Liaison

Author: Transwarp

Rating: R, for an intense interrogation scene in Chapter 4. G otherwise.

Genre: Action/Drama/Romance

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek names, and related intellectual property.

Summary: T'Pol receives orders to serve as a liaison officer aboard a Vulcan warship.

Takes place four months after the season four episode 'Terra Prime', placing it somewhere in a mythical season five. It's mildly AU, since in my universe, T'Pol and Trip have been a couple since just after the season four episode 'Home' (See my story 'Commissioning'). Other than that, there are no departures from the season four story lines.

Note: The Vulcan Dictionary is the source of all Vulcan words in this story. The exceptions are a couple of archaic Vulcan terms, which I made up.

THREE

Ki'Vaar, 14 May 2155

T'Pol stood on the bridge and carried out her mission. She would have been more comfortable sitting, but Captain Savok made it clear there were no spare seats on the bridge. 'Spare' clearly did not mean 'unoccupied', T'Pol thought, as she glanced around the bridge at several vacant seats. Still, she was on the bridge observing, and that was a large part of her mission. The other parts were also falling into place, with the covert assistance of the able Lieutenant Sprel.

*Hey, darlin'...*

*Yes, my love?*

*How are things?*

*Exactly the same as they were thirty minutes ago.*

*Great. So, what does 'rau-tapor' mean?

*I believe it means to strike back, as in a fight.*

*It doesn't mean to pass gas?*

*No, Trip. Perhaps you should have Hoshi look at your translation program.*

*Yeah, good idea. I'll let you get back to work before someone thinks you're sleeping on the job.*

*That won't be necessary. I have taught myself to enter a meditative state with my eyes open.*

Trip was impressed. *Really? I've tried that, but my vision is too distracting. My engineers catch me with my eyes shut so often, they all think I have narcolepsy.*

*I will show you how tonight.*

*Great!* Trip sent. *Give Hey-you a pat from me.*

T'Pol unobtrusively let her hand tap the small lump in the side pocket where Hey-you spent his days.

Her attention snapped back to the bridge at what she heard next from the comm station: "Captain, I'm receiving a distress call from an Antaran vessel."

T'Pol watched as the Vulcan crew swung into action. They quickly determined the location of the vessel--a class L planet, three hours away at high warp--and set a course to render assistance.

The ship was an Antaran ore carrier, large and ponderous, with a hold full of topaline ore. It had lost all power to its propulsion systems and was in a decaying orbit. Databases were checked, sensor scans run, and a determination made that the crew would be evacuated first, then the vessel pulled into a stable orbit using tractor beams--a risky process given the extreme mass of the ore carrier. As T'Pol watched, she made notes in a PADD, knowing that the notes would be reviewed by the Captain or one of his officers 'for breaches of security' at the end of the day.

Sprel joined her on the bridge while they were still an hour away from the ore carrier. "I can speak to the Captain about allowing you a chair."

"I require no chair," T'Pol said. "Do not ask for one. The less Captain Savok is reminded of my presence, the better I can do my job."

"Very well. While we wait, perhaps you can tell me how humans would handle this situation?"

"Are humans your sole interest? You never ask or speak of anything else."

"You are not the foremost Vulcan authority on any of my other interests."

"Logical," T'Pol agreed. "There is little operational difference in the human approach to this situation, other than the fact that human ships are not equipped with tractor beams. But there are other differences."

"What are those differences?"

T'Pol indicated the Vulcans at their stations. "Listen. What do you hear?"

Sprel stood for a moment, listening intently. "I hear the warp drive. Ventilation fans. Background noise."

"On a human ship, you would also hear the bridge crew talking to each other. Idle speculation. Personal conversations unrelated to the mission. Jokes and other forms of Humor."

"It sounds inefficient," Sprel noted.

