A/N: Okay, here's chapter 2. Please, bear with me here. The way I'm going
about this is a little different, and since I know very little about Trek
lore or cultures, probably very little of this will coincide with the
official Trek. Also, I soon will be taking an intensive writing course, so
you may not see another chapter for a while. It all depends on how long it
takes me to write my assignments. Thank you.
Archer was stunned. At first, he didn't quite believe what T'Pol was telling him. First of all, he'd never even seen a Vulcan child. Didn't he learn somewhere that they led very sheltered and protected lives on Vulcan? So what was a kid doing in the bufu of space?
"That doesn't make sense." He replied.
T'Pol's expression was a mix of patience and mild contempt, and indeed that was how she felt towards him after that ignorant comment. How could he presume to know enough about her culture to know what did and did not make sense? There was a reason for their secrecy regarding certain matters, but he didn't seem to understand that. Too often they had argued about privacy and to what extent she could use it.
"Why does it not make sense?" She asked him, determined to keep as professional about this as possible. Around them, the starship gently shuddered. Trip looked about nervously; he no doubt wanted to be back in the engine room, monitoring his precious charge.
"Well for a start, why would Vulcans be out this far anyway?" The captain countered. He knew that Vulcans usually kept within known space; only rarely did they venture out into the unknown.
"And why did they send a distress call on a channel that nobody could identify? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a distress call?" Trip quipped, tapping figures into the main engineering monitor.
T'Pol gazed at him. He was remarkably perceptive. Unlike the captain, he was considering the apparent lack of logic behind the situation. Naturally, being accustomed to his illogical approach to unusual problems, she was impressed. And, she decided, the humans needed to know something of the circumstances that had them blindly heading to a child at high warp.
"Such a distress call indicates that a tragedy of the most serious kind has happened. The ship's passengers are trying to save one person, but it would be dangerous to send out the general emergency message. It would alert their possible attackers and other hostile species to the fact that at least one person remains alive aboard the vessel." She answered. The captain was somewhat miffed to see the response was directed to Tucker, who didn't seem to be paying too much attention.
"So," he began, regaining the Vulcan's attention, "what kind of ship is it? Do they have any weapons?"
"At this distance it is difficult to tell, but the nature of the call said it was a child they are trying to save. Rarely do children travel on starships."
"So it was probably a personal ship." Trip interjected. For all his appearance of not listening, he was carefully taking in whatever T'Pol said.
"Most likely." She agreed.
Archer turned on his heel and headed off towards the ready room. "I'm going to inform Admiral Forrest." He told them. But before he'd reached the door, T'Pol stopped him.
"I don't believe that would be a wise course of action, sir."
"Why not? Starfleet should know, and so should the High Command." Archer argued.
T'Pol came to stand by his side, her piercing gaze focused entirely on him. Never before had she scrutinized him with such intensity. Jon was somewhat disconcerted.
"We do not know who the aggressors are. It is possible they have technology to monitor secure channels."
"That would explain the cryptic message." Archer mused.
T'Pol nodded and continued, "And it could alert them to our arrival."
Archer was silent as he considered it, and then curtly nodded his head at the petite woman. Over her head, he called out,
"What's our ETA?"
Travis promptly answered, "3. 42 hours, sir."
Again, the captain nodded his head, for lack of any better response. To his science officer, he stated,
"I'll be in my ready room, unless you'd care to discuss this further?" This time there was no threatening undertone, and Trip was relieved that his friend seemed to have regained his composure.
"I will need to prepare. Once we arrive, there are certain procedures that I will need to perform."
"And the kid?"
T'Pol paused, thinking. Certainly she did not want to bring a young, untrained Vulcan mind into the presence of 82 humans, but what choice did she have? A child required a parent or guardian. As a young woman, she had very little experience in the ways of parenthood. Unhappy with the conclusion, she replied,
"The child will need to remain with us until a transport can take it back to Vulcan. If it is very young, I will need to be with it at all times."
