Title: Thursday's Child

Author: Sita Z

Rating: T

AN: Thanks for reviewing!

Tata (thank you! we'll see about the happy ending ;)...), Gabi (ja, der arme Malcolm... könnte fast meinen, er ist schizophren, und muss sich von sich selbst beschimpfen lassen -gg-), Emiliana Keladry (thank you... yes, now that they're back together, Trip's going to need Malcolm's help and support...), JadziaKathryn (a little hope... I'll see what I can do :) ), The Libran Iniquity (oh yes, T'Pol's PJ's... although I guess Skitra wouldn't look quite as... impressive, wearing them ;)), Exploded Pen for chapters 16 and 17 (sorry, got your review only a sec after I'd updated... I'm glad you liked the last two chapters, please keep telling me what you think!), Virgo (I'm glad you say so - writing Malcolm as a child was a lot of fun, although I wasn't entirely sure if it worked), MuseUrania (yes, I guess it is... thanks for reviewing!), Luna (Again, thank you for your comment... it's good to hear that Malcolm's "nightmare" fit into the storyline), trisuns5 (I'm glad you like the story, and I'd be thrilled to hear what you think about the chapters to come! I can't really answer your question without giving too much away, but, to quote Malcolm in Shuttlepod I: "Must think happy endings!"), archteri (hmm... might be a good idea, as long the original me is the one who gets to write ;)... thanks for reviewing!), Maraschino (I'm glad you liked the backstory... thank you), Trips Girl (yes, poor Malcolm... and we'll see about Trip. Pet your cats for me, and I hope all three of you enjoy the next chapter ;) ), stage manager (see, that's exactly how I feel about him ;) )

Please keep telling me what you think!

Chapter 17

T'Pol sat at the head of the conference table, watching her officers as they filed into the room. Commander Soval, whose face gave away none of his emotions, Commander Archer, who looked distinctly worried, and Ensigns Sato and Mayweather, who exchanged nervous looks as they took their seats at the table. The Captain had never really been able to read the doctor's facial expressions, but she had the distinct feeling that he was worried as well, if the absence of his usual strange smile was any indication.

Truth be told, T'Pol wasn't feeling too calm herself. She had allowed herself half an hour of meditation before calling this meeting, but to little success. Her emotions were still closer to the surface than she liked, forcing her to resort to playacting if she wanted to appear perfectly calm. Such a lack of control was not seemly of a Vulcan in her position, and T'Pol decided to spend an extra hour meditating when her shift was over. After today, she was certainly going to need it.

She looked from one of her senior crewmembers to the next, feeling strangely reluctant to begin. If she told them what she had learned today, she wasn't merely endangering their careers, although that in itself was bad enough. She was asking them to decide where their loyalties lay, if they were willing to defy authority in order to help a colleague. Her own decision was made, but she was not going to force it on them. Starfleet hierarchy or no, this was something they needed to decide for themselves.

"Gentlemen," she said. "Ensign Sato. Thank you for attending."

She looked at Mayweather. "Please report our status, Ensign."

The young helmsman leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "We're still following the signal of the tracking device, and are going to reach its position in about five to six hours, at maximum warp."

"Thank you." T'Pol tilted her head at him. "Have there been any changes in the data we are receiving from the device? Commander Archer?"

The engineer shook his head. "No, ma'am. It's still overlapping with the Joint Forces warp signature."

"Very well." She straightened her posture. "I have called this meeting to give you the results of my recent investigations, and decide what to do next. The information I am going to pass is not without risk. If anyone wishes to leave, I will not hold it against them."

T'Pol waited, but just as she had expected, none of them moved.

"Good. You are all aware of the fact that Joint Forces Command was not too pleased with Mr. Reed's escape. I believe I may have found the reason why Admiral Singer and several of his colleagues are so eager to have Lieutenant Reed and Mr. Tucker taken into custody." She paused briefly. "In my research, I came across an unusually large number of classified sections, as well as back-up codes which suggested that several thousand files had been deleted from the Joint Forces Archive. I have come to the conclusion that most of the deleted files contained old transmission data."

