"Oh, ye'll tak' the high roooad an' Ah'll tak' the low roooad...."
I love Xindi ships. They're set up to accommodate visitors from any of the Xindi subspecies, including the aquatics, so they've got plenty of spare water in the recycling system. Which means you can use that water, for - for example - proper showers, where you can feel the water on your skin, and you can sing.
"… and Ah'll be in Scotland AFORRRRRE ye...."
Commander Silfap's quarters are next door to mine. The Vulcan once tried to tell me about musical theory - harmonies and discords and all that stuff. I'm having none of it.
"But me an' mah true love will niver meet again... on the bonnie, bonnie BAAANKS o' Loch LOOOOOOOOmond!"
He came round to my way of thinking, anyway. Commander Silfap. He learned to appreciate my voice. Or, at least, that's what I choose to believe, and never mind those industrial grade sound suppressors he installed.
I step out of the shower, and start towelling myself dry. My uniform is laid out on the bed... a familiar short mustard-yellow dress, not the 25th century black overalls. And a decent amount of braid at the cuffs, because we are heading to the wild world of the 23rd century, when a starship's captain had clout enough, you didn't need flag rank just to get things done. I feel better already as I wriggle into the dress.
By the time I'm presentable and step out into the corridor, Bood is waiting for me with a PADD in his hand. Igoolet Boodoel is my exec, and looking incongruous in old Starfleet uniform - they didn't have Bajorans in Starfleet in those days. He's going to have to get something done about the nose ridges if he's going to show his face on this mission.... He holds out the PADD. "Personnel," he says. "The new intelligence officers. They're cleared for temporal ops - I just thought you'd like to know who we've got."
"Aye, fair enough." I take the PADD and glance over it. "Commander Hadok - och, he needs a promotion, aye?" Bood looks at me blankly. "Then he'd be Captain Hadok. 'Blue blistering barnacles!" - ye ken?" Bood just looks blanker and blanker. "It's an Earth thing, dinnae fash yersel'. Looks like a handy wee laddie tae have around -" Then the next name on the PADD registers. "Aw, jings." I look hard at Bood. "This next one... this Zula Marsell... she widnae be a tall lassie, wi' lovely blonde hair an' legs that willnae quit, wid she?"
"She might fit that description... oh, Prophets." Bood looks disgusted, now. "You've slept with her."
"Weel, Ah dinnae remember a whole lot o' sleepin', but... aye, we had a wee thingy." I hand the PADD back to Bood.
"Great. Just great," he says. "So, is she going to be a problem? Bridge full of boiled house pets? - that's the standard for most of your exes, isn't it?"
"Awa' wi' ye. Yon Zula's a sensible wee lassie, she willnae be any problem."
Bood grunts. "She dated you, she can't be that sensible.... Anyway, she'll be on the bridge, waiting to report in."
"Och, terrific. Weel, let's gae see her, then." And I march off, with Bood trailing behind me. I'm trying to calm down the butterflies in my stomach. Deep breaths, Caro, I tell myself. It'll be all right.
We reach the bridge, and she's standing at the auxiliary science console, and I can't repress a smile. She's had her hair cut since... last time. A short, blonde bob; it rather suits her. She's... well. Like me, in some ways, but taller and classier. I see the flash of instant recognition in her cool blue eyes.
"Commander Marsell, reporting for duty," she says. "Ah - I've been operational, in the Mirror Universe, data gathering - under cover...."
"No' under verra much cover," I note, running an appreciative gaze over the crop-top and the micro-miniskirt. I wish Starfleet would introduce that uniform code on this side of the quantum-signature divide. "Good tae see ye, lassie. Glad tae hae ye aboard."
"I -" She compresses her luscious lips. "I see you haven't changed. Sir."
"Och, weel," I say with a grin, "why mess wi' perfection, am Ah right?" I saunter over to the main command console. One problem with Xindi ships, the silly so-and-sos prefer to work standing up. I can't sit down in a command chair and act all casual.
"I've been briefed on the basics of the situation. Sir," says Zula. "I'm ready to undertake whatever duties you might require. Professional duties," she adds quickly, before I say something I shouldn't.
