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Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.05 "Unexpected," 1.08 "Breaking The Ice," 1.09 "Civilization," 1.15 "Shadows Of P'Jem," 1.17 "Fusion," 1.21 "Detained," 1.26 "Shockwave 1," 1.25 "Two Days And Two Nights."
The very early hours of the morning were Commander Charles Tucker's favorite time of day aboard the Enterprise. It was the middle of the starship's third watch, which meant that just over twenty people were on duty—the rest of the crew was probably asleep. Because of this, the ship's corridors were quiet in addition to being darkened to simulate night. When his own duty shift was over, and after having dinner in the Captain's Mess, spending an hour or so in the gym and attending to other personal odds and ends, Trip had gotten in the habit of walking the starship. It was his way of ending the day, making sure that everything was running smoothly and seeing to it that all was well—something that had become especially important to him after all the damage he and his Engineering staff had been repairing lately. Trip hadn't expected to become so attuned to the ship under his care in so short a time, but it had happened nonetheless. If something was wrong with the Enterprise, he could usually tell by its unique sounds and vibrations. As he walked in the quiet of the early morning, Trip could hear the low frequency hum of the ship's warp engines and feel its power through the deck plates beneath his feet. He normally found it soothing.
But on this particular morning, Trip's mind would not be soothed, absorbed as it was with his work. As part of his duties as Chief Engineer of Starfleet's first warp-capable starship, it was his responsibility to evaluate the efficiency of the ship's warp engines, and particularly to make recommendations on potential design improvements. No less than six other NX-class starships were in various stages of construction at the Warp Five Complex orbiting Mars. Of these, the Discovery was already undergoing warp trials. As the first ship off the line, Enterprise was an ongoing test platform in addition to its official duties, so Trip was in constant communication with Starfleet's Design Bureau. And with the first year of their deep space mission drawing to a close, he had a lengthy report to complete on the efficiency of the ship's systems.
With his mind occupied by intermix formulas, warp coil frequencies and subspace field dynamics, Trip had barely registered his walk. He'd already made his way down to E Deck, with just two decks left, and had passed Sickbay, the Mess Hall and his own quarters without noticing. He also failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Good morning, Commander." Startled out of his reverie, he looked up to see Sub-Commander T'Pol walking alongside him. Damn Vulcan reflexes, he thought. Probably sneakin' up on me on purpose—tryin' ta throw me off balance. Hope I wasn't talkin' ta myself again...
"Hey, T'Pol. I'm surprised to see you up and around this early. Havin' trouble sleepin'?"
He was, as usual, annoyingly perceptive. T'Pol did her best not to react to this, raising only an eyebrow. "My mediation earlier this evening was...unproductive. I thought perhaps a walk would help."
A look of genuine concern crossed Trip's face. "Anything you wanna talk about?"
Taken aback, T'Pol was silent for a long moment, as she contemplated telling this Human what was troubling her. She had confided in Commander Tucker in the past, and he'd proven both trustworthy and discreet. They had even become actual friends recently—a relationship she found enjoyable. But the source of her problem was...complicated. She found that she lacked the energy the conversation would require. "Thank you, but no. What about you? When I approached, you appeared to be deep in thought. Are you also suffering from insomnia?"
Trip smiled easily. "Yeah, you could say that. I've been working on that big systems report for Starfleet, and there's this problem I'm trying to figure out." Then an idea occurred to him. "Long as you're awake, are you up for a challenge?"
T'Pol's expressions were subtle, but Trip was getting better at reading them all the time. This one could only be called skeptical. "If you are referring to an argument, Commander, I shall endeavor to return your insulting remarks with vigor despite the early hour."
Trip laughed out loud at this, earning another raised eyebrow from his companion. "No, that's not what I meant. I was actually hoping to run something by you...get your opinion on things."
T'Pol considered his offer thoughtfully. Truth be told, sleep was unlikely to come and there was nothing like a problem to focus one's mind. "I would be glad to assist in any way I can."
"Atta girl..." With an acre-wide smile, Trip led them back toward Engineering.
A short time later, Trip stood in front of the small beverage maker in his office, waiting for the device to issue a pair of drinks—strong black coffee for himself and green tea with a touch of mint for T'Pol. Then, steaming mugs in hand, he returned to the work table, which was covered in PADDs and hard-copy printouts, never missing a beat in his narrative. "I first got the idea when that Xyrillian ship was leeching off our engines for a free ride home. Right now, all the coils in both our nacelles fire simultaneously to maintain the warp field, which requires a tremendous amount of energy."
T'Pol acknowledged, "A design extension of Vulcan craft, which use a single, circular nacelle of simultaneously firing field coils."
Trip nodded, continuing. "Right. But what if we only fired a single pair of coils atta time, one in each nacelle, starting forward and moving aft? They create the warp field, and then we milk the field for all it's worth before it decays. By then, the next set of coils has fired, in effect re-energizing the field. If we cycled the coils—thousands of times a second, rather than firing 'em all at once—the nacelles would consume energy much more efficiently. And there'd be far less wear on the coils themselves, extending their operational life expectancy."
T'Pol considered this carefully. "Would this not also reduce the drag coefficient of our warp field against the fabric of subspace?"
Trip looked at her in surprise. "I hadn't thought about that, but sure. It's possible."
T'Pol sipped her tea absently, carefully examining the simulation playing on the viewer in front of them. "It is a remarkably elegant solution to the problem of diminishing energy return. It might even yield a substantial increase in velocity. Has the approach been considered before?"
The Chief Engineer shook his head. "It was abandoned because Starfleet didn't have the kind of high resolution subspace field measurements you'd need to make it work. At least not at the time. But since you suggested that we start monitoring our warp field more closely after the Xyrillian incident, we've collected more than enough data."
T'Pol immediately saw where he was going. "One could conceivably calculate the most efficient coil firing frequencies and energy input formulas from this data."
Trip smiled conspiratorially from across the table. "Exactly! Which is kinda what I was hopin' the most annoyin' Vulcan I know could help me with."
She stared at him icily. "Unless I am mistaken, I am the only Vulcan you know."
Trip laughed. "Imagine that."
T'Pol would never admit that she derived a disproportionate amount of pleasure from her constant bickering with Commander Tucker. It would, of course, be considered illogical by Vulcan standards. It was true nonetheless. "I find it fascinating, Commander, that something of actual value may have resulted from our encounter with the Xyrillians. Other than your pregnancy, of course."
To her satisfaction, Trip's show of annoyance was immediate. "Hey! Didn't yer mama ever teach you ta play nice with others?"
T'Pol merely blinked stoically and turned her attention back to the viewer. But Trip could swear he saw a hint of amusement flicker over her angular features. If I ever meet the jackass who said Vulcans don't have a sense of humor, I'll sure as hell give 'em a piece of my mind...
Several hours later, Captain Jonathan Archer emerged from his quarters to begin the day, with Porthos following behind, tail wagging happily. After settling the beagle comfortably in his Ready Room—and sneaking him a tiny bit of cheddar against his better judgment—Archer stepped onto the Bridge to find Ensigns Sato and Mayweather already at their stations.
"Morning, Captain," Hoshi called cheerfully.
Archer smiled, settling into the Captain's chair. "Good morning. What's on our plate today, Travis?"
The young Helm officer turned back eagerly. "Not much, sir. We're at warp three, still on course for Rigel IV. Should be there by 0800 tomorrow. Malcolm reported that we passed a stellar nursery last night, and recommended that we give it a closer look on our return trip. Dr. Phlox has a couple new cases of the flu in Sickbay. The scanners show clear and all systems are running smoothly. That's pretty much it. Just the start of your average day in deep space."
Archer laughed at the young man's enthusiasm. "Between Suliban cold-warring and a visit to the thirty-first century, I'll take average in deep space any day. Have either of you seen Trip or T'Pol yet this morning?"
Hoshi and Travis exchanged a quick glance. Hoshi looked back at the Captain. "No, sir. But the Sub-Commander's due on the Bridge in a little while."
Archer thumbed the intercom on the armrest of his chair, calling Commander Tucker's quarters. "Archer to Tucker." There was no response. He tried T'Pol's quarters next. "Archer to T'Pol." Still nothing. "That's strange. Travis?"
The helmsman quickly ran an internal scan of the ship. "According to their personal locators, they're both in Engineering...in the Chief Engineer's Office."
Hoshi looked up from her console, amused. "Uh-oh...that can't be good. What do you suppose he did now?"
Archer laughed quietly, "Good question. I'd better get down there and break 'em up. Last I heard, Trip was still on thin ice with T'Pol for replacing all her meditation candles with those trick ones you can't blow out. The Bridge is all yours, Travis." The turbolift doors closed behind him to the sound of their laughter.
On the way down to Engineering, Archer mused silently over the unique relationship between his Science Officer and Chief Engineer. Their constant bickering had caused at lot of tension at first, but had quickly settled down to little more than a regular source of amusement for the senior staff. Though they wouldn't discuss it, the misunderstanding over T'Pol's encrypted messages had somehow broken the ice between the two. There was no denying that they certainly worked well together. In fact, the Captain was hard-pressed to name two other crew members who worked more efficiently. More than once on their undercover mission to observe the Akaali, he'd been surprised to notice them communicating with simple glances and gestures. Archer suspected that Trip had grown to like the Vulcan far more than he'd ever admit. T'Pol was the more difficult to read of the two, but he'd also noticed lately that the Vulcan tended to seek out his Chief Engineer's opinion on things more than anyone else's. They do say that opposites attract, Archer mused silently. Now why does that make me so damn nervous?
When he strode into Engineering a few minutes later, the Captain noticed that most of Trip's staff was already hard at work, even though the morning shift had yet to officially begin. He might come across as cavalier, but Trip certainly did run a tight ship. Nothing like a damn fine engineer—one of the best in Starfleet in fact—who was also the life of the party. It had been almost impossible for Archer not to become friends with Trip over the years, and the decision to chose the young man as Chief Engineer of the Enterprise had been an easy one.
As the Captain climbed down from the catwalk to the lower level, he could easily hear Trip's southern drawl booming from the open door to his office, despite the humming of the reactors. "Fer cryin' out loud, T'Pol! Ya can't even control the injectors at that temperature. They'd melt clean through the hull!"
The expected response was far calmer. "That is correct, Commander. But Vulcan plasma injectors are made of pure dikironium, which is capable of sustaining more than twice the required temperature. If we could fabricate a set of our own using dikironium or a proper analogue, we could..."
Archer paused in the doorway, clearing his throat pointedly to get their attention. "Don't tell me you two have been working down here all night?"
Trip and T'Pol looked up at Archer in surprise, then at each other. After a quick glance at the wall chronometer, Trip grinned at his Captain sheepishly. "Yeah...guess we sorta lost track of time. Sorry, T'Pol...didn't mean ta toss an all-nighter in yer lap."
For an amusing instant, the Vulcan glanced down at her lap in puzzlement. She recovered with admirable speed though—at least in Archer's opinion—and stood. "Not at all, Commander. I found our work to be quite...stimulating. If you will excuse me, I am due on the Bridge in thirteen minutes. Good morning, Captain." With that, she made a hasty exit.
Trip watched her departure silently, allowing her a measure of dignity. But he could barely contain the grin that was threatening to split his head wide open. When she was out of earshot, even for a Vulcan, Trip slapped his hand on the table and laughed aloud. Finally he stood and stretched his weary muscles. "Well...guess I'd better hit the shower, Capt'n. Gotta long day ahead."
But Archer wasn't about to let him off the hook that easily. "Stimulating, huh? I don't suppose I need to remind you of Starfleet's code of conduct among officers, do I?" His tone was one of amusement...but there was a slight edge of seriousness as well.
Trip feigned annoyance. "Oh, there ain't no damn regulation against funnin' and you know it! Now, don't get all mother hen on me. We were just working."
Archer relented, still clearly amused. "Whatever you say. You up for breakfast? I hear Chef's whipped up a stack of pancakes a kilometer high..."
As expected, the response was enthusiastic. "The higher the better! Gimmie fifteen minutes ta wash the stink off?"
Archer nodded with a smile and followed his Chief Engineer out. Yep...just the start of your average day in deep space.
A week later, Crewman Miguel Lopez sat in the Science Officer's austerely furnished office, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He was struggling to remain calm, but the fact of the matter was that the Vulcan intimidated the hell out of him. And he wasn't alone. Many of his friends and fellow shipmates, who had already survived their first year performance reviews, had warned him that the experience could be unpleasant in the extreme. As the second-in-command of the Enterprise, it was T'Pol's responsibility to ascertain the readiness of all aspects of the ship's operation and report back to the Captain. And at the moment, it was Lopez's own small portion of that readiness that was being reduced to its component parts before his very eyes.
"According to these records, your attendance and punctuality have been just slightly better than the ship's average. Your scores on emergency drills and procedures would seem to indicate that more effort on your part is required, however Lieutenant Reed says that your knowledge of starship security is commendable, and that your hands-on work in the ship's Armory has been exemplary. In fact, I am told that your natural abilities are among the best of the crewmen under his charge. Nonetheless, there is much room here for improvement."
T'Pol glanced up at the crewman carefully, hoping to gauge his response to her comments. Noting that he seemed to squirm more actively when she did this, she quickly turned back to her computer viewer. "Lieutenant Reed's recommendation, which I have endorsed, is that you focus your efforts more and refresh yourself with the procedures in which you are known to be deficient. I have assembled the appropriate reading material from the training manuals for your review." She held a data card out to the crewman, who stood and took it, thanking her nervously. T'Pol waited a moment to see if the young man had any comments of his own. Unfortunately, she realized that she'd succeeded only in making him even more uncomfortable.
T'Pol finally slid her chair back from the desk and stood, which the crewman took to mean he was dismissed. But as he was about to exit, she called after him. "Crewman Lopez...have you considered applying to Starfleet's officer training program?"
Lopez hesitated at the opening door, caught off balance. "Uh...no, ma'am. I mean, no Commander. Uh...Sub-Commander."
"Perhaps you should. I believe you have the potential to make a fine officer one day, provided you apply yourself with greater enthusiasm. That is all."
Taken aback, the young man smiled...sort of. "Thank—thank you, Sub-Commander!" Then he bolted from the room...nearly knocking Commander Tucker clean off his feet in the process. The poor crewman mumbled a panicked apology to the Chief Engineer and then fled down the corridor. When Trip recovered, he looked at T'Pol thunderstruck.
"Fer cryin' out loud, T'Pol! What are ya doing to these kids in here? Pulling their fingernails off?"
The Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow. "It seems that I have gained something of a...reputation among the ship's enlisted complement."
Trip laughed. "Guess I don't blame 'em. You'd have scared the pants off a me too back when I was still wet behind the ears."
At her perplexed expression, Trip explained. "You know, when I was inexperienced. Fresh off the turnip truck. Green as a...uh, never mind." He quickly changed the subject. "By the way, I got your little message this morning."
T'Pol looked at him impassively. "To what message are you referring, Commander?"
"Give it a rest, T'Pol. Only a Vulcan would've glued those PADDs to my desk in such perfectly aligned rows. You'll be happy to learn that I was the laughing stock of Engineering all morning."
Once again, Trip recognized the faint but unmistakable signs of amusement on her face. "I am indeed pleased." T'Pol shut off her viewer and prepared to leave. "I assume you are here so that we may continue our mutual culinary education?"
"If that's yer way of asking if I'm here to take ya to lunch, the answer's absolutely. Scuttlebutt says there's rhubarb pie on the menu today and nothin' short of an army of Klingons is gonna keep me from havin' at it." He stepped aside politely to allow her to exit, then followed her out.
"I have noticed, Commander, that most of your favorite choices are dessert items."
"What can I say, T'Pol? I'm a slave to my sweet tooth."
She glanced at him dryly. "Perhaps you should speak with Dr. Phlox. I'm sure he could remove it for you..."
Thirty minutes later, Trip sat back from the table, sliding a half-empty bowl of something green and chunky away from him. He looked more than a little green himself. T'Pol glanced up from her dish of rice and vegetables, searching his expression. "How did you find the spleen stew, Commander?"
Trip's coloring visibly paled. "Could you stop calling it that? I'm havin' a hard time with the idea that I just ate a bowl full of...well, something's organs."
A look of mild annoyance crossed T'Pol's face. "You did not, Commander. Spleen is a Vulcan legume similar to your chickpea. And you haven't said whether you liked it or not."
Her lunch companion's relief was obvious. "Well...I like it a whole lot better now. It did kinda remind me of split-pea soup, except for all the slimy red bits. Think I liked the plomeek soup better though. Okay, now it's your turn..." With great anticipation, Trip pushed her lunch aside and set a thick slice of rhubarb pie in front of her.
"I have not yet finished my Antarian kreel rice..."
He dismissed her protest with a wave. "Don't get yer panties in a bunch. You can come back to it. Besides...skippin' straight to dessert is a uniquely Human trait. Consider this research."
T'Pol looked at him for a moment. "Indeed." She picked up her fork...then hesitated, glancing up at him dubiously. "I trust that rhubarb is not...something's organs?"
Trip laughed. "No, no! I wouldn't do that to you. Rhubarb's a...a fruit maybe?" He thought about it for a minute, puzzled. Finally, he gave up. "You know, I don't know what the hell it is. It's a plant and it makes a helluva tasty pie. You can look it up later if you like it."
Only slightly reassured, T'Pol speared a small portion of the dessert and tasted it carefully. Then she looked up with obvious surprise and quickly took a much larger bite.
Trip smiled in delight. "See? I told you it was good!" He turned to his own piece and began eating enthusiastically. "That's one of the things I love about you, T'Pol—your sweet tooth's even bigger than mine."
T'Pol stopped suddenly and stared at the Commander intensely, his words having struck a nerve despite her normally impenetrable Vulcan reserve. Fortunately, he failed to notice her discomfort, engrossed as he was in his dessert. Unsettled, T'Pol struggled to compose herself and resumed eating, as the doors to the crowded Mess Hall hissed open nearby.
"My goodness...is that rhubarb pie I smell?"
Both Trip and T'Pol looked up to see Dr. Phlox standing in the doorway. The Denobulan deftly followed his nose to the source of the delightful odor, which quickly led him to their table. "Ah, Commander Tucker...I see you're introducing our intrepid Science Officer to the pleasures of gastronomic perfection!"
"Better believe it, Doc. You know, there's still a slice or two left over there. Why doncha' grab one and pull up a chair?"
Phlox beamed at them. "I don't mind if I do!" With that, he set the reading material he'd been carrying down on table next to them and trundled off happily toward the food dispensers in search of sustenance.
Trip turned back to his food, chatting around a mouthful of pie. "You know, my mama used to say that rhubarb makes everything better. Betcha even the Doc over there'd agree that it's got powerful restorative properties. What do you think, T'Pol?"
He glanced up at her briefly...and was surprised to notice that she was staring at him, her gaze fixing him powerfully. This wasn't one of her normal, condescending glares. T'Pol seemed focused on him to the exclusion of everything else in the room. And something was definitely wrong. The Vulcan's skin was flushed, her breathing coming in tiny gasps. Her eyes appeared unfocused...yet somehow, Trip felt as if she was looking straight into his soul. He'd only seen her like this once before, that night after they'd escaped from the Suliban Helix. The night he'd gone to T'Pol's quarters to tell her how proud he was of her for standing up to Soval...the only time he'd ever been truly afraid for her.
Unsettled, he reached out, touching her hand in concern. "T'Pol? Are you all right?"
As if in slow motion, T'Pol looked down at his hand, fixating on it for a long moment. Then her eyes rolled up to the whites and she collapsed, falling sideways and striking her forehead sharply on the corner of the table as she went down. Trip was on his feet and at her side immediately, as the rest of the room went silent around them.
"T'Pol! T'Pol, can you hear me?" He put his arm around her shoulders and lifted her into a reclining position, attempting to rouse her. Moments later, Dr. Phlox appeared beside him and took charge.
"What happened, Commander?" he asked, calmly assessing her condition.
Trip glanced at him, alarmed. "I don't know! One minute she was eatin', and the next she just collapsed. Please tell me Vulcans aren't allergic to rhubarb!"
"Not that I am aware, however each individual's reactive profile is different." Phlox deftly read her pulse. "Her heart rate is erratic...but she is breathing. We should move her to Sickbay at once."
The suggestion of action was all Trip needed. Quickly, but gingerly, he lifted the unconscious woman into his arms and bolted out of the stunned Mess Hall, Phlox hurrying out after him. As Trip half-jogged down the main corridor, ignoring the puzzled stares of passing crewmen, he was struck by how light the Vulcan seemed in his arms. Falling behind, the Doctor called after him frantically, urging him to slow down, but Trip barely noticed. Racing around a junction in the corridor, he narrowly avoided colliding with a startled Ensign. When he regained his balance, Trip hurried on, risking a quick glance down at T'Pol. He saw that she was gazing up at him weakly, disoriented but definitely conscious.
"T'Pol? You hang on! We're almost to Sickbay. Just hang on!" His voice was sick with worry, but T'Pol was too out of it to notice, her head lolling heavily against his shoulder. She turned her face into his neck, concentrating on the heavy scent of his perspiration as it gathered there on his skin. On any other Human, the smell would have left her stomach reeling. But on him, she found it...intoxicating.
Moments later, Trip burst into Sickbay, the doors barely sliding aside in time to allow him to pass. He carried T'Pol to the nearest exam table, and carefully set her down. As her head fell back gently against the padding, it was then that Trip noticed how completely beautiful she was. Her eyes were hooded and fathomless, seeing only him. The green-bronze skin of her cheeks was feverish and tantalizingly soft, covered in both their sweat. Their breaths mixed in the air between them, his heavy from exertion, hers from something else entirely. Trip had just enough time to register that the tips of her gracefully pointed ears were turning a very deep shade of green...when he felt her fingers move lightly against his face.
It was as though he'd accidentally touched a hot plasma conduit. An electric charge blasted across his consciousness, leaving him bare—stripped of all pretense. For an instant, Trip and T'Pol ceased to exist as separate individuals, becoming instead something new...something impossibly together. T'Pol was revealed to him in a way he would never have imagined possible. What he saw in her was pure...elemental. For her part, T'Pol was lost on a stormy sea of raw emotion. Waves of feeling crashed over her violently...his, hers, theirs...and she rode them willingly, in defiance of all logic. They both realized, at the exact same instant, that their connection was almost frighteningly sexual. And it had marked them each indelibly.
Though it seemed to stretch out endlessly, the mind meld actually lasted for less than a minute...then T'Pol's hand fell lightly away from his face. They stared into each other's eyes for long moments after it was over. When they finally regained a measure of consciousness, they were hyper-aware of their surroundings...and of each other.
Trip stepped back from the exam table, light-headed. "What...what just happened?"
The Doctor was waiting nearby, having arrived in Sickbay a few moments behind them. He'd been stunned to find them locked in the brief mind meld, and had nervously waited for it to run its course, affording them a measure of privacy. Seeing that it was now over, he stepped forward quickly, pressing separate, loaded hypos into each of their jugular veins in turn. "I believe you both had a reaction to something you ate, perhaps in combination with exhaustion or dehydration or both. I will have to alert Chef immediately." It was a lie, of course, and they all knew it. But given the situation, it was the best Phlox could come up with.
Trip glanced at him, his expression still dazed. "Some reaction." Then he remembered what happened in the Mess Hall, and turned his attention back to T'Pol, concerned. "Are you okay? You just...collapsed and I had to carry you—"
"I am fine, Commander. Thank you for your assistance." Her voice cracked imperceptibly, and she struggled to get it under control.
"Are you sure? You took a nasty hit on the head—"
"I will be safe in the Doctor's care. If you will excuse me now, I wish to be alone."
"Oh...okay." Trip hesitated. "Maybe I'll see you later then," he said lamely, looking at each of them in confusion. T'Pol's face was once again unreadable. The Doctor merely smiled at him nervously. Flustered and reeling, Trip finally turned and ambled unsteadily out of the room.
The moment the door closed behind him, Phlox turned to T'Pol. "The shot I gave you was, of course, your weekly hormone treatment. It should alleviate your symptoms soon. The bruise on your forehead isn't serious, but will take a few days to heal." He paused for a moment, then continued more seriously. "However, your condition is developing faster than we anticipated." Phlox hesitated again before broaching the subject of greatest concern. "Forgive me for being indelicate, Sub-Commander, but...I couldn't help noticing that you initiated a mind meld with Commander Tucker. A bonding meld if I am not mistaken."
T'Pol stared at the ceiling silently, her face a blank mask. "It was inadvertent."
Phlox continued pointedly. "Nevertheless, the effects on you both will be quite...significant. And possibly permanent. You must to talk with him, Sub-Commander. As soon as possible."
She turned on him with sudden irritation. "He is an insufferable, irrational, annoying Human with severe language assembly problems."
Phlox listened patiently to T'Pol's uncharacteristic outburst, knowing that her words were intended purely for her own benefit. "Commander Tucker is a veritable fountain of colorful idioms. Nevertheless...I believe he would understand." He hesitated, then continued more gently. "If his actions today are any indication, he seems to care very deeply about you."
T'Pol glanced away. "My well being is not of his concern."
"I see. Well, Sub-Commander...I suspect you will have quite a difficult time convincing him of that."
A short distance away, Trip wandered the corridors aimlessly, his mind on automatic pilot as he struggled to make sense of things. Without realizing how he'd gotten there, he found himself standing outside the observation booth that controlled the ship's launch bays. Knowing it would be deserted, since all of the Enterprise's shuttlepods were stowed securely onboard, Trip quickly ducked inside. As expected, the room was empty and almost completely dark, the only light coming from the various instrument panels and from the countless streaking stars visible through the viewports. His composure finally abandoning him, Trip backed into a corner and collapsed to the floor in shock, his body trembling as the effects of the mind meld lingered. T'Pol's...presence had faded, but he could still feel it, haunting the edges of his consciousness. And as Trip fought to understand what had just happened, he knew only one thing for certain — nothing between them would ever be the same again.
"Shit. We're gonna need to replace all these circuits." Trip sighed in resignation. The readings on his portable diagnostic scanner were irrefutable. He glanced down at the fresh young face of his Senior Engineering Assistant, Lieutenant Hailey Burke, who stood at the entrance to the Jeffries tube making notations on a PADD. "Have David pull everything from BF-159 through BF-211. Actually, better make it BF-221 just in case. That's Bravo, Foxtrot, Hailey."
Burke checked her notes against the ship's supply manifest and called back up to him. "Got it, Commander. I'm pretty sure we have spares for all of them, but we'll definitely need to restock soon."
Trip wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, briefly wondering if he'd ever been that young. "Yeah, I know. Starfleet never figured they'd burn out so fast...or that we'd put Enterprise through so much wear and tear in a single year. Guess it's all part of being the first at this." He took another deep breath and then adjusted his position in the tube so that he was facing the other way. "I'm gonna check the rest of these circuits too."
Burke looked up questioningly. "You okay up there if I go get these parts out of storage?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. If ya happen to see smoke billowing out of the Jeffries tube when ya get back, you'll know I hit a live one."
She laughed. "I'm gonna shut down the whole run just to be safe, Commander. I don't know if I'm ready to take over your job just yet..." With that, she disappeared.
Trip attached the scanner lead to the connection terminal on the next series of circuits and ran the diagnostic. Once again, the device showed that more than half of the circuits had developed flaws—problems that were throwing the whole system out of balance. Not unlike my brain, he mused silently.
Though it had been three days since the incident in Sickbay with T'Pol, he was still no closer to understanding it. For her part, T'Pol seemed more than willing to pretend it had never happened in the first place. He'd tried to approach her in private to discuss the subject, but she'd firmly rebuffed him. She wasn't exactly ignoring him, but she was definitely going out of her way to minimize their interaction, other than what was absolutely required by their duties. She'd been "unavailable" for meals, or was too busy with staff reviews to meet him. Once or twice, she'd even claimed to be feeling unwell. There was always an excuse. I'm surprised she hasn't told me she's gotta wash her hair.
Normally, T'Pol's avoidance of the subject would be fine by him...except that lately he'd been experiencing some, well...rather strange symptoms. He felt out of sorts. Hell, downright unbalanced was more like it. Trip discovered that he could sense the Vulcan's presence even before she came into the room. He'd been working at his station on the Bridge one afternoon, and he'd known she was coming, minutes before she stepped from the turbolift. He could even...feel out her moods at all times of the day or night. He'd be standing there, just working or whatever, when suddenly a strange emotion that was not his own would wash over him. And lately, her most common emotional state was...aroused. And that was damned inconvenient, not to mention downright frustrating. Trip wasn't small by any measure and his uniform jumpsuit did little to hide his almost constant erection. Just this morning, he'd been going over an upgrade of the phase canons with Malcolm, and he'd gotten a woody right then and there. Talk about an uncomfortable situation—having to desperately hold a molecular welding torch at just the right angle to avoid a really awkward conversation.
