Miscommunication

by Ragua

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

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


Many thanks to Clicks, the wonder beta!

Allow me to apologize in advance for the graphically disgusting nature of Trip's ailment. I just have a sick mind. (Sorry again for the bad pun.)

Chapter 9

Malcolm Reed held his breath as he watched the alien patrol, appalled at how near he and T'Pol had come to being discovered. When the Science Officer had announced that the next power relay was less than 100 meters away, he had hurried the advance, neglecting to conduct the most basic scan with his tricorder. At the time, all he could think was that the sooner they completed their mission, the sooner they could return for Trip.

Luckily his training and common sense made him pause automatically at the edge of the forest, and that had saved the mission from ending in complete disaster. The Mahdini patrol came into view around the power relay station just as Reed was raising his foot to step into the clearing. Malcolm reacted instantaneously, pivoting on his planted foot, and dropping to the ground, frantically motioning to T'Pol to do the same. When the Vulcan complied, Reed turned his attention back to the clearing.

There were four Mahdini. The dim light did not prevent Malcolm from noticing that they were most certainly different from humans. Vulcans, too, for that matter.

They were all quite stocky, and their heads seemed very round. Like ripe fruits, Malcolm decided. The Armory Officer spent a moment pondering whether they were shaped more like mangoes or cantaloupes. The coloring was definitely a cross between the two. The Mahdini in the patrol were all orange-colored, but their individual shades ran the gamut between the pastel of cantaloupe to the near red of mango.

What concerned Reed most was their bat-like ears. Most likely, that meant excellent hearing. Weren't bats able to hear frequencies inaudible to the human ear? Malcolm found himself wishing that he had paid more attention all the times this mother forced him to watch nature documentaries with her.

T'Pol apparently shared his concern. She moved stealthily next to him and gave a hand signal that they should move away from the path. With a minimum of noise, they retreated far enough into the forest to avoid detection, but not so far as to inhibit their surveillance of the Mahdini patrol.

The patrol did not seem particularly disciplined. Two Mahdini entered the building, while two maintained an extremely casual watch outside. Reed grimaced in disgust. They seemed more like teenagers loitering on a street corner! The impression of youthfulness was magnified when their comrades came back outside after what could only have been a most cursory inspection of the building's interior. The patrol headed jauntily in the direction of the path recently vacated by the Enterprise officers, chatting in a jovial manner.

The Universal Translator caught snatches of the patrol's conversation as the Mahdini traipsed across the clearing and up the path.

...what we're looking for...

Who knows? Who cares?

...those scientists...seeing aliens around every corner...

...need to get out more!

Or find something better to do with their...

The last statement generated a great deal of laughter, which hung about long after the Mahdini had disappeared into the trees.

Reed held up his tricorder to follow the progress of the patrol. When it indicated that they were more than 200 meters away, he turned to T'Pol to indicate that it was safe for them to continue. The Vulcan, however, was still staring intently down the path the Mahdini had taken. Malcolm followed her gaze, abruptly identifying her concern. Their eyes locked in horror.

They had left Trip only 10 meters from that same path.

##########

Commander Charles Tucker III was crouched on his knees with his face in the dirt and his arms over his head. It was a reverent pose, but if the engineer was praying for anything, it was only that he would die quickly.

His injury had all the negative elements of an alcohol overdose, but sadly none of the enjoyable aspects associated with arriving at that state. He couldn't even look forward to the morning when it would all be over, because at the moment, it didn't look as if his suffering would ever end.

Trip had initially thought that he would feel better after purging his stomach. That was the way these things normally worked, after all. But the nausea, the dizziness, and the sweats had all returned with a vengeance. He felt absolutely wretched, praying for a merciful death alone here on this alien planet. At least he didn't have the added humiliation of having his friends present to watch him puking his guts out.

The engineer had been sick twice more, and neither episode had resulted in an improvement in his condition. If anything, he felt worse. T'Pol had told him to stay put, but he couldn't bear to remain in the vicinity of the partially digested contents of his last meal, so he had forced himself to crawl away from each mess.

It wasn't as if he was getting very far anyway. And if they had to, T'Pol and Malcolm could track him down by following the trail of vomit he was leaving behind.

Trip groaned in agony, trying to get his mind to focus on something that would help him fight off the next wave of nausea. He'd already tried reviewing the process for disarming the power relay, but apparently that was a one-time deal. Utilizing that technique had resulted in puddle number one.

