Title: Another Planet's Hell
Author: Sita Z
Rating: PG 13
AN: Thanks to Reedie (-stares back with big blue eyes- okay, okay... a happy ending ;-) ), Gabi (ohhh Mann, ist das kalt draußen! Und mit dem Posten bin ich auch spät dran...), Luna (thank you, especially for your comments on the Vulcans. As I said, I -love-Vulcans ;-) ), Tata (you can stop counting ... here's the new chapter!), stage manager (thank you! it means a lot to hear that, but I know I'm still making mistakes), Rinne (yes, a Vulcan with a sense of humor... but then, I think even T'Pol has a (very subtle) sense of humor), highonscifi (I'm glad to hear the emotions in the last chapter worked so well), The Flaming Dragonfly (well, as I said, I really like the Vulcans, so maybe that made it easier for me to write about them), Ocean (I know you're all waiting for the reunion, but let's stay with the Vulcans just for one more chapter, okay ;-)?) , RoaringMice (yeah, deep down Jon is just one big mushball ;-) ), lieutenants-lady (okay, okay, I'm updating ;-)!!!), KaliedescopeCat (thank you! I felt the same way when I wrote chapter 16; after so much angst it was good to give the boys (and myself) a break), Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for chapters 2, 4 and 16 (sorry about the thing with the italics, I've been having some trouble with the preview feature. Oh, and please don't strangle me ;-)... I'm glad you like the story so much, and I promise that I'm going to finish it), WhtevrHpnd2Mary (this chapter will be dealing mainly with Malcolm's aphasia, so maybe some of your questions are going to be answered ;-) ), Cougar Bait (wow, thank you! it's this kind of comments that a writer lives for -g- ), LoveChilde (I hope you are! I want -everybody- to like the Vulcans... IMO, they're the most interesting alien race Star Trek ever invented), Exploded Pen (thanks ;-)! A depilatory cream is a substance you rub on your skin to remove the hair. The TOS people always use depilatory cream instead of razors, and since the Vulcans are more advanced than the humans I thought they might be using it as well) and KorieHonshu ( as I said, I am certainly going to finish it ;-)!) for reviewing!
What a long AN... on with Chapter 17! Read and review!
Chapter 17
"My mind..."
A desert. Warm sand under his feet, red dunes stretching in all directions. A gentle wind ruffled his hair, and he closed his eyes, losing himself in the warmth.
"...to your mind..."
Yes, he had been afraid. Afraid of hands touching his face, of someone intruding into his thoughts. But here, in this quiet desert, there was nothing to be afraid of. The warmth closed around him, and he felt safe, at ease.
"...my thoughts..."
The sand tickled the soles of his feet and he bent down, scooping up a handful of the red grains and feeling them between his fingers. They smelled of dryness and heat. He sat down and buried his naked toes in the sand, remembering how he had done the same thing as a child when his family had gone to the beach.
"...to your thoughts..."
He raised his head. The sky was aflame, clouds drifting across it like white flakes of burnt wood.
"...our minds..."
A peaceful place. The wind left strange, wavy patterns in the sand, and he smoothed them away, only to watch them reappear a second later.
"...are merging..."
He was no longer alone in the desert. Far away, on one of the dunes he could see a figure, a dark silhouette against the red of the sand. She raised her hand, and he knew she was greeting him. Asking for his permission to come closer. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure whether he wanted to share the calm and peace with someone else. Then he raised a hand in response.
"...our minds..."
She moved without haste, weaving her way between the dunes, and he realized she wasn't here to disturb the peace. The slight apprehension he had felt vanished. She had passed the last dune and came to stand in front of him. Her face softened as she lifted a hand, fingers parted in a V.
"...are one."
Malcolm.
She had not spoken, but he could still hear her. He replied, finding that he could actually do it. He could talk, although his lips didn't move, and a twinge of excitement broke through his calm.
This isn't so bad, is it?
The corner of her mouth twitched. No, it isn't.
She sat down in the sand next to him, and for a while neither of them spoke, watching the wind draw patterns on the sand.
You can hear me, he said finally. My thoughts, I mean.
Yes.
So... He hesitated. It's my head that's screwed up, isn't it? I can talk, but only in my mind.
Their minds were one, and so she had no trouble understanding the human colloquialism.
Your head is not 'screwed up', Malcolm. Look around. What do you see?
A desert. He hesitated. This is not real, is it? I wouldn't be able to see it if it were real.
It is real, she said. In your mind. We... created this place. Together. A Healer can never come here without the patient's consent and participation. You found it in yourself to call this place into being.
He considered this, his finger drawing a line in the sand next to him. But then why can't I talk? I tried again and again, but it just doesn't work. I don't understand it.
They both felt the frustration underlying his words.