And though she wouldn't speak with him, Trip was beginning to suspect that his...connection with T'Pol went both ways. He'd been having strange waking dreams as he lay in bed at night—erotic dreams. Dreams that made it virtually impossible to find sleep. He wasn't sure if they were his own, or hers, but they were sharing them nonetheless. The first time it happened, he'd been masturbating in his quarters, trying to relieve a little of the god-awful tension that was constantly plaguing him. Everything was proceeding just fine, thank you...when suddenly her distant presence in his mind got much stronger. He had sudden visions of T'Pol lying on her meditation pad, surrounded by glowing candles, also touching herself...and he felt the sensations she was giving herself, just as he suspected she experienced his own pleasure. At first, it was unsettling, but then it became an unbelievable turn on. He'd come five times in the space of thirty minutes, ejaculating so hard and so often that he had nothing left, and still the orgasms came. His cock was so sore the next day that he could hardly pull his boxer briefs on over it.
T'Pol too, he knew, was experiencing more pleasure than was normal for her...much more. In fact, the moment he became aroused, her mind seemed instantly aware of it, reaching out to touch his consciousness eagerly. She was like a teenager discovering her sexual self for the first time, using his mind and body to do it. Except that they weren't actually...together. And yet they were. Trip finally banged his forehead against the wall of the Jeffries tube in frustration. Unbelievable. We can mind-fuck or whatever it is, but we can't even talk to each other face to face. Absolutely fucking beautiful.
Giving up on the idea of getting any more work done today, Trip put the scanner away and began climbing down out of the tube. Maybe a little exercise'll help, he thought hopefully. Then he scowled. Yeah, right. And maybe monkeys'll fly outta my ass...
Captain Archer adjusted his grip on the wooden bat and raised it over his shoulder, waiting in anticipation of the pitch. Moments later, the holographic pitcher in front of him let the ball fly. Hidden behind the projection, the pitching machine simultaneously fired off a blazing fast ball. With a grunt of effort, Archer swung and connected, sending the baseball flying across the room. It struck the padded back wall with a satisfying thud and dropped into the collection hopper.
The Captain smiled. "You know, Trip...of all the good ideas you had when we were outfitting this ship in spacedock, I think converting this service bay into a batting cage was the best." He watched in amusement as the pitcher threw his glove down on the holographic mound in disgust. Archer stepped away from the plate to allow Trip his turn at bat.
"Well, it was basically just unused space anyway. If we're gonna spend years flyin' round out here in the middle of nowhere, we gotta at least have a few of the comforts of home." Trip stepped into the batter's box and took his first pitch—a curve ball. He fouled it away, the irritation evident on his face.
"So are we gonna talk about what's been eating you lately?"
Trip looked over at Archer cautiously. "You askin' as my Captain or my friend?"
Archer smiled patiently. "Both. But first and foremost as your friend."
Trip swung at another pitch and grounded it out. He sighed heavily. "It's T'Pol. I swear, that damn Vulcan's gonna drive me crazy."
Archer laughed, despite the alarm bells that went off in the back of his mind at the mention of his Science Officer. "She'd probably say the same thing about you. Not that she'd ever admit to it." He continued, choosing his words carefully. "But what about the time you spent together on Pellsinor? I thought the two of you were starting to get closer."
Trip snorted. You have no idea, he thought silently. "Wouldn't exactly say we're close." Archer hid the relief he felt at this—relief that was quickly replaced by something else entirely at his friend's next words. "Can't exactly say we aren't either." There was an unmistakable hint of amusement in his Chief Engineer's voice that Archer didn't care for.
Trip swung at the next pitch...and missed the ball entirely. Frustrated, he snapped, striking the side of the cage with his bat. Archer looked on in surprise at his friend's reaction. Taking a deep breath, Trip eventually calmed. "There's just...something going on with her that she won't talk about."
The Captain knew he had to proceed carefully. "That shouldn't surprise you. Vulcans are notorious for guarding their privacy."
"Yeah, but I can usually get her to open up to me if I push hard enough. This is something else. Something...personal."
"You sure you're not just getting the wrong signals from her?"
Trip glanced at him pointedly. "Trust me—I'm gettin' the right signals from her. I'd just like to know what the hell they mean."
Archer definitely didn't like what he was hearing. "This isn't something I should be concerned about as Captain, is it?"
Trip thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Naw...I don't think she'd ever hide something that could affect the ship. She has too much respect for you. It's just...I can't seem to get it out of my mind." That was true enough, of course. But the whole truth was something Trip couldn't begin to talk about—not even with his best friend.
After missing yet another pitch, Trip finally moved aside to let Archer take another turn at bat. The Captain obligingly stepped up to the plate. He knew there was more to Trip's story, but decided to let it pass for now. Archer didn't want to risk Trip discovering that he had his own, and entirely unprofessional, interest in T'Pol.
"Just give her time, Trip. If she wants to talk about it, she'll let you know." With another grunt of effort, he sent the ball flying again—a home run. Trip scowled and shook his head. Archer's laughter echoed around the room.
At that very moment, up on the Bridge, T'Pol was struggling to focus on her duties. The Vulcan was irrationally grateful that her watch was nearly complete. She was perched on the edge of the Captain's chair, gripping the armrests so hard that her knuckles were white.
She could sense him, even now. Despite her best efforts to block their fledgling telepathic connection, to force thoughts of Commander Tucker from her mind...even going so far as to avoid his physical presence...she had failed miserably. Her body's cravings were overwhelming her. She was rapidly losing all ability to control them. After their recent trip together, T'Pol had thought she'd reached a decision about the Commander...about her situation. But as the torrent of hormones began to overwhelm her, she'd wavered in her convictions. How could she presume to make such a choice for him—a choice that would change his life permanently? It was unthinkable. And still, the simple fact was, her body desired him. Her mind did as well. It was not logical. But then, logic and reason had abandoned her. For the first time in her life, T'Pol felt helpless.
She knew through their connection that the Commander and the Captain were engaged in another one of their barbaric sporting activities. Striking a leather sphere with a wooden stick...a pointless activity. And yet T'Pol also knew that it served a dual purpose. She could sense the Commander's emotions...his frustration. Even now, he was pouring all of his emotional energy into the game. She could feel his aggression...his volatility. His anger. And it was arousing her immeasurably.
T'Pol felt her pulse quicken. An embarrassing warmth began to engulf her sex. She gripped the armrests even tighter, closing her eyes in a last bid for composure. She failed to hear Ensign Sato's question.
"Sub-Commander, we've just received our daily mail packet from Starfleet. There are some messages for you from the High Command. Shall I forward them to your station?"
When T'Pol failed to respond, Hoshi became concerned. "Sub-Commander?"
T'Pol seemed to start at this, and Hoshi could see a moment of disorientation as the Vulcan struggled to orient herself.
"Excuse me, Ensign. I was just...meditating for a moment. Please send my messages to my quarters. I will review them there." With that, T'Pol stood and moved toward the turbolift. "You have the Bridge."
If Hoshi was surprised by this, she had little time to reply. The Sub-Commander was already gone. Hoshi glanced quickly at Travis and Crewman Rostov, who was running a diagnostic on the Tactical console, to see if they had noticed the exchange. But both men were absorbed in their own work.
Men, Hoshi mused in amusement. They really are all clueless.
As she switched her own station to automatic operation, Ensign Sato mused silently on her commanding officer's unusual lapse in concentration. Then she filed the incident away for later review, and took the Sub-Commander's place in the center seat. Hoshi sat back in the chair slowly, savoring the way its padding seemed to caress her back and hips. It was an ergonomic marvel.
I could definitely get used to this...
Later that night, after being woken from a fitful sleep by another, almost overwhelmingly realistic sex dream involving T'Pol, Trip shoved his covers away in frustration, pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of shorts and padded, barefoot, toward Sickbay. Thankfully, the corridors were empty...just as he'd known they would be. As he approached his destination, he could see that the lights were on inside, so he entered, hoping to find Phlox on duty. A quick glance around the room revealed it to be empty, but the Doctor's computer was busy analyzing tissue samples of some kind, so Trip knew he'd be back in a few minutes.
As he waited in silence, Trip found himself drawn inexorably toward the examination table. He ran his hand over its padding, almost as though, in so doing, he could somehow touch her instead.
"Ah...Commander Tucker. I'm must confess, I am not surprised to see you."
Trip quickly pulled his hand back and turned toward the center of the room, hoping to hide his embarrassment. "Working late tonight, Doc?"
"Indeed. I am analyzing the last of the flora samples we collected on that planet where you encountered the Eskan hunting party. I find I am most productive at this time of day—there are fewer distractions." He glanced the Chief Engineer up and down. "You are having trouble sleeping, I suspect."
"Yeah. I've been...having these...well, weird symptoms—"
"Unusual dreams, extreme fatigue, a strange tickling sensation in the back of your head, muscle aches in your neck and back from tension, unusual mood swings, sudden visions, thoughts and sensations that are not your own, persistent arousal..."
"Yeah! How the hell do you know all that?"
Phlox sighed, finding himself once again in a difficult position. "I am sorry, Commander. I appreciate your situation, but there is nothing I can prescribe to ease your discomfort that would not otherwise impair your ability to function normally."
"There's something going on with T'Pol isn't there? Something that I got caught up in when she...when whatever that was happened the other day. If there's something wrong with her, please...ya gotta tell me!"
Phlox smiled regretfully. "Your concern for the Sub-Commander is most admirable. But as you well know, her medical condition is subject to strict doctor/patient confidentiality. You could try speaking with her directly—"
"She won't talk to me. Believe me, I've tried." Trip shook his head in exasperation, finally giving up. "So there's nothing you can do for me, and you can't tell me what's wrong. Thanks anyway..." He turned to leave, feeling very much as if he was at the end of his rope.
Then, after a moment's hesitation, the Doctor called after him. "Commander Tucker...I may not be able to help you directly. However...if I may make a recommendation? The ship's library contains a wealth of information on Vulcan physiology. You may wish to examine it...rather closely. Particularly the entries on female reproductive development. Good night." With that, Phlox turned back to his analysis, feeling uncomfortably like he'd just crossed a line.
Trip stood silently for a moment, digesting this new information. Then he spoke gratefully. "Thank you." And the door hissed shut behind him.
A short time later, as she sat upon the floor of her quarters in a restless attempt at meditation, T'Pol's eyes suddenly snapped open in the darkness. He knows. He knows what is happening to me. She felt the deep, blushing burn of humiliation spread across her cheeks, which were already flushed with arousal. Despite her emotional reaction, she understood that it was right he know. In fact, she should have been the one to tell him. He'd certainly made an effort to understand. He'd been so patient with her...even kind to her. And she had been cruel in return. If only she'd been strong enough to explain. But she wasn't. She wouldn't ever be strong enough.
T'Pol knew she'd been using him for her pleasure. It was shameful. It was wrong. But she couldn't help herself. She felt out of control. Feelings, passions, sensations that she'd only read about had supplanted her ability to reason, had stripped away her judgment...had lain her bare for all to see. And now he knows.
Her own people believed that she had become tainted by her time aboard the Enterprise. Tainted by the time she'd spent among the Humans. Now they were right. She was marked by him. She bore his brand upon her very soul. In the ancient tradition of her people, she belonged to him. Just as he belonged to her. However it had happened, for right or wrong, it was done. It was a simple matter of fact, like the burning of the Vulcan suns. And now her body was changing, blossoming...betraying her as surely as her mind had already betrayed her in Sickbay, just three days past. To him.
Soon he would confront her. It was inevitable. It was logical. And yet she was desperately afraid. How would she react to his anger? To his full and righteous fury at her callous disregard of him...of his feelings...of his needs? How would she respond in that moment?
T'Pol knew exactly how she would respond. Even now, her nipples tightened, straining painfully against the soft silk of her robe. She felt the newly familiar, unforgivably shameful wetness growing in her center. Yes, she knew exactly how she would respond. She would act as countless millennia of Vulcan evolution meant for her to. And the very thought terrified her.
The next couple of days were agony for both Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol, as they attempted to fulfill their responsibilities aboard the Enterprise despite their rather...difficult situation. Both knew that a reckoning was about to happen between them. But Trip was just as scared of what it might mean for them as T'Pol. Scared shitless, in fact, particularly after what he'd read in the ship's medical database. He'd barely had time to process the information, much less figure out what to do with it, when circumstances forced his hand.
The Enterprise had just discovered a previously-unknown, class-M planet during a routine mapping mission, and they'd been surprised to find that it exhibited traces of an intelligent, pre-industrial society. One thing let to another, and Trip and T'Pol suddenly found themselves sitting across from one another in a cramped shuttlepod, along with the Captain and Ensign Sato, on their way to explore the planet's surface. Normally, it was the kind of mission that would have had Trip excited—a chance to breathe a little fresh air and stretch his legs on a new alien world. But his life was anything but normal and, at the moment, he could barely keep from crawling out of his skin.
The Captain had suggested that Hoshi take the controls, allowing her to gain some much-needed flight experience. So she sat eagerly in pilot's seat, while the others worked in the back, preparing their survey gear. It only took a few minutes to check out the various sample collection containers, digital cameras and other bio-measurement equipment they'd need on the mission. When they finished, Archer tried to strike up a little cheerful conversation to pass the time. Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that neither his Science Officer or Chief Engineer were eager to join in. Subsequently, most of the flight passed in uncomfortable silence.
As they were getting ready to land, T'Pol prepared a hypospray from the pod's medkit and gave each of them an injection of tri-ox. The compound would assist their bodies in adjusting to the change in atmospheric pressure on the surface, and prevent dangerous nitrogen bubbles from forming in their bloodstream. But when she hesitated conspicuously before administering Trip's dose, Archer took note. What the hell is going on with these two? He decided to try and break the tension.
"God's gift to astronauts," he spoke aloud. T'Pol raised an eyebrow at him and Hoshi looked back confused.
The Captain continued, nodding toward the hypospray. "That's what my first instructor at the Academy called tri-ox. He was one of those old-timers—his father had actually been a crewman on the last of the manned NASA missions to Mars."
Trip chimed in, eager for the diversion. "Yeah, I remember him. He had this saying...'A tri-ox a day keeps the fizzies away!'"
T'Pol's expression turned dubious, but she was unable to resist the bait. "Fizzies?"
Archer smiled at her. "Don't tell me you've never heard of 'spaceman's fizz'? 'Blast-off bubbles'? 'The bends'?"
"You are referring to decompression sickness."
"Exactly."
"You might simply have said so."
Their laughter echoed around the tiny cabin until well after they'd landed.
The shuttlepod's hatch opened with a great hiss of equalizing pressure, and the away team stepped onto the surface. Archer and Hoshi marveled at the view, while T'Pol began scanning their surroundings. Trip, meanwhile, couldn't stop fiddling with his ears. The Commander worked his jaw furiously, trying to get his ears to pop. Hoshi noticed his discomfort and tapped his arm.
"What?" he asked a little too loudly. Hoshi laughed and handed him a piece of chewing gum, which he accepted gratefully.
It was mid-afternoon at their chosen landing site, a short distance away from a small native settlement. They stood on the edge of a clearing in a heavily forested valley, with ancient mountain peaks all around. The sun was low on the horizon, but it was strangely bright. The most striking sight, however, was the massive, Jupiter-like gas giant that dominated the sky—the parent planet to the large moon upon which they were currently standing.
Archer drank it all in eagerly. "Amazing. I don't think I'll ever get tired of this." Then he turned to T'Pol, who anticipated his question and pointed into the distance.
"The village is three kilometers in that direction."
Archer nodded and the team began gathering their gear, Trip and T'Pol practically falling over themselves to avoid each other. As he locked up the shuttlepod behind them, the Captain smiled to himself and made a decision. Okay, kids...if you need to air out your differences, here's your chance. "Trip, T'Pol...why don't you two head up that ridge and get a better view of the valley. Hoshi and I will go in for a closer look at the village. We'll check in with you every fifteen minutes."
His senior officers looked at him with suddenly panicked faces. Then they both nodded, each careful not to glance at the other directly. You can handle this, Trip told himself nervously. You're a grown man, ain't 'cha? You can do this. He was less than sure of that, however, after Hoshi whispered mirthfully into his ear as the teams went their separate ways.
"Play nice, Commander..."
Twenty minutes later, Archer and Hoshi found themselves hiding, uncomfortably, behind a thick hedge. They'd been making their way cautiously toward the village, when they suddenly heard noises coming from the path ahead of them. Moving quickly, so as to avoid being seen, they ducked into the underbrush and held their breath in anticipation.
Moments later, a pair of blue-skinned beings trundled past, chatting animatedly with one another. They were tall and covered in thick fur, but wore simple woven garments. The pair were pulling a rickshaw-like cart, piled high with strange produce items. Archer suspected that they were local farmers. He pulled out a small camera and snapped a couple of quick shots. With a quick glance, he saw that Hoshi had activated her translator, and was recording as much of the beings' conversation as possible. Her eyes were wide with excitement.
It took less than a minute for the creatures to pass, but Archer and Hoshi decided to remain hidden for a while longer, just in case they returned. It wasn't long before the Captain's mind began to wander. And his curiosity got the better of him.
"Hoshi...have you noticed anything strange about Trip and the Sub-Commander lately?" he asked, keeping his voice as quiet as possible.
The Com Officer glanced up from her translator in surprise. "What do you mean, sir?"
Archer hesitated for a moment. "I don't know. They seem...on edge around one another. Have they been arguing lately? I mean, more than normal?"
Hoshi smiled. "Captain, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were asking me for gossip."
The corner of Archer's mouth turned up in amusement. "Not gossip...just your personal observations. Are they getting along or not?"
"Well...I don't know. They eat a lot of lunches together. Come to think of it, they almost never miss a lunch together." This seemed to take the Captain by surprise, though he remained silent. Hoshi continued. "But since the Sub-Commander fainted in the Mess Hall the other day, I don't think I've even seen the two of them in the same room together. Not until this afternoon anyway. Strange."
From her expression, it was clear that Hoshi's curiosity had been engaged. She glanced at the Captain. "Why do you ask, sir?"
Archer hesitated again. Hoshi took note of it as he replied. "If my First Officer and Chief Engineer can't work together, that's a big problem. Not just for me, but for the whole crew."
That was true enough, Hoshi knew. But she suspected it wasn't the whole truth. Still, Archer's next question took her by surprise.
"You don't think that they...I mean, the two of them...?"
Hoshi's reply was immediate. "No! No way. I mean, I don't think so. They're like oil and water. Aren't they?"
"Yeah. That's what I thought too." Archer sounded a little reassured. He quickly changed the subject, nodding toward the village. "Shall we go in for a closer look?"
"Definitely."
Cautiously, the two crept back from their hiding place and began moving slowly through the underbrush in the direction of the settlement. But Hoshi's mind was now working on overdrive, replaying recent events. She recalled the Sub-Commander's lapse of composure on the Bridge the other day...Commander Tucker's general level of irritation of late. It was almost like they hadn't been getting enough sleep...
No way. They couldn't be. Could they?
It had taken Trip and T'Pol nearly an hour to climb up the rocks and stake out a good lookout position, stopping here and there to collect plant and insect samples along the way. Somehow, they'd managed to make the climb without uttering a single word, communicating with simple gestures as needed. It wasn't easy. At one point, T'Pol had watched in horror as Trip, without thinking, spit his gum out onto the ground. But while she'd rolled her eyes in irritation, she refrained from launching into her usual diatribe on polluting the native biosphere. Instead, she merely picked up the offending matter with a pair of tongs and dropped it into a sample bag, sealing it away with the rest of their bugs and twigs. Trip never even noticed.
When they finally reached the top of the ridge, they got down on the ground, laying side-by-side on their stomachs to stay hidden as they took bio readings and photographs of the village and the other activity in the valley. The villagers were certainly fascinating—a blue-skinned, bipedal race of a roughly Bronze-age level of technological development. So Trip and T'Pol took scans and photographs...and more scans and photographs...and still more scans and photographs. It was almost business as usual between them. But after another hour of quiet busywork, they finally ran out of things to photograph and scan. So they simply sat in silence, looking out across the landscape, up at the gas giant, around at the occasional scurry of animal life...anywhere but at each other. And the silence, at last, became unbearable.
Surprisingly, it was T'Pol who spoke first. "Commander Tucker," she started uneasily, keeping her eyes directed carefully away. "It seems that rhubarb is an Asian-derived plant of the buckwheat family with broad leaves and succulent petioles. It is not a fruit, but it does indeed make a...a tasty pie. In case you were wondering."
Trip looked over at her, rendered speechless by the soft sound of her voice. When he didn't reply, she glanced at him...and their eyes connected. The air between them grew instantly charged, and both of them felt their bodies responding uncontrollably. Trip reached out to T'Pol, almost hesitatingly, and brushed a piece of leaf out of her hair. Then he couldn't stop himself from caressing her cheek, ever so lightly, with the back of his hand. T'Pol turned into his touch instinctively...and shivered. Trip spoke, his voice thick with emotion.
"T'Pol, I know what's going on with you...with your condition. At least some of it anyway."
She froze, dropping her eyes in shame. Her next words were barely a whisper. "I...am sorry, Commander. It was not my wish to involve you against your will...to cause you pain."
His eyes grew wide. "It wasn't...you didn't..." Struggling for the right words, he took a shaky breath. "We have to talk, T'Pol. I want to understand this. I need to understand this."
But just as it seemed T'Pol would open up to him, her communicator chirped. Then it chirped again...and again. Trip grabbed her hand when she reached for it. "Jon can wait." She looked up with eyes that shimmered liquidly, pleading with him.
"Now is not the time." The communicator chirped again. Finally, he let her answer it, not bothering to hide his disappointment.
"T'Pol here." Her voice cracked a little.
Archer's came through the speaker thinly. "How's it coming on your end, Sub-Commander?"
She struggled to compose herself. "Fine, Captain. We have collected sufficient samples of the native flora and fauna. We were...just taking pictures."
"We've gotten some great shots ourselves. Why don't you two wrap things up and meet us back at the ship as soon as you can."
"Affirmative." She closed the connection. Then, without looking at him, she immediately busied herself with packing up their equipment. Trip watched her sadly for a moment, then followed suit.
If the trip home was uneventful, it was significantly more uncomfortable than the flight down. T'Pol simply stared out the tiny window in the hatch near her seat, while Trip pretended to sleep. So much for clearing the air, Archer thought tiredly. Even Hoshi could sense the tension between the Science Officer and Chief Engineer, though she tried not to let it detract from the joy of flying. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the Enterprise drifted into view. Before long, it loomed against the stars before them, growing larger each moment.
"Enterprise to Shuttlepod Two. Hey you guys...ready to come home?"
Through the front canopy they could see Ensign Mayweather standing at the controls in the Launch Bay Observation Booth, waving at them through the viewports. Hoshi waved back, eager for a reason to be cheerful.
Archer signaled him with a smile. "Open the pod bay doors, HAL."
They heard Travis laughing over the com. Then a pair of large doors in the belly of the starship began to cycle open slowly, and the docking clamp descended to lock onto them. Hoshi switched the flight controls to remote operation and relaxed back into her seat.
"She's all yours, Travis. Tell the Doctor we brought back lots of souvenirs for him."
A few minutes later, after the Launch Bay had finished re-pressurizing around them, Archer couldn't climb out of the shuttlepod fast enough. While Hoshi worked to power down the tiny ship, the Captain sent Trip and T'Pol on ahead to Sickbay with the samples they'd collected. He'd used Phlox's eagerness to see the material as an excuse, but the truth was, he was just tired of dealing with the two of them. Archer didn't realize his mistake, of course, until it was already too late. He was in the middle of stowing their equipment when it suddenly occurred to him. Phlox was probably shooing them into the Decontamination chamber at that very moment. Alone...together. Those two aren't gonna last five minutes, the Captain thought with a laugh. They'll either kiss each other or kill each other. Then Archer paused in his work, as a sudden feeling of dread came over him.
Trip and T'Pol sat back to back in the small Decontamination chamber...struggling to pretend that they weren't within arm's reach of one another...bathed in warm UV radiation...clad only in their underwear.
Hhhhhhhhhuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn...Trip focused frantically on the buzzing lights.
Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum...T'Pol focused desperately on the sound of her heart beating out of control. Or was it his heart?
The atmosphere in the room was electric. Vibrant, almost impossibly erotic energy crackled between them. It coursed over his skin, made his hair stand on end. It bolted up her spine, made the tips of her ears tingle. Trip felt like he was dying. Or maybe...just maybe...he was really, truly living for the very first time in his life. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
"You've been...in my head. Playing back my memories." She said nothing.
"I've been having these dreams at night. Things I haven't remembered in years. My first kiss, my first date with a girl...the first time I..." He turned slowly. "It's you in my mind, isn't it?"
T'Pol was staring up at him. She was radiant...glowing. Their eyes met.
SNAP!
They'd hadn't lasted five minutes.
Captain Archer strode purposefully into Sickbay, with his leather field jacket slung over one shoulder, and a satchel over the other. Phlox wasn't visible, but there were sample containers everywhere, so Archer knew he must be close by. He tossed his jacket on the nearest exam table and started emptying the last few sample bags from his satchel onto the Doctor's desk. Then he heard a strange thudding sound, and he looked up.
"Doctor?"
There was no one there, so Archer went back to sorting the samples. Suddenly there was another thud, louder this time. Archer turned. Another thud...and the reinforced door to the Decontamination chamber shook visibly. Something was inside. Something was wrong inside. Oh, shit...Trip and T'Pol!
Archer quickly scrambled to the door controls, but the chamber was in mid-cycle and wouldn't open. Instead, Archer activated the small viewer near the door, calling up the camera inside the Decontamination chamber. Thud! The image appeared...and Archer saw Trip and T'Pol grappling frantically, engaged in a furious struggle with each other. T'Pol threw Trip violently against the wall. Thud! Then he spun her down, slamming her to the floor of the chamber. Thud!
Doctor Phlox chose that moment to stroll in from his office. "There you are, Captain! I must say, these are excellent specimens! I'll have to put Crewman Cutler to work right away getting them all—"
Archer spun on him. "Doctor, open this door! Now!"
Phlox looked at him puzzled. Archer dragged him to the viewer.
"Trip and T'Pol are in there beating the hell out of each other! We've got to get this door open!"
Phlox paled visibly as he glanced at the screen. "No, Captain..."
"They're gonna kill each other!"
"No, Captain. They're...they're not fighting."
"What? What the hell are you talking about?! Of course, they're—"
Then he looked at the screen again...more closely this time. Archer was no prude, and he'd certainly had more than his share of sexual experiences. But he knew of no words that could even begin to describe what Trip and T'Pol were doing now. His face suddenly turned deep red.
"In Vulcan mating rites, the first time is always...the worst," he heard Phlox saying nervously. "There will likely be numerous superficial injuries. But we cannot stop them, Captain. If we did, it would almost certainly be fatal. Particularly to T'Pol, but possibly also to Commander Tucker. They must be allowed to...finish."
Archer gulped in shock, his mouth gone dry. "The first time?"
Phlox sighed uncomfortably. "I'm afraid there is a great deal to explain, Captain."
Just at that moment, Hoshi walked into Sickbay. And before either Archer or Phlox could react...
"Oh, my God!"
T'Pol came to consciousness slowly. She was vaguely aware of a massive headache...and a powerful sensation of thirst. The world spun wildly around her when she opened her eyes for a moment, so she quickly closed them again. Her brain worked sluggishly to identify her surroundings.
Blue. It was blue. And warm.
She swallowed with great difficulty. How long had it been since she'd had a drink of water? She moved her hand up to rub her parched lips. The pain she felt in her wrist surprised her. What was wrong with her? In fact, there was pain registering from all over her body. But there was something else too. Something was...different.
A new kind of warmth flooded through her awareness. A feeling of tenderness. Other senses began to return. T'Pol's tiny nostrils flared gently as they sniffed the air. There was a reassuring scent around her...underneath her. It permeated everything. She knew this scent. It was comforting...perfect. It was him. Just as it should be.
For the first time in days, T'Pol felt sated. Content. The demons of her body's need had finally received satisfaction, allowing her a measure of respite. She knew, in the back of her mind, that the relief was only temporary. But it was enough for now. And when the demons returned, he would be there to fight them off for her. To defeat them willingly, eagerly, in her name. Just as it should be.
Reassured that all was right with the world, the Vulcan laid her head back down upon her lover's chest. She felt herself being enveloped in a pair of strong, comforting arms, and knew her thirst could wait. Within moments, blissful sleep had claimed her once more.
Standing quietly at the monitor in Sickbay, Phlox observed this subtle interaction with a smile. In all his many years of study, the workings of Nature had never ceased to amaze him. Biology was a powerful thing indeed. And Vulcan biology, in particular, was a force to be reckoned with. But love, Phlox knew, was stronger still.
Feeling inordinately pleased with himself, the Doctor turned off the monitor and set the Decontamination chamber to run through yet another long cycle. Best to let them sleep, he thought.
But as he continued sorting through the samples from the surface, uncomfortable realities began to manifest themselves. Phlox thought back to the Captain's reaction from earlier, and wondered how long Archer had harbored romantic feelings for his First Officer. No doubt there would be a high price for the Commander and Sub-Commander to pay for their nascent bond. How would the Captain deal with the relationship? How would Starfleet react to such an indiscretion? And then there was the Vulcan High Command. That reaction, the Doctor suspected, would be severe.
