Hey Everyone.
Okay, as promised, here is the next part of Following Orders!! Yea! Personally, I can't believe I got it done! I wanted to thank you guys for your patience and to apologize yet again for my shameful laziness. I also want to thank GhostWriter25 and Braycat for their great Trip angst fics, because without them, I never would have been able to get back into the swing of things! I'm also happy to say that last week's episode (Cogenitor) was terrific, and it also went a long way to moving me along!!
I hope you enjoy this next part (I think I'm a little rusty, so let me know what you think, okay?), and I'm setting a deadline of another two to two and a half weeks to get the next part out to you.
Thanks all!
Emrys
Disclaimer: See previous installments.
Following Orders Part XII
Trip was aware of very little that went on around him, and of that he comprehended even less. His world had narrowed down to a tightrope's edge of pain and disorientation that made his head swim with disjointed and disturbing images. The people that stood over him appeared as the blurry and overstretched reflections that one sees in funhouse mirrors, and somewhere outside of his head someone was shrieking loudly. He fervently wished that they would stop because the sound was beginning to penetrate into the nether reaches of his mind, and it was disturbing to him.
But the screaming did not end until something vile and pungent was forced down his throat, and he had the outrageous but suddenly coherent thought that he had been the one who had made those awful noises. He choked on the thick liquid that had quieted his own screams and felt his body shake with laughter despite the incongruity between this response and his current condition. But he closed his eyes anyway, and let the odd emotional response occur. He supposed that it was possible that he was going insane, but he didn't much mind and that realization made the misplaced laughter take him over and force a stream of tears to squeeze from between his closed lids.
***
He must have lost consciousness, because awareness came back to him in dizzying, sudden clarity. He felt hands wiping away the sweat, tears and grime that coated his face and only had to squint slightly to see that it was T'Pol.
"Commander?" the Vulcan asked in what could almost be interpreted as a tentative tone of voice.
"Yeah," Trip responded and was both shocked and frightened by the weakness that he experienced from simply giving voice to that one word. Yet, from some unknown source of energy within himself, he managed a question. "What's goin' on?"
"Are you well?" T'Pol asked, and Trip felt a moment's irritation as he realized that she had ignored his question, but he chose to answer hers anyway.
"Don't think so," he said, shakily. "Everythin' . hurts, and I can . barely move. And there's a . bitter .taste in my mouth," he added as nausea overtook him again.
T'Pol continued to wipe Trip's face, and then gently lifted his right arm to continue the process with his fingers and hand. Trip attempted not to scream at the agony the gentle movement caused him, but he could not keep from groaning in response.
"I apologize Commander, but I have been informed that if no permanent damage is to occur to your musculature, you must be continuously massaged. The bitter taste in your mouth originates from a second dose of an alien remedy that should help ease some of the symptoms of the poison. Unfortunately, it appears as if the antidote does not work as well on human physiology as it does on that of other species."
Trip was unable to say anything further for a moment, and he forced himself to look to his surroundings in order to distract himself from the pain.
"Breathe, Commander Tucker," T'Pol directed. "I believe it will help you through the pain."
Trip turned his gaze towards her in momentary acknowledgement, but was slow to follow her suggestion. Something wasn't quite right, and he couldn't identify it. Forcing himself to breathe, he looked around again and noticed various, hard-to-see humanoids milling around the shack-like structure in which he was currently lying. Additionally, a familiar- looking, big-eared and sharp-toothed little alien lurked around the edges of his field-of-vision.
"Who're they?" he managed to gasp out in query to T'Pol.
"The smaller alien is Krem, one of the Ferengi who tried to take over Enterprise a few months ago."
Trip sorted through his memories, and managed to pick out one in which he had skulked around in his underwear for hours on end and grimaced in remembered embarrassment. Better to leave that particular memory in the past.
"The others," T'Pol continued "Are the Renkans, the native inhabitants of this planet."
Trip took a closer look at the tall aliens, and his heart began to thud heavily in his chest. His face grew flushed and visibly expressed his distress.
"Commander, calm yourself," T'Pol commanded as she began to wipe his face down again.
"T'Pol . what in HELL is going on?" In his anxiety, Trip almost managed a genuine shout.