"Actually, it seems to enhance their efficiency, by reducing emotional tension and allowing them to better focus on their duties. Humans feel every emotion that Vulcans suppress. They cannot store them to be dealt with later; they must confront them in real time. When a human speaks of courage, he means the ability to do his job while simultaneously dealing with extreme fear. To appreciate how difficult that is for humans, try going on a dangerous mission after skipping meditation for a week."

"I could not function without meditation," Sprel admitted. "My emotions would overwhelm me."

"That is what it is like every day for humans. Do not make the mistake of thinking them weak or illogical because they handle emotions differently."

"I will not," Sprel said.

Emotions can overwhelm humans, too. T'Pol thought. I have seen it. And I have seen them get up the next day and face death and destruction all over again. And again. And again. No, they are not weak.

T'Pol remembered when Enterprise first entered the Expanse. Two Vulcan ships had previously been lost there and tensions were running high; nobody knew what to expect. Then the sensor operator said, 'Toto, I've a feeling we're not in Kansas any more,' and the mood lightened immediately. She had been impressed by the power of that simple, apparently nonsensical statement. She remembered it, and months later, asked Trip about it. That night, he introduced her to 'The Wizard of Oz'.

T'Pol was captivated. She identified with the human child, Dorothy, who longed for something more than she could have. T'Pol had felt similar longings as a child--and, truth be told--as an adult as well. She was moved by the song, 'Over the Rainbow,' in ways she could not understand at the time. That night, in her quarters, she played it over and over.

####

The topaline ore in the Antaran vessel interfered with Ki'Vaar's sensors and transporters, so she was forced to dock with the stricken ore carrier. This added another quarter-hour to the approach time. Once the docking seals had engaged, the rescue team made its way onto the oar ship. Seconds later, a series of well-placed particle beams disabled the Vulcan cruiser's communication arrays, and a contingent of armed Andorians stormed aboard Ki'Vaar.

Several moments of confusion ensued, as the bridge crew attempted to determine what was happening; sorting through conflicting reports and sensor readings. The realization that the ship had been boarded came quickly, and Captain Savok calmly fired off orders: He had power to the lifts cut, sealed doors throughout the ship, and had security teams sent to engage the attackers. Then he went to the comm station to see if he could help re-establish a subspace link with Vulcan. T'Pol had to admit that whatever else Captain Savok may have been, he was a competent ship's commander.

Sprel looked at T'Pol. "Stay here. I'm going to help the security teams."

"I'm going with you," she replied. Sprel started to object, changed his mind, and jogged away. T'Pol followed.

Sprel led her to the nearest arms locker, one deck below and just aft of the bridge. The locker was already open and an officer with ship's security was distributing weapons to his team. He handed one to Sprel without question, but hesitated when T'Pol presented herself.

"I can shoot," T'Pol said. The officer tossed her a weapon, which she deftly caught. She checked the charge and the settings, and took her place with Sprel and the rest of the security team, awaiting orders.

Those orders never came. A series of small explosive charges blew a hole in the bulkhead farther aft, and a grenade arced through the opening. The last thing T'Pol remembered was Sprel pushing her back, yelling for her to get down. Then a flash, and darkness...

####

*T'POL! WHAT HAPPENED!? WHAT'S WRONG!? T'POL, ANSWER ME!*

*Trip...*

*T'Pol? Are you okay? I felt something through the bond, then you were gone.*

*My head... hurts...*

*I know, darlin', I can feel it. What happened?*

Memory came rushing back to her, and she became aware of her surroundings. She was lying on a hard surface. She forced her eyes open and tried to sit up. A wave of dizziness forced her back down. *...answered a distress call ...was a trap ...boarded by ...Andorians.*

*T'Pol, did they take the ship?*

*do not... know. head hurts.* Normally, T'Pol could have suppressed the pain in the same way she suppressed emotions, but her mind was still too muzzy from the aftereffects of the stun grenade.

*I think I can help with that.* Trip eased into her mind, as he did when he helped her meditate, but instead of emotions, he absorbed the pain. It hurt like hell.

