Title: Thursday's Child

Author: Sita Z

Rating: T

AN: Thank you for leaving a review!

Rinne (thank you!), Tata (I hope I'm in time and you'll still be able to read the new chapter before you leave... have a good trip!), RoaringMice (thank you... yes, I guess pushing those things aside is what a young child would do), stage manager (thank you!), Salhawke (I've read the two stories you mentioned - they're brilliant! - and they left me wondering how it would work "the other way around". Glad you're enjoying it, please keep telling me what you think!), JennMel (yes, she's alive, and she'll still play a part in the story), Luna (wow, thank you! please keep reviewing!), Jane C (thanks, keep telling me what you think!),Virgo (Don't worry about it, and thanks for putting the story on alert!), Exploded Pen (thank you! yeah, Trip and Mal are more alike than they know), Maraschino (the background story will be continued, although there might be some... unexpected circumstances coming up soon... (Don't worry, no one's going to get pregnant ;-) ), The Libran Iniquity (Kompromiss hört sich gut an ... and I guess being an engineer is in Trip's genes, in a way ;-) )

Please keep the feedback coming!

---------------------

Chapter 10

As a teenager at the Vulcan boarding school, Malcolm had sometimes played a game called kal-toh with his Vulcan friend, Selek. He had needed all his concentration and logical thinking to master even the beginner level, sometimes staring for minutes at the uneven form of crystal sticks before deciding on his next move. Selek, of course, excelled at the game as he excelled at everything else, and never needed more than thirty seconds to adapt to whatever strategy Malcolm came up with. Still, he had never shown any sign of impatience as he waited for his human friend to make his move. And, what was even more important - he had never let him win on purpose. Then, after almost two hundred games which Malcolm had lost (most of them after only a few moves on his part), he had won a game. Suddenly, unexpectedly, the crystals had changed their shape and turned into a symmetric object while a soft chime announced his victory. Malcolm had raised his eyes, too nonplussed to feel anything but surprise at the fact that he had finally managed to out-logic the genius.

And Selek had smiled. It was one of the few times that Malcolm saw the other boy actually smile, giving up his usual Vulcan reserve and letting his pleasure show on his face. The reason for this pleasure, however, had been a mystery to young Malcolm. His victory meant that Selek, a Vulcan, had been beaten by a human at a game that was based exclusively upon logic. Malcolm himself had never felt frustrated at the fact that he always lost. It was a part of the game, a law of nature; he could not win this game playing against Selek. It wasn't logical that he would win. His ambition had become to lose in as many moves as possible. And yet he had won, and Selek had smiled. Fourteen-year-old Malcolm had smiled back, carefully, uncertain how to react, and they had rearranged the kal-toh sticks for another round. Which Malcolm lost, of course. He had never won another game (at least not when playing with Selek), but even as a boy Malcolm had felt - in a vague, bewildered way - that his single victory had pleased Selek more than the countless times when he had wiped the kal-toh board with Malcolm, so to speak.

Now, seventeen years later, Malcolm watched Trip and his children do their schoolwork, and smiled. In the meantime there could be no doubt about the fact that Sara was Hoshi's best student; after only six weeks, the girl was able to read simple texts in English and produce handwritten versions of exercises which she had memorized after reading them only three or four times. Her letters, of course, still looked like large, spiky insects crawling across the page, but they were legible and Hoshi was more than impressed. "She's gifted," the communications officer had told Malcolm a week after the lessons had started. "I don't think it'll take her more than one or two years to catch up with her peers at school. Maybe even less than that."

Currently, Sara was checking her father's "homework" for mistakes, and the smile on Trip's face as he watched his daughter reminded Malcolm very much of Selek's smile when Malcolm had won the kal-toh game. Seventeen years later, Malcolm understood what that smile was about: pride. Trip was proud of Sara in the same way Selek had been proud of his human friend, and the fact that his daughter was doing better than her father didn't bother him in the slightest.

The girl raised her head. "No mistakes, Daddy," she said in English. Malcolm noticed that her accent had improved a lot over the last weeks. "You gets an A."

