Similitudes

By Asso

Chapter Seven

"Eyes"


My dearest readers, my friends, I think I managed to make your ideas a little clearer than they were at the beginning of this ride. Now you are aware of what we are talking about.

In the previous chapter you have been able to see that something has happened, something unusual, to speak with an understatement. There has been a jump, so to speak, or to be exact, a splitting. From what was a single universe, we went to have two: the "normal", so to speak, and the E2 universe. So, from that time, (and - focus on that - from a precise time, ie since Trip fought the battle within, torn between wanting to reveal himself to T'Pol and not wanting to do it), we have two Trips, two T'Pols, two Phloxs, two Archers, and so on.

I ask you to bear in mind this fact, my dear friends and readers, because it is really important. If at the beginning all those "Here" and "There", with which I named the various paragraphs, could be, and were in fact, a sort of literary artifice by which I tried to gently guide you into what my sick mind had engineered, trying surreptitiously to capture your attention, now things absolutely are no longer like this.

At that time, the T'Pol and Trip and Phlox talking, thinking and acting were the same, now they are not. If you remember, in the first chapter, at a certain moment, the title of the last paragraph brings together both Here and There, as if to say that in fact the people we were talking about were the same. In practice, there was the germ, the overshadowing of what would happen.

Now it happened, and the Trip who speaks and thinks and acts "Here", it is not the Trip who speaks and thinks and acts "There". Just as T'Pol.

But, in the end, it is also true that they are still the same people.

And even the situations they must face are, mutatis mutandis, the same.

Similitudes, right?


Similitudes

Chapter Seven

"Eyes"

Here.

The bridge was packed and everyone's attention was focused on his own instruments. No one seemed to pay too much attention to her, as she entered, and there were good reasons. T'Pol realized the reason for the Captain's call. The nebula Degra had spoken about, the subspace corridor they should go through, was on the screen. The moment had come, and this, per se, was enough to explain the Captain's call, but the matter was also that everyone knew that Kovaalans could surely be in the neighbourhood, so things could be not as they should have been. Furthermore the Captain had become very apprehensive, in recent times, he no longer had always the coolness and lucidity needed for his role. T'Pol had became painfully aware of this. So it could also be that the urgency of his call was excessive.

Or maybe not.

There was too much calm, out in space. By now they had learned to be wary of calm. Too often it had been only apparent, too often it had preceded the storm. And too often they had turned out to be not sufficiently prepared to face the gale's violence.

Therefore, the Captain's reasons could be well understood, and T'Pol acknowledged it immediately, even in the state of mental mess in which she was and against which she was desperately trying to fight with all her forces.

Just because of that, because of the situation that everyone was studying, that they had to handle, nobody, the Captain included, appeared to be noticing her inconceivable, though slight, delay, or her somewhat uncertain walking and slightly a bit too rigid, even for her, or maybe the Captain simply didn't want to point out such a weird event just at those moments. Maybe... maybe afterward she should face his severe reprimand or, even worse, his eventual questions. His, quite likely, if not certainly, embarrassing questions. Anyway, talking of embarrassment, unpleasant and uncomfortable, there hasn't been any of it, no one said anything, there had been no awkward reaction. Neither from the Captain, nor from anyone else.

Thanks to ... thanks to what? To whom? To God perhaps? To that God whom Humans invoked so often, in season and out of season?

Trip's colloquialism exploded in her mind.

*Stop it! He's gone, for you! He no longer exists! Control yourself. There is no space here for your… for your damned emotions! You had the Trellium, right? You've injected yourself with it, stupid and illogical junkie that you are nothing. Now the hard and iron control that all Vulcans must have and show, you too, is back. Is not it? You ... you are no longer in abstinence! So, enough! To work! Take advantage of the fact that all are too busy and worried for realizing the strangeness of your delay and your behaviour. Go to your console, without attracting too much attention. And work! With your usual deadpan expression and your habitual efficient conduct. Play the T'Pol that everyone knows. And do not think of him!*

T'Pol fought back that nagging worry, that torment, which... which sooner or later would have smashed her. From her console, in front of which she was now sitting, she heard Reed's words.

"Degra said these Kovaalans have only one or two ships inside the nebula."

It was evident that Lieutenant Reed knew that things could be not so; not for nothing there had been the Captain's alarm, the urgency of his calling everyone to their places.

Reed's assertion was nothing more than one of those strange, illogical ways that Humans have and show in order to find the courage and strength to face adversity. Try to deny the worst by evoking the best. Underline, illogically, the shadow of a truth that you know could be untrue and that you wish were true.

T'Pol realized it was time to intervene. After all, what could be better than to have recourse to her usual behaviour, to show everyone that she was present, and alert, and attentive? It was enough to say what everyone expected more or less that she would say, if needed, at the words of Reed, namely the cold and flat negation of the false truth that everyone was afraid to see, even Reed; in the manner, so typical of Vulcans and so irritating to Humans - as Trip, he and always he, had driven her to understand - of bringing in full light, with impeccable logic, what Humans in a sense already know and are already facing in their own way.

Sure, she had to say it, what she had detected with her devices. It was logical and obvious that she had to say it. But in the way, in the words, that everyone could expect from her.

Just as a Vulcan should do.

Just as she, the T'Pol whom each of her shipmates knew, should have done.

She spoke, quietly and professionally, being careful that in her tone and choice of words it could be perceived - a little, not too much - that bit of annoying coolness, of galling Vulcan haughtiness that there had to be. She had promised it herself, since she had made her decision, in... in the second wonderful night that she and Trip had spent together: a little more, just a little more, of those… of those fairytale nights, then stop. Then, no longer… love. No longer Trip. No longer silly ideas on a possible absurd Bond between her and the Chief Engineer. She would come back to be - had to go back to be – the… kick in the ass that Commander Tucker had made her understand that she, often, very often, was. At least before that she and he...

