CHAPTER 4;
AFRAID OF THE DARK, COMMANDER?
T'Pol sat on the bridge, in the Captain's chair, awaiting the return of Jonathan Archer, and the news on what had been classed by the human as a 'private incident' involving Commander Tucker, quite possibly the most illogical form of life she had ever come across.
She sat and thought… not something she allowed herself to do often. Usually she busied herself with important tasks, such as recalibrations, and diagnostics and such. But now, she just sat… and thought.
I wonder what had transpired for the incident to be so 'private', she thought, her voice in her subconscious sounding monotonous and serious. If Commander Tucker has started to have episodes of some kind, then he should be returned to Earth, or kept off-duty in sickbay. He should not be allowed to return to his quarters, in case he has another one of these episodes.
She ceased her thinking, which was causing her mind to wander from the task at hand.
She glanced down at the back of Ensign Mayweather's head, and said, "Have you laid in the course adjustments I made, Ensign?"
"Er…" the young officer hesitated.
"Is there a problem, Ensign? Would you like me to rephrase the question into a simpler form?" she asked, cocking her head to one side slightly, even though the human did not glance back at her.
Mayweather shook his head. "No, Sub-Commander. I was just thinking… maybe I should run this by Captain Archer first. Check his opinion on it?"
"Captain Archer is not on this bridge at the moment, Ensign. Therefore, I am in command, and I find this course more logical than the one previously set by the Captain. If you have a problem, you can take it up with me." T'Pol shifted in the command chair slightly, looking down at Mayweather as he glanced back momentarily.
"No, Sub-Commander. I don't have a problem," he said. He turned his attention back to the console, hands working swiftly at the controls, before he commented, "Course adjustment laid in."
"Very good, Ensign."
Jon had returned with Trip to his quarters, after Dr. Phlox had confirmed it was okay for him to leave the confines of sickbay.
Trip had constantly been checking over his shoulder, hesitating at every corner, jumping at the sight of every single crewmember they came across.
Jon was worried. What Trip had told him didn't make any sense. Nobody had died on Enterprise… that he knew of. Why should Trip have seen a dead body… one walking around, for that matter? It made no sense at all. He didn't know whether telling T'Pol about this would be a good idea. She would probably recommend Trip be relieved of his duties and packaged off to Starfleet Command to be psychoanalysed.
Jon didn't want that to happen. Trip was fine where he was, and as long as this didn't affect his work, and that he got some sleep to boot, then everything would probably be fine again. Trip was probably just tired.
Trip had seated himself on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest almost immediately, seemingly curling himself up as small as he could manage without spraining something. He looked slightly uneasy again, like leaving sickbay had left him open to attack.
He looked up at Jon with blue eyes, and shook his head. "I don't want T'Pol hearin' about this." There was conviction in his voice, and a certainty in his eyes, a certainty Jon had never seen before.
He waited a moment before nodding. "Alright. I won't tell her anything."
Trip nodded, although it seemed as if his mind had wandered momentarily, before he looked back suddenly. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
Jon didn't have to think about this answer. "No, Trip," he told him sternly, sitting down at Trip's desk. "You're not crazy. You just need some sleep, is all."
Trip sighed. "I hope you're right. I don't wanna see anything like that again."
Trip, once more, shuddered slightly, as if he were cold, even though the temperature in the room had never fluctuated. Trip looked away from Jon suddenly, as though he were scared of his friend.
Jon smiled slightly. "You can have another day off if you want."
Trip looked to him almost as quickly as he'd looked away. "No," he said abruptly, then rephrased his reply, "No, Cap'n. I'm fine. I'll be okay after some sleep… just like you said."
Jon was sceptical. "Are you sure? Because it's no problem. I can get Lieu-"
"No, no." Then Trip smiled, a small expression that Jon had been starting to miss. He rarely saw Trip without a smile, or a grin of some kind. It was his friend's trademark. "I'll be in Engineering at o-seven- hundred. You can count on it, Jon."
Jon had to laugh then at his friend's commitment. Trip was the kind of man who didn't let anything go without a fight, even work. There was nothing pressing in Engineering that needed Trip's attention right now, but if the Commander wanted to be there, then there was nothing Jon could do to stop him. Even if he told him 'no', Trip would still show up in his uniform, rearing to go at o-seven-hundred hours sharp… as usual.
Once Jon had left, Trip had made himself ready for bed. He sat on his bed for a while, covers drawn back ready for him to climb into, but instead… he just stared at the door, as though he awaited someone's arrival.
He shivered, but was not cold. He always wore his shorts and sleeveless vest for bed, and that couldn't be the explanation for his sudden shiver. He must have just had someone walking over his grave.
Don't think that! He realised short after that telling himself what not to think sounded a little crazy in itself.
He smiled as he realised just what he thought he had seen that day, and lay back in his bed, pulling the covers over his body.
Trip lay there a while… listening intently to every tiny noise that echoed through the bulkheads and corridors outside. He heard two crewmembers talking as they passed, but nothing more.
He could hear no laughter now… see no monstrous apparitions. He could not, however, shake the tingling feeling that had settled over him some time ago.
He had not been afraid of the dark since the tender young age of four, his father having told him that no monsters hid in closets or underneath beds, that nothing stalked in the shadows.
But for the first time in years, Charles Tucker slept with the lights on.
