Title: Another Planet's Hell
Author: Sita Z
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks to Reedie (happy endings? hmmm... we'll see ;-) ), LoveChilde (I agree with you, taking this story in a slashy direction wouldn't work), CordeliaBlack (maybe not in this chapter (the reunion), but they boys are going to be home soon), Antares Star (Vulcans go go go. I'm a fan of everything to do with Vulcans, so they just -had- to be in the story -g-), Luna (of course they will ;-) ), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (thank you, I always love your comments (I think I said so before ;-) ). About the "flitter" thing, I was actually looking for an English equivalent for the German word "Gleiter". (Since English isn't my first language, it's often the German words that first come to my mind). I think I picked up the term in a TOS-Story, and yes, it means something like "aircar" or "shuttle". I think ;-). ), Ocean (oh yes, the smell... poor Vulcans -g-), Buggles 586 (poor Malcolm, he's not even home yet, and you're already volunteering him as a victim ;-) ), highonscifi (well, there are still a few chapters left!), stage manager (thank you! Malcolm and Trip both have issues to deal with, that's right... as I said, still a few chapters left), Rinne (hey, it wasn't -exactly- a cliffhanger ;-)! ), The Flaming Dragonfly (glad you liked it so much... now there's still all the H/C that has to be dealt with), KaliedescopeCat (I agree ;-)!), Maraschino (well, maybe he's going to need a little help...), sezzyc (I think I've heard that one before ;-) ), RoaringMice (thank you!), Romanse (glad you say so - it wasn't easy cramming both aspects into one chapter), Eyes on Tactical (go on speculating ;-)... you're right, now to deal with Malcolm), Gabi (danke! Trotz kleiner Meinungsverschiedenheit habe ich die Diskussion um das Kapitel sehr genossen) and Tata (read and find out!) for reviewing!
Sorry about my rambling ;-)... please read and review!
-----------------------
Chapter 16
Captain Sorvik, commander of the science vessel S'task and former chairman of the Vulcan Science Academy, was concerned. He was a Vulcan long past any youthful emotionalism - the 173th anniversary of his birth was coming up in less than a fortnight, and to his wife's displeasure he wasn't going to be home for the celebration yet again - and so he was, of course, not worried. Or even upset. But there was no denying the fact that he was concerned, which for a man of his age and position came close to an unseemly slip in discipline.
Allowing himself a small sigh, Sorvik folded his hands on the desk in front of him. The screen on his right showed a Starfleet report, written and sent to Starfleet Headquarters ten weeks ago, in which Captain Jonathan Archer officially declared two of his officers missing in action. The padd in front of him showed the personal files of said officers, and judging from the pictures, there was no doubt that the two malnourished, exhausted humans down in sickbay were Lieutenant Malcolm Reed and Commander Charles Tucker, Archer's missing crewmen.
The reason for Sorvik's concern, however, was not the prospect of having to contact Starfleet Headquarters, nor was it the fact that they were going to have to postpone their current mission in order to rendezvous with the Starfleet ship. Sorvik did not exactly look forward to this meeting - he wasn't very experienced in dealing with humans and for some reason always had the impression that they felt rather intimidated by his presence. The reason for this was a mystery to him, as were humans in general, but that was another matter. It was his duty as an ally and fellow captain to bring the two human officers back to their ship, even if it meant a delay in schedule. He would have expected no less from the human captain if he had rescued two of Sorvik's crewpeople.
No, the reason for Sorvik's disquiet were the things the fair-haired human - Commander Charles Tucker - had told him before Healer T'Vai had asked the Captain to leave sickbay so she could take care of her patients. For some reason the other human, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, wasn't able to talk, but he had listened to the Commander and from time to time nodded his head in the human gesture of confirmation.
Wearily and using many confusing human idioms, the Commander had related their experiences of the last three months, a tale of abduction, slavery, abuse and violence which left both the Captain and the Healer struggling to keep their controlled countenances. Sorvik had never before heard of the species which the human called "the Sar'veen", and being told that among dozens of other alien species there were also many Vulcans enslaved on their planet was a definite reason for concern. The High Command was going to have to be informed, but that would have to wait until Commander Tucker was able to provide him with more details. For now, contacting Starfleet Command was his first priority.
