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“It is vitally important that the treaty be signed in the language and script in which it is written, with the most senior representative witnessing the agreement of the juniors.” The lead Nudibarit waved several cilliated eyestalks at them in a polite request for acknowledgement.
“We understand,” said Jim.
“Affirmative.” Spock’s voice held the very slightest tinge of ‘it would be logical to conclude this quickly because I am wet and do not appreciate it,’ but Jim wasn’t about to point that out.
“Of course. As the lowest ranked, I’ll start.” The only way to replicate the Nudibari gesture of agreement when you actually had bones was to do a little finger wave, which Lieutenant Uhura pulled off with grace, Spock performed precisely, and Jim felt ever so slightly self conscious about.
The Nudibari were a friendly species of venomous and colorful amphibious sea slugs, who occupied a planet that, for once, was a source of valuable compounds other than dilithium. They grew a species of anemone that produced an enzyme that broke down radioactive waste, among other things, which was why Jim and Spock were now hip-wader deep, with Lieutenant Uhura hip-wader deeper and carrying the universal translator on her shoulder, in a tidal salt marsh. The fact that the Nudibari language depended in part on color designations and chemical signals that couldn’t be recorded by federation technology had lead to a treaty in federation standard. The Nudibari's concept of what a treaty even was had lead to a genetically modified sea anemone in a self-cleaning glass bubble, which Spock was carrying like a very valuable football.
The semiconductive screen and stylus were passed between the three Nudibari hosts, which each attacked the transliteration of their names into latin script with enthusiasm, then to Lieutenant Uhura, then to Spock, and finally to Jim.
Jim glanced down the list – Blue-green-ssskgghashhhh, White-striped-red-kkkotooomet, Green-but-sometimes-ultraviolet-ooothlootal, Lieutenant Nyota Upenda Uhura, Commander S'chn T'gai Spock – and nearly choked on the laugh that threatened to come bubbling up.
“Captain?”
Jim cleared his throat. “Just the salt air, Mr. Spock.” Later. He’d explain later – or maybe not. After all, his first officer’s handwriting was his own business.
Even if it was bubble handwriting where each I was dotted with a star.