Lieutenant JG al-Kwaritzmi’s personal log, supplemental: after a great success in reviving the stasis sleeper — everyone addresses him as a prince, but I haven’t really understood what’s that all about — our hosts have insisted that we stayed on the planet and in the palace. The so-called Countess Frulenk is still very incensed that, in order to make the stasis chamber work, we had to remove all its silly decorations. She doesn’t want us to leave until it’s been repaired.

We have been given really nice rooms. She of course wanted us to go to the servant’s wing, but it turns out that the rooms are not made: only guest rooms — properly decadent things — are maintained. The food has also been excellent.

We are to meet are 0900 to start the operation of restoring the stasis chamber as it was before we made it functional.

Iskander stopped recording and put down the PADD. Had he started the log with his old, incorrect rank? Possibly.

He sighed. The room was, of course, luxurious in a way that reminded him of a hoarder more than of a person with taste. Every surface was occupied by some delicate statue or ornament, every bit of wall was plastered in some heraldic rug or cloud of silk or epic painting of some Tellarite medieval battle. It overwhelmed the senses. What was the tackiest detail? The rich, velvety, purple, light-devouring curtains? The fact that the large mirror was mounted inside of an even larger statue of a Tellarite head, of which it constituted the mouth?

Questions for the philosophers.

Iskander finished dressing by closing the jacket of his uniform and exited the room. The hallway outside was dark and dusky, perfectly silent, and he knew where to go. He had always been blessed with an almost preternatural orientation sense: he could walk for up to two hours and find his way back, or be able to find the way again, having memorized without much effort. He knew how to get to the Chamber Room, and halfway through he met Ensign Ghoshal, who was awkwardly standing around in the middle of a large oval reception room.

“Ensign” he greeted him.

The nurse jolted with surprise.

“Lieutenant!” said he, still awkward. “I — hm, you scared me.”

“Engineers have that effect” replied Iskander, and pointed to a door, knowing perfectly well that it was the way to go. “It’s through there, isn’t it?”

“I — hm, maybe? Should we ask?”

Iskander smiled.

“No” he said, and walked through the door. “Did you sleep well?”

Within five minutes they were in the Chamber Room, equally dark as it had been yesterday, and soon joined by the other two Starfleet members.

Surprisingly their politician-looking guest, Frunk, also made an appearance.

“Is the stasis chamber in perfect state?” he asked looking at the big lumbering machine.

“It’s functional” opined Iskander. “But many pieces are centuries old, they could do with some repairing or at least with some polishing.”

“Would it take you a lot of work to replace or polish? It’d be nice to have it back to its original state, to its original perfection.”

“It would take probably one day” said Iskander having exchanged a look with Sornia. “We could do it. Why, do you plan on using it again?”

The Tellarite looked offended.

“Certainly not!” he snorted. “But this machine is going to become a place of sacred pilgrimage after the Monarchy is reinstated, human! People are going to kneel in front of it and argue with it! It should be perfect.”

“Can’t say I understand” said Iskander. “But if it’s your request, we can do it.”

“I never expected you to understand” grunted the Tellarites, and left brashly.

They started repairing the stasis chamber.

It turned out to be, after all, a perfectly relaxing an pleasant endeavor. Most of its machinery was unusual for Federation standards, especially the hydraulic engine — which had an almost clockwork-like delightful architecture — and the engineers had a lot of fun showing each other small technological wonders and discussing the unusual design choices.

“It’s got an laser-driven cooling system” would say for instance Sornia, excitedly. “So inventive! I’ve read about tech like this, but seeing it in person is something else!”

“So cool!” would answer Iskander. “Did you see this, Z’Xak? Amazing! It cools using a laser beam that targets and removes the hottest atoms inside of a potential trap!”

The spider would say nothing, but would stare with their composite eyes. Oddly, they seemed to enjoy themselves.

The only one who didn’t seem to be entertained by this was, of course, Ghoshal. Without a patient inside, the stasis chamber was a piece of machine, and as such entirely outside of his domain of expertise. He picked up his PADD, connected to the Redding computer system, and started going through old reports, until something happened.

With great pompe and circumstance, the self-professed Countess Frulenk entered, followed by three lackeys and by the sleeper they had awoken yesterday — the Tellarite whom she addressed as “my Prince”.

“You!” she said, pointing at Ghoshal.

The nurse stared at her.

“You will stand, human, in my presence!” she said.

“Of course” said Ghoshal. “Apologies if I didn’t immediately do so. I didn’t want to startle you with my size.”

Iskander smiled. While they had walked here, he had given Ghoshal a couple of suggestion on talking to Tellarites.

“You uneducated stuurp-licker!” answered the Countess with absolutely no class. “You are lucky that we need you. You are the medic of the team, right?”

“That is so. Nurse Ghoshal at your disposal.”

“All during the night our promised Prince has suffered of migraine” she said. “I am sure it is because you mishandled the reveille, yesterday.”

“The technical manual of the stasis chamber does say that it’s quite likely such symptoms would emerge” said Ghoshal. “But I assume you haven’t read it.”