"Aye, weel," I say. "We should prob'ly hae a wee chat, in mah ready room... jist tae clear the air, so tae speak." Bood makes a snorting noise. "Awa' wi' ye and get yer neb grouted, ye wee Prophet-botherer," I tell him. I turn my attention back to Zula. "Just tae clear the air," I repeat.
She looks at me steadily, then gives a curt nod. "I suppose we should, sir."
---
The ready room is kind of an afterthought, but it's got a desk and a couple of chairs. I slide into one, and watch as Zula takes a seat. She does it smoothly, gracefully... she does everything gracefully....
"So," I say, "ye'll hae gathered that Ah'm... a wee bit o' a special case. Personnel wise, that is."
Another curt nod. "It - explains a few things."
"Aye," I say, softly. "Ye ken there were things Ah couldnae tell ye... and ye've been in Intelligence yersen', ye ken all about operational security an' need-tae-know...."
"I do." She gives me a steady look, then bites her lower lip. "I do understand... why you were so secretive."
"It's worse in Temporal Ops," I say. "Sae many wee details where ye dare nae say anythin', in case it messes up some timeline or ither... ye get intae the habit o', well, keepin' yer lip buttoned...."
"It makes sense," she says.
"Aye. Lousy fer relationships, though. Disnae dae anythin' fer a sense o' trust, am Ah right?"
"It... makes for barriers." She looks away from me. "At the time... I didn't want to deal with barriers."
"Cannae blame ye fer that," I say.
There is a long, awkward pause.
"Ah've missed ye, hen," I say. "Yon's nae an operational secret, that's fer sure."
"No," she says thoughtfully. "But it... might not be something I need to know."
Then my intercom panel bleats at me. "Aw, crivens." I hit it. "This better be important."
"This is T'Mev." Glacial Vulcan voice. "I am reporting aboard now. I have definite information regarding your contacts in the 23rd century. Unusually, I have met one of them. Please download all available information on Admiral Veronika Grau... who, in your destination timeframe, is Captain Veronika Grau of the USS Harrier."
I pull a face. "Worn well, has she?"
"Veronika Grau was subject to multiple time warps through the agency of the extra-temporal inhabitants of the Stygmalian Rift," says T'Mev. "As a consequence, she is a historical figure of some importance, and we must ensure she survives the current crisis... while giving her no intimation, of course, as to why she must survive."
"Och, that's just great," I mutter. "Welcome to Temporal Ops," I say to Zula, "where we have tae lie an' finagle an' niver let on as tae why we're lyin' an' finaglin'...."
"I gathered." Zula frowns. "T'Mev. Wasn't she... another one... who was lost in the rearguard action in that awful foul-up at Caleb IV?"
"Aye." I grin at her. "Ah'm a wee hero, lassie. Wi' a posthumous medal tae prove it."
T'Mev is on the bridge when I get there, sleek and assured in a science division mini-dress. "I will accompany you to K-22," she says. "I understand that... that is what I do. My ship, however, must remain in the current time frame. Admiral Grau assures me that your vessel is capable of doing all that is required."
"Oh, jings," I say, "this is gannae get complicated."
"Inevitably," says T'Mev.
"Even worse than usual, Ah mean."
"Conceivably so. I have spoken to our informant from Romulan space. The situation is... involved. On multiple levels."
"Aye, weel, Ah guess we dinnae have time tae hang around gossipin'?" I look around the bridge. Bood is at the helm, fingering his nose, which looks odd now the medics have filled in his ridges with plastiflesh. Jidsi is at the main science station... the Trill scientist looks good in a 23rd century uniform, or she would if she would ditch the permanently surly body language and just smile once in a while, damn it. Silfap, another imperturbable and well-groomed Vulcan, is manning the engineering station, and I hope he approves of the noises it's making. Zula is at comms. I'm glad to have someone I can depend on... well, to be honest, I'm just glad she's here. Except "here" is maybe not the best place to be. Or is about to be not the best place to be. Or, more properly yet, is about to have been not the best place to have been....
You can go mad, just working out the tenses in Temporal Ops. "Weel," I say, "let's no' beat around the bush. Bood? Fire up yon temporal portal. Set course fer station K-22, a hundred and fifty years ago. Full speed... before."
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