The results of Trip's ministrations were dramatic. T'Pol's pain receded to a dull ache, which she could easily ignore. *Thank you, Trip.*

*Damn, that really hurts! Are you sure you're alright?*

*It was a stun grenade. I am fine.* Already her thoughts were clearer. She rose up on one arm. All around her lay unmoving Vulcan crew members. Unconscious. Or dead. She crawled to the nearest, checking his pulse. He was stunned, but otherwise appeared unharmed. The crewman next to him was likewise stunned; she recognized him as a member of the security team she had tried to join. The same stun grenade must have got both of us.

*T'Pol. Who's got the ship?*

T'Pol looked around. She was in the Ki'Vaar's shuttle bay. There were armed Andorians lining the wall of the bay opposite the launch doors. She observed with interest that they were not in uniform, and their bearing was decidedly nonmilitary. Not at all like the disciplined soldiers of the Imperial Guard. Are they pirates? she wondered.

A small cluster of ambulatory Vulcans sat in one corner, with Andorian guards holding weapons on them. While she watched, a door to the rest of the ship opened, and a group of Andorians entered, carrying two limp Vulcan bodies, which they dumped unceremoniously with the others.

*The Andorians have taken the ship,* T'Pol sent. *How long was I out?*

*Twenty minutes. And believe me, darlin', it was the longest twenty minutes of my life!*

*Twenty minutes? Are you sure?* T'Pol asked, surprised. *I was ten meters from an Andorian stun grenade. I should have been out for an hour.*

*I may have had something to do with that. When you were knocked out, I knew it right away. I was frantic with worry. I just grabbed at you, I mean, at your mind. I took hold of your mind, and tried to pull you back. It's hard to explain.*

*I understand.*

*Anyway, my engineering gang thought I was having a seizure. They took me to sickbay. Phlox has me on all kinds of monitoring machines, and pumped up with stimulants. Pulling you back took a lot out of me.*

*Trip, I'm going to see if I can get more information. You just rest, now.*

*T'Pol, be careful. You're hurt.*

She could sense apprehension churning beneath his facade of calm. I should try to ease his worry. She recalled a similar situation, when an injured Trip had soothed a worried Captain Archer with a single statement. *You should see the other guy.*

Trip chuckled, and the worry receded. T'Pol was satisfied with the result. I have no idea what it means, but it worked.

She stood, slowly, not entirely trusting her legs to support her. Within seconds, two Andorians were upon her. One pushed her to her knees, while the other kept his weapon trained on her.

"Where are you going, Vulcan?"

"To rejoin my shipmates."

"First you will be searched."

He began running his hands over her body, lingering in certain areas. "I think you are enjoying this," he said, his tone oozing smugness.

How would a human respond to that? "In your dreams, Andorian."

The Andorian with the weapon broke into harsh laughter. "Why, Joras, I don't believe she likes you."

Joras glared at his partner and continued his search in a brisker manner. T'Pol blinked in surprise. It worked. Again. Perhaps there is some logic behind these human sayings.

"What is that on your finger?"

"It is a wedding ring."

"Vulcans don't wear rings. Give it to me," Joras demanded.

T'Pol removed the ring and handed it to the Andorian. Trip will be upset if I lose this.

The Andorian turned the ring over in his hand, examining it closely. He squinted at the inscription inside the band, but was unable to read it. He jiggled it in his hands, judging its weight. "Is this silver?"

"No. It is an alloy of aluminum, zinc and magnesium."

This puzzled the Andorian. "Why would anyone wear an ornament made of such common elements?"

"My husband made it from a section of eight-gauge coolant pipe. I wear it to please him."

Joras sneered. "Your husband clearly values you very little." He tossed the ring over his shoulder, and it went skittering across the deck. He continued his search, his fingers probing at the lump in her pocket. He reached in and grasped Hey-you.

