That had been enough for her for years, and thus she had never questioned it before. Yet Pehle Retab’s words resonated with her in a way she did not fully understand. It would bear further thought.
With the bride and groom having played their parts, the family members now took their turns to express their feelings on the marriage. Sohon Retab was invited to speak first, as befit an honored guest. He began by passing along a statement of consent to the marriage from Pehle’s mother before beginning his own remarks. Sohon was known as an orator, and T’Pol expected a lengthy and dramatic statement addressing the philosophical and political significance of this historic union between Antaran and Denobulan.
But instead, Sohon spoke on a more personal level, sharing anecdotes of his interactions with Vaneel and his observations of her relationship with Pehle. He told of how the couple had met through their work, how they had begun seeing each other socially, how they had fallen in love. He spoke of joyous experiences he and his wife had shared with their son and his fiancée, related jokes that Vaneel had taught him and ones he had taught her, and conveyed his gratitude that his son had found a life partner who brought him such fulfillment and novelty. Not once in his entire remarks was the word “Antaran” or “Denobulan” even spoken. He did not speak of Pehle and Vaneel as members of alien races entering into a precedent-setting union, but merely as a man and a woman like any other, with a relationship like any other—unique and special, yes, but only because of who the two of them were, rather than what they were. And that, T’Pol realized, was perhaps the most powerful statement he could have made.
Vaneel’s brother Tullis spoke next, his remarks tinged with regret at how he had been estranged from his family for so long due to his mistaken belief that traveling offworld was a betrayal of the Denobulan link to nature—but praising Vaneel for her refusal to give up on him and for the relentlessly positive example she had set through her own interstellar wanderings. “I had thought I was being true to my nature,” the chubby-faced blond Denobulan said, “and that it was my sister, my father, and the others who were violating theirs. But Vaneel made me see that I was the one cutting myself off. How could I be truly connecting to the ecosystem if I separated myself from the life-forms most closely related to me? No matter how different the path she pursued, no matter how far she went, Vaneel never stopped being my sister. Once I saw that, I realized how narrow-minded I’d been. And I’m grateful for the time I’ve shared with my family ever since.”
Feezal spoke next, conveying her pride in her daughter’s adventurous and open mind, as well as her admiration for her taste in males. “I don’t know if Vaneel and Pehle can give me a grandchild either, but I’m happy for them anyway, since I’m sure they’ll have plenty of fun trying!” The puckish Denobulan woman’s raunchy remarks in approval of her daughter’s latest husband were discomfiting to the human guests and downright scandalous by Vulcan standards, but the Denobulans took them in good humor.
Finally, when Phlox’s turn came, he returned the proceedings to a more serious tone. “I have always striven to set a good example for my children,” the doctor said, “yet at the same time, I have tried to give them freedom to discover their own identity, their own paths in life. I didn’t try to make them believe what I wanted; I simply tried to give them the tools to consider and choose for themselves. Vaneel has always taken full advantage of that freedom. Often she would experiment with odd or eccentric ideas, sometimes to the point that I feared I would have to step in and lay down some limits for her own good. But I feared that if I did so, she would push against those limits and go even farther astray, just to challenge my authority.
“In time, I realized that Vaneel sought not to challenge me, but to challenge herself. She recognized that I was giving her freedom to become her own person, and she embraced that freedom as the gift I had always meant it to be. And though there were times she ventured down paths I could not for the life of me understand—like the time she abandoned her studies for a year to live in the Central Desert as an ascetic, or that time when she was eight years old and decided to deliver every sentence backward for two weeks—I’m happy to say that she never chose a path that I found shameful or hurtful to others. Her desire to explore other ways of thinking was an expression of her profound empathy and regard for other beings, and as a doctor, I find nothing more admirable than that.
“And I have never been more proud of my darling Vaneel than I am today, seeing her with Pehle Retab. Our ancestors—even her own great-grandmother—would have condemned this union as a crime against nature. Just looking at the two of them standing here now is the most perfect repudiation of that attitude that I could imagine. I did what I could, in my way, to put that shameful past behind us. Yet I am proud to say that it is my daughter, Vaneel-zalleen-oortann, who is leading Denobula and Antar into the future.”
