Disclaimers:
Trip, T'Pol, and Star Trek: Enterprise belong to Paramount, even if Paramount has forgotten all about them...
This story is an extrapolation of deeper currents to S2E7: "The Seventh." Spoilers for that episode, S1E7: "The Andorian Incident," and S1E14: "Shadows of P'Jem."
Author's Note:
Real Life continues to keep me hopping in all kinds of ways...thankfully, most of them have been good, like celebrating my son's 16th birthday, and his initiation into the world of drivers. Then there's business stuff for our growing hot sauce enterprise (pun intended); finishing revisions a non-Trek short story for a small-press anthology; and various other personal and family projects.
There's one more short chapter to this story, at the moment. After that, we go to drabbles, in a new story which will eventually lead to new chapters for this one….does that makes sense to anyone but me?
My Story A Day Sepetember Drabble Series, is growing daily, and posting will commence once the final chapter is posted here (and that's pending revision).
This chapter contains a bit of #headcanon: the tikkin is the rarest of Vulcan fruit, living its entire life cycle in a matter of moments. It's found only on the Forge, and only when T'Khut, Vulcan's sister planet, is full. Ingesting its nectars, which must be done in a very specific manner to prevent the fruit's immediate decomposition, brings a madness, and permanent cellular changes. Those who ingest the nectar are said to choose less conventional lives, and to live by a deeper, broader form of logic than others. Whether this is quantifiably true is unknown; those who do so seldom reveal their acts.
As with my previous drabble series, I'm looking for prompt words from my readers….they don't have to be Trek-related, since I love a challenge! I've got a nice little pile from Braxin and some fans, but Trip and T'Pol are word-greedy. So, please – lay 'em on me!
Flashes
As the shuttlepod nears the planet, and the official beginning of her mission, T'Pol's agitation grows, and with it the heaviness, which is now accompanied by nausea. She could attribute it to her indulgence in the cake, but she had allowed ample time for the intoxicants to clear her system.
The cause of her distress is Menos.
And, at the same time, it isn't Menos.
There is no logic in this paradox. It is nonetheless true. Menos is at the root of her emotional disequlibrium, but there is more.
As she sits in front of Captain Archer, T'Pol attempts to unravel her confusion.
After she failed to apprehend Menos in the Risan jungle, she'd taken leave, and traveled to the Forge to engage in a period of intensive meditation. That's where she had found the tikkin ftuit, and ingested its psychotropic nectars, welcoming the changes they wrought in her. In the clarity that followed the tikkin-madness, she knew she could no longer serve in the Ministry of Security. She resigned her commission over her mother's objections, and eventually sought sanctuary at P'Jem while she attempted to resolve her unease without T'Les's interference.
She scrolled through the images of Menos, attempting to understand the disquieting wish to request that Ensign Mayweather turn the craft around and return to Enterprise, where she would be safely away from Menos, and her own turmoil.
"T'Pol, is there anything you can tell us about this Menos you're after?"
Yes. I don't want to find him. I don't want to detain him. I don't want to see him. I want to go home, to Enterprise, and forget Menos.
"What I am about to tell you is highly classified information, and must not leave this shuttlepod." Her voice seems hollow as she begins to brief them on the specifics she can share without grave risk to her standing with the High Command.
She's running through the foliage, the sodden air straining her lungs despite the medication intended to allow her to compensate, the scent of Vulcan males discordant in this tropical jungle…
"They thought they were invulnerable."
They? Her own thought is echoed by Captain Archer; and she corrects the misspoken word at once.
Why can she almost see a second, shadowy figure following Menos, and fleeing her? She smells him: n his scent is being discrete and separate from Menos.
Was that how he escaped her? Had he used another Vulcan as a decoy? Or only the scent of one? Where would he procure it?
He is a smuggler. If he wanted the scent of another Vulcan male, he could have secured it, or paid to have it made to his specifications. He'd seen her, more than once, and eluded her. He knew she was a female. Ut would be logical to use that fact to distract her from her pursuit.
Any man would suffice, if his own scent was nullified, and replaced with the scent of a Vulcan.
Is that what had happened? How can she determine if it has? If there was a second man, who was he?
