Convicted
Author: Transwarp
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Action/Drama
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.
Summary: The Romulan War enters its fourth year. T'Pol faces charges in an Andorian court while Trip assumes command of Chosin. Fourth in a series (order of stories: 'Commissioning', 'Liaison', 'Command', then 'Convicted').
TWO
Chosin, Lalande III, 8 Mar 2159
T'Pol followed Trip through the docking port onto Chosin, and was not surprised to find Lieutenant Graham and Chief Verley waiting in the passageway just outside the airlock. She was surprised to find a sizable group of Chosin's officers and crew also waiting.
Lieutenant Graham caught the question implicit in her raised eyebrow. "Everyone's been sitting on pins and needles since you left for the meeting," he explained. "Not a lot of ship's work has been done. They're all anxious to hear the results. Hell, I'm anxious to hear the results..."
They are worried for me, she realized. It was a sign of the esteem they held her in, but she could derive no satisfaction from it. Not when she was contemplating leaving them. In fact, the strain of shielding her intentions from Trip was becoming increasingly difficult. She needed time. Time alone to deal with the emotions that seethed just beyond the limits of her control. Time to analyze her options and reach a decision. A logical decision.
"Commander, would you bring them up to date?" T'Pol asked Trip. "I will be in my office." She walked away without waiting for his answer.
Trip grinned and launched into a spirited account of the meeting. All eyes in the passageway were on him. All but Chief Verley's; his followed the receding back of his Captain, a troubled frown on his face.
#####
T'Pol closed the door to her office and seated herself at her desk. She took several steadying breaths, but was unable to enter even the most basic of meditative states. The requisite degree of composure and calm escaped her while under the stress of shielding her mind from Trip.
So be it, she thought. I can still do this. Using all her mental discipline, she pushed the distracting emotions aside and concentrated on the problem at hand. She would pay a heavy price for it later, but that could not be helped.
She reviewed every fact and considered every angle before arriving at the only possible conclusion-she had to turn herself over to the Andorians. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of lives would be lost if she did not. Hundreds dead who would otherwise live.
T'Pol took a shaky breath. Leave my adun? My k'diwa? How can I? She went back over her chain of reasoning, desperately seeking a flaw, but the logic was sound.
She found herself pacing around the tiny office, and forced herself to sit. Folding her shaking hands in her lap, she stared with unseeing eyes at the data terminal on her desk. My duty has never been more clear, she thought, nor less desired.
She stood again, unable to sit any longer. If she was going to do this, it had to be now. She did not know how much longer she could hide her inner turmoil from Trip. Or how much longer her own resolve would last.
She did not need to pack, having no illusions that the Andorian authorities would allow her to keep any personal items. She pulled Hey-you from her side pocket and set him gently on the desk, then slid her wedding band from her finger and placed it next to him. She knew she should leave Trip a note, but did not know what to say, nor did she believe her composure would last long enough to complete it. In fact, she wasn't certain her composure would see her out the office door.
I must cast out fear, she told herself. But after years around humans, she was familiar enough with her emotions to know it wasn't fear that gripped her heart.
It was despair.
#####
T'Pol entered the transporter room and approached the operator's console. She had considered taking the shuttlepod, but that would have required clearing all personnel from the launch bay and getting the Watch Officer on the bridge to open the launch doors. The transporter, on the other hand, required no assistance from anyone who might ask difficult questions.
She entered the spatial coordinates of the Andorian liaison element at Starbase Seven, set the activation timer for a twenty second delay, then moved to the transporter pad and waited. Her body felt numb, her mind detached, almost as if she were dreaming. But this was no dream. She was actually leaving her mate. Her ship. The people she cared for and who cared for her. She could not know if or when she would ever see them again. No, best not to think of that. It is too painful...
T'Pol suddenly realized that more than twenty seconds had passed and the transporter had not activated. Confused, she glanced around and froze at the sight of Chief Verley leaning against the operator's console.
"Going somewhere, Captain?"
"I... I have business at the Starbase. Activate the transporter, please."
"I don't think so."
T'Pol put on what Trip called her Captain's Face. "That was not a request; it was an order."
"I don't care. You're not leaving this ship until I'm sure you're coming back."
T'Pol briefly considered nerve-pinching him, then her common sense prevailed. She would have to resort to persuasion. "Chief, I must do this. The fact that you have divined my intentions means you understand what is at stake. Do not stand in my way. Please!"
Chief Verley had never seen his Captain so distraught, and he regarded her thoughtfully for several long moments. "Very well, ma'am. I'll let you leave if you can answer 'yes' to one question: Does Commander Tucker know what you're planning?"
T'Pol avoided his gaze. "No," she murmured.
"Don't you think he should?"
T'Pol would still not meet his gaze. "He will try to stop me."
Verley sighed. "Captain... you are making a terrible mistake. Your husband needs to know. He deserves to know. If you do not tell him, you will regret it for the rest of your life."
Regret. A very powerful emotion. Vulcans do not feel regret, T'Pol wanted to say, but she knew it wasn't true. And she knew Chief Verley was right. She would come to regret it.
How is it I did not realize this sooner? she wondered. She knew the answer to that, as well. She was ruthlessly suppressing all feeling and relying solely on logic to guide her, and there was no room within her logic for regret. Or despair. Or heartache. Only duty, and the calculus of lives that might be saved.
T'Pol stepped off the transporter pad, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her. "I will speak with him."
"I'll go with you." Verley clearly did not intend to let her out of his sight.
#####
Trip was at his desk in the ChEng's office when T'Pol entered, a grim-faced Chief Verley right behind her. He immediately sensed her turmoil. "T'Pol?"
T'Pol didn't answer him, speaking to Verley instead. "Thank you, Chief."
Verley backed out of the office. "I'll be right out here," he said.
"That won't be necessary."
"I'll be right out here," Verley repeated firmly.
T'Pol nodded, and Verley left, closing the door behind him.
"T'Pol? What is it? What's wrong?" Her rigid stance and the set of her mouth fairly screamed trouble.
"I must turn myself over to the Andorians," she told him, bracing herself for the explosion to follow.
Trip merely lifted his eyebrows and regarded her closely. "You were going to leave without telling me."
T'Pol realized she had relaxed her mental shields after Verley found her in the transporter room. It was a relief to be free of that additional strain. "I am sorry," she said.