Sorvik looked back down at the padd showing the human officers' personal files, and raised an eyebrow when he saw how young they still were. At that age, Vulcan officers would only just begin their military careers, assuming that they had finished their training yet. For a moment his eyes rested on the pictures of the two men. Yes, very young indeed, and self-confident, eager to prove themselves on Earth's very first exploration vessel. In a way, the difference between those pictures and the two humans down in sickbay was disturbing. If anything, these men looked haunted.
Sorvik raised a mental eyebrow at his illogical musings, then switched off the padd and stored it away in his desk. Later, when both humans had rested, there would be time for details.
The doorsignal chimed, and Sorvik deactivated the screen. After all, only captains and higher-ranking officers were granted access to Starfleet reports.
"Come," he called. As he had expected, Healer T'Vai entered the room, bowing her head as a way of greeting before she came to stand in front of his desk.
"Take a seat," Sorvik said. T'Vai complied, sitting down on the only other chair in the sparsely furnished office. She was a tall, slender woman who, unlike most Vulcans serving in the military, wore her gray hair long and in complicated braids which were held together at the back of her head. Instead of the usual gray uniform she wore the traditional healer robe, the symbol on her left shoulder indicating that she had learned her profession at the Medical Academy of Shanai Kahr.
"How are your patients?"
T'Vai folded her hands in her lap. "Lieutenant Reed is sleeping; his condition seems to be stable. I administered a light sedative to help him relax and applied an intravenous drip. Both he and the Commander expressed the wish to take a shower before they rest, but the Lieutenant's body was in immediate need of fluid replenishment and the treatment could not be delayed. I had Sevim show the Commander to the guest quarters."
She did not smile - of course not - but her dry tone betrayed a hint of amusement. When the humans had first climbed out of their shuttle, the smell had been all but nauseating to the Vulcans gathered in the hangar bay. Of course, Vulcan politeness would not allow this fact to be mentioned to the guests, but it seemed like the humans knew without being told that their body odor was less than pleasant. Sorvik did not blame them. He had seen that the stolen vessel did not have any toilet or bathroom facilities, and had administered a stern rebuke to one of the younger officers whom he had caught holding his nose when the humans passed by. He was not going to tolerate his crew treating the guests with anything less than perfect Vulcan hospitality.
"That is good to hear. What did your examinations show?"
Any amusement that might have crossed T'Vai's features vanished.
"My scans confirmed what Commander Tucker already told us. Lieutenant Reed seems to have been submitted to a series of scientific procedures which caused the loss of his eyesight. I also found traces of toxins in his blood; presumably he has been injected with these substances to test their effect on a humanoid metabolism. I am not certain why he has lost his speech, but I will conduct further examinations to find out more details."
"Will you be able to restore his eyesight?"
"I believe the damage is not necessarily permanent, but I was not able to perform a more thorough examination yet."
Sorvik raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
T'Vai hesitated. "The Lieutenant did not seem to feel comfortable with the examination, and I decided it would be best for him to rest before I continue my tests."
Sorvik acknowledged this without comment. T'Vai had spent a year on Earth in the course of an Interplanetary Exchange Program, and understood humans better than he ever would. If she said the Lieutenant had been feeling uncomfortable for any reason whatsoever, then Sorvik was going to be last one to question her judgement.
"What about Commander Tucker?" he asked.
"He also seemed somewhat reluctant to allow an examination, insisting that he was only tired. I could however convince him to let me examine the wounds on his back, some of which have not fully healed yet."
"Wounds on his back?" Sorvik repeated. The Commander had not mentioned anything in his brief account of their experiences which could have led to these injuries.
"Whip wounds," T'Vai said quietly. "They seem to be about three weeks old, and have apparently been treated at some point. I asked the Commander about it, and he confirmed that he was whipped as a form of punishment. He would not say why."
