—CHAPTER 9—
The Vulcan battle-cruiser Tal'Kir had dropped off the Risan freighter, named Silin by the faded script on its starboard side, and after giving it a once over, Trip declared it fit as a fiddle, and a hell of a fiddle at that. Travis took over from there and after a two hour test flight seemed well pleased at the hot rod the Vulcans had provided.
Archer had a complete scan done of the ship, then forwarded the data to StarFleet. The Engineering weenies would find something interesting there. As the most primitive of the space faring species they'd made contact with, StarFleet always had something to learn from alien technology. Now if they could just figure out how to scan a Vulcan battlecruiser… But the Vulcans had some kind of scanner jamming technology protecting their first tier ships, as a matter of principle.
It took about an hour to attach the neural whip to T'Pol. It was a lot more compact than the basic model, a slim, flexible metal mesh contraption about two inches square, placed at the base of T'Pol's skull. Trip's counterpart to the whip simply clipped to the back of the left ear, close to, but not attached to the skull.
The base unit, the Vulcan doctor explained, merely picked up Trip's brain waves, and entrained the same patterns into T'Pol, using her implant. So if Trip recalled the painful memory, say of burning his hand, the neural whip would create the same pattern in T'Pol and she would feel the pain, without taking any physical damage. If Trip had never burned his hand, but could imagine it, that would be just as good as the real thing. The strength of the effect which T'Pol would feel could be adjusted by Trip's base unit, so that a small pain, or pleasure, could be magnified for T'Pol, or reduced as desired. Trip had theorized that they could use this link as a crude communication device and retreated to the Mess Hall with T'Pol to try it out, while the rest of the crew went about its business.
Two days after his initial conference call with Admiral Ryan and Soval, Captain Archer and the chosen team were seated around a conference table, their attention focused on Dr. Phlox.
"I'll be brief," said Phlox. "I've studied the medical parts of the data package which we've received from the Vulcans, and I've observed T'Pol's operation, minor though it was. I will have no trouble removing the device, if called upon to do so."
"Any long term effects of the neural whip, or the base unit," said Captain Archer, looking at the Doctor, "on Trip or T'Pol?"
"There should be none at all, Captain."
Further discussion was interrupted by the chirping of the comm unit.
"Evers to Captain Archer."
Evers was the crewman manning Hoshi's Comm Station.
"Yes, crewman."
"We are being hailed by StarFleet."
"We're expecting the call, crewman. Route it here."
"Yes, sir."
A moment later, Ryan and Soval were displayed once more upon the central monitor. After a few minutes of social pleasantries and introductions, talk turned to the neural whip.
"Speaking of which," said T'Pol, "Commander Tucker has managed to modify the whip into a crude communication device."
"How did you do that?" said Soval, looking at his protégé, T'Pol, then at Trip.
"Just duplicated the mechanics of the whip in reverse," said Trip. "Now her neural patterns will be transmitted to me, as well."
"To what purpose, Commander?" said Soval.
"Think about it. I can make T'Pol feel what I want her to feel, but she can do the same to me. Pair that function with the Morse code—"
This was the first Archer had heard of it, but he liked it.
"So you have an undetectable method of two way communication between the each other," said the captain.
"Yep," said Trip. "Tap for a dot, a swipe to the right for a dash, on the back of our hand, or simply imagine the Morse code sequence, and we are communicating. It's cumbersome compared to a comm unit, but invalueble in case she gets separated from me. I've built several backups of the base unit, in case the one I'm wearing takes some damage, and the Orions will not remove T'Pol's whip, so we should be fine."
"I see T'Pol was wise to choose you, Commander Tucker," said Soval, "but is there some reason you simply could not spell out the words on the back of your hands. It might be faster than Morse code."
"I'll be damned," said Trip with a smile, and T'Pol seemed off put as well. "Glad to have your input, Ambassador."
"Think nothing of it," said Soval. "I take it you've planned out your mission and you'll soon be ready to go?"
"We are leaving tonight, Soval. I've forwarded our plans to your office under Tetra-Kanda encryption," said T'Pol, "though I would rather you disclosed that information to no one, unless absolutely necessary. I forward it only in case we fail and disappear and you send another team in. It might help them avoid our mistakes."
"Disappear?" said Trip. "We can disappear? I don't know how I feel about this."
"Shut up, Trip," said Archer.
"Were the clothes we sent adequate?" said Soval.