But all that lay in the future. For now...for this moment...Phlox could give his friends peace. And so he did.
WHAAP!!
Archer caught the polo ball as it came ricochetting off his cabin wall. He sent it flying back against the bulkhead angrily.
WHAAP!!
How did I miss it? How long have things been going on between them?! Since that damned Astrophysics Conference? Surfing my ass!
WHAAP!!
How could they?! His First Officer...with his friend! His best friend!
WHAAP!!
If T'Pol was in need of...well, she should have come to him. Why hadn't she asked him for help? After all, he was the Captain!
WHAAP!!
Why Trip? They hated each other...didn't they? And why hadn't Trip said anything? Why had he—
WHAAP...CRASH!!
So absorbed was Archer in his self-pity, that he'd completely missed the ball when it bounced back to him. It went careening across his desk, sending personal items flying. Sitting in the path of the fallout, Porthos yelped and ran behind the over-sized bunk to hide.
And finally...Archer's anger dissipated. He sat on his mattress heavily and reached behind the bunk, lifting the beleaguered beagle into his lap. "Sorry, Porthos. Dad's just a little...well, maybe a lot, jealous," he said, scratching the dog behind the ears softly. "Not very Captain-like, is it?"
Porthos whimpered meekly and licked his chin. Not very Captain-like indeed.
Settling Porthos carefully on the bunk beside him, Archer stood and walked over to a small storage compartment. From this, he removed a bottle of liquor and a shot glass. A privilege of rank to be sure, but it certainly wasn't what he wanted. What he needed.
How long had it been since he'd enjoyed the company of woman? Too damn long, he thought frustrated as he poured himself a drink. Since Rebecca. But then, a Captain's only mistress should be the starship under his command...right? He thought he remembered hearing that somewhere. And just maybe it was true. But it was cold comfort on a lonely night.
Archer knocked the shot back fast, then ran his finger around the rim of the glass. It's not like Trip didn't try to talk about it, he mused silently. His Chief Engineer had been all tied up in knots in the batting cage the other day. And Archer certainly wanted his friend to be happy. But why does it have to be with T'Pol?
The Captain had ever really believed that a sexual relationship was possible with the Vulcan...with any Vulcan woman for that matter...which was part of the reason this had come as such a shock. But these last few months...well, he thought that he and T'Pol had finally come to understand one another. And when she'd actually defended their mission to Soval and the High Command after their latest brush with the Suliban...he was so happy that he'd damn near kissed her that night in her cabin. He'd become very aware of the Sub-Commander, physically, upon seeing her sitting on her bunk in silk pajamas. That was the moment when he'd first begun to consider the possibility of having something more than friendship with the Science Officer.
But the reality was, he and T'Pol weren't even friends yet. Not really, anyway. Archer's anger toward the Vulcans had run too deep, after what his father had lost because of their meddling. T'Pol too, he knew, had harbored her own prejudices against her Human crewmates. Sure...in the year they'd served together, they'd made a lot of progress together. But trust was still something that he and his second-in-command struggled with. He and T'Pol still had a long way to go.
Trip, on the other hand, was a different story. When was it exactly that his Chief Engineer had earned T'Pol's trust? Months ago, certainly. Maybe even during the Enterprise's very first assignment. That day that he, the Captain, had foolishly gotten his ass shot up on his first away mission. Somehow, Trip had managed to convince T'Pol to help them. Archer knew she'd even risked her own standing with the High Command to do so. All because of Trip.
The two certainly hadn't liked each other much for some time. But Trip always spoke his mind with the Sub-Commander, and Archer suspected she appreciated that about him. It made sense. It was one of the things that Archer appreciated about his friend.
My friend, Archer thought wearily. T'Pol's friend too. And now...like it or not, they're something more.
But just what that something was, and how it might affect the ship and their mission, was the Captain's business. And it had yet to be determined, his own personal feelings aside. So, giving his beagle a reassuring pat, Archer grabbed the bottle and glass...and another shot glass as well...and went off in search of his friend.
Trip Tucker stood silently in the darkness of the Captain's Mess, watching the roiling, turbulent atmosphere of the gas giant through the viewport. His mind struggled to come to grips with the events of the last few days, and the last few hours in particular. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, his life had changed in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine. Trip's body was sore and he was deeply exhausted, both physically and mentally...yet he found himself oddly at peace. And all of it was the unlikely result of a confounding and wondrous, five-foot nothing Vulcan female, who'd not only gotten under his skin for the last year, but who had now, against all odds, staked out a permanent place in his mind and heart. Trip couldn't help laughing at the absurdity of it all. Of course, he immediately regretted it, his bruised ribs protesting sharply at the sudden movement.
"You look like you just got mugged by a squad of pissed off Klingons."
He turned to see his Captain ambling into the room behind him, carrying a bottle of something that looked suspiciously like bourbon and a pair of shot glasses. Trip smiled wearily.
"Is there any other kind?"
Archer smiled in return. "I doubt it. You okay?"
Trip considered the question. "Yeah, I think so. Maybe. Hell, I don't know."
He attempted to reposition his arm in the sling hanging at his side and winced. As Phlox predicted, both he and T'Pol had suffered a number of injuries during their encounter in the Decontamination chamber. Trip was nursing a black eye and a dislocated shoulder in addition to his bruised ribs. T'Pol, on the other hand, had sustained a badly sprained wrist and a mild concussion. And they both bore numerous bruises, scratches and cuts over the rest of their bodies, including—embarrassingly—bite marks.
Archer set the glasses down on a nearby table and filled them. Then he handed one to his friend and took the other for himself. The two men raised the drinks briefly and then emptied them, savoring the burning liquid. Archer quickly poured them another round.
"Gotta hand it to you Trip...when you fall for a woman, you fall hard." They both laughed. Then Trip fell silent, glancing out at the gas giant again, feeling suddenly embarrassed.
"I owe you an apology, Jon. I know we've put you in a helluva difficult position. I shoulda told you something was goin' on, but...I honestly didn't know what it was myself."
Archer looked down at his drink, feeling suddenly guilty for his own selfish thoughts. "The Doctor and I have spoken with Hoshi. Phlox was able to explain a little of the...extenuating circumstances. She's agreed to go along with my report to Starfleet."
At the mention of a report, Trip grimaced. "Starfleet'll probably wanna keelhaul my ass."
"Relax. Officially, the two of you were attacked by a large animal on the surface, resulting in a number of serious, but non-fatal, injuries. I'm relieving you both from your regular duties for a week to let you recover."
Trip turned back as if he were about to speak, but Archer cut him off firmly. "It's not up for discussion."
The Chief Engineer looked away once more. The Captain downed his drink, then rubbed his aching temples wearily.
"Look...there are no regulations that specifically prohibit crewmembers from forming intimate relationships, other than the whole officer/subordinate thing. But Commander and Sub-Commander are basically equivalent ranks so that's not really an issue. The Decontamination chamber will obviously need to be...repaired." He laughed quietly. "But that's your job anyway, when you're fit for duty again. So other than fudging my report a little—which frankly is the least of my concerns—I'd say that's the end of it. Officially at least." Archer hesitated a long moment. "But as your friend, I have to ask...how's T'Pol?"
Trip looked down at the deck, worry creeping into his expression. "I left her asleep in her quarters. She's pretty out of it. The Doc says the next forty-eight hours will be the worst. I never imagined I'd see her so fragile...so emotional. The hormones are really messing with her mind."
"For someone used to being in control of her emotions, it must be difficult to accept." Archer looked at him, somewhat uncomfortably. "You love her, don't you." It wasn't a question.
Trip finished off his bourbon and nodded. "For a few months, I think. But now...more than I ever imagined possible."
The Captain sighed heavily, his friend's words coming as both a relief...and a private condemnation. "I don't pretend to understand what's going on between you two. I'm not sure how much it's my business to know. Phlox has told me a little. I know that neither of you could have prevented what happened this afternoon. And that if you had, T'Pol might have died."
Trip nodded, shuddering at the thought. "It's called pon frell. Vulcan men apparently go through something similar—pon farr—every seven years as adults. But women only go through it once...when they start to become sexually mature. It's like a matin' fever, I guess. Puberty on steroids. Vulcans are bonded as children to their future mates. And then, when the female enters pon frell, they marry."
Archer looked at him confused. "But T'Pol isn't—"
"Yes, she was. Remember those encrypted messages of hers I told you about? They were letters from her fiance's parents, basically saying that if she didn't come home and get married pronto, the wedding was off for good."
Archer glanced at him in surprise. Trip continued. "Believe it or not, T'Pol actually came to me for advise about it. I told her it's her life. That she should do what she wanted to, not what she felt obligated or pressured to by people she hadn't even seen in fifty years."
The Captain suddenly understood. "She decided to stay on the Enterprise."
Trip nodded. "I think that's when our relationship started to change. Not all at once. But slowly, from then on, things were different between us."
Archer set his glass down, slowly beginning to realize that he'd never even had a chance. "The Doctor says T'Pol's been undergoing hormone therapy for a few months now to try to delay the onset of this...pon frell. But apparently it wasn't working."
"Yeah, that was probably my fault too, at least partly. I kept pushing her buttons—trying to get an emotional response out of her all the time. And then..." he hesitated, unsure of how much he should reveal to the Captain. "Something happened to her on the Suliban Helix while you were gone. When they had us all locked in our quarters, there was a brief time there when I couldn't reach her over the com. I'm pretty sure Silik put her through hell trying to get information about you and Daniels."
"She didn't mention anything to me in her report..." Archer began.
Trip frowned. "She wouldn't talk with me about it either. But I saw her in her quarters later that night and...well, she was pretty out of it."
Archer thought briefly about telling his friend of his own visit to T'Pol's quarters that night, and what he'd seen of her through Daniel's temporal discriminator. He quickly decided against doing so, though he felt more guilt for it. But if T'Pol hadn't spoken to Trip of what happened, it wasn't his place to do so. Though he'd suspected she may have been tortured, T'Pol had always managed to skirt the issue when he tried to broach it. Still, Archer would always be haunted by the pain and confusion he'd heard in T'Pol's voice. The Science Vulcan Directorate has determined that time travel is...not fair...He simply nodded as Trip continued.
"Anyway, when she collapsed in the Mess Hall the other day, T'Pol...touched me. I'm not sure how to explain it. Somehow, she got inside my mind. She chose me."
The two men stood silently for a long time, looking out at the view. Great flashes of lightening blossomed across the surface of the giant, which was now shrouded in darkness. Finally, Archer clasped his friend on the shoulder.
"Well...I've known you for a long time. I think she chose well." And for the first time, he truly meant it.
Trip looked at him gratefully. The Captain smiled. "Now, get outta here. You've got a Vulcan to take care of. And I've got a ship to run for a week without the benefit of my Chief Engineer and Science Officer." Trip nodded and turned to leave. As the doors opened, Archer called out.
"One thing, Trip...if you show your face in Engineering or on the Bridge even once in the next week, I'll throw your ass in the Brig."
Trip nodded again...and laughed softly. "Thanks, Capt'n."
A short time later, Trip stepped silently into T'Pol's quarters. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he checked the chronometer on her desk—01:30 hours. A glance at the bed revealed that she was sleeping there restlessly, tossing and turning in the throws of a dream. Reaching out with his mind, he probed the edges of her consciousness—a bad dream. He moved to her small bathroom and filled a glass with cool water. Then he sat next to her on the bed and touched her shoulder gently. The light physical and mental contact roused her slowly, and she looked up at him with an unsettled, confused expression.
Trip smiled warmly at her. "You were having a nightmare."
Her voice was heavy with sleep and something else. "Vulcans do not have nightmares."
"Well...it's probably all the hormones. Here...drink this."
Trip held the glass as she drank deeply. When she was done, she looked up at him for a long moment with clearer eyes.
"Did you speak with the Captain?"
He nodded. "He's not reporting any of this to Starfleet."
"But Ensign Sato—"
"Hoshi's fine. Humans go through puberty too you know. I'm sure she remembers what it's like."
"Pon frell and puberty are not the same."
"No, they're not. The point is she understands. So does the Captain. Which is why I want you to quit worrying about them and try to sleep. Your body needs rest." T'Pol watched as he returned the glass to the bathroom. When he came back, she lowered her eyes.
"Will you stay?" she asked softly. The sound of her voice almost broke his heart. Beneath her careful faade, there was a vulnerability to T'Pol that Trip had never seen before. Or never dared to see.
"Of course."
With that, Trip carefully removed his arm from the sling and stripped off his skivvies. Then he slid, naked, into her bed beside her. She immediately pressed her body tightly against him, and he was delighted to discover that she was naked too. Her body temperature was elevated due to her condition, and her skin simmered against his own. For her part, T'Pol found the contact with him to be greatly comforting, soothing to her frazzled nerves. Nestling her head into the crook of his neck, she laid a hand on his chest as if to prove her claim. Without a word, Trip pulled the sheets over them and began gently stroking her hair. In just a few minutes, her breathing became deep and even. Trip closed his eyes and let his thoughts focus on the warm buzzing that was her presence in his consciousness. Their minds mingled gently. And they slept.
Sometime later, Trip found himself drifting in a dream-like state. He was vaguely aware that he wasn't truly awake, but he wasn't really asleep either. How long he had been sleeping he had no idea—time held no meaning to him here. But what did have meaning for him was a sudden cascade of sensations. He felt soft movement, a liquid heat, delicious arousal. He realized that his arms were wrapped around a small, decidedly feminine body, his hands stroking gently over smooth skin. Trip felt a powerful wave of need suffusing his consciousness and he recognized its flavor immediately—it was hers. In her sleep, T'Pol had moved over him and his body had responded. She'd taken him deeply inside of herself and now she was moving, slowly but with quiet desperation. Her body drove her relentlessly, straining for what it craved. For what it required. For what only he could give her.
Trip had learned much from reading through the ship's library. He'd learned even more from Doctor Phlox while he was getting patched up in Sickbay. It had been an uncomfortable discussion, but Phlox had said it was important that he understand what was ahead. Pon frell was a process that would unfold gradually, over a period of months or even years. The first few days were the worst, but T'Pol would need daily sexual contact with him in order to mature physically to her full potential. It seemed that when Vulcan women orgasmed, a small gland in the base of the brain released a bath of hormones into their bloodstream—hormones that their bodies needed to develop properly. But Trip had been surprised to learn that most Vulcan women were only able to experience physical release through the telepathic link with their bonded mate. It was an evolutionary quirk of Vulcan physiology that worked to strengthen and reinforce the mating bond. It certainly helped to explain the telepathic encounters he and T'Pol had been having for days now...and why she seemed so eager to experience them. It also meant that Trip needed to take a more active role in what was happening now.
With more tenderness than he could ever remember feeling before, Trip moved his hands up to caress her face. Sensing his touch, T'Pol looked up at him with clouded eyes. Trip wasn't sure she even saw him, so completely lost in her need was she. He pressed his forehead against her own and gently opened his mind to hers. She accepted the telepathic contact, pulling him into her mind as frantically as she took him into her body. Trip immediately sensed her desperation. Her body was literally starving for the hormones it needed. And somehow, he just knew what to do, though he couldn't have explained it if he tried. He deepened the contact and began projecting his feelings for her into the meld. She gasped suddenly, as his actions had the desired effect. It was as if her body's arousal had been locked up just out of her reach...and now it was free. It burned through her in an instant. Sensations, emotions, feelings washed over her in a torrent and she was helpless to do anything but experience their full force.
For a moment, Trip marveled at his ability to read her responses—to know exactly what to do to heighten her sensations. He'd always prided himself on being a good lover, but this was beyond just his own ability. This was new—part of the bond he shared with T'Pol. It was, as she might say, efficient. Trip knew she was close to the release she needed...and he was going to make damn sure she got it.
He began moving inside her more deliberately, more deeply, increasing the friction and the pressure in just the right places. He slid one of his hands down to guide the rhythm of her movements, urging her on. And with the other, he began stroking one of her ears tenderly. Trip suddenly heard a sound that he would remember all his life—T'Pol was keening. Moments later, she cried out and her body jolted against his repeatedly. He experienced something of her orgasm through the meld, but managed to hold back his own—another benefit of the bond. Trip held her tightly, anchoring her to him as she slowly drifted back to their shared reality. Then she began moving again, her need apparently not yet satisfied. So he matched her movements again, driving her back up to the point of release and beyond. Their synchronized motions became so subtle that it was easy to continue them almost indefinitely—as long as she needed. Trip lost count of the number of times she came. Finally, after what may have been just minutes or long hours, she gave one last full-throated cry...of release, of deliverance. This time, he joined her, allowing his own orgasm to blend with, and heighten, her own. And then an overwhelming sense of relief descended upon them both.
Making love with T'Pol was the most intimate, most sensual, most intoxicating thing Trip had ever experienced. He suddenly felt so relaxed that he was sure he couldn't move a muscle. Somehow he managed though, and began stroking her back tenderly. But then T'Pol's body began shuddering again—not from need but from something else. He touched her cheek and was stunned to find that it was wet. She was crying. Her eyes pleaded with him, conveying the words she couldn't say aloud...the words she couldn't even formulate.
I don't understand this. I'm scared by this. Please help me.
Trip knew that Vulcans experienced the same emotions Humans did, but he also knew that they kept them extremely private. Even more problematic, there weren't even words for some emotions in the Vulcan language. T'Pol had no context—no way to even begin to understand what she was feeling by herself. Fortunately, Trip realized that he could help her with that as well.
Laying there, still joined together physically, Trip opened the archives of his memory for her to see. Then he carefully took each one of the emotions T'Pol was struggling with in turn and tried to show her what it meant. He tackled the negative ones first, getting them out of the way—fear, embarrassment, doubt, helplessness. And then he moved on to more important things.
T'Pol suddenly found herself sitting on a beach with him, her skin warmed by the sun, her hair blown by the wind. They sat for long minutes, savoring the peaceful sound of the waves. One managed to reach far enough up the beach to tickle their bare feet. Trip smiled at her.
This is happiness, he told her without speaking. T'Pol realized that it was not unlike what she felt sometimes during meditation. It was simply more...unreserved.
Suddenly, they were in the middle of a gathering. Children were playing around them in the snow, which was falling to earth in big, heavy flakes. They were surrounded by the sounds of laughter and mirth, as the children cavorted in the white power, rolling in it, building with it, throwing it at each other.
This is delight, Trip thought. T'Pol could easily imagine him joining in their activity.
Then they were standing in the middle of a great desert, watching a group of men engaged in a game of some sort—a sporting competition. The object seemed to be to toss a ball through a target, using scoop-like wands to pass it to one another. She quickly realized that Trip was among the players, as was Captain Archer. Both men were sweating, shirtless and exhausted by their efforts. But they were laughing together nonetheless.
This is friendship, Trip thought warmly. And T'Pol began to appreciate the bond between the two men.
Soon, they found themselves in a crowded spaceport. T'Pol recognized it as San Francisco Interplanetary—this was the first place she'd ever seen when she arrived on Earth to begin her assignment at the Vulcan Consulate. As they watched, a young couple embraced desperately before parting, one leaving and one staying behind. Their expressions were sorrowful and there were tears running down the woman's cheeks.
This is need, Trip said to her quietly. T'Pol was beginning to know this feeling well.
Finally, they were back in her quarters again, lying in each other's arms. Trip leaned down and kissed her tenderly. T'Pol responded instinctively, melting against him as he spoke in her thoughts.
And this is all of those feelings and more. This is love.
After a long moment, her eyes widened in surprise. Trip saw the faint but unmistakable signs of a smile playing across her lips.
I understand, she responded softly in his mind. And for the first time in her life...she truly did.
"All I'm saying is, would it kill the Vikings to win a Solar Bowl just once? I mean, the Hadley Highlanders? They didn't even have a winning record last year for crying out loud! And they've only just let the Lunar teams in the league!"
Malcolm smiled at Ensign Mayweather patiently, as he adjusted the settings on the phase-rifle for target practice. The Solar Bowl broadcast had arrived via subspace radio over the weekend, and more than half of the ship's crew had watched the game in the Mess Hall the previous evening. It hadn't gone well for Travis's team.
Malcolm tried to cheer him up. "Well...it's not like they didn't have a chance. Until Carver threw that last interception, they were right in the thick of it. But look on the bright side—at least it was an exciting game."
Travis just shook his head in disgust. "You call that a bright side? I'm not gonna be able to watch another football game for the rest of my life."
Malcolm handed him the rifle with a wry smile. "That's what you said last year, when the Vikings lost in the playoffs. The real problem here is that you're watching the wrong kind of football."
"Here we go again..."
Malcolm was undaunted. "You mark my words—some of those so-called football players of yours wouldn't last ten minutes in a World-rules match. You ready?"
Travis nodded and Malcolm activated the target projector. "Okay. Thirty seconds, starting...now!"
The Ensign began firing the weapon in short bursts, striking the floating target frequently as Malcolm watched. When thirty seconds were up, the target chirped and disappeared. Malcolm checked his PADD, and his eyebrows went up in surprise.
"Eighty-seven percent! Not bad, Travis. A little more practice and you might even give some of my men a run for their money."
Travis laughed, handing back the weapon. "I'll keep that in mind." Then he frowned. "By the way...have you seen Commander Tucker lately? It's not like him to miss a Solar Bowl."
Malcolm shook his head absently. "Not since that away mission a few days ago. We were supposed to finish the phase cannon upgrades this week, but from what I hear, both he and T'Pol got pretty beat up on the surface. Apparently, there was some kind of animal attack."
"Well, here's the thing...I was running the flight deck when they came back to the ship. It didn't look like they'd been attacked to me. And no one ever radioed anything about an emergency."
"Why don't you ask Hoshi what happened?"
"I tried. She's not talking."
Malcolm scoffed. "That doesn't sound like Hoshi."
"Tell me about it. I don't know, Malcolm...there's something weird going on."
Lieutenant Reed finished checking the phase-rifle and stowed it in one of the Armory's equipment lockers. When he was done, he turned to Travis with a smile.
"I wouldn't worry about it. Trip hasn't exactly had the best of luck on these away missions. If I know the Commander, he's probably hiding out in his quarters right now with his nose buried in some technical manual..."
"HHhhuuuuuggghhhhh...ooooooohhhhh...uuuuuhhhHHHHHH!!!"
T'Pol collapsed in release, gasping desperately for oxygen. Fortunately, Trip had just enough presence of mind left to hold her tightly against his body, which is all that kept her from slipping to the floor of the shower. They clung together for long minutes as the steaming water burned over their skin. Finally, T'Pol opened her eyes and took him in lazily.
"It seems you were correct, Commander. Sexual activity in the shower can be exhilarating."
Trip grinned, breathing heavily. "You see? Stick with me, T'Pol. I can show you things."
"Indeed." She traced a rivulet of water down his chest with quiet interest. "Can you...show me again?"
Trip looked at her in amazement. "Where have you been all my life?" She was about to answer when Trip suddenly placed his fingertips against her lips. T'Pol raised an eyebrow and spoke around them.
"That was a rhetorical question."
Trip nodded in amusement. T'Pol frowned.
"One day I will learn to recognize...ooohhh..."
Her voice trailed off as Trip began rubbing the tip of one of her ears softly between his thumb and forefinger. He laughed, infinitely pleased at her reaction.
"Have ever I told you how sexy your ears are?"
She struggled to form words under the sudden assault of pleasure. But before she could reply, Trip grew serious.
"T'Pol...I've been meaning to ask something. Before the other day, had you ever...I mean, had you...?"
She opened her eyes. "No. I was virgin." T'Pol grew suddenly self-conscious. "I am sorry if I was inadequate in any way—"
Trip interrupted firmly. "You could never be inadequate, T'Pol. Not ever." He looked down. "I'm just...I'm really honored by that. By you." He glanced back up at her. "I can't exactly say the same I'm afraid."
For once, T'Pol understood what he was trying to say. "Commander, you need not worry. I am untroubled by your previous intimate encounters. It is my understanding that sex is a natural, and even important, activity for maintaining physical and mental well being in Humans."
"Sure, but I—"
Now she silenced him with her fingers. "Besides, I am quite certain that none of your former lovers could do this..." She moved against him slightly...and Trip suddenly looked at her, stunned. Her eyes smiled at him.
"Vulcans have exceptional muscle control."
"Darlin'...you ain't kidding!"
Suddenly, Trip moved too...and T'Pol's eyes fogged over with a surge of passion. Then she kissed him, pinning him firmly against the shower wall, and there were no more words for some time.
Hours later, Lieutenant Reed finally managed to find a break in his work long enough to steal a quick bite to eat in the Mess Hall. As was his practice, Malcolm selected and ate his dinner almost without noticing what it was. He was much more interested in the data displayed on his PADD. Today, it happened to be the latest research from Starfleet on the development of a deployable photon torpedo.
I'd bloody well love to get my hands one on those, he thought enviously. Next time the Suliban try to get the drop on us, they'd be in for quite a surprise...
Malcolm finished his sandwich quickly and then headed back to his quarters, barely looking up from his reading the whole time. But as he walked down the corridor, he happened to bump into Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol on their way to the Captain's Mess.
Trip smiled at him. "Hey, Malcolm."
T'Pol nodded politely. "Good evening, Lieutenant."
Malcolm mumbled an absent greeting as they passed and went back to reading. Then, after a moment, he suddenly stopped. He hadn't just seen Trip and T'Pol holding hands...had he? He looked back in the direction they'd gone, but they'd already disappeared inside the Mess Hall.
Malcolm puzzled over it for a few seconds...and then finally shook his head.
Nah...couldn't be.
Meanwhile, Ensign Sato sat at her station on the Bridge, serenaded by the sounds of deep space over her earpiece. She scanned the ship's subspace receiver randomly up and down the scale, listening for the telltale signs of intelligent transmissions. She could have automated the process if she wished. In fact, the ship's communications software was designed to search the subspace radio spectrum far more efficiently than any set of Human ears ever could. But Hoshi found that listening to subspace was soothing. And lately, she needed all the soothing she could get.
Hoshi wasn't a woman with an overactive sex drive, but she did have needs just the same. They'd been unexpectedly awakened during her last shore leave and now she was more aware of them than ever. That normally wouldn't be a problem...except that it was going be a very long time before she forgot the sight of two of her commanding officers having sex. The fact of the matter was, she'd always secretly liked Commander Tucker. And Sub-Commander T'Pol exuded her own exotic brand of sex appeal without ever even realizing it. What the two of them had been doing together in the Decontamination chamber...well, that was flat out hot. The Ensign squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. No doubt about it...their next trip to Risa definitely couldn't come fast enough.
Hoshi absently glanced up...and happened to notice Travis stretching his muscles at the Helm. She devoured the sight eagerly. Interesting, she thought with a smile. Very interesting...
Just at that moment, Hoshi suddenly heard something through the normal hiss of static in her earpiece. Something unusual. Something...Vulcan maybe? Travis' physique momentarily forgotten, the young Ensign began working to isolate the signal.
"Captain, did you know that the longest Human facial hair measured some four-point-two meters?"
Archer looked up from his plate, amused. "No...can't say that I did, T'Pol."
"Did you know that the largest Human tumor weighed fifty-two-point-four kilograms upon removal?"
About to take a bite of his prime rib, the Captain suddenly hesitated. "Uhh...no, I didn't."
"Did you know that the longest continuous dance marathon was three weeks, two days and nineteen hours?"
"You don't say?"
"Indeed. According to record, it ended with a six-and-a-half hour tango."
Archer set his fork down, puzzled. "T'Pol, what's all this about?"
Trip half smiled at him, looking embarrassed. "She, ah...she sorta caught me flippin' through the Guinness Book o' World Records the other day. Hasn't let me live it down since."
"The Guinness Book of—? You're kidding, right?"
He shrugged. "Already read all the engineering manuals I could find. I was bored."
The Captain shook his head in disbelief and glanced back at his Science Officer. "Let me guess...you memorized the whole book?"
T'Pol glanced up from her salad, leveling an arched eyebrow pointedly at Trip. "One never knows when such obviously valuable data will be useful, Captain. For example, did you know that the largest ball of twine was more than six meters in diameter?"
Archer laughed again as he resumed eating. "No."
"Did you know that the longest sustained note played on an alto saxophone was twelve hours, twenty-two minutes?"
"No, I sure didn't."
"Did you know that the largest known penis in the animal kingdom is—" Trip choked on his food. Thankfully, the com whistled.
The Captain laughed again, more than a little uncomfortably, and glanced at his Chief Engineer. "Saved by the bell, Commander." He stood and activated the wall com. "Archer here. Go ahead."
Hoshi's voice came over the speaker. "Captain, we're receiving a signal on one of the Vulcan emergency bands. It sounds an awful lot like a distress call."
That got everyone's immediate attention. T'Pol and Trip stood as the Captain replied.
"Have Travis lay in an intercept course. I'll be right there." Archer switched off the com and started toward the door. "T'Pol?"
