Chapter Text
The Mapoo homeworld exceeded in its beauty more than Commander Charles Tucker III could have imagined. When T’Pol had read off the specs on the planet, Minshara-class, with only two main landmasses taking up eighty-percent of the planet, Trip -- as his friends and crewmates called him -- hadn’t been too overly impressed. And when he found out the aliens who resided there called themselves the Mapoo, well, the little twelve-year-old boy in him couldn’t help but snicker. Now though, standing in the T’lekki Valley, looking up at Mount Valeasha, laughing about a species name again never even crossed his mind.
Tall, pale green and blue grass swayed in the breeze, and in the distance a village stood out against the cerulean sky. Beyond the village, great mountains rose up into the clouds, Mount Valeasha being the tallest, all covered in a soft shade of pink. According to T’Pol’s scans before they left the ship, the world had just entered its spring season, at least, that’s how Trip had taken to understand it. They apparently had several seasons on their world.
Captain Archer led the landing party after making initial contact with the Mapoo, taking Ensign Hoshi Sato, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, and Trip along with him, leaving Commander T’Pol to take care of the ship while they were gone. The captain and Hoshi had already begun to start towards the village, where a Mapoo dignitary would meet them to begin their tour of the village. Trip hung back for a moment, soaking in the warm, balmy air and sunlight, wishing he hadn’t left his camera back on Enterprise . It felt good to have a sun -- any sun -- shining on his skin again, and he took some time for himself to tip his head back, close his eyes, and just breathe it all in. The beauty and peaceful serene relaxing aching muscles Trip hadn’t even realized were tensed.
Movement at his side drew Trip from his thoughts. Lowering his head, he turned to glance to his right where Lieutenant Reed stood, staring out at the valley and mountains beyond. His face was as stoic and impassive as ever. Though there were still those that believed that the Armory Officer had the emotional warmth and compassion of a Vulcan, Trip knew better. It had taken quite a while, but Trip had knocked down most of Malcolm’s walls and learned that Malcolm had a wry sense of humor, and Trip had even been on the receiving end of more than a few ill-concealed half-smirks. With everything they’d been through together, Trip had come to consider the shorter Englishman to be one of his closest friends.
“Sorta makes ya remember why ya joined Starfleet, don’t it?” He turned his attention back to the landscape in front of them and drew in a deep breath of the warm, honey-sweet air.
Beside him, Malcolm sighed heavily. “After the last few years we’ve had...a reminder like this is rather nice.”
Trip nodded. After everything that had happened -- the Xindi attack on Earth, the loss of his baby sister, spending a damn year chasing the Xindi through the Delphic Expanse, all the troubles that followed -- it had been nice to be reminded that they were explorers; not warriors. Even with the M.A.C.O.s still on board, the Enterprise and her crew were out to explore new worlds and make peaceful first contact. Somewhere along the way, they managed to lose track of that fact.
Things had changed so much in the last three years.
Malcolm’s deep, fortifying breath drew Trip out of his own thoughts and brought him back to the present. Just in time to fall into step with Malcolm as they started off after Jonathan and Hoshi.
~*~*~
A reception banquet had been arranged in the Great Hall of Solidarity for the landing party -- and the rest of the crew, if they wished to join in on the fun. Despite their unique outward appearance -- which Trip tried hard not to judge them on, thank you very much -- the Mapoo were a very gracious species. And they cooked up one hell of a spit-roasted Kha’leeq. Trip had no idea what a Kha’leeq was, but it sorta looked like a miniature cow and tasted like the best barbecue pork he’d ever had, so he wasn’t about to question it.
The Mapoo, as it turned out, were a decently advanced civilization. They had the ability and knowhow to build at least a warp 5 engine, but chose to stick close to home and leave the stars for everyone else. Which was understandable. The High Priest, Na'Vox, was the largest of all the Mapoo that they’d met, and he barely came up to the tips of Hoshi’s ears. Tiny and pale spring green skinned, with a layer of fine, white fur covering most of their body, and anywhere from four to six small, dark blue horns protruding from the top of their heads. They weren’t exactly intimidating looking; a less than moral species would have had no trouble blowing their ships out of the sky just for the sake of it.
So, they stayed with their feet firmly planted on the ground. Welcoming those travelers who meant them no harm. Na'Vox made sure to give a nice grand tour of the place when they got there, and was even gracious enough to permit the crew free reign to wander wherever they wished after the banquet.
Which, two hours later, was how Trip found himself standing at the entrance of a carved out area in one of the nearby mountains, a reluctant Malcolm in tow. The view overlooking the village below was even better than where they’d landed their shuttlepod, and Trip watched in awe as the sky and valley slowly transitioned from blue and green to a pale, soft orange-pink as dusk began to fall. At least the path leading to the cave was lighted; they wouldn’t have to worry about falling and breaking their necks on the way back down. Or, rather, not worry as much.
“Commander, I really think we should be heading back,” Malcolm advised, his hesitancy to go any farther written clear as day on his face. “What if they decide to head back to the ship and leave us here?”
Trip laughed under his breath at that. “What? An’ leave without their chief engineer an’ armory officer?” He turned, flashing a grin over his shoulder before shaking his head and turning back for the cave entrance. “Cap’n’d never leave us behind. Not without a good reason. An’ he’d always come back for us, even if they did leave without us.”
That seemed to do little in reassuring Malcolm, as he continued to voice his concerns while following Trip into the carved opening. “Still. I don’t think we should be snooping around like this.”
“What snoopin’? Na'Vox said we could go anywhere we wanted, so long as we didn’t destroy nothin’. I don’t plan on destroyin’ anything, do you?”