"Yer not plannin' on keepin' the poor thing locked in your quarters, are you?" Trip asked. The look in T'Pol's eyes of resignation was all he needed to see.
"SubCommander, that's crazy. It could be weeks before the High Command can send a ship out to meet us." He informed her.
Archer backed Trip up with, "and we can't spare you that long from duty."
The young SubCommander gazed at them. Naturally, she wanted to make the child's stay as bearable as possible, but there were rules. She would hate to undermine any training the child may have previously had. Such training was difficult for children for several years, and any damage would require extensive corrective measures. To her colleagues, she said,
"It is illogical to discuss this without further information."
The men turned sour looks on her, and exchanged one of mutual frustration. However reluctant they were to admit it, she had a point. And furthermore, it was entirely her call. Correctly interpreting these looks as the end of the conversation, she pivoted and left the bridge. It was only in the turbolift that she allowed herself to fully appreciate the gravity of what was happening. And it was at that moment a string of coughs chose to remind her of her recent 'adventure'. Right now, the last thing she needed was the added stress of caring for a child.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They reached the transport at the estimated time, and as they had expected, it was indeed a personal vessel. Though unfamiliar with the specific ship, its model was standard and well known to T'Pol. As they watched it drifting through the silent vacuum of space, a stark silence fell over the bridge crew. It was one thing to attack members of a Space Program. It was entirely another to prey upon civilians who were just trying to get somewhere. But then, there were no visible signs of an attack. The rust colored hull was unscathed.
"Bio-signs?" Archer asked quietly. He glanced back at T'Pol, wondering how she felt about this. But as usual, her face was complacent and showed only her level of mastery over her violent emotions.
"One." She replied.
"Let's send over an away team--" Archer was saying, but again T'Pol stopped him.
"Only I may go aboard, Captain."
He looked at her, but didn't have the heart to be angry.
"More cultural secrets?"
The SubCommander shook her head gently. "There is nothing secret about the Vulcan Rites of Death. For the safety of the survivor, the ship's backup sensors have been reconfigured. They will allow the access of only one person, and that person must be Vulcan."
"You won't have any trouble with codes?" Malcolm Reed asked. The ship was still on tactical alert, and he wanted to be out of the troubled area as soon as possible. The fact that no one else seemed to be around was not exactly comforting to him, and he had learned never to trust first appearances.
"No. They have all been changed as part of the emergency program. I know them all." T'Pol informed him.
With another look directed at her captain, who nodded his consent and settled into his command chair, she left the bridge and headed to the starboard airlock. There, she donned an EV suit and after keying in the required code, boarded the seemingly lifeless vessel. Only the emergency lighting was on, and she concluded that main power was being diverted. She proceeded directly to the bridge.
As she expertly made her way through the corridors, she considered the situation at hand. All Vulcans learned early on about the possible fatalities one could come by in space. It had been particularly important to know about the situations in which a child was involved. It had been decided centuries ago that if death was imminent, everything should be done to save the young life. The parents or guardians of the child sent a specific message, indicating in code their dire circumstances. Usually, once the response was received, the child was placed in stasis. Then all power and life support was directed to that sole stasis chamber, leaving the rest aboard to die quickly. And though she had learned all the specifics as a child, T'Pol had never actually heard of any such things happening.
And yet, as she walked down the corridors and through the main chambers, she could not help but feel a great sadness within her. To loose personnel was one thing; to perform the Rites of Death over civilians was entirely another. She reached the bridge and keyed in the master code into the main computer. A schematic of the ship was drawn up on the screen, and she expertly traced the flow of the remaining power to one of the personal cabins on the middle deck. A flashing light at the bottom of the screen captured her attention, and she gently tapped it.
It was a letter, presumably from the captain or the child's parent. It was succinct and to the point, as any Vulcan letter should be.
'Sir or Lady,
You have our gratitude for answering out distress call and coming to our aide. No doubt you know the nature of our urgency; you will find a child in stasis on the third deck. Stored with her is a list of her relatives, both on and off Vulcan. Look after her, and please ensure her safety among relatives.