AFRAID OF THE DARK, COMMANDER?
T'Pol sat on the bridge, in the Captain's chair, awaiting the return of Jonathan Archer, and the news on what had been classed by the human as a 'private incident' involving Commander Tucker, quite possibly the most illogical form of life she had ever come across.
She sat and thought… not something she allowed herself to do often. Usually she busied herself with important tasks, such as recalibrations, and diagnostics and such. But now, she just sat… and thought.
I wonder what had transpired for the incident to be so 'private', she thought, her voice in her subconscious sounding monotonous and serious. If Commander Tucker has started to have episodes of some kind, then he should be returned to Earth, or kept off-duty in sickbay. He should not be allowed to return to his quarters, in case he has another one of these episodes.
She ceased her thinking, which was causing her mind to wander from the task at hand.
She glanced down at the back of Ensign Mayweather's head, and said, "Have you laid in the course adjustments I made, Ensign?"
"Er…" the young officer hesitated.
"Is there a problem, Ensign? Would you like me to rephrase the question into a simpler form?" she asked, cocking her head to one side slightly, even though the human did not glance back at her.
Mayweather shook his head. "No, Sub-Commander. I was just thinking… maybe I should run this by Captain Archer first. Check his opinion on it?"
"Captain Archer is not on this bridge at the moment, Ensign. Therefore, I am in command, and I find this course more logical than the one previously set by the Captain. If you have a problem, you can take it up with me." T'Pol shifted in the command chair slightly, looking down at Mayweather as he glanced back momentarily.
"No, Sub-Commander. I don't have a problem," he said. He turned his attention back to the console, hands working swiftly at the controls, before he commented, "Course adjustment laid in."
"Very good, Ensign."
Jon had returned with Trip to his quarters, after Dr. Phlox had confirmed it was okay for him to leave the confines of sickbay.
Trip had constantly been checking over his shoulder, hesitating at every corner, jumping at the sight of every single crewmember they came across.
Jon was worried. What Trip had told him didn't make any sense. Nobody had died on Enterprise… that he knew of. Why should Trip have seen a dead body… one walking around, for that matter? It made no sense at all. He didn't know whether telling T'Pol about this would be a good idea. She would probably recommend Trip be relieved of his duties and packaged off to Starfleet Command to be psychoanalysed.
Jon didn't want that to happen. Trip was fine where he was, and as long as this didn't affect his work, and that he got some sleep to boot, then everything would probably be fine again. Trip was probably just tired.
Trip had seated himself on his bed, bringing his knees up to his chest almost immediately, seemingly curling himself up as small as he could manage without spraining something. He looked slightly uneasy again, like leaving sickbay had left him open to attack.
He looked up at Jon with blue eyes, and shook his head. "I don't want T'Pol hearin' about this." There was conviction in his voice, and a certainty in his eyes, a certainty Jon had never seen before.
He waited a moment before nodding. "Alright. I won't tell her anything."
Trip nodded, although it seemed as if his mind had wandered momentarily, before he looked back suddenly. "Do you think I'm crazy?"
Jon didn't have to think about this answer. "No, Trip," he told him sternly, sitting down at Trip's desk. "You're not crazy. You just need some sleep, is all."
Trip sighed. "I hope you're right. I don't wanna see anything like that again."
Trip, once more, shuddered slightly, as if he were cold, even though the temperature in the room had never fluctuated. Trip looked away from Jon suddenly, as though he were scared of his friend.
Jon smiled slightly. "You can have another day off if you want."
Trip looked to him almost as quickly as he'd looked away. "No," he said abruptly, then rephrased his reply, "No, Cap'n. I'm fine. I'll be okay after some sleep… just like you said."
Jon was sceptical. "Are you sure? Because it's no problem. I can get Lieu-"
"No, no." Then Trip smiled, a small expression that Jon had been starting to miss. He rarely saw Trip without a smile, or a grin of some kind. It was his friend's trademark. "I'll be in Engineering at o-seven- hundred. You can count on it, Jon."
Jon had to laugh then at his friend's commitment. Trip was the kind of man who didn't let anything go without a fight, even work. There was nothing pressing in Engineering that needed Trip's attention right now, but if the Commander wanted to be there, then there was nothing Jon could do to stop him. Even if he told him 'no', Trip would still show up in his uniform, rearing to go at o-seven-hundred hours sharp… as usual.
Once Jon had left, Trip had made himself ready for bed. He sat on his bed for a while, covers drawn back ready for him to climb into, but instead… he just stared at the door, as though he awaited someone's arrival.
He shivered, but was not cold. He always wore his shorts and sleeveless vest for bed, and that couldn't be the explanation for his sudden shiver. He must have just had someone walking over his grave.
Don't think that! He realised short after that telling himself what not to think sounded a little crazy in itself.
He smiled as he realised just what he thought he had seen that day, and lay back in his bed, pulling the covers over his body.
Trip lay there a while… listening intently to every tiny noise that echoed through the bulkheads and corridors outside. He heard two crewmembers talking as they passed, but nothing more.
He could hear no laughter now… see no monstrous apparitions. He could not, however, shake the tingling feeling that had settled over him some time ago.
He had not been afraid of the dark since the tender young age of four, his father having told him that no monsters hid in closets or underneath beds, that nothing stalked in the shadows.
But for the first time in years, Charles Tucker slept with the lights on.