You were hurt, she said simply. You were hurt, and your mind had to find a way of dealing with it. And because you are strong, Malcolm, your mind found a way of doing so. It did not give up. You did not lose your sanity.
He flinched, but she continued, knowing that he needed to hear this. You lost your speech because of the substances they gave you. It was only a temporary loss, but your mind held on to it, using it to create a distance between itself and the outer world. You needed that distance.
But I don't need it anymore! He sounded almost angry. I don't want it! I want to be able to see, and to talk to people. I want to be able to do my job, and I don't want to be a burden. I...
She held up a hand. Don't, Malcolm. You must not become angry with yourself. Your anger is justified, but do not direct it towards yourself. None of this is your fault.
Now his fingers gripped the sand, digging into it until only the back of his hand was still visible. I was weak. I let it happen. I should have fought them...
No. Gently, she brushed the sand away, laying her hand on his. No. You had no way of doing so. And you are strong. You did not give up. You survived.
I'm glad they are dead.
She felt an unfamiliar rush of emotions accompanying these words, guilt and hate and anger, but did not pull back her hand.
Yes, she said. Yes, you are.
Silence followed, and they watched the wind smooth the sand around their touching hands. Gradually, he calmed down again, the warmth and quiet of her presence helping him relax.
What can I do? he asked finally. There must be something I can do.
Yes. She got up, holding out her hand. Come with me.
He hesitated. To go where?
It doesn't matter. You'll know when you are there. The important thing is whether you are ready for the journey. Do not rush things. You must agree only when you are ready.
He nodded. I am ready.
Good. She helped him to his feet. I will accompany you for a while, until you are ready to go on on your own. But for today, this will suffice.
Can't I...
No. A faint smile crossed her face. You are a stubborn man, Malcolm Reed. I believe you have been told so before.
He answered her smile. I guess I have. Will we come back here tomorrow?
If you wish to do so.
Yes.
"Yes, I do."
Their minds parted, and Malcolm slept.
XXX
Trip watched T'Vai emerge from behind the curtain, her face calm and betraying no emotions.
"He is sleeping," she said. "Melds are very exhausting for the patients."
He nodded, almost afraid to ask, fearing that he might have been mistaken. "He said somethin', right? He said 'Yes, I do.'"
"He did." Her face did not change, but Trip could see that she was pleased. "I did not expect him to speak at this early stage of the treatment. It is... gratifying."
"So..." Trip cast a look at the closed curtain. "Does... does this mean he'll be okay?"
T'Vai took a seat in one of the cushioned chairs, gesturing for him to sit down as well. Trip complied, but he found it difficult to relax. He wasn't entirely comfortable with this place. The room was lit only by candles, the walls decorated with ceremonial objects, and despite the fact they were on a starship, the place reminded Trip more of a Vulcan monastery than anything else. Spooky, in a way. Even more so given its purpose; T'Vai had told him that this part of sickbay was used exclusively for melding.
"Melding for medical purposes, of course," she had added. "All other forms of melding are still frowned upon by most Vulcans."
When T'Vai had guided Malcolm to the soft reclining chair, Trip had seen the fear on his friend's face. Malcolm had striven not to let it show, but Trip had noticed the way his hands clenched the armrests of the chair before T'Vai closed the curtain. The Lieutenant had been scared shitless. Understandably so; Trip wasn't sure he himself would have allowed the procedure in Malcolm's place.
"He still has a long way to go," T'Vai said. "His speech will return, yes, but there is no way of telling how long it will take. The Lieutenant must find his own way; I can only guide him into the right direction."
"So you're gonna have to meld with him again?" Trip frowned at the idea.
"I will meld with him as often as it takes, Commander. I cannot rush him, and neither do I have any influence on how long the recovery process will take."
Trip nodded, then, suddenly, a smile tugged at his lips. "You know, it's good to hear that he's still in there somewhere."
T'Vai's left eyebrow climbed higher. "I assure you he is, Commander. And he is frustrated, as you may well imagine. Desperate to get his speech back."
Trip wasn't surprised. Malcolm had never been the patient type, and Trip suspected that he was blaming himself, mentally beating himself up for not being able to talk. The Lieutenant tended to take it out on himself when something did not work out the way he wanted.
"What I don't understand is... when the effect of the drug was only temporary, then why didn't his speech return after a while?" Trip remembered how hard Malcolm had tried to talk, sometimes all but crying with frustration when his lips refused to form the words he wanted to say.
"The Lieutenant asked me the same thing," T'Vai said.
"He asked you?" Trip repeated, now utterly confused. "But..."
"In a mind meld, the Healer and the patient do not only feel each other's presence," T'Vai explained. "They communicate; talk to each other, if you want to put it that way. I did not meld with the Lieutenant to... forcibly alter his mind in any way, Commander. He gave his consent to everything I did, and most of what we achieved today was his doing. All I did was show him the way."