There are too many questions, and no time now to answer them. Mr. Mayweather is landing the craft, and it is time to complete the mission she'd begun seventeen years ago.
The establishment they enter is less a trading post than a makeshift semi-permanent encampment, filled with the type of roughened clientele who don't ask questions of those with whom they engage in business or personal dealings. She struggles with fear that threatens to become panic.
She doesn't want to encounter Menos.
She didn't ask for this assignment. She resigned her position with the Ministry of Security six years past.
If Menos escapes her again, the Ministry will have little choice but to place logic above honor, and assign a more competent operative to the mission, or abandon it.
I could allow him to escape me. Assist him, perhaps, if there is opportunity to do so.
It's not logical from a Vulcan standpoint. But she's served more than a year with humans, and they often employ a different form of logic. Trip, in particular, excels at such improvisational perspectives.
If I must be here, I wish Trip was here as well.
Wishing it so won't make it true; however, she can perhaps emulate his manner of approach.
Perhaps she can increase the probability that Menos will escape without alerting the Captain or Ensign Mayweather. Humans have a tendency to see what they expect to see; they are likely to expect her to perform to the best of her ability. She can take advantage of that expectation, and use it to provide opportunities for the subject of her search to elude her.
She must limit herself to small, unobtrusive actions, but, if Menos is as attentive and wary as she remembers, he may well notice, and slip away before she can follow – particularly, if she doesn't hasten to do so.
She turns her head within her loosened hood, so that her ear will stand out clearly, marking her species. Very few Vulcans travel to places such as this; it will be noteworthy. She makes no attempt to disguise the fact that she is searching, or to alter her kinethesiology, which furher names her Vulcan. If he remembers her, he might identify her as the young woman sent to take him into custody. Surely, if he knows she's searching for him, he will flee. He must logically have an escape route well planned in preparation for such an eventuality. Whatever cosmetic or ethical changes he's undergone, he remains a Vulcan within.
She keeps her search cursory, although she is aware of every detail of this room, every occupant. She knows where her human crewmates are searching.
A motion in a mall mirror, and there is Menos, watching her . Instinct and conditioning take hold of her reflexes, spin her despite her fear -
But he is gone in the time it takes her to complete the motion.
He wanted her to see him. Why?
T'Pol moves through the mass of beings separating them. Her training won't allow her to simple relinquish her search. But she restrains herself from moving quickly. Most of the patrons are male, and considerably larger than she; T'Pol allows them to push and pull at her without resisting.
Menos is near. She can smell him. She can find him easily, but she makes no effort. Instead, she visually scans the room at eye level rather than look beneath the tables. When the Captain approaches her, she says she doesn't know where he is.
Captain Archer leaps up onto a table, and makes the same piercing note he uses to recall his canine.
An energy weapon discharges, inciting a rapid shift of movement away from source and target. Surely, Menos will escape in the frenzy. She can report her failure to the High Command, and be done. With Menos, and the memories of running, and being held down.
Ensign Mayweather ends her hopes.
She's going to have to face Menos, and her own unwillingness to do so.
"Captain Trip?" Malcolm laughs that supercilious British laugh of his.
"Come on, Malcolm. Trip's not that bad."
He'd never realized that how easy it is to hear what's going on out there. How often had the Cap'n listened in? Oh, damn- had he ever listened in while he and T'Pol were alone in the Mess Hall? Had either of them ever said anything incriminating, something that could get her in trouble with the High Command, and him with Starfleet? Or just embarrass them?
"The fact that he wants everyone to call him Trip in the first place ought to be enough to scare you, Hoshi. Captain Trip!" Malcolm actually snorts in derision.
Trip's a little hot under the collar, now. Doesn't sit very well with a sleepless night and gnawing worry about T'Pol.
"He'll probably take over the Captain's Mess, keep Chef busy customizing lunch and dinner, show terrible movies every night, and not even assign anyone to clean up the spilled popcorn. He's likely to divert all the ship's energy to Engineering, and Captain Archer will be lucky if there's anything but debris left when he and T'Pol get back."
That's more than enough for Trip. He snaps off the intercom., and goes back to trying like hell to forget that look on her face when he'd seen her on the shuttlepod stairs. She'd looked past the Captain, and straight at him. Those lost eyes, and the way she stood over that screaming almost-empty kettle, are still chewing at him.