Because it was not possible for her to reveal to him that she... she ...

She rabidly broke off the insane circle of his inane thoughts "It would appear that his information is out of date. There are at least half a dozen ships."

"According to Degra, they're not very tolerant of trespassers. How close are they to the corridor?"

If she had been a Human, T'Pol would surely have sighed with relief, and, despite being a Vulcan, it was extremely difficult for her not to do it. The Captain's words showed that he had not noticed, or hadn't wanted to see, anything wrong in her. He had addressed her exactly as he would have done under normal conditions.

She showed no hesitation. Efficiency. Vulcan efficiency. Her efficiency. "Within sixty thousand kilometres."

"We'll ionise the hull. That should mask our approach for a while."

T'Pol felt Archer's words roll down, heavy, inside her.

*Sure, sure, Captain. Let's do as you say. And then what? What do we do then? Oh Trip! Yes, him! He would be able to find a system, together with me! Together with... But he is no longer with you, T'Pol. You have cast him out. Do you remember, T'Pol? You have cast him out from you! *

Lieutenant Reed brought sharply T'Pol back in the world where she was. In which she had to stay. But why? WHY? Why it was so hard for her to act and think as she had to - absolutely had to! - do? What had it done to her, the Trellium? What had she done to herself?

"I suggest we enter here, above this layer of metreon gas. It should reflect our engine signature, create multiple sensor ghosts, false readings. If we're lucky they won't know which one to fire at."

Right. Well said. Well thought out. Reasonable. Rational. Logical. And hardly effective. Trip would have supplied far different suggestions. She was sure. Suggestions impossible to realize, at first sight, but that he - he, yes! - by working together with her, by bickering with her, would have been able to put in place, to translate into reality, to put into practice. Risky, explosives suggestions. And effective.

Trip. Her Trip. Where was he? With his loved engines, for sure. Why didn't he left his engines and come there? As very often he used to do, even before, long before that unforgettable night. Just ... just - she knew! - to see her, to cast on her those furtive glances and so significant. Those glances which she pretended not to notice. And which she felt. And desired. Wanted.

*Oh Trip, come here! We need you! I need you! My .. my ... *

No. He was not hers. He was no longer hers. He would have been hers nevermore. She had left him completely to his engines.

"Tactical alert. Take us in."

Mayweather replied with words and deeds to the Captain's order. "Aye, sir."

*Here we go. Enough, now. Remember who you are, T'Pol. Remember to be as you have to be.*

T'Pol focused on her instruments.

*In this way. Yes. Your duty. Only this. Only ... And this? What's this?*

Calm and controlled, as it had to be, her voice rose. "A ship is dropping out of warp."

"Can you identify it?"

Efficiency and readiness failed T'Pol, and it wasn't due to her hardly bearable and even less manageable state of mind, to her confused mood. She hesitated to respond to the Captain's question. *This couldn't be right.* She heard her own voice repeat her interior baffled averment. "This can't be right."

"T'Pol?"

She felt the confused perplexity in the voice of the Captain, in his uttering her name to call her to say what she had detected with her instruments.

T'Pol forced herself to be T'Pol. She managed to do it. "It's Starfleet, NX class."

"Are you sure it's not a sensor reflection?"

Fortunately, Reed's question helped her keep things in the normal range. It is comforting when you have to handle purely technical questions; you can do it with ease, and so allow yourself to get distracted, as by automatism, from other and awfully nerve-racking issues. That was her bread, Trip would say. "We haven't entered the nebula yet."

Observations and comments began to interweave in the bridge. Humans, as it was their custom, tried to somehow foreshadow what was to come before this happened. They sought explanations for something that would have been explained by itself, in a moment. So it was the Humans. T'Pol now comprehended them very well. She… was getting along with them very well. She was getting along with Trip, very well. It was... it had been delicious to bicker with him.

"Whoever they are, they're on an intercept course.", said Mayweather.

"We're within visual range.", said Ensign Sato.

Now they could see. A rear view showed a ship approaching theirs. A Starfleet ship, NX class. Just as she, T'Pol, had said.

The game of phrases bouncing from one to another went on. "Must be the NX 02, Columbia.", said Malcolm Reed.

"I don't think that's Columbia.", said Hoshi Sato.

Then, a distinct and clean-cut image appeared. It allowed all to see, clearly, the ship's markings. It read: NX01 Enterprise.

The voice of Ensign Sato rose uncertain, between the silence of all. "We're being hailed."

A man appeared on the screen. His eyes were sharp and piercing. His ears were pointed, surmounted by human-like eyebrows. He did not dwell on preambles. "Captain Archer, you must reverse course immediately."

The voice of the Captain sounded harsh in his response. That was normal. T'Pol now knew him well. He hated to deal with situations that he did not understand, he could not dominate. He… T'Pol found herself to sigh inside herself - … he was not Trip.

"Who are you?"

The man's voice on the screen resounded peremptory. "There's no time to explain. Alter your heading."

The Captain realized that… - How would Trip have said it? - ... that he had to stand the gaff. He turned to Mayweather. "Come about, Ensign." Then, harshly, to the man on the screen. "Would you tell me what the hell is going on?"

The man showed no sign of the slightest response. He just looked at each of them with his piercing eyes and expressive.

To T'Pol it seemed... no, it was more than just an impression... that the man's gaze lingered on her.

She looked at his eyes. They were not like his ears, were not Vulcan-like. They were human. And tremendously expressive. Just as, just as...