Yours, Talek'
T'Pol wasted no time re-reading the letter. She closed the monitor and quickly went down to the third deck. Steeling herself for what needed to be done, she opened the first door. Laid out peacefully on the narrow bed was a man of middle age. He lay on his back, hands folded on his breast. In the dim lighting, he may easily have been asleep instead of deceased. She said the death rite and moved on to the next room. She continued in this manner until she reached the final room. She opened it, and was not surprised to see a brightly lit stasis chamber in the center of the cabin. On the bed against the wall lay a young man.
T'Pol was astounded to find him alone. A man so young should still be living with his wife. Furthermore, children always stayed with their mothers. Where was the child's other parent? Confused as she was, T'Pol still performed the death rite, lingering a few moments over the man after she'd finished. Silently, she vowed to do as the letter asked.
The woman stood and slowly walked over to the stasis chamber. It was full- length, which meant that the child was likely older. With reluctantly efficient fingers, she activated the anti-gravitation plates. She then disconnected it from the energy source, bringing to battery online. As the chamber rose to waist level, gently humming as it used the last of the ship's energy, T'Pol maneuvered it out of the little Vulcan vessel.
Awaiting her return in the dock, Captain Archer and Dr. Phlox were silent. Whether out of respect for the deceased Vulcans or apprehension for their recovering science officer, suffice it to say neither felt inclined to begin a conversation. Finally, the door opened to reveal a large, coffin- sized box. T'Pol stepped inside and took off her EV suit. Without a word to her assistants (indeed she hardly seemed to notice their presence) she keyed in a long and complicated code on the chamber's locking mechanism. It opened with a hiss as the inside adjusted to the pressure of Enterprise, and together all three lifted the lid.
Words failed them as they gazed down upon the figure inside. For T'Pol especially, it was moving to see the rhythmic rise and fall of the child's chest. It was only after she'd registered it was alive that she noticed how small it was. This was not even a toddler. Sleeping soundly on its back was a female Vulcan infant. Shock overcame T'Pol as Dr. Phlox moved in to check the baby's vital signs.
T'Pol stepped back into someone's chest. Slowly, she recognized the scent to be Commander Tuckers. She found herself remembering a time not too long before when they had been in a similar position. The memory was uncomfortable, as it brought attention back to the dull ache of her lungs. Yet, she seemed to take comfort from his steadfast solidity at her back; she turned halfway to hazard a glance at him. His expression was a mix of awe and pity. Vaguely, she became aware that she also was experiencing pity, along with a heaviness originating from her speculations on how to handle this daunting task ahead of her.
"Ya never said it was a baby." Trip voiced softly. Together, they watched Phlox scan the child. In the meantime, Archer had discovered something beneath the nest of blankets. He unearthed a PADD, which he handed to his First Officer. Though T'Pol knew exactly what it was, she took it and began reviewing its files. The first name she came across was that of the little girl's mother. She was also very young; very close to T'Pol in age. She had a pleasant face, and looked quite healthy.
The SubCommander's first though was that the child should be returned to her mother. But a glance at the well-categorized information below the picture revealed the travesty for what it truly was. The mother had died as complication of the delivery process. 'That explains why only the father was aboard the ship.' She thought to herself.
Over her shoulder, Trip was trying to gauge her reactions. What was she feeling? He knew without any shred of doubt that she *did* feel something. Those terrible days on the leafy planet had taught him that her outer appearance was nothing but a well-crafted mask. A mask so well defined by centuries of her people that it had become a part of her very personality. But deep down, she was feeling something.
"What's it say?" The captain asked.
T'Pol was broken out of her solitude by his voice. Recalling her duties as an officer (and now, the guardian of this infant) she told him that the baby was an orphan.
"What happened to the ship?" The engineer asked.
Scrolling through the information on the PADD, T'Pol told them.