Hoshi had told them about the grading system at English schools back on Earth, and the children (Sammy in particular) had joyfully adopted the idea, demanding a big red A on every sheet they finished. Sammy sometimes spared Hoshi the trouble by drawing them himself, covering every free space on his work sheets with large, spidery A's.

"You get an A," Trip automatically corrected his daughter as she handed him back the padd. "Thank you, honey."

Sara smiled, and bent back down over her book. Trip threw a glance at Sammy's work.

"How are the lines coming, partner?"

Sammy held up his sheet for his father and Malcolm to see. "Done," he announced proudly. And he was, although the last two lines of letters resembled a row of caved-in houses more than anything else. "You give me an A, yes?"

"Sure," Trip agreed. "And maybe if you write the last couple of lines again on the back of the sheet I'll give you two A's."

Sammy considered this, then nodded. "Okay." Turning the sheet around, the little boy began to write again, the tip of his tongue protruding slightly with concentration as he carefully drew the letters.

Malcolm smiled and returned his attention to his own padd. He had come by Trip's quarters after his shift, finding the family busy with their work, but when he had offered to come back later Trip had asked him to stay. Since that first time in front of the guest quarters, Trip no longer hesitated to address Malcolm as an equal, and so the request came naturally enough. Thinking back to the time when the other man had insisted on calling him "sir", Malcolm was amazed at how much had changed between them in a relatively short time. It wasn't only the fact that Trip had remembered his real name or grown accustomed to the idea of being a free man, although these things had changed him a lot. What surprised Malcolm, however, was the realization that Trip actually depended on him, on his friendship. That was new. Selek, for instance, had been what humans called a star pupil, admired by his fellow students for his exceptional logic and genius. Malcolm had sometimes wondered why a person like Selek would want to befriend him, a shy skinny outsider whom even the few other humans avoided. He had never asked him, and Selek had never given Malcolm the impression that he was bestowing an honor on him by being his friend. But he was, Malcolm had been only too aware of that fact. He was not the kind of person most people wanted as a buddy, and certainly not as a best friend. The perfect target for practical jokes, maybe (as his years at the foster house had taught him), or the kind of guy you asked if you needed to copy his notes, but not someone most humans wanted to hang out with.

Except for Trip. Malcolm had been surprised when Trip had thanked him for "being friends" with him, and even more surprised when he had agreed to tell him about his past, memories that were visibly painful for him to relive. Trip didn't seem to mind when Malcolm only listened, not expecting any elaborate words of comfort, or compassion from the lieutenant. All he wanted, it seemed, was to tell Malcolm because Malcolm was his friend. This unquestioning acceptance by another human was a new experience to Malcolm, who had begun to see himself as most people perceived him - quiet to the point of reticence, lacking social skills, uptight. He was used to being judged on these characteristics, and had even learned to laugh at his own "stuffiness" when he joked with Hoshi. But with Trip that wasn't necessary, for Trip didn't seem to care that Malcolm was the typical anal-retentive Brit - Malcolm doubted that either of those two terms would mean anything to Trip.

"Mu'ai, va kir'a?"

Sammy's voice broke through his thoughts. The boy was talking rapid-fire Kareedian, and since Trip had switched off the UT (Only English During Lessons being his and Hoshi's new motto) Malcolm only heard the words without understanding them.

"Pen'ri komaj si ma'ahn Sara-"

"Try and say it in English, partner." Trip smiled at the boy.

Sammy sighed, giving his father his patented puppy-dog look. "Ni'a'ri kar?"

"Try."

"I ask we can go eat when-" He waved a hand at his sister's paper work, and she finished for him: "When I am done?"

"Yes, right." The little boy patted his stomach. "Hungry."

Both adults laughed, and Malcolm said: "You know, actually I was going to ask you the same thing." He looked at Trip. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

He smiled to let him know that everything was okay, and found himself looking forward to breaking the good news to Trip. Malcolm knew how worried his friend was about their upcoming return to Earth.

On their way to the mess hall Sara and Sammy told Malcolm all about their lessons and how Jonathan Archer had taken them to the gym to play basketball, in a mixture of Kareedian and broken English that left Malcolm's head swirling. Trip glanced at him from time to time, but with Sammy talking a mile a minute there was no chance for Malcolm to interrupt.