Sorvik found himself sympathizing with the human's reluctance to talk about an experience which must have been both shameful and humiliating. This was not something to talk to strangers about.
T'Vai continued. "I have also removed the subdermal translating devices he told us about," she said. "Sevim took them to the laboratory for further examination."
"Good." Sorvik rose from his chair. "Let me know when the Commander is able to give a more detailed report. I need further information before I notify the High Command."
"I will." T'Vai got up as well. "But I want the Commander to rest before he answers any more questions. He is still not well."
Sorvik knew that there was no use and therefore no logic in arguing with the Healer. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, watching as she left. Then, sitting down again, he reactivated the screen and entered the code to contact Starfleet Headquarters.
XXX
He was never going to leave this shower again.
Trip felt the water - cool, clean water - run down his face and body, washing away all the dirt and sweat and grime of the last days, and for a moment he thought that he had never felt anything that wonderful before. The herbal soap he had found in the soap dispenser gave off a spicy, unfamiliar smell, but Trip still used it until most of it had washed down the drain, shampooing his hair and thinking that he was going to smell like a goddamn bowl of plomeek broth. He didn't mind; at least he was going to be a clean bowl of plomeek broth. No more people holding their noses when he walked by.
The time since they had first set foot on the Vulcan's hangar deck had been like a dream. A happy dream, for a change, but still something that was too good to be real. Part of Trip was still afraid he might open his eyes any moment and find himself in a Sar'veen cargo hold, about to be shipped back to K'tera. His mind still had trouble adjusting to the idea that they were safe, that he could finally let go. Of the anxiety, the tension, all those emotions which had kept him going for so long. It did seem like a dream to him.
Finally, when he noticed his fingers beginning to wrinkle and was sure that there was no part of his body which hadn't been thoroughly soaped down and scrubbed, Trip reached out to turn off the water. The shower stall was filled with steam, and he left wet footprints on the bathroom floor as he padded around the room hunting for a towel. He found several of them stacked neatly in the wall cupboard, and next to them a vacuum-packed toothbrush and a small jar which contained the Vulcan version of toothpaste, as well as a tube of depilatory cream.
Trip took it all out, and while rubbing the depilatory on his stubbly chin, he found that he was feeling better than he had in days. Months, perhaps. It wasn't only about being safe; it was about knowing that they had made it, that they had done so themselves. He was proud, yes, but what was a lot more prominent was a deep, all-embracing sense of relief. It was that moment after a car crash when the first numbing shock wore off and you realized that no one had been hurt. It was sitting in the doctor's office and being told that the results had shown there was nothing wrong, after all.
The analogy made him smile, if only a little. He thought of the Vulcan doctor - no, Healer - examining Malcolm, and hoped with all his heart that the results were going to be good news indeed. That Malcolm was going to get his sight back, and that he was going to speak again. This was a happy dream, after all, so why shouldn't he? Maybe it was going to take only two or three injections, and everything would be alright.
Shaking his head at his own foolishness, Trip rinsed the toothbrush and carefully put it back where it had been. He knew he didn't have to, that the Vulcans would provide him with a new toothbrush every day, if he asked for it, but an irrational part of his mind still insisted that a toothbrush was a thing of value and had to be treated accordingly. On their first day at Orven's place, the Sar'veen had given them a toothbrush each, saying that these had to last them for the next six months and that they would have to use his old toothbrushes if they lost them. Both Malcolm and Trip become quite paranoid about their toothbrushes at the time, washing them carefully and using them only once a day so they wouldn't wear out. Being a little slack about dental hygiene was better than having to use the cast-off toothbrushes of a fifty-year-old man with an alcohol addiction and a tendency to bad breath.
Trip left the bathroom, one of the towels wrapped around his waist, and felt the old cuts on his bare back starting to itch. T'Vai had treated them with some sort of dermal-restoring device, saying that he was going to need laser treatment to remove the scars once and for all. Trip had only nodded at the time, glad when she allowed him to put his shirt back on and hide his scarred back from sight. The look of carefully concealed pity on her face made him feel uncomfortable.
