The Search

Reed stared at the pilot, mesmerized by his hands. There were too many digits there, certainly more than the Human form. He hadn't been able to tell at a glance, the appendages were hidden under the Eylordene's robes, but he could have sworn he'd seen at least twelve small tentacles there, perhaps fifteen. He wondered whether that gave the pilot an advantage, allowing him to more finely guide the craft. He hoped so. Crashing in liquid was not high on his wish list.

But he'd taken the small pill from Dr. Phlox, and, oh, the difference it made. The shuttle flying a few meters above the top of the waves didn't bother him at all. There was no gagging, no dry mouth, no cottony feeling in his legs. He looked out the open doorway at the endless water. At fleeting moments he could even appreciate the beauty of the scenery. My god, he must be stoned! He'd have to ask Phlox exactly what was in those small pills.

But right now he was on a mission, he and the five others in the shuttle. He turned to Zheezill, whose robe was dark as the deep foam. In yet another cruel twist of fate the 'silver-haired, solidly built special forces man' whom he'd called vagina was a female. Zheezill leaned towards him, obviously to share information and Reed mirrored the motion, careful to keep the rest of the shuttle in his sights. He wasn't trusting anyone or anything so far.

"We are covering quadrant 1-b-c today," she said.

Reed nodded. That's what they'd said in the command center. Five quadrants, three shifts a day, one search vessel per quadrant, each crisscrossing in an alternate pattern, on the lookout for any disturbance. Apparently any debris from the A'Ea Straits and the Ia'O would flow straight to the area they were covering. So they said.

He motioned to Zheezill in turn, talking loudly enough to cover the woosh of air from the open door, "- Do you have a recognizance map of the area?" It would give him a better idea where the A'Ea Straits were in relation to the search area.

He studied the map carefully, frowning in puzzlement, then remembered that what was showing as terrain was actually ocean depths. There was no ground to speak of on A'Er'Orl. Amazingly, his anxiety level didn't rise at the thought, those pills worked really well. He traced the narrow gulley of the Straits with a finger on the screen, following it all the way to the search area. The distance was small enough, what they said made sense. He surreptitiously checked the source data on the chart, it had all the markings of an administrative document, handed the padd back to Zheezill. She turned around and gave it to one of the others, who started studying it closely. Reed watched unobtrusively. So far everything checked out.

xxx

Ceremonial Grounds

T'Pol nodded slighty as Malcolm slipped in the empty seat at her side. The lieutenant was on time. The discreet shake of the head he gave in return let her know there had been no sighting of the shuttle.

She brought her attention back to the elaborate ceremonials going on at the front of the house. It had not taken long to gather that every one of the many officials in the hemicycle would get up for a separate and solemn speech, each accompanied by a precedent show of formalities that involved a slow-paced procession of various helpers, valets and headdress carriers. Careful attention had revealed hidden patterns in what had initially seemed like a random process and she'd deducted that these processions followed a narrow set of options among hundreds of potential configurations. She had yet to uncover the key that linked a given configuration to a given speaker, though she had come to the conclusion it was a factor external to the ceremonies and that it was not connected to the order of appearance of the speakers, or to the hour of the day.

She was now listening intently to the master of ceremonies, trying to discern potential variations in the Eylordene titles of the various speakers, which the UT uniformly rendered as "dignitary". The intense focus also served as a distraction from the ongoing discomfort of the breathing apparatus, which remained a nagging pain at the periphery of her conscious mind.

Even so the arrival of Lieutenant Reed was not an unwelcome diversion. A sudden interruption in one's train of thought might reveal new and unexpected insights when one focused on the problem anew, and provide a new angle of research. She remained aware of the Lieutenant as he settled himself in his seat in a very Human fashion, arms crossed, and stared around at the assembly, knowing he was trying to locate the security and recording devices that must be liberally distributed throughout the hall.

She waited exactly eleven minutes and thirty seconds. That was enough time to establish Lieutenant Reed's attendance and show of respect.

" We must go," she said without looking at him. The crystals monitor had not reached critical level yet but they needed to establish a pattern so the Eylordenes would never know how long the debrief was and how much material the Lieutenant was reporting on.

She got up smoothly, not giving any inkling of the increased discomfort caused by any motion. Reed perked up from the near coma the stultifying speeches were already plunging him in and followed her out the room.

There was little to debrief and no elaborate veil of secrecy was needed. Reed reported it pretty much like it happened. He'd spent two shifts on the rescue vessels, both without any sign of the shuttle. Zheezill had insisted on staying with him the entire time. He need not say more, T'Pol would know she was keeping tabs on him, as he would if the roles were reversed. Pretty normal stuff, no sign of funny business - not that he'd ever use those words, keeping to the facts instead, letting her know of his take on things through a subtle emphasis here, a reordering of sentences there.