A new emotion, strange, indefinable, started to stir within her. She could not catalogue it. It was not in the gamut of emotions that she, painfully and joyfully, had come to feel and to savour since she had stained herself with her fault. No, even long before that. Since her path had crossed that of Trip. It was strong and yet elusive. It was a mixture of uncertainty and fear and wonder. Seemed like something that would admonish and warn and also mock her. Was acute. It hurt. And it was sweet. It was painfully pleasant. Or perhaps it would have been more correct to say "pleasantly painful".

Those eyes… those eyes…

If it had not been for the different colour, T'Pol could have sworn that those eyes could have been the eyes of Trip.

But the ears were unequivocally Vulcan.

Like hers.


There.

The bridge, Hoshi Sato, Malcolm Reed, Travis Mayweather. The Captain.

And not Trip.

He - of course, and rightly so - was not there. He was in the engine room. To do his duty.

But afterward ... later ... when they would have passed through the subspace corridor and the emergency for which the Captain had called all to their places had been resolved ... then, she should have met him.

And she would have to talk to him.

And she would have to try to explain to him.

T'Pol did not even know how she had been able to act with such a normality, with such quiet efficiency, with the cold and sure professionalism which was her brand.

What, or whom, had she to thank for this? And for the fact that nobody had seemed to want to point out, to emphasize, her slight, but unbelievable and reproachable delay? Unbelievable and reproachable in any case but even more in reason of whom she was. And also her gait, a little too uncertain and also a little too stiff - she had felt it - even for her?

That God, perhaps? The God whom Humans call so often, in season and out of season?

Trip's colloquialism burst in her mind.

*Enough! Stop it! Not now. Not now! There is something else to do, now! He, precisely he, has put you in the conditions to be here, ready and efficient. As you must be. Do not disappoint him, T'Pol! Do not disappoint him, at least in this! Deserve him! His care! At least in this! *

She focused on her instruments. She heard the words of Lieutenant Reed.

"Degra said these Kovaalans have only one or two ships inside the nebula."

It was a desire, in a sense. That was clear. Regardless of his own words, Lieutenant Reed knew that most likely things were not so; if not, why the Captain's alarm? Why the urgency of his calling everyone to their places? Only because they were about to launch themselves inside the nebula? Yes, that was true, and even only for this all of them had to be in their places. But the Captain, everyone, knew that what Degra had said could have been inexact.

And actually it was so.

T'Pol realized this at the same time that she understood it was time for her to intervene. She had to show everyone that she was there, present, and alert, and attentive. She had to act just as everyone expected more or less that she would act, if needed. She had to talk just as everyone expected more or less that she would talk, at the words of Reed, if it were necessary, namely that she would show everyone the bitter reality, even in the stolid way, in the manner, so typical to Vulcans and so irritating to Humans - as Trip, he and always he, had driven her to understand - of bringing in full light, with impeccable logic, what Humans already know in a sense and are already facing in their own way.

Sure, she had to say it, what she had detected with her devices. It was logical and obvious that she had to say it. But in the way, in the words, that everyone could expect from her.

Just as a Vulcan should do.

Just as she, the T'Pol whom each of her shipmates knew, should have done.

Just as Trip would have wanted her to do.

She spoke, quietly and professionally, being careful that in her tone and choice of words could be perceived - a little, not too much - that bit of annoying coolness, of galling Vulcan haughtiness that there had to be. Was she or not, after all, the… kick in the ass that Trip had made her understand that she, often, very often, was? At least before that she and he… So, come on! This she had to be! No detail, however small, could be overlooked if she had to look exactly like everyone was expecting that she should appear. If not ... if not, all her efforts - all efforts of Trip - would go to waste.

And the conversation that she should have had with him, later, would have been even more distressing for her.

She rabidly broke off the insane circle of his inane thoughts. "It would appear that his information is out of date. There are at least half a dozen ships."

"According to Degra, they're not very tolerant of trespassers. How close are they to the corridor?"

It was hard for T'Pol not to sigh with relief as a Human would do, because the Captain's words, the way he had addressed her just as he would done under normal circumstances, showed clearly that her delay, her unprecedented behaviour, had passed unnoticed, or, at least, that the Captain did not want to point it out. At least not now. But frankly, the eventuality, the idea of having to face the Captain, later, if he had wanted some explanation for this, was for T'Pol acutely discomforting, sure, but much less discomforting - less frightening, less painful - than the thought of the encounter she should have had with Trip, of the conversation she should have with him.

Of the explanations that she should give him.

She showed no hesitation. Efficiency. Vulcan efficiency. The efficiency that was her own, that Trip would have wanted her to show. "Within sixty thousand kilometres."

"We'll ionise the hull. That should mask our approach for a while."

T'Pol felt Archer's words roll down, heavy, inside her.

*It would take him, Trip! It would take his working together with me! Together we would find a more fruitful way than yours, Captain. But how can I call him? How can I suggest to you, Captain, to call him right now? With what face can I expect from him that he still wants to work with me? That he can still trust me?* Suddenly T'Pol realized how she was wrong, because, of course, his trust in her could only be faded away, but for the rest….*Oh, He would! I know! He is frank, and honest, and sincere. Not as me! And he would put the duty before all the disgust, all the resentment he might feel for me. Was not it he who put me in the conditions to be here, ready, and capable, and efficient? *

Yes, it had been him. Trip had treated her with such a gentleness and with such a care that she had not even managed to fully realize what was happening. For her, for the sake of her, he had repulsed back in his throat all the loathing and all the dudgeon he had to feel for her. And that he couldn't not feel even now. And... and that he would feel forever.

T'Pol did have neither the means nor the time to even think to turn into reality what her confused brain mulled over. Lieutenant Reed brought sharply her back in the true reality, in the reality where she was and where she had to stay.

But why? WHY? Why it was so hard for her to act and think as she had to - absolutely had to! - do? What had it done to her, the Trellium? What had she done to herself?