“Is it bad?” asked the presumptive Prince.

He was slightly shorter than the Countess and looked completely disoriented — his voice was slightly nasal and not particularly firm. He was one of the more smooth-skinned Tellarites but had impressive nasal flaps and ear gauchders; he was dressed quite garishly.

“No” answered Ghoshal. “If you want I can administer a cure and monitor you for the other side effects. The technical manual claims that they can get quite persistent, but I am sure that modern technology can also say something about that.”

“Oh. Jolly. Wait a moment.”

The presumptive prince turned to the Countess.

“Should we trust these Vulcans? They all look the same to me, all spindly and scheming. They sound nice, but can we trust them?”

“Your highness will remember that they are not Vulcans, they are Humans” corrected him the Countess.

“Yes, yes, it’s jolly good for the humans, whatever those are, but I mean these Vulcans here, can we trust them?”

“Do concentrate, your highness! These are the humans.”

“Why can’t we have a good Tellarite doctor?”

“Your people await your return with eagerness, highness, but it would be enough to have one single Republican doctor, one single medic who admires that awful Shallash, to ruin your chances. These Starfleet, who can’t understand true politics, are safe.”

“That’s good for the Starfleets, but can we trust these Vulcans?”

She sighed.

“Yes. You can trust them. You have my word.”

“Well that’s all I wanted, I don’t see why you had to hide the answer from me!”

Iskander raised both eyebrows. Sure, the so-called Prince had entered Stasis before the creation of the Federation, and maybe even before Humans had ever set foot on Rellite, but… he sounded a bit thick.

“Take good care of him or I’ll make me shoes with your hide” said Countess Frulenk to Ghoshal.

“You’d never wear them” answered Ghoshal. “You aren’t elegant enough for human skin. But I’ll take excellent care of him.”

She reddened and ran away.

Ensign Ghoshal had the Tellarite sit and started probing him. The Tellarite looked at him with concern.

“What may I call you?” asked Ghoshal while waving the sensor of his medical tricorder.

“I am to be addressed as Prince or your highness.”

“Yes. No, I’m not going to do that. I’ve looked up the laws of Rellite, and nobility has been abolished centuries ago. There’s no such thing as a Prince.”

“There’s soon to be! Frulenk — did you know she’s my nephew? That’s insane — and that lackey Crunk are going to have me elected and then declared King!”

Ghoshal looked like he was struggling not to change expression.

“Until then I can’t use the title.”

“But everyone does.”

“Yes, but I don’t understand true politics.”

“But you call my nephew Countess, even if I can call her by her name.”

“None of us has used her title. So, what may I call you?”

“I am Kojik” said finally the Tellarite. “Kojik Certerzany Skrunerkolk of the Kaddir Dynasty, former Kings and Queens of the Kingdom of Yumerk on Tellar.”

“Kojik?”

“Kojik.”

“Kindly lift your arm.”

The Tellarite did so.

“Now the other one.”

The Tellarite lifted the same one.

“No, the other one.”

The Tellarite looked confused. Ghoshal showed him which one.

“And what may I call you, Vulcan?”

“I am an Ensign and a Nurse, but my name is Anmol.”

“Amol.”

“Close enough.”

The nurse put some sort of neural sensor on his brow.

“Please count up to ten in your head, Kojik.”

The Tellarite concentrated.

“That’s good, thank you” said Ghoshal.

“I had only gotten to seven.”

“Ah… it’s fine.”

“Can you heal me?”

“Your headache? No. Easily treatable. During the stasis process you have been injected some good amounts of a collagen emulsion, and your body needs time to get rid of it without help.”

“I don’t understand those words. Do they mean that you can heal me?”

“Yes. Please stay still.”

The nurse took a hypospray, loaded it with something, and administered the cure.

“I didn’t even feel a prick!” said the Tellarite. “Is this magic?”

“It’s called a hypospray.”

“Is it some sort of magic?”

“It’s technology.”

“How can you tell the difference, Amol?”

“It works. Also, we build it.”

“Can I stand?”

“I would like you to stay around here for some minutes before I can declare you healed and discharge you, but feel free to stand and walk.”

The Tellarite stood and approached the empty stasis machine on which the three engineers were working. He looked at it with indecipherable emotions on the face.

“Are you repairing it?” he asked finally.

“Yes, Kojik” answered Iskander.

His expression soured.

“I hate this machine” said Kojik.

Iskander didn’t answer.

“I didn’t choose to enter in here and be frozen. Everyone I know — everything I know — has been taken from me by this machine. I didn’t even understand why I had to get frozen and sent to the future.”

“Who decided?”

“The Prince. I mean, my father. Who was Prince when I was alive. Now he’s dead and I am the Prince, and my brother had children and they had children and Frulenk is my niece and this is all very confusing.”

Iskander looked at Kojik. He had not yet heard a single pinch of sarcasm or any hint of an insult, which was unusual for a Tellarite. He looked just sincerely sad.