“You always have to make it about you, don’t you?”
The interrupting voice was strident and angry, loud enough to carry over the rain without amplification. Accompanying it was the heavy smack of multiple boots against the wet rooftop as a group of five young Denobulans strode aggressively through the crowd. All but one of them were male, and all wore matching dark brown garments that each bore an angular emblem in red on the left shoulder. The dark-haired male in the lead, high-browed and narrow-faced with a rounded chin and cheekbones, was the one who had spoken. “The great man, leading through example,” he went on. “An example set by renouncing everything our forebears believed in!”
Phlox stared at the man, dumbstruck and disbelieving. Most of the other family members reacted with similar astonishment. Only Nullim, Phlox’s third wife, showed any hint of warmth toward the intruder. “Mettus,” she gasped so softly that T’Pol doubted her human crewmates had heard it over the rain.
The senior wife, Vesena, a formidable silver-haired woman, strode forward to confront the intruders. “How dare you disrupt this wedding, Mettus? You and your . . . cronies are not welcome here.”
“Of course not!” Phlox’s youngest son snarled back. “This event is for Antaran-lovers only! Not enough that they contaminate our planet, pollute our air and our water, steal our resources. Now they seek to erode our most precious institutions! How soon before they have us marrying monogamously, sleeping with no one but a single spouse? Making our population plummet until we’re too few to stand against them?”
“Enough of this!” Vaneel stormed forward to face him. “Mettus, I enjoy seeing a party crashed as much as anyone, but if all you have to say is the same old boring, stupid rhetoric, then that’s not a good enough reason to interrupt me in the middle of my wedding.”
“It needs to be said, Vaneel! The world needs to know!”
“About things that happened three hundred years ago? Thanks, already got the newsfeed. Can I get back to getting married now?”
Mettus sighed. “You’re right, sister. This should be about you. Why don’t we take this somewhere private so we can talk? So I can convince you of the terrible mistake you’re about to make?”
Vaneel scoffed. “Since when did you care that much? You haven’t spoken to me, haven’t written, haven’t answered a letter in over twenty years! You didn’t acknowledge either of my other weddings, my degrees, any of it. And you want me to believe this, barging in here with a band of stormtroopers to make a political statement, is about me?”
“Yes! Because it’s his politics, not yours!” Mettus answered, pointing at Phlox. “All your life, always acting out to try to get his attention, his approval. Even his disapproval, as long as he took notice. You finally figured out that the only way was to play along with his pet cause. To join him in dishonoring the sacrifice of our great-grandparents in the Antaran wars.”
Vaneel stared. “This is the version of reality you’ve been living in all this time? No wonder we couldn’t reach you.” She narrowed her lips. “Whatever chance you might’ve had to voice your opini
ons, however insane, you forfeited by waiting until now to come forward. You’re not doing this for me—you’re doing it for the publicity. And I’m not going to play along.”
She turned away and returned to stand alongside Pehle before Phlox and the others. “Dad? You were saying?”
“No!” Mettus strode forward, the other four moving to follow. “I won’t let this Antaran scum touch my sister!”
“You’re a couple of years late for that,” Vaneel said, laughing heartily. But her laughter broke off when Mettus grabbed Pehle by the arm and shoved him away from Vaneel. The larger man retained his footing and shoved Mettus back, knocking him to the deck. The other four uniformed youths circled Pehle menacingly. T’Pol traded a look with Archer, drawing her communicator from the sleeve pocket of her dress uniform in case it became necessary to call in a security team.
But Vesena had beaten her to it. A contingent of Denobulan police poured onto the roof, following the elder wife as she guided them toward the looming fracas. As soon as they spotted the approaching officers, Mettus and his gang broke and ran for the far exit. The lead police officer sent her team in pursuit, remaining behind to hear Vesena’s full report on the event.