She nodded and fell into step behind him. Trip frowned. "Hey—what about me?"
Archer paused. "You're still on duty restriction."
"So is T'Pol! Come on, Capt'n...don't make me start beggin' here..."
T'Pol turned to Archer. "That would be a most unfortunate sight."
Archer rolled his eyes. "All right...let's go you two."
"She called the T'Hath, Jonathan. Apparently she's a Vulcan fast courier. Crew complement of five."
"Five? That's an awfully small ship, Admiral. Any idea what she's doing this far away from home?"
Admiral Forrest scowled on the small viewscreen. "I'm afraid the Vulcans didn't offer that information. However, they're quite concerned that a rescue mission be mounted with all haste. Ambassador Soval made the request personally."
In his Ready Room, Archer nodded. "We're almost there now. I assume the Vulcans are sending ships as well?"
"At least three cruisers, but the closest is some thirty-six hours away at maximum warp. You're on your own for the moment."
"Understood, Admiral. We'll do our best."
"Be careful, Jonathan. The distress call was incomplete, but there are some indications that the T'Hath may have come under attack. The Vulcans are analyzing the transmission further. We'll contact you when we know more. Forrest out."
Archer sat at his desk for a long moment. Then Ensign Mayweather's voice came over the com.
"Captain, we're approaching the planet."
"On my way, Travis..."
Archer entered the Bridge and was greeted by the sight of a white-washed world filling the main viewer. Travis looked back from the Helm.
"Now entering standard orbit, sir."
"Very well, Mister Mayweather." The Captain glanced at T'Pol, who was working at the Science station. "Is it inhabited?"
"Negative, Captain. It is Menshara-class, but just barely. The surface is undergoing a period of runaway glaciation. The average global temperature is negative nineteen degrees Celsius."
"Lovely." He turned to the Tactical station. "Polarize the hull plating, Malcolm. Keep your eyes peeled for hostile ships in the area."
"Aye, sir. For the moment, sensors show all clear."
T'Pol came to his side. "Is there reason for concern, Captain?"
"The High Command seems to think that the T'Hath may have been deliberately attacked."
At that moment, Trip called out from the Situation Room at the rear of the Bridge. "Captain, I'm reading an energy field of some kind down on the planet. It's messin' with our surface scans."
The Captain and T'Pol joined him around the display table, on which they could see a large area of snow-covered landscape. Archer noted the visibly indistinct area on the scan. "That's odd. Could it be coming from the Vulcan ship? A camouflage field of some kind?"
"To my knowledge, the T'Hath is not equipped with such a device." She tapped a few keys and a small outline appeared in the middle of the blurred area. "I believe I have located the ship."
"Life signs?"
"Indeterminate. It is likely that the energy field will impede both communications and transporter operation as well as our sensors, Captain."
"Do you have a recommendation?"
T'Pol thought about it for a moment. "We will obviously need to send a shuttlepod down to effect a rescue. As the T'Hath is a Vulcan ship, I am the obvious choice to command the mission. If they've suffered damage, Commander Tucker's engineering skills may prove useful as well."
Archer glanced from his Science Officer to his Chief Engineer and back. Then he lowered his voice so only they could hear.
"T'Pol, do you really think that's wise given your...situation? Maybe I should lead the mission..."
"Captain, it would be unwise for you to place yourself in a situation where you might be unable to contact the ship. Given the possibility of attack, Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Mayweather are needed here. Likewise, Ensign Sato is most useful at her station attempting to maintain contact with the away team. That leaves the Commander and myself, and five empty seats for potential survivors." She hesitated, then addressed the Captain's real concern. "I can have the Doctor prepare a hormone injection in case it should be necessary while I'm on the surface."
Archer considered this a moment, then nodded. "Well...as usual, I can't argue with your logic. Get what you need from Phlox and report to the flight deck immediately. The sooner you two are back onboard, the better I'll feel."
"Aye, sir."
"And be careful. Both of you."
With that, Trip and T'Pol stepped into the turbolift and left the Bridge. They rode down to E Deck in companionable silence. Then Trip leaned over and spoke softly in T'Pol's ear.
"Hey, uh...that whole thing about the biggest penis in the animal kingdom? Just for kicks, you were gonna say mine...right?"
T'Pol's eyebrow arched in irritation, but Trip saw the amused sparkle in her eyes. "You flatter yourself, Commander. The correct answer would be the blue whale."
"Spoil sport."
"However, yours is undeniably impressive..."
"Altitude twenty kilometers. Two hundred kilometers to target zone."
Trip guided the shuttlepod expertly through the turbulent atmosphere as T'Pol called out range information from the co-pilot's seat. The small craft shook almost constantly as it fought through high-altitude winds. Trip looked out the main viewport at the terrain below...or what he could see of it anyway.
"Looks like a storm front coming up. Hope you packed some thermal undies, T'Pol. Yer Vulcan friends picked a lousy time to go sight-seein' down there." She tossed him a glare that took him by surprise.
"Sorry...I was just teasin' you. Are you okay? You've been on edge since we left Enterprise."
T'Pol's expression softened and she stared at her status monitor for a long moment. It seemed as if she was about to speak, when the com sounded and Captain Archer's voice called out to them.
"Enterprise to Shuttlepod One. You're almost to the edge of the energy field. T'Pol, if we lose contact with you, we'll watch for your visual signal on the surface at 15:30 hours. We'll expect a follow-up signal from you every three hours thereafter. If you fail to check in, we'll send the cavalry down in a hurry."
T'Pol tapped a series of commands at her station. "Understood, Captain. I am testing the beacon now." She triggered a control. On the upper hull of the pod, a brilliant flash of light appeared—for an instant as bright as the sun. It flashed several more times in sequence, and was immediately detected by the Enterprise's visual sensors.
"We see you, T'Pol. Looks like Hoshi's visual tracking idea is working. Don't forget—you've got six hours. But at the first sign of trouble down there, I want you both to lift off immed—" The Captain's voice was suddenly lost in a burst of static.
Trip glanced at T'Pol. "Well...it's not like we didn't expect it. Guess we're on our own. Can you bring up the terrain plot on the landing—" Without warning, all the instruments began going haywire.
"What the hell? We're suffering some kinda power drain..."
T'Pol checked her scanners. "The energy field on the planet has intensified. Can you land safely?"
"I don't know, I think—" At that moment, the shuttlepod was rocked by an unseen force. Alarms began to sound. Trip struggled for control. "That's no field. We've been hit with an energy beam—some kind of damping weapon! We're going down!"
Trip glanced out the viewport and aimed the pod as closely as he could without instruments to the location of the downed Vulcan ship. But it was almost impossible to see anything through the swirling snowstorm raging outside. Suddenly, a jagged mountain peak appeared directly in their flight path. Trip was just able to steer clear of it and the shuttlepod plummeted into the valley beyond.
Noting their dangerously low altitude, T'Pol reached up and pulled a handle overhead. "Activating emergency stabilizers...!"
The ship steadied slightly as the emergency gravity plating on the outer hull went to full power. Trip took advantage of the extra measure of control, aiming for what looked like a clearing and hoping for the best.
"Hang on!"
They shared a brief glance, their eyes locking together in an instant that seemed to stretch out impossibly. For an odd moment, Trip recalled something from his childhood—that sudden calm that came in the eye of a hurricane. Then a massive jolt knocked them both senseless, and their world turned upside down. There was a loud screeching sound...and darkness.
Sometime later, Trip heard an insistent beeping sound. He ignored it sluggishly, hoping it would go away. When it didn't, Trip finally opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of the...the something. The shuffleboard? No, his grandma used to play that on cruise ships. Wait a minute—a ship! The shuttlepod! Suddenly alarmed, Trip sat up...and immediately regretted it. Every muscle in his body ached. But the good news was that he was alive, and the shuttlepod was...well, if it wasn't functioning at the moment, it was at least more or less intact. He clambered to his feet and activated the monitor on the flight control board. It flickered momentarily, then died. Trip hit the panel with his fist and it finally came fully to life. He examined the data it was displaying quickly. Just as he thought—the beeping sound was the ship's way of letting them know that the visual beacon has just gone off by itself, probably triggered by a short-circuit in the crash. Then the monitor suddenly flickered out again. And this time, no amount of pounding would bring it back to life.
"Hey, T'Pol...I think the beacon just—oh shit! T'Pol?!"
Trip scrambled around the cabin, pushing equipment cases and other loose supplies out of the way in a frantic search for T'Pol. Finally, he found her lying on the floor at the rear of the craft. Somehow, she'd slid underneath the pod's main storage locker during the crash. Judging by the amount of equipment that had fallen, it had probably saved her life.
"T'Pol! Oh, god...please be okay..."
Trip pulled her free of the locker and held her tightly. After a long moment, she opened her eyes, looking dazed.
"Ka'tha proto gesis non takka..."
Trip frowned, suddenly realizing with certainty that he was going to have to learn to speak Vulcan one of these days. Filing that knowledge away for a better time, Trip caressed T'Pol's cheek, forcing her to look at him.
"T'Pol? Hey, com'on back to me here." He watched as she struggled slowly to concentrate on his face. Finally, she seemed to become more alert.
"Commander? Where are we?"
"You don't remember? We're in the shuttlepod. The rescue mission. We landed. Remember?"
She frowned suddenly as her memories came back into focus. "You have had better landings."
He laughed, relieved. "Yeah, I'll give you that. Frankly, I'm just glad we survived. We came in blind, through a snowstorm, into a mountain range, while losing power. I wouldn't have given us ten-to-one odds."
"What was that sound a few moments ago?" Trip lifted T'Pol to her feet and helped her into one of the seats. Then he began rummaging through the locker.
"The signal beacon went off by itself. So the good news is, we know it still works..."
"The Enterprise will not send help for at least three hours."
"Yeah, well...that's the bad news." Finding what he was looking for, Trip returned to T'Pol and began scanning her up and down with a tricorder. He frowned for a moment, then realized that he needed to reset the device to evaluate Vulcan physiology. He scanned again.
"If I'm readin' this right, you're gonna live."
She glanced at him with an expression of both irritation and amusement. Then she took the device from him and glanced at its findings herself. Moments later, she scanned him as well.
"We are both undamaged. What is the condition of the shuttlepod?"
"As far as I can tell, we're still air tight. I think we're still space-worthy. I'll need to make a few repairs to the reaction control thrusters and the batteries will need a few hours to recharge. If they recharge properly, we should have just enough power to make orbit. But if we get hit with that damping beam again, we're screwed, space-worthy or not."
"Then we will have to terminate the beam at its source in order to accomplish our mission." As Trip watched, T'Pol began rummaging through another storage compartment. With effort, she managed to extract a pair of phase pistols and cold-weather survival apparel for them both. Trip shook his head.
"I hate to break it to you, but we aren't going anywhere for a while." When she looked up at him in puzzlement, he pointed to the nearest viewport. The sky was growing dark and the wind was blowing snow around them in an ever increasing frenzy.
"I may have grown up in the South, but that's a good old fashioned blizzard, no mistake. We'll never find the T'Hath in this. And if we got lost out there, we'd never survive the night."
"If the owner of that damping weapon finds us, our chances of survival are just as slim."
"Well...unless they're a lot more adapted for cold weather than we are, they've got no reason to be out in this mess either. I wasn't kidding about how lucky we were to survive that crash. They'll probably just assume we didn't. Either way, we ought to be safe until morning at least. I say we sit tight."
T'Pol frowned for a moment, then finally nodded, unable to argue with his reasoning. As frustrating as it sometimes was, Commander Tucker could be surprisingly logical when he chose to.
After taking a few minutes to restore a semblance of order to the cabin, they decided that it would be best to try and get whatever rest they could. Trip gallantly announced that he'd take the first watch, and wouldn't be dissuaded despite numerous protests from T'Pol that Vulcans needed less sleep than Humans. The pair made a make-shift bed on the floor with camping gear from the locker, and Trip powered down the pod completely to conserve the batteries. Then they silently climbed under the blankets and huddled together for warmth.
For a while, Trip shifted into engineer mode, letting his mind work out what needed to be done to get the shuttlepod ready to fly again. T'Pol shifted against his body a few times, finally settling on a comfortable position with her head cradled against his shoulder—a position they'd both become accustomed to sleeping in. Trip thought about how cold it might get in the pod with the power off. And he thought about his future, which was now inescapably intertwined with T'Pol's. What did that mean for him? For them? What if the Vulcan High Command decided to reassign T'Pol again? It had certainly happened in the past, although Captain Archer had so far managed to keep her on the Enterprise. Trip found himself wondering for the first time what his family might think of T'Pol. And, more ominously, what her family might think of him. That last thought was so grim that Trip decided to stop thinking altogether. Unfortunately, the depressing notion was lodged firmly in his brain and wouldn't budge. Trip finally decided to ask T'Pol what she thought...but he was surprised to discover that she was already asleep, her peaceful breaths whispering warmly against his neck. He smiled and kissed her forehead gently.
I don't care what anyone thinks, he thought determinedly. We're bonded. Anyone who can't accept that can shove it where the sun don't shine.
For a blissful few minutes, Trip was reassured by the strength of his feelings for the woman sleeping in his arms. But in the back of his mind, he still had a number of nagging fears. Did he really love her deeply and truly enough to spend a lifetime with her? He thought that he did, but then he was far from an expert on love and his own track record with relationships was piss poor to put it kindly. He knew that T'Pol cared for him deeply, but did she really love him? Could she? Was she even capable of Human love, or would her Vulcan nature and upbringing always get in the way?
As he lay there in the cooling darkness of the cabin, Trip knew he wasn't going to be getting any sleep in the foreseeable future. And he was certain that things between he and T'Pol were never going to be simple.
Jonathan Archer hovered near the Tactical station, as Lieutenant Reed attempted to refine their sensor scans. Finally, Malcolm threw up his hands in frustration.
"I'm afraid that's the best I can do, Captain. That might be the shuttlepod's heat signature, but it's fading pretty rapidly. Maybe we'll be able to get a visual confirmation in the morning...if they aren't buried under a snowdrift by then."
"But that heat signature corresponds to the location where we detected the emergency beacon?"
"As best I can determine, yes."
Archer strode around to the Captain's chair and turned to Communications.
"Still no luck, Hoshi?" Ensign Sato shook her head, appearing as frustrated as Lieutenant Reed.
"I'm sorry, sir. There's just too much interference from that energy field. For a moment, right after we lost contact with the pod, the field seemed to get stronger. But now I'm not getting anything at all. I've got the computer working to calculate the interference pattern. I might be able to filter it out and get a signal through, but it'll take some time."
"Keep on it." Hoshi nodded and went back to work. Meanwhile, Travis turned back from the Helm to look at the Captain with an obviously worried expression.
"What I don't understand is, why did they activate the beacon at all? They weren't supposed to signal us until 15:30, and that's still a few hours away..."
Malcolm chimed in from his station. "The weather's pretty bad down there. Maybe Trip just wanted to let us know that they'd landed safely."
Archer considered this. Finally, he sat down in his chair and decided to take the most logical course of action.
"Well...we can at least assume that they made it to the surface. Travis, take us up to a geostationary orbit over the landing site. We'll keep watch for a few hours and see what happens."
"Aye, sir."
The confidence that their Captain exhibited seemed to reassure the Bridge crew. Privately though, Archer had a nagging feeling that the other shoe was about to drop. His instincts were telling him that something wasn't right about all this. And he'd long ago learned to trust his instincts. Still, as he'd just told his crew, there was little to do but wait. So Captain Archer sat back in his chair, prepared to do exactly that.
But as he watched his officers go about their duties, Archer casually rubbed a hand down across the hairs on the back of his neck—they'd been standing on end for more than an hour now. Unsettled, he glanced around to make sure that no one had noticed. Then he did his best to appear patient as the long watch began.
T'Pol stirred in the darkness and opened her eyes slowly. She felt feverish and agitated, and it took her several moments to realize why. Disconcerted, she glanced out the viewport in the nose of the pod and noted that the sky appeared to be growing slightly less dark outside. Dawn was approaching. The snowstorm also appeared to have abated. T'Pol pushed the covers off her shoulders for a moment and suddenly found herself shivering. She quickly restored the blankets to their original position and nuzzled closer to Commander Tucker, all the while silently chiding herself for doing so—for being so needy. Then she felt him move and a quick glance revealed him to be watching her, his eyes looking down upon her warmly.
"Morning, sleepy-head."
T'Pol frowned. "How long have you been awake?"
"Petty much the whole night."
Her frowned deepened. "I did not plan to sleep so long. You should not have let me do so. You need to rest as well." Trip merely shrugged.
"Didn't have the heart to wake you. You looked so peaceful, it was kinda soothing. Besides, I couldn't have slept if I tried. Too much on my mind."
T'Pol thought about what this meant and shifted uncomfortably. Then she tried to change the subject.
"It will be light soon. We should get ready to leave as soon as—"
"We've still got a little while before it'll be light enough to get started. In the meantime, we need to talk."
She looked down, suddenly fascinated by the texture of the blankets. "I don't understand."
"Give it a rest, T'Pol. I know something's bothering you. Something's been eatin' at you for a while now...since the that whole thing with the Suliban. Are you gonna tell me what's got you so upset or not?"
"Vulcans do not get upset—"
"Bullshit. Vulcans have emotions just like Humans do. You just hide them better. Except you can't hide them from me. Not anymore. So why don't you tell me what's buggin' you?"
"Nothing is bugging me." Her mouth worked uncomfortably around the expression. Trip snorted.
"You're a really terrible liar, T'Pol. Funny thing this telepathic bond—it goes both ways. Something is bothering you and you're tryin' to hide it from me." He paused a moment. "You're also horny as hell." She looked up at him anxiously, suddenly feeling very self-conscious.
"Why do you say this?"
"I've been known to get erections in the morning, but I could cut down trees with this one. Your emotional state affects mine, remember? Besides, I can feel your nipples." She shifted again quickly, reducing the contact between them.
"My body is merely reacting to the cold."
"Mmm-hhmmm. Have you taken the hormone injection yet?" Letting out a breath she didn't realize she was holding, T'Pol finally relented.
"Shortly before we left Enterprise. It...isn't working."
"The adrenaline rush from the crash probably neutralized the dose. T'Pol, we need to do something or—"
She interrupted, looking up at him with eyes that were clouding with need even as she spoke. "We're on duty, Commander. It would be...inappropriate to engage in sexual intercourse during an away mission."
He smiled at her in amusement. "Yeah, but I still think I can help you." He reached a hand over to brush her hair behind her ear, then caressed her cheek. She looked at him in frustrated confusion.
"I don't understand...oooohhhh!"
T'Pol's whole body suddenly shuddered as Trip's fingertips brushed across her temples, initiating a telepathic meld. She gasped in surprise and arousal, as her eyes closed almost of their own volition. And then she was flying, ever faster and ever upward, to an unbelievable orgasm. Her body shook and shuddered, and then jerked violently as she fell over the edge. She screamed aloud, such was the force of her release. She flailed out and Trip caught her hand in his. She clung to him desperately, anchored to him physically even as he caught her mentally and carried her up to the precipice once more. Again and again he did this, completely in control of her, until she could simply take no more—until her sensory threshold became so saturated that she could experience no greater amount of pleasure. And then he brought her down gently, caressing her and touching her and whispering in her ear. Her body continued to tremor with minor aftershocks as he held her in his arms, easing tenderly out of the telepathic connection.
After a while, Trip opened his eyes and looked at her. Her greenish-bronze skin glistened with her exertion. Wisps of steam curled lazily off her body in the chill air of the cabin. She was absolutely the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"Wow," he said finally. "That was...amazing." When T'Pol could finally open her eyes, she looked at him in astonishment. There were tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Where...where did you learn to do that?" He smiled gently, rubbing the tears away with his fingers.
"The Guinness Book isn't all I've been reading, you know. You'd be surprised what you can find in the ship's library. There's some...pretty interesting stuff on Vulcan sexual practices. Guess I...well I sorta hoped you might like it." He looked alarmed for a moment. "You did like it, didn't you?"
She simply lay in his arms and nodded, still stunned by what had just occurred. He laughed warmly and kissed her. Then he stood and began gathering his jacket and other surface gear.
"We should get moving. It's gonna be light soon. You okay to travel now?"
Bewildered, she nodded again and stood, slowly gathering her own clothing. Her whole body seemed as if it were humming. T'Pol felt more alive than she ever had in her entire life. She blushed and—surprisingly—didn't bother to hide it from him. Then she suddenly realized something.
"But you haven't...I mean, you need to—"
"No, actually I'm...I'm okay. It was good for me too in a strange way. But I'll take a raincheck for when we get back to the ship. If that's okay with you?"
She nodded at him once more, and again she was unable to keep from blushing. Trip turned away to hide his own satisfied smile. A Vulcan rendered speechless by sex. And T'Pol, no less. Guess I might as well just ask Jon to turn the ship around and take me straight back to Earth. I've seen just about everything there is to see.
Thirty minutes later, Trip found himself wishing he'd never left Earth in the first place. He and T'Pol were trudging through snow that was damn near waist deep. They'd only gone less than a kilometer, but already, he felt like he wanted to die. The air was frigid beyond all reason and as he huffed for oxygen, it burned his lungs right in his chest. He might as well have been naked for all the good his heavy parka and outerwear were doing. When he spoke, his words were interspersed with ragged breaths.
"We should've...brought snow shoes. Why didn't we think to...bring snow shoes...T'Pol?"
Trip finally decided to stop for a moment to catch his breath. He pulled off his gloves and tried using his breath to warm his hands. It wasn't working. T'Pol stopped as well and looked back at him in concern.
"We've never needed them before. We can have the quartermaster fabricate some when we return to the ship for future use. Are you okay?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah...sure. How much...farther?"
"About a half kilometer that way. It's all downhill from here."
"Great. That means it's...uphill on the way back."
She raised an eyebrow. "Commander?" He finally waved a hand at her vaguely.
"Lead on...Sacagawea." She frowned a moment and then kept walking. He adjusted the strap on his engineering tool pack and then, with great effort, followed her.
"I got a cousin who...lives in Calgary. She used to say that...it was cold enough there to...freeze yer eyelids shut. And here I always thought...she was joking!"
He laughed at the memory, but T'Pol remained silent. Trip knew that something was still bothering her, but he was content to let it slide for the moment. He knew that she'd tell him eventually, when she was ready. So he just did his best to keep going and not keel over.
For her part, T'Pol realized that he was aware of her discomfort. During the meld they'd just shared, when he'd been completely in control of her, he could easily have read her thoughts and learned exactly what it was that was bothering her—the fact that her mind had been violated not once but twice since she first came to the Enterprise, first by Tolaris and then, more recently, by Silik. Even despite his best intentions, if Commander Tucker had used their new bond to learn these things, it would have simply been another assault on her person...and one that T'Pol knew she would never be strong enough to endure.
But he hadn't done this. He'd respected her. He'd pulled back before invading her privacy. Something about that had changed everything for T'Pol...had made things clearer in a way she didn't yet understand. There wasn't time to focus on it now, but she was certain that it would be important to her later.
As they trudged on, the sun suddenly broke over the mountain peaks, casting a sparkling yellow light over the landscape. Trip looked around.
"Well...at least it looks warm. Hey, T'Pol...I woulda guessed...Vulcans hated the cold. How come you...aaahhhHHHHHH!!"
T'Pol turned quickly...just in time to see Trip go sliding past her down the mountainside on his ass. He'd apparently slipped on a patch of ice, and now he was getting farther away by the second. She considered her options frantically for a moment. She'd never catch up to him by walking. Then she took another reading with her tricorder and her eyebrows raised in surprise.
Father down the mountain, Trip careened past trees and rocks, and crashed blindly through snow drifts. He finally slid to a stop near a thickly wooded bluff. He sat up, dazed, and then checked to make sure that all his arms and legs were still attached and working properly. He'd lost his hat and his tool pack, but he saw them laying in the snow nearby and crawled over to them wearily.
Guess it beats walking, he thought. Maybe we could build a lodge and a few lifts and charge a fee.
Trip had collected himself and was just about to start back towards T'Pol, when he heard a loud swooooooshing sound. Moments later, the petite Vulcan skidded into view on her backside, sliding down the mountain after him. She barreled straight into him, sending them both flying back into the snow.
When Trip managed to clear his head again, he looked over at T'Pol to make certain she was okay. Then he shook his head once more and rubbed the snow out of his eyes. For just an instant there, he could have sworn she was smiling. When he looked a second time though, she only stared at him impassively. He shook his head in disbelief.
"So...are we having fun yet?"
"My report to the Captain will reflect your inventiveness in discovering a more effective mode of transport, Commander. However, I must now also report us both for laying down on the job."
He made an exaggerated show of laughing and then fell back in the snow. She arched an eyebrow at him dubiously. Finally, he sat up and looked back up the mountainside. "Well, how much farther now?"
Instead of heading back the way they came, T'Pol simply crawled to the edge of the bluff and pointed. Trip joined her and was surprised to see the reddish metallic hull of the Vulcan spacecraft resting, half covered in snow, less than a hundred meters farther down the slope.
"I'll be damned..."
"That's it, sir. We saw the signal early, but not at 15:30 hours and not at 18:30 either." Malcolm looked up at him determinedly. "That spells trouble in my book."
Archer nodded. "I would tend to agree. Tell the Launch Bay to start warming up Shuttlepod Two. And get your rescue detail ready."
"They'll be ready to go in five minutes, sir."
There was a sudden chirping from the Communications station. Archer turned to Hoshi.
"Is that from the away team?"
Hoshi shook her head. "No, sir. Message from Starfleet. It's Admiral Forrest."
"Put him on." Archer stepped to the center of the Bridge as the worried visage of the Admiral appeared on the forward viewscreen.
"Admiral, what's the good word?"
"I'm afraid it's not good, Jonathan. The Vulcans have completed the analysis of the distress call from their courier. They've shared their findings and our analysts agree with their conclusion. The T'Hath definitely came under attack by an unknown—"
Without warning, the transmission became garbled and then dissolved into a hail of digital static. Archer turned back to Hoshi, who looked up in alarm.
"Captain, our communications are being jammed! It's not coming from the planet..."
Archer turned quickly to Tactical. "Malcolm?"
"Contact, bearing one-eight-zero degrees, range...thirty-thousand kilometers! They're arming weapons!"
"Polarize the hull plating. Charge the phase cannons and—"
Suddenly, the ship was rocked by massive impact. Alarms began to sound. Archer grabbed the arm of the Captain's chair to remain standing. Other crewmembers weren't so lucky. Malcolm glanced up from Tactical again.
"The plating's on-line, but we've taken heavy damage to the port warp nacelle! I have the hostile in missile lock!"
"Fire missiles! Travis, evasive maneuvers. Break orbit and increase speed to two-thirds impulse."
"Aye sir!" Travis fought to execute the orders as the deck shuddered violently.
"Malcolm, how come we didn't see them coming?"
The Lieutenant glanced at his sensor logs. "They approached from a polar orbit, Captain. There must be some kind of sensor blind spot caused by the planet's magnetic fields." He checked another display. "They've taken light damage, but they're not breaking off the attack. I've got a visual."
"On screen."
The sleek outline of the alien craft appeared on the forward viewer. It's design was unknown to Archer and it was gaining on them fast. Then, without warning, numerous bright flashes of light erupted from the bow of the attacker.
"Captain...they're firing again!"
"Never been aboard a Vulcan ship before. Kinda Spartan for my taste."
Phase pistol drawn, Trip stepped carefully through the open airlock door and into the main corridor of the T'Hath, as T'Pol scanned the area around the ship for life signs. The vessel was about the size of a large two-story house, and was clearly built for speed. Based on the equipment in evidence once he was inside, Trip would've bet good money that it was meant for stealth too. Unable to get a satisfactory reading due to the energy field, T'Pol finally gave up scanning and followed him inside.
"Vulcans have little need of creature comforts, Commander. The inclusion of luxury items or other unnecessary adornments on a ship of the High Command would be considered wasteful."
They climbed over piles of debris, reaching what appeared to be the Engineering compartment. Trip also saw what he suspected was a weapons station.
"So...how fast can this baby go?"
She frowned at him. "That information is classified."
Trip gave a lopsided grin, not even bothering to look at the ship's engines, no matter how much he might have wanted to. "Yeah, I figured. Can't blame a guy for trying."
"Indeed."
They quickly worked their way to the bow of the ship, passing sleeping bunks, storage bays and great racks of what appeared to be instrument pallets, containing sensors and other exotic equipment. It quickly became clear that the damage the ship had sustained was severe. On approach, they'd seen numerous scorch marks on the outer hull. And inside, enough bulkheads were visibly collapsed or buckled to indicate major structural damage. Trip shook his head regretfully.
"She's taken a real beating. A lot of this is crash related, but I see evidence of serious weapons damage too."
"Is there any chance of making the ship operational again?"
"Unless you've got a class-five spacedock handy, it looks pretty hopeless." Trip suddenly frowned, looking at the floor. "Hey T'Pol, I thought you said Vulcans don't bother with luxury items. This looks pretty luxurious to me..."
