And here is the next chapter.
§ 11 §
What was it that Forrest had told him that time? Ah – yes. That Vulcans wouldn't look half as devious if, at least once in a while, they let themselves smile.
As he unobtrusively eyed V'Sir, to his right, Blake couldn't agree more. And their Pointy-Eared allies also needed a bit of work on their social skills, he ranted silently. A man in a coma would be better company.
"I shall take the helm," the Ambassador suddenly said, breaking the silence for the first time in minutes.
Blake frowned. "What, you don't trust my piloting, Ambassador?" he threw him in jest.
"I simply have new coordinates," V'Sir very formally replied.
Of course – no smiles, no sense of humour. Blake repressed a sigh; then his eyebrows met in a new frown, this one of puzzlement. "New coordinates? When did you get them?" he guardedly enquired.
"That doesn't concern you, Admiral."
Difficult as it was, Blake bit back the nasty retort that was already on his lips. Oh, if only he could allow himself the pleasure of telling this arrogant man off! But that would hardly serve Starfleet's cause, and if this mission brought them more freedom from the High Command's irksome supervision, he might just get the chance. Patience.
"Why don't you just give the coordinates to me?" he asked instead, striving to keep a neutral tone.
The reply came in the flat voice that smacked, as usual, of condescension. "It will be easier if you let me pilot."
"This is still a Starfleet vessel," Blake countered a touch more darkly.
V'Sir turned to him, probably to let him see the resolve in his piercing eyes.
"I am a certified pilot;" he said. "Not only that: I can fly a Vulcan ship, which is – I can assure you – more complex than this Shuttle." Before Blake could say something to that, he added firmly, "I must remind you, Admiral, that there was no need for you to come with me on this mission. Earth only had to provide a ship. The High Command was kind enough to comply with Starfleet Command's request to have you on board, but I am under no obligations to take orders from you."
That pretty well put an end to the issue. Blake shot the sinewy Vulcan a look in which, for once, he was unable to hide his raw feelings; then moved out of the seat and let him take the helm.
Immediately V'Sir inputted new coordinates, and the pod veered.
"With all due respect, Subcommander, you are taking the three highest ranking officers off Enterprise," Malcolm wearily pointed out, once they were in the turbo lift. He rubbed his eyes, trying not to keep them closed more than a fleeting instant, lest he had to face Archer's ghost again. He could do without him, at the moment. Correction – always.
"I am aware of that, Lieutenant."
Something about T'Pol belied her calm exterior, but Malcolm could not put a finger on what it was.
"Commander Tucker appears to have doubts about my conduct," the Vulcan went on, giving Trip one hell of a raised-eyebrow look. "Therefore it is important that he comes with us and witnesses all that will pass."
Her mouth. Yes, it was the rigid set of her mouth that betrayed her feelings.
Trip's face twitched in a slight wince. "Well, you have to admit that..." he stammered. Passing a hand over his face, he re-emerged looking somewhat contrite. "Look, I'm sorry, but---"
"I shall meet you both at the docking port," T'Pol uncharacteristically cut him off. As soon as the lift came to a halt and the doors opened, she exited and hurried away, leaving the two of them frozen in place.
"I believe you have pissed her off," Malcolm commented under his breath as soon as he was sure that those sensitive Vulcan ears were distant enough.
He gave a low, mirthless chuckle meant as a sarcastic commentary to their lovely situation, and – bang, Archer suddenly choked it out of his throat. The man's face – now Malcolm could see all of it – was pale and hollow; his eyes circled.
It was enough to make him gasp for air.
"Malcolm!"
Something came to clasp his arms painfully. As if it had been made of wax, Archer's face slowly melted away. Malcolm found himself staring wide-eyed into Trip's worried blue gaze.
"Malcolm! What's wrong?"
Trip gave him a good shake, which dispelled the last remnants of his confusion.
"I think I'm going insane," Malcolm breathed out.