A few minutes later, they were seated at a table next to the window. As usual in the late afternoon, the mess was crowded, and several crewmembers smiled at the children when they passed their table. Sammy and Sara had collected a large portion of French fries each and their favorite food silenced them effectively, leaving Malcolm to wonder if taste was universal among children.

"You were going to tell me something?" Trip asked, snatching Sammy's hand just in time as he tried to steal one of his sister's fries. "Mind your own food, Sammy."

Malcolm smiled. "I called Commander M'Benga last night. He's an old teacher of mine back at the Starfleet Academy. Engineering department. He was more than impressed when I told him that you've been doing maintenance repairs even though you're not acquainted with Starfleet technology. He's interested in a talent like yours."

Trip stared. "Are you saying..."

Malcolm's smile broadened at the utter amazement in his tone. "He's willing to arrange for your training as an assistant engineer as soon as we get back to Earth."

"But..." Trip hesitated. "Does he realize that I've never, well, gone to school?"

"I told him that," Malcolm replied. "He said you'd need basic reading skills before you can start your training, and that you'll have to attend evening classes to catch up on your education. But he's willing to make an exception where the entrance exams are concerned. He said, and I quote: I won't turn away an engineering genius just because he's never been lucky enough to see a school from the inside."

Trip still stared at him, a forgotten fork of pasta hovering halfway up to his mouth. His expression hadn't really changed, but Malcolm saw that his eyes were brighter than usual.

"You don't know what this means to me," Trip said quietly, and lowered the fork. "I... I was afraid..."

"I know," Malcolm said. "But M'Benga is a good man. There's no stopping him when he realizes that someone's got talent."

"You think I do?" The question came hesitantly, as if Trip wanted to believe it but found it too good to be true. "You think I'm that good?"

"More than that," Malcolm said. "I think the Joint Forces are going to regret that they didn't recruit you first."

Trip smiled, but he immediately grew serious again. "Malcolm, I... don't know what to say. This... this is more than I ever dared to hope for."

Malcolm felt slightly embarrassed at the gratitude he saw in the other man's eyes. "Well, I'm sure you're going to do a great job."

Trip looked as if he wanted to add something - probably express his thanks - and Malcolm was rather glad when Sara interrupted.

"Daddy, does this mean you're going to work as an engineer?" she asked, now back to Kareedian again.

"I think so," Trip said, hesitantly, as if he still couldn't quite believe it. "There're a lot of things that I'll have to learn, but maybe, one day I will."

Sara smiled. She seemed to understand at least partly what this meant to her father. Sammy had just opened his mouth, probably to announce that he was going to be an engineer as well (after Commander Archer's "tour", Sammy had changed his mind about becoming a pilot and was now aiming for an engineering career) when they were interrupted again.

"T'Pol to Lieutenant Reed."

"Excuse me." Malcolm got up and went over to the intercom. "Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed, I need you and Mr. Tucker to come to my ready room. There is something we need to discuss."

It was all she said, but Malcolm recognized her tone. The Vulcan Captain only used that ultra-calm voice where urgent - and sometimes unpleasant - matters were concerned.

"Aye, ma'am. We'll be right there."

He returned to the table. Trip who had been listening to their brief conversation had already abandoned his meal and gotten up.

"Will they be alright on their own?" Malcolm asked with a glance at the two children.

"They'll be fine." Trip briefly ruffled their hair, then looked at Sara. "You can go back to our quarters when you're done. Just don't forget to put away your dishes, okay?"

"Pa'sahn'ri," Sara said, and for once her father didn't insist on the English version.

Leaving the children to their meal, Malcolm and Trip left the mess and headed for the bridge. More than anything else, Malcolm was surprised by the fact that T'Pol wanted to see Trip as well. So it couldn't be a tactical problem.

It doesn't necessarily have to be bad news, he told himself. Maybe M'Benga called again and couldn't reach me via the private channels. Or maybe... No, that couldn't be. There was no way any of Trip's family could have found out, not when the news about the first recovered Lost One had been sent as classified information.

He threw Trip a side-glance and wondered how he would react, face to face with a parent or sibling he hadn't seen since he was four.

Don't be ridiculous. There's no way they could have found out.