T'Pol saw that he was examining the remains of some kind of elaborate vase or urn that had shattered across the deck. The pieces were made of what appeared to be a dark, volcanic glass. The largest bore evidence of electroplating and other ornamental makings in a fine gold leaf. Trip looked at her, puzzled.
"This is a little out of place, don't you think?"
She picked up a fragment. "I have never seen anything like it. It almost looks like a religious artifact of some kind, but the script is an ancient Vulcan dialect—one that hasn't been in use for centuries. Very unusual."
Trip scanned the deck with his own tricorder. "If there was anything inside it, it's gone now. Must have evaporated or something."
Trip stood and looked around, spotting a partially closed hatch nearby. It was located at the end of the corridor, and Trip suspected it led to the Bridge. He set his gear down and shoved it open manually when it failed to respond to the controls. Sure enough, behind it lay the T'Hath's small control room. It was really more of a cockpit, complete with an array of viewports, compact control stations...and four dead occupants still strapped into their seats.
"T'Pol!"
Hearing the alarm in Trip's voice, T'Pol pocketed the small piece of artifact for later study and hurried to his side. If she was surprised to see the bodies of the crew, she gave no indication. T'Pol checked for life signs as Trip located the ship's databanks. He scowled at what he found.
"The computers have been erased. No sensor records, no Captain's logs...nothing."
"If the ship was attacked, the crew would have erased the computers on purpose to prevent an enemy from obtaining valuable intelligence data. I'm more concerned with the fact that there are only four bodies here. The T'Hath carried a crew of five."
"You think one of them survived?"
"Possibly." T'Pol began scanning again, frowning as she tried to make sense of the confusing readings her tricorder returned.
"Well, I suppose we might have missed a body back there in the debris somewhere..." Trip was about to go back into the corridor to search more thoroughly, when T'Pol suddenly pulled him down to the deck.
"What are you...?!"
She silenced him with a quick gesture. Moments later, he realized why. There were voices coming from outside. Through a crack in the hull, he could hear at least three people engaged in a heated argument. And three was two more than the total number of people who ought to be left alive near the T'Hath. That could only mean trouble.
Trip and T'Pol crept to the nearest viewport and peeked outside carefully. What they saw wasn't good. There were three men all right, each of them wearing a heavy environment suit and armed with a nasty looking rifle. They appeared to be angry. And they were approaching the wreckage fast, clearly intent on entering the ship.
As one, Trip and T'Pol drew their phase pistols. At this range, they both knew there was no way for them to escape without being seen. Just as they were about to crouch back down and move into position to defend themselves, the newcomers suddenly stopped. The tallest, who appeared to be in charge, turned back and scolded the others sharply. But that wasn't what drew Trip and T'Pol's attention.
What had gotten their notice, was the fact that the leader suddenly removed his helmet. It was quickly evident that his skin was a deep blue and his head was capped with a shock of thick white hair. And poking through his hair...was a pair of rapidly twitching antenna. Trip and T'Pol exchanged an alarmed glance.
Andorians!
"Whaddya think, T'Pol?" Trip glanced at the Vulcan as they crouched, phase pistols drawn, behind a control panel in the T'Hath's cramped Bridge. Outside, the Andorians' argument was becoming more heated. T'Pol calmly assessed their options, and was about to make a suggestion, when something suddenly caught her attention. She held her hand up, gesturing Trip into silence, and together they attempted to listen in on what the Andorians were saying.
"...do you expect us to find him without using our portable scanners? The Vulcan could be anywhere within twenty kilometers of here by now!"
"You heard the Dominas as well as I—there's an Earth ship nearby! We've got to keep the interference field in place to prevent them from discovering what we're up to. Besides, if you hadn't let the Vulcan escape in the first place, we wouldn't be in this mess! We'd be parsecs away from this infernal ball of ice by now."
"So how do we find him?"
"Think, will you? The Vulcan has no food! He'll have to return to his ship eventually, or he'll starve to death out there."
"What about the craft we disabled last night?"
"What about it? It crashed straight into the mountains. Even if someone survived, they can't leave and they can't warn anyone—not while the interference field is up. Right now we've got more important things to worry about..."
Trip turned to T'Pol in the darkness. "At least we know we're still on a rescue mission." He nodded toward the empty chair on the Bridge.
T'Pol deduced his meaning. "Nevertheless, our predicament is the same as the Andorians'. How do we find the missing crewman through the interference field?"
Trip thought about this a moment, looking around the smashed Bridge. Then something occurred to him. "Hey T'Pol...would it be accurate to say that this ship is designed for spying?"
T'Pol's irritation was unexpected. "Why do you continually insist on assuming that Vulcans have duplicitous motives?"
"Come on, T'Pol. Your people haven't exactly been up front with Humans over the years. And judging by what happened on P'Jem, I'd say you haven't been up front with a lot of people out here."
T'Pol was about to respond more vigorously, when Trip suddenly held up his hand to silence her and peaked outside. The Andorians were searching the area around the wreckage for signs that might lead them to their quarry. Trip knew it wouldn't be long before their own tracks in the snow were found. He turned back to T'Pol with forced patience.
"Look...I'm not tryin' to be a jerk here, but I'm not stupid either. This ship is designed for stealth. And the most logical use of stealth is surveillance. Am I right?"
Her reply came after a somewhat disgruntled pause. "You are not entirely incorrect..."
"So there's got to be a station around here that controls the sensors, right?"
T'Pol pointed over his shoulder at a series of darkened panels. Trip checked their condition carefully, pulling off an access panel underneath the controls. Now, we're getting somewhere...
He held out his hand to her. "Give me the power cell from your tricorder."
If she was surprised at his request, she didn't show it, handing over the small component after removing it carefully from her tricorder. Trip took it without a word and worked silently underneath the console, while T'Pol kept an eye on the intruders. Finally, he made a satisfied sound and tapped a key on the controls. With a quiet hum, the panel came to life.
"Voila!"
T'Pol quickly sat at the controls and used the T'Hath's sensors to sweep the surrounding area for life signs, as Trip watched over her shoulder. "The T'Hath's sensors are a lot more sensitive than what we have on Enterprise, right? So it's a long shot, but I'm guessing we outta be able to get a faint reading on your friend if he's in the immediate area."
"Your reasoning is generally sound, if often so arbitrary as to appear fortuitous."
"Think I just get lucky, huh? Well, my Mamma always said fortune smiled upon me. Drives ya crazy, doesn't it?"
"Indeed." The console chirped softly and T'Pol checked the display. "There is a weak Vulcan life sign located in a system of caves approximately 2.3 kilometers to the north-northwest of our present location."
"Bingo." Trip reached underneath the panel and retrieved the power cell, handing it back to T'Pol. "Now all we need is a distraction." They both glanced outside the ship, to see the trio arguing again near the aft section of the ship. This time it was T'Pol who had an idea.
"The Andorians are standing near the upper nacelle ring." Trip glanced at her confused and T'Pol arched an eyebrow. "Directly in front of the plasma vents..."
Trip grinned devilishly, getting her meaning. "See? Now you're thinking like a Human..." They silently began moving back down the corridor to the rear of the ship.
"I shall endeavor not to be insulted."
Along the way, T'Pol opened a storage compartment and located a small backpack filled with survival gear—rations, a medkit and other emergency supplies. She slung it over her shoulder and they continued on. When they reached the small Engineering compartment, they had to take great care not to make any unwanted noise. They were now within just a few meters of the open airlock doors...and well within earshot of the Andorians. T'Pol silently pointed out the appropriate controls in the compartment and Trip nodded. Then she moved close to his ear, speaking in a soft whisper.
"We should split up. It would be regrettable if we inadvertently led the Andorians to their quarry."
"Agreed. When I give the signal, you slip out and run for the trees. I'll cover you and meet up with you at the caves as soon as I can."
"What are you going to do?"
Trip hefted his phase pistol pointedly. "I'm gonna create a little distraction."
T'Pol looked at him for a moment, then touched his chest shyly. "Please be careful, Commander."
Trip took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips with a wry smile. "I love you too. Now get ready..."
T'Pol moved to the airlock door and glanced out. As expected, the Andorians were standing right where they were supposed to be. She turned and nodded back to Trip, who winked at her. Then he grabbed the manual vent release and mouthed one word: "Now!"
T'Pol jumped out onto the snow and sprinted for the edge of the forest. She heard the startled exclamations of the Andorians, who spotted her within moments. Then she heard a loud HISSING sound as the T'Hath's upper nacelle ring was suddenly purged, engulfing the Andorians in a sizzling cloud of hot plasma. She glanced back briefly and saw Trip running in the opposite direction, and then the thick woods obscured the crash site from her view. Moving to the nearest tree, she quickly snapped off a fair sized branch full of thick bristles. Then she continued on, dragging the branch in the snow behind her in an effort to cover her footsteps. When she felt she'd gone far enough, she tossed the branch away and simply ran as fast as her legs would carry her.
For his part, Trip had also managed to escape the Vulcan ship during the confusion, ducking behind a torn piece of wreckage on the opposite edge of the clearing. As near as he could tell, T'Pol had slipped cleanly into the forest. From his vantage point, he could see that one of the Andorians was lying motionless on the ground, probably dead, while the other two had managed to seal their helmets against the toxic gas. They gestured wildly, pointing in the direction T'Pol had disappeared. They were going after her.
"Oh, no you don't..."
Taking careful aim, Trip fired a burst from his phase pistol right into the heart of the plasma cloud. With a blinding flash, the hot gasses ignited, killing both Andorians instantly. Unfortunately, Trip had underestimated the amount of plasma left in the T'Hath's vents. Without warning, the wall of flame blew back into the ship's nacelle ring. Moments later, the wreckage of the Vulcan craft was torn apart in a massive explosion. The blast tossed Trip like a rag doll, sending him flying back into the trees more than thirty yards from where he'd been standing. The last thing he remembered before the darkness engulfed him was a burning sensation on his face and hands. And then nothing.
Some five hundred kilometers directly overhead, another, much larger explosion was spreading in the blackness of space, blossoming like some terrible, burning flower. Tiny pieces of hull plating and spaceframe twinkled in the harsh sunlight of high orbit as they spun out of the cloud in microgravity. Moments later, something could be seen through the fireball...moving fast...NX-01. The Enterprise soared directly through the fading blast, dissipating the expanding gasses even further, and glided away. It's hull was badly scarred and its port nacelle sputtered a long trail of drive plasma. But the starship had survived.
On its Bridge, the air was pungent with the smell of burning electrical fires. Crewmen hurried around urgently, extinguishing hot spots and re-routing the function of damaged control panels to other stations.
Malcolm worked feverishly at Tactical. "That's it, Captain! We're clear. Nothing on the scanners that I can see for at least a parsec in all directions."
Archer heaved a sigh of relief. "Well done, Malcolm." He thumbed his intercom. "Bridge to Engineering. Damage report."
The frazzled voice of Lieutenant Burke came over the speaker. "We're still picking up the pieces, Captain. But I can tell you that we've lost at least two of the aft hull polarizers, along with most of the back-up generators below C Deck. And the primary plasma conduit to the port nacelle is leaking like a sieve. The polarizers are easy enough to fix, but the nacelle's gonna be a problem."
"Do we have warp capability?"
"We could make warp one for a few hours, sir, but I wouldn't recommend it. We'd probably burn out the whole nacelle. It'll take at least a day to fix. Maybe more."
"Do what you can, Lieutenant." He thumbed the com again. "Bridge to Sickbay. What's our casualty situation, Doctor?"
From the sound of Phlox's voice, he was already busy with patients. "Fifteen so far, Captain. All with relatively minor injuries. Some burns, a few broken bones. Crewman Cutler and I have it under control."
"Very well. Keep me posted."
Hoshi turned to Archer from her station. "Captain, I'm unable to raise either Starfleet or the Vulcans."
"Are we still being jammed?"
"Not as strongly as before, but there's definitely some lingering interference."
Malcolm checked his screens again. "Scanners are still clear, sir. But they were able to remain undetected before..."
Archer considered this for a moment and then turned to Ensign Mayweather. "Travis, head for the nearest of the planet's smallest moons. Find a deep crater on the side facing the surface, so we can still keep an eye out for Trip and T'Pol."
"Aye, sir."
Malcolm saw where this was going. "Thinking of playing a little hide and seek, Captain?"
Archer gave a hint of a smile. "If that's their game, we'll just have to beat them at it..."
Thirty minutes later, T'Pol made her way carefully up a steep incline of rock and ice, climbing towards the entrance to a deep cave that was hidden by a jagged outcropping on the mountainside above her. The going was slow, and it was made all the more difficult by her frustrating lack of concentration. T'Pol told herself that it was due to having been unable to meditate the night before, but the reality was that her thoughts kept returning inevitably to Commander Tucker. She had heard the destruction of the T'Hath shortly after fleeing from the clearing. And she'd seen Trip escaping behind her. Logically, she knew that Trip himself had probably triggered the explosion from a safe distance to prevent the Andorians from following them. But logic would do nothing to alleviate her growing sense of unease—of worry. She thought about what he'd said to her. I love you too. Now get ready...
I love you.
His words lingered doggedly in her mind. Her time among the Humans had taught her that the concept of love meant many different things, depending on the context. T'Pol believed that she knew what it meant to Trip—what he was trying to convey when he spoke the words to her—and that knowledge warmed her in a way she had never known before. But like so many Humans, he naively assumed that love was all that mattered in any given situation. That it was some kind of cure-all for any conceivable problem. She was only just beginning to appreciate what the ramifications of their bonding would be, both for her people and for his own. There would be a price to pay for their actions. He either hadn't realized it yet or, more likely, he simply didn't care. T'Pol shivered. Then, with great effort, she forced the growing feeling of dread from her mind. What is done cannot be undone, she told herself finally. It is better simply to focus on the task at hand.
As she reached the opening of the cave, the wind was beginning to gust harder and she was glad to find even temporary shelter from its biting chill. The passage itself was narrow and dark. T'Pol took out a small flashlight and began scanning with her tricorder as she made her way inside. Between the interference field and the thick rock, the readings were confusing. But there was definitely a life-form nearby. T'Pol soon passed through a wider chamber and then a second, before the passage turned sharply to the right. Then she heard a noise from around the corner—a scraping of something against the rocks. Stowing her tricorder, she placed a ready hand on her holstered phase pistol and called out in the darkness, speaking in Vulcan.
"Do not be alarmed. I am Sub-Commander T'Pol from the Earth starship Enterprise. We heard your distress call and have come to offer our assistance."
T'Pol heard another, louder shuffling sound. Moments later, a tall, stately Vulcan man stepped out from hiding in front of her. He was more than twice her age, with an angular face and lightly graying hair. He had a nasty gash on his forehead, clotted with green blood, and his arm hung uselessly at his side. As he approached, he walked with a visible limp. When he finally spoke, it was in English.
"It has been many years, T'Pol. I am gratified to see you again."
T'Pol recognized the voice immediately and trained her light higher, so she could see his face.
"Master Sesslek?"
"Indeed, child. You look surprised."
T'Pol silently chided herself for her lack of composure. "I...confess, I had not expected to find you here. Are you badly injured?" She pulled out her tricorder and scanned him thoroughly.
"My condition is less than optimal, but the discomfort is tolerable."
She frowned. "You have sustained numerous fractures. I am detecting internal hemorrhaging. You should not be on your feet." T'Pol hurried over to him and placed his good arm over her shoulder. Sesslek pointed toward the next cavern, and together they slowly made their way to his makeshift camp. A small fire was burning in one corner, its smoke floating lazily up to a tiny hole in the rock ceiling above. A satin cloak was spread on the floor nearby, where he'd obviously been sleeping. T'Pol helped him back to his bed, using her own coat to elevate his feet. Sesslek laid back wearily.
"I am grateful for your assistance, child. Do you have water?"
"Yes. And food." She poured him a cup from the ration bag, and held it for him. "Drink slowly."
When he had finished what he could, he regarded her thoughtfully as she worked to clean the cut on his brow.
"You have done well since our last meeting, T'Pol. I've heard reports of your posting to the Earth ship. Your patience with the Humans does you credit."
"If the reports were issued by the High Command, I doubt they were favorable. There have been...several missteps. P'Jem, the Tandaran incident, the destruction of the Paraagan colony..."
Sesslek dismissed this. "It is to be expected. The Humans are learning. In any case, the surveillance operation on P'Jem was an inadvisable strategic move from the outset. I have always said as much. And the Paraagan colony was destroyed by the Suliban, through no fault of the Humans."
T'Pol frowned slightly. "There are many in the High Command who would disagree."
"Such is their latest folly."
She arched an eyebrow, realizing. "You are part of the Intelligence Directorate."
He regarded her patiently. "I can neither confirm or deny."
"Of course." T'Pol had served in Intelligence herself, early in her career. She accepted the need for secrecy.
The next several minutes passed in companionable silence as T'Pol tended to Sesslek's other injuries, creating a sling to isolate his broken arm and bandaging several ribs. She administered an analgesic for his pain, over his half-hearted protests, and gave him more water. Finally, she sat back.
"That is the best I can do with our limited supplies. We will need to get you back to the Enterprise to deal with the bleeding soon. It is quite serious."
He acknowledged her concern. "There is nothing to be done of it at the moment. Tell me, child...how is your family? I have not spoken to your father since I was last on Vulcan, more than three years ago. Is he still teaching at the Science Academy?"
T'Pol frowned again. "I believe so. I have not spoken with him in nearly as long. My parents did not approve of my assignment to the Consulate on Earth. Nor, I suspect, do they agree with my decision to remain on the Enterprise."
Sesslek's eyes twinkled at her in the firelight. "It is the rare parent indeed who finds the choices of their offspring agreeable." Then he looked at her more intently, holding her gaze with his own. His next words caught her off guard.
"How long have you been bonded, child?"
T'Pol was unable to hide her surprise, though she quickly covered it. Of course he would know. Sesslek had been her mentor at the Vulcan Science Academy, many years before, and was a highly trained mental adept. She hesitated noticeably before answering.
"It is...a recent development."
Sesslek regarded her further, logically—but incorrectly—deducing the cause of her hesitation. "I do not imagine that Koss has adapted well to life among the Humans."
"I am not bonded to Koss."
The older man raised a surprised eyebrow of his own. "Indeed? Is there something you wish to tell me, T'Pol?"
The moment of truth had arrived. Against all logic, T'Pol chose to forestall it a little longer.
"You should rest now. It may be hours before we can return to the shuttlepod, and then to the Enterprise."
Sesslek knew she was being evasive, but decided to allow his former protg her secrets for the time being. With more patience than T'Pol would have expected, he closed his eyes and began meditating.
For a long time, T'Pol simply gazed into the fire, attempting meditation of her own. But the soothing embrace of serenity would not come. Inevitably, her thoughts turned once more to Trip. Try as she might, she couldn't dismiss the nagging feeling that something had gone wrong.
Find your way to me safely, Charles...
At that very moment, Trip Tucker would've had a hard time remembering that his first name was Charles. He was lying face down in the snow, about halfway between the crash site and the mountain caves where he was supposed to meet T'Pol. When he'd awoken from the initial shock of the explosion, he'd discovered that he had minor heat and plasma burning on his skin. So for the first ten minutes, he simply buried his face in the snow. Trip knew there was a danger of frostbite, but as far as he was concerned, nothing could be worse than the agony of the stinging burns. Of course, he was wrong. He'd been sickened to find dark red blood in the snow when he raised his face—a bad sign to be sure.
When he'd collected himself as much as was possible, Trip hauled himself to his feet, pulled out his tricorder and lurched off unsteadily in the direction he hoped he'd find T'Pol. Twenty minutes later, he'd only covered about a kilometer when the world started spinning. Another twenty minutes after that, he was struggling through the rugged terrain when his vision blurred and he began retching. As an engineer, he knew better than anyone what that mean—he was experiencing the very early symptoms of plasma toxicosis. And that was bad. Not just crappy day at work bad, or "Ah hell, my baseball team lost the Series" bad...but Bad with a capital "B". Ultimate Bad.
But bad or not, Trip was exhausted. He had to rest, even if just for a moment, so he laid down in the snow. As the world spun out of control around him, Trip struggled to remember what equipment they'd taken when they'd left the shuttlepod a few hours earlier. He thought he recalled that T'Pol had grabbed the pod's small Starfleet issue medkit. Trip fervently hoped that T'Pol hadn't dropped it inadvertently along the way. For if his luck held out, the kit would contain a tiny dose of bellamide oxide that could save his life. But he had to get to it soon. Which meant that he had to find T'Pol soon, or he was going to die.
Trip struggled to get to his feet, but found that the best he could do was push up onto his hands and knees. Okay...no problem, he told himself silently, trying to remain calm. If I gotta crawl, so be it. He fumbled in the snow until he found his tricorder and took a scan, trying to get his bearings. But nothing appeared on the screen—the tricorder wasn't working. He banged on it with his hand, which had absolutely no effect. Then he realized that it wasn't the device...his vision had simply blurred to the point that he could no longer read the screen. To make matters worse, the sun was already setting over the mountain peaks, making it harder to judge direction. And the temperature was dropping fast. Anger began to set in...
Just how short are the days on this fucking ice cube, anyway?!
And then came the panic. Trip had no idea how far he'd come, or which was the right direction to go from here. His communicator was useless, he couldn't read his tricorder...and now he could no longer walk. He was going to die on this God forsaken planet. And the worst thing of all was that if he died, T'Pol's life might be forfeit as well because of their bond. That terrible thought is all that kept him going. Desperate and running on empty, Trip began dragging himself, painfully, over the rocks and snow.
Meanwhile, back at the crash site, the blasted ruins of the T'Hath smoldered on, releasing a column of acrid, black smoke that climbed high into the evening sky. For a long time, the only sound to be heard was the whistling wind and the burning metal. Then there came a crunching of boots in the snow. A solitary figure appeared from out of the smoke, clad in a dark gray environment suit. It paused briefly to examine the trio of burned bodies laying near the wreckage, then it moved on. The figure combed the scene thoroughly—methodically—until it found what it was looking for. There, in the snow, was a set tracks—one that led away from the clearing and into the forest, toward the mountains. And there, also in the snow, was the dark stain of blood.
Dominas Shirv the Fifth flipped up his helmet visor and scanned the stain with his portable sensor stick. The DNA analysis was quick, confirming what he already suspected. This was Human blood.
As Andorians went, Shirv was not the patient sort. As the former heir apparent to one of the most powerful clans back home on Andoria, he was used to his orders being followed quickly and efficiently, and he was used to getting exactly what he wanted. When this didn't happen, others paid the price for it, usually with their lives. And now, not only had Shirv's Vulcan quarry escaped with his prize, three of his men were dead and one of his best frigates had been destroyed in space. Not that the latter were particularly valuable to him—men were the cheapest commodity of all and Shirv could afford to replace the ship a hundred times over. A thousand even.
No...it was the principle of the thing that mattered. The Humans were standing between Shirv and that which he wanted. His course of action was therefore clear. Right here, right now...this Human was going to pay with his life. And when Shirv's reinforcements arrived, the rest of the red-bloods would be sent to their deaths as well.
But first things first. The Dominas had always enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, since before the sport was outlawed on his world—one more decision by the current leadership that he didn't agree with. Shirv vowed that he would one day return home and set things right again. In the meantime, his only regret here was that this pathetic Human was leaking its DNA everywhere—tracking it would be too easy. No matter though...the kill would more than make up for it. It always did.
With an ominous smile, the Andorian raised his disruptor rifle and set off in search of his prey.
The blazing glare of the Vulcan suns blasted down, scorching the barren landscape relentlessly. A hot wind kicked stinging dust into the air, forcing the young woman to pull the satin hood of her robe tighter around her face. She'd been walking for hours it seemed—strange given that her families' ceremonial grounds lay only a short distance outside of ShirKahr. Undaunted, the woman strode on, toward the distant mountains. It was nearly nightfall when she finally reached the sacred place. T'Pol bowed her head and dropped her hood carefully, presenting herself for the rites according to the ancient traditions of her people. But when she glanced up, she was surprised to discover that the place was empty. Were not her parents supposed to await her arrival? Was this not to be her wedding day? And where was her future husband and his family? T'Pol was completely alone, with only the roiling eye of T'Khut watching over her indifferently.
Perhaps that was as it should be. T'Pol looked down, feeling a twinge of embarrassment...of shame. Hadn't she always been alone? Hadn't others always regarded her differently? For her entire life, she'd felt like an outsider among her own people. While her peers published countless dissertations on the history of logic or conducted the same experiments endlessly, T'Pol instead looked to the stars. While other Vulcans were content to see no further than the sand between their toes, she yearned to travel to other worlds...to understand her place in the Universe. But T'Pol knew the price of these yearnings...a life spent alone.
Taking one last look around the ground her family held sacred...T'Pol finally realized that it meant nothing to her. Shrugging her wedding robe from her shoulders, she turned and began walking back the way she came. And then there came a voice in the emptiness...
T'Pol! Can you hear me? Please...help me. T'Pol...!
T'Pol awoke with a start. She'd fallen asleep—unforgivable! She glanced around quickly, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness of the cave. The fire was nearly out and it was cold. She stirred the embers and added new bits of kindling, careful not to wake Sesslek. His breathing was labored and he was talking quietly in his sleep, mumbling a string of strange words in an ancient Vulcan tongue.
"...Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh..."
Clearly, he was not doing well. They'd have to get him back to the Enterprise soon, or he would not survive.
And that's when the voice came back to her—the voice from her dream. That she'd dreamt at all spoke volumes about her frazzled mental state. But it was the voice she focused on. The voice alone mattered now...Commander Tucker's voice. She knew without doubt that he was in trouble. Grabbing her tricorder and phase pistol, T'Pol hurried to the entrance of the cave. How long had she been asleep? She thought only a short time, but with the sun going down, anything could have happened. Trip could have been hurt, he could have gotten lost. All she knew for certain was that he was overdue...and she had to find him.
When she exited the cave, T'Pol was alarmed to realize that the sky was almost completely dark. Doing her best to temper her rapidly growing alarm, she stepped into the wind and disappeared into the night.
The sputtering sound of fusion torches echoed down the corridor as Jonathan Archer came to survey the repair work underway on F Deck. Trip's Engineering staff had been working for hours now, led by Lieutenant Burke. With the help of Malcolm's team from the Armory, they'd restored the aft hull polarizers and had even managed to bring secondary polarizers online—an idea Trip had suggested months before and had assigned Burke to begin preliminary work on. To say that Malcolm had been impressed with the Senior Engineering Assistant would be an understatement. Even now, he was up on the Bridge, giddily aligning the hull plating. Archer had never seen him so excited, and he suspected the young woman would be treated to a helluva dinner at their next port of call.
When she saw Archer approaching, Burke stepped away from the rest of her team, which was busy installing a new pre-burner and power couplings on the fusion generator in the Auxiliary Power compartment. She was covered in carbon soot and she looked exhausted, but Archer smiled at her anyway.
"Malcolm's ready to recommend you for sainthood and I'm inclined to agree. How's it coming?"
Hailey wiped the sweat from her forehead on her sleeve, and brushed a stray shock of long hair out of her eyes. "We're almost done, Captain. There's just one last generator left to repair after this one, up on D Deck. We've managed to patch the plasma leak and repressurize the lines to the port nacelle, but I think that's the best we can do outside of a spacedock. One good hit and it'll break loose again."
"That's all right. You've done more than anyone can ask, Lieutenant. Why don't you get some sleep."
"There's just a few more—"
Archer smiled again, patiently. "Consider it an order."
Burke relented. "Aye sir. As soon as we're finished here, I'll take a break."
"Good." Noticing that she seemed to hesitate, he continued. "You've done a fine job, Hailey. Trip would be proud."
She glanced up worried. "Do you think he's all right, sir? Commander Tucker's not...well, he's sort of—"
Archer laughed quietly. "You mean he has a way of getting himself into trouble whenever he leaves the ship?"
"Aye sir," she admitted sheepishly.
"I wouldn't worry, Lieutenant. Trip's got nine lives." Then he seemed to consider what he'd said. "And just in case, the Sub-Commander's got his back."
Burke nodded and went back to work, looking somewhat less that relieved. Archer turned and headed back to the turbolift.
I'm counting on you, T'Pol...
Sesslek awoke to the sound of someone moving down the long rock passageway from the entrance of the cave. After a brief moment of alarm, he noted T'Pol's absence, and reasonably concluded that she was the likeliest suspect. But judging by the heavy, trudging quality to the sound of the approaching footsteps, she was not alone.
Moments later, the petite Vulcan appeared from around the corner as expected, half supporting and half dragging an injured Starfleet officer, who appeared to have been exposed to the elements somewhat longer than was advisable. The fair-haired young Commander was in a sorry state, wavering on the edge of consciousness. He shivered uncontrollably as T'Pol deposited him near the fire and began brushing a shower of ice crystals from his hair and clothing. Sesslek did his best to stoke the flames as the man roused.
"So c-c-cold. Can't see..."
