—Chapter 18—
A month after he, Hoshi and Travis had returned from Syndicate space, and two weeks after the return of Trip and T'Pol from Vulcan, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was just getting ready for bed when his desktop monitor flickered to life, displaying the face of a man Malcolm had no desire to see.
"Harris, you bloody arsehole," said Malcolm, "I don't work for you any longer, so get lost."
Harris laughed. He was used to this sort of response when he reached out to retired agents, or rather those who considered themselves retired. No one left Section 31. Once in, you were in for life.
"It's good to see you too, Malcolm, you silly muppet," said Harris.
"I know one way to shut you off, you prick," said Malcolm, reaching for the power cord.
"Before you do that," said Harris sharply, "you might want to know that people have already died, and will likely continue to die, something which you might have prevented from happening, Reed."
Malcolm breathed a heavy sigh, sat himself facing the monitor, and said, "Tell me about it."
The next morning, Captain Archer called the senior staff to the Captain's Mess, for a working breakfast, which meant Trip, T'Pol, Malcolm and Doctor Phlox, as Phlox was the head of Medical, even though he only had a staff of two nurses.
They made small talk while the food was passed around. Eggs, bacon, hash browns and a basket of Chef's cheddar and buttermilk biscuits for Archer and Malcom. French roast coffee and a huge Belgian waffle with whipped cream and a drizzle of vanilla and orange liquor for Phlox, hot tea and a warm rice pudding topped with cinnamon and brown sugar for T'Pol and a jackfruit smoothie paired with a Vietnamese banh mi lemongrass pork sandwich for Trip.
"I'll be brief," said Archer, sliding a PADD, a Personal Access Display Device, to Trip and another to Malcolm. "We will rendezvous with the Vulcan battle cruiser Volares tomorrow morning. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed will participate in a joint mission with the Vulcans."
"What type of mission?" said T'Pol.
"I have no idea, SubCommander. Perhaps Trip or Malcolm will enlighten us," said the captain.
Trip tapped the touch screen of the PADD unit, entered his personal access code and read his orders.
"Can't help you, Captain. I am ordered to accompany Lieutenant Reed on this mission. He has tactical authority, which supersedes my rank, effectively immediately. If you want to know anything, ask my boss," said Trip, grinning at Malcolm.
"What the hell," said Archer, and looked at Malcolm, who was reading his orders.
"Sorry, Captain," said Malcolm. "Need to know basis only."
Archer didn't like it, but he didn't have to. It was just a way of life in the structured environment that was StarFleet.
"Given that there seems to be some Vulcan involvement in this mission," said T'Pol, making eye contact with Trip briefly, "perhaps I should go along, Captain. I could contact the High Command and ask."
"No, I need you here," said Archer. "I'm losing two senior officers to this mission, I can't lose my second in command as well, T'Pol. You're even proving to be an asset in Engineering and with Trip gone…"
The Captain's logic was sound, thought T'Pol, and said, "Yes, Captain."
"Doctor," said Archer, "after breakfast I'll need you to give both men a quick once over. Make sure there's nothing medical they need to worry about."
Phlox nodded amiably and said, "Yes, Captain."
"You two are officially relieved of duty for the rest of the day," said Archer, looking first at Malcolm, then Trip, "after you speak to your departments, speak to your replacements, and make it a smooth transfer."
"Yes, sir," said Malcolm, and Trip nodded towards the captain.
They moved on to the day's business next, and then to social chatter, save for T'Pol, who remained unusually quiet, though she occasionally raised her eyes from her food in order to spare a glance for Commander Tucker.
The day moved slowly for T'Pol, hounded as she was by a growing sense of dread over the Commander's away mission with the Lieutenant. It was illogical, yet it was undeniable. The SubCommander's brooding was eventually interrupted by an Ensign from Engineering who came by to drop off the Readiness Reports for the Captain in his Ready Room. On his way out he discreetly passed by T'Pol's station and laid down a folded and sealed note. No one noticed, but Hoshi. She'd noticed a lot of note passing from the assorted Engineering weenies to T'Pol and suspected that the source of those notes was Commander Tucker.