"I suggest we enter here, above this layer of metreon gas. It should reflect our engine signature, create multiple sensor ghosts, false readings. If we're lucky they won't know which one to fire at."

Right. Well said. Well thought out. Reasonable. Rational. Logical. But how really effective? It was Trip the one who was always capable of suggesting unthinkable and yet fruitful ways to get incredible results. Results that seemed impossible to realize, at first sight, but that he, if… if helped by her, while bickering with her, would have been able to put in place, to translate into reality, to put into practice. Risky, explosives ways. And effective.

Trip. Her Trip. Where was he? With his loved engines, obviously. Why didn't he leave his engines and come there? As very often he used to do, even before, long before that unforgettable night. Just ... just - she knew! - to see her, to cast on her those furtive glances and so significant. Those glances which she pretended not to notice. And which she felt. And desired. Wanted.

*Oh Trip, come here! We need you! I need you! Come here to bicker with me! My .. my ...*

But what was she thinking? What was she demanding? Had she gone mad? Was she reduced to such an extent?

*Enough, T'Pol! Do not squander thus the efforts he has made to make you be here, in the way... at least apparently in the way that everyone expects from you. That he expects from you! *

"Tactical alert. Take us in."

Mayweather replied with words and deeds to the Captain's order. "Aye, sir."

*Here we go. Enough, now. Remember who you are, T'Pol. Remember to be as he wants you to be.*

T'Pol focused forcefully on her console.

*In this way. Yes. Your duty. Only this. Only ...*

The Kovaalans' attack interrupted the faltering ride of her thoughts.


Here.

They were in the conference room, all sitting around the table. She was there. The Captain had wanted her, or, to be more precise, the Captain had told her that it had been the other Captain, the Captain of the other Enterprise, who had solicited him for her presence. Lorian, this was the name of that Captain.

And now here he was, sitting in front of her.

With those Vulcan ears.

And those human eyes.

So expressive.

As those of Trip.

T'Pol found herself not wanting to look openly at that Captain, he made her feel ill at ease.

Why? Surely not because he had said that if Enterprise – this Enterprise - had entered the subspace corridor, it would have been thrown back in time a hundred and seventeen years and surely not because to the question of the Captain about how he could know this, he had replied that it was because this had already happened and that he and his crew were there, now, to prevent history repeating itself.

No. Not for that.

This could be difficult to assimilate, could also be upsetting, could be accepted or refused, could be believed or rejected, could be debated, could be investigated, but, certainly, for no logical reason could engender in her the subtle sense of uneasiness that she felt if she tried to look at that man.

Why had she to stay so, in a pose falsely relaxed, with her hands hidden under the table, resting on her lap, with her head turned forward, with her eyes falsely listless, falsely apathetic, fixed to look ahead, without setting on anything and anybody in particular?

Why had she to avoid those eyes?

The man started to speak again, firmly and confidently.

Breaking up her disquieting musing.

"The Kovaalans attacked Enterprise as soon as it entered the nebula."


There.

There was no room for futile thoughts, now. The world was a sussultatory mayhem around them.

The strained voice of Reed. "Phase cannons are offline."

The rough order of the Captain. Her peremptory demand. "Torpedoes, full spread. How long until we reach the corridor?"

Her own voice, tense and acute. "Eighteen seconds."

Again Reed. "All plating's gone."

And Mayweather. "We're losing speed."

And again the Captain. "Hold your course."

And finally the subspace corridor

And the view of the three attacking ships that banked and went off.


Here.

The deep and sure voice of Lorian continued the narrative.

"The trip through the corridor took only a few seconds, but it didn't take long before your crew realised something was wrong."

While her sensation of disquietness increased.


There.

Now calm had returned. They were trying to realize the situation.

Reed put an end to their fears. "No sign of pursuit."

And the Captain laid the fateful question. "Where are we?"

It was up to her to answer. "We've travelled eleven point six light years."

The obvious next question of the Captain. "Degra?"

It was up to her again. And her answer would not be liked to anyone. Just as it was not liked by her. "Nothing on long range sensors."

Why? Why was that?

Uncertainty. Mute issues.

Then, Mayweather. "Captain, the stars. They're not where they're supposed to be."

She felt the eyes of the Captain on her. "Are you sure we're at the right co-ordinates?"

She heard her own voice. Low and uncertain. "Yes."


Here.

"Enterprise was in the right place, but it was over a hundred years early."

There was silence in the Conference Room. Everyone was thinking of what the man's statement implied. It was hard to digest his story, it was hard to believe that he and his crew might be ...

T'Pol lowered her eyes.

... those eyes, the eyes of that man… his ears…

The unfolding of the thread of T'Pol's unsettling thoughts overlapped and mingled with the next words of the Captain of the other Enterprise. "We're not entirely sure why this happened, but we have a theory. We think your impulse wake destabilised the corridor, causing it to shift in time."

The rough voice of the Captain, of her captain, of Jonathan Archer, rose, harsh and tense. Almost nasty. "Why didn't you… didn't we… go back through it?"

He had corrected himself, and the correction gave body to the thoughts of all.

To her thoughts.

They, those others, the members of the other Enterprise, which could be nothing but their own Enterprise, if one wanted to listen to the story of their Captain.

And they, the members of this Enterprise, to whom Captain Archer wanted to allude with that "we".

The two Enterprises could also be the same ship, but certainly it could not be the same the two crews, after one hundred and seventeen years the ship had entered the subspace corridor.

So ...

It was that woman, the one that Lorian had presented as his first officer, to respond to Captain Archer. That woman with that protrusion down to her forehead to her nose. That woman, whose name was Karyn. Karyn ... Archer.


There.

They were in the Ready Room. She and the Captain. Only the two of them. And certainly not because the Captain had wanted to ask her account for her delay.