“I am sorry that this was done to you.”

“Could you break it so that it could never be used again?”

“I am an engineer. I don’t break things. You should ask a soldier — usually they’re the ones making a mess.”

“You are unusually kind and talkative for a Vulcan.”

“I’m not — you know what? Yes, I am. I am, by the way, Iskander.”

“Kander. I see. And I thought all Vulcan names were like T’Pip and T’Puk.”

“You can call me T’Iskander if you prefer.”

“T’Iskander. Yes. I like it.”

What an odd, odd discussion.

“I like talking to you and to Amol.”

“Any particular reason?” asked Ghoshal.

“Everyone else looks at me like expecting someting, like being always disappointed by something. Like my father looked at me. They are horrible and tell me nonsensical things and they are happy only when I nod and say nothing back. They talk at me. You talk with me.”

Anmol Ghoshal and Iskander stared at the supposed Prince.

“You’re not going to tell me that you also want something of me, right?” asked the Tellarite, suddenly struck by that dark suspicion.

“No, Kojik” said Iskander. “We want nothing of you.”

“Everyone told me that Vulcans are bad — logic this and logic that, this is most illogical, here are many difficult words — but you’re actually delightful!”

“We’re — hm — are Vulcans the only aliens you know, Kojik?”

“What? No! There’s the blue ones and the green ones and the Vulcans who are pink or black. It’s easy to keep track.”

Anmol Ghoshal cleared his throat and took up the tricorder.

“Will you look at the time!” he exclaimed. “It’s time to check on you, Kojik. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, Amol.”

The nurse took a couple of scans and readings and hummed with satisfaction.

With a great noise from the doors, the self-called Countess made her return.

“My noble uncle!” she called, “where are you?”

Kojik groaned — softly enough to be heard only by the two humans next to him.

“I am here, hm –“

“Please do call me niece beloved or noble niece” she said, pompusly approaching. “Are you feeling better?”

“It feels weird to call you my niece. You are older than me. Can’t I call you aunt?”

“I am not your aunt. I am descendant of your brother Tujik, through his son Retalki, through his daughter –“

“Yes, yes, you already told me all of those names of people who are younger than I am but have already died.”

She looked at him with some concern.

“Are you doing alright, noble uncle?”

“Much better, hm, oh my remarkable niece. This Vulcan has been very helpful and I have felt nothing when he administered a cure.”

The old matriarch looked at Iskander and Anmol with great suspicion.

“They were talking to you. I hope they have not been BOTHERING you. They should know better than to aggress their betters with their inane chatter.”

“We should” answered Iskander, “if anyone who is vaguely our better was ever to be found around this neighborhood.”

“You blaspheme” answered the Countess.

“They were not bothering me, nice niece” said Kojik. “I wanted to talk to them. Should they have objected to one of my wishes?”

She kept staring at the two humans with some animosity.

“Your wishes are sacrosanct, your highness.”

“Good” approved Kojik. “Now I want to go out from here.”

“That would be unwise.”

“I want to go out of here. I’ve always been a prisoner of this palace. I want to see the world.”

“You have to prepare for your debates, noble uncle. But maybe we should discuss that away from the ears of these Starfleets.”

“I want to go out. To talk with someone normal.”

“Can we go back to your rooms? Rinkij and Frunk and Krolana are eagerly awaiting you.”

“We can go out!”

She sighed.

“Soon you will be King and then no one will stop you from going out, your highness. Until then, we have to do everything to make sure that you are given your rightful place — everything has to be perfect. You must be briefed, informed, involved in the strategy, we have to look at your wardrobe, at your hair, at your skin –“

“If you do not want to go out with me, maybe these two lovely Vulcans will.”

She scoffed.

“These two humans — Vulcans, I mean — are not to do anything with you. I forbid them from bringing you out. Besides, they’re busy taking care of the stasis chamber and repairing the DAMAGE they did to it. Now come — let us remove ourselves from their dreadful midst. They’re probably followers of Shallash.”

“You said that they didn’t understand true politics.”

“They’d be followers of Shallash if they could understand it. Which is to say, they could only misunderstand politics, as all followers of Shallash can. Now come.”

“But –” tried to say the so-called Prince.

At that point, Lieutenant Z’Xak emerged from the bowels of the stasis chamber. Using their compact size, they had crawled inside of it in order to fix the redundant visualizing co-processors; doubtlessly they had performed the task perfectly.

They tapped on their thorax with their small vestigial limbs.

“I do the tests for chromomorphic resonance now” they tapped.

It turned out that Kojik had not yet seen Z’Xak — and that they were quite afraid of spiders.

“AAAH!” he screamed. “A MONSTER!”

He started ineffectively hitting Z’Xak’s exoskeleton with his small fists, despite both the Countess and the two humans telling him to stop, that Z’Xak was a friend, that there was no danger, and please just stop hitting the nice sentient spider.

After a short while Z’Xak’s initial confusion changed into irritation, and they bit the Tellarite back. That, at least, made him stop.