Chapter 10
The only problem in issuing a challenge is meeting it. Six hours into her analysis of the missing warp trail T'Pol blinked fatigue from her eyes. She'd settled into the science chair as though she were meditating, crossed legs and long deep breaths. Her hands had not stopped moving over the keys since she'd begun her vigil, and her wrists and fingers burned with every movement.
However, that wasn't the only thing that burned. Somehow, some way, a certain amount of possessiveness had worked it's way into her psyche. This was her vessel they had attacked. That was her crewmember they'd gone and abducted. She was going to retrieve him come hell or high water.
Whoever had done this was good. Very good. Almost as good as she was. Or as she good as could be, given the right equipment. Nevertheless, failure was not an option. She would crack this encoding if she had to re-program the entire sensor system to do it.
Making a very quick, conscious decision, T'Pol forced herself deeper into the trance. She shut down her peripheral awareness. Voices from the bridge ceased to meet her ears. Hunger, cold, fatigue, pain… all of the sensations she just turned off.
It was a dangerous thing to do. Very dangerous. She was asking too much of her body already, enough was bound to become enough. More stress now would incur even more violent feedback later on, but she allowed herself to be sustained by her fury and fuelled by rage. Logic flew into the face of her principles and she let herself become livid with seething anger.
Her determination did not go unnoticed. As the eight hour mark passed Trip Tucker showed up on the bridge for his scheduled shift. T'Pol was still at her console clicking away at the station, seemingly in her own world.
"Incoming message from the cargo ship, sir"
"Put her through" Trip stood in his chair. The haggard face of the Captain appeared on the viewscreen.
"Commander Tucker, how long are we going to sit here and wait? Your Sub-Commander isn't going to make any more progress than the past three decades of Betazed de-coding efforts. We're doing nothing here but wasting fuel," he sounded aggravated, and Trip could really understand why, after all, they had a schedule and a limited fuel supply.
Nevertheless, T'Pol said she could break it. For all his moping, whining, and complaining about her 'Vulcan superiority' she'd never once failed to do something she set her mind to, not once in more than a year's work. It was all fine and good for him to pick on the Sub-Commander, but no way was he letting just anyone in on the fun.
"Keep yer shirt on Captain," Trip reassured the man calmly, "If T'Pol says she can do it… well I'd be willin' ta give her the benefit o' the doubt."
"How much longer Commander?"
"Until we get it," he said firmly. The Betazed, in aggravation, cut the channel.
Trip looked over again, to the science console, and worried. She'd completely tuned out everything but her analysis. He was even a little guilty. He remembered his accusation: 'like a good little machine'. Was she just doing this to prove him wrong? Or right? Or… he couldn't really understand it.
It had taken him a few days to think about what she said to him in the gym. First thing, he just blew it off as her attempt to justify herself, but it kept intruding on his mind. There was something in her eyes, her voice that day, which really stuck to him. He knew better than to say it, but it was almost passionate.
Yeah, his mind warmed to the though, passionate. Not like a carnal lust kinda passionate, but she really meant what she was saying. Well first, she was admitting a lack of understanding, which to Trips understanding of Vulcans, was tantamount to sacrilege.
Then, as if trying to confuse him further, she said she needed to learn from them. He could get on his high horse and pontificate about how Vulcans 'damn well needed to learn a few things', but the engineer, the practical, realistic part of him asked: what the hell would T'Pol need to learn from humans?
She was Vulcan. She was educated in the single most prestigious school in the galaxy. She represented the best collection of scientists ever assembled. She was intelligent, skilled, and resourceful. What else was there?
"Sir?" Petty Officer Munoz was standing at his chair, and had clearly been standing there a while.
"Sorry, jus'…wool-gathering" he took her report of the battle actions and looked it over. He was surprised that T'Pol had given this kid command, but as usual, she'd turned out right. Julie had handled herself well.
"Perfect" he smiled at her, but weakly, and clipped it into the recording port on the chair, "An' nice job, Julie, you really stepped up"
"Thank you sir" she moved to leave, and then paused. "Sir?"
"Yup?"
"Do you…" she looked sidelong over her shoulder, "Do you think it can be done?"
"If it can be scattered, there's got to be a way to re-assemble it. And if there's a way to do it, you know the Sub-Commander… hell'll freeze over before she'll admit she can't do it."
