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