The captives
By panyasan
Chapter 14
Disclaimer : Enterprise and its characters are property of CBS/Paramount.
Time-line: Takes place between 2155 (after the events of Terra Prime) and the beginning of the year 2156, just before the start of the Earth-Romulan war (2156-2160).
Summary: Just before Enterprise is launched again, Trip, T'Pol and Phlox discover that members of Starfleet have been infected by nanites, which form a telepathic transmitter, which could influence Human brainwaves and actions. Also, Trip's memory was erased a year ago, while fighting with a telepath. Starfleet is now investigating who is behind all this.
Author's note: As always my thanks goes to my beta KKGlinka. The name David Bates-Smith is from Bluetiger's story The mission. This chapter is from Malcolm Reed's point of view.
- Promotion of Starfleet at Letech company, San Francisco, six months before Enterprise's launch -
He never felt more miserable in his life. He was sitting in the front seat, before the stage, eyes of all the employees of Letech Engineering on him. He should better act like he was captivated by Kelby's speech. He put on a facade of interest and listened to Kelby, as he tried to persuade his public, all excellent engineers, to join Starfleet.
Truth be told, Kelby did an excellent job. The most reluctant listener would be impressed by his enthusiasm. Maybe his judgment had been clouded by Kelby's actions with the Orion women or the guy was just happy, single, free as a bird, without any Orion, alien or Human woman, which would make any man happy. Women: He hated them and loved them at the same time and he would never understand them.
Stop it, Malcolm, he thought to himself. He tried to concentrate on Kelby's speech again, but before he knew it, his mind was occupied again with his problems. Hoshi. Two weeks ago, as of today, she broke up with him. He still couldn't believe it. What went wrong? He had tried so bloody hard to make their relationship work. He liked her. Not that he had fallen for her as he often had in the past - completely and utterly - for women who had no interest in him. That kind of love had never worked for him. He had seen on the ship that friendships turned into healthy relationships. You only had to spend time together. Hoshi was nice, friendly, upbeat, attractive and their friendship seemed to be blooming. He was forced to admit there had been some tension, but he had been more than willing to work things out.
So he was taken aback, to say the least, when Hoshi accepted an assignment in Brazil, which left hardly any time for them as a couple, without consulting him. He was cross with her, the hidden irritations between them and his fear of failure surfaced and one word led to another. Hoshi's accusation that he was throwing a fit, blocking her chance of a lifetime and that he didn't really care about her, infuriated him.
Then, with one sentence, Hoshi dashed all his plans and hopes into dust. "I don't think this relationship is going to work, Malcolm. I tried. It's better we end it right now."
She tried; he failed. It stung. He had tried too hard.
He surfaced from his musing when applause marked the end of Kelby's speech. Question time was followed by lunch. While he was enjoying his meal, a blond woman approached his table. He recognized her as one of the engineers who had asked Kelby a couple of tough questions that had made Kelby scramble for answers.
The attractive engineer introduced herself as Rianna Thott from Sweden. He wasn't really in the mood for friendly chats with women. As British and uptight as he could muster, he laced his answers with distance and slight sarcasm. It only seemed to amuse her. He was happy when lunch was over and he headed back to Headquarters, thinking he probably would never see her again and ostensibly grateful for it.
A couple weeks later, he was in his favorite store in San Francisco. Malcolm had always liked to buy guns, especially old ones from the days of the British Empire. Robinson and Robinson was a small store, hidden off a small street and specialized in antique weapons. He went there from time to time to buy a new piece for his already impressive collection or to wander around just browsing. As he was admiring a weapon he really wanted to buy, someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Interested in old guns, Lieutenant Reed?" a female voice asked.
He turned around to see the blond Letech woman. "I am," he answered her question and started walking away, pretending he didn't remember her.
"It's me, Rianna Thott," she reminded him. "We met at Letech company, during the Starfleet pitch. I was curious what kind of shop this is. You're looking for something specific?"
"I'd probably bore you with my hobby," he said, but Rianna pointed to the WW-1 era Springfield 1903 rifle he had been admiring.
"Why is that one so interesting? I mean, all the guns here are more or less the same to me," she asked.
"I prefer to collect weapons that haven't become fragile with age, too dainty to be fired," he explained. "For instance, this early model production Springfield rifle can be fired, but due to early flaws in the casting process for the receivers – the heat treatment was inferior to later methods - rifles with serial numbers under about 300,000 are somewhat brittle. If you're going to fire them you need to be an experienced hand-loader so that you can manually load your ammunition."
