The Needs of The Few

IV

"So, did you find anything interesting?" Sulu asked, leaning across a mess hall table.

"All of the plant life is extraordinarily resilient. It can survive with an abundance or near-complete lack of water." Mac'hla explained, quite excited that Sulu was interested in her research.

"Really? Isn't the planet tropical?" Sulu inquired.

"Indeed, it is, but when I was examining the layers in a stick Chekov collected I saw there were regular intervals of time where there was no water. It suggests that the planet goes through seasons, most likely two. One of which being extremely wet and rainy and the other being completely dry."

"Interesting, and do you-" he began to ask, but his words fell short as McMann approached the table.

"Finish bitching about me to the Captain?" he asked.

Mac'hla tilted their head, "I have not spoken to the Captain since we returned."

"Right, so you just wrote it down in that little log of yours?" he pressed, putting his hands down on the table across from her.

Mac'hla looked up at him, her skin crawling at the feeling of being boxed in. She took a deep breath.

"I would be more than happy to send you a complete copy of the log, Ensign." they said calmly, blankly staring at him.

Mac'hla and McMann hadn't noticed that the mess hall had gone quiet and that all eyes were on them.

"I couldn't care less about that damn log," he spat, "I want to know what you have against me."

"Ensign, you're out of line." Sulu said, standing.

"It is alright, Mr. Sulu," Mac'hla assured him, "He is defending himself about something he feels is relevant. He has the right to."

"Are you going to answer me or are you just going to play diplomat?" he demanded, slamming his hand down on the table.

"I have nothing against you Ensign, however your behavior is what concerns me." she said gently, as if she were talking to a child. Which in some respects, she was.

"Really? So... basically everything about me?" He demanded impatiently.

"Not everything, Ensign. You are tolerable when you are quiet."

"Which is why you're constantly bitchy? Come on, I know you're a vulcan and you're all basically psychopaths–"

"I believe the correct comparison would be sociopath." Mac'hla corrected, "But Vulcans are neither. We choose not to feel. Perhaps you should look into Vulcan meditation, it might be beneficial to you."

"There you go again with that 'holier than thou' attitude. What's your problem?"

"I have no problem, Ensign." Mac'hla said, standing, "I will not continue this conversation while you are so emotional."

McMann looked like he was about to hit them, "Your wife must be a saint for dealing with you."

"I would appreciate it if you kept my wife out of this. You are, as humans say, 'grasping at straws', trying to find something that will offend me. It will not work."

"Your wife is gorgeous. How she ended up with someone like you is beyond me."

Mac'hla kept their mouth shut as she headed for the door. McMann followed her.

'Deep breaths.' they reminded themselves. They tapped their fingers together to keep themselves grounded.

Despite the deep breaths and the tapping, the tightness of rage wouldn't leave her chest.