Commander Archer frowned. "What sort of transmissions?"

T'Pol met his eyes. "Most of them were long-distance messages, originating from the Headquarters of the organization which was later going to develop into the Joint Forces."

"You mean, those transmissions were sent before the Vulcans made first contact with Earth?" Ensign Sato interjected.

"Indeed. Some of them date back sixty-five years ago. The latest seems to have been sent only a few months before the first encounter of our two people."

The communications officer shook her head. "But who would they have been transmitting to? Humans had no allies up to that point."

T'Pol forced her voice to sound perfectly level. "They didn't. Nevertheless, the transmissions were sent to alien ships which were hiding in the Sol system for the very purpose of receiving those messages. And acting on them."

Archer's eyes had narrowed. "What kind of ships?" he asked.

"Orion pirate vessels," T'Pol said quietly.

Silence followed. Looking at the faces of her officers, T'Pol found that for once she could sympathize with their human emotions. She herself had been stunned by that particular bit of information which finally fit all the pieces of her mosaic together, metaphorically speaking. And the picture that resulted was more than revolting.

"I don't understand," Archer managed after a while. "What would they have been sending to the pirates?"

"Coordinates," T'Pol answered. "Coordinates and descriptions of the places that would be the easiest to attack. Sometimes they even mentioned the number of people living in a particular area, or recommended to the Raiders not to try and attack any of the larger cities. Given the success of the Raids, it seems to have been rather sound advice."

The humans had grown pale while she talked. Dr. Phlox's eyebrows constricted, forming a sharp contrast to his normally cordial expression. T'Pol noticed that even Commander Soval's lips had grown somewhat thinner than usual, revealing a glimpse of the anger the Commander kept behind his calm facade.

"Are you saying," Archer said finally, "that the military who was supposed to protect Earth helped the Orions plan their attacks?"

"Not only the military," T'Pol said. "Scientists were involved as well, as well as several people who held high positions in the Central Government."

"But why?" Mayweather's hand were clenched to fists. "Why would anyone do such a thing?"

"Technology," Soval said, raising an eyebrow when everybody turned their heads to look at him. "It is the logical conclusion. Technology is the only thing the Orions could offer the humans, except for guaranteeing the safety of their human negotiating partners, of course."

"Negotiating partners!" Archer rounded on Soval, backed up by Sato's and Mayweather's angry looks. "How can you talk about it as though they were simply doing business! They-"

"Commander Archer," T'Pol interrupted, wishing Soval would be a bit more cautious about his choice of words. Humans were so easily offended when it came to miscommunication. "I do not think Commander Soval was belittling the atrocity of what these people have done. But he is right. In exchange for the coordinates, the Orions sent blueprints of weapons and warp technology. It is not least due to those transmissions that the humans had managed to reach such a high stage of technological development when the Vulcans made first contact."

"I can't believe anyone would betray their own people, in exchange for weapons!" Ensign Sato's cheeks reddened. "They knew what was going to happen to the people after they were abducted!"

"I see your point, Ensign," T'Pol said. "It is difficult to believe. It seems, though, that not everyone involved was sanguine about what was going on. I have managed to restore one of the files containing a message that was sent by Admiral Anne Wyatt about forty years ago, to one Dr. Simon Andrews. It seems that Andrews was responsible for adapting the Orion blueprints to human technology, and had on several occasions voiced his criticism of cooperating with the Orion Raiders." She pulled out a padd and began to read. "You will agree with me, Simon, that our friends out there are going to get what they want, one way or another. The question is how they get it. By negotiating, giving them a few hints that don't do too much harm, we are doing the only thing that will enable us to get enough of their technology to protect ourselves in the future. Regardless of what some people may say, there is no way we can stop them, but we can at least turn what they're doing to our own advantage."

T'Pol turned back to her audience. "Dr. Andrews seems to have disagreed, for he disappeared a month after this message was sent. Something that appears to have happened to quite a lot of the people who criticized the goings-on at Headquarters."