He dangled the bear before T'Pol. "What is this, Vulcan?"

"It is... nothing." She reached to take it back from him.

He slapped her hand down and grinned. "Nothing? Then you won't care if I do this." He dropped the bear to the deck and ground it beneath the heel of his boots.

T'Pol went rigid, but otherwise betrayed no emotion.

Joras completed his search. "She has nothing of value," he declared. "I'll put her with the others."

"Wait," the Andorian with the weapon said, "Perhaps you should ask her why she is wearing a different uniform from everyone else."

T'Pol preempted the question. "I am a Starfleet officer."

Joras looked blank, but the other Andorian said, "Ah, yes. Earth. Vulcan's latest ally." He motioned in the direction of the group of Vulcans, "Take her. I will tell him what we've found. I think he will be pleased." He headed for an exit, moving quickly.

Joras dragged T'Pol to her feet, and walked her to the corner, helping her along with little pushes to the small of her back. When they reached the other Vulcans, he shoved her back down. "On your knees, Starfleet."

All told, there were twelve in the group, including Captain Savok. He had a cut above his right eyebrow, and green blood flowed down his cheek.

She was brought up to date on the situation. The Andorian assault had quickly overwhelmed Vulcan resistance, through speed and numbers. Remarkably, no one was killed, as the Andorians seemed to be making an effort to keep everyone alive. Just prior to the bridge being overrun, they had detected two Orion slave ships entering orbit from the planet's surface. Those two ships could now be seen through the view ports along the shuttle bay's exterior bulkheads. They seemed to be holding position and waiting. For what, no one knew. Worst of all--from the Vulcans perspective--the damage inflicted to the comm systems had prevented Fleet Headquarters from being notified of the disaster.

They do not know that Starfleet is aware of our situation, and I must not tell them. If our captors found out about my bond with Trip, they would find some way to sever it. Probably by killing me.

Over time, more of the Ki'Vaar's crew recovered consciousness, and joined the group in the corner. One of those was Sprel. After checking in with the Captain, he came and sat next to T'Pol.

"After the Andorians searched me, I stumbled and fell. I was able to retrieve this without them noticing." Her wedding ring lay in the palm of his extended hand.

"Thank you, Sprel." She took it from him and slipped it onto her finger.

"I read the inscription," Sprel said. "It was most... surprising. As well as enlightening."

"In what way?" T'Pol asked, cautiously.

"I know what you were doing all those times you were 'naming your bear'. You have a telepathic bond with your husband."

T'Pol hesitated. She could overcome her reluctance at sharing such intimate information with Sprel--in the five days they had been together, she had come to trust and respect him--but she also wanted to keep the knowledge of her bond from their captors, and the more who knew of it, the more likely it was to be discovered. He already knows. I may as well take him into my confidence.

"Yes, we are bond mates," she admitted.

"Are you and your husband truly k'hat'n'dlawa?"

K'hat'n'dlawa. The Vulcan phrase Trip had engraved inside their wedding bands, it translated to 'half of each other's heart and soul', and was the most intimate, most powerful, and most uncommon of all bonds between Vulcans.

"Yes."

"How is that possible?" Sprel wondered. "Your mate, he is human."

"It is because he is human that this bond is possible. No Vulcan since the Awakening could have helped me withstand the passions required to forge such a bond; I would have been consumed by them. My k'diwa loves me in a way that Vulcans no longer can, and he lends me his strength so that I can love him in return, without being destroyed by it."

Sprel was shocked into silence by T'Pol's frank admission of such strong emotions.

"My husband has informed Starfleet of our situation. Starfleet has informed Vulcan. I am in constant touch with him. You can tell no one--NO ONE--about my bond. If the Andorians find out, we will lose our only means to communicate. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sprel said, slowly, "Yes, I understand."

They were interrupted by the loud clang of a docking port opening. Three Orion slavers stepped through and were met by a contingent of Andorians, who brought them over to where the Vulcans were being held.

