Chapter ONE, part two

The first group to arrive was the Tellarite delegation, not so much interested in punctuality as in the prospect of a free meal -- or so it seemed to Dayton. Certainly their first stop was the table bearing Tellarite foods, which she had discovered were so spicy they burnt her mouth. Maybe the Tellarites liked their food highly seasoned because otherwise they'd never even taste it as they bolted it down -- or maybe they bolted it because it was so unbelievably hot.

She had just got to the reflection that perhaps the notorious Tellarite bad temper was caused by chronic indigestion and heartburn when she noticed the Vulcan girl standing in the entranceway, looking around. Had she been human, Dayton would've thought she seemed rather shy and uncertain. But she was Vulcan. The ensign hesitated, then shrugged slightly and walked over.

“Hello, I'm Shirley Dayton. Won't you come on in?”

The Vulcan blinked once, then tilted her head leftward. “I'm T'Alyen. Peace and long life, Ms. Dayton.”

She had lifted a hand in the strange bifurcated salute Vulcans used. Thinking fast, the ensign raised her hand as well. “Uh, live long and prosper, T'Alyen. . . Would you like something to eat or drink?”

“Very well,” was the Vulcan's only immediate reply as she allowed Dayton to escort her over to the table beneath the banner. She studied this, with its IDIC symbol and Anglicized welcome, for a moment, then inquired curiously, “Do you know the meaning of the words and the symbol?”

“Uh,” started Dayton, “well, Cmdr. Branfield says the words are glossed as 'Live long and prosper,' and the symbol refers to your concept of Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combination. . . Kind of appropriate for -- tonight.”

“It is,” agreed T'Alyen, examining the selection and picking up a strange-looking piece of cake. “Prookle. . . Have you any Vulcan crewmembers?”

“No,” replied Dayton, also picking up a piece of the cake. “Why?”

“There is one here who knows the Vulcan taste,” commented the Vulcan after a reflective bite.

“Must be the commander, then. He's the one who programmed all this. . . Say, this is delicious. What did you call it?

“Prookle. . . This is a particularly intriguing and creative combination of colors and flavors,” replied T'Alyen thoughtfully. “There WAS a human at Dakainya for a time three Terran years ago. His name was Jeremy Branfield.”

“That's Bran,” nodded Dayton, taking another bite.

“Bran?” inquired the Vulcan, dipping a glass of thick red juice from one of the punch bowls.

“Yes,” answered Dayton, following suit. “It's a nickname we use -- in referring to him in his absence. 'Cmdr. Branfield' takes too long to say, so we call him Bran, like we call the commodore 'Wes' and the chief engineer 'Henny'.”

T'Alyen's only response to that was a non-committal, “I see.”