Trip lowered his eyes, suddenly embarrassed. "I didn't mean to say you were hurtin' him."
"I know," she said gently. "You are concerned about your friend. To answer your question, it is true that strictly chemically speaking, the loss of speech was caused by an imbalance in the Lieutenant's neurotransmitters. However, after the drug had worn off, the Lieutenant's psyche was still not ready to deal with his experiences at the test laboratory. His mind sought a way to cut itself off from the outer world, to protect itself, and one way of doing so was to hold on to the aphasia. The Lieutenant had no influence on this happening, even though he would not believe this at first."
"He wouldn't." Trip sighed. "He's always blamin' himself, tryin' to find out what he did wrong."
T'Vai raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. But he is also very strong-minded. In a way, his human emotions will help speed up the recovery process."
Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows. "What d'you mean?"
T'Vai's eyes smiled, though her face never changed. "He's too stubborn to give up."
XXX
Malcolm chewed on his lower lip, his eyebrows drawn together in intent concentration. Trip waited patiently, knowing better than to guess what the Lieutenant wanted to say and thus spare him the trouble of answering.
"Yes---please," Malcolm managed finally, and Trip noted with satisfaction that this time, it had taken the Lieutenant only thirty seconds to answer his question. Four days ago, his reaction time had still been up to two or three minutes.
"Here you go," he said, picking up the jug and pouring Malcolm a glass of water. Then he waited.
"Thanks," Malcolm said, and Trip smiled. Ten seconds at the most.
It was an exhausting way of having a conversation, and more than once, Malcolm had resorted to writing on a padd when the words just wouldn't come out. Still, they kept at it, and T'Vai was amazed - in a non-emotional, Vulcan way of course - at the progress the Lieutenant was making. She had been right; Malcolm was indeed desperate to get his speech back. After the second melding session, he had started to speak on a more regular basis, and now, after the third meld, he was beginning to form sentences instead of using only single words. One of the first things he had wanted to know was if Trip was alright.
Trip still wasn't really sure how to answer this question. Of course he was alright; he was getting enough to eat, could sleep in an actual bed, no one ordered him about or hit him, and thanks to T'Vai's antibiotic ointments his back was finally healing. Yes, in a strictly physical sense, he was perfectly fine. And still, he found himself lying awake at night, his mind returning to things he was trying to forget during the daytime. When he finally slept, the nightmares returned; over and over again, Trip watched the Sar'veen woman die, saw himself and Malcolm sold at the auction or was back on his knees, the crowd behind him laughing and jeering at his pain. Usually when he woke up, he found himself unable to go back to sleep, and for lack of alternatives had started reading the few English translations of Vulcan books he had found in the ship's library computer. By now, he was already half-way through T'Sel's "Paradigms of Logic". Not that Vulcan philosophy was all that exciting, but at least it was complicated enough to keep his mind off other things. And late at night, when he woke up from another nightmare, keeping his mind off other things had become his main priority.
Once or twice, when even T'Sel's dry prose hadn't been able to chase away the dream, Trip had considered talking to Malcolm, knowing the Lieutenant would understand. Still, for some reason he couldn't bring himself to do so. Malcolm did not know about the Sar'veen woman; in fact, no one knew. The Sar'veen at the testing facility had been killed; no need to mention how. Or by whom. Trip wasn't sure if he was ever going to tell anyone about it.
"Trip?"
He looked up at Malcolm's questioning tone.
"Sorry," he said quickly. "I was kinda woolgatherin' there for a minute."
The Lieutenant looked like he wanted to say something else, but for once, Trip didn't wait for him to find the words. Gathering up their dinner plates, he stood up.
"How 'bout some dessert?"
Malcolm shook his head. "No---thank you."
The intercom chimed, and a voice came from the speaker on the wall. "Sorvik to Commander Tucker."
Abandoning their dishes, Trip went over to the com panel.
"Tucker here."
"If it is convenient to you, I would like you to come to my office, Commander. And bring Lieutenant Reed as well."
"On my way, sir. Tucker out."
When he returned to the table, he saw that Malcolm was covering his mouth to hide a grin.
"What's so funny?"
This time, Malcolm answered almost immediately. "'Sir'?"
Trip frowned, then he realized what Malcolm was referring to. "Well," he said, a reluctant grin tugging at his lips, "he does sound a little like that Biology teacher of mine. An' believe me, even our principal was scared ta death of that guy."
Malcolm chuckled, and got up as well. In a gesture that had become natural to both of them, Trip took Malcolm's hand and helped him take hold of his upper arm. The Lieutenant had come a long way since his first, unsteady steps back in the fugitive camp, but he still needed someone to guide him when he took a walk in the ship's corridors. And since Malcolm would regain his sight more sooner than later, it wasn't really worth the effort for him to learn how to walk with a white stick.
