"Out of the Loop" Chapter Two
Trip stared out the window at the stars. The stars that only a week ago held such promise and such hope of exploration. The very same stars that he dreamed of exploring for most of his life, but now the light of those stars had winked out for him and all of his plans were worthless now. What was the point of exploring if you couldn't communicate your findings to anyone, or even comprehend what you were looking at.
Trip knew that his career, his life as he knew it, was over the moment he woke up in sickbay and heard the doctor sprout high speed gibberish to him. At first the engineer wasn't sure what was going on, but then Phlox recorded an explanation and slowed down the playback to a crawl. Only then did the situation make a horrifying type of sense.
Over the next few days several of his friends came by to see him. Each had a recorded message of support and well wishes, but it took Trip hours to play back each one. Tucker had been hoping that the answer to his predicament might lie with some piece of equipment, like these recorded messages, but now Trip knew that no technological gadget aboard Enterprise would be able to help him. It was his mind itself that was damaged and no computer or hearing aid was going to be able to make up for that. Still, it was good to know that he could read messages from his friends once and a while, as long as he had plenty of free time to do so, but for the most part Trip was on his own.
Tucker was suddenly hit with a bad case of cabin fever, the only trouble was that he couldn't escape his isolation by simply stepping out of his quarters. No, his solitude would always be with him no matter where he went, trapped within the boundaries of his own damaged mind. It was like he had suddenly fallen deaf and become mute. The fact that he could still hear didn't matter one bit. If the words didn't make any sense, then he might as well not bother to communicate at all.
Not that he'd been having much luck in the communications department. Since this nightmare began he failed, spectacularly, in every conversation he tried.
The first disaster came when Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis insisted that Trip eat dinner with them in the mess hall. Try as they might they couldn't speak slowly enough for Tucker to be able to comprehend what they were saying and Trip was unable to form words fast enough to be understood in return. Finally Tucker gave up and with a wave of his arm Trip told his companions to carry on the conversation without him.
Tucker tried not to be hurt at the relief he saw on their faces, but his sour mood brightened a little when he realized how hard his friends were still working to make sure that he didn't feel totally left out. Hoshi, especially, looked at him every few seconds and smiled at him as they ate, insuring his participation even if he couldn't speak. He may have been involved on a very basic level, but the whole situation stayed damn awkward and it wasn't one he wanted to repeat anytime soon.
Things didn't go any better when he visited engineering for the first time. Lieutenant Hess made a point of showing Trip around, pointing out several meters and indicators, but it was all a waste. Even the simplest readout was beyond him now. Heartbroken, Trip just gestured to Hess that she was in charge and fled to his quarters knowing full well that he might never be able to return.
That was four days ago and Tucker hadn't set foot outside of his cabin since. The captain had tried on a couple of occasions to lure Trip to the mess hall, at least for dinner, but nothing doing. Interacting with people was just too hard for Tucker to deal with right now. Finally the captain gave up, realizing that his efforts were causing his friend more pain, not less, and that was the last thing that Archer wanted to do. So the captain let Trip be alone if he wanted, but Enterprise's top guy made damn sure that Trip was not forgotten. Three times a day a steward would stop by to bring Trip his meals and quite often the captain would check up on his friend personally in order to make sure that he ate.
Trip really tried to make the effort in his friend's presence, but the truth was that the engineer had little appetite and would stop eating as soon as Archer left. Why eat if your life was over? If Trip couldn't communicate then he couldn't do his job and his job was what he lived for.
Trip dropped his head into his hands and let the despair wash over him. What the hell was he going to do now?
_____________
For everyone else on the ship life went on, of course, but it was far from routine. Malcolm Reed realized that when, for the first time ever, his mind began to wander from his beloved weapons right in the middle of a report to Captain Archer. "The targeting scanners were out of alignment again, sir. Lieutenant Hess from engineering came to fix them herself but she had a devil of a time getting the coils to align correctly."
"Lieutenant Hess is a capable engineer." Archer sighed. "I guess she just doesn't have Trip's touch when it comes to interfacing with the mechanical components of this ship."
"No, sir." Reed watched with a heavy heart as Archer crossed his ready room to stare moodily out the window. Finally an opening. Now Reed could really ask what was on his mind. "Is there any word about Commander Tucker, sir?"
That snapped Archer out of his thoughts. The captain knew that Malcolm was close to Trip too, and Archer should have done a better job of keeping the armory officer updated. "Not yet. Phlox is still running tests on the alien artifact, but he hasn't found anything that will help."
"I see." Malcolm had never felt so helpless in his life. Here he was on board one of the finest accomplishments that mankind had ever imagined and Malcolm personally had the power of megatons of explosives at his fingertips and despite all that technology under their command there was absolutely nothing he could do to help his best friend. "Sir, I've tried to spend time with Trip, to be with him even if we can't communicate, but he keeps pushing me away. Isn't there anything else I can do to help?"