"Commander, you must calm down," T'Pol repeated but was interrupted by the engineer's continued outburst.
"T'Pol, these people . these people are not wealthy! What is going on?! There is no map, is there?! There's nothing! What is going on?!" Trip's breathing became increasingly irregular as his rambling became weaker, and dizziness overwhelmed him once more.
"You should not worry, Commander. The Captain has a plan," he heard T'Pol reply in the instant before he lost consciousness again.
***
Up until this point, the plan had been working perfectly. Using one of Krem's hoarded communicators, he had managed to contact the greedy misers who had gotten them all into this horrendous mess and convince them that he had the map in his possession. And it had not taken a lie to persuade them that his engineer was too ill to be transported up to the ship, or that T'Pol should stay on the planet's surface to care for the sick man.
He knew it would be a tricky piece of work to overcome the disorientation of the transporter and start shooting away with the single phaser that Krem had thought to bring with him to the planet, but he had no choice in the matter. All he had working for him was the element of surprise, and so he planned a spectacular display of fancy shooting. Afterwards, when all of the materialistic aliens were hopefully lying stunned on the deck of their ship, Archer had expected to retrieve the antidote to the poison coursing through Trip's body and to find some way to return to the planet's surface.
It was definitely a risky strategy, but by placing his finger on the stun button of the phaser he had hidden behind his back, he was able to start firing as soon as he felt his feet solidly placed on the deck of the alien ship. In fact he had succeeded in stunning all three Ferengi, before the unthinkable had occurred.
Archer had only a moment to feel exalted at the unlikely success of his last-chance rescue attempt when his sight caught a flash as the dim light from the ship's ceiling reflected off a clear and fragile looking vial. Too late, Enterprise's Captain recognized the precious antidote vial loosely grasped in the falling alien leader's weakening hands. And as time slowed to a painful crawl and as Jonathan looked on helplessly, it fell to the ground and shattered.
When the antidote splattered over the deck and walls, Archer felt his own stance weakening as the full consequences of his now obviously brash actions became clear to him.
He had just killed his closest friend.
Okay, as promised, here is the next part of Following Orders!! Yea! Personally, I can't believe I got it done! I wanted to thank you guys for your patience and to apologize yet again for my shameful laziness. I also want to thank GhostWriter25 and Braycat for their great Trip angst fics, because without them, I never would have been able to get back into the swing of things! I'm also happy to say that last week's episode (Cogenitor) was terrific, and it also went a long way to moving me along!!
I hope you enjoy this next part (I think I'm a little rusty, so let me know what you think, okay?), and I'm setting a deadline of another two to two and a half weeks to get the next part out to you.
Thanks all!
Emrys
Disclaimer: See previous installments.
Following Orders Part XII
Trip was aware of very little that went on around him, and of that he comprehended even less. His world had narrowed down to a tightrope's edge of pain and disorientation that made his head swim with disjointed and disturbing images. The people that stood over him appeared as the blurry and overstretched reflections that one sees in funhouse mirrors, and somewhere outside of his head someone was shrieking loudly. He fervently wished that they would stop because the sound was beginning to penetrate into the nether reaches of his mind, and it was disturbing to him.
But the screaming did not end until something vile and pungent was forced down his throat, and he had the outrageous but suddenly coherent thought that he had been the one who had made those awful noises. He choked on the thick liquid that had quieted his own screams and felt his body shake with laughter despite the incongruity between this response and his current condition. But he closed his eyes anyway, and let the odd emotional response occur. He supposed that it was possible that he was going insane, but he didn't much mind and that realization made the misplaced laughter take him over and force a stream of tears to squeeze from between his closed lids.
***
He must have lost consciousness, because awareness came back to him in dizzying, sudden clarity. He felt hands wiping away the sweat, tears and grime that coated his face and only had to squint slightly to see that it was T'Pol.
"Commander?" the Vulcan asked in what could almost be interpreted as a tentative tone of voice.
"Yeah," Trip responded and was both shocked and frightened by the weakness that he experienced from simply giving voice to that one word. Yet, from some unknown source of energy within himself, he managed a question. "What's goin' on?"