The Andorians walked among the Vulcans, checking the rank on their uniforms, and pulling aside all the junior crewmen. These were herded over to the Orions, and shackled together into long lines. The Orions prodded and dragged the shackled crewmen, some twenty-five in total, through the docking port and onto a waiting shuttle. The port clanged shut and the shuttle departed for the Orion slave ships. Shortly thereafter, the Orion ships departed at high warp.

The remaining twenty Vulcans, all officers and senior crewmen, were relocated from the shuttle bay to the crew's mess. As their Andorian guards herded them through the door, T'Pol paused to look back at Hey-you's tiny form lying on the deck. A savage push from a guard started her moving again.

####

Trip stood over Lieutenant Commander Kelby's shoulder and watched as he made some minor tweaks to the flow regulators. He hates it when I do this, Trip thought, but I don't care. I'm leaving nothing to chance. Trip had just come from sickbay, and was making sure every last bit of speed was being squeezed from his engines. The sooner we get there, the sooner we rescue T'Pol.

*Trip...*

*Hey, darlin'*

*Captain Savok has gathered his officers, and is being briefed. You should observe.*

*I'd love to. How, exactly?* Trip asked.

*You can see and hear through me. I will show you.* She led him into a portion of her mind he had not visited before, and...

"Whoa!" Trip exclaimed aloud, as he was suddenly confronted with a whole new visual vista. Kelby looked up in alarm, thinking he had done something wrong.

*I'm gonna have to sit down for this one.* Trip sent. He slid to the deck and closed his eyes, leaning against the bulkhead. To Kelby, it looked as if Trip had just fainted. He wasted no time calling sickbay.

Trip was oblivious to Kelby's anxious call to Phlox, and his follow-on call to the bridge. He was concentrating on the new visual and auditory feeds coming from T'Pol; it was a novel experience. He saw what she saw and heard what she heard, as if he were standing there himself. She was in the crew's mess of the Vulcan ship, and was one of several Vulcans standing or sitting around an impromptu conference area. They were all facing two officers, one of whom wore captain's rank.

*That must be good ol' Captain Savok,* Trip sent.

*It is,* T'Pol confirmed, *and the other is Commander Serol, his First Officer.*

Savok was addressing the group, "...has summarized events so we can all understand what happened. After that, we will determine what we must do next. Proceed, Commander."

Commander Serol, In true Vulcan fashion, did not waste time with a preamble. "I have debriefed everyone here and constructed a detailed scenario."

*He did not debrief me.* T'Pol noted.

*No surprise there.* Trip's comment dripped with scorn.

Serol continued, "When we approached the Antaran ore carrier, we were unable to get effective sensor scans of the vessel. This did not alarm anyone, because of the topaline ore she carried. We did not see that she also carried thirty-six armed Andorians and four particle beam turrets disguised as external coolant radiators."

*A Q-ship,* Trip sent.

* ??? * T'Pol's reply was the mental equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

Trip explained. *In Earth history, a Q-ship was a merchant vessel that appeared harmless, but carried concealed armaments. They were used against commerce raiders and submarines.*

Serol went on with his summary, "As soon as our rescue party boarded the oar carrier, they were stunned with phase pistols, and the carrier's disrupters were fired at our communication arrays. This disabled our long range communications, preventing us from sending messages to Fleet Headquarters. At this time, Vulcan has not been informed of our situation."

*Oh, yes they have,* Trip sent, smugly.

*Hush, my love. Listen.*

"The Andorians assaulted Ki'Vaar with six teams of six. Two teams were tasked with capturing engineering, two teams with taking the bridge, and two teams with securing the central areas of the ship. The teams were equipped with phase rifles, stun grenades, and cutting charges for blowing through bulkheads, doors and hatches. They had prior knowledge of the layout of the ship, and were in complete control within fifteen minutes of boarding."

