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Chapter 9: Vulcans Know Best

Trip spent a lot of extra time getting ready for bed not because he wanted to look (and smell) especially nice for T'Pol, but because he was afraid that he wouldn't be seeing her this particular evening. Their tiff had been unpleasant but certainly no worse than their usual arguments…no, what worried Trip was the news that had awaited them on their return to the ship.

T'Pol had been right. "Right, right, right," he harrumphed, throwing his wet towel toward a laundry dispenser and missing completely. He eyed it, annoyed, then moved to place it correctly in the receptacle (was T'Pol rubbing off on him? he wondered).

Kovar was a spy. Not only a spy, but someone who had helped build the monitoring station that had led to an ancient Vulcan monastery being destroyed…and to T'Pol being ostracized by her own people. Trip felt twin surges of anger and guilt. Anger at Kovar, who he felt should shoulder some of the brunt of the blame placed on T'Pol; guilt at his own stupidity for not listening to her.

He settled himself in the bed, arranging the covers and fussing with the pillow before finally settling down for what he was sure would be a very lonely night. Well, he deserved it, no getting around that. His eyelids fluttered closed.

He would talk to her tomorrow about it, first thing. He would apologize, he owed her that much. Then he would ask for her help with the sabotaged equipment and let her tell him any other theories she had as to who or what had caused all the damage. That would show her that he knew she was right, that they could work togeth—

"Are you going to sit there all evening with your eyes closed?"

Trip's eyes flew open and he was temporarily blinded by T'Pol's white meditation space. When his eyes recovered from the unexpected glare he focused them on the lovely Vulcan opposite him, still dressed in her uniform and sitting ramrod straight. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Are you well?" she asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You appear troubled," she stated simply.

"No…no, not at all…well, yes. Yes, actually, I guess I am." Trip shook his head and rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Geez, T'Pol, I don't know what to say. You were right about Kovar."

"I believe that is all that needs to be said."

He stared at her, sitting calmly cross-legged. She really was beautiful. There was a pristine, untouchable quality about her most of the time, like nothing could tarnish her. Though he'd always thought her attractive, it wasn't until he realized that she could be shaken, unsure, emotional in her own way that he began to see her as more than a colleague. He admired her more for it—the more she stood up to her own weakness the more she became his. He wasn't exactly sure, but he felt that was what being a Vulcan was really all about—not mindless suppression of every mental twinge and craving, but a constant unabashed confrontation of ones own demons.

"I did not mean that literally."

Trip shook himself out of his reverie. "Sorry. It's just…I'm tired. And to be honest I was prepared for more of a fight. I should've listened to you instead of buddying up with the guy. Why didn't I see it? He is so strange for a Vulcan."

"His past was hardly common knowledge to anyone. According to the captain, Mr. Reed had to go through "back channels" in order to uncover it. As for being strange…as you yourself pointed out, "who is normal?" He is no more odd than anyone else from the facility."

"You're letting me off the hook?"

"I do not see what there is to "let off," as you say." T'Pol didn't enjoy human colloquialisms but she had been incorporating them into her speech quite a lot lately. Interesting, that…but she was continuing. "I knew once you recovered from the accident on the surface you would more clearly consider what I said."

"You did?" Did she know him that well? "I guess I was pretty keyed up."

"It was upsetting," she agreed. He did a double-take. T'Pol? Upset? She said it so casually, like she was asking for a report on manifold valves or something mundane. She was studying the ground in front of her. He smiled and reached out to her, placing a hand over hers. The gesture appeared to comfort her and she turned one hand over and loosely curled her fingers over his.

With T'Pol, Trip found, a lot of things he took for granted in human relationships were topsy-turvy. Take this, for instance. He and T'Pol had been to bed, hell, she had kissed him publicly (well, in a public place, anyway. No one happened to be in that corridor at the time, but still…). This slight contact, though—this seemed far more intimate than any of that. This wasn't a physical response, Trip suddenly understood. This was her emotional reaction to him. She was literally embracing it.