Archer shook his head. "You're doing the right thing, Malcolm. We've got to keep reminding Trip that we're here for him. That he's not alone. Otherwise he might think that we've forgotten about him, but at the same time he needs time to adjust to his new..." Archer paused, the word handicap came to mind, but he hated to use that word in relation to his friend, so he came up with another. "...circumstances. So keep letting him know that you're there for him, but give him space if he wants it."
"Yes, sir." Malcolm gathered up his padd and started to leave when Archer stopped him.
"We'll get through this, Malcolm. Together."
Malcolm smiled at the confidence he heard in the captain's voice and felt better than he had in days. "Aye, sir."
As soon as the armory officer had left Archer's optimism flowed out of him like the air in a leaky balloon. He could only hope that he was right.
__________
Trip was pacing around his quarters like a caged tiger. Since this nightmare began he felt like he'd been trapped in an emotional whirlwind with all his fear, denial and anger swirling around him, but finally the storm abated and Tucker was left with something he didn't expect in the calm. Trip was bored. For the first time in his life Tucker had nothing, whatsoever to do and that was flat out driving him crazy. He couldn't talk, couldn't read, couldn't watch a video, couldn't do any of the old hobbies that he used to.
He could paint, he supposed. Or draw. He didn't have any problem with pictures, but he was never very good at art in school and found the whole process frustrating when he put hours into a painting and it turned out to be a piece of crap.
Okay, art was out but Trip knew that he'd better come up with an activity to occupy his mind soon or he'd really go crazy. Tucker settled himself down and decided to analyze the situation, look at the problem from all sides, like he did whenever he was presented with a challenge in engineering.
What have you always wanted to do, but never had the time? Tucker asked himself. Now that he was focused it didn't take long for the solution to become apparent. Trip reached for a padd and started to draw a schematic. Totally different from a picture, he'd been drawing schematics since he was a kid and those turned out all right. Trip was pleased when the lines actually flowed across the padd. He was doing it! He was drawing! Then he hit a rough spot. He needed to write a word.
Frustrated, he hesitated for a moment, then he shrugged and started in. After all, he could still write, it just took him forever. It would probably take him a fifteen minutes just to write one little letter. Oh well, Trip reminded himself that he was in no hurry. He had all the time in the world.
TBC...
Author's Note: Trip's medical condition has come totally out of my own imagination. Any resemblance to a real illness or sickness is strictly coincidental and my story should not be used as an example of any real condition or treatment of same.
Trip stared out the window at the stars. The stars that only a week ago held such promise and such hope of exploration. The very same stars that he dreamed of exploring for most of his life, but now the light of those stars had winked out for him and all of his plans were worthless now. What was the point of exploring if you couldn't communicate your findings to anyone, or even comprehend what you were looking at.
Trip knew that his career, his life as he knew it, was over the moment he woke up in sickbay and heard the doctor sprout high speed gibberish to him. At first the engineer wasn't sure what was going on, but then Phlox recorded an explanation and slowed down the playback to a crawl. Only then did the situation make a horrifying type of sense.
Over the next few days several of his friends came by to see him. Each had a recorded message of support and well wishes, but it took Trip hours to play back each one. Tucker had been hoping that the answer to his predicament might lie with some piece of equipment, like these recorded messages, but now Trip knew that no technological gadget aboard Enterprise would be able to help him. It was his mind itself that was damaged and no computer or hearing aid was going to be able to make up for that. Still, it was good to know that he could read messages from his friends once and a while, as long as he had plenty of free time to do so, but for the most part Trip was on his own.
Tucker was suddenly hit with a bad case of cabin fever, the only trouble was that he couldn't escape his isolation by simply stepping out of his quarters. No, his solitude would always be with him no matter where he went, trapped within the boundaries of his own damaged mind. It was like he had suddenly fallen deaf and become mute. The fact that he could still hear didn't matter one bit. If the words didn't make any sense, then he might as well not bother to communicate at all.
Not that he'd been having much luck in the communications department. Since this nightmare began he failed, spectacularly, in every conversation he tried.
The first disaster came when Malcolm, Hoshi and Travis insisted that Trip eat dinner with them in the mess hall. Try as they might they couldn't speak slowly enough for Tucker to be able to comprehend what they were saying and Trip was unable to form words fast enough to be understood in return. Finally Tucker gave up and with a wave of his arm Trip told his companions to carry on the conversation without him.
Tucker tried not to be hurt at the relief he saw on their faces, but his sour mood brightened a little when he realized how hard his friends were still working to make sure that he didn't feel totally left out. Hoshi, especially, looked at him every few seconds and smiled at him as they ate, insuring his participation even if he couldn't speak. He may have been involved on a very basic level, but the whole situation stayed damn awkward and it wasn't one he wanted to repeat anytime soon.
