—Chapter 5—
Farkhan Ord, Orion raider, slaver and sergeant of the night guard was not best loved by his men. Short, grossly obese and possessed of a vicious temper, he was also dedicated to duty in a way not typical among the Orions, thus on this night he was approaching one of the guard posts to conduct a surprise inspection. Unfortunately for him, he received the surprise in the form of forearm slammed into his throat at the same instant that a knife's blade was thrust into his side, repeatedly.
Malcolm lowered the Orion gently to the ground not from any concern for the pirate, but rather out of a concern to avoid the slightest noise. His men had already used electric stun pistols on the three guards stationed at this post. This fat Orion was an unexpected variable and Malcolm had no choice but to balance th equation through the application of cold steel. He whispered, and T'Pol heard his voice.
"SubCommander, guard post one is cleared."
"Understood, Lieutenant Reed. The teams assigned to clear guard posts two and three have also reported in. No problems."
"These guys must be the flunkie squad. Not one of them was worth their salt."
"That's it then," said T'Pol, over the network. "Everyone ready?"
Everyone chimed in, beginning with Captain Archer and ending with Trip.
"Then let us begin," said T'Pol.
Malcolm led the security teams through the Field of Feces and into the mass of prisoners to join Commander Tucker. The prisoners and security teams then, led by Trip and Malcolm, charged silently for the Orions just as Shuttlepod 2 flew over the camp, dropping two hundred homemade flash bangs over the buildings which housed the Orions and the dozen or so Orions still awake. Ke'Relle began shooting the Orion's reptiles one by one as soon as the flash bangs went off, then when the few Orions still in shape to fight back started firing into the mass of prisoners and crewmen charging them, Ke'Relle turned her long rifle on them. Moments later, the still stunned Orions were overrun, and most of them killed before Malcolm could impose order and take prisoners. It had all gone well, over and done with in a matter of minutes. A roar went up from all of the prisoners, when they realized they now stood free.
"Everyone, report in," said T'Pol, "beginning with Commander Tucker."
"I got winged, T'Pol," said Trip, "but I'll live."
"I've got three wounded from my teams," said Malcolm "A dozen or so wounded from among the captives, as well as five dead. I suggest that Shuttlepod 2 begin ferrying the badly wounded to Enterprise. Medics can tend the lighter wounds here on the planet."
"The shuttle is on its way, Lieutenant," said Archer.
Four hours later, Trip got his turn with Dr. Phlox.
"Ah, Commander," said Phlox with a smile, "I apologize for the wait. We had to prioritize everyone by the severity of their injuries."
"I understand, Doctor," said Trip as Phlox looked him over. "Anyway, it gave me a chance to shower and clean up a bit, which was just as well, considering what I had to crawl through in that camp."
"Good. Good. You're my first injury case among the senior officers since I signed on with the Enterprise, Commander Tucker."
"Well, don't get used to it, Doc. This will be my first, and last time in SickBay."
T'Pol walked into Sick Bay, looked at Trip, then Phlox, and raised a brow at the Denobulan.
"That's the spirit, Commander," said Phlox as he treated Trip's wound. "Nothing to worry about here. It's a minor wound."
"Yeah," said Trip. "The energy bolt barely grazed me and most of its energy was wasted."
"That's lucky for you, Commander," said Phlox as he administered a painkiller to his patient, then bandaged the man up, "but it must still hurt."
Trip moaned as the injection kicked in, and said, "Thanks, Doc."
"No problem, Commander. Come see me tomorrow if you require another injection. I'd allow to stay in Sick Bay, but I'm already running out of room."
"I'll sleep better in my own bed anyway, Doctor," said Trip as he slid off the bed he'd been sitting on when Phlox was tending to him.
"SubCommander, may I—" said Phlox.
"I will see that Commander Tucker gets to his quarters," said T'Pol, anticipating the Doctor's request.
"Thank you, SubCommander," said Phlox. "Let me get you a wheelchair."
"I don't need a wheelchair," said Trip.
"We'll be fine, Doctor," said T'Pol. "Worst case scenario I can toss him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes."
"As you wish, SubCommander," said Phlox.
"Oh, I'm feeling good," said Trip, and the he started laughing.
"What's wrong with him?" said T'Pol to Phlox.
"Nothing, SubCommander. I gave him some good stuff to dull the pain. Go on now."
T'Pol looked at Trip and said, "Commander Tucker? Let's go to your quarters. You need to sleep."
Trip looked at T'Pol and a moment later her words made sense.