Malcolm ignored the question, too busy willing his eyes to adjust to the darkness that surrounded them. They walked silently down the stone hallway for a dozen or so meters before Trip stumbled to a stop, Malcolm nearly tumbling into him. A bright, white-gold light activated as soon as Trip’s toe crossed the threshold, blinding them for a moment. While there’d been no decoration or inscriptions of any kind in the pathway leading to the open cavern, not even any lights, there was more than enough to make up for it now.
“Ho-lee cow…” Trip whistled low in appreciation, while Malcolm stood at his side simply gaping.
Pillars of polished purple-blue stone -- so dark and flecked with white they looked like columns of pure night sky -- stretched from the ground to the ceiling, nearly two hundred feet above their heads, and lined the main aisle on either side of them. Trip’s head craned back, staring up at the ornate decorative carvings that covered the ceiling, as he wandered down the main aisle. There was seemingly no light source, no windows anywhere to allow any brightness into the deep center of the mountain. Yet the room was lit up like it housed the midday sun. Statues and colorful mosaics lined the walls, depicting what was probably the history of the Mapoo kind.
“Hoshi said that there was a temple in the mountains,” murmured Malcolm, his voice still loud enough to echo off the walls. “I must say, I wasn’t expecting anything quite like this…”
Trip turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in. “Looks like one of those ancient cathedrals, back home.”
“If this is some kind of cathedral, or temple,” Malcolm started, reaching out to grab Trip by the elbow as the engineer started off for another doorway to their right, “then perhaps we should show it due reverence and leave. Quietly.”
“We aren’t doin’ anything wrong by bein’ here, Malcolm.” Trip barely paused to pry Malcolm fingers up from their death grip. “If it is a temple or whatever, then maybe we oughta be respectful and friendly like, and take a look around. Place obviously wasn’t meant to just hide in the mountain.”
“Then why’s it built inside of one?”
It was Trip’s turn to ignore the question. Even if Malcolm did have a point. If it was some kind of sacred building, and if they weren’t supposed to be in there by themselves, then surely Na’Vox or someone would have said the place was off limits. And really, Trip’s family may not have been the most religious of folks, going to church mostly only on holidays, but his mama raised him to be respectful of other people’s faith, and especially of their places of worship. He didn’t plan on desecrating anything, he just wanted to look around.
Time to remind Malcolm that they were explorers.
Turning to glance over his shoulder again, Trip motioned for Malcolm to follow him. “C’mon. We’ll leave in a minute, I promise. Just wanna see what’s behind door number one.”
“With our luck, a firing squad.”
A chuckle bubbled up out of Trip as the pair crossed into a darker room, barely illuminated by the light of the nave. There was just enough light to notice not a single statue, mosaic, or carving adorned the room; it was as plain and bare as the stone walls leading into the temple.
Malcolm was the first to step fully into the room, which hardly had enough space for the two men to stand side-by-side with their arms outstretched.
“It must be some sort of side chapel, or something,” he mused, a furrow forming between his eyebrows as he turned in a slow circle to look around before casting a glance back to Trip.
A blank little closet, side chapel -- whatever it was -- wasn’t very interesting. Trip, who had finally stepped into the room fully, a heavy sigh of resignation forming on his lips, frowned. His reluctant agreement to finally leave died instantly, though, as the door to the antechamber whooshed shut behind him, plummeting them into total darkness. A stab of panic lodged itself in Trip’s chest as he spun around, praying it was the direction to face the door again, but in the pitch black, it was hard to tell which way was up.
Somewhere to Trip’s left, Malcolm gave a startled gasp.
“What did you do?!”
“What’d I do?!” Parroted Trip, “I didn’t do a damn thing! I just walked into the room!”
“With all due respect, Commander ,” Malcolm spat, his own panic obvious in his voice, “for you there’s times when that’s more than enough!”
Trip drew up short, jaw hanging slack despite the fact no one would see it. Fear, frustration, and -- worst of all -- hurt boiled in his stomach. “What’s that s’pose ta mean?” he demanded, his search for the door momentarily forgotten.
“It means your name should be Trouble , not Trip!”
Right. Well. Apparently even his best friend thought he was a trouble magnet and fuck up. Good to know.
“Will ya stop whinin’ an’ help me find the damn door?” Trip snapped back into the darkness. “There’s gotta be a keypad or somethin’ somewhere. Feel around for it!”
“I believe there’s an old saying back home, you may be familiar with,” Malcolm groused, his breath suddenly warm on the back of Trip’s neck as they struggled to feel their way around in the dark.
Trip rolled his eyes; the knot forming in the pit of his stomach tightened. It was hard to hold back the heavy sigh, though. “Yeah? What’s that, Lieutenant ?”
“You’re the reason we can’t have nice things!”
The words alone were enough to sting right down to the soles of Trip’s feet, but the icy cold and precise snip of the British accent made them sting all the harder. Spinning on his heels and nearly toppling over in his disorientation, Trip reached out to catch himself, grabbing onto the first thing he could; which happened to be the back of Malcolm’s neck. The instant his fingers touched warm skin, whatever whip-sharp remark he was going to fire back at Malcolm vanished in the wake of what could only be described as an explosion. The blinding flash of light with the force of a storm gale wind hot on its heels throwing the pair back against the wall hard enough to nearly crack bone.
In a nanosecond, the light was gone, and the world was plunged into darkness once more as the two men slid to the floor; limp, unconscious. Trip’s head pillowed softly by Malcolm’s slender chest. Both oblivious to the quiet snick along one wall, the hum of machinery, and the slow downward count of the alien chrono directly in front of them.