Still, Malcolm breathed an inward sigh of relief when, on entering the room, he saw that the monitor on T'Pol's desk was blank.

"Gentlemen," the Captain said. "Please, take a seat."

T'Pol's features were unreadable, but Malcolm could tell from her demeanor that this wasn't about a call from Commander M'Benga. Or even about a personal call from Florida.

They sat down in the two chairs that faced the Captain's desk, Trip following Malcolm's example after a brief moment of hesitation. Malcolm knew that if it hadn't been for him, Trip would have remained standing in the Captain's presence.

As usual, T'Pol began without preamble. "I received a call from Admiral Singer of Joint Forces Command half an hour ago," she said. "There has been a... development."

Malcolm frowned at the slight hesitation. T'Pol wasn't one to let her concern show, but this time she did seem... worried.

"A development, ma'am?"

"Indeed." T'Pol folded her hands on the desk. "The Admiral's call was about your recent mission, Lieutenant."

That brought a twinge of unease. It wasn't the first time that T'Pol received an unexpected call about his mission, mostly from JF Command staff who were not officially involved in any part of the operation - as far as Malcolm knew, anyway. It wasn't as if anyone had ever really told him what exactly he was doing on Kareedia. Admiral Selin's orders had been precise and to the point, telling him what was expected of him and not divulging any more information than necessary. Still, Malcolm had a distinct feeling that there was more to it than the Admiral - or anyone else - let on.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" he asked, careful to keep his phrasing neutral. He noticed Trip watching him out of the corner of his eye.

Again, T'Pol hesitated before speaking - which was not at all typical of her. "Actually, I believe there is. Admiral Singer informed me that in the light of your recent mission the Joint Forces have decided to reinstate Paragraph 34-A."

Malcolm sat motionless for a few seconds, unable to actually believe what he had just heard. It was as if T'Pol had told him their new mission was to bomb the Vulcan capital back to stone age. No matter whether Vulcans were given to joking or not, she couldn't be serious about this.

"Paragraph 34-A?" Trip asked, his eyes wandering from Malcolm to T'Pol. "What does that mean?"

T'Pol's face was a portrait in calm as she answered. "When the Joint Forces had only just been founded, Earth still had to deal with frequent attacks by the Orion raiders. There was a planet-wide state of emergency, and the Command staff had to operate under rather difficult conditions. To make sure that no essential military information was passed on to unauthorized personnel, they added a new paragraph to their regulations which allowed high-ranking officers to use... memory-altering drugs on the bearers of such information, if they deemed it necessary."

"It's brain-washing," Malcolm said, surprised at how easy it was to talk when your throat felt like a sheet of sandpaper. "Those drugs will wipe out your mind, every single coherent memory that you have. I think they've been applied in two or three cases, and every time the victim ended up in a state of catatonia."

"There was a public outcry when the media reported about it," T'Pol continued, not contradicting what Malcolm had said. "Command had to remove the paragraph from their regulations when the public pressure became too strong. It is seldom mentioned nowadays. As Humans would say, it is not one of the most glorious moments in the Joint Forces' history."

Trip's face had gone pale as they talked. "And they ordered you to give Malcolm those drugs?"

"No," T'Pol said. "Admiral Singer said I was to keep Lieutenant Reed in the brig until our return to Earth, and then hand him over to Joint Forces security. He wants the procedure performed at Joint Forces Headquarters where it can be supervised."

Malcolm felt a strange calm settle on him, as if they were discussing a hypothetical scenario. What T'Pol said sounded - unreal. Impossible. "Why... why would they want to do such a thing?"

The Vulcan's gaze came to rest on him again. "I do not know, Lieutenant. I assume that the order has not been authorized by the entire Command staff, and certainly not by Starfleet Headquarters. But Admiral Singer is a man of great influence. If he told his subordinates to keep the decision classified, then I have no doubt that his orders would be followed."

Malcolm shook his head. "I don't understand. Why would the information I gathered on Senator V'Lin be that dangerous to anyone?"

"As I said, I do not know. I have tried to contact Admiral Selin about it, but I was not able to reach him. Admiral Singer assured me that Selin approved of the decision, but I am not certain whether he can be believed."

