Chapter Eight: A Confrontation
It wasn't until Trip was nearly to the door to his quarters that it occurred to him that this incarnation of Captain Archer probably wouldn't be as sympathetic to needing a moment's personal time in your quarters when you'd just watched someone you'd been briefly involved with being tortured into a cripple. His association with Ah'Len had been brief and hectic, and although it provided him with unique insight into the human female psyche he was fairly certain it wasn't an experience he would want to repeat; still, he was still convinced that she had been mostly innocent in that, and this beaten, enslaved version of her – that a man who resembled him exactly had obviously committed some kind of atrocity against – being tortured because a warped version of Malcolm Reed had wanted to play with his new toy was more than his battered conscience could take. Still, this man ran a much tighter ship than the Captain Archer Trip knew, and he figured he'd better get back there now that there weren't any fellow officers vouching for his being in the pursuit of his duty.
Bexler saluted him upon his return to engineering. "We've managed to get the ferangulator back online, sir," she said, when he asked her for a report.
"I'll just check over what you've done, then," said Trip.
"Naturally," said Bexler.
The engineering team had done an exquisite job as far as Trip could tell; the equipment was familiar, even though the term used to describe it seemed strange. After he looked over the repairs on the ferangulator, he went on a sweep of engineering, examining the stations of all the members of his engineering team. He avoided asking any probing questions of these men and women because he had no idea which ones would be loyal to their direct superior officer as chief engineer, which were loyal to the captain, and which would turn on a dime whenever it suited their own interests – this last he suspected applied to just about everyone he'd met here, with the possible exception of Malcolm. Trip wasn't sure, but he thought that no matter how un-Reedy Malcolm got, duty and loyalty would still be paramount or else he'd cease entirely to be anything like himself.
It felt so strange, being unable to trust anyone. He was used to the genial atmosphere and caring, trusting environment of the Enterprise that he'd been serving on; this place was cold, cruel, unprincipled …
A communicator whistled at him. "Bridge to Engineering."
"Tucker here. Yes, Captain?"
"If it won't take up too much of your valuable time," said Captain Archer's doppelgang in a voice dripping with sarcasm, "your presence would be useful on the Bridge at the moment."
"On my way," Trip replied. He shook his head. "Bexler?"
"Of course, Commander," she said, with the tiniest of smiles.
Trip left Engineering with some regret. It was a marginally friendly atmosphere. He decided to talk to Bexler some when he got back to his own reality – if he ever got back to his own reality – and see if she was exponentially friendlier there. But Trip couldn't see what sort of deranged system could produce such caricatures of his friends – and it was clear that not everyone in this universe was warped; some had to be decent, suppressing their instincts for the sake of the system, just as in his own universe some people were naturally more ambitious and cutthroat than others by nature but tended to suppress that for the good of the kinder, gentler system … Trip thought of Malcolm's chafing at the easygoing way Captain Archer ran his ship, at his lack of attention to detail and to the proprieties of rank, and smiled to himself as he entered the lift and directed it to the Bridge.
Or Hoshi Sato – he'd been trying to avoid thinking about her since he discovered that she and his other self were apparently involved in some kind of relationship. He had trouble with the idea that any incarnation of Hoshi Sato could be as despicably warped as some of the others on this ship.
Trip entered the Bridge.
Captain Archer was lounging in his command chair with every appearance of indolence, but Trip could tell that his piercing eyes were on almost everyone on the bridge at once. They didn't rest on any one person for very long, but he had everyone in his sights, observing, making certain that nothing was amiss.
He spared the least amount of attention for Ensign Mayweather, who was hunched in the helmsman's chair in a way that made it seem like Travis was trying to make himself appear as small and unobtrusive as possible, and Ensign Sato, who was apparently wrapped up in a long list of tasks at her station.
Trip spared a moment longer for Hoshi before he announced his presence on the Bridge. Her hair was down, in thick black waves to the midst of her back. The maroon and black that made up these uniforms, in a format subtly sexified and more appealing than the grey and blue with which Trip was so familiar, suited her. Her boots had stiletto heels and visible sheaths for weaponry. That was not unusual around here; most people seemed to be carrying knives of some sort around, including himself, tucked away inside his uniform. He hadn't seen any on Malcolm, but Trip was certain that Lieutenant Reed had merely found an ingenious place to conceal them.
She looked up when she saw him. She smiled a little but didn't give him any more than that; instead, she returned her attention to her duties at her station with renewed fervor.
She looked astonishing.
"Reporting as ordered, Captain," Trip said finally, when it became clear that Archer was not going to do more than glance at him until he did so.
"I'm so glad," Captain Archer said, not bothering to sit up in his chair. "I'd like you to take a look at T'pol's scanners for me and tell me what you think of the contents of that asteroid field."
The request seemed absurd. Trip glanced at T'pol. "Captain?" he said. Surely T'pol was more qualified to make a scientific analysis of the contents of an asteroid field.
"Today, Trip," Archer said, sneering the nickname.
Trip glanced into the scanners with an apologetic look in T'pol's direction, although she paid him little heed. She stood, her hands clasped neatly behind her back, eyes front and steady on Captain Archer's face. Trip wasn't sure how she managed to make that get-up look professional, but then again, sometimes he wasn't sure how she managed to make her Vulcan High Command uniform look professional either.
The information he found there surprised him.