T'Pol unfolded the note. The drawing was clearly a depiction of her, if an odd one. The face was recognizably her's, but her torso was a rectangular brownie with a mini pecan pie heart, her arms and legs mere lines, her hands and her feet square blocks of mochi. Beneath that was written, "Now you see yourself through my eyes, SubCommander. I'm starving. If you can't break away for lunch now, I will come for you on the Bridge, because I need my sugar fix. The Captain will be outraged, the Bridge crew stunned, the High Command scandalized. Move swiftly, SubCommander, or suffer embarrassment."
"Captain," said T'Pol, standing. "If you have no objection, I'll break for lunch now."
"Go ahead, SubCommander," said Archer. "I have the conn."
"Thank you," said T'Pol and a moment later reached out for Commander Tucker's quarters from the elevator's comm unit. "I'm headed for the Mess Hall, Commander."
"Roger."
"No, it's me, T'Pol."
"Err… Forget it, I'll explain later. See you there, T'Pol."
Trip and T'Pol made it a point to eat a late lunch usually, T'Pol because she didn't like to eat in a packed and noisy Mess Hall, Trip because fewer people meant fewer interruption of people wishing to speak with him, and so interfere during his time with T'Pol.
"What did you get, T'Pol?" said Trip as he set his tray next to T'Pol.
"A human soup from your Earth's South-East Asia. Clear vegetable broth, rice noodles, some vegetables, tofu, and some thin seaweed strips. You? What is that?"
"Four beer battered fried cod fillets, fries, coleslaw and hush-puppies."
"Hush-puppies?" said T'Pol, clearly surprised. "You are eating canine meat?"
"T'Pol—"
"Is it Porthos?" said T'Pol, her voice lowered to a conspiratorial level. "The Captain will be furious with you when he finds out what you have done, but I have never cared for Porthos. Nothing personal, he is a fine canine, but his scent over-powers my olfactory sense."
"No, T'Pol," said Trip, "it's just a funny name for a certain food. Besides, I like Porthos."
"Yes, me too," said T'Pol. "He is great."
Trip looked at T'Pol for a few moments longer, uncertain if she was putting him on, or not. It wouldn't be something a normal Vulcan would do, but T'Pol had picked up some of his bad habits, and her dry delivery often ensured that her jokes called for a lot of did she? or didn't she? mean to make that joke.
"And I got us a giant piece of Red Velvet cheesecake to share," said Trip, continuing on, pointing out the sweet treat on his tray.
"I have never eaten cake made of cheese," said T'Pol. "It sounds strange. I will pass on it."
"You will have some and you'll love it, T'Pol, or I will make a scene, here and now."
There were only five or six people still in the Mess Hall, but apparently the Commander's threat carried some weight with T'Pol.
"Very well," said T'Pol. "I will have a bite."
"That's my girl," said Trip, and T'Pol blushed slightly.
"Is that what I am, Commander?"
"That is precisely what you are, T'Pol. Now if you dispute my admittedly highly controversial statement, I can lay out my arguments and you may subject my logic to the strictest of reviews. If you come to believe my logic has faltered, I stand ready to defend my position, point by point."
T'Pol considered the Commander's words and said, "There is no need for that. Your logic is unassailable, Commander, and your conclusion is essentially correct."
They ate silently for the next few minutes, save for a few groans of pleasure emanating from Commander Tucker, until T'Pol spoke.
"Since you say I am your girl, may I be frank with you, Commander?"
"Always, T'Pol. What's on your mind?"
"I have a bad feeling about this mission of yours, Commander. It is illogical, but it is nevertheless true," said T'Pol. "Accordingly, I would like to taste you, before you leave."
"Taste me?" said Trip, a silly grin pasted on his face. "You want to taste me, T'Pol?"
"It is an indirect way of saying I would like to have sexual intercourse with you, Commander."
"Is it because of this feeling you have? You're afraid that I might not make it back?"
"Maybe. I do not know. I am not entirely driven by logic where you are concerned, Commander."
"That is so hot, T'Pol," said Trip, laughing.
"And so, Commander? Your answer?"
"I stand ready to obey your orders, SubCommander."
"As you did with Misri?" said T'Pol.