T'Pol became aware of a commotion on Trip's side of the mind link. *Sorry, T'Pol,* Trip sent, *Phlox thought I was having a medical emergency. I set him straight.*

They turned their attention back to the summary: "In addition, two Orion slave ships were in concealed positions on the planet's surface, likely on or near sensor-obscuring topaline deposits. After the Ki'Vaar was secured, the Orion ships lifted into orbit, took possession of all our junior crewmen, and left orbit under warp. The Andorians have shut down and ejected our warp core, which, along with a hold-full of debris from the ore carrier, was set to re-enter the planet's atmosphere. To a cursory scan, it will appear as if the Ki'Vaar had burned up on reentry. The oar carrier has extended a warp field around Ki'Vaar, and is taking us to an unknown destination. Our best estimates have us making between warp 2.5 and 3.0. These are the salient facts." Commander Serol turned back to his Captain, indicating he was finished.

*He left out a couple of 'salient facts',* Trip suggested, *such as Enterprise is heading for the ambush site at max warp. We'll arrive in a little under six days. Columbia and the Vulcan cruiser Ti'Mur are on their way to intercept those Orion slave ships. Two more Vulcan ships have been dispatched to the ambush site. They're a couple of days behind us.*

*It will reveal our bond if I give that information to anyone. Anyone but Sprel; he knows of the bond already.*

*T'Pol, was that wise?*

*He found out on his own.* T'Pol quickly filled Trip in on how Sprel had returned her ring and learned of the bond. Then, *Listen, Captain Savok is speaking now...*

"We are on our own," Savok was saying, "We cannot expect help from Vulcan. When they realize we are missing and arrive at the scene, they will find the debris of our warp core and assume Ki'Vaar was destroyed. They will find the warp trail of two Orion slave ships and attribute the disaster to them; by that time the warp trail from the ore carrier will not be detectable due to its low speed. If the opportunity arises, we must get word back to Vulcan that the Andorians have broken the treaty and are preparing another attack on Vulcan."

That got Trip's attention. *This was not an Andorian operation.*

*I know, Trip. I will tell them, but they will not listen to me.*

She stepped forward, "Captain, I believe the Romulans, not the Andorians, are behind this."

"Of course you believe that. You obviously concur with those ridiculous and unproven human theories regarding the Romulans and their desire for conquest."

"Based on my own personal experience, I would say there is ample proof. But consider for yourself. The Andorians that captured Ki'Vaar are not Imperial Guard. They--"

"They are not wearing uniforms. That does not mean they aren't in the Guard," Savok interrupted.

T'Pol addressed the group at large, "I am sure many of you have had dealings with the Imperial Guard. Uniformed or not, they are a disciplined and professional organization. These Andorians are hired mercenaries. The only question is who hired them. I believe it was the Romulans."

"Your beliefs are irrelevant," Savok said. "We will speak no more of this."

Trip was indignant, *What an arrogant blow-hard!*

*It is as I said, my love--they will not listen to me. I am severing the visual and auditory link, now. You should brief Captain Archer on what you've heard.*

*I will.*

T'Pol seated herself at a table, well away from everyone else, and studied the room where they were held. There were two doors in the mess area, guarded by two Andorians each. Another group of four Andorians occupied the serving area, which led to the galley. She was unsure how many exits to the rest of the ship were available from inside the galley. None of the eight Andorians in the crew's mess were armed. A precaution to keep us from taking their weapons, no doubt.

Lieutenant Sprel approached her table and sat beside her. She glanced at him, then returned to studying the guards. "Are you not concerned to be seen with me?"

"I have been assigned to watch you," Sprel replied. "Let them think I am doing my job. I am curious; what would the humans be doing in this situation?"

"They would be planning an escape attempt. By now they would have formulated at least a dozen different plans, and attempted the one I would--at one time--have deemed most illogical and least likely to succeed. I have learned to be less critical of their efforts, since my initial assessment of their plans was usually wrong, despite applying rigorous logic."