Phlox’s family members and Sohon Retab moved forward to gather around Vaneel and Pehle. Archer left the shelter of the overhang to join them, moving with a resolute stride, and T’Pol followed, ignoring the rain (which had subsided to a moderate shower).
“I can’t apologize enough for this,” Phlox was saying to Sohon when she and Archer arrived at their side. “Mettus has kept himself apart from the family for so long that it never occurred to me he’d try anything like this.”
“The fault is hardly yours, my friend,” Sohon told him. “Although I know that as a father, you can’t help but feel otherwise.”
“Still, I should have known. The first wedding between our peoples—of course it would bring out the hate groups.” He shook his head. “Maybe it was a mistake to do this in public. Perhaps we should make new arrangements, reconvene somewhere more secure—”
“No!” Vaneel insisted. Taking Pehle’s arm, she went on. “We can’t let bullies like Mettus change the way we choose to live our lives. Besides, we had a hell of a good wedding going here. I was really enjoying your speech, Dad. Personally, I want to hear how it ends. Especially the part where you make it unanimous and Pehle and I are officially married. I don’t want to wait a moment longer than I have to for that.”
Phlox smiled warmly, pulling his daughter into his arms. “He’s so wrong about you. If anything, I’m the one who’s been guided by your example. I’m so proud to be your father.” He chuckled as he pulled away. “Which is essentially how my speech would have ended anyway. So I, Phloxx-tunnai-oortann, hereby cast my vote in favor of this marriage. Which I believe makes it unanimous!” He clasped Pehle’s hands in his. “Pehle Retab, I officially welcome you as the newest member of our family, third husband of Vaneel! Congratulations!”
The Denobulans cheered and began to dance in the rain, the recent disruption seemingly forgotten. But T’Pol caught Archer’s attention as she noted the police team returning to report to their chief. “They’re saying that Mettus and the others got away,” she related to the admiral. “They suspect the complicity of a member of the building’s security contingent with the anti-Antaran group.”
Archer looked grim. “Then this may be bigger than just a few angry kids. Vaneel and Pehle may not be out of the woods yet.”
U.S.S. Vol’Rala, Rastish system
Tavrithinn th’Cheen had been expecting the next Partnership world on the Ware map to be defended by a cordon of ships. No doubt word of the task force’s actions would be getting around. And this was a particularly populous world, its bright, sprawling Ware cities metastasizing across the landscape and even out into the oceans. But th’Cheen had not expected the kind of ships he detected once Vol’Rala neared the planet. “Captain,” the tactical officer announced in surprise, “those ships . . . they’re Klingon!”
Captain sh’Prenni rose from her command chair, frowning. “The Empire, here?”
“No, ma’am, I think not. Mostly older ships . . . civilian, decommissioned military, a few that seem to be captured prize ships modified with Klingon markings and equipment.”
“Privateers, then.”
“I’d say so, yes.” Th’Cheen had certainly encountered enough of those during Vol’Rala’s cleanup of the Kandari sector. “Nine ships in all.”
“Not only that,” said Hari Banerji, “the lead vessel is Sud QaV. Lokog’s ship.”
Captain sh’Prenni’s antennae cocked thoughtfully. “Well. He gets around, I’ll give him that.”
“Vabion must have brought him here,” Commander Charas observed. “He probably wants to raid the Ware for himself.”
“And he brought friends,” zh’Vethris added. “Are we interrupting a feeding frenzy?”
“Or a protection racket?” sh’Prenni wondered. “Let’s find out. Hail him, Hari.”
“No need—he’s hailing us.”
Th’Cheen knew Lokog mainly by reputation; most communication between Vol’Rala and SuD Qav in the past had been through the medium of weapons fire, and the privateer had generally not stuck around for conversation when Vol’Rala had arrived. So it was a surprise when the Klingon’s oddly humanized visage appeared on the forward screen. His belligerence was certainly Klingon, though. “Attention, Starfleet vessel! You are outnumbered. Stand down and prepare to be boarded!”