"Ok, T'Pol."
As they walked through the hallway towards the elevator, Trip started laughing again. He stumbled, only to be rescued by T'Pol, who then placed one of the Commander's arms over her shoulders and steadied him with her other hand around his waist.
"Come along, Commander," said T'Pol.
"Mmmm," said Trip. "Why do I smell vanilla and oranges?"
"It is just the scent of my soap, Commander. It incorporates Earth vanilla beans and the oils of a low-moisture Vulcan citrus, thus the scent."
"Oh,"said Trip, "that reminds me, Chef made some lemon bars tonight. We need to stop by the Mess Hall, to pick up some lemon bars. We can eat them in my quarters."
"No lemon bars. It is late and you need your sleep."
"I want lemon bars, T'Pol. Now. That's an order!"
"I am your superior officer, Commander Tucker. You seem to have trouble remembering that fact."
"Oh. I still want three or four lemon bars."
Crewmen Eivers and Stev were passing by just in time to catch this exchange and they were grinning like Cheshire cats, assuming Trip was drunk.
"Evening, SubCommander," said Eivers. "Need a hand?"
"I have it under control, crewman."
"Yes, sir."
An elevator ride and a few minutes later, T'Pol stood in front of the Commander's door. As a senior officer she could open any door on the Enterprise and she did so to enter the Commander's quarters. T'Pol laid the man on the bed, but he wouldn't let go of her and dragged her down to the mattress atop him, only to start laughing again. She worked her way free as Trip wormed his way under his blanket and a moment later she raised the blanket to take off the Commander's slippers.
"Thank you, T'Pol," said Trip, looking up at the Vulcan.
"You are welcome, Commander."
"Sing me, Soft Kitty," said Trip.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said, looking up at T'Pol. "If you'd gotten me those lemon bars, we could sit on my bed to share them, and I could lose myself in your eyes all night long."
"That would be a most illogical use of your time, Commander."
"I suppose," said Trip, with a sigh. "You know, we're getting along better and better each day since our little bug-tussle on the Bridge. I'm glad you decided to stay aboard. To translate my meaning into Vulcan, I find your presence on this ship agreeable, T'Pol."
"And I find you most agreeable tonight, Commander. Perhaps I will get the Doctor to prescribe you a daily dose of that pain killer."
Trip mumbled something and closed his eyes. Within a minute he was fast asleep. T'Pol sighed, and looked around. She'd never seen the Commander's quarters before and was curious, despite herself. A tall bookshelf with some books on warp mechanics, Turkish cooking, Vietnamese cooking, a few motorcycle magazines, on one shelf, some wonderfully detailed machines and machine parts cast in bronze on another. Some silly sculptures standing on small podiums. One was a chubby dinosaur named Godzilla, another seemed to be a walking corpse named Frankenstein, and so on.
Some drawings on his desk, the style instantly recognizable. Two days earlier one of the Enterprise's crewmen running an errand to the Bridge for Archer, gave T'Pol an envelope from Commander Tucker. On studying the contents of the envelope T'Pol found a very well done drawing of herself, licking her lips, knife and fork in her hands as she looked down upon a small pig who was resting on her plate. The pig was smiling and giving her a wink, which seemed most improbable to T'Pol. Beneath the drawing, the Commander had written, "Lunch, today? Call Engineering before you leave for the Mess Hall."
She didn't know why he even bothered with a note. They ate lunch together almost daily unless work intruded, then dinner together with the Captain, then quite often a late-night meet in the Mess Hall for the Commander's customary nighttime snack, when she just happened to decide she needed a cup of tea in that same time period, which was usually every night.
A t-shirt on the floor, which T'Pol picked up. She buried her face in it, to discern if it was clean, or not. She could not decide, though she held it to her face longer than strictly necessary. The chime of the door bell called for her attention, and T'Pol went to answer it.
"Greetings, T'Pol," said Ke'Relle. "I just came aboard and wanted to see how Trip is doing."
T'Pol bristled inwardly at her fellow Vulcan's presence here, as well as the familiar way she used Commander Tucker's nickname, but she hid it well.
"He is fine, Ke'Relle. The Commander fell asleep a few moments ago. I was just leaving."
"Good. Perhaps I'll stop by here later, see if he's up."
"The doctor gave him a strong sedative. Do not come back here and wake him tonight. He needs his rest."
"Doctor's orders, T'Pol?" said Ke'Relle, with a smile which implied that T'Pol had ulterior motives to keep Ke'Relle and Commander Tucker apart.
"Precisely."