"Traces of organic life … this used to be a planet, Captain. It's been shattered by …" Trip swallowed, trying not to believe what he himself was saying. "… uh, decimated by some kind of weapon I've never come across before, sir."
"Really," Captain Archer said. He smiled and shifted in his chair to raise his eyebrows at T'pol, who looked back at him, her gaze still chilly. "Something you're not telling us, Subcommander?"
"I have given you all information that the High Command has authorized be given to any human in the Empire, Captain Archer," T'pol answered coldly. "Do not ask me for more."
"That's funny," Captain Archer said, all traces of humor gone from his voice, which had become a soft lid over a bubbling furnace of barely-controlled anger. He slowly got out of his chair, unfolding his limbs and sliding to his feet in a way that was somehow more intimidating than if he'd just got up quickly like a normal person. "I could have sworn you Vulcans promised to give us all information that you thought the Empire might appreciate."
"That is correct," T'pol answered unflappably. She was taking no guff from the human captain, regardless of what intimidation tactics he used on her.
"I would think," Archer drawled, strolling across the bridge to confront T'pol directly as he spoke, "that a weapon of such destructive power that it could annihilate an entire planet would be of interest to the Empire!"
"That is not for you to decide," T'pol said, her tone and face utterly serene. She stared back at Archer, the very control in her face challenging him.
"Oh, yes, my sweet, sensual science officer," Captain Archer said, his voice dripping with cruel sarcasm, his face bare inches from hers. "I do believe it is."
T'pol raised an eyebrow at him. "Your denial of the obvious is … illogical, Captain Archer," she said.
"Ms. Sato," Archer said, without moving, "summon Lieutenant Reed to the Bridge, please."
"Yes, sir," Hoshi said, her voice quite soft. Trip wondered what she was thinking. "Lieutenant Reed, Captain Archer requires your presence on the Bridge immediately."
"Illogical?" Archer repeated, smiling at her.
T'pol did not even blink. "Yes," she said.
"I want all information that you have on the weapon, T'pol, and I want it now," Archer said.
"Such childish impatience is the mark of an immature species and is the reason why you and your Empire are being denied your information," T'pol said crisply, with only the subtlest edge of contempt.
Archer stared at her in ferocious silence for what seemed like a very long time. "Really," he said.
The Bridge doors opened and Malcolm entered. "Lieutenant Reed reporting as ordered, sir," he said briskly.
Archer did not look at him, remaining within T'pol's personal space instead. "Station," was all he said to the lieutenant.
A flicker of irritation rippled across Malcolm's face. Trip could almost hear the angry, rebellious thought that was lancing through his friend's alternate self's brain: you mean you dragged me away from my important work in the armory for no bloody good reason?
"Yes, sir," was all Malcolm said.
Dissatisfaction was written in Lieutenant Reed's posture as he took his station, and although he regained his composure quickly enough, the brief lapse gave Trip an idea.
He's resentful, Trip thought, and he's really good with weapons. Maybe I can use this …
"The weapon, T'pol," Archer said.
Malcolm did not even look up, his eyes trained on his station. Strangely, Trip suddenly realized that he was the only one paying the confrontation between the captain and the science officer more than cursory apparent heed – Travis's eyes were fixed on his station and he retained his strange, self-shrinking posture. Hoshi was busying herself with the tasks at her station, stopping every now and again to tuck a few stray hairs behind her ears – this Hoshi evidently hadn't arrived at the sensible conclusion of ponytail in the way that his Hoshi had.
"It was destroyed with the ship that bore it," T'pol said, closing her eyes. "The weapon was unstable and impractical. The Science Academy suggested that further research continue on its development for use in the war against the Andorians but funding was pulled with the destruction of the Katraa'nihir and the project was scrapped."
"Why should I believe you?" Archer demanded, suspiciously.
"I am your only source of information on Vulcan weapons technology, Captain," T'pol pointed out coolly. "You have no choice but to believe me."
Archer thought about this for a moment. Then he smiled, just as coldly as before, although this time without so much of an angry edge. "Very well," he said. "Thank you, Subcommander."
And on the Bridge, in front of his entire command crew, Captain Archer leaned forward and kissed T'pol on the mouth.
This was not meant to be tenderness, but a continuation of his mockery of her; the obviousness of this was blatant in the Captain's attitude and posture, and in T'pol's reaction to it.
Trip felt sick.
She yanked her head backward without a sound and, suddenly, a long-bladed dagger was leveled at Archer's throat.
"Your advances," T'pol growled, "are unwelcome."
Archer grinned mirthlessly at her. "Really?" he said. "I hadn't guessed."
"Touch me again," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand that held no knife, "and you will regret it, Captain."
"Threatening my life, Subcommander? In front of so many witnesses?" Archer inquired.
"Not your life, Captain. Merely …" And without finishing the sentence, the Vulcan's knife slid down – slowly, almost sensually – from where it touched his Adam's apple to where it touched the crotch of his uniform.
Captain Archer took a step back. "You play a dangerous game, T'pol."
T'pol smiled. It was a tiny upturn of the corners of her full mouth, cold and terrifying and so completely uncharacteristic that Trip felt utterly shocked. "So do you, Captain. So do you."
With that, she turned and left the Bridge.
The captain returned to his command chair and it was as though the incident had never happened.
Trip desperately wanted to go home.
