Panic
Captain Archer glanced at his bridge officers as he quietly shifted in his chair. He had pondered their situation for the better part of an hour and a half as the air of the room became heavier. Was he right to put Trip in charge of their rescue, given his present condition? Archer had almost limitless faith in his friend, but was the loss of his memory, and possibly the loss of his expertise, too much of a handicap? He could not recall a time when Trip had truly let him down. Anyone would have to admit that Commander Tucker was an excellent problem-solver with a splendid track record.
"Captain?" questioned Crewman Monroe in a quavering voice, raising his head from his arms. He was still sitting rather dejectedly in a corner near the communications station.
"Crewman." acknowledged Archer, almost grateful that the imposed silence was broken.
"How are we going to get out of here, sir?" asked the crewman. His voice contained a note of shrill desperation, despite his earlier apparent stoicism, which had probably been closer in description to a panic induced catatonia.
"Don't worry. Commander Tucker is on the problem. It shouldn't be long now." Archer reassured him with a smile.
"But you don't know that. He could be just as helpless and clueless as we are." said Monroe, clambering unsteadily to his feet. "Why don't we do something, captain? I mean, we can't just wait until our air runs out and die in here!" he yelled.
"That is enough, crewman." stated T'Pol firmly before Archer could respond. "I suggest that you learn some self-control. Panicking will profit you nothing." she told him, rising gracefully from her seat on the deck.
The crewman strode toward her, intent upon giving the self-righteous and smug sub-commander a piece of his mind, but he never had the chance. The patience of Vulcans while ample was not infinite, and the patience of T'Pol was stretched beyond its limit. Her hand shot out with startling speed as she seized his neck in a pinching motion and squeezed. Monroe's eyes rolled back and he collapsed into a boneless heap on the floor.
"T'Pol?" questioned Archer.
The scene had caused Malcolm to lean around the tactical station to get a better look. He was most impressed, but he had one question for the obviously talented Vulcan.
"Is he dead?" inquired Reed.
"Of course not, lieutenant. He is merely temporarily unconscious. He was wasting our limit supply of oxygen with his hysterics." T'Pol informed him coolly, straightening her uniform and returning to her seat as though nothing had happened.
"You know, sub-commander, you could have tried slapping him first. That usually works too." suggested Archer.
"The nerve pinch is an ancient Vulcan technique. It is both safe and effective. Slapping, as you have suggested, seems to be an inferior remedy in such a situation." she explained.
"You'll have to teach me that trick sometime." suggested Reed hopefully. Hoshi, who still clutched his hand, just rolled her eyes.
"No." answered T'Pol evenly.
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