He picked up his old shirt and trousers, then saw that someone had left a stack of fresh clothes on a corner of the bed. Trip hesitated, but only for a short moment. After all, his own clothes were rather dirty and smelled of dried sweat; well, to be honest, they reeked of it. No need to torture his Vulcan hosts any more than he had to.
To his surprise, the Vulcan civilian robes fit quite well, and while unfamiliar, they were more comfortable than he had expected. When he had finished dressing, he stood there for a moment, unsure what to do next. T'Vai had advised him to rest, and while he did feel rather exhausted, he felt strangely reluctant to lie down. Part of his mind still expected to wake up in a dark, stinking place every time he opened his eyes, and this was a memory he did not want to be reminded of right now. Right now he wanted to be awake, sit right here in these wonderfully clean and neat quarters and allow himself to become aware of the fact that this was not a dream. This was real.
There was a chair in one corner of the room, looking like a mixture between a floor cushion and the old rocking chair they'd had at home. Trip sat down in it and carefully leaned back, a thing which had become natural to him during the last three weeks. Leaning too hard against anything still made his back feel like fire ants crawling all over it.
Now what next?
He hadn't yet allowed himself to think about that question too much, still getting used to the feeling of finally being safe. Now, however, when the implications of being safe began to sink in, it came back to his mind and Trip smiled. They would be going back to Enterprise. Back to being Lieutenant Malcolm Reed and Commander Charles Tucker. Just like before. And why shouldn't they? Maybe this was a dream, after all, and in dreams, these things happened. Happened all the time.
Trip sat there for quite a while, holding on to that thought, and when he finally did fall asleep, after all, he slept peacefully and without nightmares for once.
XXX
Three hours later, the door signal chimed, startling him out of his slumber. For one moment, Trip had no idea where he was and he tensed involuntarily, ready to jump up and run. Then, however, the signal chimed again, a soft, melodic sound, and it came back to him. He was on the Vulcan ship, in his guest quarters, and there was no reason to run.
Trip waited until the sudden rush of adrenaline had worn off again, then got up.
"Come," he called. The door opened, and Healer T'Vai came in, followed by Malcolm who was holding on to her upper arm. The Lieutenant was wearing robes similar to the ones Trip had been given, and had apparently showered and shaved as well, smelling faintly of the herbal soap Trip had found in his shower stall. What caught Trip's attention, however, was the eye bandage Malcolm was wearing, a white piece of gauze wrapped around his head.
T'Vai had followed his eyes. "I will explain later," she said. "Have you rested well?"
Trip nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for the clothes."
He expected her to say "No thanks are necessary" - the Vulcan captain had used these words when Trip had thanked him for the rescue - but T'Vai only bowed her head in silent acknowledgement.
"You okay, Mal?" Trip asked, deliberately turning his head as he spoke. Malcolm nodded, then gestured at Trip and tilted his head to indicate that he wanted to know the same thing. Trip smiled.
"I'm fine," he said. "Slept like a baby in that cushion thing over there."
T'Vai raised an eyebrow at him. "Interesting. I was under the impression that humans also used beds for sleeping."
Trip stared at her, then realized that she was actually joking, in a dry, Vulcan way, of course. She had done that before back in sickbay, and he found it both confusing and pleasant to meet a Vulcan who had a distinct sense of humor.
"Well, sometimes we do," he said. "But usually we just curl up in our basket when we're tired."
Her eyebrow climbed higher, and he saw the corner of Malcolm's mouth twitch slightly.
"It does seem like you have regained your spirits, Commander," T'Vai said, resolutely not smiling. "I am accompanying Lieutenant Reed to the messhall, and I assume you are hungry as well. Captain Sorvik has agreed to postpone the briefing until you have eaten."
"Briefing?" Trip asked as he followed her into the corridor. The temperature and lighting in his quarters had been adjusted to human standards, and it was noticeably warmer out here, the ceiling lamps giving off a soft, orange glow.