"Sorry? T'Pol, I did a little research after Gardner told us about the extradition request. Do you know what I learned?"
"No."
"Being sent to an Andorian prison is a death sentence for Vulcans. Very few survive the ordeal. What are you thinking?"
"Trip. I was a field agent with the V'Shar, in the Security Directorate. I know quite well what to expect. I also know I can survive."
"Is that so? Then tell me. What do they do to Vulcan prisoners, and why would you survive when so many of your people don't?" Trip had not reacted with the anger T'Pol had expected over her attempted flight, and she had begun to relax. She tensed up again at his question. This is a touchy subject with her, Trip realized.
"Eventually, they... the Vulcan prisoners... enter pon farr. When they do, they... the fortunate ones... are placed in isolation."
"What do you mean, 'the fortunate ones?' Doesn't isolating Vulcans while in pon farr kill them?"
"Yes," T'Pol replied. "Most of the time."
"How is that fortunate?"
"The guards will... will use the prisoners that are not isolated. Sexually. Those do not die."
Trip's blood ran cold.
"The guards also make it difficult for Vulcans to meditate," T'Pol said. "Without sufficient meditation, in a high-stress environment, Vulcans can eventually become emotionally unbalanced. They become prone to fits of rage, giving the guards cause to shoot them. In self-defense, you understand."
"My God..."
T'Pol continued her grim litany. "Vulcan prisoners receive no consideration for their diet. Every meal contains meat, but you already know I am capable of consuming meat in order to survive."
I also know the toll it takes on you, Trip thought. On the other hand, with his help she could maintain her emotional stability indefinitely, despite Andorian efforts to prevent her from getting proper meditation. Pon farr was not an issue either, since she would never experience that (also due to him). He had to-grudgingly-admit that she could survive where most Vulcans would die. At the moment, he was not quite sure this was a good thing.
She drove the point home. "Because of our bond, the risk factors that imperil other Vulcans do not apply to me. I am therefore able to turn myself over to the Andorians."
Because of our bond... An unsettling thought occurred to Trip. "T'Pol, how far will this bond we have reach?"
"I-I do not believe there is a limit..." T'Pol replied in an uncertain tone.
"How can that be? Every telepathic species we've encountered has a range limit on their abilities. Even the Aenar from Andoria required a mechanical amplifier to operate over interstellar distances. So, what's the range of a Vulcan mating bond?"
T'Pol shook her head, "I told you, I do not believe it has a range."
"Do you mean to say the range is infinite? Or that you just don't know? We've been as far as six light years apart when you were on Ki'Vaar, and that didn't seem to affect our bond. But there has to be a... a maximum range. Doesn't there? What does the Vulcan Science Directorate say?"
"The Science Directorate was disbanded by the High Council nearly two years ago," T'Pol stated.
"Really? Why?"
"I'm surprised you need to ask, in view of the accuracy of their findings. Or should I say the inaccuracy? They were simply wrong too many times about too many things. Instead of a Science Directorate, the High Council has adopted a model similar to Earth's, where scientific findings are published in peer-reviewed journals."
Under other circumstances, Trip would have been delighted by the irony of Vulcan emulating the human model for scientific research, and he would have needled T'Pol mercilessly. At the moment, though, he could take no joy from the fact.
"Well there must be SOME research," he suggested. "Mating bonds are central to Vulcan relationships-you expect me to believe the scientific community has just ignored them all these hundreds of years? I need to know how far apart we can get before we lose the... the connection. The link. The whatever-it-is."
"To my knowledge, a maximum range has never been discovered," T'Pol said. "As for the scientific community, investigation into such matters was discouraged prior to the Kir'shara being found."
"So no one knows the maximum range because research on bonds was suppressed? That's just peachy."
"Scientific research was suppressed. There is, however, a large body of literature on the topic, most notably the ancient kitalu t'oveh. The scriptures of the saints. Accepted wisdom has it that a mating bond is fundamentally different from a telepathic link. As you pointed out, telepathy is subject to attenuation over distance. In fact, a telepathic link obeys the inverse-square law. It is a well-understood, subspace-based phenomenon. We can build machines to amplify and direct psionic energy. No such ability exists for a mating bond. The physical mechanism by which two bonded individuals are linked is currently-to the best of my knowledge-unknown."
"That doesn't exactly fill me with confidence," Trip said. "There must be SOME mechanism linking us."
"In the kitalu t'oveh, a bond is considered to be the joining or merging of two people's katras. At one time, I would have considered that mystical nonsense. No scientist has yet managed to detect or measure a person's katra. Yet, I have first-hand evidence of their existence; evidence that I cannot discount." Trip knew she referred to the time Jonathon Archer carried the katra of Surak, and was privy to knowledge that only Surak could have known.
Trip had to admit that T'Pol's statements regarding the nature of bonds matched his own experience. When she had been light-years away from him on the Vulcan ship Ki'Vaar, he could detect no changes to their bond. No weakening of intensity, no delay or latency. She might as well have been in the next room. He took a small measure of comfort from the knowledge that no known distance was great enough to affect the link they shared.
But that didn't mean he was going to let her be sent to an Andorian prison.
"Okay, T'Pol, I'll concede the point. Our bond will function while you're in prison. Our bond will keep you alive in that hell-hole. But it's a moot point. There is no need to turn yourself in. Doctor Emerson said Shalin is bluffing."
"And if he is not? If the Imperial Guard stands down? Even if only for three months, what would the cost in lives be? How many more would die-deaths I could have prevented?"
"T'Pol, nobody can blame you for those deaths. They are on Shalin's head, not yours. Nobody can ask you to do this. Nobody!"
"Nobody is asking me; I go voluntarily. Trip, I know you do not believe it, but Shalin is not bluffing. Do not take my word for it; check the Vulcan database. You will find many examples of his extreme prejudice."
Trip briefly considered her words, then turned to his data console. "Why don't you have a seat?" he suggested. "I don't know how long this is going to take."
#####
Vulcan courier vessel Igen-wesh, Lalande III, 8 Mar 2159
Subcommander Kolna waited patiently to see if his subspace call to the Vulcan embassy on Earth would get through. Had he not been Vulcan, he might have considered crossing his fingers-that seemed to be something humans did when they desired a favorable outcome from events over which they had no control. Fortunately he was Vulcan, and realized that the configuration of his fingers could not influence events beyond the reach of his arms.