He had thought that his boring list of details would drive her away in no time, but she nodded and asked him about a beautiful example of a Krag-Jorgensen rifle in another show case.
"The Americans used this weapon in the Spanish-American war. It was one of the first mass produced cartridge rifles. Everything you needed to shoot it was self contained in a 'round', but most firearms weren't like that. Most firearms before that time were percussion muzzleloaders, preceded by flintlocks. With those, the powder, lube, bullet and primer were all loaded separately, in sequence, which was as time-consuming as it sounds," he told her. "Not to mention, they required a swab between shots, cleaning between rounds and firing sessions, but that last part is true for all guns."
"So even modern guns are time-consuming," Rianna teased.
"Every experienced shooter will inspect and clean a new weapon thoroughly. In fact, in the military it's considered standard practice and part of training to inspect any weapon that anybody hands you, because it's not your weapon and you don't know what they did to it. You check and clear the chamber every time."
"So if someone gave you a gun, even as a present for, let's say your birthday, you would automatically clean it," was Rianna's conclusion.
"Yes, in fact, most times my hands already start cleaning the gun without me realizing it." He stepped back from the case, nodding his head at another rife absently. "It's partly to disable the gun, but it's unlikely you'd ever buy a weapon that has ammo already in it, often because its unavailable for antiques. Like this 1896, 8 by 56 millimeter, bolt-action Steyr-Mannlicher. It's impossible to find ammo. Nevertheless, as gifts most guns are presented in a box with ammo, if available, lined up under the weapon. The cartridges should be inspected, as well." He smiled ruefully, "I'm in the habit of inspecting everything."
He showed her some guns that were part of his collection, before showing her one of his favorites that wasn't. "This one, I really want to add to my collection. There aren't many left up for sale, so they're hard to come by. Webley service revolvers are among the most powerful top-break revolvers ever produced. Because of its cartridges, it's often called a .455 Webley. It was the standard issue sidearm for the armed forces of the United Kingdom, the British Empire and the Commonwealth from 1887 until 1963. My great-great grandfather owned one, but it's no longer in the family, though I've seen one beautiful example in a museum in Malaysia, where I grew up."
During the conversation he had found an attentive listener and his resentment against Rianna melted away. Before he knew it, they shared lunch again. She drank her tea in small sips and he teased her, saying that Swedes were famous coffee drinkers. "Four to five cups a day, I heard."
Rianna set down her cup. "Not me. I prefer tea."
"So what do you think about my hobby?" he asked her. "I mean, when you're not being tolerantly polite."
"I admire the craftsmanship by which those weapons are made and I can imagine you being fascinated by it. Nevertheless, they are still weapons and I like my hobby better," she said honestly.
"You read – a lot of engineering manuals," he guessed.
Rianna laughed. "Guilty as charged. How did you know?"
"A very good friend of mine is a top engineer," he answered.
"Well, in my defense I read lot of other stuff too, and I like to draw, paint, attend cardio-fitness two times a week and I fence. I'm also a member of a local chess club."
"I haven't fenced since boarding school, but I always liked it," he said. "And we had chess competitions on Enterprise."
"Did you win any games?" she baited him.
He felt pride when he answered with a smile, remembering the enjoyable chess games, "You're looking at the champion of Enterprise. Four years in a row."
From that point, the conversation ran from hobbies, jobs, college and things they loved and hated about their two countries. Rianna shared tales about her youth in a small town in Sweden where she was raised by her grandmother and father.
"My grandmother was a bit eccentric. She differed in appearance and attitude from the rest of the people in the small village I grew up in. It made me an outsider as well. Maybe that why I tend to like the outsiders and hate any kind of prejudice." Her smile that accompanied her story didn't reach her eyes.
His family was a sensitive subject for him. He only remarked that his parents were alive and well and he had a sister. Still, the awkward silences, that in the past plagued his conversations with women, including Hoshi, had turned into companionable lulls. When they said goodbye and Rianna said she had enjoyed lunch and the company, he watched her leave the establishment. A nice woman, intelligent, beautiful... And an awfully nice bum, he thought smiling. He felt very comfortable in her presence and she had left her address. Maybe he could send her a message.