He's willing to bet she didn't sleep last night, either. But all he has to do is keep the ship in orbit and in one piece, while she has to -
What?
What the hell is it she's doing, anyway?
He spent the night pacing and asking himself that. He pokes at his breakfast of French toast, scrambled eggs, and apple maple sausage, but doesn't take a bite. His stomach doesn't want food getting in the way of its twisting and turning. Trip sighs and gets up to pace the length of the Captain's Mess.
He's on his seventh lap when it hits him so fast he nearly crashes into the table.
Whatever has Miss Scared Half Out Of Her Wits And Trying Like Hell Not To Show It terrified enough to guzzle carrot cake is inside of her.
Is it that she's spent so much time living with humans, she's forgetting how to be Vulcan? Is it because of him, and this on-again, off-again almost-friendship between them?
Is he making life easier for her, or harder?
Why the hell hadn't he begged to go with her? He's got this feeling she wanted him with her, and not the Cap'n. Jon's a helluva man, best friend Trip's ever had - but he's got a grudge against the Vulcans that goes a ways past reason, and Trip's seen him dump it on T'Pol too many times to think he won't do it again., if he gets riled.
"You haven't always been so fair to her, either." He didn't mean to blurt it out in an empty room, but it's true. He's stopped jumping down her throat just for being Vulcan, though. It's not that they don't still lock horns about damned near everything, but at least half of it is she's so much fun to fight with. She's got a damned quick mind, a spectacular range of knowledge, and a perspective that challenges him to see things in ways that aren't natural for him. Sometimes, like last night, and when she didn't want to drop everything and run home to marry that guy Koss her parents picked out for her, he gets the idea he maybe does the same for her...
And that she has as much fun as he does matching wits, even if she can't or won't say so.
But the Cap'n - he still translates everything about her through his damned Vulcan lens, still blames her for everything her government does, even though she seems to go against them more often than not, these days. Jon might not even notice that she's in a state of emotional freefall unless she actually comes apart on him.
"And by then, it's probably going to be way too late."
That scares Trip half to death. It kept him awake all night, and makes his stomach refuse the entire idea of breakfast. If she comes apart on a top-secret mission, she could get herself killed. And Jon and Travis might not even see it coming.
"I should have gone with her."
Should have insisted, if she tried to argue about it. Made an ass of himself until she couldn't resist him anymore. He's good at needling her into doing things she wants to do but doesn't see as logical. He could be with her right now, instead of pacing around in the Captain's Mess all alone, talking to himself.
Because now, too late, he's damned sure that she's in real trouble, and she might be going under before anyone else even notices she's not swimming anymore.
"Oh, damn, T'Pol, I'm sorry."
He wants to wait by the comm, hoping against hope she'll call in, or the Captain will, or even Travis, so that he can - what? Tell her he knows she's in the kind of trouble she doesn't know how to deal with, and that he'll be here, when she gets home? Tell the Cap'n to keep an eye on her, because she's an emotional wreck right now?
"Oh, yeah, Tucker. I can see that. There'll be rumors all over the ship that I'm a lovesick puppy she's too emotionless to even notice enough to kick me out the airlock."
But he's got to do something to stave off the worry. He stares at the comm, and remembers Malcolm's derision. It gives him an idea. He spends a few minutes thinking it over, but he knows he's going to do it, because there's really nothing else he can do right now.
He's the Acting Cap'n, and he's damned well going to play the part, keep morale up, and maybe help with his own, in the process. That's it – he's going to do what he needs to do to take care of things here, and hope karma is on his side and protects her, too.
He'll start with Malcolm. He's going to work that damned military swagger and arrogance right out of him. It's not like the arrogance T'Pol had when she first got here. That was more the way they all perceived her at first, more than it was any intention on her part. Vulcans just have different body language and different ways of seeing things. It's not really arrogance at all, because arrogance would be illogical.
But Malcolm's human, and ought to know better.
And, since he doesn't, Trip's going to use his nervous energy to teach the Tactical Officer a lesson.
"...And I don't deserve to be shot."
Flashes.
He's running; she's running. Someone else between them.
All running -
Being forced down, held against a stone bed, supine, struggling.
Her throat raw from screaming.