"They were purging the impulse manifolds when there was a reactor breach. Apparently, the purges served as a catalyst because otherwise, nothing like this could have happened. They lost ninety-seven percent of their fuel and the breach damaged critical systems. They only had minimal life support."
"So they directed it all to the stasis pod, and let themselves die." Phlox finished. "Honorable."
"Logical." T'Pol stated.
"Any idea why they were out here in the first place?"
"No, I failed to research that information." She admitted
The doctor had finished his check-up just as the little body began to stir. A little cry came from her tiny lips, and a fist shot into the air.
"Well, she is in fine condition. My only question is: how are we going to feed her?" The Denobulan asked. T'Pol stepped forward. She peered down into the chamber at the female, who was now fully awake and fussy. But the moment she locked eyes with T'Pol, she stilled. They stared at each other; two sets of dark eyes searched each other, as thought reading the other's intentions. The baby was completely silent as T'Pol reached down to pick her up. Settling her against her shoulder, T'Pol traded glances with her companions. They also were silent, save for the Commander.
"Whatcha gonna call her?" he asked. Despite the situation of her parents and the corpses on the other side of the airlock, a warm glow radiated from the little girl. Holding her in her arms was a kind of therapy for T'Pol, who answered,
"Her name is Teval." As an afterthought, she wondered where she'd come by that information.
"What should we do with the ship?" Archer asked her. Though the question was directed at her, he was focused on her charge.
"Destroy it. That is what we do in times such as these." The SubCommander answered. She felt Teval's stomach rumble, and decided to feed her now before she vocalized her needs. She would simply have to replicate some formula. Gliding past the men, she strode down the well-lit corridors, completely wrapped up in her new companion.
TBC
A/N Continued: In case you were wondering, the answer is: Yes, I like babies! Hope you do too, because you'll be seeing a lot of Teval for the duration of this story. For those of you who are waiting for an actual plot, you can stop now. This is a character study disguised as a T/T ship 'fic. In all likelihood (unless the muse decides to change her image) there won't be a real plot. The only plot here is the crew dealing with a baby, Trip and T'Pol getting closer all set against the backdrop of them trying to get Teval to her relatives. Enjoy!
Archer was stunned. At first, he didn't quite believe what T'Pol was telling him. First of all, he'd never even seen a Vulcan child. Didn't he learn somewhere that they led very sheltered and protected lives on Vulcan? So what was a kid doing in the bufu of space?
"That doesn't make sense." He replied.
T'Pol's expression was a mix of patience and mild contempt, and indeed that was how she felt towards him after that ignorant comment. How could he presume to know enough about her culture to know what did and did not make sense? There was a reason for their secrecy regarding certain matters, but he didn't seem to understand that. Too often they had argued about privacy and to what extent she could use it.
"Why does it not make sense?" She asked him, determined to keep as professional about this as possible. Around them, the starship gently shuddered. Trip looked about nervously; he no doubt wanted to be back in the engine room, monitoring his precious charge.
"Well for a start, why would Vulcans be out this far anyway?" The captain countered. He knew that Vulcans usually kept within known space; only rarely did they venture out into the unknown.
"And why did they send a distress call on a channel that nobody could identify? Doesn't that defeat the purpose of a distress call?" Trip quipped, tapping figures into the main engineering monitor.
T'Pol gazed at him. He was remarkably perceptive. Unlike the captain, he was considering the apparent lack of logic behind the situation. Naturally, being accustomed to his illogical approach to unusual problems, she was impressed. And, she decided, the humans needed to know something of the circumstances that had them blindly heading to a child at high warp.
"Such a distress call indicates that a tragedy of the most serious kind has happened. The ship's passengers are trying to save one person, but it would be dangerous to send out the general emergency message. It would alert their possible attackers and other hostile species to the fact that at least one person remains alive aboard the vessel." She answered. The captain was somewhat miffed to see the response was directed to Tucker, who didn't seem to be paying too much attention.
"So," he began, regaining the Vulcan's attention, "what kind of ship is it? Do they have any weapons?"
