Miscommunication

by Ragua

Disclaimer: Paramount owns all. I'm just borrowing.

A/N: All Vulcan terminology courtesy of the Vulcan Language Institute )

Chapter 8

I didn't know anyone could be so bad at Twenty Questions, Travis grumbled to himself. Captain Archer had obviously never served on a cargo ship. The man had no patience whatsoever, and his questioning technique was pathetic.

He had asked the obvious first two questions: Is it an Engineering matter? and Is it a Communications matter. Both answers had received a from Hoshi, and the captain didn't seem to know where to go from there.

He had wasted quite a few questions searching for some kind of common ground between Hoshi and Commander Tucker: Does it have to do with food? Does it have to do with comic books? Does it have to do with movies or Movie Night? (Hoshi had made the captain count that as two questions.)

It took the captain some time to come to a conclusion that Travis had always known: that the Communications Officer and the Chief Engineer had nothing in common. But he'd used up ten questions to get there! Once the captain counted up the number of questions he had left, he pulled back a bit, pondering his next move.

Good, thought Travis in exasperation. It's not a race. Give your questions some serious thought, dammit!

##########

At some point through the haze, the spins, and the fuzzy darkness, Trip realized that he was being half-carried through the woods, face-down, his feet dragging behind.

Gawd, he thought in agony, when am I gonna learn not to go drinking with Deke and Matty?

His twin cousins, older than he by five years, never seemed to enjoy getting themselves drunk as much as they did getting their teenaged cousin shit-faced and silly. Musta been tequila this time, Trip concluded, when the earth spun and his stomach took a turn. Mom and Aunt Beezy are really gonna be mad.

He must have made some kind of noise, because his cousins set him down—much more gently than he would have expected—and knelt beside him. With an incredible amount of concentration and effort, Trip managed to raise his head from the dirt, only to realize that the face looking back at him did not belong to either of his cousins.

Even through his muddled vision, he could see it was a gorgeous woman. With pointed ears!

Damn, yer hot! he blurted, before another part of his brain had a chance to caution him that a subtler approach might have more success.

The woman raised an eyebrow at him before turning to her companion. It seems that Commander Tucker has been mentally incapacitated from his encounter with the alien security device, she announced.

Now another face loomed queasily into view, making Trip's stomach flip again. This person was also not a cousin, although he did look vaguely familiar. I know that guy, Trip thought. But from where?

the guy asked. Can you tell me your name? Trip just stared at him. How about the day of the week?

Whoa, cool accent, Trip thought, impressed. Sounds like James Bond! Probably works great with the ladies, he said aloud, slurring the words together.

The British guy and the pointy-earred woman shared a horrified look. Then they both turned back to stare at him. the woman asked. What do you remember about Enterprise? Or our mission?

We're on a planet called Modinok, the British guy coached. You're in charge of disabling the alien energy relays.

Damn, that did sound familiar. And he felt as though he really should know these two people. Trip lowered his forehead back to the dirt. The ground was definitely moving. Didn't they feel it?

Gimme a minute, he stalled, hoping that his head would stop spinning long enough for him to make the necessary connections.

Enterprise. Modinok. Mission. Commander. Trip had a moment of clarity. That's me. I'm the Commander. And that meant the British guy was...



A look of relief and hope swept over the stiff face. The pointy-earred babe didn't change her facial expression, but Trip got the impression that she was pissed off that he hadn't identified her yet.

Pointy ears. A Vulcan? And suddenly his brain leapt from the past to the present, although the abrupt mental about-face brought another round of nausea.

Oh gawd. Had he just—in some kind of drunken stupor—told T'Pol she was hot?

T'Pol acknowledged his correct identification. After a short pause, she added, We are in something of a hurry, Mr. Tucker.

Gimme a minute, Trip begged again. He managed to get himself onto his hands and knees.

After which, he promptly tipped over onto his side.

Refusing to admit defeat, he tried again. This time, he managed to propel himself nearly upright. Then the ground lurched beneath him. He staggered about for a few paces, trying wildly to keep his feet, but ultimately he toppled over again, directly into a bush on the side of the path.

T'Pol and Malcolm rushed to pick him up.

Gimme a minute, Trip pleaded a third time.

T'Pol responded severely. We do not have a minute. With that, she and Malcolm proceeded to drag him along with them to the next power relay.