"What plan would they arrive at in this circumstance?"

T'Pol considered that for a moment. "I believe they would first determine the need for more detailed information of Andorian activities outside this room. They would probably devise a means to get one of their number out on a scouting mission."

Sprel seemed skeptical. "How would they get anyone out unnoticed?"

"They would not. They would get the Andorians to take them, using subterfuge and a technique called 'play-acting'. For example, they might have a person pretend to be ill. The Andorians would remove him to sickbay for treatment, and he would observe what he could on his way there and back."

"Then what would they do?" Sprel prompted.

"They would probably 'create a diversion'. Perhaps a pretend fight between two crewmen. They would overpower the guards in the room, and wait by the door to attack the guards who came in to help, take their weapons, and attempt to recapture the ship. Or some other plan, completely different. Their capacity for imaginative thinking is boundless."

"Intriguing. I am disappointed we will not be able to try it."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I see nothing preventing us."

Sprel looked over at the other Vulcans, "They have given up. Their logic tells them there is nothing they can do, so they would never agree to participate. Especially if they knew it was your plan."

T'Pol followed his gaze, and was forced to agree with his judgment. The others sat or stood in small groups, completely passive. It wasn't that they had consciously admitted defeat; they were merely waiting for circumstances to change, since they believed the current situation was beyond their power to control.

####

*Trip...*

*Hey, darlin'.*

*Trip, I require your assistance in meditating.* T'Pol sent. She made no attempt to hide her uneasiness from her bond mate.

Trip's feeling of apprehension--already high--increased by several notches. *What's going on, T'Pol?*

*The Andorians are making things difficult for us. They have reduced the temperature on board. It is much colder now than Vulcans are accustomed to, colder even than humans like. The food they bring us contains meat; we must eat it or go hungry. I ate it to keep my strength up; I knew you would insist.*

*Damn right I would.*

*Very few of the others joined me. To them, it was just one more example of how I've abandoned Vulcan principles.*

*They'll come around when they get hungry enough.*

*No, Trip. Many will die before they willingly consume meat.*

Trip was silent.

T'Pol continued her litany, *The Andorians are not allowing us to meditate. They watch us, and anyone they see who appears to be meditating receives a beating.*

Trip sighed, *You know what they're doing, don't you?*

*Yes, Trip, I know. I was once an agent with the V'Shar. They are preparing us for interrogation.*

*T'Pol, that scares the hell out of me.*

*I find the prospect to be unsettling as well.*

*No, T'Pol, I'm not unsettled. I'm scared. Terrified.*

*So am I, my love, but I know you are coming for me. I will endure whatever I must until you get here.*

*T'Pol, I love you. I cannot imagine life without you. Please, please be careful.*

*I will. Now, if you are not too busy, I still require your help meditating.*

*Sure darlin', just relax...* Trip slid into her emotional center and set about absorbing the feelings that troubled her. It was different this time, and not just because T'Pol wasn't nestled in his arms. It was different because he lacked the emotional calm he was trying to impart to her.

He found and dealt with the expected emotions--fear and anger, at her captors and at the way her fellow Vulcans treated her; revulsion and shame at having eaten meat--but there were some additional emotions he was completely unprepared for: There were burgeoning feelings of pride and affection for the Vulcan Sprel. And there was grief. Grief? She grieves the loss of her bear! Trip thought, in amazement. At one time, he might have taken delight in teasing her over such an un-Vulcan lapse. Today, it tore at his heart.

He restored her to her center, and she sent a wave of gratitude toward him. *Thank you, Trip. I think I can sleep now, although it is cold.*

*Goodnight, darlin'.* Trip stayed in her mind, wrapping himself around her essence, sending her thoughts of warmth and affection. When he was sure she was asleep, he went straight to the engine room and frantically worked at squeezing yet more speed from his already laboring engines.

Continued in Chapter 4