"At this distance it is difficult to tell, but the nature of the call said it was a child they are trying to save. Rarely do children travel on starships."
"So it was probably a personal ship." Trip interjected. For all his appearance of not listening, he was carefully taking in whatever T'Pol said.
"Most likely." She agreed.
Archer turned on his heel and headed off towards the ready room. "I'm going to inform Admiral Forrest." He told them. But before he'd reached the door, T'Pol stopped him.
"I don't believe that would be a wise course of action, sir."
"Why not? Starfleet should know, and so should the High Command." Archer argued.
T'Pol came to stand by his side, her piercing gaze focused entirely on him. Never before had she scrutinized him with such intensity. Jon was somewhat disconcerted.
"We do not know who the aggressors are. It is possible they have technology to monitor secure channels."
"That would explain the cryptic message." Archer mused.
T'Pol nodded and continued, "And it could alert them to our arrival."
Archer was silent as he considered it, and then curtly nodded his head at the petite woman. Over her head, he called out,
"What's our ETA?"
Travis promptly answered, "3. 42 hours, sir."
Again, the captain nodded his head, for lack of any better response. To his science officer, he stated,
"I'll be in my ready room, unless you'd care to discuss this further?" This time there was no threatening undertone, and Trip was relieved that his friend seemed to have regained his composure.
"I will need to prepare. Once we arrive, there are certain procedures that I will need to perform."
"And the kid?"
T'Pol paused, thinking. Certainly she did not want to bring a young, untrained Vulcan mind into the presence of 82 humans, but what choice did she have? A child required a parent or guardian. As a young woman, she had very little experience in the ways of parenthood. Unhappy with the conclusion, she replied,
"The child will need to remain with us until a transport can take it back to Vulcan. If it is very young, I will need to be with it at all times."
"Yer not plannin' on keepin' the poor thing locked in your quarters, are you?" Trip asked. The look in T'Pol's eyes of resignation was all he needed to see.
"SubCommander, that's crazy. It could be weeks before the High Command can send a ship out to meet us." He informed her.
Archer backed Trip up with, "and we can't spare you that long from duty."
The young SubCommander gazed at them. Naturally, she wanted to make the child's stay as bearable as possible, but there were rules. She would hate to undermine any training the child may have previously had. Such training was difficult for children for several years, and any damage would require extensive corrective measures. To her colleagues, she said,
"It is illogical to discuss this without further information."
The men turned sour looks on her, and exchanged one of mutual frustration. However reluctant they were to admit it, she had a point. And furthermore, it was entirely her call. Correctly interpreting these looks as the end of the conversation, she pivoted and left the bridge. It was only in the turbolift that she allowed herself to fully appreciate the gravity of what was happening. And it was at that moment a string of coughs chose to remind her of her recent 'adventure'. Right now, the last thing she needed was the added stress of caring for a child.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
They reached the transport at the estimated time, and as they had expected, it was indeed a personal vessel. Though unfamiliar with the specific ship, its model was standard and well known to T'Pol. As they watched it drifting through the silent vacuum of space, a stark silence fell over the bridge crew. It was one thing to attack members of a Space Program. It was entirely another to prey upon civilians who were just trying to get somewhere. But then, there were no visible signs of an attack. The rust colored hull was unscathed.
"Bio-signs?" Archer asked quietly. He glanced back at T'Pol, wondering how she felt about this. But as usual, her face was complacent and showed only her level of mastery over her violent emotions.
"One." She replied.
"Let's send over an away team--" Archer was saying, but again T'Pol stopped him.
"Only I may go aboard, Captain."
He looked at her, but didn't have the heart to be angry.
"More cultural secrets?"
The SubCommander shook her head gently. "There is nothing secret about the Vulcan Rites of Death. For the safety of the survivor, the ship's backup sensors have been reconfigured. They will allow the access of only one person, and that person must be Vulcan."