His smile grew. He took his hand from hers and raised it to her face. Gently, he brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone, barely grazing her lips with his thumb. Her eyes were wide as saucers but she said nothing. Trip knew he couldn't push her—this was all new for her. He dropped his hand and let her recover. Since his own heart was dancing giddily, it wasn't an entirely altruistic gesture.

T'Pol flexed her hands and folded them in her lap, nodding once, getting back to business. "The revelation of Kovar's background information does not solve our mystery, however. We have not discovered who the saboteur is yet…or the murderer."

Trip stretched himself out full length and propped his head on his elbow. Captain Archer had also grimly informed them of Phlox's report upon their return to the ship. Archer seemed sure that Kovar had something to do with both incidents; Trip thought that sounded like a safe bet. If T'Pol was still considering other suspects, however, he was willing to hear that out. He eyed her quizzically. "You don't think Kovar did it?"

"His past proves that he has experience in deception…and he has the most technical aptitude of all the SMP members. The likelihood of his guilt may have increased, but that does not negate the possibility that one of the others did it."

"Do you think the murderer and the saboteur are the same person?" Trip asked.

T'Pol considered this. "Perhaps. But we should not discount that members of the team are working together. If that's the case, three natural pairings appear."

"Strel and Medec, Pieter and Billie, Kovar and V'Ret," Trip counted them off. "Andorians, humans, and Vulcans. Each species keeping to itself, eh? So who's the most likely?"

"It is a simple matter of assessing what each individual had to gain from either sabotage or Tola's death."

"Well yeah." Trip chuckled. "Sounds right up your alley—so tell me, whodunit?"

"You realize this is pointless, as the autopsy report and the scans of the damaged facility components will reveal the culprit in the morning?"

"Yeah, but that's no fun."

"The human concept of fun is one I find often lacking in logic."

"That's kinda the point of it. Are you going to tell me who did it or what?"

She sat up straighter, if that were possible, and looked down her nose at him. He could hardly keep from grinning—she would never admit it, but she loved playing detective. "The person who had the most to gain—" she broke off, staring into the distance.

"T'Pol?" he sat up, suddenly alert.

"There is someone at my door," she told him, still staring. "Who is it?" she addressed no one in particular. More skilled at meditation than Trip, it appeared she could communicate with both the inside and the outside world from her white room.

"Well?" Trip wanted to know.

She looked at Trip with faintly unfocused eyes. "It's Kovar."

"What! T'Pol, don't let him—" Trip stopped and looked around. He was no longer in the white room, T'Pol no longer in front of him. He was back in his own room, tucked into the bed. He oriented himself for a moment before bolting out of the bed for the door.

He slapped the door open and nearly ran into the shut panel when it failed to slide back and allow him egress.

What the hell…? He pushed the button once more but still the door would not budge. Confused and more than a little worried, Trip hit the comm. button to get Macolm, security, or anybody to T'Pol's quarters.

"Tucker to Reed."

There was no response. Impatiently he hit it again.

"Tucker to bridge."

There was nothing for several moments, then a slight hissing sound.

"…aving some troub…comm. syst…down all over…ship…" Hoshi's patchy message came through before the audio snapped silent altogether.

Before he could try to re-establish the link Trip was thrown to the floor of his quarters when the floor bucked beneath him. His engineering sense kicked into overdrive as the ship jerked once more, then stopped. Spreading his hands on the floor of his cabin, Trip was immediately aware—the engines had shut down. The lights in his quarters flickered, then went out. An instant later the emergency floodlights came on, bathing his room in soft amber tones.

Trip's heart rate increased as adrenaline pumped through his system. He had no doubt—whatever happened on the station was happening here. They had brought aboard a saboteur. His blood ran cold at his next thought…

Jerking himself off the floor, the engineer hit the emergency release on his door and manually hauled it open. He took off down the corridor at a sprint, heading for T'Pol's quarters.

They hadn't just brought aboard a saboteur. They had also brought aboard a murderer.