In this particular case, a favorable outcome was not at all assured. Small, fast Romulan vessels were known to prowl the space between the Coalition and its front lines, seeking out and destroying the subspace relays by which contact with higher headquarters was maintained. The blackouts were of short duration, since new relays were constantly being laid, but even a temporary interruption of communications was a hindrance to the war effort.
After an unusually long wait, Kolna began to suspect that the chain of relays had indeed been disrupted. He reached for the disconnect button, but the display resolved into Ambassador Soval's likeness before he could press it. The call log in the corner of his screen showed his connection going through Vulcan-it seemed some relays were destroyed, but the network was able to route around them.
Soval got straight to the point. "Subcommander Kolna, what have you to report?"
"Admiral Gardner has concluded his review and will be strongly recommending to the United Earth President that the Andorian extradition request be denied. The consensus among humans is that Chancellor Shalin will not follow through with his threat to withdraw from the war."
"That is the outcome I predicted," Soval said. "Humans have no experience with Andorian extremism. They expect Andorians to act as humans would. I presume you attempted to correct their misconceptions?"
"I did, but without success. Not only did Admiral Gardner disregard my input, but he ordered Commander T'Pol to take her ship to Eta Corvi so she would be out of reach if the President chooses to extradite her. It was an astonishing display of insubordination on the Admiral's part."
"As you become more accustomed to humans, you will learn to be astonished only when they are not behaving in an astonishing manner."
Kolna reflected on his previous dealings with humans. "I believe you are correct," he agreed, "yet I do not understand how human organizations can function when individual humans feel free to flout the decisions of their superiors."
"This is a discussion that merits more time than we now have," Soval said. "I would be agreeable to continuing it upon your return to Earth. For now, realize that there are consequences when humans flout the rules and dictates of their superiors. Humans will consult what they call their 'conscience' to determine if the rewards of violating the rules are worth the consequences. Some humans will do so for personal gain, others for the greater good."
If anything, Soval's explanation left Kolna even more confused. "But Admiral Gardner's action did neither," he pointed out. "He clearly risked much and gained nothing when he ordered T'Pol to Eta Corvi. And just as clearly it did not contribute to the greater good, since it assures that Andoria will withdraw from the war."
"When human actions seem to violate all tenants of logic and reason, it is usually wise to reexamine your understanding of the situation. There are often reasons for their actions that are not immediately apparent."
"Then what am I overlooking?" Kolna challenged.
Soval pondered the question for a long moment before speaking. "I believe you are not considering the impact it would have on Starfleet if Commander T'Pol were handed over to the Andorians. They would consider it a betrayal on the part of their leaders. It would cause many negative emotions that could inhibit their combat effectiveness."
"They would feel betrayed? But Commander T'Pol is not one of them."
Soval slipped effortlessly into mentor mode. "Reflect carefully on your words, Subcommander."
Kolna did so, reviewing his words against what he had seen in the meeting. He was chagrined to find a flaw in his reasoning. "The humans consider her to be one of them," he realized, "not a Vulcan. Yet she behaved as a Vulcan would at the meeting-how can this be?"
"I cannot answer that. I am not even certain Commander T'Pol could answer it." Soval's expression changed, signaling a change in topic, "But there is no time for speculation. I must begin preparing the High Council for the eventuality that Andoria will withdraw from the war. The Isolationist members will argue against Vulcan forces assuming a greater role in the defense of Earth, but I do not believe their arguments will sway the Council by more than two votes. The Vulcan Fleet must also be warned, so they can begin planning the necessary redeployment of forces."
"It may not come to that, Ambassador," Kolna said. "I spoke with Commander T'Pol after the meeting and I believe she is planning to turn herself over to the Andorians in order to preserve the Coalition."
"Indeed?" Soval's eyebrows shot up, and Kolna was not sure whether he was registering surprise, or something more troubling. Worry? Kolna pushed the unworthy suspicion aside.
"Did Commander T'Pol tell you this?" Soval asked.
"Not precisely. She said she was considering it, and asked me not to speak of it with anyone." Kolna hesitated before continuing, "Commander T'Pol once worked for you in the Embassy. Do you believe she will turn herself over? Even though Admiral Gardner ordered her to Eta Corvi?"
"Yes," Soval said slowly, "yes, I believe she will." The suspicion that Soval was actually worried returned to Kolna, stronger than before. Once more, he pushed it aside. No Vulcan of Soval's stature and prestige would indulge in such emotions.
"She is making the logical decision," Kolna observed approvingly, "even though she must disobey her superiors. And even though the Andorians will deal harshly with her once they have her in custody."
"Yes... it is the only logical decision," Soval agreed. "And I am certain T'Pol knows better than either of us what trials await her at the hands of the Andorians. Is there anything else, Subcommander?"
"No, Ambassador. Peace and long life to you."
"Live long and prosper." Soval broke the connection and Kolna stared at the blank screen for a long moment. He did not understand why, but Ambassador Soval had seemed greatly unsettled by his call, and that fact alone was enough to unsettle Kolna.
#####
Chosin, Lalande III, 8 Mar 2159
Trip leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. Much as he hated to admit it, there seemed to be ample evidence that Chancellor Shalin was NOT bluffing. The information in the Vulcan database indicated Shalin's nature was extremely volatile, and he seemed more than capable of sacrificing his political career for a personal vendetta, as long as it was directed at the reviled and hated Vulcans. One incident in particular convinced Trip that T'Pol was right: In his youth, Shalin had served as an aide to his province's Parliamentary Representative. During a foreign-policy debate, the young Shalin had physically assaulted the Vulcan Ambassador on the floor of the Parliament. The Ambassador suffered only minor injuries and Shalin suffered only mild legal consequences, but as a result of the incident, Shalin's name became a household word throughout Andoria. His political career was launched.
"Okay, I get it," Trip said, as T'Pol watched him expectantly. "Shalin is a nut-case and he's not bluffing. You have to turn yourself in."
T'Pol blinked. She had not expected such rapid capitulation.
"Of course, I'm going with you," he continued, in a tone that brooked no disagreement.
"Trip. You cannot."
"Try and stop me."
"I do not wish to stop you, my love. I wish to never be separated from you. But the Andorians will not permit it. You know this is so."
"At least we'll be on the same planet, T'Pol. At least I can come and visit you."