“By you, Lokog?” asked sh’Prenni. “Don’t make me laugh. I recommend you tell your associates to leave. Whatever interest they have in the Ware, it will be rendered useless to them in very short order.”
“That we will not allow, ’anDorngan. We know you must reach the orbital station to commit your sabotage, and you cannot do that so long as we stand in your way. And no—you will not be laughing.” The screen went dark.
The Klingons did not attack, but then, they didn’t have to. “He has a point, Captain,” th’Cheen observed. “To get close enough to fire the probes, we have to descend to the station’s orbit, and the Klingon ships stand between us and it. Worse, if we descend, we will be hemmed in between them and the planet, surrendering the high ground.”
The captain moved closer and studied the tactical readouts over his shoulder, thinking. “Maybe not. Consider, Vrith, that orbit is not just a matter of altitude, but velocity. Those ships aren’t standing still between us and the station—we’re all circling the planet in the same direction, keeping pace with one another like zabathu on a racetrack.”
Th’Cheen’s antennae perked up at her words. “So what if we ran in the other direction?”
She clapped his shoulder. “Exactly.” She strode around the bridge, giving orders. “Zoanra, plot us a retrograde descent. Duck behind the Klingons’ horizon. Hari, once we’re out of sight, very quietly release a spread of probes on an intercept trajectory with the Ware station.”
“It won’t take long for them to catch up with us,” Charas pointed out.
“Which gives Ramnaf an excuse to take us back up through their lines and make it look like we’re trying to get maneuvering room for the fight. When we’re really diverting their attention long enough to let the probes sneak up on the station and do their work.”
As always, th’Cheen was impressed by the captain’s strategic mind. Vol’Rala’s retrograde move took the Klingon privateers off guard, disrupting their formation as they scrambled to reverse their own orbits in pursuit. It did not seem to occur to any of them to thrust downward and use their forward momentum to skirt the edge of the atmosphere, letting them circle tightly around the planet and intercept the Kumari-class battleship from ahead. But then, these were raiders and pirates, not trained battleship commanders. The surprise maneuver scattered their formation sufficiently that, once four probes had been released on an unpowered
trajectory and Vol’Rala had accelerated outward from the planet again, the ship was able to penetrate the Klingon lines with little difficulty.
Still, the privateers were quick to give chase as the ship ascended. Sh’Prenni laid a hand on Breg’s shoulder. “Ramnaf, your job is to keep their attention away from the probes and the station, while making it look like we’re still trying to reach the station. Think you can handle that?”
“The Klingons are making that easy, Captain,” the Arkenite replied. “They’re coming into formation ahead of us on retrograde arcs. A polar trajectory should make it look like we’re trying to get around them to the station, while luring them away from the probes.”
“Good call. Do it.”
Th’Cheen left the details of the ship’s course to Breg. His own part in the distraction was to occupy the Klingons with particle beams and photonic torpedoes, keeping them so caught up in their battle frenzy against Vol’Rala that they would not notice the probes. “Remember my rules of engagement,” sh’Prenni advised him. “No more bloodshed than strictly necessary.”
“Captain, they’re Klingons,” th’Cheen countered. “They will take that as an insult.”
“Exactly,” the captain replied. “These are nothing but bullies and thieves. Let’s not give them the satisfaction of treating them like warriors.”
The tactical officer felt limited by the captain’s restrictions on the use of force, but he offered no protest. Th’Cheen prided himself on the quality of his work. Throughout his career, many had expected him to coast on his aristocratic birth, to achieve status in the Guard through his clan ties rather than his merits. He had been determined to prove them wrong. Was a member of the Clan of Cheen entitled to success and achievement? Yes, but only because the resources and opportunities granted to him as a member had guaranteed him the best education and training from childhood onward. Perhaps that had given him a head start over those who lacked those advantages, but he had earned his advancement through hard work just as much as they had. He had never attempted to use his clan name to curry political favor within the Guard, instead letting his work prove his worthiness to serve among the best and brightest.
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