He surprised himself by doing just that and soon he found himself spending a lot of his free time with Rianna. Their budding friendship grew in something much more. Being an engineer, Rianna had a strong interest in the technical side of his projects, but her questions and opinions ranged across a broad spectrum, from Starfleet politics into the more personal subjects. He knew he preferred to do his job and nothing else, feeling safe in his armory, but the way she challenged him to think, was refreshing.
One evening, when he picked her up for a meal at the famous restaurant Madame Chang's, he realized he was whistling. He hadn't whistled since he was a child. He felt happy and the luckiest man in the world. Entering the restaurant, he looked around. The interior decoration looked like any other Chinese-American restaurant he'd ever visited, with lots of red and gold painted dragons. Soft Chinese music filled the room and impeccably dressed waiters in black suits walked around. But Madame Chang was famous for her food and luckily for them, that included vegetarian cuisine, Rianna's preferred diet.
Rianna wore a stunning turquoise dress, her blond hair curled down around her shoulders. Her eyes were bright with enjoyment and her face conveyed interest in what he was telling – some story about one of his projects, while trying not to talk about classified information.
"The new torpedo upgrades for Enterprise are installed and it's a great improvement," he told her. "During the simulations, we hit an object on the planet with only one centimeter error. They're that precise and have more power. It's a pity we didn't have permission to test them in real space yet."
Rianna smiled. "Maybe you could ask if you could blow up a nice snowman on a deserted planet," she commented.
He laughed and started arguing with her that heads of security aren't only interested in blowing things up.
"Save your excuses, Mister Reed," she gave back. "Blowing things up is the reason you are in this job."
He admitted, joking that at least he knew some good engineers for rebuilding. "I'm not just a gunner," he insisted.
"It is strange that the chief tactical officer is also the Head of Security, but it does fit you," Rianna remarked. "Tactical is about strategy on a large scale, defending and fighting a visual enemy in the sky while armory pertains to ordnance. Security is all about observing the smaller things, watching people's daily routine and noticing the things that are off."
He was intrigued by her remark and was about to comment, when he heard a voice behind him.
"It seems to me, you also appreciate the delicacies of Madame Chang's. It's nice to see you again, Lieutenant. How are you?"
The voice sounded awfully familiar, but caught mid-thought, he couldn't put a name to it. He turned around and stared in the Denobulan face of Phlox, the Enterprise's doctor. "Doctor Phlox! I heard you're working at the main Starfleet Medical Facility. Starfleet assigned me to some very interesting projects at several departments. Quite enjoyable I may add, so, to answer your question, I'm doing well," he replied.
He introduced Phlox to his companion. "Rianna, this is Doctor Phlox, the chief medical officer aboard Enterprise." Then he nodded at Phlox and said, "Doctor, this is Rianna Thott from Sweden, she's working at Letech company in San Francisco."
Malcolm discerned that, for a second, Rianna looked very uncomfortable in Phlox's presence and a look of strong dislike crossed her face. Odd. He never met a Human who was more accepting of aliens than Rianna. The warm smile with which she greeted Phlox the next moment, without any hesitation, was more like the woman he'd gotten to know the last few months. She and Phlox engaged in conversation about Asian and other kinds of foods. He saw in the corner of his eye a waiter, holding a plate, walking towards Phlox's table.
He coughed. "I think your dinner has arrived, Doctor Phlox. We still have to order ours," he pointed out.
Phlox took his cue. "Good to have see you again, Lieutenant. Rianna, it's been a pleasure meeting you."
"The pleasure is ours," Malcolm responded.
He took the menu card and studied it without reading any of the listed dishes. The visit had crimped his happy mood. His mind wandered off to the good times on Enterprise, and old friends. He would never say it to the man, but his friendship with Trip had meant a lot to him. With Trip came T'Pol. Malcolm had watched Trip and T'Pol develop a friendship, seen how it became something more along the lines of emotional intimacy and sensed how much she hurt Trip with her actions. Frankly, he couldn't quite follow their relationship. He even dared once to advise Trip to forget about T'Pol and move on. In some mysterious way, they came back together and Trip seemed happy.
Then came Terra Prime. He had seen the sadness in T'Pol's eyes after their daughter's death. He had felt shock and resentment hearing about her addiction, thinking about the risk that T'Pol had taken, not only for her but also for the crew. He wouldn't believe such a capable and trustworthy person would come addicted. His own experience with addiction - his father, a strong Royal Navy man on the outside, but at home an alcoholic - also played a part in his reaction. Nevertheless, T'Pol had been through so much and punished enough for her mistakes when she received a prison sentence. As for Trip, he missed this old friend.