The SubCommander was still stung by memories of that Orion temptress, stung by how close the Orion had come to shattering Commander Tucker's innocence forever with her sex worker's tricks, for Misri's shameless sexual aggression on Commander Tucker was not appreciated by T'Pol.
"As I recall, you were the one that ordered me into her arms, SubCommander."
"And if I ordered you to my quarters tonight at 19:00 hours?"
"I would obey my superior officer, T'Pol."
"With a snack for us to share?"
"Certainly. I'm not an animal, SubCommander."
They turned their attention to their food, and ate their entrees in agreeable silence, then shared the Red Velvet cheesecake, which T'Pol enjoyed despite her initial doubts.
Finally, T'Pol stood, and said, "I have to return to the Bridge now. You have your orders, Commander Tucker. 19:00 hours."
"Sir, yes, sir!"
The door chime to T'Pol quarters sounded, and T'Pol said, "Enter."
She was expecting Commander Tucker, along with the two take out meals he'd specially requested from the Galley, but not quite yet. The Commander was early. Still, T'Pol was pleased to see the Commander early, for it at least implied his eagerness.
Trip entered to find the Vulcan in an ankle length silk kimono, a white towel wrapped comically around her head in a silly turban.
"You must learn patience, Commander. I am not ready yet. I look a mess."
"You look sexy," said Trip with a kiss, and then a glance at T'Pol's turban, "and I'll request that the Captain make that turban a mandatory part of your uniform from this day on, most especially on days we're to host distinguished Vulcan visitors."
"Do not even joke like that, Commander. I would be shamed, and then I would be honor bound to commit ritual suicide, for on Vulcan, only blood washes away dishonor. Is that what you want? Is that how much you hate me, Commander Tucker?"
Trip laughed and said, "I don't hate you, T'Pol, and I'd never want you to commit ritual suicide, SubCommander."
"Where is our food, Commander Tucker? If you expect my best this evening, I will need to carbo load. You promised me Chef's Black Fire Morel Linguine. I also wished to sample your new obsession, before we get down to personal business."
The obsession T'Pol was speaking of was a refocussing of the Commander's sugar addiction, which he was constantly refining and expanding upon. Though his favorite treat was still pecan pie, with brownies a close second, he had recently added mochi to that list, a small rice cake made of pounded glutinous rice, usually stuffed with a sweet paste, and the Commander had promised T'Pol some matcha flavored mochi as advance payment for a heart stopping performance from her this night.
"Yeah… About that, T'Pol," said Trip, looking away, "I'm sorry, that personal business can't happen."
T'Pol's heart stilled. Surely the man had not had a change of heart. Surely not that!
"Commander?" said T'Pol, shyly looking at Trip, willing the man to face her.
"T'Pol, the Volares arrived early," said Trip, and T'Pol sighed audibly, relieved that her worst fears were not realized, "and given your people's norms I did not think it proper to ask for them to wait 'till tomorrow, so that the respected SubCommander T'Pol could taste, at her leisure, the vulnerable and sensitive warrior/poet, Trip Tucker. I have fifteen minutes to report to the Shuttle Bay, so I stopped by to say good-bye, unless you think that I can and should ask the Volares to wait 'till tomorrow, in your name. If you believe it permissible to ask for that extension, you but have to command it!"
"You most assuredly will not ask any such thing, Commander," said T'Pol sternly, "for then the High Command will rightly assume that I have taken leave of my senses and have me dragged, kicking and screaming, off the Enterprise, forever. Is that how you would get rid of me? Is that what you want, Commander?"
"No, I don't want that, T'Pol," said Trip with a soothing kiss, "because I've moved you to the top of my treats list. Speaking of which, I cancelled my entree order for tonight, but asked Chef to prepare yours in thirty minutes. He's also to give you our mochi in a take-out box. Since you haven't eaten yet, hit the Mess Hall after I leave. No reason those tasty wild morels should go to waste."
"Very well. I will keep your mochi until you get back, and—"
"No," said Trip. "Once a day, eat a mochi with your tea, think of me, and hope I make it back. Then I'll show you what a human means when he says he wants to taste you."