"You won't have any trouble with codes?" Malcolm Reed asked. The ship was still on tactical alert, and he wanted to be out of the troubled area as soon as possible. The fact that no one else seemed to be around was not exactly comforting to him, and he had learned never to trust first appearances.
"No. They have all been changed as part of the emergency program. I know them all." T'Pol informed him.
With another look directed at her captain, who nodded his consent and settled into his command chair, she left the bridge and headed to the starboard airlock. There, she donned an EV suit and after keying in the required code, boarded the seemingly lifeless vessel. Only the emergency lighting was on, and she concluded that main power was being diverted. She proceeded directly to the bridge.
As she expertly made her way through the corridors, she considered the situation at hand. All Vulcans learned early on about the possible fatalities one could come by in space. It had been particularly important to know about the situations in which a child was involved. It had been decided centuries ago that if death was imminent, everything should be done to save the young life. The parents or guardians of the child sent a specific message, indicating in code their dire circumstances. Usually, once the response was received, the child was placed in stasis. Then all power and life support was directed to that sole stasis chamber, leaving the rest aboard to die quickly. And though she had learned all the specifics as a child, T'Pol had never actually heard of any such things happening.
And yet, as she walked down the corridors and through the main chambers, she could not help but feel a great sadness within her. To loose personnel was one thing; to perform the Rites of Death over civilians was entirely another. She reached the bridge and keyed in the master code into the main computer. A schematic of the ship was drawn up on the screen, and she expertly traced the flow of the remaining power to one of the personal cabins on the middle deck. A flashing light at the bottom of the screen captured her attention, and she gently tapped it.
It was a letter, presumably from the captain or the child's parent. It was succinct and to the point, as any Vulcan letter should be.
'Sir or Lady,
You have our gratitude for answering out distress call and coming to our aide. No doubt you know the nature of our urgency; you will find a child in stasis on the third deck. Stored with her is a list of her relatives, both on and off Vulcan. Look after her, and please ensure her safety among relatives.
Yours, Talek'
T'Pol wasted no time re-reading the letter. She closed the monitor and quickly went down to the third deck. Steeling herself for what needed to be done, she opened the first door. Laid out peacefully on the narrow bed was a man of middle age. He lay on his back, hands folded on his breast. In the dim lighting, he may easily have been asleep instead of deceased. She said the death rite and moved on to the next room. She continued in this manner until she reached the final room. She opened it, and was not surprised to see a brightly lit stasis chamber in the center of the cabin. On the bed against the wall lay a young man.
T'Pol was astounded to find him alone. A man so young should still be living with his wife. Furthermore, children always stayed with their mothers. Where was the child's other parent? Confused as she was, T'Pol still performed the death rite, lingering a few moments over the man after she'd finished. Silently, she vowed to do as the letter asked.
The woman stood and slowly walked over to the stasis chamber. It was full- length, which meant that the child was likely older. With reluctantly efficient fingers, she activated the anti-gravitation plates. She then disconnected it from the energy source, bringing to battery online. As the chamber rose to waist level, gently humming as it used the last of the ship's energy, T'Pol maneuvered it out of the little Vulcan vessel.
Awaiting her return in the dock, Captain Archer and Dr. Phlox were silent. Whether out of respect for the deceased Vulcans or apprehension for their recovering science officer, suffice it to say neither felt inclined to begin a conversation. Finally, the door opened to reveal a large, coffin- sized box. T'Pol stepped inside and took off her EV suit. Without a word to her assistants (indeed she hardly seemed to notice their presence) she keyed in a long and complicated code on the chamber's locking mechanism. It opened with a hiss as the inside adjusted to the pressure of Enterprise, and together all three lifted the lid.
Words failed them as they gazed down upon the figure inside. For T'Pol especially, it was moving to see the rhythmic rise and fall of the child's chest. It was only after she'd registered it was alive that she noticed how small it was. This was not even a toddler. Sleeping soundly on its back was a female Vulcan infant. Shock overcame T'Pol as Dr. Phlox moved in to check the baby's vital signs.
