T'Baia sat on her couch, watching the day's first sunlight touch the Golden Gate Bridge. Her legs were tucked up in the lotus position; she was experimenting with Buddhist meditation techniques in her role as alien sociologist. The apartment was luxurious, thanks to an Earth entrepreneur eager to cultivate Vulcan business who offered prime locations to house the Vulcan Mission's temporary personnel. The Vulcan mission in San Francisco was overflowing with personnel, and accepting the supplemental housing was logical. T'Baia had done nothing to personalize it, not even moving the furniture around.
Sunrise was so different here, she thought. A sense of wonder crept past her mental discipline, and she savored it while keeping it at a distance from her logical mind.
The communicator sounded a single chime, and she went over to the console to answer it. The face of the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth, Soval, appeared. "Apologies for disturbing you. Your lack of clothing indicates you were involved with some activity."
"I find it illogical to wear clothing in my private quarters provided the climate control provides a comfortable temperature. Other than times of extreme cold temperatures, clothes purely a social convention only necessary when encountering individuals who are adversely affected by nudity."
"Logical." The ambassador's right eyebrow arched a little, and T'Baia saw a distant twinkle in his eye: his focus had been distracted by her lean form, long legs, and ample bosom. Her body proportions were considered aesthetically perfect by the Vulcan Cultural institute, and her unusually dark skin caught the attention of many Vulcan males as they approached pon farr. She could tell her superior was fighting his self control, and glad his mate was due to visit him soon. "I must speak to you on behalf of the Vulcan Science Institute about a project you proposed two years ago."
"So I assume I will not be accompanying the human's first lengthy expedition into space?"
"No. T'Pol has been chosen; her particular background and training indicated she was the most qualified for this enterprise."
T'Baia blinked once. "I understand the logic of her choice, however I thought her psychological history would factor against her appointment, since she had a nervous breakdown necessitating her departure from the security service."
"It was decided the training would be a necessary advantage for the mission in spite of this fact. You were a good candidate, a logical choice, and because of this you have been given a grant to go forward with your proposed study of human sexuality."
A small thrill ran up her spine, but she suppressed it. "It was one proposal of many I made. For what reason has this one been approved?"
"The High Command is interested in as much depth of human studies as we can achieve as they begin entering space beyond their own solar system. At this time, we are giving them limited resources in the expectation we can control their progress, or failing that, better learn their nature in case they become our adversaries. It has been less than a century since first mutual contact, and our knowledge of them is severely lacking. Others are studying the ethical and technological development of the human race; you are tasked with understanding a key aspect of their cultural and psychological nature."
"Humans do place a greater emphasis on sexual expression than any race we have encountered. Their lack of disciplined emotions induce much illogical and self destructive behavior, which makes them perilous companions on any journey."
"Agreed. Understanding this subject will help us understand them much better. You will be given access to T'Pol's reports so you can see how sexual motivations color her relationships aboard her vessel; however you are to do as much field research as you can in addition to historical study. It was decided your physical appearance would be most appealing to humans, making you the best choice for this project. You may enlist Kirsh from the Embassy staff to assist you at need."
"Understood. His intellect, experience and attributes will be most useful. I will begin this study immediately. How often do you want reports?"
"I think you need give me nothing until you have your final report ready. I am quite occupied with diplomacy with this arrogant race, and it takes all my attention."
"Very good. Peace and long life."
"Live long and prosper."
A parting glance from Soval indicated a hint of desire in his mind, and a distant part of her mind was proud she could stimulate that. Vulcans, however, were disciplined in their emotions, and these feelings she pushed aside so she could begin her work.
The entire day was spent studying historical documents. Her reading of Masters and Johnson caused a little quiver to run through her body, as did her survey of Kinsey's work. There were innumerable popular sources to be skimmed, and videos to watch. The diversity of human sexual expression amazed her, and there were even depictions of intercourse between humans and Vulcans. All were fake; every time the actor was obviously human and behaved in very non-Vulcan ways. Vulcan sexual expression tended to be very logical: aesthetically pleasing and purposeful, but relatively brief with relatively little preparation and rarer post-coital sentimentality.
Vulcans rarely had sex with someone beside their appointed mate, however when her chosen spouse, Korlok, reached his first pon farr, she fought him off as her own champion, the first Vulcan woman to do so, and had been free of him for a decade. No other Vulcan presented themselves as a logical choice to be her partner, so taking an active part in her own research was not outside the limits of Vulcan morality.
A hypothesis formed in her mind, and in the mid-afternoon she decided on her first field exercise. There was no danger for her: human pathogens shared in mating activities posed no threat to Vulcans, and similarly Vulcan pathogens had been shown incapable of infecting humans. The Fishermen's Wharf area was a typical venue for informal socialization by humans seeking intercourse, so it would be a good place to begin. She booked a simple room at a hotel near it, and prepared herself.
Jim Kirk was hanging out with his buddies at a bar near Fishermen's Wharf. They'd just gotten back from a prospecting expedition to Neptune's moons, restless and desperate for anyone else's company. It was early, the weather unusually warm for San Francisco, and the skies miraculously clear. He was a strong man, capable of digging mine himself, with brown hair, blue eyes, strong features and the smooth skin of a man in his early twenties. He sat at the bar with his buddy Red, a large man with a shock of curly red hair, freckles, and a frequent laugh. They wore ordinary tunics and trousers, glad to be out of their working clothes and uniforms. Their friends were playing games in another part of the bar. "Not many girls out yet," Red said.
"Yeah," Jim responded. "We'll have to wait a while. Don't get too loaded, remember girls don't like to get hit on by guys too drunk to stand."
Red downed a full beer and smiled. "Skinny guys like you have to worry about drinking too much. Sons of the old sod with some meat on their bones don't have that problem. My liver's in top shape; I passed my astrophysics test after a night in my home pub."
"Right, and it's a miracle the Irish never conquered the world. Or should I say the universe, since we're getting deeper into space every day."
"The Irish will conquer the universe someday, and don't you forget it. There's a bunch of monks in Cork already collecting donations to build their own interstellar monastery."
"Shit, really?"
"Yeah. St. Brendan lives again. Here's to the lads." He lifted a fresh mug in a toast; Jim clinked it with the whiskey sour he was sipping, and watched as his friend sent it straight down his throat.
Jim shook his head. If the Irish hadn't gotten any farther than this by the year 2151, he had little hope they would go much farther.
A woman entered the bar, pausing at the doorway to look around and drawing stares. She was a Vulcan, a rare sight even after nearly a century of contact, and looked nothing like either the men had seen before. Tall with chocolate skin, piercing eyes, long dark hair with bangs cut in a straight line across her forehead, muscled legs exposed to just below the crotch by a short blue dress whose neckline revealing two plush mounds. Jim and Red's jaws dropped immediately, and Red shook his head to make sure what he was seeing was real. "Damn, didn't know Vulcans could look like that!"