"I will do as you ask, where the mochi is concerned. As for the other, I am afraid to even ask. I have read that humans have practiced cannibalism now and then, in their past, Commander."
"They have indeed, SubCommander, and I've long suspected that Vulcan flesh might be the sweetest of all," said Trip, before sinking his teeth into T'Pol and growling in mock savagery.
The pain was negligible to the Vulcan, but the pleasure was not. She drew back the Commander's face from her neck by gently pulling on his hair, and did so in order to shove her tongue into his mouth, where their tongues wrestled a pleasant match in the human manner of kissing she had learned from him, and which she found most agreeable despite her initial misgivings.
As T'Pol looked out the porthole at the Volares, lost in her thoughts and feeling forlorn, Chef approached her table, and said, "I know you've had my pasta before, SubCommander, but what did you think of the Black Fire Morels?"
He had come to personally deliver the box of mochi Commander Tucker had requested. Until tonight he had been unsure if the rumors of a romantic tryst between the Chief Engineer and the Vulcan SubCommander were true, but two carry out dinners, whittled to one now that the Commander was leaving the Enterprise, yet the SubCommander ate the other entree and would now take the mochi… Well, Chef was no fool.
Not that it mattered to him. He was quite fond of the Chief Engineer. They spoke often during odd moments, and the man was a talented cook in his own right, so they had that in common. What sealed the deal, as far as Chef was concerned, was the time he'd shared with the Commander his pain at the absence of a proper stir-frying station for his kitchen.
The next day, mind you, not the next week, the Commander stamped out three 16 inch woks from sheets of carbon steel, melted iron and cast three large burners, placed them in a custom made stainless steel cabinet and topped it all off by installing three industrial strength fans to draw up the smoke and filter out the contaminants before returning the clean, scrubbed air to the kitchen. Each burner put out from 50 – 200,000BTU of heat and sounded like a jet engine warming up. Add to that the noise of the fans and it sounded like a Klingon battle cruiser was landing in the Kitchen, but Chef didn't care. He'd never known such joy, and it was all due to the Commander.
"They were delicious, Chef," said T'Pol. "Someone recently made a wild mushroom soup for me, and I've developed something of a appetite for them."
"Yeah, Commander Tucker makes a great wild mushroom soup. I've had it. He's already boarded the Volares?" said Chef, looking through the porthole at the impressive Vulcan battle cruiser which dwarfed the Enterprise.
"Yes, Chef."
"Beautiful ship. What are they waiting for, SubCommander?"
"It's customary to do a short safety check after a long run at maximum speed," said T'Pol, "and they must have pushed the envelope to get here ten hours early."
"I see," said Chef. "Anyway, here's the box of mochi the Commander requested for your pleasure. I hope you like them, SubCommander."
"I am quite certain that I will, Chef. Thank you. It was kind of you to make them."
"It was my pleasure, SubCommander."
Once Chef left the Mess Hall, T'Pol stepped up the beverage dispenser. In honor of the Commander, she decided to have his drink, only hot, instead of iced as the Commander preferred.
"Tall Ceylon black tea. Hot. One rounded teaspoon of coconut sugar and a dash of cardamom powder."
A moment later, she opened the wooden box which Chef had left with her, to find nine mochi, separated from each other by thin wooden slats. It was her first look at a mochi, and she found the semi-translucent squares of rice cake, which partially revealed the green core of sweet matcha paste, quite attractive. She took a bite and savored the clean taste, only to chase it down with a sip of Ceylon tea. Heaven itself.
Just then, the Vorlana powered up its engines and in a streak of light departed from view of the Enterprise at warp speed. T'Pol sighed, as close to depressed as any self-respecting logical Vulcan would ever admit to being. She had a bad feeling about this all and wished she could have accompanied Commander Tucker, on this mission. He was a most efficient engineer after all, and ran his department with admirable…
'Oh, Surak,' she thought, 'I'm too despondent tonight to even pretend that I am merely conducting an experiment with Trip.'
She thought of the man and the changes he had wrought in her emotional landscape, thought of the dread feeling in the pit of her stomach, and could only offer a silent prayer for him.
'Be safe, ashayam, and return to me, I beg of thee.'