Then he had attempted to mentally conduct a retrofit of his warp engine. That had worked for a little while, but you could only conduct so many imaginary upgrades. Once he had his dream engine all decked out to the nines, the queasiness returned. Puddle number two followed shortly thereafter.

What else could he concentrate on to head off the increasing queasiness? He had to focus on something!

Focus, dammit! Tripped begged his addled brain.

Thakau, it responded.

Ah! Trip thought hopefully. Ozhikaik.

How logical.

##########

Multitasking impressively, Sub-Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Reed argued in whispers while simultaneously completing the next phase of their mission.

Commander Tucker is completely vulnerable, Malcolm hissed while scanning for Mahdini at the door of the third power relay station. We have to go back for him before that patrol finds him! He turned his tricorder to the alien security device just above the head of the Vulcan Science Officer.

We left Mr. Tucker at least 10 meters from the path, T'Pol countered as she worked efficiently to disarm the power relay. You and I were much closer than that, and the patrol was completely unaware of our presence.

Reed made an exasperated noise as he returned his attention to the building's exterior. You and I were fully cognizant and in complete possession of all our faculties! he muttered rebelliously as he monitored for signs of a patrol.

T'Pol finished her task and began to replace the access panel. While your assessment of the Commander's condition is correct, it would be illogical to jeopardize our mission—not to mention the lives on the Karil and possibly on Enterprise as well—for the sake of a single person. She paused before continuing. And you know Mr. Tucker well enough to realize that he would not want us to do so.

The Vulcan turned away from him to collect the tools, in case her face revealed how much saying the words cost her. When she looked up again, she saw her own misery reflected in the Armory Officer's countenance.

Time is of the essence, she comforted softly. The sooner we finish our mission, the sooner we can return for Commander Tucker.

Their eyes met for a moment before Malcolm dropped his gaze, nodding. His professional mask replaced the anguished expression on his face as he scanned the exterior of the building once again.

It's clear, he said gruffly, heading for the next power relay without looking back at her.

##########

Trip lay on his side, eyes half open, muttering to himself. The Vulcan strategy was working well.

Gol-tor ozhika nash-veh, Trip declared firmly. Logic is helping me!

Seemed only fair, though, seeing as how he was helping the Vulcans. (Gol-tor nash-veh Vuhlkansu.)

He disabled the power relay. (Rikup-tor nash-veh...) Trip paused for a moment, stumped. What was power relay? He couldn't remember. He'd use That would work. (Rikup-tor nash-veh zuvel.)

Of course, he'd disabled only one gizmo. T'Pol was currently disabling the rest. (Rikup-tor T'Pol zuvel.) And Malcolm was helping her. (Gol-tor Malcolm T'Pol.)

The engineer took a deep breath and continued. The Vulcan language was definitely having a calming effect on his stomach. (Hayal-tor Vuhlkansu skaun-sa'haf.) Probably because he couldn't even imagine a Vulcan barfing. Did Vulcans even experience nausea? (Slahk?) Did they vomit? (Pluhk?)

With words like that they must, Trip decided. The Vulcan words certainly sounded like the noise a person made when...

Uh-oh. Trip realized too late that he had made an error (lafosh) in straying from the script. The thought of regurgitation in any language seemed to be a catalyst. He frantically attempted to focus (thakau!) on the translations rather than his runaway peristalsis.

Kroikah! the engineer begged his stomach. All to no avail.

After several agonizing moments during which he emitted sounds that mimicked the Vulcan word for his actions, Trip wobbled on his hands and knees as he gazed miserably down at puddle number three.

##########

Geerkha had been excited and proud at having been selected to work at Science Center Prime. It was a very prestigious position, despite the fact that no one really knew much of what went on at the facility. But at least it paid well!

The reality of the job was disappointing, however. And extremely boring. All he had done so far was wander around the vast grounds of the complex making sure that there were no interlopers. He had begun the job with extreme conscientiousness, but now he merely went along for the ride when patrolling the grounds with his coworkers.

Things had been tense recently, though. SCP scuttlebutt said that the scientists had actually used the Protectors' Shield to capture an alien space vessel! Geerkha raised his eyes to the stars. If the rumors were true, then the spaceship was somewhere up there, invisible to his eyes. It was certainly true that the scientists had been more agitated lately. They had doubled the number of patrols, and the Guardsman supervisor had impressed upon them the need to be alert for anything out of the ordinary.

Perhaps they suspect that the aliens will still be able to attack our planet! Geerkha thought fearfully. That was just what the Protectors wanted to prevent!