##########

To the relief of Hoshi Sato and the irritation of Travis Mayweather, Twenty Questions came to an abrupt end when Vulcan Science Officer Kras arrived on the bridge and requested permission to assist in the rescue effort.

Jonathan Archer wasn't crazy about the idea. Despite receiving a clean bill of health from Phlox, the elderly Vulcan seemed frail. Not to mention the fact that he was a Vulcan. Hell, it had taken Archer nearly a year to get used to T'Pol!

Still, it was Kras' ship and crew that were in danger. The man had every right to be part of the effort to save them.

Archer nodded his permission, and Hoshi showed Enterprise's new Acting Science Officer to T'Pol's usual post.

Guess solving the mystery will have to wait, the captain sighed to himself. He couldn't very well pump Hoshi for information with Kras manning the station right behind her. Not that he was getting anywhere with his informal investigation anyway.

Although...

Archer narrowed his eyes shrewdly as he watched Enterprise's Communications Officer pointing out the details of the Science Station to Kras and translating the various controls for him—all in the man's native language.

The captain smiled. Good thing Hoshi's fluent in so many languages, he thought. Sure comes in handy.

##########

The away team crouched at the edge of the clearing that housed the second power relay station. The little brick turret was identical to the first building. And once again, there was no sign of the planet's inhabitants anywhere in the vicinity.

Commander, do you believe you are capable of disarming the alien power source? T'Pol asked the man lying on his face next to her.

Trip had long since admitted to himself that his motor functions were nowhere near being up to the task. Being dragged through the forest because he was unable to stand on his own two feet gave him plenty of time to arrive at this conclusion.

he responded brusquely, his voice muffled by the dirt because he was too dizzy to lift his head. Can talk you through it, though, he went on, even though speaking seemed to exacerbate the queasiness.

Is your condition improving at all? Reed wanted to know.

the engineer slurred. Dizzy. Sick. From the expression on Malcolm's face, Tucker could tell that the Armory Officer did not fully appreciate Trip's suffering. The engineer attempted to explain. Like too much tequila.

Reed winced, a look of sympathy crossing his stony face. Tequila! His stomach cringed.

We should not waste anymore time, T'Pol's announced. The two of them lifted the engineer from the ground, but the sudden movement was too much for Trip's self-control.

Wait, please! Uurk—

Maybe it was the mention of tequila, maybe his own drinking experience made Reed familiar with that particular sound. Whatever the case, the Armory Officer—displaying an impressive agility—dropped the engineer's arm and leaped back, well out of range.

T'Pol, however, possibly due to lack of experience with the overindulgence of alcohol, did not recognize the warning signs. Consequently, her boots bore the brunt of the assault as Commander Tucker emptied the contents of his stomach onto the forest floor.

Reed didn't know whether to laugh hysterically at the expression on the Sub-Commander's face or offer comfort to the Chief Engineer, who was now sputtering and spitting in an attempt to eliminate the memory—and the evidence—of his most recent bodily function. Malcolm satisfied himself with pulling Trip away from the mess while T'Pol came to terms with her close encounter with human digestion.

Or the failure thereof, Reed chuckled to himself, despite their obviously dire circumstances.

Once T'Pol had scraped her boots relatively clean on an obliging bush, she assisted Reed in carrying the ailing engineer into the building housing the Mahdini power relay. The Armory Officer had obviously thought out a strategy to ameliorate the current awkward situation. He immediately positioned one of the wooden chairs backwards near the power relay and helped Trip to straddle it.

Good ol' Malcolm, Trip thought, as he held onto the back of the chair for dear life. Always thinkin' ahead.

If this security device is identical to the previous one we encountered, T'Pol stated, we should have three minutes and 30 seconds from the time the access panel is opened before it discharges an energy pulse. She glanced at Reed. If we can disable the power relay within that time, it may not be necessary to fire on the security device.

Malcolm nodded and took up a position near the door, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other. T'Pol glanced at the engineer.

Give me a sec, he requested. Need ta focus. Get it right.

Trip closed his eyes, calling up the grid of the alien power relay in his mind. He knew that he could only talk T'Pol through the process from memory. He couldn't see straight; the energy pulse had left his vision blurry and doubled. If he opened his eyes and looked at the panel, he would only make himself sick.

The Science Officer maintained a respectful silence, knowing inherently that their mission now hinged upon the engineer's mental discipline. She gripped his tools in her hands, watching as he took slow, deep breaths, his face bathed in perspiration from the effort. Just as she realized that he was utilizing the Vulcan breathing exercises that she had taught him, he spoke.