"But how could they possibly keep it a secret for such an extended period of time?" Phlox wanted to know. "Someone must have noticed what they were doing, sooner or later."

"Earth was going through an unstable period at the time, doctor," T'Pol said. "People had developed a blind trust in authority, relying on the military to guarantee their safety. No one would have believed such stories to be the truth."

"This Admiral Wyatt you mentioned," Archer said. "Wasn't she in charge of Joint Forces Command until twenty years ago? Even after the Vulcans had made first contact with Earth?"

"Indeed." T'Pol glanced down at her padd, her eyes trailing down a list of names. "And she is only one of many. None of the people involved had to give up their positions in the military when the Vulcans arrived and the Joint Forces were founded. They managed to conceal what they had done, deleting a great amount of files and classifying the rest. Today, of course, almost all of them have died or retired, but there are still people who know about the things that happened before the Vulcans arrived. And they are only too aware of the impact it would have on the Joint Forces if the truth became known."

"It'd be the end of them," Archer said, meeting her eyes.

T'Pol tilted her head in acknowledgement. "Indeed. Most humans still remember vividly what the Orions have done to Earth, and if they knew that the Joint Forces played an active role in the Raids, the organization would be dissolved. That is why people like Admiral Singer are willing to resort to any means in order to keep the past secret."

"But what's all of this got to do with Malcolm and Tr- I mean, Lieutenant Reed and Mr. Tucker?" Ensign Sato asked.

T'Pol inclined her head. "That would have been my next point, Ensign. It seems that several of the high-ranking Vulcan officers in the Joint Forces decided that they wanted to know more about the trading and military relations between the Orions and Kareedia. Vulcan has been watching out for Kareedia for some time now, since our planet is rather close to the Kareedian system and they are known to be a fairly aggressive people. If they became allies of the Orions, they might deem themselves strong enough to invade our borders of space."

"So Malcolm was ordered to spy on that Kareedian politician," Archer added.

"Indeed. But it didn't take long for Admiral Singer and other Joint Forces officers to realize that Lieutenant Reed's findings might become very dangerous to them. In the years of the Raids, Kareedia was one of the Orions' strongest customers. Accordingly, many humans ended up as slaves on their planet, and of course the Kareedian government knew about the Orions' dealings with the Terran military. One Kareedian vessel even sent a subspace message to Earth, offering transporter technology in exchange for new coordinates. That was at a time when the Orion Raids had already come to an end, but someone in Joint Forces Command managed to intercept the transmission before anyone else found out."

"Admiral Singer?" Archer asked quietly.

"Yes," T'Pol said. There was no sense in keeping any facts from her officers; she had already told them more than enough to put their careers, if not their freedom, at risk. "The things Lieutenant Reed found out are enough for the Vulcan officers to draw their own conclusions. If Reed had reported as planned, Admiral Selin might have well found out about the things his human colleagues have been hiding over the years."

"So they decided to have him brainwashed." Archer pressed his lips together.

T'Pol acknowledged with a nod. "Exactly. Singer was not willing to take any risks. He believed that if Lieutenant Reed was unable to report to his commanding officers and Mr. Tucker was taken to a detention center, all possible sources of information would be erased."

"What about you, ma'am?" Mayweather asked. "You had insight into Malcolm's reports as well."

"I was only allowed to read his mission report," T'Pol said. "But I was not permitted access to the data he had gathered, nor was he allowed to give me any details. In the meantime, of course, I have reviewed the data regardless of my orders."

She looked at every single one of them, meeting their eyes which spoke of anger and the shock they had suffered.

"In my opinion, the safety of a crewmate takes precedence over unquestioning obedience to authority," she said. "But I am not going to order you to do anything that might be regarded as mutiny."

Archer smiled grimly. "I think I speak for all of us when I say 'To hell with authority'."