"Captain Sorvik and First Officer T'Lin need to know in more detail about your experiences on the Sar'veen homeworld," T'Vai said, turning her head so she was talking in Malcolm's direction as well. "The High Command must be informed as soon as possible."
"What about Starfleet Command?" Trip asked. "Is he gonna talk to them as well?"
"He already has. Admiral Forrest expressed his gratification at hearing that you are still alive, and assured Captain Sorvik that he will try and contact your ship as soon as possible. And your families, of course."
T'Vai's words startled him for some reason. Of course, when someone was reported missing and very likely dead, Jon had to call the person's parents, inform them of what had happened to their son or daughter and express his condolences at their loss. Somehow, however, he had never realized that this time it had been his own parents receiving the bad news.
Glancing at Malcolm, he saw his own emotions mirrored on the Lieutenant's face. The thought of rising from the dead had a slightly unsettling touch to it. Trip kept silent as they entered the turbolift, lost in his own thoughts until they arrived at the messhall.
The room was twice as large as the messhall back on Enterprise, and instead of cupboards there were several replication units integrated into the walls, reminding Trip vaguely of the replicator back at Orven's restaurant. Only a few crewmembers sat scattered at the tables, looking up briefly when the Healer entered with the two humans in tow.
"Is there anything in particular you would like to eat?" T'Vai asked, and for the first time Trip realized that he was actually hungry.
"Well..." He hesitated. "We're not really familiar with Vulcan food. I guess we'll have whatever you have."
Malcolm nodded his assent, and again, T'Vai's eyebrow twitched amusedly.
"Actually, we have several human dishes in our replicator program," she said. "I spent a year on Earth, and I was able to convince the Head of Kitchen Maintenance to add several of your recipes to the usual range of options. Maybe we can find something you will like. I, for one, am particularly fond of the vegetable lasagna."
"Lasagna sounds great," Trip said, surprised at the fact that there would be human food on a Vulcan ship, and even more surprised what a difference it made. Suddenly he was not only hungry; he was ravenous. "Or would ya like somethin' else, Mal?"
The Lieutenant shook his head, and Trip saw a happy smile cross his face.
"Well, lasagna it is, then."
A few minutes later they were sitting at a table near one of the windows, and Trip found that the lasagna tasted even better than he had expected. Malcolm seemed to be enjoying his as well, even though he had some difficulties handling his fork without being able to see what he was doing. Up until now this had never been a problem; back at the camp or in the flitter he had mostly eaten food which he could put directly in his mouth, or had some soup out of a cup. Now, however, he kept missing his mouth and Trip thought ruefully that maybe lasagna hadn't been such a good idea after all. Of course, Malcolm stubbornly refused to accept any offers of help, and after a while seemed to get the hang of it, eating very slowly and moving carefully so as not to knock down his dishes.
"I have already talked to Lieutenant Reed about this," T'Vai said, closing her hands around her cup of tea. "There is a chance of about 80 percent that I will be able to restore his sight."
She stated it in a very matter-of-fact way, but Trip still felt his breath catch in his throat. "Eighty percent?" he repeated, and saw Malcolm smile and nod. Under his bandage the Lieutenant was almost beaming, and suddenly Trip saw a glimpse of the fear Malcolm had been holding inside, the fear that he might stay blind for the rest of his life. Too good to be true, indeed.
"My scans showed that the substance they used caused a temporary paralysis of the Lieutenant's optic nerves. A rather painful procedure, but not an irreversible one. There is a Vulcan medication which should take care of the dysfunction, assuming that Lieutenant Reed's human metabolism does not reject it. But as I said, the odds are high that it will work on a human just as well as on a Vulcan."
"How... how long is it gonna take?" Trip asked, his lasagna forgotten.
"If he receives daily injections, the Lieutenant should be able to see again in approximately two of your weeks."
"Two weeks?"