Suddenly the patrol leader, Mir-Dan, stopped and held up a hand, his ears flicking to the right. The others followed his example, listening intently.

There was something in the bushes to the right of the path. It was making a hideous sound.

Mir-Dan motioned for Geerkha to take point. The neophyte would have liked to protest, but he realized that, as the rookie, he could expect the most distasteful assignments. With his light-rifle held well out in front of him, Geerkha cautiously made his way toward the sound. It gave him small comfort to feel his comrades at his back.

The horrible sound ceased abruptly, only to be replaced by other, less threatening noises. Is sounded ? The Mahdini patrol closed in. Whatever it was was right there in front of them, under that bush!

A sudden flash of light made Geerkha jump. Mir-Dan was directing his handheld beam at the noises. A creature of some sort became visible. It froze and looked in their direction.

Geerkha squealed in terror and was belatedly gratified to realize that he was not the only one doing so. With the exception of Mir-Dan, the rest of the patrol was panicking as well. The formerly silent forest was now a-babble with Mahdini voices.

Mother of All, what is that?

An alien! It's an alien! Just like the Protectors warned us about!

No, it's an animal of some sort. Look at the fur on its head!

An animal? You idiot, it's wearing clothes!

Ye gods, it's ugly!

It's blind. Look at its eyes!

That must be why it isn't trying to run away.

No, it's ill. See? It's been sick!

Eeeuuuw...alien puke!

Mir-Dan barked at his underlings. The other Mahdini ceased their commentary and eyed their notoriously short-tempered superior. Mir-Dan moved forward cautiously to get a better view of the creature. After observing it for several moments, the patrol leader came to a decision. We must take it to SCP Headquarters. Our instructions are explicit. Captured aliens are to be kept alive and turned over to the Protectors.

Now the Mahdini turned their eyes uncertainly back to the creature. It didn't seem particularly threatening. Actually, it looked vaguely pathetic, crouching in the light of Mir-Dan's beam and trembling miserably.

Still, no one wanted to be the first to touch it.

Gods of our fathers! cried Mir-Dan in exasperation after several moments of silent inactivity. Let's each of us grab one of its limbs. It can't be that heavy. And it doesn't look capable of putting up much of a struggle.

As the four Mahdini converged on the quivering alien, Mir-Dan added in disgust, And we'll carry it face-down, in case it vomits again.

##########

T'Pol's voice distracted Malcolm from his scans of the forest. They were taking a brief rest before moving on to the next power relay. When the Armory Officer looked in her direction questioningly, the Vulcan continued. Does the word hot' have any meanings other than the obvious?

Reed was confused. Uhm, Sub-Commander?

When he first regained consciousness, Commander Tucker stated that I was hot.' At the time, I believed him delirious. But perhaps I was mistaken.

The Armory Officer was nonplussed, wondering how to respond. Erm...well, from the commander's comments, not to mention the symptoms he displayed, I would guess that his injury resulted in a condition similar to the over-consumption of alcohol.

So you believe that Commander Tucker was behaving as if inebriated? When Malcolm nodded, the Vulcan followed up on this theory. And inebriation leads humans to guess at the body temperature of others?

Malcolm sputtered, trying not to laugh outright. No, Sub-Commander! When inebriated, humans often say things they wouldn't normally say! When T'Pol continued to look puzzled, Reed gulped and forged ahead. Ah, hot' is...um...slang for physically attractive.'

T'Pol thought about this for a moment. You are intimating that Commander Tucker would not call me attractive' under normal circumstances?

The Armory Officer hesitated, weighing his words carefully. Well, I can't speak for the commander, but perhaps he feels that it would be inappropriate to do so.

Due to Starfleet's non-fraternization rule?

Reed stalled. Then he was overcome by a sudden desire to tell the truth. Or he could simply be intimidated by you.

The Science Officer raised an eyebrow. Reed responded to the unspoken question. No offense, Sub-Commander, but your demeanor is rather intimidating from a human perspective. Malcolm was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation.

I'm a Tactical Officer, he groused silently, not a relationship counselor.

He stood up. We should be moving on.

T'Pol agreed, collecting her gear and joining him.

##########

Upon surreptitiously activating the UT on the communicator T'Pol had left him, Trip was disappointed to learn that the Mahdini had no intention of killing him.

My one chance to be put out of my misery, shot to hell, the engineer lamented. If he could somehow get hold of the phaser in his jumpsuit pocket without the Mahdini noticing, maybe he could just kill himself.