"You do not," Soval remarked coolly, ignoring the dagger glares he was receiving from his human colleagues. "I am perfectly capable of speaking for myself, and I say we should rescue Lieutenant Reed and Mr. Tucker before they come to harm. I refuse, however, to condemn the concept of a authority as a whole."

"Acknowledged, Commander," T'Pol said hurriedly before any of the humans got the chance to express their feelings on Soval's statement. "As you all know, we are on an intercept course with the Joint Forces vessel that has taken Reed and Tucker prisoner. I was planning to negotiate with the captain, but in light of recent developments I believe we need a back-up plan."

"It's only a scout vessel," Mayweather said. "If worst comes to worst..."

"I do not intend to use weapon force unless it is absolutely necessary," T'Pol responded a little more sharply than she had intended. "I believe, however, that a bit of "gunboat diplomacy", as humans would call it, should help us achieve our goal if mere negotiation tactics fail."

Archer nodded. "They're not going to risk a fight."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "It would indeed be an illogical decision. I sincerely hope we will be able to retrieve the Lieutenant and Mr. Tucker without using force."

"And then?" Ensign Sato wanted to know. "Are we going to take them to Denobula?"

T'Pol steepled her fingers on the table in front of her. She had considered this point very thoroughly, arriving at the conclusion that there was only one logical thing to do.

"No," she answered. "Going into hiding would only be a temporary solution. The Lieutenant and Mr. Tucker would always have to fear the Joint Forces' persecution, no matter where they seek asylum. I have decided on a different course of action."

Soval raised an eyebrow at her. "Informing Admiral Selin?"

T'Pol bowed her head. "Exactly. I have prepared a detailed report which I am going to send to the Admiral once Lieutenant Reed and Mr. Tucker are safely back on Enterprise."

Archer regarded her with a strange expression on his face. "Then what?" he asked quietly.

She met his eyes. "I do not know, Commander. I cannot predict what steps the Admiral is going to take, or what effect my report is going to have. But, to use another human expression, all we can do is wait and see."

"Mr. Tucker, for the last time, you need to eat something. Your body is still healing, and needs all the nutrition it can get."

Malcolm looked up at the worried face of the old Vulcan doctor, and back at the bowl of potato soup that was sitting on the folding table in front of him. Skitra had bullied the Corporal into taking off the handcuff, but the prospect of eating didn't seem any more appealing even if he could hold the spoon himself rather than allowing himself to be fed like a baby. In fact, merely imagining how the warm, thick substance would feel in his mouth made him faintly sick.

"I'm not hungry, thanks, doctor."

"Mr. Tucker."

I'm not Mr. Tucker

, Malcolm wanted to snap, but he pressed his lips together before the words could slip out. Every time anyone addressed him using Trip's name, a sting went through his chest, reminding him that the rightful owner of the name was gone. Cut off from reality. A dribbling idiot, to quote Corporal Garton. Malcolm didn't recall in detail what he had called the Corporal after that particular wisecrack aimed at Trip, only remembered that Dr. Skitra had interrupted his angry shouting by pressing a hypospray against his neck.

That had been two days ago, only a few hours after Crowther and his men had dragged the person that had once been Trip Tucker into sickbay, abandoning him on a biobed and wiping their hands on their way out as though they had touched something dirty.

Trip hadn't moved, staring blankly into empty space and rocking slightly back and forth until Skitra and one of his nurses had guided him into the separate IC unit. It had been obvious that up to this point, no one had bothered to help Trip use the facilities, or at least found something else for him to wear. The Corporal, of course, had found the situation extremely amusing, and it was only the restraints that had kept Malcolm from jumping out of bed and strangling the man.

"Mr. Tucker," Skitra repeated, breaking through his thoughts. "I cannot allow you to keep this up. You need to eat, or your body will suffer the consequences. I have taken you off the IV because I believe you are ready to take food, but I will have to put you back on the drip if you refuse to eat."