T'Pol glanced at him in alarm, and began scanning him with her tricorder. "You have a dangerous concentration of dissolved toxins in your bloodstream."
"P-plasma toxicosis. Need the medkit. Please tell me you have it."
Her concern grew. "I do not."
Trip looked at her dismayed. "What?"
"You were carrying it." She reached into one of the pockets in his parka and, with notable relief, produced a small metal container, upon which a stylized caduceus was etched. The Commander stared at it dumbly.
"I'll be damned..." He fumbled with the kit. "I need the bellamin— the bellade—"
"Bellamide oxide? Sit still. I will administer the dose."
With care and efficiency, T'Pol loaded the appropriate vial into the kit's hypospray and pressed it into Trip's shoulder. He sighed in relief.
"Thanks. S-should be okay for a little while. But...still g-gotta get back to the ship." Trip squinted his eyes and focused as best he could on T'Pol. "Next time Jon asks me on an away mission...remind me to s-say no. Don't think I've really got the knack for 'em."
"You have had an inordinate number of mishaps."
"Whatcha need is someone who hasn't got a big r-red bulls-eye on his back. Like maybe one of Malcolm's Security guys..."
"I shall take your recommendation under advisement."
For the first time, Trip looked around, still squinting, and seemed to notice that they weren't alone. "Who's your friend?"
"His name is Sesslek. He was my mentor at the Vulcan Science Academy." She turned to Sesslek. "This is Commander Charles Tucker the Third. He is the Chief Engineer of the Enterprise."
Sesslek nodded politely. Trip gave a half smile. "Pleased ta meet ya. I'm uh...'fraid I kinda b-blew up yer ship."
The Vulcan seemed to consider this for a moment, looking mildly surprised. "I was no longer using it."
That seemed to satisfy the Human, who laid his head back down and smiled wearily at T'Pol.
"Thought I'd never s-see you again..."
T'Pol took his hand reassuringly. "Obviously, you were mistaken. You should try to sleep now."
Trip yawned. "Hhhmmmmm...not tired." Moments later, he was out.
Sesslek's brow furrowed. "T'Pol, are you certain this man is an engineer?"
"Quite certain."
Sesslek raised an eyebrow. "He is perhaps the most...irrational individual I have ever met."
"You have not encountered him at his best," T'Pol admitted. "However, he is quite skilled...a brilliant warp specialist, even by Vulcan standards."
"Fascinating. It is very easy to underestimate these Humans."
"I too misjudged them often at first. But they have a way of surprising."
"Indeed."
They fell silent for a time. Sesslek quietly observed the concern T'Pol obviously held for her shipmate. She continued to stroke his hand gently as she pondered their situation. This was what struck Sesslek first. Vulcans, by nature, were not tactile beings, preferring instead to observe a strong sense of privacy and personal space. T'Pol, by contrast, was maintaining an almost constant physical connection with the young man...the kind of connection that was intended to reassure both parties. The kind of connection Vulcans only allowed with their mates.
As realization dawned, Sesslek was incredulous. "T'Pol...you have bonded with this Human?"
T'Pol regarded the dirt floor of the cave for long moments, feeling the crushing weight of humiliation as it bore down upon her heavily. This was the moment she'd been dreading ever since she and Trip had left the Enterprise. She couldn't hide her connection with the Commander. Not from her own kind. T'Pol looked up at her former mentor with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Yes."
It was only after some hours of uncomfortably silent contemplation that Sesslek finally spoke again.
"Obviously, your duties prevented you from returning to Vulcan in time for your marriage ceremony," he reasoned. "Biological imperatives no doubt necessitated a prudent, if unconventional, solution to the problem. Your actions were therefore logical, if inconvenient and...somewhat less than ideal."
T'Pol looked up at him suddenly, as if in surprise. Sesslek had been quiet for so long that she'd almost forgotten he was there, preoccupied as she was with her own thoughts and with observing Commander Tucker in his sleep. She should have anticipated her mentor's line of thinking. It was only natural that he should try to apply logic to her situation. She found it momentarily flattering that he had given her the benefit of the doubt in his equations. The truth, however, was undeniable.
"My actions were not logical. Koss's parents informed me that if I failed to return home at the appropriate time, our wedding would be canceled. When I was presented with an opportunity to return, I choose instead to remain on the Enterprise. My reasons were...self-serving. They were not logical."
Sesslek regarded her for a moment as he digested this new revelation. Then...
"It is possible...although difficult in the extreme...to break an undesirable bonding. It has been done successfully in very rare cases. But the danger to both of you would be great."
T'Pol glanced back at Trip softly, then lowered her eyes once more. "I do not wish to undo this bond."
Sesslek regarded her further, considering the admission she had just made. Then he sighed in resignation.
"I have known you for many years, T'Pol. You have never been one to follow the path that is expected of you. But though your courage in accepting responsibility for this bonding is admirable, your actions will no doubt have...serious repercussions. You will very likely be discharged from your service to the High Command."
T'Pol nodded solemnly. "I have brought shame to my family. I am already an embarrassment to them."
"Yours has always been a restless nature. But you must not be ashamed of who you are. We are all who we are for many reasons. Some are known to us. Others are not. You must ask yourself why you have made these decisions. And you must not be afraid of what you may find."
"There is nothing to find. In the eyes of our people, I am a disgrace. That alone is relevant."
Sesslek raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I too am the subject of a certain degree of scorn among my peers on Vulcan. But I serve a greater purpose—one which I believe is vital to the future of our people. What others choose to believe is not of my concern." He glanced at her pointedly. "Always remember, T'Pol...the course of your life is yours alone to chart."
T'Pol was taken aback by his comments. Sensing this, Sesslek smiled faintly in amusement. "Of course, we do not speak of such things on our world. It would not be considered logical."
Something suddenly occurred to T'Pol. She glanced at Sesslek pointedly. "You still have not told me why you came to this planet."
For long moments, Sesslek silently debated how much it was wise to reveal to his former protg. He chose his words carefully.
"The Andorians you encountered are pirates...renegades. The T'Hath was sent by the High Command to retrieve something from them. Something that was stolen from our people a very long time ago."
Now T'Pol was even more puzzled. "Did you find that which you sought?"
The cold voice that answered was not Sesslek's. "Yes...he did."
The Vulcans turned suddenly in alarm. Dominas Shirv was standing in the passageway behind them, his disruptor rifle pointed squarely in their direction. The Andorian prince smiled darkly. "But now, he's going to give it back. Or all of you will die."
T'Pol exchanged a silent glance with Sesslek. Then she turned back to the intruder, and interrupted just as her mentor was about to speak.
"There is no reason to believe that you will allow us to live whether you get what you have come for or not."
Without warning, the Andorian struck T'Pol hard across the forehead, sending her flying into the ashes of the fire. It was a testament to her Vulcan discipline that she managed to withhold a cry from the pain of the burns her hands sustained. Now Sesslek spoke.
"It does not belong to you. You have no claim upon it."
Shirv whirled and struck him as well, although the Vulcan barely flinched.
"It's mine! I've paid your enemies dearly for it. And I will have it!"
"The thing cannot be bought and sold, Dominas. What is more, where I have hidden it, you will never find it. Not in a lifetime of searching. And if I die, it is gone forever."
"Then she will die first." With blinding speed, Shirv aimed his disruptor at T'Pol. There came the shrill ringing sound of unleashed energy...and then the Andorian looked down in shock at a burning hole in his chest. With a gasp, Dominas Shirv fell to his knees. He glared at Sesslek bitterly.
"It's not over yet...Vulcan..." he whispered. And then he died.
Lying next to Sesslek, Trip squinted frantically, his phase pistol waving back and forth in front of him. "Did I hit him?!"
T'Pol quickly surveyed the fallen corpse of the Andorian. The gaping wound was still smoldering.
"Yes." She stood and inspected her damaged hands. Then she turned to Trip, with a realization that sent a chill straight through her. "How long have you been awake?" Her real question hung in the air unspoken.How much did you hear?
With T'Pol's assistance, Trip climbed to his feet and holstered his weapon. "Long enough." He turned to Sesslek. "So you're bleeding inside and I've been poisoned. The way I figure it, you and I are gonna die in this cave if we don't get moving now. Are you fit to travel?"
Sesslek also struggled to his feet. "As you say, there is little choice. I will manage."
Trip turned back to T'Pol. "Someone has to take out that interference field. Take your friend back to the shuttlepod and I'll meet you there as soon as I can..." With that, he turned and headed determinedly for the exit. But, unable to see clearly, he walked straight into the rock wall and fell back on his ass. T'Pol helped him up again.
"Guess it's time for Plan B..." he admitted sheepishly. T'Pol struggled to keep a smile from her lips.
"I will deactivate the interference field. You will return with Sesslek to the shuttlepod, where you can make the necessary repairs. Sesslek will act as your eyes...you can lend him your strength."
The older Vulcan glanced at them both and straightened. "That arrangement will suffice."
T'Pol quickly gathered their gear and put out the fire. Then Trip slung Sesslek's arm over his shoulder and they were ready to depart. As T'Pol turned to leave, Trip called after her.
"Hey, T'Pol...be careful, okay? Consider it a personal favor to me."
She hesitated. "I will apply caution for us both, Commander." And then she was gone.
For a moment, Sesslek and Trip regarded each other uncomfortably. Then Trip cleared his throat.
"Well...guess we'd better bust a move."
"Indeed. The passageway is three meters to the right..."
Thirty minutes later, Trip was already exhausted. He and Sesslek were leaving heavily against a tree, taking a brief moment to rest. They'd only gone less than a kilometer, mostly climbing down steep rocks and ice, with the wind was blowing fiercely in their faces. But judging by the glowing light on the horizon, dawn was approaching fast.
Trip handed Sesslek his tricorder. "How much farther does this say?"
The Vulcan glanced at the device carefully. "Two-point-four kilometers to the east."
Trip nodded and pocketed the tricorder. Then he looked at his companion questioningly. "So how long have you known T'Pol?"
"Her father and I are colleagues. I have know her all her life. Sixty-five years, one-hundred and eighty seven days, twelve hours—"
"Damn. I knew she was old, but...damn."
The Vulcan raised a skeptical eyebrow. "She is barely adult by Human standards."
Trip stood and placed Sesslek's arm over his shoulders again. "Guess that's true. And she was a student of yours, you say?"
"Yes."
"Bet she drove you crazy sometimes, didn't she."
"There were moments that necessitated a higher degree of patience..."
Trip smiled. "I'll bet. Well, come on...it's all uphill from here."
They trudged on in the growing light.
Farther up the mountainside, T'Pol silently approached a level stretch of ground upon which a small shuttlecraft was resting. Moving cautiously, she crept up to the craft and hid behind one of its landing struts. Peeking around carefully, she saw a young officer pacing nervously back and forth, no doubt awaiting the return of his commander. He appeared to be alone. And there, on the other side of the pirates' small camp, was a large dish-shaped transmitter—the source of the interference field.
When the young Andorian was turned away, T'Pol stepped up silently behind him and leveled her phase pistol carefully at his back.
"Make no sudden movements. I do not wish to harm you, but I will not hesitate to do so. Raise your hands and turn around slowly."
The young officer complied, turning to face her. He was clearly terrified. T'Pol suspected that he had probably washed out of the regular Andorian military and had been recruited by the pirates.
"Are you alone?"
The man nodded, panicked. Adjusting her aim slightly, T'Pol fired an efficient burst with her weapon over the Andorian's shoulder. The transmitter shuddered momentarily and then blew apart, tiny pieces of its delicate, golden dish fluttering down upon the snow all around. By this time, the young man's knees were shaking visibly.
"Please! Please don't kill me! I'll do whatever you ask...just don't kill me! I have offspring...one of them is a female, like yourself..."
T'Pol strode forward and took his disruptor, tossing it away into the rocks where he'd have to spend considerable time searching for it.
"I do not plan to kill you. But neither can I allow you to follow me."
Once again aiming her weapon carefully, T'Pol destroyed two of the three landing struts on the shuttle. Off balance, the craft fell over on its side...and then slid a short distance on the ice, coming to rest on the edge of a steep precipice. T'Pol walked up to it calmly and, raising her foot, gave it a gentle push. The shuttlecraft slid easily over the edge of the cliff. Moments later, they heard the sound of it exploding on the rocks far below.
Satisfied, T'Pol turned back to the Andorian, who was standing in shock, mouth agape. He turned to her panicked, his voice noticeably higher.
"What have you done?! The Dominas will have my head when he returns!!"
"The Dominas will not be returning. You are free of his employ." This news took the young officer by surprise. Slowly, he began to relax.
"How will I survive without the shuttle?"
T'Pol considered this for a moment. Then she unshouldered her survival pack and tossed it at his feet.
"This will keep you alive. When I return to my starship, I will send word to your people to retrieve you."
With that, she turned and headed back the way she came. Slowly, the young Andorian lowered his hands. Then he bent down to examine the bag. It was filled with rations, a tent, a blanket, packs of water. He selected a small bar of something labeled 'Chocolate' and unwrapped it carefully, taking a tentative bite. Then his eyes went wide in surprise, and he sat down to eat contentedly. He began to smile.
Suddenly, the day wasn't looking so bad after all...
Several hundred thousand kilometers away, the starship Enterprise hovered silently in the shadow of a small asteroid moon, her grappling lines securely holding her in place above the rim of a large crater.
Inside, the Bridge crew sat silently at their stations, keeping watch on the planet below. Suddenly, Malcolm's Tactical panel began beeping insistently. He checked the display and looked up in surprise.
"Captain...the interference field is gone!"
Archer leaned forward hopefully. "Can you get a reading on Trip and T'Pol?"
"Scanning..."
Then Hoshi turned from her station excitedly. "Sir, we're receiving an incoming transmission from the planet! It's Sub-Commander T'Pol!"
Archer stood eagerly. "Put her on." Raising his voice, he spoke hopefully into the air. "T'Pol, are you and Trip all right?"
There was a brief burst of static, and then the Vulcan's voice came through clearly.
"The Commander and I are somewhat worse for wear, but we are alive. I have deactivated the Andorians' interference field and am returning to the shuttlepod now."
Archer frowned. "Andorians? What the hell are they doing down there?"
"I will explain when we have returned to the Enterprise, Captain. We will be accompanied by one survivor from the T'Hath."
Archer beamed, along with the rest of his Bridge crew. "I'll have the Doctor standing by in the Launch Bay. We're transmitting the rendezvous coordinates now." He glanced at Travis, who nodded and sent the data to Hoshi for relay. Archer sighed in relief. "It's good to hear your voice, T'Pol."
"I am gratified to hear yours as well, Captain. T'Pol out."
The moment the contact was broken, a cheer erupted on the Bridge. Archer laughed and sat back in his chair. Then he turned to Ensign Mayweather.
"Kick the tires and light the fires, Travis. It's time to go."
"Aye, sir! Will I ever be glad to get out of here..."
Moments later, the battered but resilient starship reeled in its mooring lines and angled away, headed for the frozen world below.
With a groan, the shuttlepod hatch opened to admit Commander Tucker, along with a swirling gale of snow and ice. The Human stumbled wearily inside and fumbled with the door controls, his shaking hands struggling to find the correct button to close the hatch behind him. That finally accomplished, Trip set his small tool kit on the floor of the pod and removed his gloves.
"Damn hands won't stop shaking. Guess it's a good thing we're going home soon. I still can't see much beyond arm's length, and now I'm starting to feel light-headed. This plasma toxicosis is nothin' ta mess with." Finally, he began looking around the cabin.
"I think I got the RCS thrusters back online. Hey Sesslek...you see that blue control on the panel behind you? The series of four buttons—two red ones, a yellow one and the blue one? Give the blue one a try will you?"
With great effort, Sesslek reached over and activated the correct control. Moments later, the shuttlepod thrummed to life. Trip smiled wearily and shrugged off his coat as the heaters began working to warm the cabin.
"Nice to know I haven't lost my touch." Then, for the first time, Trip focused on Sesslek and got a good look at his face. The Vulcan was sweating profusely and he was holding his side in obvious pain.
"No offense, but you're looking a little greener than normal. Are you all right?"
Sesslek nodded weakly. "I am well enough. Do not concern yourself, Commander."
With the toxins beginning to affect his reasoning, Trip failed to realize that the Vulcan was lying to him. And as he was unfamiliar with Vulcan culture, he was also unable to comprehend how significant that was. So, exhausted, Trip did the only thing he could...he nodded, gave the Vulcan a friendly smile and promptly collapsed into the nearest seat. He was unconscious within moments.
Sesslek regarded the sleeping Human for a moment, his brow furrowed in amazement despite his dire condition.
"Fascinating."
Then a terrible pain lanced up his side and he was unable to avoid crying out. Sesslek knew what this meant. Having lost so much blood internally, the burden on his heart was becoming too great. His circulatory system was collapsing. Sesslek was dying. Logically, there was only one course of action remaining.
Mustering all the reserves of strength he had left, Sesslek moved across the cabin and knelt next to the unconscious Starfleet officer. With determined precision, he removed his own glove. Then he regarded the Human with a degree of sympathy and compassion.
"It is obvious that T'Pol thinks very highly of you. She has shown a great deal of trust in you. Therefore, I shall trust you as well." Laying his hand upon Trip's face, his fingertips found the proper contact points.
"Remember..."
Only minutes later, T'Pol peered through the blowing snow and saw the welcome sight of Shuttlepod One through a break in the trees ahead. With relief washing over her, she struggled up to the small craft and leaned against its hull in exhaustion. She could feel the warmth of the craft's metallic-composite skin through her parka. Trip had succeeded in finishing the repairs. He and Sesslek were probably inside right now, running the preflight checks. The smile that appeared on her face would have seemed surprising...if anyone had been around to see it.
But the scene that greeted T'Pol when she finally opened the hatch rattled her Vulcan composure badly. Her mentor was lying motionless on the floor of the cabin. A quick check of his life signs revealed that he was already gone. T'Pol had only a moment to hang her head in sadness, when she heard a faint groan. Trip was splayed across the copilot's seat, his skin as white as the landscape outside. Panic threatened to overcome her weakened defenses, but T'Pol managed to tamp it down. The engineer's pulse was thready and weak, but he was alive. And T'Pol was determined to keep it that way. Kissing his forehead gently, she hurriedly strapped the Human into his seat, pressurized the cabin and took her place at the flight controls.
Outside, the high-pitched whine of the shuttlepod's thrusters rose steadily above the howling wind until, finally, the tiny craft rose through the trees. Then, with the first golden light of dawn glinting against its hull, Shuttlepod One soared into the sky and disappeared into the clouds.
"We're in position, Captain."
Archer stepped forward to check the navigation readout on the Helm. Satisfied, he gripped Ensign Mayweather's shoulder reassuringly for a moment.
"Hold us here, Travis. Malcolm?"
"The shuttlepod is climbing into the upper atmosphere now, Captain. They should reach our coordinates in less than ten minutes."
"Very good. I'm looking forward to having something positive to report to Admiral Forrest for a change. Hoshi, can you open a channel—"
Suddenly, Hoshi interrupted him urgently. "Sir, I've lost contact with the shuttlepod. We're being jammed again."
Just then a Tactical alarm sounded. Malcolm reported tensely. "Captain, I have four contacts bearing zero-seven-zero degrees...closing fast! Same type as the ship we encountered before. They're arming weapons..."
Archer turned to Malcolm irately. "Polarize the hull plating. Target the lead ship and hit it with everything we've got the moment they're in range. I'm tired of getting kicked around out here."
He strode back to his chair and thumbed the intercom. "All hands, this is the Captain. We're about to come under attack again. Take emergency stations immediately..."
On the forward viewer, the sleek outlines of the four Andorian frigates resolved rapidly as they closed at high speed. Multiple flashes appeared as the lead ship began firing. Then another alert sounded and Malcolm took action.
"Enemy in range! Firing all weapons!"
Hit with a full barrage of their phase cannons and missiles, the lead ship's shielding was quickly overwhelmed. It suffered numerous hits, and careened out of control. But there was no time to savor the small victory. Travis turned back from the Helm.
"Here they come!"
Moments later, the remaining ships opened fire...and all hell broke loose.
"Enterprise, this is Shuttlepod One. Do you read? Enterprise, please respond..."
T'Pol left the channel open but it was no use. Communications were being deliberately jammed. That likely meant that the Enterprise had fallen under attack. Lightly armed and only minimally shielded, if the shuttlepod were to attempt a rendezvous in the middle of a battle, it would be an easy target.
Checking the status panel, T'Pol began to silently debate her limited options. She could either continue as planned and hope for the best, head back to the surface or enter a different orbit, with the idea of finding relative safety by remaining as far away from the original coordinates as possible.
She was just beginning to plot a course for an alternate orbital insertion, when the shuttlepod shuddered violently. The cabin lights dimmed, and the monitors before her fluttered erratically. Seconds later, an alarm sounded. Conditioned by years of rigorous training as an engineer, Trip stirred and came to, undoing the straps and moving to stand beside her unsteadily. He scanned the flight controls slowly, struggling to make his brain work against the effects of the toxins.
"Uh oh...that's a master alarm. We're losing power."
T'Pol turned to him urgently. "I disabled the interference field. We should be unaffected by—"
Trip interrupted her as he struggled to get his eyes to focus. "No, no...you don't understand. The fuel cells are bein' drained somehow. S'not the interference field..."
He fell to his knees as the cabin began spinning around him. T'Pol grabbed his shoulders to hold him upright. "I thought you repaired the crash damage."
"Did. That N'dorian guy musta found the shuttlepod...sabotaged the cells so we wouldn't see it until we were in flight..." His head lurched forward precariously. Trip looked at her through eyes that were becoming dilated and unresponsive. "Sorry, T'Pol...m'so sorry...I wish..." And then he slumped to the deck.
Suddenly, T'Pol's options had been reduced from three to one. There was neither enough power to return to the surface safely or to make another orbit. In fact, at the rate the fuel cells were being drained, there would very likely not be enough power to reach orbit at all.
"Shuttlepod One to Enterprise...we are in urgent need of assistance..."
Unable to hear T'Pol's distress call through the jamming, Hoshi reported other incoming messages frantically. "Damage reports from all decks, Captain...heavy casualties...multiple hull breaches...!"
An electrical fire erupted from the Science station behind her, and crewmen raced to get it under control. Malcolm called out from Tactical, sounding frustrated. "Sir, the phase cannons are offline and we're out of missiles! The Andorians are regrouping...they're coming around for another pass!"
"Another pass and we're done for." Archer turned to the Helm. "Travis, can you get us out of here?"
"Not fast enough, sir. I've got one-quarter impulse only."
Archer thumbed the com. "Bridge to Engineering. I need more speed, Hailey!" There was no response. "Engineering...Hailey, are you there?" Nothing.
Malcolm called out again. "Captain, they're closing in. Three ships at two-nine-zero degrees!"
Thinking fast, Archer formulated a plan. "Travis, how close together are the first two ships?"
Puzzled, the Ensign checked his display. "Close...maybe a hundred meters apart."
"Set course two-nine-zero. Full speed. Take us right over them."
Travis's eyes went wide, but he replied quickly. "Aye, sir."
Archer turned to Tactical. "Malcolm, arm the grapplers. Aim for the lead ship when she goes underneath us..."
Suddenly, Malcolm smiled wickedly, getting the idea. "Bloody hell...!"
"Count us down, Travis..."
Travis shook his head in amazement, not quite believing what they were about to attempt.
Outside, the Enterprise turned gracefully to port and accelerated toward the attackers.
"Ten seconds to intercept...nine, eight, seven, six..."
"They're firing, Captain!" The Andorian ships unleashed a massive volley. The Enterprise rocked under the impact, the deck heaving violently. More alarms rang out urgently.
"...three, two, one!"
The Enterprise glided over two of the frigates. As it passed over the first, several grappling lines shot out from the lower hull of the starship, attaching themselves firmly to the upper hull of the attacker. Moments later, the lines went taught and the smaller craft was pulled violently off course by the larger ship's momentum. It tumbled wildly...directly into the path of the second frigate. They collided and disintegrated in a blinding flash.
The rest of the Bridge crew watched stunned. Malcolm shouted excitedly.
"You did it, Captain!"
But Archer only frowned at the viewscreen. On it, the third frigate could be seen swinging away on a new course, headed for the planet.
"Where's that other ship going?"
Then Hoshi called out again. "Sir, I'm getting something through the interference. I think it's the shuttlepod!"
Malcolm looked up from his screens in alarm. "Sir, the Andorian ship has spotted the pod! It's headed right for them!"
"Travis, set an intercept course! Full speed!"
"Coming around to intercept, sir! But how are we gonna stop them?! Our weapons are offline!"
Glancing at Travis, the Captain thought frantically. Then he thumbed the com again.
"Bridge to all hands. Evacuate all forward sections immediately! Brace for impact!"
As she struggled to squeeze every last ounce of power out of the shuttlepod's fuel cells, T'Pol caught only a brief glimpse of the Enterprise on her screens—just enough to know that it was badly damaged. Then, glancing out the viewport in front of her, T'Pol saw the dark outline of an Andorian frigate...headed right for her. Almost without conscious thought, T'Pol slammed the shuttlepod into a dive in a desperate attempt to evade the attack she knew was about to come. She barely registered the alarm signaling that the pod's fuel cells had run dry, when suddenly there was a blur of motion and silver-gray color. The Enterprise angled down fast, missing the shuttlepod by less than a hundred meters. It filled T'Pol's viewport and blinded all her sensors, slamming directly into the Andorian ship. There was a brilliant flash...and then the shuttlepod tumbled, out of control, right into the middle of it.
Archer came to slowly, realizing that he'd been thrown to the deck in the collision. He opened his eyes to burning smoke and darkness. Ensign Mayweather was laying nearby, unconscious. Struggling to pull himself up, Archer called out to Tactical.
"Malcolm...you still with me?" There came a long fit of coughing and then a weak reply.
"Aye. Barely, but I'm here, sir..."
Archer leaned unsteadily toward Communications. "Hoshi, can you contact the shuttle—" Then he realized that Lieutenant Sato was sprawled motionless across her station. She'd been struck by debris and was losing blood fast. Tearing the sleeve off his uniform, he tried to stench the flow.
Malcolm fought with his damaged station, trying to scan the immediate area around the ship. "The shuttlepod cleared the explosion, Captain. But they're losing altitude fast. They're going to burn up in the atmosphere if we don't do something in a hurry!"
Tying the bloody cloth as tightly as he could around Hoshi's wound, Archer moved to the shattered Helm station and began working the controls. It was no use.
"The Helm's not responding. Emergency power is failing. We're drifting."
"Sir, I'm reading another enemy ship approaching! It must be the one we damaged first!"
Crippled, but sensing that it's prey was mortally wounded, the last frigate swung around behind the Enterprise. The time for revenge was at hand. It armed its weapons and closed in for one last strike.
Archer and Malcolm could only watch the flickering viewscreen helplessly as the Andorian ship closed to almost point blank range. Defeated, Archer moved to the center of the Bridge, reaching for the armrest of his chair...for the control that would launch the ship's disaster log buoy. It chirped softly, confirming a successful deployment. The final act of Earth's first starship Captain.
Then Archer turned back to the screen. He watched calmly as the attacker opened fire...
...and promptly exploded in a volley of phase-fire. The com crackled to life.
"This is Captain Vanik of the Vulcan ship Ti'Mur. Stand by, Enterprise..."
Watching on her small viewscreen, T'Pol saw the last Andorian frigate vaporized by the combined fire of two Vulcan science vessels and a larger ship she believed to be the combat cruiser Sh'Raan. The Enterprise was safe. But although one of the science vessels was now moving to intercept the shuttlepod, it was simply too far away. Without power, the shuttlepod was already plunging steeply back into the planet's atmosphere, losing altitude faster than the tiny craft was designed to handle. Outside, the hull was ablaze from the friction of their passage. In a minute, perhaps less, the shuttlepod's spaceframe would rupture, and they would burn up.
T'Pol had failed. She'd failed her people, she'd failed her family. She'd failed Sesslek and her Captain. And worse than all of the others combined, she'd failed Trip. There was only one thing left that she could do. Abandoning the controls, T'Pol sat on the floor of the shuttlepod and cradled her unconscious mate in her arms.
Though she believed in neither Fate nor God, T'Pol knew that Trip did, at least on some level. And so she silently cursed both on his behalf, mourning the future they would never have. The life they would never spend together. Children that would never be born. She found it ironic that only now, at the end, had the thought of offspring ever entered her mind. Was it even possible for a Human and a Vulcan to conceive a child? She was saddened to realize that neither of them would ever find out.
Without warning, the shuttlepod began to shake and groan, no longer able to withstand the forces acting upon it. The temperature within the tiny cabin had risen to unbearable levels, the sizzling air burning over her skin, inside her lungs. Then T'Pol felt a strange tingling sensation from every nerve in her body at once. There were stars in her eyes and her ears began ringing—the cabin was decompressing. For a moment, she marveled at the strange sensations of death. Then she buried her face in Trip's dirty blonde hair and held him as tightly as she could, though she could no longer feel him in her arms.