There was much more, now. Much more to think about, than her behaviour. And she could not quite understand why, but this "much more" made even more acute the fear she felt for the meeting she would have to face with Trip.

The Captain was standing up with his back to her. His voice resonated hoarse and uncertain. Decidedly disquieted. "One hundred and seventeen years."

Even her voice resounded hoarse and uncertain. And uneasy. Disquiet and uncertainty had become her constant companions, by now. "Yes, Captain"

The Captain turned to her. "And you say that we can not go back?"


Here.

T'Pol almost leaped at hearing that woman pronounce her name in her response.

"T'Pol eventually determined that ships can only travel through this corridor in one direction."


There.

"Yes, Captain." T'Pol managed to make her voice a little firmer.

The Captain looked at her gravely. "I'll notify the crew. Let Travis know we'll be getting underway."

Logic, that, despite everything, was still a very important part of her, pushed T'Pol to ask the most logical question. She knew that the Captain might even not have the answers, but she had to ask such a question. And he had to respond, he had at least to try to do it. However, she took things to far. She also had no answers, or, to be honest, she preferred not to come alone to formulate what these answers could have been, or, rather, should have been. So, she asked, quite simply, where they should direct themselves. She asked, in a low voice: "What course should we set?"

But from there, from her apparently simple question, would inevitably come all the rest and what the Captain said, was clear proof. "Even if we found a way out of the Expanse, we can't go back to Earth. We'd be contaminating our own culture, our own history."

T'Pol gave another little push. To give the Captain the courage to go all the way, but also, she couldn't hide it from herself, to avoid to go herself, alone, along that way. "Cochran's warp flight won't happen for another twenty six years."

The need of Trip's presence gnawed acutely in her heart. Why would the Captain never ask for advise from the one who not a few times had proved to be the most equipped, to give it? But she lacked the courage to suggest to the Captain to call his Chief Engineer to consult with him, even though logic would have wanted both his two Senior Officers to be involved in the decisions that had to be taken in those dire circumstances. Logic wasn't Captain's forte, though, and, besides, for reasons that were very clear to T'Pol, he avoided constantly she and Trip being together when he had to decide something. He feared an eventual alliance on their part, or, to better say, he did not want that any alliance, or anything like that, could be formed between them. On the other hand, she was afraid, right now, to meet Trip. Her desire was, against all logic, to delay as much as possible whatever encounter she should have with him.

The look the Captain gave her said to T'Pol that they had come to the point. She had foreseen what the Captain would say, at her statement. She knew where he was going to end up. "Maybe there's a way we can use this to our advantage."

And she knew that the boat in which she had embarked by her own choice when she had decided to support, to join, the crew, the Captain...Trip... in their mission, had become a boat from which she would never be able to disembark.

The fate of Enterprise was her fate.

The call that she had felt, that had potently demanded her, when, without knowing it, her path had crossed that of Trip for the first time, in the airport, long before she had to embark on Enterprise, when, at the beginning of all, she had smelled, had savoured for the first time, his mightily exacting scent, his overpowering scent, not yet knowing who was its source; the imperious call to which she had tried to resist, even knowing not being able to do it; to which she had eventually ended up to yield and that in a sense had pushed her into the abyss in which she had fallen... (*)

It had become a chain that she would never be able to break.

Even if she had really wanted.

So, she responded with what was nothing more than a futile expedient to delay the inevitable conclusion of that surreal meeting; a sole word, almost sighed between her lips. "How?"

She knew that that simple word would have drawn out from the Captain what, in the end of the briefing, or, to say it all, already since its beginning, she was aware that he would have ended up to plan with her help.

Without knowing what this would mean for her.

The Captain tried to straighten his shoulders, to appear convinced, sure. But his voice was not. "We know the date when Earth will be attacked by the first Xindi probe. We may be able to figure out a way to warn them, or even prevent the attack."

T'Pol pulled out with not concealed fatigue the last of her circumstantiations. Logical, and meaningful, and purposely searched. "The probe won't be deployed for more than a hundred years."

The Captain did not answer, he remained silent. He could do no more than merely stare at her with blank eyes. He knew what was the only answer which there could be for her remark.

And also T'Pol knew well that answer.


Here.

"Your crew realised it would be their descendants."

The last words of the narrative of the Captain of the other Enterprise fell, heavy, in the silence of the Conference Room.

He paused, looking around, with those piercing eyes he had.

*Those eyes. Those eyes! But they are not blue! THEY ARE NOT!*

T'Pol tried desperately to separate her thoughts from the narrative of the man. She internalized what he was now saying, and he was telling to all what they had by now understood.

And the undefined sensation she had felt when his face had appeared on the screen grew up more and more.

"Who'd have to complete this mission." His voice deepened, became more serious, if possible. "It was only a matter of time before the first child was born. Enterprise became a generational ship. You showed your children how to operate and maintain its systems, and they did the same for their children."

*Enterprise became a generational ship. Children! OUR children!*

T'Pol tried with all her forces to be logical and rational, not to be overwhelmed by those damn blinding emotions she had now to fight against. But how could she do it? How, with those eyes in front of her?

She heard the sceptical and sour voice of the Captain, of Archer. "You've been flying around the Expanse for over a century?", and she could not help but make heard also her voice. Sceptical and cold. She could not admit it. Must not to admit it! Because… because that could have meant that… T'Pol was unable to unbar in full the thread, the real meaning, of her disquieting thoughts. "That's unlikely. Enterprise doesn't have fuel or provisions for such a long journey."

Those eyes rested on her. She could not be mistaken. They had the same light, they were as cheeky and sarcastic and mocking... and sweet... as those of...

Those eyes were talking more than the man's mouth. "You've hardly changed, mother."