T'Pol nodded as he spoke, showing no sign of emotion. He had no idea what she was thinking behind those eyebrows. At the end she just looked at him and said, "Very well."

"I'm will be out again with the next shift," Reed remarked.

"You need to rest," T'Pol replied instantly.

"The next shift is in four hours, that's plenty of time to rest. Zheezill will come pick me up." Reed held T'Pol's gaze. He knew she wanted to find the shuttle as badly as he did.

"I will wake you up in three hours and fifteen minutes," she conceded. "You must come back twenty-four hours thence." Reed shot her a look. Sometimes she used the strangest terms...

But now he could relax. He looked around the comfortable room, taking in the plush seating arrangements. "At least you can't see the water from here -" he stopped short, he didn't want his CO to find out about his difficulties with water. The last thing he wanted was to be a source of worry. No Reed had ever been the weakest link, and he wasn't about to break that tradition.

"Where's the bed?," he said instead, looking around. He stared in confusion at the cot to the side. Were they supposed to sleep in shifts? Or did the Eylordenes think they slept together? Perhaps they didn't know about their sleeping habits... How did Eylordenes sleep anyway? He had to believe they found time to rest, like everyone else. Maybe eyes wide open on the bottom of the sea... Malcolm! He stopped himself. Must be Dr. Phlox's pills...

"Eylordenes' sleep patterns do not follow the common diurnal nocturnal cycle," T'Pol supplied, as if she read his thoughts, "the dignitaries seem to absent themselves for rest whenever there is need."

So it would be shifts then. Malcolm blinked, he could definitely use the sleep. He hesitated though, "What about you?"

"Vulcans do not require as much sleep."

Malcolm nodded. He should've known she'd say that.

"But first I need your help replacing the crystal canister," T'Pol added.

And like that, Malcolm's entire sense of relaxation just flew out the window.

Indeed, the crystal monitor was blinking orange. He sprung into action, going to the storage compartment where he had locked the canisters, put his palm on the door to unlock it. He was relieved to find them where he had left them. Perhaps their lives were not at risk after all.

He turned towards T'Pol, canister in hand, and felt like he'd gotten punched to the stomach. She'd already taken off her robe and was yanking open the collar of her uniform, pulling the front panel down so that he could have free access to the y-plug.

He understood that from a Vulcan perspective this was just a body, a physical manifestation that needed to be tended to, and the whole canister exchange thing was a completely clinical intervention.

Intellectually, he understood that fully. But gosh, would he rather she put her clothes back on. He could feel a schoolboy blush rising over him already. Hopefully the only thing that would rise.

'Clinical intervention', 'clinical intervention', 'clinical intervention'... he repeated in his mind as he unclasped the lines from the canister, swiftly inserted them in the replacement cartridge. Now all he had to do was... oh god, that thing was just by her breast. 'Clinical intervention, remember, clinical intervention', he bent over to find the alignment lines for the new canula, he could see the curve of her breast. Now what was it he was looking for...

As if moved by a will not of his own, he saw himself bend his head a little further, trailing a line of kisses down her breast, like gentle feathery touches, all the way to the tip. He moved his hand to cup the bottom of her breast, then moved it up and brushed across the nipple, playing with it. It hardened in response and he brought his head over, playfully flicking his tongue over the nub, gently playing with the rest of her breast with his hand. He took the nipple in his mouth, feeling the hard little nob with his tongue, slowly sucking on it. She thrust her chest forward in ecstasy as he sucked and licked with small cooing noise while a monstrous erection raised its head between his legs.--

And suddenly he was back in the room. Malcolm cursed at himself, half-bent over, struggling to find the alignment lines. What the hell had happened?! Must be Phlox's pills again. He really had to talk to the doctor about it.

There was no way he could straighten up in his current state. He started furiously computing trigonometry arcs angles, a trick from his growing years that had never failed him before. Somehow images of ammunition coursing through his mind were not helping. In desperation, he went to mentally reciting the articles of insubordination.

That had a salutory effect, depending on perspective. The ache in his groin receded while he made a show of snapping the last connection with a groan of (dis)satisfaction.

Fortunately, the entire event was over in seconds. Soon T'Pol was busy adjusting her clothes back, impassive as always. She must not have noticed. He chose to believe that like a drowning man chooses to hang on to a buoy. Not that he had a choice, really.

"I'm off to bed!" he called smartly, walking with his back to her and laying face down on the cot. A position he hated, dictated by the exigencies of the situation.

T'Pol didn't seem to find anything unusual or cavalier in his abrupt retreat. Good thing Vulcans didn't embarrass themselves with empty shows of manners. He heard her leave the room back to the endless speeches.

Oblivion overtook him before he had a chance to turn over.

xxxx