"I love you," she breathed into his ear, though she could no longer hear her own voice.
And then the shuttlepod disintegrated.
For only the second time, Captain Vanik stepped through the docking airlock and boarded the Human starship, Enterprise. The destruction was immediately evident. The corridors were filled with pungent smoke. Bulkheads and wall panels were torn or blown open, exposing various conduits and sub-systems, many of them no longer functioning. Loose equipment and failed structural elements were strewn about chaotically. Damage control teams, some of them Vulcans from his own ship, were struggling to extinguish still burning fires or restore the most critical systems. Among the Humans, scores of injuries were apparent. And as he carefully made his way through the ship, Vanik saw that the dead had not yet been removed. Bodies were scattered everywhere.
The Enterprise was an almost literal wreck. The ship had been drifting powerless until the Ti'Mur and Ra'Zaan had docked and stabilized it. There were great gaping holes in its hull, where Andorian disruptor fire had overloaded the ship's crude polarizers. More than a dozen compartments had been exposed to the vacuum of space. And a portion of the forward section had been destroyed in an actual collision with one of the frigates.
Captain Vanik had commanded starships for much of his adult life. His career in the High Command had been long and honorable, and he'd accomplished much. He'd always fulfilled his duty with the knowledge that, sometimes, it would require that sacrifices be made. But in all his years in space, Vanik's duty had never demanded so great a sacrifice as this.
That the Enterprise had survived at all was...unexpected. Logically, it should have been no match for the five frigates it had engaged, each of which was significantly better armed. It was only through the sheer audacity of its Captain that any of its crew had survived. A Vulcan commander, in similar circumstances, would never have employed such unorthodox methods of combat. Vanik himself would never have thought to deliberately collide his ship with an enemy vessel, or use docking grapplers as a offensive weapon. Some would call such tactics reckless, but Vanik had been reluctantly forced to admit that Jonathan Archer, emotional and unconventional though he may be, was a capable starship Captain. What's more, Vanik was beginning to suspect that there was more to these Humans than he had previously given them credit for. It was a most unsettling realization.
But as unsettling as that might be, nothing could have disturbed Vanik more than the sight he'd been confronted with less than an hour ago on board the Ti'Mur. As part of the High Command's joint operations with Starfleet, Vanik had been asked by the Science Directorate to field test and evaluate the Humans' transporter technology. The device clearly violated several established scientific principals that had been considered sacrosanct by Vulcan physicists for centuries. And yet it worked, in defiance of all logic. When it was determined that the Enterprise's shuttlepod was in imminent danger of burning up in the planet's atmosphere, Vanik had ordered its occupants beamed aboard. It had been very, very close. The shuttlepod had actually exploded during the transport, and for long moments, it was feared that the occupants would not materialize. But when they finally did, Vanik and his officers were suddenly stunned silent. There, lying on the transport platform in visibly haggard condition, was the Enterprise's Vulcan Science Officer, T'Pol, cradling an unconscious Human officer in her arms. That the two were obviously bonded was shocking enough. But it was the waves of raw emotion that were telepathically cascading from the young Vulcan—guilt, sorrow, despair—that were the most disturbing. For a moment, T'Pol had focused on Vanik with liquid, despondent eyes. Then she had simply collapsed.
Many in the Vulcan High Command held Sub-Commander T'Pol responsible for the incident on P'Jem, and Vanik counted himself among them. He had only met the young officer once before, and had treated her with a dispassionate degree of scorn. But though T'Pol might be regarded with disfavor, the fact remained that she had endured more than a year of service aboard a Human vessel—longer than any other Vulcan before or since. Though it was not spoken of, even those who held the greatest degree of disapproval for her were beginning to grudgingly admire the strength of her mental stamina and determination. So to see T'Pol, a Vulcan of obviously considerable fortitude, so completely stripped of her emotional control was disturbing in the extreme.
As Vanik continued deeper into the ship, he was relieved to see Captain Sopeth of the Ra'Zaan waiting for him at a junction in the corridor. They greeted each other silently and then turned, with grim determination, in the direction of the Enterprise's Sickbay. Since none of the T'Hath's complement had survived, and the ship itself had been destroyed, it was hoped that T'Pol might have answers to certain important questions. Debriefing T'Pol had, therefore, became absolutely critical. Vanik found it somewhat ironic that the very future of the Vulcan people depended upon information that only she, despite the brand of disfavor upon her, could potentially provide...
T'Pol sat silently in a darkened corner of Sickbay, where Phlox and the Vulcan medics had found room to keep Commander Tucker and herself close enough to monitor, but also out of the way of the efforts to save the more critically injured. Trip was lying on a small emergency stretcher next to the bio-monitor and filtering system that was even now cleansing his bloodstream of the toxins that had nearly taken his life. T'Pol sat in a chair beside him, and was gently stroking his forearm. He had not yet regained consciousness, but Phlox had told her that this was not unexpected. He had also suggested that physical touch was a good way to encourage the Human to awaken. T'Pol privately suspected that the Denobulan intended the suggestion for her benefit as well. Indeed, she found it unexpectedly reassuring to be able to openly show her affection for the Commander. It would not be considered proper by her own people, but it was exactly what she needed at the moment, and so she stubbornly chose to ignore the affront to Vulcan decorum. After all, it wasn't as if she hadn't already crossed the line of Vulcan decorum in a decidedly permanent manner.
That thought actually elicited a hint of a smile. T'Pol supposed that if she were Human, she would find it quite amusing. She imagined Trip's laughter at the notion and the mental image warmed her considerably. Ever so gently, she pressed her lips to his forehead and quietly breathed in his familiar scent. Despite her Vulcan heritage, T'Pol found it difficult to remember what her life had been like before this Human had come into it. More precisely, she found it unpleasant to recall. Looking back, T'Pol knew that her life had been so...empty. She would not have seen this a year ago—could not have seen it. But then, so many things were different now.
"How is he?" T'Pol looked up to see Ensign Sato standing beside her, smiling softly. It was evidence of her exhaustion that T'Pol had not heard the woman's approach. Not being Human, she felt no embarrassment at being caught in such an intimate moment.
"The Doctor expects him to recover. But it will be some time before he can return to duty."
T'Pol noticed that the young woman looked pale and weary. Her arm was bound in a cast and a blood-stained surgical bandage covered one side of her neck. T'Pol pulled a second chair beside hers and gestured that Hoshi sit. The Ensign accepted gratefully.
"Thanks. It's really good to see a familiar face. So many people have..." She looked down. "Well...a lot of people we know didn't make it. Travis was hurt pretty bad, but he's supposed to be out of the woods soon. Malcolm's up on the Bridge, I think. He and the Captain are okay. Anyway, I guess I'm just really glad to see you. We were pretty worried about you guys."
"I am gratified to see you as well, Ensign."
Hoshi quickly surveyed the condition of her two commanding officers. They were each a mess of scratches and bruises, and both had suffered minor burns on their faces and hands.
"It must've been pretty bad down there."
"It was...difficult. But no worse than here it seems."
"How are you doing?"
T'Pol considered how best to reply. "The pain is tolerable."
"I meant how are you feeling?"
The Vulcan was too exhausted to be offended by the question. Or perhaps she had finally spent enough time among the Humans to know that no offense was intended. T'Pol glanced softly at the man to whom her life was inexorably bound.
"I am...very tired."
Hoshi nodded sympathetically, knowing what an admission that was for the Vulcan. For long moments, Hoshi regarded Trip silently. "He loves you very much," she finally said.
T'Pol glanced over at the young Ensign, more intrigued than surprised. "How do you know this?"
"Humans have a way of telling these things." Hoshi looked up and smiled at her. "Looks to me like the feeling is mutual."
T'Pol looked back at Trip again. "We are bonded," she said simply. "I do...reciprocate his affections. However, I confess that I am unfamiliar with Human customs of demonstrating this."
Hoshi smiled again, watching as T'Pol absently stroked the Commander's hair with her fingers.
"I wouldn't worry, Sub-Commander. I think you're doing just fine..."
Outside, in the corridor, Jonathan Archer worked frantically alongside the medical crews to help move the injured to places where they could be treated. The Enterprise's small Sickbay had never been designed to handle so many casualties at once, and so the nearby corridors, as well as the Mess Hall, had been converted into emergency triage stations. If the members of his crew were surprised to find their Captain helping to carry them, support them or simply reassure them in the face of their injuries, they were silently grateful for his presence. Archer wasn't a medic, and his medical training was limited to worst-case emergency first aid. But he'd be damned if he let a single one of his people suffer more than they already had. Not if he could do anything about it.
As he helped to settle a badly wounded Ensign in the hall outside Sickbay, Archer conducted a silent survey of their losses. Based on what he'd seen, and the reports he'd gotten from Phlox and the Vulcan medics, nearly a third of the crew had already lost their lives. Twenty-two people at last count. And fully another third had sustained serious injuries, many of them critical. The thought was almost more than he could bear.
Archer started to move to help carry another wounded crewman into the hall, but realized that the frightened young Ensign he'd just moved wouldn't let go of his hand. So Archer simply sat and held hers as she was treated by a Vulcan doctor. She cried out in agony as her dislocated shoulder was set right, and he squeezed her hand tightly. When she finally lost consciousness from the pain, Archer closed his eyes for a moment, struggling to fight the tears that threatened to overwhelm him. And then, as he had countless times already, Archer let his anger burn hotly until he had the strength to continue. Too many people were counting on him. Too many people had already paid the ultimate price for his failures as a Captain.
He thought briefly of Lieutenant Burke, who, according to reports, had heroically guided most of the Engineering staff to safety when the starboard plasma conduit had finally ruptured, venting its plasma into space. Unfortunately, the other end of the conduit in Engineering had also ruptured, drawing the compartment's atmosphere out into space as well. The crewman who had been standing near the conduit had died instantly, but everyone else had made it out of the section as the ship's computers automatically sealed the doors. Everyone but Burke, who had waited to see the others safely out first. That loss was particularly tough to take. Archer knew that Trip would be crushed by the news when he learned of it. Strangely, that thought actually bolstered him a tiny bit, though he felt guilty for it. The sole bit of good news in all this was that both Trip and T'Pol had, against all odds, been saved.
As Archer moved wearily down the line of patients looking for somewhere else to be of assistance, Captain Vanik and another Vulcan officer approached him gravely.
"Captain Archer...I trust our medics and engineers have been of use?"
"Yes, they have. I appreciate the help."
"Of course. Whatever assistance we can provide is yours." Vanik gestured to the Vulcan standing beside him. "This is Captain Sopeth from the Ra'Zaan. We have come to speak with your Science Officer if possible. There is much we need to understand about what transpired on the surface."
Archer gestured toward Sickbay, fighting down his rising anger. "She's in there. You can speak with her in a minute if she's up to it. But first I want some answers from you. What the hell was all this about? Why did the Andorians attack us? What was the T'Hath doing way out here in the first place?" Archer looked at them pointedly. "You'll forgive me if I think I've earned a little honesty from you."
The Vulcans glanced at each other silently. Then Vanik turned back to Archer and replied respectfully. "Yes, Captain. We believe that you have. But, if I may suggest, Sub-Commander T'Pol's presence would greatly facilitate our discussion."
Archer looked Vanik in the eyes for a long moment, searching for some evidence that the Vulcan was being forthcoming. Finally, he nodded and gestured that they follow him toward Sickbay.
Meanwhile, T'Pol and Hoshi sat together quietly, continuing their vigil. All around them, patients were being tended to. It appeared that Phlox and Crewman Cutler, with the assistance of the Vulcan medics, had stabilized the worst cases. Now, despite the continuing flurry of activity, a strange calm had settled in the room. Both T'Pol and Hoshi were so absorbed in their thoughts that neither noticed when Trip stirred suddenly beside them.
"T'Pol?"
The Vulcan quickly took his hand in her own. "I am here."
Disoriented, Trip tried to focus on her, but saw nothing except a dark blur against a dark background. "I can't see. Where are we?"
"The Enterprise. The Vulcan ship Ti'Mur arrived in time to transport us off the shuttlepod. We received initial treatment there, and then were transferred here to Sickbay a short time ago."
"Transported, huh? Damn...woulda liked to've been awake for that."
"It is better that you were unconscious. The circumstances were...not pleasant."
Trip read her tone of voice and grew concerned. "Are you okay?"
"I sustained minor injuries. But I am much improved now that you are awake. I should get the Doctor."
She moved to attract Phlox's attention, but Trip grabbed her forearm. "Wait...T'Pol?"
She returned to his side once more. Hoshi stood instead. "I'll go get Phlox. Be right back..."
The Ensign headed into the chaos. T'Pol watched her go for a moment, then turned back to Trip, touching his cheek. "You wished to say something?"
Trip smiled. "Yeah. I love you, too."
T'Pol frowned, which Trip couldn't see. But he interpreted her silence. "I heard you...on the shuttlepod, I think." He hesitated. "At least I thought I—"
T'Pol squeezed his hand reassuringly. "You heard correctly, Commander."
Just then, Captain Archer appeared in the doorway to Sickbay, with the Vulcan Captains in tow. He glanced around until he spotted his Science Officer.
"T'Pol? Can you come out here for a moment?"
"Of course, Captain."
At that moment, Hoshi returned with Phlox, who quickly moved to check Trip's vital signs on the bio-monitor. T'Pol bent and kissed Trip's cheek.
"Rest, ashayam. I will return in a moment..."
Then the Vulcan headed for the exit. Hoshi took her place at Trip's side. "Looks you're gonna live, Commander," she said warmly.
Trip turned his head in her direction. "Hoshi? That you?"
"Yeah. I'm here."
"What did T'Pol say just now?"
Hoshi glanced briefly at the retreating figure of the Sub-Commander, as if seeing her in a new light. Then she turned back to Trip with a gentle smile.
"She called you ashayam. It means beloved..."
"You okay with this?" Archer asked his Science Officer quietly, as they turned toward the waiting Vulcans.
T'Pol considered her Captain's question wearily. "It is my duty," she finally replied, simply.
"Better to get it over with then I suppose. How's Trip doing?"
T'Pol's voice was calm, but Archer could see the sparkle of relief in her eyes. "He is awake."
"I'm glad. For both of you." He gave her a reassuring glance, before turning his attention back to the newcomers.
At their approach, Vanik and Sopeth greeted T'Pol in the customary gesture of respect—raised hands with split fingers. Given the circumstances, this was something of a surprise for T'Pol, though only the slightest movement of an eyebrow betrayed it.
"Your condition appears much improved, Sub-Commander. I am gratified," Vanik said politely.
"Thank you, Captain. How may I be of service?"
"Captain Sopeth and I have come to inquire as to what you found on the surface. There is much we need to know concerning the T'Hath and its mission."
Archer spoke up pointedly. "I think that's the perfect place to start."
Vanik indicated a more private section of the corridor nearby. When they were out of earshot of the others, he spoke with quiet seriousness, as if reluctant to reveal the information.
"Many centuries ago, an...artifact of great significance was stolen from our planet. It has been missing ever since, although this information was not widely revealed to the Vulcan people for fear of the ramifications."
T'Pol was visibly stunned by the news. As if expecting this, Vanik merely continued. "Recently, our Intelligence Directorate uncovered evidence that this artifact had fallen into the hands of a pirate cartel, run by a disowned member of the Andorian ruling clan. The T'Hath was dispatched to determine the veracity of this evidence and recover the artifact if possible."
Archer was equally stunned, but for different reasons. He glanced at the Vulcans angrily. "You're telling me that a third of my crew is dead because of some religious relic?"
Sopeth interjected, trying to impress upon Archer the seriousness of the issue. "Not just a relic, Captain...an object of the utmost importance to the Vulcan people. The very fabric of our society depends upon its existence."
T'Pol was clearly unsettled. "The Andorian you refer to is dead. When he confronted us on the surface, Sesslek spoke of something he had hidden...something the Andorian was willing to kill us for."
At this, Sopeth exchanged an almost awed glance with Vanik. "Then the rumors are true." He turned back to T'Pol. "When did you come into contact with Agent Sesslek?"
"Shortly after we found the T'Hath. Sesslek was the sole survivor of the crash."
Vanik glanced at her thoughtfully. "You speak of Agent Sesslek with a degree of familiarity."
"He was my mentor at the Science Academy and has long been an associate of my father. I have known him all my life."
"Indeed. Would you say that he trusted you?"
T'Pol was taken aback. "I believe that to be the case. But he died before he had the opportunity to tell me anything."
Sopeth spoke again patiently. "Sesslek knew the importance of his mission. If he trusted you, it is possible that he passed information to you in such way as to leave you unaware that the exchange had occurred."
T'Pol considered this for a moment. Then she seemed to remember something. From a hidden pocket in her sleek uniform, she removed something, holding it in the palm of her hand.
"I do not believe Sesslek attempted what you suggest. But if it is relevant to the matter at hand, Commander Tucker and I discovered this in the wreckage of the T'Hath before it was destroyed..."
She opened her hand to reveal the shard of dark glass, covered in gold script. And now it was Vanik and Sopeth's turn to react in stunned silence. Vanik took the shard from her reverently, examining it with visible shock. The two Captains appeared almost disconsolate, their faces revealing more emotion than Archer had ever seen from Vulcans before.
"Is this a piece of what you're looking for?" he asked them tentatively.
Vanik replied quietly. "This...is a fragment of the containment vessel. The contents alone were of importance. However...I believe we must now face the possibility that the contents have been...irrevocably lost."
T'Pol and Archer glanced at each other, unsure of what to make of this.
Just then, the doorway to Sickbay hissed open behind them and Hoshi appeared, looking worried. When she spotted T'Pol, she called out urgently.
"It's Commander Tucker. I think you should come right away..."
T'Pol was the first to reach his side, hovering over Trip with obvious concern. Hoshi and the others were close behind.
"He just started speaking suddenly in Vulcan," Hoshi was explaining. "But I can only understand tiny bits of it—it's a dialect I've never heard before."
Trip lay on the stretcher, staring at the ceiling. His lips were moving slowly, whispering words that he couldn't possibly know or understand.
"...Ma etek natyan—teretuhr lau etek shetau weh-lo'uk do tum t'on..."
Archer looked to Phlox in alarm. "Do you know what's causing this, Doctor?"
Phlox's expression was one of puzzlement. "I have no idea, Captain. I merely gave him a mild sedative to help him rest. Then he seemed to enter a trance-like state and began mumbling as you hear him now."
T'Pol moved closer, holding her ear close to Trip's lips, listening.
"...Spunau bolayalar t'Wehku bolayalar t'Zamu il t'Veh..."
Her eyes suddenly went wide. "I have heard these words before. Sesslek spoke them on the surface before he died."
Phlox and the Humans looked at her in confusion...but the Vulcans seemed to realize what this meant. Both Vanik and Sopeth looked suddenly hopeful, taking great interest in this new development.
Archer merely frowned at her. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Vanik approached him. "If I may explain, Captain. It is possible that your officer has been given a katra. The living essence of a Vulcan's being. What your people would call a soul."
"A soul?! Belonging to who? Sesslek?"
"Yes, Captain. Sesslek may have transferred his katra to your Commander just before he died, so that the information he had learned would be preserved. If that is the case, it is imperative that we return to Vulcan at once. Only there can that which was Sesslek be safely removed...and preserved."
Phlox perked up considerably at the prospect of such an unusual phenomena. "Fascinating. Is there Vulcan medical literature on this subject...?"
As the others spoke in fervent, hushed tones behind her, T'Pol suddenly knew what she must do. Kneeling beside her lover, she guided her fingertips tenderly over his familiar features. Instinctively, she found the path into his mind, and gently allowed her consciousness to merge with his. As the sensations of being in Sickbay faded into the periphery, she began searching carefully, warily, for her mentor's presence. And then she suddenly gasped aloud, stunned at what she found.
Archer quickly moved to help T'Pol, who was visibly shuddering with effort, but Phlox and Vanik restrained him. He was about to protest, when T'Pol suddenly threw her head back and seemed to enter the same trance-like state as Trip. In unison, they both spoke aloud.
"We are the path to enlightenment...the voice of logic...the light of reason..."
Sopeth moved closer to the joined pair, addressing them reverently. "I speak to that which was Sesslek. I seek the knowledge of his final days so that—"
"We are not Sesslek. That which was Sesslek no longer exists. He has sacrificed himself so that we might survive."
Now Sopeth's eyes went wide, his next, whispered question a prayer for the most unthinkable of possibilities. "Who are you?"
The Vulcan woman and her Human mate answered as one...their reply a revelation.
"We are that which was Surak."
And as their words lingered in the air, it suddenly became very, very quiet in Sickbay...
Five Days Later...
"On behalf of the citizens of Vulcan, we wish to express our sincere condolences for the losses you have suffered on our behalf. Furthermore, it is of the utmost importance to us that you also know a measure of the gratitude we have with regard to your efforts in recent events."
High Councilor Skon paused for emphasis and regarded the Humans arrayed before the committee. Captain Jonathan Archer stood before him in full dress uniform, along with the head of Starfleet, Admiral Forrest, and the elected leader of Earth's united government, President Celia Durand, both of whom had already addressed the Council. Off to the side of the committee floor, Ambassador Soval and Sub-Commander T'Pol waited patiently for their debriefing, which would follow shortly. Ambassador V'Lar, who was scheduled to return soon to Mazar, had also requested to be present at the proceedings. She stood quietly behind Soval. And seated on either side of Skon were nearly all of the senior members of the Vulcan High Council—the Intelligence Minister, the Science Minister, the Security Minister and the rest, nine in all. Only High Priestess T'Pau, the youngest and most recently nominated member of the High Council, was absent. She was, at that very moment, attending to the vital business on Mount Seleya.
Skon's next words were intended to be something of a confession—one not every member of the High Council was comfortable with. Even has he spoke, Skon could hear Security Minister Turvan shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
"We regret, Captain Archer, that you and your crew may have entered this situation with less than complete knowledge of the circumstances...and the dangers involved. You must understand that the knowledge that the katra of Surak had been stolen from our planet was long held only by a very small number of individuals. As you are no doubt aware, Captain, Vulcans are logical, peaceful people who keep their emotions tightly held in check. But it is no exaggeration to suggest that this same emotional control might have failed utterly if this knowledge had become public. The resulting effects on our society would have been...considerable. It was therefore determined to keep Agent Sesslek's mission to recover the katra secret. Nevertheless...it is clear in retrospect that, had we been somewhat more forthcoming with Starfleet, lives might have been spared."
Archer looked down for a moment as he considered both Skon's surprising admission and his own response, carefully trying to keep his emotions in check. Finally, he spoke. "I've never pretended to fully understand Vulcans, Councilor. But over the last year, I believe I've come a long way towards understanding," he glanced briefly at T'Pol, "thanks in no small part to the patience of my Science Officer."
From her place nearby, T'Pol's eyebrow lifted briefly. Only V'Lar took note of it as Archer continued. "If the Enterprise's involvement in the events of the last week have somehow helped to ensure the well-being of the Vulcan people, then I know I speak for my entire crew when I say that we're gratified to have been able to help in some way. That said, as you are no doubt aware, Humans chose to embrace their emotions, for better or worse. I can't pretend that the deaths of so many of my crew doesn't weigh on me heavily. As a Human, I want very much for those deaths to have meaning."
Now Archer looked at each of the members of the High Council in turn. "And so I would hope that something else could come out of this tragedy...something of benefit to both our peoples. I would hope that, through these events, Humans and Vulcans will learn to trust one another more in the future."
For a moment, the members of the High Council regarded each other, each weighing in silently with their opinion on Archer's remarks. Finally, Skon looked back at the Human thoughtfully.
"That would be my hope as well, Captain." Then he raised an eyebrow of his own. "It is a remarkable thing that logic could occasionally germinate from the seeds of emotion."
Archer gave a small smile. "Indeed it is, sir."
With that, Skon stood, as did the other members of the Council. "I must ask, of course, that certain events discussed here today not be spoken of outside this chamber."
President Durand stepped forward. "You have our assurances that the matter of Surak's katra will be kept in the strictest confidence, Councilor Skon."
"We are again grateful."
Archer, Forrest and Durand nodded their heads in respect, and Skon returned the gesture. Then the Humans exited the council chamber, the heavy doors closing behind them with a rumble, and Soval and T'Pol stepped forward.
As the Council members once again took their seats, it was Turvan who spoke first. "I still maintain that it is unwise to make such admissions to the Humans. While the evidence suggests that they have comported themselves honorably in these events, they are still a savage race. They are not yet ready to take their place in the interstellar community."
It was T'Pol who responded. "With all due respect, Minister Turvan, you underestimate them."
He took her to task immediately. "Indeed? It would be difficult to overestimate their irrational, emotional and unpredictable natures. They have nearly destroyed themselves on multiple occasions in the last three hundred years. The Humans pose a serious danger to both themselves and others."
T'Pol was undaunted. "The Humans are indeed subject to their emotions, but they are the first to acknowledge this shortcoming. And while emotions are considered disruptive in Vulcan society, they are the very thing that make Humans so successful at nearly all they attempt. They have accomplished much in a remarkably short period of time...more, in some ways, than Vulcans have in millennia. And they are capable of far greater achievements. At first, I was unwilling to accept this. But I have come to believe, through first-hand experience, that they are a worthy species."
Turvan raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "We are well aware of your personal experience with the Humans, Sub-Commander. The fact that you have bonded with one of them is proof enough of your bias in this matter."
"Again, with respect, Minister...my relationship with Commander Tucker is not up for discussion. I am more than willing to accept responsibility for the personal choices I have made. But I do not regret them and I will not justify them to you or anyone else. I will resign my commission at once if that is what you require. But whether you accept the accuracy of my reports or not, the fact remains that at their current rate of development, Humanity will become the dominant political force in this part of the galaxy with a century."
It was clear that Turvan was losing his patience with the young officer. "Your impudence is clearly—"
Skon interrupted quickly, attempting to regain control of the assembly. He nodded firmly at T'Pol. "Your resignation will not be required, Sub-Commander. You are dismissed."
T'Pol bowed formally in return, exchanged a brief nod with Ambassador Soval and another, longer one with Ambassador V'Lar. Then she made her own exit. Turvan chose now to focus his attention on Soval.
"Your officer has become corrupted by her time among the Humans, Soval. She is hardly a suitable representative of the Vulcan people. And now we reveal our most private affairs to the Humans as well? This approach is nothing short of outrageous."
Soval was about to reply, but V'Lar stepped forward and spoke instead. "Would that all interstellar events could be so accurately measured from a seat in the Council chamber. If the benefit of first-hand experience has become irrelevant to this body, then perhaps the High Command and the Diplomatic Service are no longer necessary."
Turvan took exception. "Do you stand before this Council and insult me, Ambassador?"
"Of course not, Minister Turvan. But I do believe that your assessment suffers from an important lack of perspective. If anything, Sub-Commander T'Pol underestimates the speed of Human development. While I myself have never visited Earth, I have personal experience with Captain Archer and his crew. And I have spent many years observing Humanity's progress. Their social evolution is a constant process and is far faster than our own. It is true, they have nearly destroyed themselves many times in their history. But they learn from their failures and strive constantly to improve themselves. They take pride in their accomplishments, but not so much that they refuse to accept new ideas. Humanity is quickly outgrowing the need for Vulcan mentoring."
Soval regarded V'Lar with the Vulcan equivalent of scorn. "I couldn't disagree more! Have we learned nothing from the events of the past year? The Humans have undermined our position with the Andorians, escalated the Suliban conflict and were an incidental party to the destruction of an entire colony! How much more damage shall we allow them to cause?"
The Science Minister, T'Par, spoke up now and the rest of the Council listened intently, her opinions carrying considerable weight. "While I acknowledge the better part of your argument, Ambassador V'Lar, I must agree with Soval with regard to your final statement. To allow Humanity unrestricted access to the Alpha Quadrant would be premature."
V'Lar acknowledged this and continued. "Make no mistake...the Humans still have much to learn from us. But I believe there is much we can learn from them as well. Consider recent events. Captain Archer and his crew have made great sacrifices on behalf of our people, not out of obligation, but out of a sense of loyalty and good will. This is not a logical thing, but neither is it trivial or something to be dismissed. They have helped to save our civilization, and yet they ask for nothing in return except our respect. What more must they do to prove themselves to us?"
Soval would not be moved. "We must continue to guide them in interstellar affairs." Turvan and several others on the Council clearly shared his opinion.
Finally, V'Lar played her hand. "I do not disagree. But if I may, Ministers...there is a way that we can continue to facilitate their development—to advise them when necessary and exchange ideas with them—while still allowing both our peoples to benefit."
Skon regarded the Ambassador carefully. "What is it that you propose, V'Lar?"
"To use one of their own expressions...the Humans have long offered their hands to us in friendship." V'Lar held out her own hand in emphasis. "Perhaps it is time for us to return the gesture."