T'Pol hardly managed to remain calm. *Mother. MOTHER! *

That man, that unreal Captain, Lorian, had marched out in the open and she didn't manage to do anything but talk back weakly, as... as a stolid a jackass, in what resounded more as an exclamation than a question. "I beg your pardon?"

She could feel around her, over her, the looks, the keen attention of all.

Those mocking and irreverent eyes lingered a moment longer on her, then they got up, turned all around.

The words of the owner of those eyes were addressed to all, but were an answer for her. "You made alliances with other species, traded technology for food and supplies. You even acquired a few alien crew members."

Then those eyes came to rest, severe and serious, on Captain Archer. "We did our best to carry out the mission you gave us, Captain."

It was not friendly the tone of the replica of the Captain. As usual he acted on impulse, he distrusted what he did not understand. "To destroy the first Xindi probe." He paused briefly. "But you failed."

Those eyes seemed to lose a little of their light. "We had years to prepare, but in the end we were only one star ship. Our weapons were no match for the Xindi."

Then the light of those eyes reappeared, almost violent, contrasting the calm and quiet and sure tone of the voice. "We couldn't stop the first attack, but we can help you stop the second. We can make certain you reach the rendezvous with Degra this time."

T'Pol reinserted herself in the dialogue. She could not surrender yet, but she was aware that hers could only be a weak objection. There is no limit to being silly, when you started to be silly, Trip once had said to her, angry with himself for having repeated the same mistake twice. How he had been right! "You said we couldn't travel through the corridor."

It wasn't Lorian who responded, it was his first officer, that woman, the one whose last name was sounding Archer. She handed over a PADD, in talking. "You won't need to. We've encountered dozens of species. Some of them shared their propulsion technology with us."

Lorian returned to speak, while motioning to the PADD. "We got these schematics from Haridan traders. We can use them to modify your injector assembly. You'll be able to travel at warp six point nine for brief intervals."

Another weak objection. How much can one be silly? How should she interpret that "no limit" Trip had said? Literally? How would a Vulcan do it? Apparently it was so, since she wasn't able to stop herself. She could not. "The hull wasn't designed for that speed."

Those eyes playfully mocking rested again on her, but now there was a tinge of irritation, of impatience in them. Trip had been a very good teacher about how to improve her ability to know how to decipher the feelings and emotions in the human eyes. And certainly those eyes were human. They carried within themselves the whole of humaneness that shone in the eyes of Trip. "We'll show you how to reinforce structural integrity. You'll be able to reach Degra in less than two days."

T'Pol was just about to reply with another silly objection, even though she knew very well that if Lorian was there, now, to say and suggest what he was saying and suggesting, he could not but have prepared everything to perfection. The assumption of his presence among them, on this Enterprise, could be difficult to accept, this yes, but certainly it was not by raising silly and childish objections that this assumption could be denied. There was another Enterprise, out there, to testify with its solid substantiality the veracity of what Lorian and his First Officer asserted.

And, as if that were not enough, there were those eyes, there was what T'Pol was feeling within, that unsettling inner turmoil.

It was Captain Archer who tried one last shot, as always not prone to deal with situations that he was not able to dominate. He certainly was not Trip! "You've made these modifications on your own ship?"

T'Pol has been well able to clearly perceive in the voice of Lorian, in the tone with which he spoke, that the hint of impatience and irritation that she had first been able to catch in his eyes, had been transposed also on his tongue. "Our plasma injectors are too old. They can't handle the stress. But your injectors are practically new."

He took a short pause, then spoke again. "You're still not convinced."

The impatience and irritation had become more evident. It had appeared also something that sounded like annoyance and frustration. Surak! What a really good teacher Trip had been! How… how nice it had been to learn from him!

But on the other hand, how could it be that she was unable to read well, very well, what those eyes expressed, since they were so similar, so awfully similar to the eyes of Trip?

The Captain erected the last bastion. "You've got to admit, it's a lot to accept."

Now there was urgency, in Lorian's voice. "We don't have a lot of time. You need to start these modifications."

All the understandable but stubborn distrust of Captain Archer fully revealed itself. "I'm not comfortable doing that just yet.", resounded his flat voice.

Doggedly, he wanted more evidence than that which was already in front of his nose. The other Enterprise which was making a fine show of itself, out there, in space, was evidently not enough for him, nor, even less, the words of the one who called him-self Lorian or of his so-called First Officer, even though one could not really understand why they had to invent such a story.

Logic, that, despite everything, was still a very important part of her, said to T'Pol that Lorian and his First Officer were not lying.

For what should they have invented such nonsense? Why? For what purpose? And, admitting that they had wanted to do it, where would they have found another Enterprise? How would have Trip said it? In the top hat of... of Mandrake, yes, that strange character of those things, those comics that Trip loved so much?

Nevertheless she could understand Captain's resistance, even if her reasons were very different.

The Captain couldn't know what Lorian's narrative, if true, would mean for her, assuming... assuming that the answer to the question about from where, from whom, it had come not as much those ears he had, in respect of which he had substantially already clearly spoken out, but rather his eyes, was the answer… the answer that she feared to already know.

That woman, Karyn Archer, put an end to the debate. "Perhaps we should go to Sickbay. Phlox can confirm our identity."

Logical. Absolutely logical. What objections could one ever raise against such a logical proposal?

T'Pol clasped her hands the one with the other under the table.

Now she would have that answer.


There.

Yes, T'Pol knew well the answer. Enterprise would become like a little world travelling in the Expanse, and within itself it would have to find the resources to support itself. To live. Inside Enterprise life was supposed to be perpetuated.

The men and women who lived in it would have to give birth to new lives, sprung from them.

T'Pol stood at the door of her cabin.

New lives.

Every man on Enterprise would seek the woman who was for him.