"Are you well?" T'Pol asked, and Trip felt a moment's irritation as he realized that she had ignored his question, but he chose to answer hers anyway.
"Don't think so," he said, shakily. "Everythin' . hurts, and I can . barely move. And there's a . bitter .taste in my mouth," he added as nausea overtook him again.
T'Pol continued to wipe Trip's face, and then gently lifted his right arm to continue the process with his fingers and hand. Trip attempted not to scream at the agony the gentle movement caused him, but he could not keep from groaning in response.
"I apologize Commander, but I have been informed that if no permanent damage is to occur to your musculature, you must be continuously massaged. The bitter taste in your mouth originates from a second dose of an alien remedy that should help ease some of the symptoms of the poison. Unfortunately, it appears as if the antidote does not work as well on human physiology as it does on that of other species."
Trip was unable to say anything further for a moment, and he forced himself to look to his surroundings in order to distract himself from the pain.
"Breathe, Commander Tucker," T'Pol directed. "I believe it will help you through the pain."
Trip turned his gaze towards her in momentary acknowledgement, but was slow to follow her suggestion. Something wasn't quite right, and he couldn't identify it. Forcing himself to breathe, he looked around again and noticed various, hard-to-see humanoids milling around the shack-like structure in which he was currently lying. Additionally, a familiar- looking, big-eared and sharp-toothed little alien lurked around the edges of his field-of-vision.
"Who're they?" he managed to gasp out in query to T'Pol.
"The smaller alien is Krem, one of the Ferengi who tried to take over Enterprise a few months ago."
Trip sorted through his memories, and managed to pick out one in which he had skulked around in his underwear for hours on end and grimaced in remembered embarrassment. Better to leave that particular memory in the past.
"The others," T'Pol continued "Are the Renkans, the native inhabitants of this planet."
Trip took a closer look at the tall aliens, and his heart began to thud heavily in his chest. His face grew flushed and visibly expressed his distress.
"Commander, calm yourself," T'Pol commanded as she began to wipe his face down again.
"T'Pol . what in HELL is going on?" In his anxiety, Trip almost managed a genuine shout.
"Commander, you must calm down," T'Pol repeated but was interrupted by the engineer's continued outburst.
"T'Pol, these people . these people are not wealthy! What is going on?! There is no map, is there?! There's nothing! What is going on?!" Trip's breathing became increasingly irregular as his rambling became weaker, and dizziness overwhelmed him once more.
"You should not worry, Commander. The Captain has a plan," he heard T'Pol reply in the instant before he lost consciousness again.
***
Up until this point, the plan had been working perfectly. Using one of Krem's hoarded communicators, he had managed to contact the greedy misers who had gotten them all into this horrendous mess and convince them that he had the map in his possession. And it had not taken a lie to persuade them that his engineer was too ill to be transported up to the ship, or that T'Pol should stay on the planet's surface to care for the sick man.
He knew it would be a tricky piece of work to overcome the disorientation of the transporter and start shooting away with the single phaser that Krem had thought to bring with him to the planet, but he had no choice in the matter. All he had working for him was the element of surprise, and so he planned a spectacular display of fancy shooting. Afterwards, when all of the materialistic aliens were hopefully lying stunned on the deck of their ship, Archer had expected to retrieve the antidote to the poison coursing through Trip's body and to find some way to return to the planet's surface.
It was definitely a risky strategy, but by placing his finger on the stun button of the phaser he had hidden behind his back, he was able to start firing as soon as he felt his feet solidly placed on the deck of the alien ship. In fact he had succeeded in stunning all three Ferengi, before the unthinkable had occurred.
Archer had only a moment to feel exalted at the unlikely success of his last-chance rescue attempt when his sight caught a flash as the dim light from the ship's ceiling reflected off a clear and fragile looking vial. Too late, Enterprise's Captain recognized the precious antidote vial loosely grasped in the falling alien leader's weakening hands. And as time slowed to a painful crawl and as Jonathan looked on helplessly, it fell to the ground and shattered.
When the antidote splattered over the deck and walls, Archer felt his own stance weakening as the full consequences of his now obviously brash actions became clear to him.
He had just killed his closest friend.