"I can't imagine Selin would approve of any such thing!" Malcolm said, a pang of anger breaking through his shock. "He was against Paragraph 34-A right from the start when they introduced it for the first time. He wouldn't-"

"I agree, Lieutenant," T'Pol said quietly. "But there is no use in speculating. The Admiral's orders are clear, and as far as I am informed there has been no statement from Admiral Selin yet."

Malcolm stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was telling him. Someone - not necessarily Singer himself - was trying to get rid of him, that much was clear. Reinstating Paragraph 34-A was a fairly desperate measure, and not without risk, especially when the media got hold of that particular piece of news. But why they would do so in the first place was beyond him. It hadn't been Malcolm's first mission on behalf of the Joint Forces, and neither had it been the first time he had been ordered to gather information on a hostile species. The Kareedians' dealings with the Orions were a dirty business he wanted to be no part of, but he couldn't see why the information would hold that much of a threat to anyone in JF Command. Malcolm gripped the edges of his chair, hard. If they wanted him because he knew too much, then...

"Captain, did Singer say anything about Trip?"

"He did." T'Pol paused briefly. "The Admiral has ordered me to lock Mr. Tucker into the brig as well, or confine him to his quarters. He is not to speak to any of the crew until we return to Earth."

"And then?" Malcolm had a hard time keeping the fury out of his voice. "Are they going to brainwash him as well?"

"No. According to Admiral Singer, Command has decided to have him committed to a Joint Forces detention center as soon as we reach Earth."

Trip spoke up again, swallowing hard before he asked: "What about my children? Are they going to be locked up as well?"

T'Pol looked back at him. "The Admiral gave me no explicit orders on that subject, but I believe he expects me to turn them over to another Joint Forces institution where they will be taken care of."

"No." Malcolm saw the muscles in Trip's jaw work. "They can't take them away. You said that on Earth all people are equal and can decide for themselves. How can they do this to you or take my children away from me when your laws don't allow it?"

Neither T'Pol nor Malcolm had an answer to that. In the silence that followed, Malcolm could almost hear his own thoughts going in circles; he couldn't understand what had led to Command's decision to have him and Trip put away, and could think of no way to escape their fate. Enterprise was on her way home, and the Joint Forces were going to make sure that he wasn't going to escape and go into hiding once they had reached Earth. And until then...

"So... when do I report to the brig?" he asked, carefully keeping any accusation out of his tone. This was not T'Pol's fault. "Now?"

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I cannot remember that I gave you orders to do so at all, Lieutenant."

Malcolm stared at her. "Ma'am?"

Her eyebrow climbed higher. "I expected better of your reasoning, Lieutenant. It is illogical to assume that I am going to follow Admiral Singer's orders."

"Captain..."

"I will not turn over a member of my crew to be physically harmed by anyone, no matter what reason. Even if Joint Forces Command have reinstated paragraph 34-A - and I see no possible circumstances that would justify such an act - I am your superior officer and so the decision lies with me. As to sending Mr. Tucker to a detention center, there is no legal reason to do so since he has not committed any criminal offense."

Malcolm shook his head. "Captain, I appreciate your support, but I don't think there's anything you can do. Singer's got half of the Command staff in the palm of his hand. I don't want you to get in trouble because of insubordination."

Trip nodded his assent, but T'Pol only let her other eyebrow follow the first one, not visibly impressed by the prospect of facing court martial.

"I realize that I cannot keep you from the authorities once we have reached Earth. At the same time, however, I cannot guarantee for the absolute reliability of my safety measures, either."

Malcolm paused. "You mean..."

"I am saying that there is the definite possibility that you will find out about the Admiral's orders and take a shuttle into space before I have the chance to put you under arrest."

"You're willing to stage our escape?" Malcolm could hardly believe he was having this conversation with Captain "By-the-Book" T'Pol, who had once demoted two members of her crew after she'd overheard them spreading gossip about a superior officer. And here she was, defying priority orders by one of Command's highest-ranking officers.