Vulcan tailors had made a number of outfits in the style and cut of the clothes found in Syndicate space. It's not like they could go into Syndicate space wearing their StarFleet uniforms, and there was no reason to stand out, and every reason not to stand out.
"They are adequate, Soval," said T'Pol.
"Well, I wish you all success in this mission and a safe return. Gratitude for your service, to all of you," said Soval, "on behalf of the Vulcan people."
After Soval's image vanished off the monitor at the completion of the call, Trip said, " Soval's gratitude is like a luxurious blanket, which will warm me for the rest of my life."
Hoshi and Malcolm chuckled at that quip, but T'Pol gave Trip a sad shake of the head, and said, "Between your earlier flop and the lukewarm reception of this joke, your numbers keep dropping, Commander."
The Silin had been underway for twelve hours now at warp 4.5, which was an impressive speed for a ship of this class. As the ranking officer on this ship, SubCommander T'Pol was sitting in the Captain's Chair, while Hoshi manned her station, Travis piloted the ship and Malcolm gave her a rundown on ship's defenses.
"Your people did quite a job on this ship, SubCommander," said Malcolm. "It's basically nothing but armor, engine and weapons, a gunship that looks like a merchant freighter. Eight phaser cannons, where one would be the norm on this type of ship. Vanadium steel construction and structural reinforcements throughout the ship, plus a double thick hull, also vanadium steel. This beauty can take quite a beating in a firefight. As for our personal use we have a dozen Andorian phaser rifles, ten Risan blaster pistols, thirty-six Klingon fragmentation grenades and about a hundred hand weapons of various types."
"I hope to do this without violence," said T'Pol, "which would draw attention to us, Lieutenant."
"I agree," said Malcolm. "But you never know the hand we'll be dealt, SubCommander. Did you happen to take a look at the manifest of our cargo?"
"No, but I have the list in my quarters. Why?"
"It's stuffed with Andorian Ale, Risan silks and some Vulcan art, mostly pottery and metal work."
"I was told we would be given some merchandise to complete our cover as smugglers. We can use it for payoffs or information," said T'Pol.
"That was a good idea," said Malcolm.
After shifting in her seat and looking around, though this was a small Bridge in which one would find it difficult to hide, T'Pol said, "Is Commander Tucker still alive? I have not seen him since we left the Enterprise."
"I believe he's in the Engine Room now, SubCommander," said Hoshi, "no doubt polishing the engines.
T'Pol waved at the Bridge's video display and with the flick of a switch, Hoshi activated the camera in the Engine Room. A curious sight awaited them all.
Trip had liberated a bottle of Andorian Ale from the Cargo Bay and one of Chef's huge avocado, smoked turkey and Provolone sandwiches from the stasis box and seemed to be enjoying a leisurely brunch as he watched a slender Vulcan beauty do some type of nude yoga.
Malcolm looked at Hoshi, and they both snickered at each other, then Hoshi looked at T'Pol.
"Am I interrupting you, Commander?" said T'Pol.
Trip looked around for a camera, then raised his sandwich in salute when he saw it.
"Not at all, T'Pol. Just snacking at my desk. What's up?"
"Do you usually drink this early in the day, Commander?"
"Since I'm walking into the lion's den in the course of this mission and I've never tasted Andorian Ale before, I decided to indulge. I don't want to end up dead, or find myself auctioned in an Orion slave market, with any regrets over how I spent my last few days of freedom."
"And the pornography?"
"Hey," said Trip, self-righteously, "it was your people that left this video aboard the ship! In the interests of cultural exchange and a deeper bond with your people I took it upon myself to view the video and so come to a richer understanding of Vulcans."
"That is a laudable goal, Commander, but that video is meant for educational and meditative purposes, Commander, not to provide you with titillation. You are misusing it."
"Oh, believe me, T'Pol, I am using it for educational and meditative—"
"I seriously doubt that, Commander Tucker."
"What can I do for you, T'Pol?" said Trip.
T'Pol could see that Trip was irritated now, and though she outranked him, an irritated Commander Tucker was as pleasant and compliant as a bear with a sore tooth so she wisely decided to move on.
"If you can muster up an appetite once more in thirty minutes, I would like to discuss some things over lunch."
"Fine," said Trip. "I'll have a Brownie Blast, while we talk."
"Your sugar addiction is becoming a problem, Commander. Vulcan dietary principles—."