"Well frankly sir, I've been looking over the data, I don't see how it's possible." She looked almost ashamed. "I don't mean to insult the Sub-Commander or anything, but shouldn't we be exploring some other options?"
"Like what?"
"Well…" she thought for a second, "I don't know. Maybe the Betazed maps might have some information on where they hide. Or the Cargo ship. They might be able to track some of the shipment. Something like that."
"Well as soon as we get the quantum beacons get back on line she can have at them, which ought to help her out a lot." Jon was working on their re-assembly. He was the only one who even remotely understood how they worked. "S'good ideas though, go for it"
"Sir?"
"Your idea, petty officer, run with it"
"Me sir?" when she saw the look her gave her, she quickly agreed, "Yes sir, I'll get right on it"
Ordinarily he would have taken her suggestion and given it to someone else to complete, or taken it himself. Nevertheless, she'd proved that she could handle responsibility. Hell, she'd proved a lot more than that. Even Trip had seldom commanded Enterprise through a battle.
"Do you want me to contact the cargo ship again sir?" the com officer asked, having overheard the conversation. Trip decided he didn't want to talk with the cargo captain again.
"Go for it Jules, I'm gonna go check on the beacons. You get the big chair." According to protocol, the next highest ranked officer, after him, was supposed to take the chair. Ensign Bentley was the rightful officer of the watch. She was at helm, but made no noise about his decision. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who found a new respect for the young enlisted woman
Down in the launch bay, they'd set up what was left of the grappler arm and the quantum beacons. Luckily, the arm sheared off above the most vital connections. Everything was fried, but the hardware was all mostly intact.
"You keepin' my people right Jon?"
"Hey Trip," he didn't return Trip's joviality, his face was creased with lines that hadn't been there when they left space dock. This assignment was changing him. He was a more cautious, less likely to hare off all on his own, and he… he was actually getting along with a Vulcan.
"How's it goin'?" he asked, trying to kid Jon out of his frown of concentration. Jesus, talkin' to him lately was like trying to pry classified information out of T'Pol. When did he grow pointy ears?
"Slowly," he made another adjustment to the readings, "Very slowly, I'm glad you're here. You can take the group with the arm attachment."
Trip's displeasure at being delegated must have shown because Jon looked up and apologised, "I'm sorry Trip, we need to get this done quickly so that T'Pol can get the quantum beacons."
Oh so that's how the cookie was crumbling, was it? Ever since the 'secret' mission it had been nothing but T'Pol this, and the Sub-Commander that. Not just Jon but the rest of the whole damn crew. Had everyone forgotten whom she was working for? She was one of them, a Vulcan.
Apparently, the crew no longer thought so. They were working feverishly, with the eager precise motion of those who needed to get work done. Trip hardly had to administrate his team; they took it on themselves to see that everything was working perfectly. Every connection, every circuit, every weld was checked, double-checked and then given a swift kick for good measure.
It wasn't just Starfleet protocol, it was Enterprise taking care of her own.
Trip even got into the spirit of the moment. With him and Jon working together the quantum beacon was finished quickly. He might not really understand the mechanics behind how they worked, but he'd never met a busted piece of equipment he couldn't fix.
"Archer to the Bridge"
"Uh, Petty Officer Munoz here sir" Jon gave Trip a surprised look, but the Commander just shrugged.
"Tell the Sub-Commander we got the quantum beacon online," the Captain sounded tired, but triumphant.
"I'll see what I can do sir, but she's kinda in her own little world." The Petty Officer sounded uncertain, but behind them, the beacons whirred to life. The airlock horn sounded, alerting all the crew in the bay that someone wanted to open the doors. The engineers gave a somewhat ragged cry of delight.
"Never mind, Petty Officer, I think she got the message" the Captain rubbed his aching shoulders and grinned, "Thanks anyhow"
"So…" Trip said, trying to sound casual, "How's about a celebratory beer? I hear Senior Chief Hardeman has a fresh batch out."
They'd started the voyage with a finite quantity of alcohol aboard. Senior Chief Hardeman, a former boomer like Ensign Mayweather, had ingeniously created his own 'brewery' out of old hydraulic equipment in the engineering supply closet. He kept all the old bottles and simply had them re-filled. There was no shortage of customers.
"Sounds like a plan" he got in the lift and was halfway down the ship before he realised they weren't heading to Jon's quarters.
"Uh, Jon?" the Captain just waved a hand.