T'Pol was not sure they would allow even that much, but chose not to mention it. "Trip, if you come to Andoria, who will command Chosin?"
"Lieutenant Graham."
"He is ready to be First Officer. He is not yet ready for command."
"Then Starfleet will find someone who is," Trip said. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized they weren't true. There was no one else. Anyone with any experience at all was already commanding a ship.
"Trip, you must command Chosin. You have the knowledge and experience. You know the ship. You know the crew. You have their trust. It can be no other."
It was in that moment it all finally sank in. T'Pol was going to Andoria. By herself. It hit Trip like a punch to the gut, and he exhaled noisily as he slumped back in his chair. "I don't know if I can do this, T'Pol. I don't know if I can let you go." His voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm not that strong..."
T'Pol touched him lightly on the arm, "You are the strongest person I know." She was trying to be reassuring, but her eyes could not hide the pain she felt. Nor could she hide the turmoil that roiled just beneath the surface of her calm veneer.
Trip felt the conflict raging within her, the conflict between her instinctive need to protect her mate and her duty to save hundreds of lives. In a flash of perceptiveness, he realized her need to protect him would trump all else. He was astonished and humbled by the insight: she would not leave him if leaving caused him such pain. Yet at the same time, she would be forced to endure the great shame of having neglected her logical duty. How very Vulcan, Trip realized. How very T'Pol.
He knew what he WANTED to do. He wanted to cry and rage and shake his fist at an unjust universe. He also knew what he HAD to do. He had to be calm and reasonable and help T'Pol stay in control.
Somehow he knew that today, after making such a momentous and difficult decision, she needed to be in charge of her emotions. She needed to feel like a Vulcan. Intuitively, he knew she could not do that if she felt responsible for his emotions, or thought that she was causing him pain.
He used all the mental discipline he had learned from her over the years they were married, and he suppressed his own feelings. If T'Pol needed to be Vulcan, he was going to give her that gift.
Trip stood, pulling her into a tight embrace. "I'll miss you, darling," he said, projecting calm acceptance of her decision. And pride.
Yes, pride. How could he not be proud? It was her great tenacity and courage and decency and loyalty and faithfulness-everything that made her who she was-that led her on this course of action in the first place. It was everything that he loved about her. Yes, he was proud of her; his brave, loyal T'Pol, and his pride helped to ease the sting of her leaving.
"Thank you, Trip. Thank you for understanding."
Trip's only answer was to hug her even tighter.
T'Pol returned his hug. She was going to miss this human means of conveying affection much more than was proper for a Vulcan, but she didn't care. She was surprised, pleasantly so, at how much calmer she was now than just moments before. She realized that most of her prior upheaval had not been at the thought of leaving her mate-though that still hurt-but at the thought of deceiving him. Of leaving without his knowledge or permission. If Chief Verley had not stopped her... she suppressed a shudder.
She lifted her head from Trip's chest. "Trip, we must speak with Chief Verley."
"Sure, darling." Trip relaxed his hold on her, and she stepped to the door, pulling it open. "Chief?"
True to his word, Verley was just outside the office, leaning against the bulkhead as he waited. "Yes ma'am," he said, straightening.
"Please come in," T'Pol said, taking up a position next to Trip. Verley entered, closing the door behind him.
"Chief, it is decided. I will turn myself over to the Andorians, and Commander Tucker will assume command of Chosin."
Verley blew out a breath he had not realized he was holding and sagged noticeably. For a brief moment, he had a familiar look in his eyes, one that T'Pol had seen too many times before. It was the look he got when one of the crew had been killed in action. The moment passed and he pulled himself upright, once again the consummate professional. "Aye, Captain."
"Chief Verley, I... I owe you a debt I can never repay. You stopped me from leaving, earlier. I was not thinking clearly. You prevented me from making a terrible mistake, and I thank you for that."
Verley nodded. "Captain... may I speak freely?"
"When have you ever needed my permission to speak your mind?"
Verley allowed a tiny smile to cross his lips. "I guess never, ma'am, which is a tribute to you. To your leadership."
His smile was replaced by an earnest, almost pleading expression, "Captain, you've done enough already-more than anyone has a right to ask of you. You don't have to do this. I understand your reasons. I know you want to save lives. I know you're trying to prevent the casualties that would occur if the Imperial Guard withdraws. But believe me when I tell you that there's not a single member of Starfleet who wouldn't gladly risk being one of those casualties to keep you out of an Andorian prison. Not one."
T'Pol reached out, tentatively touching Verley on the arm, and he blinked in surprise. In all the years they had worked together, he could not remember her ever touching him before. She spoke, and her voice was steady, but her eyes seemed to shine with a soft light. "That they would do this for me... that you would do this... just demonstrates how worthy of my sacrifice you all are."
Verley was momentarily distressed that his appeal had back-fired. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Trip beat him to it. "It's okay, Chief, she'll be alright. I wouldn't let her go if I thought she couldn't handle it."
Verley had to grin. "Actually, Commander, I was more worried about the Andorians. They sure as hell don't know what they're in for." They both began to chuckle and their chuckles grew. Soon they were laughing uncontrollably.
T'Pol looked on, amused by the spectacle, though she didn't see the humor. She had learned over time to take pleasure in human laughter, even when she didn't 'get' it. It was just one more of the many things she would miss. "It is good to see you both so concerned for our Andorian allies," she observed, once their laughter had subsided. This touched off a fresh round of hilarity.
"So, Captain, when are you leaving?" Verley managed to gasp out, once he could speak again.
She glanced at Trip, who answered for her. "Two days. Right before the deadline."
Verley nodded, the last vestiges humor fading from his face. "I guess this is it, then. It's been one hell of a ride, Captain. And a great honor to serve with you."
"I, too, feel privileged to have served with you, Chief," T'Pol said.
There was more-much more-Verley wanted to say regarding the tremendous admiration and respect he felt for his Captain, but he recognized that such an outpouring of human sentiment was probably not something she needed to hear right now. He promised himself that someday, probably after the war, he would make a point of letting her know the full extent of his esteem, and Vulcan sensibilities be damned.
In the meantime he was still her LCPO, and responsible for the welfare of the crew. "You're going to have to tell the crew what you're doing, you know. And sooner rather than later."
"Yes, I am aware of that," she said, but Verley suspected (and Trip knew) that she had not actually considered it prior to Verley's comment. "I am not certain what to say..." she continued, confirming Verley's suspicion.