Malcolm was about to shrug - he didn't really care if the doctor stuck another one of his needles into him. All he knew was that the sight of food made him nauseous. Then, however, a thought crossed his mind, and he stopped in mid movement. So far, he had not been allowed to get up, except for brief trips to the sickbay's small shower stall, and the handcuff stopped him from getting up even when the doctor and the Corporal left the room. Which they hardly ever did. And of course he had not been allowed to see Trip. But maybe, if he cooperated...

Malcolm picked up the spoon. "Well, I'll give it a try."

Skitra's eyebrow shot up, a clear sign that he had not expected Malcolm to give in. "I am glad that you listen to reason, Mr. Tucker."

Malcolm gave a noncommittal grunt, dipping the spoon into the dark yellow liquid. The soup tasted less horrible than he had expected, and he quickly swallowed the first spoonful, reminding himself than he would have to eat at least a few of them if he wanted to convince the doctor of his willingness to cooperate. Skitra watched him like a hawk, probably to make sure the soup actually went down Malcolm's throat and not the side of the bed when he wasn't looking.

After the sixth spoonful, Malcolm looked up again. "How's Lieutenant Reed, doctor?" he asked, deliberately laying his spoon back on the table.

A thin line appeared between the doctor's brows. "His condition is unchanged."

"Can I see him?"

Skitra was clearly not pleased. "Mr. Tucker, please continue your meal."

Malcolm crossed his arms in front of his chest, indicating that he wasn't planning on continuing his meal any time soon.

"I don't understand why you won't let me see him. I could talk to him, he might recognize me."

"Mr. Tucker..." Skitra glanced at the soup that Malcolm had barely touched. "Very well. Finish your meal and I will see what I can do."

Malcolm picked up his spoon again, not allowing his relief to show on his face. He didn't feel particularly happy, resorting to blackmail in order to get his wish, but he needed to see Trip.

The soup was gone a lot faster than he had expected. Instead of sending the food back to where it came from, his stomach only lurched a few times, but still, Malcolm was glad when he could finally put the spoon aside.

He watched Skitra as the doctor took away the empty bowl and the folding table.

"Doctor?"

Skitra looked as though he was trying hard not to let his annoyance show. "Very well, Mr. Tucker. Half an hour."

Malcolm knew better than to object to the time limit. Corporal Garton had left a few minutes ago for his lunch break, and it seemed like a good idea to be back in bed before the Corporal returned. He hated the idea of visiting Trip with Garton hanging around in the room.

Carefully, he sat up, wincing when a dull pain caught him at the back of his head. The neck brace prevented any extended movements, but that spot on the back of his head still began to throb whenever Malcolm changed his position.

Skitra helped him off the bed, mindful not to touch his left arm (the doctor had put it in a sling after Garton had grabbed it two days ago, saying that this might indicate even to the Corporal that the arm was broken). Malcolm held on to the bedrail for a few seconds, then nodded at the doctor that he was ready to go.

Taking slow, small steps, Malcolm made his way over to the IC unit. He wasn't going to admit it to the doctor, but staying upright for more than a few minutes still left him dizzy and exhausted. An after-effect of the concussion, he supposed. Or the hairline crack in his skull. Malcolm didn't really care which, as long as the doctor didn't notice.

Watching Skitra punch in the code that would open the door, Malcolm felt apprehension rise at the back of his throat. He wasn't sure if he was ready to do this, to face Trip and see for himself what the injection had done. What would have happened to him if Trip hadn't...

The door slid open and Malcolm swallowed his emotions, discarding them with a mental shrug. Visiting Trip was the least - the very least - he could do.

There were only two beds in the IC unit, one of it empty and surrounded by a white, gauzy curtain. On the other one lay Trip. The head of the bed had been raised so that he sat slightly propped up, able to survey the room. Malcolm was glad to see that he looked clean, and had apparently been given fresh clothes instead of the old and dirty ones.

One of Skitra's nurses, an elderly woman with a thick black braid falling down her back, was sitting on a chair next to the bed. When the door opened, she turned around and Malcolm noticed the relief on her face, followed by surprise when her eyes fell on him.

"Doctor?" she asked, getting up.