Things didn't go any better when he visited engineering for the first time. Lieutenant Hess made a point of showing Trip around, pointing out several meters and indicators, but it was all a waste. Even the simplest readout was beyond him now. Heartbroken, Trip just gestured to Hess that she was in charge and fled to his quarters knowing full well that he might never be able to return.
That was four days ago and Tucker hadn't set foot outside of his cabin since. The captain had tried on a couple of occasions to lure Trip to the mess hall, at least for dinner, but nothing doing. Interacting with people was just too hard for Tucker to deal with right now. Finally the captain gave up, realizing that his efforts were causing his friend more pain, not less, and that was the last thing that Archer wanted to do. So the captain let Trip be alone if he wanted, but Enterprise's top guy made damn sure that Trip was not forgotten. Three times a day a steward would stop by to bring Trip his meals and quite often the captain would check up on his friend personally in order to make sure that he ate.
Trip really tried to make the effort in his friend's presence, but the truth was that the engineer had little appetite and would stop eating as soon as Archer left. Why eat if your life was over? If Trip couldn't communicate then he couldn't do his job and his job was what he lived for.
Trip dropped his head into his hands and let the despair wash over him. What the hell was he going to do now?
_____________
For everyone else on the ship life went on, of course, but it was far from routine. Malcolm Reed realized that when, for the first time ever, his mind began to wander from his beloved weapons right in the middle of a report to Captain Archer. "The targeting scanners were out of alignment again, sir. Lieutenant Hess from engineering came to fix them herself but she had a devil of a time getting the coils to align correctly."
"Lieutenant Hess is a capable engineer." Archer sighed. "I guess she just doesn't have Trip's touch when it comes to interfacing with the mechanical components of this ship."
"No, sir." Reed watched with a heavy heart as Archer crossed his ready room to stare moodily out the window. Finally an opening. Now Reed could really ask what was on his mind. "Is there any word about Commander Tucker, sir?"
That snapped Archer out of his thoughts. The captain knew that Malcolm was close to Trip too, and Archer should have done a better job of keeping the armory officer updated. "Not yet. Phlox is still running tests on the alien artifact, but he hasn't found anything that will help."
"I see." Malcolm had never felt so helpless in his life. Here he was on board one of the finest accomplishments that mankind had ever imagined and Malcolm personally had the power of megatons of explosives at his fingertips and despite all that technology under their command there was absolutely nothing he could do to help his best friend. "Sir, I've tried to spend time with Trip, to be with him even if we can't communicate, but he keeps pushing me away. Isn't there anything else I can do to help?"
Archer shook his head. "You're doing the right thing, Malcolm. We've got to keep reminding Trip that we're here for him. That he's not alone. Otherwise he might think that we've forgotten about him, but at the same time he needs time to adjust to his new..." Archer paused, the word handicap came to mind, but he hated to use that word in relation to his friend, so he came up with another. "...circumstances. So keep letting him know that you're there for him, but give him space if he wants it."
"Yes, sir." Malcolm gathered up his padd and started to leave when Archer stopped him.
"We'll get through this, Malcolm. Together."
Malcolm smiled at the confidence he heard in the captain's voice and felt better than he had in days. "Aye, sir."
As soon as the armory officer had left Archer's optimism flowed out of him like the air in a leaky balloon. He could only hope that he was right.
__________
Trip was pacing around his quarters like a caged tiger. Since this nightmare began he felt like he'd been trapped in an emotional whirlwind with all his fear, denial and anger swirling around him, but finally the storm abated and Tucker was left with something he didn't expect in the calm. Trip was bored. For the first time in his life Tucker had nothing, whatsoever to do and that was flat out driving him crazy. He couldn't talk, couldn't read, couldn't watch a video, couldn't do any of the old hobbies that he used to.
He could paint, he supposed. Or draw. He didn't have any problem with pictures, but he was never very good at art in school and found the whole process frustrating when he put hours into a painting and it turned out to be a piece of crap.
Okay, art was out but Trip knew that he'd better come up with an activity to occupy his mind soon or he'd really go crazy. Tucker settled himself down and decided to analyze the situation, look at the problem from all sides, like he did whenever he was presented with a challenge in engineering.
What have you always wanted to do, but never had the time? Tucker asked himself. Now that he was focused it didn't take long for the solution to become apparent. Trip reached for a padd and started to draw a schematic. Totally different from a picture, he'd been drawing schematics since he was a kid and those turned out all right. Trip was pleased when the lines actually flowed across the padd. He was doing it! He was drawing! Then he hit a rough spot. He needed to write a word.
Frustrated, he hesitated for a moment, then he shrugged and started in. After all, he could still write, it just took him forever. It would probably take him a fifteen minutes just to write one little letter. Oh well, Trip reminded himself that he was in no hurry. He had all the time in the world.
TBC...
Author's Note: Trip's medical condition has come totally out of my own imagination. Any resemblance to a real illness or sickness is strictly coincidental and my story should not be used as an example of any real condition or treatment of same.