T'Pol didn't seem to find anything unusual about it, however. "I intend to investigate this matter further, Lieutenant, but I need time. It will be only one and a half Terran months until we have reached Earth. I suggest you leave for the next inhabited planet that will grant you asylum - Denobula is only three and a half weeks from here at full impulse, and they grant unlimited asylum to all victims of political persecution. I believe you fit that description."

"But how will you explain to Admiral Singer that we're gone?" Malcolm asked.

Her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly. "I will tell him what I told you. You escaped before I had the chance to order you to the brig."

Malcolm knew that it wasn't going to be as easy as she made it sound. T'Pol would have to fake a lot of security protocols if she wanted the Command staff to find no evidence that they could use against her.

He cleared his throat. "Captain, I... I appreciate what you're doing. You're risking your career, and..."

"...and I'm only doing what I deem the logical thing to do, Lieutenant," T'Pol finished for him. "There is no need to mention it again."

Malcolm knew better than to contradict. "When you say you're going to investigate..."

"I am going to try and find out more about the background of your mission. Admiral Singer's interest in keeping your findings secret doesn't seem to be strictly related to the mission. I believe there is something else going on. I suggest you install a tracking device in the shuttle so that I can locate and contact you, if necessary."

Malcolm nodded. The fact that he was going to leave Enterprise - run away, actually - still seemed unreal to him, but he knew that he didn't have much time left to get used to the idea. Like the Captain had pointed out, from now on he was a fugitive, running away from the law. Whose law he was running from was another matter, of course. But if they were going to get away, they needed to do so soon. Maybe even - and Malcolm startled at the thought - maybe even as soon as tonight.

In the meantime, T'Pol had turned back to Trip. "You realize, Mr. Tucker, that you will not be able to take your children along."

Trip nodded and his voice sounded steady as he answered, belying his pale face. "I do. I wouldn't want to put them in danger by taking them along. But... He hesitated. "Captain, do you think any of those people are going to try and... hurt them if you take them back to Earth?"

"No," T'Pol said at once. "I do not understand why Command has decided to reintroduce Paragraph 34-A, but I can assure you that your children will not be harmed. Most likely, Command will not be interested in them at all."

Trip nodded, but his expression was still one of worry. "I don't want them to be locked up in some sort of jail."

"They won't be," Malcolm said. "I know it doesn't sound all that credible at the moment, but that kind of thing is not allowed back on Earth. There are very strict laws where the treatment of children is concerned."

"I will personally see to it that your children are well taken care of," T'Pol said when Trip still didn't look convinced. "At the Vulcan embassy, there are suitable accommodations and teachers who will look after them and help them with their schoolwork."

"Thank you, Captain, but..." Trip paused, seeming to consider something. "I don't think that will be necessary," he finished then, softly.

"Trip?" Malcolm asked.

The man met his eyes. "I'm hoping that... that my family will take them in."

Malcolm stared at him, and saw his own thoughts of before mirrored on Trip's face: There wasn't any time left to get used to the idea. If Trip needed to contact his family back on Earth, then he had to do so today. And if he needed their help, then he had to ask for it now.

There didn't seem anything left to add, and Malcolm got up.

"Captain..."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant," T'Pol said. "I suggest you take a few hours to prepare for your departure. It goes without saying that I want as few crewmembers as possible involved in the matter."

So it was tonight, after all. "Of course, Captain. And..." Malcolm knew what her answer was going to be, but he still needed to say it. "Thank you."

But for once, T'Pol didn't quote any Vulcan philosophers at him. For a moment, her gaze rested on both of them, and the expression in her eyes came close to regret. "Good luck, Lieutenant... Mr. Tucker."

On their way out, Malcolm threw a side-glance at Trip and wasn't surprised at what he saw on his friend's face.

"Do you want me to be there when you call them?" he asked.

Trip gave him a grateful look. "If you don't mind..."

"I don't."

Neither of them said anything on their way back to Trip's quarters. The strange calm, that feeling of surrealism Malcolm had experienced before, was slowly giving way to the shock his mind had been trying to keep at bay. Only a few hours and they would be gone, heading into space in a shuttle with practically no means of protecting themselves. On the run.

Shaking off the thought, Malcolm began to put together a mental list of the things that needed to be done. At the moment, he needed cool, tactical thinking more than he had in a long time.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!