a vital member of this crew," T'Pol explained, "as is everyone else. An effort needs to be made, to not single out Chang and automatically condemn every single one of his actions."
Tripp shook his head. "Will ya listen to yourself? That guy is a rapist. He is gonna do it again."
"No," she said, "conditions differ. While his behaviors may be distasteful, they are hardly criminal. And continually seeing the most negative aspects of his behavior provides little to no incentive to reform. Chang acts out, and does not improve, for he has come to the conclusion that there's little point in it."
"I don't like you bein' alone with him, T'Pol."
She thought for a moment. "Your concern is appreciated. However, it appears unwarranted."
"If you change your mind, you'll tell me, right?"
"On the contrary – I shall inform the captain and Lieutenant Reed, as you had originally suggested."
Exasperated, he threw up his hands and shook his head as he left.
=/\=
Once the day shift had finished, and dinner was just about ready, Malcolm heard a ding on his PADD – a message. It was from Lili. "Subject: Upcoming birthday celebration – make sure you have a good appetite for dinner on the second. I hope you like what I'm going to make for you."
He smiled to himself, his face reddening just a touch. He tapped out his reply. "Whatever you prepare will, I am certain, be utterly delectable."
In the galley, as other bells dinged, signifying the readiness of replicated kosher-style brisket and the time to turn off the flame on the side dish of bulgur with onions and mushrooms, Lili also heard that there was a new message on her PADD.
She slyly checked – there were actually two messages. She read the one from Malcolm and smiled to herself. The other one was from Jay Hayes. It just said, "Do you like the flick Chip picked out for this week's Movie Night? It's called 'The Great Escape'. Maybe I could meet you there if you're going."
She composed her quick response. "I'll be there," and hit send before Craig came in with the serving utensils for that evening's meal.
=/\=
On the planet, Esilia made up her mind. She walked to the other side of the small olowa orchard and beckoned one of her fellow castaways to join her. "We are in bad shape," she said to the other woman, "we are on lowered rations already, and Captain Verinold would take a quarter off the top so that we could stretch them out longer."
"There may not be an alternative."
"True, Kerna. But we are already stretched so thin, and nearly to the breaking point. And what if the olowa trees do not bear their fruits on time? The light here is not so good for photosynthesis, you know. We have already seen stunted growth and undersized fruits. What would make us believe that this harvest would somehow be a vast improvement over the last one?"
"All too true."
"We are losing any window of opportunity we may have left," Esilia replied.
"What would you have me do?" asked Kerna.
"I wish to take the shuttle," Esilia said, "and go and see if there is anyone out there. Perhaps at least a message could be sent."
"Perhaps," Kerna replied cautiously, "but the shuttle would be slow as it would be best for you to conserve fuel for the return journey."
"I cannot say whether there would be a return journey. And there is every possibility that the Imvari would capture me. It is a slow death here, or a slow death there. I do not wish to be a slave, but at least there is a chance to not be a slave."
"I see."
"I would need a pilot," Esilia said.
"Understood. We would need rations, though."
"Let us take four days' worth for two people. And we will consume half every day, to stretch to eight days. This would provide the others with extras, a few more days if they are careful enough. It may be enough to tide them over to when the first of the olowa begin to ripen. And as for us, I hope that it will not mean our death in nine days or so."
"When shall we leave?"
"Early tomorrow morning, before the light is at its brightest."
"I will be ready," Kerna said.
=/\=
Malcolm Reed's Personal Log, August thirtieth, 2037
A surprise menu for my birthday! How delightful. And this is, I imagine, how things will begin.
I do hope that I like what I see under those chef's whites. Perhaps she'll just be a white-hot flame.
=/\=
Jay Hayes's Personal Log, August thirtieth, 2037
I hope I see her at the movies. I know I need to get over Susan. That much remains clear. But in the meantime, I need to get out there and she is really the only person I should be seeing. Will anything happen? I don't know. And I'm not even so sure I want it to happen, but I'm also unsure that I would object too much. It's like she is the light. I want to get out of this darkness already.
=/\=
Charles Tucker III's Personal Log, August thirtieth, 2037
I caught Chang bothering T'Pol. Why she doesn't do anything about it is beyond me. But I think it's more that she doesn't want me stepping in, than for any other reason.
God, don't tell me she's actually entertaining ending up with him.
She's been indifferent to me ever since the kick back in time. I don't know how she's feeling. It's like she's a stranger to me.
=/\=
Charlotte Lilienne O'Day's Personal Log, August thirtieth, 2037
Curiouser and curiouser! I guess I'm going to the movies this week. But first, a special dinner.
I wonder if this is how I ended up with both of them.