Outside, T'Pol made her way slowly across the High Council Building's Great Plaza. The polished stone seemed to shimmer beneath her feet as it caught the light of the blazing afternoon suns. All around her, there was the bustle of activity. Tourists and school children were being guided here and there across the grounds. Other citizens took advantage of the Plaza gardens for meditation and quiet reflection. Groups of councilors passed through the area, engaged in debate on various matters of importance, their respective aides in tow. And beyond the Plaza, the famed Grand Bazaar was in full swing, with row after row of tented shops—nearly a thousand in all—offering the finest wares that the artisans of ShirKahr and the surrounding provinces could offer.
But T'Pol ignored all of this. She strode through the gardens purposefully, headed for the air taxi platform on the far side of the Council grounds. She moved as if on automatic pilot, her thoughts focused entirely on what Trip must be going through thousands of miles away on Mount Seleya...the dangerous procedure to separate the katra of Surak from his own consciousness. A human had never been given a katra before, and among the select few Vulcans who knew that it had happened at all, there was a strong belief that Commander Tucker would not survive the removal process. Even if he did live through it, there was an even greater possibility that he would be changed by the process...that his own essence, his personality, his very identity...would be damaged irreparably. T'Pol had asked to be present for the procedure, but the inner sanctum of the monastery on Mount Seleya had been declared strictly off limits, leaving her little to do but fulfill her duties...and endure the unbearable agony of worry.
So absorbed was T'Pol in her thoughts, that she failed to notice a tall Vulcan male in government robes approaching her determinedly from across the Plaza...until he finally stepped into her path. When recognition dawned, she regarded him calmly.
"Hello, Koss."
For long moments, her former betrothed glared at her, while his entourage waited at a discreet distance. Finally, he spoke. "I came to see if it was true...that you have bonded with a Human male."
Rumors of the Enterprise's mission had obviously spread quickly, as rumors so often did. Of course, the fact that Trip was Human is what Koss would be concerned with. She should have expected nothing less.
"I have."
Koss's dark eyes narrowed. He'd never been good at hiding his anger. "Then you have dishonored both yourself and your family. The very sight of you is offensive to me. I find it difficult to believe that I ever wished to bond with you."
T'Pol could deal with his anger, but his self-righteousness was intolerable. "There has never been a time when you wished to bond with me, Koss. You have disapproved of me since we were children. It was only out of respect for your parents that you intended to fulfill your obligation. You have no interest in a wife...only the political capital that a marriage can bring you."
Unable to dispute the truth of this, Koss chose simply to change the subject. "I should challenge this Human. It is my right as the one who was rejected."
"In physical combat you would almost certainly defeat him. But to what advantage? There are many facts with regard to Commander Tucker that you are not privy to, Koss. Trust me when I say that if you killed him, even those members of the Council most opposed to our association with the Humans would shun you. Your political career would be ruined. I cannot believe that you would do something so illogical."
Disturbed by the implications of her words, and once more unable to refute her reasoning, Koss didn't even bother to try. "You are dead to me," he said flatly. With that, he turned and walked away, his entourage following dutifully in his wake.
T'Pol simply arched her eyebrow. "Then it would seem that little has changed between us," she replied softly, more for herself than anyone else.
After several long moments...a sound suddenly caught her attention. T'Pol turned and watched as a young girl dragged her father eagerly through the Plaza nearby, excitedly pointing out everything in sight. The child's enthusiasm for the workings of government was obvious, though her father scolded her repeatedly for making such a public emotional display. T'Pol wondered briefly if she had ever been that naive. Then, without bothering to formulate an answer, she continued on toward the taxi platform.
She never looked back.
"Is there any word about your Chief Engineer?
"Not yet. Ambassador V'Lar said it could be several days before we hear anything."
"Trip's got nine lives. He'll get through this if anyone can. You did good today, Jonathan."
After their appearance before the Vulcan High Council, Captain Archer and Admiral Forrest had taken the time to brief President Durand on the specifics of the Enterprise's engagements with the Andorian pirates. But the President still had a number of meetings with various members of the Vulcan government to attend before returning to Earth that evening. So once she'd been brought up to speed, Durand had offered a few sincere and encouraging words to Archer and then left, allowing the Starfleet officers to attend to the business of getting the Enterprise space-worthy again. Now, the two men sat in the spacious passenger compartment of a Vulcan shuttlecraft, en-route to the High Command's orbital construction yards, where the Earth starship was being patched up for the trip home.
"The question is, Admiral, do you think the Vulcans will listen?"
"Well...I think the fact that they're being more forthcoming about all this katra business speaks volumes."
Forrest sipped cautiously from a small cup of what passed for coffee to the Vulcans before continuing. "There are definitely factions of the High Council that are against the more open position Councilor Skon is taking. But after what you and your people have done for them, I'm confident things will be different from now on. They can't ignore the fact that Starfleet personnel have died while trying to help them." He sipped again and grimaced, finally giving up on the beverage. "Who knows? Maybe they'll even let us stand on our own two feet for a change."
Near their seats, a wide viewport afforded a striking view of the curving, reddish arc of the Vulcan horizon as it dropped away far below. Archer got up and stood before it somberly, lost in his thoughts. Forrest joined him a moment later, quickly reading his mood.
"I know it's difficult, Jon, especially with all this coming so soon after the destruction of the Paraagan colony. But getting a bloody nose once in a while comes with the territory out here. There are forces in the galaxy that just aren't too happy with the idea of Humans having a place at the table. We were all aware of the risks. That said, I've never known anyone who was more ready to step into the role of Captain than you. That's why Enterprise is your ship."
"I understand that losing people is one of the burdens of command, Admiral. It's just...we've only been at this a year. And I've lost a third of my crew."
"Which means you saved two-thirds. That's fifty-three people who by all rights shouldn't be alive right now. But they are...because of you. You can't lose sight of that fact. You're better at this than you give yourself credit for, Jon."
At that moment, the shuttle suddenly maneuvered into the approach pattern to the construction yards...and the Enterprise came into view. Archer felt his heart racing, just as he did every time he saw the sleek starship under his command. Cradled in the skeletal framework of the dock, the ship was surrounded by a swarm of activity as countless space-suited Vulcan engineers worked on her. Bathed in pearlescent flood-light, the Enterprise's outer hull was still visibly scarred, although incredibly, much of the worst hull damage had already been repaired, despite the fact that the starship had only been towed in the previous morning.
For a time, the two officers simply stood silently, watching as the ship grew larger. Then Forrest spoke wistfully. "Just think of it...that's Humanity's first starship. One day, we'll have a whole fleet of ships just like it. But right here, right now, Enterprise represents everything that matters to our people. All our hopes and dreams. She's the best of all we are...a symbol of what we might one day become. And thanks to her Captain and crew...she survives." He turned to Archer pointedly. "The best way to honor the dead, Jonathan...is to carry on living."
For long moments, Archer considered the Admiral's words. Then he nodded, accepting the truth in them. And as the shuttle slipped gracefully over the bow of his starship, and the bold lettering of the ship's registry...NX-01...Enterprise...passed beneath them, Archer not only accepted the truth, he finally believed it as well.
Sub-Commander T'Pol walked solemnly down the familiar hillside path that led to her families' home, which sat on a rugged bluff overlooking the southernmost edge of ShirKahr. The star the humans called 40 Eridani A was already low on the horizon, but it would still be several hours before the smaller, 40 Eridani B disappeared. The dim, third star of the Vulcan system was so far away that it rarely moved from its lonely position in the sky at this high latitude.
T'Pol breathed deeply of the air, which was scented heavily by the blossoms of the numerous kal-el bushes that flourished along the path. She had deliberately requested that the air taxi deposit her near the edge of the city, thus allowing her to cover the rest of the distance on foot. She did this partly because it had been many years since she had traveled this path, and she found that she greatly missed doing so. More importantly, through, T'Pol had wanted the extra measure of time to compose herself before dealing with her parents. And she was glad of the decision when finally she saw the tall, slender figure of her father, Saveth, tending to his garden on the veranda at the front of their home.
"Father..."
Saveth looked up at her greeting, and while his face remained impassive, T'Pol saw the pleased sparkle of recognition and affection in his eyes.
"Welcome home, my daughter. I was hoping you would come." He wiped the dirt from his hands efficiently as T'Pol joined him in the garden. "Given the news we heard, I am gratified to see you well."
"I am pleased to see you also, Father, and in good health it seems." She glanced in the direction of the main house with a measure of apprehension. "Is Mother home?"
After a brief pause, her father answered. "T'Vrel is attending the Astrobotany Symposium in Vulcana Regar. She asked me to convey her regards."
T'Pol sighed imperceptibly. "She is upset with me."
Saveth gestured that they move inside and T'Pol followed him. "Your mother...merely requires time to accept the choices you have made."
T'Pol paused and looked her father squarely in the eye, afraid of what she might see, but more afraid not to see it. "Do you also require such time?"
"I have long believed that we each must follow our own path, T'Pol." Her father's eyebrow lifted in amusement. "And your path has always been...unconventional."
A short time later, T'Pol and her father sat together in comfortable silence at a small table on the veranda, sipping herbal tea and enjoying the cool, early evening breeze.
"Father...I regret that I was unable to prevent Sesslek's death."
"It is illogical to harbor such regret. Sesslek died honorably, in the service of the Vulcan people. It is a unfortunate outcome, but I have no doubt that your efforts were satisfactory."
T'Pol nodded impassively. For long minutes, Saveth regarded her quietly, before finally addressing the subject that he knew weighed most heavily upon her.
"You are worried about this...Commander Charles Tucker of the Enterprise."
Momentarily taken aback, T'Pol simply nodded again. "We are bonded. But...I can no longer hear his thoughts. When I reach out to touch his mind...there is nothing." She looked down. "I am concerned."
Saveth considered her admission thoughtfully. "Tell me something of this man."
Once more surprised, T'Pol thought about how best to describe Trip to her father. "He is kind...intelligent. He is a brilliant engineer. He is idealistic. Strong...but also gentle."
"Does he care for you?"
"Yes. I believe a great deal."
"Does he comport himself honorably toward you? Does he treat you with respect? Hold you in high regard?"
T'Pol did not hesitate. "I have never known him to act otherwise."
Saveth nodded, pleased. "A father could do far worse than for his daughter to bond with such a man."
T'Pol's mouth moved silently for a moment as her mind struggled to comprehend her father's unexpected declaration of acceptance. "Nevertheless...I had previous knowledge that I was experiencing the symptoms of pon frell. By canceling my marriage with Koss, I knowingly placed myself in a situation where bonding with a Human would be the only possibility."
Saveth's eyebrow lifted again...but not in dismay. "I will tell you something, T'Pol. I have grown to know Koss very well in the years you have been away. He is arrogant, self-centered...motivated solely by ambition. He is unworthy of you. I should have told you this sooner, but...I was quite gratified when you severed your ties with him."
She looked at her father incredulously. "But...in doing so, I have brought shame upon our family..."
"In whose eyes?"
"Everyone."
"Then perhaps everyone should mind their own business. T'Pol, you could no easier bring shame upon your family than you could grow a second head. You are my daughter. That is all that matters in my opinion and other opinions carry no weight on the subject."
"But—"
Saveth raised his hand, cutting her off. "The issue is settled, T'Pol. Let us not concern ourselves with it further. Now then...I expect the Humans will soon be returning to Earth. When does your ship depart?"
T'Pol hesitated, her mind still reeling. "The...emergency repairs to the Enterprise should be completed in a few hours. But Captain Archer will not leave orbit until—"
Just then, her communicator chirped. With an apologetic glance at her father, she answered it. "T'Pol here."
Hoshi's worried voice same through the speaker. "We've gotten word from Mount Seleya, Sub-Commander."
T'Pol felt her heart skip a beat. "Yes?"
"They're requesting your presence at the Monastery. It's time."
"Acknowledged." T'Pol closed the device and swallowed dryly. Then she turned to her father.
"I must leave at once."
Saveth nodded and they both stood. "Of course. I am glad of the chance to visit with you, even if only briefly."
When they reached the front door, Saveth lingered. "When the opportunity presents itself...I should like to meet this Human who has enriched the life of my daughter."
"I...I would like that too, Father. Very much."
Saveth looked at T'Pol calmly, his eyes conveying volumes about his feelings for her.
"Never be ashamed of who you are, T'Pol. Fly freely among the stars, if that is where your path must take you. And know that my heart flies with you." He raised his hand in the traditional gesture. "Peace and long life, my daughter."
"Live long and prosper, Father."
And as T'Pol turned and walked back down the path from her home, a single tear fell from her cheek. It landed in the dust at her feet, evaporating as though it never existed.
Less than thirty minutes later, T'Pol stepped out of another sleek taxi into the thin air at the top of Mount Seleya, and walked reverently across the wind-worn terrace toward the entrance to the Sacred Monastery. The suns had just set over the jagged mountain peaks in the distance, causing the sky to burn a bold, vivid red on the horizon—notably, the color of Human blood. T'Pol saw that ceremonial fires were being lit in great basins and urns all over the grounds. And looking to her left, over the edge of a nearby balcony, she could see a seemingly endless procession of priests and religious scholars moving slowly up and down the long path of steps that was carved into the side of the mountain, each bearing torches. The countless points of light flickered in the gathering darkness.
As T'Pol approached the huge wooden doors of the Monastery, there came a sudden, metallic gonging that resonated languidly in the air, echoing back and forth among the high mountain peaks. And then, with a great, scraping rumble, the sealed doors slowly began to open. Overcome by the enormity of where she was and what was happening around her, T'Pol fell to her knees on the cool stone, bowing her head in deference.
For a time, there was no sound but the whispering wind and the distant call of wild le-matya far down in the valley below. And then...there came the soft clapping of approaching footfalls—sandals on stone. Finally, T'Pol felt a light touch on her shoulder, and looked up into the eyes of the High Priestess, T'Pau.
"Rise T'Pol of Vulcan. We have much to discuss."
T'Pol stood and followed the Priestess obediently to the edge of the terrace. Back at the entrance to the Monastery, rows of hooded monks stood in perfect lines by the open doors, solemnly awaiting the return of their spiritual leader.
Logically, T'Pol knew that the High Priestess was quite young, but she was still surprised by the woman's youthful appearance. In fact, T'Pau was at least fifteen years her junior. At forty-five, she had been the youngest woman to ever achieve the level of Kohlinar, and she was already revered for both her wisdom and achievements. In many ways, T'Pau was everything that T'Pol was not—an irony not lost on T'Pol as she joined the High Priestess at a small viewing area overlooking the valley beyond. The two women stood together in silence for long moments before T'Pau finally turned and spoke.
"Your patience is commendable."
T'Pol merely nodded in acknowledgment as the younger woman studied her features. Then she spoke once more. "You will be relieved to learn that the Human lives. And the katra of Surak is now at peace, secure in the sacred vaults where it belongs."
It was as though a weight had been lifted from T'Pol's shoulders. "I am grateful...on both counts."
The younger woman's eyes narrowed keenly. "You have done well indeed, T'Pol. There are many on the High Council who doubted your ability to serve on the Human ship. But I had confidence that you were equal to the challenge."
T'Pol suddenly understood. "You are the reason I was allowed to remain on the Enterprise after the incident on P'Jem."
"Correct. Though after your involvement in the recovery of the katra, I doubt that you will continue to require my endorsement."
T'Pol's face revealed, very faintly, signs that she bore serious concerns. "I fail to understand how the katra was originally removed. Who could have gained access to the Sacred Monastery undetected? It would seem difficult in the extreme."
"We believe it was taken by the ancient enemy. Children of Vulcan of whom our people no longer speak."
T'Pol's eyes widened. "You refer to the Rihannsu?"
"No Vulcan would have taken Surak's katra. Logic therefore dictates that only they, who left us long ago, would have known of its existence and location. And only the followers of S'Task could have passed as Vulcan to enter the sacred vaults."
"Then you believe the Rihannsu have returned."
"I believe it is likely that some never left. Their agents may walk among us still. We must, accordingly, be cautious." T'Pau regarded her further. "But I can see that you are still troubled."
T'Pol's eyes flicked briefly back toward the Monastery. "Forgive me. My thoughts...linger...with Commander Tucker."
"Understandable. He is your bonded mate." T'Pau read her emotions with surprising ease. "There is no shame in this."
T'Pol could only stand in stunned silence as the younger woman continued. "Your actions, while they must remain secret, have ensured the sanctity of our heritage. There is no greater honor a Vulcan can achieve. Do not be troubled by those who would dismiss you for your ties with the Humans, T'Pol. I believe, as do you, that the future of our two peoples is inexorably entwined. Logic dictates that you will not be the only Vulcan to bond with one of them. You are merely the first."
T'Pol considered this and nodded. "If I may...is it known how well the Commander has endured the removal process? I have been unable to touch his mind since he came to this place."
T'Pau sighed almost imperceptibly. "That is something we cannot know. You must determine it for yourself. I will leave you to see to this task in privacy. Live long and prosper, T'Pol."
With that, T'Pol bowed and the High Priestess took her leave, striding gracefully back toward the open gates of the Monastery. At her approach the monks began chanting a mournful, lonely requiem. Moments later, Vulcan's youngest and most esteemed spiritual leader disappeared from view inside the great doors.
T'Pol stood alone on the terrace as the solemn chanting continued. Then, at some unseen signal, the monks turned as one and moved back inside the Monastery. But one hooded figure remained outside the great doors as they closed. The man seemed to try to get his bearings, and then began walking, unsteadily, toward T'Pol.
"Charles...?"
T'Pol broke into a run, driven by hope and fear and love and so many other emotions that she knew not the words to describe. But as she neared this man whose face she still could not see, T'Pol slowed her pace and then stopped altogether. What if he is not the same? What if he does not know me? What if our bond is truly lost?
At that moment, T'Pol felt a terrible thing indeed...the hemorrhaging of the hope she'd held onto so tightly. But with her last bit of resolve, she suppressed this painful feeling as illogical. With the katra gone, Charles Tucker the Third simply was who he was—he would either be the man she remembered, or he would not. There was only one way to find out. And so T'Pol tried once more to touch his mind from afar—to reach out to the man to whom her life had been bound just days ago...and to whom she wanted desperately to pledge her mind and her body and her heart for all time.
Ashayam...can you hear me? Please tell me that I haven't lost you just when I've come to need you the most!
For long moments, the figure gave no sign of reaction or comprehension as he approached to stand before her silently. But just as T'Pol felt as if her heart would shatter irreparably, the man lifted his arms and pulled the hood up over his head. It was Trip. He looked exhausted...but he was grinning.
"Darlin', it'd take a lot more than some two thousand year old ghost rattlin' around in my head to keep me from lovin' you."
And then something did snap in T'Pol. But as she fell wearily into her lover's embrace, she felt her heart beating stronger than ever.
Charles Tucker strode restlessly through the darkened corridors of the Enterprise, as much of the crew slept peacefully. Six weeks had passed, and the starship had just departed from the Warp Five Complex orbiting Mars earlier that evening. Trip was finally beginning to feel as though things were getting back to normal. The ship under his charge had been repaired in record time—less than a month, in fact—and Starfleet's Design Bureau had even managed to incorporate a few state-of-the-art improvements to the Enterprise's systems, with the somewhat surprising help of the Vulcans. The ship's computers were more powerful, their sensors were more accurate and their polarized hull plating was now augmented with honest-to-goodness energy shield generators, much to Malcolm's delight.
But it was one improvement in particular that occupied Trip's mind at the moment. In the chaos of recent events, Trip had all but forgotten the report he'd filed on the efficiency of the ship's warp engines. Nevertheless, it seemed that Starfleet's best warp physicists had taken to heart the suggestions he and T'Pol had made, and had even found areas for subtle improvement on their ideas. Since the Enterprise had suddenly found itself in need of a major overhaul, Starfleet had decided that it was the perfect opportunity to put those new ideas to the test. No one knew just how fast the Enterprise's modified warp engines could go, but one thing was for sure...tomorrow they were finally going to find out.
Trip rounded a corner on D Deck, and realized that he'd just passed Lieutenant Burke's former quarters. He thought about how excited she'd been when they'd shared the engine re-design ideas with her. God, I wish you coulda been here for this, Hailey. It's gonna be amazing...
As Trip reached another junction, taking the corridor that led aft toward Engineering, he suddenly found himself face to face with Sub-Commander T'Pol. She was standing patiently in the middle of the corridor, with her hands crossed behind her back. She had clearly been waiting for him.
Trip smiled and bent down to kiss her forehead warmly. "We've been together for what...two months? Please tell me I'm not that predictable."
The petite Vulcan fell into step beside him as he continued walking. "I have noticed that you often have trouble sleeping when your mind is confronted with new ideas or developments. I take it your workout was ineffective in relaxing you?"
"Yeah. Guess it's true what they say about old married couples. You're starting to know me better than I know myself."
"I too have experienced this phenomenon. It is...not at all unpleasant." Trip grinned at this, and T'Pol regarded him thoughtfully as they continued on. "You should really let me teach you how to meditate. It is quite efficient in reducing tension."
He laughed easily. "You're already plenty efficient at reducing my tension, thank you very much." They shared a knowing glance before he continued. "I'm just excited is all. I was headin' down to Engineering to go over some numbers for the test tomorrow. As you obviously guessed."
"Indeed. Would you care for some company, Commander?" she asked lightly.
Grinning, Trip held out his hand to her...and T'Pol took it with just a hint of a smile.
"I wouldn't have it any other way..."
Twelve hours later, Captain Jonathan Archer bent down and give his beagle a thorough scratching between the ears. Porthos whimpered in delight and then scampered off to his bed for a nap. Archer laughed and then triggered the door control, stepping confidently from his Ready Room onto the Bridge, which was a-buzz of activity as the countdown to the warp test approached its termination. He quickly moved to his chair, at the very center of the organized commotion.
When she saw Archer take the center seat, Hoshi spoke up from her station. "All decks are reporting ready, Captain."
Malcolm and Travis glanced up from the Helm. "The modifications to the navigational deflector are online and working smoothly, sir," Malcolm noted. "But I recommend that we power up the new shields...just in case any particles of dust or debris manage to get through."
The Captain smiled. "Understood. Go ahead and bring the shields online now." Malcolm nodded eagerly and hurried to Tactical to try out his new toy.
Archer took a moment to glance around proudly at his Bridge crew. Then he pulled a piece of paper from his uniform pocket, took a deep breath and thumbed the intercom.
"Attention all hands. This is the Captain..."
All throughout the ship, crewmen stopped what they were doing to listen.
"As you know, we're about to test our new warp engines, which have been redesigned by our own Chief Engineer and Science Officer to be many times faster and more efficient than ever before. But before we do this, I wanted to say a few words to all of you. We've been through a lot over the past year. We've seen and done some amazing things, and we've come a long way together. Recently, we've also suffered a terrible loss. But I've just received a message from home and I wanted to share it with all of you, because I think you'll find a measure of comfort in it. It reads as follows..."
Archer glanced down at the paper in his hand. "To Captain Jonathan Archer and the crew of the starship Enterprise. Through your heroic actions in the face of unparalleled danger, a bright new day has dawned for all Humanity. As of this morning, May the 12th, 2152, the governments of Earth and Vulcan have begun negotiations for the creation of an official, permanent alliance between our two worlds...a Federation of equals and of friendship that will ensure a secure and prosperous future for both our peoples. None of this would have been possible without the great sacrifices you and your crew have made. For though your journey has been treacherous and unpredictable, you have traveled it with compassion, honor and unwavering bravery. The people of Earth, and of Vulcan, are proud of you all. Godspeed."
Archer paused before continuing. "And it's signed, Celia Genevieve Durand, President of the United Earth."
The Captain looked up at his command staff and the others stationed on the Bridge, speaking to each of them in turn, as well as the crew at large. "I know that nothing can ever make up for the deaths of twenty-nine of our fellow crewmen...friends who have paid the ultimate price in the line of duty. But their deaths have not been in vain. In their honor, we will continue to boldly go where no man has gone before. And maybe now...we'll get there a little faster."
Archer smiled at his people as they beamed back at him. Then, with new determination, he gave the order they were all waiting for. "All stations, prepare for warp speed."
All around the Bridge, and all over the ship, the crew of the Enterprise launched into action. The thrill of expectation hung in the air. Archer hit the intercom again.
"Bridge to Engineering. Trip? T'Pol? You all set down there?"
Standing together at the Warp Core Control station down in Engineering, Trip and T'Pol exchanged a glance that was charged with excitement and anticipation.
"You ready to rock and roll, Sub-Commander?"
The corner of T'Pol's mouth curled in the barest hint of a smile. But her eyes twinkled as she thumbed the intercom. "All systems are ready, Captain. The warp engines are at your command."
Then a grin suddenly spread over Trip's face. "Hey Jon...let's do this one for yer Dad."
Four decks above, Archer leaned forward in his chair on the Bridge and grinned as well, no longer able to contain the thrill of what they were about to attempt. He knew without a doubt that Henry Archer would have loved this moment. Then...
"Travis...take us to maximum warp."
"Gladly, sir."
Travis eased the throttle forward eagerly...and the sleek starship leapt into action, the stars exploding into great streaks of color and light all around. Only the main viewer and their instruments gave any indication of the change in the ship's velocity, so Travis called out their speed as he continued to edge the throttle forward.
"Now passing warp four-point-five...warp four-point-eight...warp five, sir."
The deck barely even shuddered as they passed through their previous best speed and surged beyond it. The pitch of Travis' voice increased as he continued to report their mounting velocity.
"Five-point-two...five-five...five-eight...warp six, Captain!"
Then a subtle vibration began in the deck plating. It wasn't so much that the ship was straining against the speed...it almost sounded as if the ship were alive and was as excited as its crew.
"Six-point-one...six-three...!" Then a chime sounded and Travis checked his controls. He turned back to Archer incredulously. "Captain...we're holding steady at warp six-point-five!"
For a long moment, there was a disbelieving silence on the Bridge—only the soft growling of the starship's engines could be heard. Then there came a loud whooping sound over the com...the enthusiastic reaction of Commander Tucker down in Engineering. And suddenly, across every deck of the starship and from every station, exuberant cheering filled the air.
Well into the early hours of the following morning, candles flickered softly in T'Pol's quarters. But they added only their light to the darkened room. Far more intense than the heat of such tiny flames was the smoldering emotion that burned, both physically and spiritually, between the cabin's occupants. After long hours of intense, breathless lovemaking, Trip and T'Pol finally lay quietly together on the bed, their damp bodies still entwined as they slowly cooled in the steady wash of recycled air from the vents overhead.
For an eternity, the two simply savored each other's presence...the soothing balm of skin on skin. Finally, Trip turned lazily and kissed the top of T'Pol's head, breathing deeply of her scent.
"So...I've been sorta reconsidering the whole meditatin' thing. Would ya still be willing to teach me how to do it?"
"Of course," she replied, her voice husky with love and exertion.
Then there came another long silence until T'Pol looked up at her mate questioningly. "You are unusually quiet. Is there something bothering you?"
"Naw...I was just thinking." He shook his head in amusement. "Humans and Vulcans. A year ago, I woulda said they were like night and day. But now...."
T'Pol lifted her head from its place in the crook of his arm, and turned to face him, resting her cheek against the pulsing warmth of his chest. "What do you mean, Charles?"
Trip frowned as he tried to explain. "Well...we Humans are ruled by our emotions, right? But we try not to let them control us...just to sort of guide us. We don't always succeed, but we still try. Vulcans have emotions too...you just try to suppress them whenever you can. And you don't always succeed either. Meaning that neither of us is perfect...we just all do the best we can. So I think we're not as different as most Humans and Vulcans would like to believe. I mean, we're different...but not different. Ya see what I mean?"
T'Pol glanced at him for a moment, and then raised an eyebrow, her eyes glimmering with amusement. "Perhaps the lessons for which you have the greater need are those in basic English."
"Yeah...hardy-har-har." He smirked at her. "What I'm trying to say is—" Then his brow furrowed suddenly and he looked at her in surprise. "Did you just call me Charles?"
"Is that not your given name?"
"Well, yeah, but it's just...no one's ever called me that."
"What would you like for me to call you?"
He thought about it. "I don't know. What do you wanna call me?"
"When we are on duty, I will call you Commander, of course."
"Of course."
"But when we are alone...may I call you Charles?"
Trip chewed on the idea. "Never woulda thought I'd like it. But coming from you...it's kinda nice." Then he reached down to stroke her cheek and smiled. "Okay...Charles it is."
T'Pol surprised him then, gifting him with a brief but genuine, full-bodied smile. After a moment though, she grew suddenly shy.
"What is it?"
She looked at him hopefully. "Will you teach me something as well?"
"Anything."
"Will you teach me how to dream?"
To his credit, Trip was only surprised for a moment. Then he smiled wryly. "Dreamin's what Tiggers do best."
T'Pol gave him a puzzled look...until Trip finally just laughed and pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her tenderly. They lay quietly together, delighting in the strength of their bond. Their minds and thoughts mingled gently...easily. And a short time later, the Human and the Vulcan eased into a deep, peaceful sleep.
She gave him serenity...he gave her his dreams.
Together...they loved.
And the Enterprise journeyed on...