"It is alright, Nurse," Skitra said. "Mr. Tucker will only stay for a brief visit." He glanced at a tray next to the bed, and Malcolm saw a plate with a barely touched dish of pasta on it.

"He wouldn't eat any more," said the nurse who seemed to have followed Skitra's gaze as well. "I'm sorry, doctor."

"It is not your fault," Skitra said quietly. "If this continues, however, we will have to hook him up to the IV."

Ignoring both doctor and nurse, Malcolm stepped closer to the bed. Trip had turned his head when the door opened, but his face hadn't changed, not in the slightest. It was still as vacant as it had been two days ago. Empty. As though someone had sucked out his soul and feelings, leaving only an empty shell behind. A shell that was still able to move, blink and swallow and open his mouth, but was still no more than just that - a shell.

"Hey," Malcolm said, swallowing hard to fight the lump in his throat. "It's good to see you, Trip."

No danger in using the nickname, he thought. It wouldn't give away the real name, and Trip might recognize the familiar sound. Trip's eyes focused on Malcolm's face as he spoke, but there was no sign of recognition in them. No indication that he had ever heard his name before.

"It's me, Trip." Malcolm bit down on his lips. Even though he wanted to, he couldn't say his own name aloud. "Do you recognize me?"

Trip stared at him for another moment, then closed his eyes, mumbling something incomprehensible. Not words, although Malcolm wanted to believe that he had said something; it sounded more like random sounds strung together.

"He's not going to recognize you," Skitra's quite voice came from behind. "He'll react to voices and movements, utter a few sounds or sometimes even incoherent words, but he can't communicate. I don't think he is even aware of your presence. Or his own."

Malcolm felt a sudden flash of anger at the doctor's calm tone. He's not a lab rat, he wanted to shout. Something you can inject with a test substance to see how it reacts.

He bit his lip, hard, not sure whether he was holding back a scream or a sob. Ignoring the doctor, he went on talking, forcing his voice to sound calm.

"Trip, I don't know if you can hear me right now, but I want you to know that I'm here. Whenever you need me."

Trip's eyes had opened again, coming to rest on his face.

"That's right," Malcolm said, sitting down on the chair next to the bed. He took Trip's hand which lay limply on the sheets, and squeezed it gently. "You're not alone in this. I'm here."

Trip's eyes traveled down to their joined hands, his face expressionless. Malcolm felt moisture build in the corner of his eyes, but he didn't let go in order to wipe it off. The injustice of it all made him want to scream. Trip had been treated like a piece of dirt all his life, and now that he had finally seen a future for himself, his own people took it all away, turning him into a lifeless doll that wasn't even aware of its own existence.

And it should have been you

, the nasty, hateful voice in his head spoke up.

Should have been you, the lifeless doll, the dribbling idiot, the guy who can't eat without assistance and has to wear diapers so he doesn't wet himself. Should have been you, but you were lucky, weren't you.

Malcolm had no idea how long he had been sitting there. At some point, Trip closed his eyes again, his even breathing indicating that he had fallen asleep, but Malcolm didn't let go of his hand, not until the doctor gently took him by the wrist and pulled him away.

"Let's go," he said. "You need to get back to bed."

Malcolm kept his eyes fixed on the floor on the way out, using his right hand to wipe off the tears before they could trickle down his face. No way he was going to let that bastard Garton see him cry.

The doctor helped him back into bed, touching a panel to dim the lights.

"It might be best if you tried to rest a little," he said. "I can give you something if you-"

"No." Malcolm stared at the hypospray in Skitra's hand, then up at the doctor's face. For a moment, he believed he had never hated anyone more in his life. "I want to be alone."

"As you wish, Mr. Tucker."

Malcolm rolled over onto his right side, facing away from the doctor and closing his eyes. He heard Skitra's steps retreating, metal scratching on metal as the curtain around his bed was closed. Malcolm made sure he was alone, pressing a fist against his mouth to keep any noises inside. And he stayed that way for a long time.

TBC...

Please let me know what you think!