"Never stand between me and my treats, T'Pol. I'll see you in thirty."
T'Pol stood and said, "I need to check some navigational charts before my lunch with the Commander. You have the conn, Lieutenant Reed."
A moment later she was gone, and Hoshi, Malcolm and Travis went back to watching Trip on the monitor, as he watched the lithe Vulcan beauty easily stretch into poses that would have given any feline a humbling lesson into the true meaning of flexibility. The Commander's appreciation of the Vulcan's art was apparent.
"Oh, yeah… Beautiful. Slowly my pet, slowly."
"Should we be watching this?" said Hoshi, giggling. "What if Trip gets excited and does something…"
"Then we blackmail him," said Malcolm, still a Section 31 operative at heart, though he was truly trying to shed his past.
"I can't watch this any more, Lieutenant," said Travis with a laugh, as Trip started humming along with the musical soundtrack of the video and drumming a beat on the tabletop... with his hand.
"I can hear you bastards talking. Turn that camera off. That's an order," said Trip, never missing a beat, never looking away from the video he was watching. "If you make me come up there, I'll make you regret it."
"I'll go with this," said Trip, taking stock of himself in the mirror, an hour after his lunch with T'Pol.
"Don't you want to try on something else, Commander," said Hoshi. "That's kind of plain."
"That's the idea, Hoshi," said Trip. "I want to be a ghost on this mission. I'm done here."
"Perhaps the Commander is just eager to return back to the Engine Room for more instruction in the art of moving meditation," said T'Pol.
She was ten feet from Trip, but hidden from his sight by an opaque partition. Trip, T'Pol, Hoshi and Malcolm were all trying out some of the outfits which the Vulcans had determined would be appropriate to wear in Syndicate space. Travis would find something later, when T'Pol or Malcolm could spell him.
Trip had chosen the Risan equivalent of a navy blue sweater, black cargo pants and black steel-toed boots. It was low-key, and seemed appropriate wear for a crewhand. Malcolm had selected something similar in tan and black. Hoshi, on the other hand, seemed determined to make a splash, with a green and silver metallic top, blue bell-bottomed pants and some stylish black leather shoes.
"What do you think?" said Hoshi, spinning gracefully to display her outfit.
"Groovy, man," said Trip making the peace sign with his fingers.
Malcolm murmured something that Hoshi took as a compliment, for she gave the Lieutenant a smile before going back to look for a silk scarf.
Trip was fiddling with his sweater in front of a mirrored wall, when T'Pol entered his view.
"Mother of God," said Trip, turning quickly.
T'Pol was wearing a dress for the first time, at least in his presence. It was a simple sleeveless tunic, a fetching shade of red, breaking three or four inches above her knees. The black sash that a human female would have fastened at the waist, she'd wrapped around her body an inch below her breasts in the Vulcan manner. Though she had been wise enough to choose a plain dress of simple cotton, it still looked amazing on her.
"You're not really wearing that dress..."
"Why not, Commander?"
"The idea is to blend in, T'Pol."
"And so, Commander? This type of garment is commonly worn by the enslaved in Syndicate space. I will blend right in."
"Not with those legs you won't."
T'Pol was confused. She studied her legs in the mirror.
"I do not understand your objection, Commander Tucker. There is nothing about my legs that would draw undue notice."
"They're drawing my undue notice, T'Pol. In fact, I'm getting downright agitated."
"He's right, SubCommander," said Hoshi, as she walked past them. "You've got hot legs."
"Hot?"
"Aesthetically pleasing, T'Pol," said Trip.
T'Pol felt a sliver of pleasure at the Commander's words. She supressed it ruthlessly. This was no time for foolishness.
"Perhaps the problem is the sandals, Commander. Should I wear something with a higher heel?"
"That would double my agitation, T'Pol."
"Very well, Commander Tucker. What do you suggest?"
"I saw some burlap sacks in the cargo hold. Let me staple a few of them together in the form of an ankle length dress."
"That is ridiculous, Commander. Now, do you have a logical objection to my outfit?"
"As a matter of fact I do, T'Pol. You are more than desirable enough for someone to slip a knife in my side in order to steal my base unit and gain control of you in the process, after which you get to live a life of forbidden pleasures in a Syndicate brothel, while poor Trip ends up wearing a colostomy bag for the rest of his life."
"You must stop being so melodramatic, Commander. It is unbecoming for a man of your rank," said T'Pol. "We go as we are."