The journey from the forest to the main building had been particularly hellish. The Mahdini patrol had trotted along briskly, bouncing him like a basketball. He had been sick so many times that there was absolutely nothing left in his stomach. His abdominal muscles ached from the continuous dry heaving, and he was sure that the lining of his esophagus was shredded.

Trip's misery left him indifferent to the aliens' reaction to their first human. He maintained his silence—no difficulty in his weakened and queasy state—and listened dimly to the Mahdini conversation going on over his head.

His presentation at the main building of the Mahdini weapons complex created quite a stir. The human was quickly surrounded by scientists who all assumed that he had come from the disabled vessel that orbited their planet. Speculation about his appearance, his species, and the reason for his presence flew fast and furious.

Could they be attempting to communicate with us?

They're not very good at it, if that's the case. This one can't even speak!

Why would they send a blind individual?

Maybe that's their natural eye color.

It's obviously quite ill. Perhaps, in desperation, they are jettisoning those too weak to be useful?

Didn't the Protectors mention...

Mention what?

I could be wrong...

Spit it out, man!

That some aliens have the ability to create a biological weapon? A disease transferred by medium of a living host?

The worried scientist's speculation created a deadly silence. Trip sensed, rather than saw, a general retreat from his prone form. Then conversation continued, taking on a more sinister tone.

I knew it! I knew we should have contacted the Protectors immediately!

We must destroy it, before its disease can spread!

Yes, please, Trip begged silently. Listen to that guy!

No, the Protectors will be better able to find a cure if the host is alive!

At the very least, we must quarantine it!

Aren't we all infected now?

This question brought another terrified silence. Finally, another scientist spoke hesitantly.

We...the majority of us...should be fine, he hemmed. Only those who touched the creature are likely to be infected. The four guardsmen who had brought Trip in shifted uneasily and shared worried glances. The scientist became increasingly confident, having hit upon a solution that was to his liking. Which is convenient! They can stay and watch the alien. The rest of us can move to safety!

Oh, please! Trip groaned inwardly at the self-serving hypothesis. How transparent is that?

However questionable the conclusion, all the scientists agreed with it, as it allowed them to flee the potential danger. Orders were issued to contact the Protectors and to have all available guardsmen scour the perimeter for more aliens, while Mir-Dan and his patrol stayed to monitor the captured specimen. Within minutes, the main building of the weapons complex of Modinok was empty except for four terrified Mahdini guardsmen and a single nauseated human.

Mir-Dan was taken aback by the unexpected turn of events. Confronted with a problem beyond his expertise, his professionalism vanished. He exchanged panicked looks with his patrol and finally came to a decision.

Geerkha! You...you stay here and guard the alien! the patrol leader ordered his most junior subordinate. The rest of us will...will join the search for additional alien incursions! The other two guardsmen nodded eagerly in agreement.

But..but Mir-Dan... Geerkha protested, aghast at the thought of being left alone with the infected alien.

Are you questioning your superior, Guardsman!?!? Mir-Dan shrieked, a tad hysterically.

N-no, sir, but...

Good! We'll...we'll check back with you once we've conducted our search!

And with that, Mir-Dan and the other two guardsmen fled the building.

Wow, thought Trip, sympathetic towards the youthful Mahdini in spite of his own misery. That's just messed up.

##########



Hoshi, excited that she finally had something to report, used a voice that was perhaps a bit louder than necessary. Her exclamation certainly made everyone on the bridge jump.

Archer queried as calmly as possibly, surreptitiously feeling his heart to make sure that it was still in his chest.

There's a subspace signal sir. It's coming from Modinok! the Communications Officer stated.

Are they hailing us? Archer asked, wondering why they should do so now, after ignoring Enterprise for hours.

No, sir, the linguist responded, a bit puzzled herself. It isn't directed at us!

It would appear, supplied Kras in his calm, laconic way, that the signal is a beacon or an alert of some sort, intended for communication over great distances.

The bridge was silent for several moments as the bridge personnel processed the Vulcan's statement. From the apprehensive looks he saw, Archer suspected that most were reaching the same conclusion that he had.

They're sending a message to whoever gave them that technology, the captain voiced the conclusion.

A logical assumption, agreed Kras.

Archer pressed his lips together, thinking. Continue scans, he directed, but extend them to the farthest range possible. I want to know the second any alien ships are detected.

As Kras moved to comply, Archer once again began to pace the bridge.

He wished he was still playing Twenty Questions.