"You'll do fine," Trip responded. "Just say what's in your heart."
T'Pol nodded, and reflected on just how much the years-and the war-had changed her. Once, that statement would have been incomprehensible to me. Utterly devoid of any meaning. But now, I understand it all too well.
#####
Ensign Bowman entered the rapidly-filling cargo hold and found a spot near the far bulkhead, next to Crewman Emeku who was fiddling with a tripod-mounted video recorder.
"Any idea what's going on?" Bowman asked. All he knew was that the Captain had called a muster of all hands in the hold for 1900. None of his fellow officers seemed to know why.
"No sir," Emeku replied. "Verley told me to record it, but he didn't tell me why. Sorry."
"S'okay," Bowman said, "I'm just curious. I suppose we'll find out in..." he glanced at the time, "three more minutes."
Emeku grinned. "Count on it, sir. Khart-lan will walk through those doors at precisely 1900, plus or minus five seconds. You can set your watch by it."
As a member of the bridge crew, Bowman was well-acquainted with Khart-lan's punctuality. Khart-lan. He took a moment to savor the fact that he had only recently earned the right to call her that. He was almost as proud of that as he was of firing the phase cannon that had destroyed romeo-two in the Teneebian sector. His shot had hit the Romulan warbird at the base of the starboard nacelle, rupturing the main plasma lines. The flood of incandescent plasma had finished the job his phase cannon started, and the ship broke apart in a cascading series of explosions.
"Good shooting, Ensign," the Captain-no, Khart-lan-had said. Just three simple words, but he would never forget how they had made him feel.
The door opened and Khart-lan entered the hold, Commander Tucker and Chief Verley right behind her. Three seconds after 1900, Bowman noted with amusement. Verley sent Emeku a quizzical look, and Emeku responded with a nod, indicating that the recorder was ready.
Using a wire conduit running along the bulkhead as a handhold, Captain T'Pol pulled herself gracefully onto a torpedo packing crate, which had been positioned at the back of the hold as a makeshift dais. She waited calmly as a couple of stragglers-apologetic looks on their faces-scurried through the door and joined the rest of the ship's complement.
"Thank you for coming," she began, as the stragglers took their places, "I-"
Crewman Emeku interrupted her, "Excuse me, Khart-lan," he called, "you need to speak up for the recorder."
"Is this sufficient?" T'Pol asked, in a slightly louder voice.
Emeku tweaked a knob on the tiny recorder, then gave her a thumbs-up.
She continued from where she'd left off, "I believe you are all aware that Chancellor Shalin of Andoria has requested that I be extradited to Andoria for my role in the destruction of the freighter Ketalan. He has threatened to withdraw his forces from the war effort if United Earth does not comply." There was a restless stirring among the assembled crew, but it subsided quickly.
"You must also know that the Starfleet Commandant has recommended against my extradition in the strongest possible terms. He has not and will not allow me to be surrendered to the Andorians. I am humbled by the loyalty and support I have received from him. You may all be proud, as am I, to belong to such an organization."
She paused briefly, her eyes roaming across the attentive faces of her crew. "The Coalition still has much to do, but we have reached a point in this war where victory is within our grasp. That is why it is imperative that Andoria remain in the fight. I have decided I cannot stand by and allow the extra casualties that will surely result if Andoria withdraws. Not when it is in my power to prevent them. Therefore, I am announcing that I will voluntarily place myself into Andorian custody.
There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by a clamor of protest.
"At ease!" Verley commanded, and the clamor subsided.
T'Pol gave Verley an appreciative glance before continuing, "I wish to make it very clear that I arrive at this decision freely, under no pressure or coercion from Starfleet or the United Earth government. I tell you this to avoid any animosity between Starfleet and the Andorian Imperial Guard. You must continue to work closely with all our allies in order to prosecute this war to a successful conclusion. I cannot stress this enough. I am recording this statement to be disseminated throughout Starfleet, in order that everyone may know my reasons for doing this."
"In my absence, Commander Tucker will assume command of Chosin. I expect you to show him the same consideration, respect and loyalty that you gave to me. If you do, Chosin will continue her long string of successes against the forces of the Romulan Star Empire." Her words were greeted with nods and quiet affirmations by the crew.
"Finally, I wish to say... to tell you all..." her voice trailed off into silence, and Bowman swallowed around the large lump that had inexplicably formed in his throat. He shot a quick glance at Crewman Emeku, and wondered briefly if his own face wore the same stunned expression.
He returned his attention to his Captain-his Khart-lan-who was clearly struggling to find the right words. He had never seen her appear quite so discomfited; it was quite a contrast to the calm presence she had projected on the bridge amidst the chaos of battle. He vividly recalled the surge of fear that had gripped him during Chosin's recent action, when Lieutenant Koussa announced sixteen torpedoes were inbound from romeo-two. Her steady voice had cut through his fear and focused his mind on his duties. When he felt the fear creeping back, a glance at her composed figure in the Captain's chair was all he needed to dispel it again.
After the battle, he had mentioned this to Ensign Litke, the other junior officer on the bridge crew. Litke laughed at his admission. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean," he said. "It's hard to be scared when Khart-lan knows exactly what the Romulans are going to do next. She's always two steps ahead of them."
T'Pol took a couple of centering breaths and tried again, "I wish you to know-each of you-how honored I am to have been your Captain. I am Vulcan, but I have learned much in my time among humans. Because of what I have learned from you, I am able to say, without shame or uncertainty, that I am proud of you all. I am proud of the tremendous courage you've shown in the face of overwhelming odds. I am proud of your great integrity. I am proud of your astounding accomplishments. You have earned my unending gratitude for the support and friendship you have freely given to me. I..." she paused for another calming breath, "I will miss you. Each and every one of you."
It was a startling admission, coming from a Vulcan, and Bowman was suitably startled by it. At the same time, he had to admit that it was strangely appropriate. Humans are supposed to be more in touch with their emotions than Vulcans, Bowman mused, yet I cannot imagine a human Captain saying these things with any more grace or dignity than Khart-lan has shown just now. Vulcan or not, her words seemed both heartfelt and... and right.
"That is all I have to say," T'Pol concluded. "I will be leaving in two days. In the meantime, please refrain from mentioning this to anyone outside of Chosin. No one else is to know of my leaving until I am in Andorian custody. You are dismissed." T'Pol stepped down from her impromptu stage and joined Commander Tucker and Chief Verley by the door. At a sign from Verley, Emeku stopped the recorder and began collapsing and folding the tripod.