Falling back against the wall of the lift, he swallowed hard against the admission, which had come out unintentionally. But he needed to let some of it in the open, or…
"What?" Trip slowly released him, worry turning into puzzlement. "What the heck do you mean?"
This wasn't the time for psychotherapy. Malcolm pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nothing, I---"
"That wasn't nothin', damn it!" Trip broke in, sounding angry as much as alarmed. "You're gonna tell me what's wrong, and now; or help me God I'll march you to Sickbay and leave you there to rot." Darkly, he added, "Can't promise I won't end up doin' it regardless, the way you look."
Brilliant. Malcolm took a steadying breath. He had to play this right.
"Trip, I'm…" He closed his eyes; then hurried to blink them open. "I'm tired. I'm sure it's only that. I haven't slept well, or even much, after we left that planet. I… I keep seeing the Captain."
There, it was out, though it was the truth in disguise, for the way it had sounded Trip would undoubtedly take it for something else. I keep seeing the Captain every time I as much as blink my eyes closed; and now even when I don't would have been more like it.
Trip's shoulders sagged. "Yeah, I've dreamt of him too," he indeed said, softly; painfully. Raising assessing eyes, he added, "But you blanked out there. You sure you feel up to comin' with us?"
"I'll be okay. I need to look after the two of you," Malcolm replied with a pale smile that Trip didn't mirror.
It wasn't a joke, actually. Reluctant as he was about leaving Enterprise without her three highest-ranking officers, he would be equally concerned if he had to remain on board while Trip and T'Pol went with Shran.
They looked at each other for a long, silent moment. Malcolm's conscience was nagging him to confess, and he knew he would feel better if he did; but it was not the time. Later. After this cursed mission was over. Then he would tell Trip everything; and even Phlox, perhaps.
"Let's go; or we'll make Shran wait, and he doesn't strike me as the patient type," Malcolm finally said, summoning enough willpower to make the words sound more or less convincing.
Trip's blue eyes didn't seem persuaded; with a sigh that was older than his age, the Engineer preceded him out of the lift.
The mood inside the Andorian ship was one of unspoken mistrust. Shran kept looking at T'Pol as if she might be about to produce a phase rifle and kill them all in a wrath. Malcolm, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his own wariness. The blue aliens hadn't exactly made a good impression on him at P'Jem; and first impacts have a tendency to influence one's judgement of people.
The interior of the ship was quite a bit more spacious than Malcolm had expected. It was also more pleasant than he had anticipated, both in design and colour-scheme. Pastel blue, which had always made him sick in doctors' waiting rooms, was unexpectedly uplifting here, and a welcome change from their own depressing grey bulkheads.
Malcolm let himself get distracted for a moment by the look on Trip's face, for the man did nothing to hide his curiosity. The Engineer's passion for alien technology – especially engines, but not only – was well-known.
"How fast is she?" Trip asked Shran, with a hopeful glance.
The antennae on the Andorian's head twitched. "Commander," he replied, almost in amusement. "This is a vessel of the Imperial Guard. I cannot reveal that to you."
Shran turned to his pilot. "Anything on sensors?"
"No, Sir," the man replied. "This nebula is quite dense. Sensors aren't very efficient inside it."
"It isn't of great importance."
They all turned to the owner of the voice who had spoken.
T'Pol gave Shran a steady look; then bestowed one on Trip. "I have the right coordinates."
Shran narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "Do you, Subcommander?"
"I had asked the Ambassador for them; I thought it was wise to have them, in case something went wrong and we had to rendezvous with the shuttlepod before time."
She tilted her head to one side, as if to say, "Do you believe me now?"
"What are you waiting for, Vulcan," Shran barked. "Give them to the helm!"
Malcolm, who was watching the exchange with a certain apprehension, saw Trip's face harden.
"Watch your temper, Andorian," the Engineer snapped. "We're supposed to be on the same side, here."
A battle of glares later, T'Pol had given the coordinates to the pilot, and they were on the right course.
TBC