Every woman on Enterprise would seek the man who was for her.

The world suddenly became muffled around her. The sounds appeared distorted, the vision became blurred and unreal.

The inner turmoil that lately had become almost a part of her, that she had learned to recognize and understand what it preluded to, and that she had succeeded in dominating after she had left the Captain, during her trip up to her room, began to roar loudly into her.

She opened hastily the door and hurried to enter, closing it behind her and then leaning with her back to it. Exhausted. Afraid. With the world that was more and more twisted around her. With, at the stomach, that nasty feeling of nausea that by now she had got to acknowledge and understand what it meant.

She closed her eyes, trying to resist, not to be overwhelmed.

*Every woman on Enterprise would seek the man who was for her.*

Strong, powerful, so vivid to make her feel bad, a face - well known, known in detail - appeared in her mind and, as if it were real, before her eyes, forcing her to open them as to watch it.

Commander Tucker.

Trip.

The man for her.

The man just for her.

And who now, just now, just when every man and woman on Enterprise would inevitably and finally feel free to indulge their desires and walk the path suggested by their heart, just when she – she too! - could finally feel free to follow her heart, just like Humans do, was not, could no longer be for her.

She slipped slowly to the ground, to sit up with her back abandoned against the door.

The world rumbled and was spinning around her.

Nausea made her sick.

Commander Tucker… *Trip…*

The man whose trust she had betrayed.

To whom she had lied.

Whom she had chased away.

The face in front of her looked stern at her, its eyes spoke. "Keep calm, I will help you, again and every time it will be needed, just as I have done before. I will treat you with infinite kindness, as only I can do. I am not a man to forget what has passed between the two of us, I am not a man who could stop being close to you, in consequence of what you have done, of the lies that you have told me. But…"

… But she knew that no word that she could say to him when they would talk could make her regain his confidence.

His love.

She had lost, for ever, his love.

She raised a hand as if to reach the vision.

She didn't manage to do it.

The face drew away, got shrank.

Only the eyes remained at last.

Blue.

So beautiful.

So distant.

They, too, disappeared.


Here.

There they were, all in the sickbay, all around Phlox, all tensed to assimilate his final judgment.

A judgment without appeal.

He had spoken without looking at them, his face turned to the monitor where it made beautiful extension of themselves the gene sequences of their "guests". "They are who they claim to be. Most of the young woman's ancestors were human, but there are also chromosomes from three species I've never seen before."

The doctor motioned to the monitor, indicating something on it. He did not turn. "These genetic markers belong to you, Captain. She would appear to be your great grand-daughter."

Then he half turned toward her, looking at her a little sideways and pointing with his hand at something else on the screen. Perhaps it was just her tension, - Yes, damn it! Her tension! - but to T'Pol it seemed that his voice had a touch of teasing. But obviously it was impossible. "I've compared your genetic profile with Lorian's. These base pair sequences could only have come from you."

And so it was true. Lorian had not lied, nor about who he and his crew were, nor about who exactly he was.

Her son. She was his mother.

But… the father?

*Those eyes!*

T'Pol came next to Phlox, looking at the screen.

She paraded security and Vulcan self-control.

It was one of the hardest things she had ever done in her whole life.

She pointed with her hand on the monitor, at the genic sequence Phlox had just shown. It seemed... it seemed to her that her voice sounded fully restrained, altogether like her normal voice, when she spoke. "These chromosomes are human."

*Those eyes!*

She heard Phlox's voice from behind. "That's correct. They came from his father."

There was really, into the doctor's voice, that vein of subtle amusement that she seemed to perceive? Or.. or she had spent too much time with Trip?

*Trip! Those eyes!*

No, she wasn't mistaken. There was really something sounding as a thin teasing into Phlox's voice. He .. he seemed almost savour the way she was trying to know, without making direct questions. He... he was a doctor damn capable, sure! But was also so damn nosy! And he didn't seem to have many problems to display his ability to catch other people's fallings, as if he were pleased to do it. He seemed almost to enjoy to dig out and dig up the weaknesses of others! Trip had always said it to her!

*Trip! Trip again! Always Trip! And… those eyes!*

She turned to the doctor and looked at him with the most cold and sure, the most sceptical and dismissive look she had ever shown in her entire life and compared with the effort that has cost to her doing this, the effort she had done before to appear in perfect Vulcan-like control, had been less than a mere nothing.

She spoke as if she was stating a ruling of the High Command. No, even more. A ruling coming directly from Surak. "That's impossible. Human and Vulcan genomes are incompatible."

If it had been possible, she would have poked two fingers in the eyes of the physician, to turn off the mischievous light that shone in them, as he replied to her, with lightness, almost cheerful. Sometimes she really envied Humans! "According to Lorian, I discovered, or rather I will discover, a method of successfully combining human and Vulcan genomes."

She was spared being the one who had to lay the fateful question.

It was the Captain, and, even in the disguised but, nevertheless, decidedly active mental confusion in which she was at that moment, she could not say to be surprised, as well as, apparently, also Phlox, who did not even blink at the unexpected meddling of the Captain in a matter of this kind, at his improvident intruding in things that did not concern him at all, that pertained to the most intimate sphere, and even more so considering that she was Vulcan.

Point was that she knew why the Captain made that question. Oh yes, she knew, as she knew well the answer that Phlox would give.

She knew the reason for the hard and harsh tone that rang clear in the Captain's voice, and if she had turned to him and she could see his expression while he made that question, it wouldn't have needed any explanation about why on his face it was clearly visible that dark shadow, that scowling frown as he asked.

She knew exactly what he would have wanted to be for her, the thoughts and desires he harboured for her and therefore there was nothing to be surprised that it were just him the one who sombrely laid the question of which he, too, in all probability, not to say with certainty, already knew the answer.