The crew, once dismissed, did not disperse. They gathered in small groups and talked in hushed tones, their expressions betraying varying degrees of consternation and surprise. As Bowman watched, they began making their way, in ones and twos, over to where T'Pol stood, each desiring an opportunity for a more personal farewell.
A line began forming, snaking around the cargo hold as it grew. Bowman held back, having been aboard less than two months-fifty-two days, to be precise-and it seemed fitting that he should let the old hands go first. Even having known her such a short time, he felt a profound sense of loss at her imminent departure. He could scarcely imagine what the original crew members must be feeling.
He took the opportunity to watch as a Chosin's crew filed past their Captain, a steady procession of somber-faced humans, speaking quietly and shaking hands. It was Lieutenant Walder who first broke with protocol. Tears streaming from her eyes, she pulled Captain T'Pol into a tight embrace. Even more amazing was the Captain's response: She returned Walder's hug, patting her on the back in a consoling manner. She spoke a few words, and Walder pulled back, nodding and smiling weakly as she wiped at her eyes.
After Walder broke the ice, T'Pol found herself the recipient of numerous hugs, which she endured with the same easy grace she had shown to Lieutenant Walder. Moose, when her turn came, was nearly inconsolable. She clung to the Captain and sobbed unashamedly. When Moose made no move to end the hug on her own accord, T'Pol began to look around, a helpless expression on her face. Petty Officer Trinh stepped in and gently disengaging the distraught crewman. She was still sobbing as he led her away.
Eventually, there was no one left in line but him. "Khart-lan," he said.
"Ensign Bowman."
"I-uh-I'm going to miss you, ma'am. Chosin won't be the same without you."
"Thank you, Ensign. You acquitted yourself well in your first combat action. I am leaving the ship in capable hands."
He flushed with pleasure at her compliment. "I have to say, ma'am, you handled this parade of human emotion very well. It must have been difficult for a Vulcan to endure."
"This is a trying time for everyone, Ensign. Vulcan and human. If I am able to provide any solace or comfort with a simple hug, then I am honored to do so."
Bowman suddenly realized how his words might have been misconstrued, and he started to stammer out an apology.
The words were barely out of his mouth when T'Pol pulled him into a brief embrace. "No apology is necessary," she said. "Stay safe, Ensign Bowman. It is my intention to see you again once this war is behind us."
He could only nod mutely and watch as she turned to Chief Verley and Commander Tucker, who were waiting patiently behind her.
"We may go now," she said.
#####
Chosin, Lalande III, 9 Mar 2159
Trip drummed his fingers on the desk in their quarters as he listened to a steady stream of last-minute directions from T'Pol. While he appreciated her desire to endow him with all her hard-won command experience, she was leaving tomorrow for God-only-knew how long and this was not how he had envisioned spending their last night together.
"...you must continue holding meetings of the Board of Dirty Tricks before every operation. Chief Verley will handle all the administrative details; you need only tell him when you desire to meet. You must keep an open mind when evaluating the Board's suggestions, as they are often more worthwhile than they initially appear."
"You should ask Chief Verley to review all operational plans and orders that involve Chosin. I often allow him to accompany me to the briefings at Fleet. His insights on tactical matters are always sound. If he recommends an action, you should consider it carefully before dismissing it."
"He can also advise you on the strengths and weaknesses of your bridge crew. Lieutenant Graham is excellent at the weapons station, but when Romulan torpedoes are inbound, he has a tendency to salvo defensive torpedoes a few seconds too early. If the tactical situation warrants, you might want to transfer launch control to the command chair."
"Petty Officer Trinh is impulsive, even for a human, but those qualities actually seem to help in the midst of battle. Give him a general idea of what you want, then leave the details to him. His piloting solutions are usually superior to what I would have directed, and it frees me to concentrate on other aspects of the-"
Trip interrupted her flow of instructions, "T'Pol?"
"Yes?"
"That's all very good information," Trip said. "Where did you learn so much about the art of human leadership?"
T'Pol arched an eyebrow as she recognized the subtle trap that Trip had laid for her. "From you, my love. As you well know. I suppose I should 'shut up' now, as you would so delicately put it."
"Yes. Because it's my turn to talk," he said. "How do you feel?"
"I am fine." She was puzzled by his question, but content to see where he was going with it.
"So you say. But do you realize that you have not meditated since we found out about the extradition request yesterday morning?"
"I have been extremely busy," T'Pol responded, "as have you."
"True. But you've also experienced some pretty traumatic events recently. And while I'd have to say you're handling them pretty well, I think maybe you're overdue for some serious meditation."
"Very well, Trip. Since our remaining time together grows short, perhaps you would assist me with one of your 'express' meditations." It was actually her preferred method of meditation, but shortly after the war started Trip had become concerned she was becoming too dependent on him for her emotional stability. He'd insisted that she meditate in what he called 'the old-fashioned way' so she wouldn't lose the ability to center herself on her own. T'Pol came to realize he was right. Under the relentless pressures of the war, she'd been forced to improve the efficiency of her personal meditation, although it hadn't always been easy.
Trip grinned at her request. "I thought you might say that." He dimmed the lights and reclined on the bunk, patting the spot next to him.
T'Pol joined him, leaning against him while he wrapped his arms around her in a tender embrace. Their thoughts merged, and she relinquished control of her conscious mind. For a Vulcan, this was the ultimate act of trust, but Trip had earned such trust a thousand times over. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she lost herself in a warm tide of wonder and delight. It swirled around her, carrying her away to timeless places where logic and duty did not exist, where there was only her mate, herself, and the improbable love that they had found in each other.
When she finally returned to herself, she was restored. Renewed. The nameless emotions and unreleased feelings that had gnawed at the edges of her control were gone. In their place was peace and tranquility. The sound of Trip's breathing and the steady beating of his heart filled her with a sense of contentment and well-being, and she felt that she could remain in his arms forever.
"How do you feel now, darling?" he murmured.
"Mmmmm..." Slowly and luxuriously, T'Pol stretched in a way she knew Trip found irresistible, then she turned until her lips brushed his. "It's my turn," she whispered.
Trip returned her kiss, then pulled back so he could see her face. "First we need to talk."