"No one's going to shoot you." Captain Archer's voice brings her back to the present, but the flashes intrude again:
Running.
One man.
Two men.
Her.
The stone platform.
Writhing, thrashing.
Screaming through a raw throat.
Menos speaks and breaks the flashes.
"What about her?"
The words hold meanings she can't understand. Does he know something she doesn't? Is he trying to sway her? What of the hologram he displayed? Does he carry it as a ruse, or does he truly have a wife and children? What will be the consequences to them, if she returns Menos to Vulcan, as ordered? Are they innocents who will be punished by his incarceration, when they have nothing to do with his crimes, real or implied?
Flashes again - too many flashes – overwhelming her mind. The sensations more real than this moment, this trading station. Juxtaposition of hot wet jungle and cold hard stone.
Running.
One man.
Two men.
Her.
Stone platform.
Cold and hard.
The hands pinning her.
Screaming, fighting -
Helpkess.
"You're a liar!" Her throat is raw, like when she was pinned to the stone while the ancient priest chants. She jerks up from her chair, knife in hand - when did she unsheath it? Why had she brought it? What does she intend to do with it?
Is she going to kill him?
She doesn't know. She lunges forward, and slices -
Captain Archer yanks at her from behind, trying to hold her. "T'Pol!" She feels his fear through the touch - he thinks she's stabbed Menos. That she means to kill him. But she has achieved her objective. When the momentum of the freed strap thrusts her back, he looks at what she's holding and releases her. She cuts free another of the straps on his outer garment, then spins. Captain Archer moves quickly out of her path and asks her what she's doing.
"He's not telling the truth." She lashes the buckles to the bottoms of her boots. She's uncertain what she intends. She is certain of only one thing.
She must have answers.
"Where the hell are you going?" Captain Archer follows her.
"T'Pol!" The command tone jolts into her motion.
She turns halfway back. Frigid wind and sharp-edged snow through the open door. He's her Captain; she must respond. But she can't stop.
"He says he has a ship full of injector casings." She turns away, into the cold, bare hands tugging at her hood. Down the stairs, and onto the landing deck, moving in a quick sliding shuffle. The need for answers drives her on, pulls her to Menos' ship.
Flashes, as she runs.
Not frozen - hot jungle.
Air, but so rank and thick she it chokes her, drowns her desert-evolved lungs.
Running anyway. Intent on the mission.
At the edge of limbic engagement, with no recourse.
Fear rising in her -
The stone platform, the shearing pain, the emotions crushing her as she struggles - no one holding her now; she's fighting herself, and what's within her.
"But the platform's covered with acid." Captain Archer's words echo. Acid. Emotion.
She must understand!
Into the craft - a small cargo vessel, only one hold. Containers of varying sizes and shapes; shefocuses on the large metal crates. These could house injector casings, if he's telling the truth.
The lids are too heavy to lift on her own - not for Menos, but she's smaller, female - she stares from place to place, and finds a prising rod.
Cold - the metal so cold in her hands, like the stone beneath her.
Not Risa-hot, phaser gripped tightly in a sweating, shaking hand, the heat not desert-dry and welcoming, but a potent, humid force -
One container.
Casings. Nothing else.
A second - she moves a casing or two -
Flashing -
Running, heat, leaves slapping at her face. The man nearest stumbling, falling. The other turning, yelling, as though he had never been Vulcan, "Jossen!"
It is Menos. She sees his face, contorted around the other's name -
An Elder, no - an Ancient - reading from an obsolete text. She's forced down, the impact absorbed by the hands that hold her, won't release her -
The two events are connected. Menos, Jossen, and Risa; priest, hands, stone.
A third container. She wrenches it open. Tthe muscles in her shoulder strain nearly to the tearing point. She digs the bar into it, then sinks down to use her hands, headless of the dangers -
Only injector casings.
Only memories she doesn't understand.
Only the Captain, and Ensign Mayweather -
And not Trip.
They don't know how fragile her control can be. They can't help her to understand the chaos of her emotions.
She sinks down against the crate. Guilt and despair and fear obscure all reason, she imagines that Trip is here, holding her, accepting her, making tea and human jokes -
But he's not here, and she's never felt more vulnerable and alone, lost in questions and memories.