Chapter Nine

After an in depth five hour session looking through the Vulcan, Denobulan and Human databases, T'Pol and Trip were both sitting in the Mess Hall sipping some tea and coffee.

Both were quiet as they contemplated the studies already done on Clark's Syndrome in regard to a cure.

"Pretty grim, heh?" said Trip, looking sombre as he thought about what his future would hold.

"In respect to the lack of success in finding a cure for the disease, then yes, the outlook is pretty grim," replied T'Pol, trying to put things in perspective, "but there has been a high success rate in the development of medication to control the symptoms, especially in the early stages. You should be able to carry on in your job as Chief Engineer far longer than sufferers in the same position as yourself previously."

Trip thought back to what Jon had told him about his dad years ago. How Henry had been diagnosed with Clark's Syndrome and within three years, his condition had degenerated to a point that he was bedridden, hallucinating badly and didn't recognize anyone close to him. Six months later he died leaving Jon absolutely heartbroken. "Yeah, thank God for small mercies," Trip said, knowing that in the same time span that Henry's illness had quickly progressed, causing him and those around him to suffer, as he died painfully, Trip would still be carrying on as normal with his life controlling the initial symptoms only.

"It won't last forever though," said Trip sadly. "The research notes that up to now they can only hold the symptoms at bay for about three to four years, max. After that degeneration kicks in and the disease quickly spreads. Generally sufferers last about another year, but that's it."

"Now, yes," replied T'Pol, "but that doesn't necessarily have to be the case in three or four year's time. Research could possible advance further to minimize the latter stages of degeneration and lengthen the time span. Unlike Vulcans, Humans are an embracing, resourceful and determined species."

"I could say the same about a certain Vulcan sitting close by," thought Trip, as he watched T'Pol sip her tea.

"There is just one thing that's confusing me, though," puzzled Trip. "The research said that the disease was genetic …"

"You are correct," replied T'Pol.

"Well that's the thing," stated Trip, throwing up his arms, "no one in our family has ever suffered from this."

"Maybe you are mistaken," replied T'Pol. "It may have skipped one or two generations of your family--"

"T'Pol, we're a very close knit family an I'm telling ya, no one else has had this."

"Commander, it's highly unlikely a disease of this nature would just spontaneously appear. The genetic markers, which spawn the disease, would unfortunately be passed along your family's genetic code. Someone in your family will have suffered from this. Maybe some research into your family tree would clear your confusion."

"I know a short cut," answered Trip, pushing his mug away and standing up. "I'm going to put in a call to my Great Aunt Lilith. She knows everything about my family. If she doesn't know it, it didn't happen."

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Later that evening T'Pol went looking for Trip. He had been avoiding everyone all afternoon and it was nearly time for dinner with Captain Archer. She finally found him within the bowels of engineering taking out his frustration on a nearby junction box.

"Wouldn't this job be more suitable for a second-class crewman, rather that a senior officer?" she asked.

"Are ya trying to tell me how to run my department?" replied Trip, with obvious frustration in his voice.

"Of course not, Commander, but given your circumstances, I would have thought delegation of some of the more minor tasks would be in order, instead of trying to do everything yourself."

"Not if I want it doing right, it doesn't," replied Trip, hitting the junction box hard with his hyper spanner, causing T'Pol to raise her eyebrow.

"You seem agitated."

"Why do ya say that, T'Pol?" asked Trip, repeating the action again.

"I thought the object was to repair the junction, not irrevocably damage it," she said glancing at the freshly made scratches and dents.

Trip rolled his eyes at this and stopped. "Sorry, maybe I am a little agitated."

"Why don't we go to the Mess Hall for a drink so you can relax," said T'Pol, before glancing at Trip as he tried to cover the fact that his left hand was shaking, despite having a tight grip on the spanner. "After paying a visit to Phlox along the way, that is."

"Sure," replied Trip because he highly doubted T'Pol would let him get away without it.

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After a short stop over in sickbay, Trip sat himself down at a table in the Mess Hall, while T'Pol brought him over a mug of coffee.

"Are you going to tell me what is bothering you?" she asked, as she sat down next to him and began sipping her tea. "Does it have anything to do with your comm message to your Great Aunt?" she said, pressing the issue further after a few minutes of silence.

"Nothing is bothering me," said Trip hastily.

"The damage to the junction box would imply otherwise," replied T'Pol dryly. Then after a few minutes, "Trip, I can not support you if you will not talk to me."

"Yeah, you could say it's to do with the call to ma Great Aunt," answered Trip, giving in. "She was so damn evasive to ma questions. I know there is something deeper going on here."

"Could you have interpreted her answers incorrectly?" asked T'Pol.

"T'Pol after knowing you for three years, I'd say I'm pretty damn good at reading vocal inflections and she was definitely hiding something."

"Dwelling on this isn't doing you or the ship any good at the moment," said T'Pol. "I suggest you forget about it for the moment and relax. Maybe another phone call to your Aunt tomorrow would be in order when you are more focused."

"Yeah, ya probably right," replied Trip, although deep down he had a real bad feeling about it all.

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