On their way to the turbolift, Trip wondered briefly if Sorvik had summoned them because he had received a call from Enterprise. His pulse quickened at the thought, but then he remembered what Forrest had told him. Enterprise was currently crossing a large nebula, and there would be no way to establish communication until her rendezvous with the Vulcan ship. Only two more days. Forty-eight hours. Trip smiled at the thought.
As he and Malcolm entered Sorvik's office, they found Sorvik, First Officer T'Lin and Healer T'Vai waiting for them, all three of the Vulcans gathered around the view screen.
"Commander." Sorvik bowed his head. "Lieutenant. I am glad you could join us. T'Kahr Selin of the Vulcan High Council wishes to ask you a few question."
Trip stopped in his tracks, feeling Malcolm's fingers tighten on his arm. Selin. Of course he had heard the name before; Selin was the spokesman of the Vulcan High Council, that mysterious institution which wielded even more power than the High Command, but hardly ever interfered in interplanetary politics itself. Still, Selin was a well-known name on Earth, and Trip could not for the life of him imagine why this man would want to talk to two lowly human Starfleet officers.
Sorvik stepped back, making room for them. Trip hesitated, then, followed by Malcolm, he stepped in front of the view screen.
The monitor showed a very old Vulcan, a small withered man whose dark brown skin was furrowed with countless wrinkles. Selin's robes lacked any clan symbols or ornaments, and he was seated in a private living area instead of a conference room; in the background Trip could see a window looking out on the desert.
Before he could say something, the old Vulcan raised a hand in the traditional greeting.
"I thank you for taking the time to talk to me," he said, stunning Trip into silence. Selin didn't seem to have noticed, his eyes coming to rest on Malcolm. "I am glad to hear you will regain your sight, Lieutenant."
"Thank you---sir."
The Vulcan folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "As you surely can imagine, your report to the High Command has raised a certain amount of... concern. A few members of the Command Staff are inclined not to pay attention to the evidence you have given, saying that the information is insufficient and unreliable."
He held up a hand when Trip opened his mouth. "However, the majority of both the High Council and the High Command agreed that we cannot simply ignore the fact that Vulcans and species allied with our people are being abducted and sold into slavery. Before we take further action, however, I must ask you to testify directly before the High Council."
Trip's heart sank at these words. "Does that mean we have to come to Vulcan?"
To his utter astonishment, the ancient Vulcan smiled. "It would be the traditional procedure, yes, but given the circumstances, a recorded testimony will suffice. I am sure you are eager to return to your ship as soon as possible."
Trip smiled, and heard Malcolm breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir."
Selin bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I will now ask you several questions, and I need you to answer them to the best of your knowledge."
Trip nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Is it true that the species who call themselves "Sar'veen" have abducted Vulcan citizens and enslaved them on their homeplanet?"
"Yes."
"Have you met any of those Vulcans yourselves?"
"Yes. An old lady called T'Min and a young man, Sepek." Trip hesitated, then he added, "Sepek is only half Vulcan, though. His father was Sar'veen."
The lines around Selin's mouth hardened at that, but he continued calmly. "What other species have you encountered on the Sar'veen homeplanet?"
Trip considered. "Andorians, Tellarites, Xyrillians, Denobulans, Orions... and Klingons. These are all I can remember, but there were also quite a lot of species I didn't recognize."
"And is it true that you, Lieutenant Reed, have sustained severe physical damage in the course of a series of laboratory experiments you were submitted to by Sar'veen scientists?"
Malcolm swallowed, and Trip placed a hand on his friend's arm. "Yes," Malcolm said finally. "That---is true."
"How do the Sar'veen in general treat their slaves?"
Trip hesitated briefly; Selin's questions stirred memories and emotions he would rather have forgotten altogether. "To the Sar'veen, a slave is not a person," he said then, quietly. "Only a thing to be used and abused as they see fit. Slaves don't have any rights on K'tera, and every Sar'veen can torture or even kill their slaves without facin' any legal consequences."
"Thank you, Commander, Lieutenant." Selin's ancient face betrayed no emotions, but Trip noticed a mixture of anger and sadness in his eyes. "With your permission, your testimony will be presented to the Vulcan High Council. In the meantime, I wish you a safe return to your ship. Live long and prosper. Captain Sorvik..."
Again, he bowed his head, then reached out and cut the connection. Vulcan symbols appeared on the gray screen. Trip stood there for another moment, then he turned to T'Vai who was looking unusually grave.
"Now what are they gonna do?"
"They will discuss the matter," she said quietly. "And when the High Council has reached a decision, then Vulcan may soon be preparing for war."
TBC....
Please let me know what you think!