He took both her hands in his, in a manner he only used when he was about to discuss something he considered of great import. "I'm worried about you, T'Pol," he said.
"We have already discussed this, Trip. There is no need to worry."
"No. We discussed how the bond would keep you safe. But what if something happens to me? I'm on a warship going into some pretty dangerous places. There is a chance I might be killed. What happens to you, then?"
T'Pol would not meet his gaze. "The benefits of being bonded to you would be lost. It is doubtful I would survive long after that. Not in an Andorian prison."
Trip sighed. "Yeah, I was afraid that's what you'd say."
"It is an eventuality I wish never to see, but we both know it is possible. I am willing to accept the risk."
"Well maybe I'm not."
"What choice have we, Trip?"
"The choice to live." He tightened his grip on her hands, as if to emphasis his point. "T'Pol, I know you are willing to die for me. But are you willing to live for me?"
"I... I do not understand..."
"If something happens to me, I want you to live. It won't be easy-you'll have to fight for every breath-but you can do it. I know you can."
"Trip... I have told you everything that awaits me on Andoria. I cannot face that alone. Not without you. I cannot!"
"Bullshit. You are stronger than you realize. Look at how well you handled news of the extradition request. Look at all the trauma you've dealt with in the past. How about at Chi Eridani? We lost four people when turret two exploded. We lost another two in engineering from a rommie disruptor. I was in sickbay with a couple of fractured ribs and a concussion. You held it together and got Chosin back in one piece. All by yourself, as I recall. So don't tell me you can't do it. You can."
"Chi Eridani was... difficult," T'Pol agreed, "but you were still alive, even if you could not assist me with my control."
"Which is precisely my point. You did it without me. Without my help. T'Pol, before the war you required much more meditation than you do now, even though the stresses now are far greater. Why is that?"
"I have become more adept at meditation."
"That's part of it. But you've also become familiar with human methods of handling emotions, and you have begun using them without even being aware of it."
T'Pol was startled to realize that Trip was right. Subconsciously, she had been controlling her feelings by employing techniques she had learned from him. And unlike traditional Vulcan meditation, these human techniques were enhanced rather than hindered by the trellium-D induced impairments to her neural pathways. She had been unaware of it until he pointed it out, but now that he had, it was perfectly obvious. She still required meditation, but she required much less than she once would have thought possible.
"Perhaps you are right," T'Pol said, "Perhaps I could survive. But Trip... if you were killed and Chosin destroyed, I am not sure I would desire to live. I cannot imagine life without you."
"Then just accept that I would want you to live. Do it for me, T'Pol. Do it because I'm asking you."
This is important to him, T'Pol realized. He is truly distressed at the thought I would not survive his death. "Very well," she said. "I will attempt to live, should something happen to you."
Trip was gazing at her intently. "Promise me, T'Pol. Promise me that you will."
"I promise, Trip."
He nodded, and some of the intensity seemed to leave him. He was satisfied; T'Pol had promised, and she had never willingly gone back on her word. Ever. "Thank you, T'Pol. This means a lot to me."
She nodded. She did not understand why it meant so much to him, nor did she need to. He thought it important, and that was reason enough.
She gently disengaged her hands from his, leaning in to capture his lips with hers. Her previous attempt at seduction had been sidetracked, but in her dutiful Vulcan fashion, she was making another attempt. He had no illusions that she was motivated by physical desire-her physical needs were nowhere near as strong as his. She simply did not need it; not like he needed it.
Yes, she derived pleasure from their sexual activity, sometimes a great deal of pleasure, but that in itself was not a valid reason for a Vulcan to act. He realized she was driven primarily by her Vulcan sense of duty. She was fulfilling her obligation to her mate. Once, that fact would have bothered him. But now? He found there was something incredibly sexy about her earnest and oh-so-logical desire to please him.
He pulled her in close, returning her kisses with increasing fervor. After all, who was he to interfere with a Vulcan in the performance of her duties?
#####
Shuttlepod en-route to Starbase Seven, Lalande III, 10 Mar 2159
Petty Officer Trinh finished coordinating with Station Control for an available docking port, then called up a schematic of Starbase Seven on the shuttlepod's data terminal to make sure they had given him the right one. He had requested a port that serviced the Andorian liaison element, but docking ports all tended to look the same, and the Starbase had dozens of them. Once he had located and verified the assigned port, he glanced over his shoulder to where Khart-lan and Chief Verley sat conversing in subdued tones.
"I've got clearance to dock," he announced, "We'll be there in five minutes."
"Thank you, Dat," T'Pol said.
He nodded, then returned his attention to his controls. It was still hard for him to accept that Captain T'Pol was leaving, and even harder to imagine Chosin without her. Hardest of all was forgiving the andies for taking his Captain away.
Yeah, sure, he understood that all Andorians weren't responsible. It was that bastard Shalin, not the Imperial Guard. Andie guardsmen were probably as outraged as he was at Shalin's disgraceful act. At least he hoped they were. Still, it was going to be very hard not to blame them, especially when they copped one of those sanctimoniously superior attitudes that the andies seemed to specialize in.
But he had promised Khart-lan that he wouldn't kick any more blue butts, and he sure as hell wasn't going to renege on a promise to her. No way.
Damn, he was going to miss her.
As Starbase Seven loomed closer, Trinh devoted half his attention to the routine docking maneuver. Even half his attention was overkill; docking a shuttlepod was an evolution he could have done in his sleep. The other half of his brain was busy imagining Chancellor Shalin in a variety of sleeper holds and joint locks. The more painful, the better.
The docking light flashed green, indicating the locking mechanism had an air-tight seal, and he quickly ran through the power-down sequence. "Here we are," he announced. Unnecessarily; it seemed. Khart-lan and Chief were already standing and moving toward the door.
Trinh followed them as unobtrusively as possible. He was afraid if they noticed him they might make him wait in the shuttlepod, and no way did he want to be stuck waiting. He let them get a few paces ahead, then quietly followed them down the corridor.
#####
Andorian quarters, Starbase Seven, Lalande III, 10 Mar 2159
Special Agent Thaleen of the Imperial Investigative Office sipped a small glass of chalea juice while he perused Andorian news feeds on the tiny monitor in his room. His accommodations on Starbase Seven were small and spartan, a fact of which he heartily approved. He had no use for unnecessary comforts, and he grimaced with distaste as he recalled a recent sojourn on a Tellarite station filled with ostentatious luxuries of the most decadent sort. He could muster little respect for Tellarites. They were soft, self-absorbed, and untrustworthy. Even so, they were preferable to these humans, a subservient species that seemed content to lick the boots of their Vulcan masters, as they had for nearly a hundred years.