'kay. Go.

T'Pol removed the access panel. Her superior hearing thought it detected a whine from above, but she blotted it out of her mind, focusing instead on the engineer's blunt, yet clear instructions.

Left side. Five power couplings.

Giving off a somewhat blue light? T'Pol asked.

Yes. Start from rear. Move to front. Reroute flow at Y-junction of each.

T'Pol efficiently followed the engineer's instructions, which came quickly, despite sporadic pauses as he alternated between gasping, panting, and taking deep, slow breaths. The Vulcan marveled at the human's concentration. He was guiding her from the memory of a procedure he had performed only once, and in spite of incurring some type of brain injury from the alien security device. Before she knew it, the power relay stopped humming, and its lights went off.

A Vulcan could not have done better, T'Pol found herself thinking, as she replaced the access panel. She glanced at the engineer. Despite their success, he slouched miserably, head down, hugging the back of the chair.

The security device powered down as soon as you replaced the panel. Reed's voice caught her attention. T'Pol nodded, gathering up the tools. As soon as she had them stowed, she grasped Trip's arm. The Armory Officer moved to assist her.

The engineer's firm voice startled them both. Gotta leave me.

Don't be ridiculous! Malcolm chided, after a moment of shock. We're not leaving you.

Not upta you, Lieutenant, Trip slurred, managing to open one eye and glare at the Armory Officer. He shifted his eyes to T'Pol, holding her gaze for a moment, before shutting them tightly in obvious pain. Way behind schedule already. T'Pol can do it now. Get goin'.

The Science Officer's arm hovered over the engineer's as his words gave her pause. His statement was eminently logical. However...

We will not leave you behind, Commander, T'Pol decided, uncertain of what motivated her to say such an illogical thing. She attempted to take hold of him, but unaccountably, he struggled against her grip, managing both to elude her and fall out of the chair at the same time. An exasperated Reed pounced on the engineer, and together he and T'Pol dragged Trip from the building.

He continued to struggle and protest weakly. Sub-Commander! Malcolm, dammit. T'Pol, stop! One of his flailing arms managed to catch the Vulcan's ankles, tripping her up. Both she and the engineer flopped unceremoniously to the ground. Reed staggered under Trip's weight, but managed to maintain his feet by releasing his grip on the engineer's arm.

scolded T'Pol, trying to grab his arm again. He eluded her attempts, moving it away from her seeking hand, like a child playing keep-away from a younger sibling. Then, to her surprise, he counterattacked, grasping her own hand in his.

His desperate tone and perfect pronunciation stopped T'Pol cold. She gripped his hand in return, moved, and yet unsure of how to respond to his personal plea. He solved the problem for her.

he gasped. Needs of the many...outweigh...needs of the few.

His whisper was for hear ears alone, but it was enough. T'Pol could not counter an appeal to the Father of Logic coming from the lips of the most emotional human she had ever known. She sat still for only a heartbeat. Then, galvanized, she took hold of his shoulder again and spoke to Reed. Lieutenant, assist me in moving Commander Tucker from the main path.

Reed followed her orders, but protested at the same time. We're not leaving him!

The commander will remain here while we complete the mission, T'Pol spoke for her own benefit as much as Reed's. Once we have done so, we will return for him.

They deposited the engineer under a bush some 10 meters from the main path. T'Pol knelt and placed a communicator in his hand. Commander, contact us immediately if you encounter any trouble. He nodded, but she knew he would never follow her instructions. She leaned closer and whispered a more personal direction. Stay right here, t'hai'la. We will return for you. He nodded again, and she noticed his lips turn up slightly in an almost smile.

She squeezed his shoulder and rose abruptly, summoning Reed with a glance. Malcolm looked back once and then followed T'Pol to the main path, where they moved briskly toward the third power relay. Both officers remained focused on their objective, despite the inner turmoil generated by T'Pol's decision.

What did he say to convince her, I wonder? Reed thought to himself. He had strained his ears to the limit, but had only heard a murmur.

T'Pol attempted to find solace in the logic of the argument Commander Tucker had used. He is right, of course, she tried to console herself. Logic, however, did not erase the sense of wretchedness that she had abandoned her t'hai'la.

And when, she asked herself, puzzled, had he studied the teachings of Surak?