"Who's the father?"

And Phlox answered.

With the amazed tone of one who is astonished that it can be asked a question whose answer is so obvious.

And the Captain… and she…. had the answer.

And this time she didn't make it.

T'Pol bent her shoulders and folded her arms on her breast as if to defend herself.

Her eyes stared into the void, showing clearly all the disquiet that stirred within her.

Now there was no escape, now everyone would know. If the T'Pol who had plummeted back in time had a son from "him", no one would have doubted that she, the T'Pol who was still here, in the present, could and would like to have a child with the other "him" who was here, in her same present.

Her desires and her ... her feelings would become public domain.

It mattered little that she, swallowing her pride and her Vulcan decorum, could point out that it was another T'Pol, not her, the one who had had a son from him. Everyone would smile, with the mischievous smile of those having fun at expense of he who flounders, and would have thought she was lying knowing to lie.

And it was so! Because ... because that other T'Pol, her counterpart, was in fact still her!

Her! With her desires and ... and her attraction for him! Her... body and Katra attraction for him!

And He? Oh he… he too would understand! Of course that he would understand! And pretty well, this for sure! It could have been possible to say the worse of him, that he was the greatest champion of the worst flaws of the males of the Human race, that he was irritating, thoughtless, mocking, stubborn, baffling, unpredictable, volatile, annoying, irreverent, emotional, illogical. All this and even more. But surely it was impossible to not say also that he was acutely intelligent, extremely perceptive and awfully insightful. Consequently he would understand everything, even what no one else could be able to understand. So he would come back to her with very greater confidence, claiming rights that he would know that he had! He would put her on the spot, would have forced her to admit that she harboured feelings, deep feelings, for him, because it wouldn't have made sense that it were not so, since she, namely her other self, the other self who was nothing else but her, had accepted his... his love. Had reciprocated his love! Had wanted his love!

And she? What could she have done? What could she have said to him? How could she have done, if cornered? How could she do to tell him that she could not be with him because ... because ...

How had the other T'Pol done? What had she done, what had she said, that had enabled her to regain her Trip, the Trip whom both she, the other T'Pol, and she, the T'Pol who was here, had chased way from them? And then, what could this count? She was there, she was not in the past, not in the situation in which the other T'Pol had found herself, in which perhaps things could have been such as to permit that other self to do things that could not be allowed to her, things she could not afford.

Their destinies had become divided.

The other self with her Trip, and justified at having him, given the situation in which she and he had found themselves. And she, without!

And damned to fight against the archness of the Humans, against the suspects, the contemptuous disapproval that would be born among the members of her race and against Starfleet's rules, if ever they had come out unscathed and victorious from their mission; against the Captain, because of the slap he had received.

And, now, shortly, against the claims that "He" would or could adduce.

And against herself and her desires.

Against her drug!

Without being able to be longer the one she had been!

Without daring ask the doctor for any ulterior help.

Without any possibility to have help from anyone.

And less than less… from him!

The world suddenly became muffled around her. The sounds appeared distorted, the vision became blurred and unreal.

Inside her, she felt loudly roaring the inner turmoil that lately had become almost a part of her, that she had learned to recognize and understand what it preluded to, and that she had hardly and laboriously succeeded in dominating until that moment.

She roused herself, straightened, fighting desperately against that turmoil, trying to control the nausea that had grabbed her.

She greeted with a strained nod. She turned. She walked, stiff and fast, toward the exit. She got out of the sickbay, in the hallway. And she walked. Quickly. Like an automaton.

She reached the elevator. Entered it. Reached her level. Came out.

The door of her room.

Here it is.

Inside! Inside!

She opened quickly the door and hurried inside, closing it behind her and then leaning with her back to it. Jaded. Scared. With the world rumbling and spinning around her.

And with, in her ears, still ringing the response of Phlox.

"Commander Tucker."

That name resounded in her mind, repeatedly, as an echo.

Commander Tucker, Commander Tucker, Commander Tucker ...

Strong at first and then softer and softer, softer and softer, just as an echo that slowly was fading away,

It became confused in the tumult of her mind and of the world around her.

She closed her eyes, trying to resist, not to be overwhelmed.

She had touched it at first hand: she, an other self, had married him.

It was possible.

It could have been possible.

But for her it was not possible. Would no longer have been possible. Not in this time, in this universe.

She... she was not even sure she wanted it. How was that human expression? Follow your heart. But she no longer knew what her heart wanted, or maybe, she was incapable of hearing its voice, or more simply it was her heart which was unable to know what it wanted. Her heart was as her mind. Uncertain, insecure, confused.

Or, more honestly, in reality...

Deep down in her mind, in the depth of her heart, as much as they can be addled, T'Pol knew how things exactly stood.

Her heart couldn't tell her what it really wanted. A shattered heart cannot make heard its voice.

It cannot speak.

The truth, the real truth, was that whatever may be the wishes of her heart, now every road was closed to her, nothing that her heart could desire was longer possible.

Not after what she had done.

She had betrayed his trust.

She had lied to him.

She had chased away him.

And she would not have ended back in time, able to remedy, who knows how, to all the mistakes she had made.

She was not the other T'Pol.

She slipped slowly to the ground, to sit up with her back abandoned against the door.

The world rumbled and was spinning more and more around her.

Indistinct shapes, confused visions crowded into her mind.

They began to whirl and to converge with each other. They got mixed up with each other, got merged, got condensed together. Into one only image.

In front of her closed eyes, two other eyes.

Lorian's eyes.

But they were blue.

They were watching her.

She reopened her eyes like to look at them.

She raised a hand as if to reach them.

She could not.

The eyes were gone.


End of Chapter Seven

To be Continue


(*)This is a reference to my story "Shore Leave"