Trip felt the urge to jump up and either kiss T'Vai or pull Malcolm into a bone-crushing hug. Knowing that neither action would be appreciated, he only smiled happily and saw her eyebrow twitch in response, as if she had read his thoughts and was daring him to act on them, after all.
"About two weeks, yes. I have already administered the first injection two hours ago. For the duration of the treatment the Lieutenant's eyes are going to be rather sensitive to light, which is why he needs to wear this bandage."
"Does it hurt?" Trip threw Malcolm a concerned glance. "The injections, I mean?"
Malcolm shook his head, and T'Vai confirmed, "The procedure is painless, unless the bandage is taken off. And while you'll find your sight gradually returning, Lieutenant, I must strongly advise you not to expose your eyes to bright light before the two weeks are up. As I said, such an action would only result in unnecessary discomfort."
Malcolm nodded, but Trip suspected that even the prospect of "unnecessary discomfort" wouldn't keep the Lieutenant from secretly checking once in a while if his sight had already improved since the last injection.
"I'm sure Malcolm isn't going to do any such thing," he said, mentally adding: And if he does, he'll be in trouble.
Malcolm seemed to have heard the unspoken warning in his tone, and pressed his lips together. But he wasn't really angry, Trip could see it in the way a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Well, that's great news, right, Mal?"
Malcolm nodded, carefully spearing another piece of lasagna and transferring it into his mouth. Trip watched his friend, eating, smiling, euphoric at the prospect of getting his sight back, and suddenly became almost painfully aware of how lucky they were. It could have been different; very different indeed. If Malcolm hadn't survived, Trip knew he wouldn't have found the courage to steal the flitter. And if Malcolm hadn't listened at Orven's kitchen door that one night...
"I have also talked to the Lieutenant about his aphasia," T'Vai said, and Trip gratefully returned his thoughts to the present.
"Can you do somethin' about that as well?"
T'Vai hesitated. "It is not going to be that simple," she said. "I-"
She was interrupted by a soft beep from the intercom on the wall. T'Vai got up and pressed a panel next to the speaker.
"T'Vai."
"Healer." Trip recognized Captain Sorvik's voice. "If the Commander and the Lieutenant are ready, then we would like to begin the briefing."
He did not say anything else, but like Trip's Vulcan biology teacher in tenth grade, he didn't need to. If Sorvik said he would like to start the briefing, then you'd better get your ass moving. Trip nodded at T'Vai, and the Healer turned back to the intercom.
"We are on our way, Captain. T'Vai out."
On their way to the turbolift, Trip noticed a distinct bounce in the Lieutenant's step, and he smiled. Yeah, damn lucky indeed.
XXX
Several dozen light years away, Jonathan Archer opened a drawer to get out a bag of dog food for Porthos' dinner. The beagle, who loved the sound of that drawer opening more than anything else in his small world, barked excitedly and sniffed the air next to his bowl.
Jon smiled a little. "Just a moment, boy," he said, getting out the scissors to open the bag. "Only half a bag, remember. Doc says you're getting too fat, anyway."
Porthos clearly wasn't interested in the medical profession's opinion, barking again, his tail wagging back and forth when a wonderful smell escaped from the opened bag.
"Alright, alright, here you-"
"Sato to Captain Archer."
Jon sighed, and to Porthos' utter dismay he turned away without emptying any of the kibble into the bowl. "What is it, Hoshi?"
"There is a recorded message from Admiral Forrest for you, sir. Audio only. The interferences..."
"Of course. Put it through."
The communication's officer complied, and a moment later the Admiral's voice filled the room. Jon listened. And froze. The bag of dog food dropped from his hand to the floor, its contents spilling all over the deck. Jon didn't notice. He sat down hard on his bed, listening to the Admiral talk about Vulcan ships and rendezvous and a person called Sorvik. When the voice stopped talking, he still sat and stared. And then, while Porthos happily and regardless of Doctor Phlox' warnings ate a whole bag of kibble that was scattered on the floor, Jon buried his face in his hands and began to cry.
TBC...
Please let me know what you think!