"Just checking up," he said amiably, "I'm starting to get a little concerned it's been almost twelve hours and she's still hasn't moved."
"She's Vulcan, she can probably stay up for three days straight, fight twelve rounds with a heavy weight and climb a coupla' mountains without breakin' a sweat" Trip made a joke out of it but it fell a little flat.
"Vulcans don't sweat. It's…an inefficient waste of water" Jon grinned.
Tucker laughed, "They even have efficient biology. Jeeez-us. Like cockroaches, ya stomp on 'em and stomp on 'em but they just set there and laugh"
"One can only hope" Jon again sounded like he didn't quite get the joke. It was an odd thing for him to say, really. The lift opened up on the bridge, there was a bustle of activity.
"Everything alright here?" Jon asked the Petty Officer, who truthfully looked a bit frazzled. He asked generally, but his eyes never wavered from the slim Vulcan at the science console.
"Fine, sir" she shook her head a little, "just a bit….frantic"
"How is she?" he asked, looking and sounding concerned.
"Hasn't twitched" Julie offered a padd to the Captain, "Here's the alternate plan Commander Tucker and I were discussing. I looked up the frequency of attack, the locations, and several known systems that can support life, or that have been known to harbour pirates."
Jon didn't let on that the 'alternate' plan hadn't yet been discussed. He took the padd and thanked Julie. Again, he looked worriedly over to the Sub-Commander, "Call me…"
"The second anything happens, sir" She grinned, "sure thing."
"Thanks"
Trip fetched the bottles; cool with condensation, from a hollow behind the wall plating. The main coolant lines lay almost directly behind the wall of his quarters. It was a handy refrigerator.
"Alternate plan?" Jon asked.
"Just in case" Trip took a long pull on the bottle. "She's not infallible, y'know, Julie suggested we cover all our bases."
"I understand" Jon downed about half of his beer on one steady swallow, face lost in thought, something he'd been frequently doing.
"So what's eatin' ya?" Trip asked.
"Beg your pardon?" Jon asked, sounding surprised.
"C'mon Jon, we've known each other a long time...can't keep nothin' from this good 'ol boy." Trip toasted him with the frosty bottle, "Somethin's eatin' ya"
"I don't know if I can really go in to it" Jon sighed and Trip knew immediately that the resident Vulcan was responsible for his friend's distress.
"So what T'Pol got ya wrapped around her finger now? That it?" he sounded as disgusted as he felt, "Christ Jon, she's workin' you like a fiddle"
"She's a good person Trip" Jon sat down on the bed, facing him, "and she's really trying to understand us. She's working very hard to fit in. Why do you do keep putting her down?"
"She's… Vulcan" he said, jumping to his feet, pacing, restlessly. "You know what they're like"
"T'Pol" Jon stressed, "Isn't just a Vulcan. She's a person. You cannot hold her responsible for everything her people have done! Trip…" he trailed off, "Even I can see that, and I have more reason to be angry with Vulcan's than you do"
"Yeah well for a guy who's got problems with Vulcan's, you sure are getting' chummy with one" Trip accused.
"Is that what this is about? My relationship with T'Pol?"
"Relationship! Relationship? How can you have a relationship with a woman who doesn't even have emotions!" he threw up his hands, "It's like chicken without cornbread!"
"T'Pol has feelings," he smiled warmly, "she just hides them better than we do"
"Oh now that's good, perfect way to get things started up. Jesus Christ. Jon you'd have more luck fallin' for the bedpost, and it's probably more outgoing" Trip sat on the bed and pointed at he aforementioned piece of furniture.
"Trip you're not being fair. Since when did you ever talk to her, really talk, and not just bicker? Have you even? She's trying damn hard; I think it's only fair that you give her equal courtesy." He folded his arms across his chest.
"Jon…"
"No Trip," he looked deadly serious, now, "I not going to listen to you insult her anymore. I thought that you got over whatever problems you had, and unless you have a specific, pointed, complaint…"
"No" he grumbled, "I'm sorry….she's just so Vulcan."
"And that is a short-sighted, prejudiced, intolerant view." Jon got up off the bed, "She's about as laid-back as a Vulcan can get. And if it's personal…." He sighed and rubbed his temple, "then I'm sorry, but you still need to keep a civil tongue in your head. Do you understand me?"
"Yeah"
"Good" Jon stopped as he went to the door, "I'm sorry Trip. T'Pol is a wonderful person; I wish you could see that"
He left.