His antenna twitched in irritation. He was wasting his time here. His orders were as clear as they were simple. Travel to Lalande III, take Commander T'Pol into custody, and return with her to Andoria. Except that it was never going to happen. The human lackeys would never surrender one of their Vulcan masters.
He was restless and not a little annoyed by his enforced idleness. Had he not pointed out the futility of this mission to his superiors? Had he not proposed a plan that would have prevented this impasse? All he asked for was a shuttle, a squad of the elite Black Guard, and thirty minutes of time, after which the criminal T'Pol would have been either dead or on her way to face Andorian justice. It could not be any simpler.
His plan had received the enthusiastic support of his superiors at the Investigative Office, but had been rejected by the overly-cautious bureaucrats at the Foreign Office. Sometimes he wondered just who's side they were on.
The small monitor chimed with an incoming call. "Thaleen," he responded brusquely.
It was the enlisted clerk manning the front desk, and he seemed greatly agitated. "Sir, Lieutenant Kavvel asks that you come out here as soon as you are able. Commander T'Pol is in the front office."
"Commander T'Pol? The Vulcan? Are you certain?"
"Yes sir. It's her."
"Tell the Lieutenant I'm on my way." He broke the connection and took a moment to assess the situation. Apparently the humans were handing her over. Very interesting; it seemed there was a threshold of Vulcan arrogance beyond which even humans could not stomach.
He went to his travel bag beside the bed and took out a small universal translator, which he clipped to his shirt. Then he retrieved his service pistol, checking the charge and settings with the ease of long practice before sliding it into his coat pocket. A set of restraints went into another pocket. Finally he pulled out a small hand-stunner and regarded it thoughtfully. Since there was no stun setting on his service pistol, this would be his only option for applying non-lethal force.
He placed it back in the bag. Some cases did not call for a stunner, and this was one of them. If the Vulcan ran, she would end up dead, with a smoking, blackened cavity in her back. Just like that cowardly deserter from the Imperial Guard he had recently tracked down.
He rather hoped she would try to run.
Thaleen left his room and made his way to the front office. When he entered the room, Lieutenant Kavvel and the desk clerk were on one side, while two human males and a Vulcan female-all in Starfleet uniforms-were on the other side. They faced each other with wary expressions.
The Vulcan female was unmistakably Commander T'Pol. She was not in restraints, but he would see to THAT oversight shortly. First, there was a small matter of protocol he needed to get out of the way. "You are Commander T'Pol?" he asked as he approached her.
"I am."
That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed her shoulder, spinning her around and pushing her against the bulkhead with more force than was required. He pulled the restraints from his pocket and was about to apply them to her wrists when his legs were suddenly and unexpectedly swept out from under him. He was thrown to the deck with shocking violence.
Thaleen attempted to rise, but a sharp pain in his shoulder elicited an involuntary gasp. His right arm had been twisted into an unnatural position behind his back, while a human forearm applied pressure across his throat, making it difficult to draw a breath. A voice close to his ear spoke to him in an incomprehensible human dialect, and while he couldn't understand the words, there was no mistaking their cold menace.
His universal translator provided an interpretation: "That's MY Captain, you piece of shit, so listen very, very carefully. If she's harmed in any way while in your custody, I will hunt you down, and I will kill you. And if something happens to me, there are sixty-eight others on Chosin who will finish the job. Do you understand... Special Agent Thaleen?"
The pressure on his throat eased just enough for him to gasp out a reply, "Yes."
The human released him and Thaleen climbed to his feet, quivering with rage. His hand hovered over the pocket containing his pistol, but before he could employ it he was distracted by Commander T'Pol, speaking in unaccented Andorian. "Agent Thaleen, you may apply your restraints now, if you so desire." She had extended her hands toward him, palms up.
With great effort he turned away from the bellicose human. His first duty was to take the Vulcan prisoner into custody. He reached down and retrieved the restraints from the deck where he had dropped them.
He quickly had the prisoner restrained, then he led her toward the door with far more gentleness than was his norm-he was very much aware of the stocky human glaring at him from a few short steps away.
Once the door had closed behind him he relaxed somewhat, but the incident still galled him. The human had attacked without warning or provocation, interfering with a Special Agent of the Imperial Investigative Office in the performance of his duties. In Andorian space he would have been justified in shooting him. Here, of course, he had no jurisdiction, although the temptation to draw his weapon had been almost irresistible, so great was his anger.
The short journey to the holding cell was made in silence, without the pushing, shoving and verbal taunts he would normally have enjoyed. Now that they were away from her protector, he could have easily exacted his revenge for the humiliation he had suffered, but he did not. It would have been obvious to them both that he was retaliating against a helpless prisoner, and that would have made him appear... petty. Why he should care what those calm, Vulcan eyes thought of him, he could not say. Perhaps tomorrow this strange reluctance would be gone, and he could enjoy the fruits of his police work in his customary manner.
They arrived at the holding cell and he pushed her inside, then closed the door and checked the lock. He briefly considered returning to the front office to confront the human who had attacked him, but he thought better of it. Now that he had his prisoner, he needed to arrange for transportation to Andoria. The Letter of Authorization he carried was signed by Chancellor Shalin himself, and it gave him the authority to commandeer any available Andorian vessel. There were several squadrons of Imperial Guard warships to choose from; all he had to do was find a ship that was ready to leave immediately.
This time tomorrow, he would be on his way back to Andoria with his prisoner in hand.
#####
Chosin, Lalande III, 10 Mar 2159
Trip was going over work schedules with the Starbase Maintenance Supervisor when he felt a familiar presence in his mind. *Trip...*
*Go ahead, darling.*
*It is done.*
He had thought himself prepared for this moment, but at her words a cold chill seized his heart. He quickly shook off the feeling; she needed him to be strong. *Just be careful, T'Pol. I want you back in one piece.*
*You be careful also, my love.*
*I will.*
Trip took a moment to offer up a silent prayer: God, get us both through this and bring her back safely to me.
While he prayed, he fervently hoped they had made the right decision.
Continued in Chapter 3