T'Pol stepped back into someone's chest. Slowly, she recognized the scent to be Commander Tuckers. She found herself remembering a time not too long before when they had been in a similar position. The memory was uncomfortable, as it brought attention back to the dull ache of her lungs. Yet, she seemed to take comfort from his steadfast solidity at her back; she turned halfway to hazard a glance at him. His expression was a mix of awe and pity. Vaguely, she became aware that she also was experiencing pity, along with a heaviness originating from her speculations on how to handle this daunting task ahead of her.
"Ya never said it was a baby." Trip voiced softly. Together, they watched Phlox scan the child. In the meantime, Archer had discovered something beneath the nest of blankets. He unearthed a PADD, which he handed to his First Officer. Though T'Pol knew exactly what it was, she took it and began reviewing its files. The first name she came across was that of the little girl's mother. She was also very young; very close to T'Pol in age. She had a pleasant face, and looked quite healthy.
The SubCommander's first though was that the child should be returned to her mother. But a glance at the well-categorized information below the picture revealed the travesty for what it truly was. The mother had died as complication of the delivery process. 'That explains why only the father was aboard the ship.' She thought to herself.
Over her shoulder, Trip was trying to gauge her reactions. What was she feeling? He knew without any shred of doubt that she *did* feel something. Those terrible days on the leafy planet had taught him that her outer appearance was nothing but a well-crafted mask. A mask so well defined by centuries of her people that it had become a part of her very personality. But deep down, she was feeling something.
"What's it say?" The captain asked.
T'Pol was broken out of her solitude by his voice. Recalling her duties as an officer (and now, the guardian of this infant) she told him that the baby was an orphan.
"What happened to the ship?" The engineer asked.
Scrolling through the information on the PADD, T'Pol told them.
"They were purging the impulse manifolds when there was a reactor breach. Apparently, the purges served as a catalyst because otherwise, nothing like this could have happened. They lost ninety-seven percent of their fuel and the breach damaged critical systems. They only had minimal life support."
"So they directed it all to the stasis pod, and let themselves die." Phlox finished. "Honorable."
"Logical." T'Pol stated.
"Any idea why they were out here in the first place?"
"No, I failed to research that information." She admitted
The doctor had finished his check-up just as the little body began to stir. A little cry came from her tiny lips, and a fist shot into the air.
"Well, she is in fine condition. My only question is: how are we going to feed her?" The Denobulan asked. T'Pol stepped forward. She peered down into the chamber at the female, who was now fully awake and fussy. But the moment she locked eyes with T'Pol, she stilled. They stared at each other; two sets of dark eyes searched each other, as thought reading the other's intentions. The baby was completely silent as T'Pol reached down to pick her up. Settling her against her shoulder, T'Pol traded glances with her companions. They also were silent, save for the Commander.
"Whatcha gonna call her?" he asked. Despite the situation of her parents and the corpses on the other side of the airlock, a warm glow radiated from the little girl. Holding her in her arms was a kind of therapy for T'Pol, who answered,
"Her name is Teval." As an afterthought, she wondered where she'd come by that information.
"What should we do with the ship?" Archer asked her. Though the question was directed at her, he was focused on her charge.
"Destroy it. That is what we do in times such as these." The SubCommander answered. She felt Teval's stomach rumble, and decided to feed her now before she vocalized her needs. She would simply have to replicate some formula. Gliding past the men, she strode down the well-lit corridors, completely wrapped up in her new companion.
TBC
A/N Continued: In case you were wondering, the answer is: Yes, I like babies! Hope you do too, because you'll be seeing a lot of Teval for the duration of this story. For those of you who are waiting for an actual plot, you can stop now. This is a character study disguised as a T/T ship 'fic. In all likelihood (unless the muse decides to change her image) there won't be a real plot. The only plot here is the crew dealing with a baby, Trip and T'Pol getting closer all set against the backdrop of them trying to get Teval to her relatives. Enjoy!