Last year, Trip had a couple of assignments off planet, but he wasn't merely literally far away. When they spoke, they exchanged few words. They hung in the air and didn't seemed to reach Trip. It wasn't just that he had told Trip that he was disturbed by the news of T'Pol's addiction. There was something more. Trip was absent, like a zombie, without heart or emotions. When he thought about T'Pol's imprisonment and Trip's empty stare these past months, he just hoped both would find some happiness, with or without each other and that Trip would come to life again.
Rianna put her hand on his. "You okay, Malcolm? You look so sad."
He moved closer to her, as if he wanted to shelter within this source of happiness and warmth, to chase away his thoughts of the coldness that had become part of Trip's life. "I was just thinking of a good friend of mine. We served together on Enterprise. I consider him my best friend and he's been through a lot lately. He's kind of distanced himself from me and I want to help him, but I don't think I can."
"What happened?" Rianna asked.
"Just things, with relationships, with his family," he answered vaguely. After all Trip and T'Pol's daughter, and T'Pol's imprisonment were classified information.
"Losing your daughter and the woman you love at the same time is very difficult for anyone," Rianna retorted, as if stating a well-known fact. There was a challenge in her eyes.
He was not sure what to say. "What gave you that idea?"
"By simple reduction and deduction," Rianna said calmly. "Commander Tucker is your best friend. You told me so. The relationship between Commander Tucker and T'Pol has been a rumor in the news for a long time and Commander T'Pol publicly denounced the relationship. Not that I believe it. She has been absent from the news since Terra Prime showed us a Vulcan-Human baby, that the media and Starfleet want us to believe was a fake. Most people think she retreated to Vulcan but why would she? There is nothing on Vulcan for her. She took the Human's side too many times."
"You seem to know an awful lot about Vulcans," he remarked. "Why don't you believe she really denounced their relationship?" It always irked him, both as Head of Security and Trip's friend, that an innocuous remark meant to end a disturbing line of questioning, said during an internal investigation, would become public knowledge. Who leaked it and why?
"Vulcans are very private about their lives and we are expected to believe she publicly admitted she was intimate with a Human that she wasn't married to? Why would she? If you ask me, it's all a political game," Rianna concluded.
Her voice trembled a little when she continued, challenging him to answer, "I know you work with Starfleet with all your heart and you support their principles and aims, like exploration and building up good relations with other species. But really, Malcolm, I can help wondering, when push comes to shove, it looks like Starfleet is just a racist as Terra Prime. They didn't want a Vulcan-Human relationship, let alone a Vulcan-Human child. They probably pressured the poor couple to separate."
He understood that her reaction had everything to do with her background, but he felt compelled to refute her suggestion strongly. He pushed aside his own discomfort about how Starfleet had been grilling Trip and T'Pol about their relationship.
"That's not true, Rianna. Like you said, Starfleet's principles are based on exploring the stars, defending our planet and building up the Coalition. I don't think Starfleet Command is racist but a Vulcan-Human relationship would put a lot of pressure on the already fragile alliance we have with the Vulcans and vise versa. I can't vouch for any single member of Starfleet, but we are trying the best we can to build relationships with other species. Starfleet is the best alternative for Earth and any alliance we have. They are not the bad guys and you can't compare Starfleet with a racist terrorist organization as Terra Prime. I wouldn't work with Starfleet if that were the case."
Rianna apologized mildly, apparently withdrawing her challenge.
Vulcan weren't very popular, their teaching and customs hardly understood or studied, and the relationship between the two species at this moment was very strained. The last thing either side needed was a convenient focal point. It made him curious. "So why the interest in Vulcans?" he asked Rianna.
For a second he saw her hesitate. "I had a very good teacher at my university. He helped me during a difficult time. He was Vulcan."
As far a he knew, most Vulcans lived in the San Francisco area. Hardly any Vulcan was living in another part of the world, like Europe. The chances of Rianna meeting a Vulcan were remote. "Really, what was his name?"
In the months behind him, he had looked at her so many times, that he could tell – even when her face showed hardly anything – that there was more to her story than she let on. "His name was Karik."
Then she asked him more about his motivations to join Starfleet and their conversation moved in other direction.
After dinner, they went to her place. He liked her apartment. Rianna had painted the wall of her living room in soft yellow and together with orange curtains, pine wood furniture and wooden floor she had created a warm home.
"Shall we watch a movie?" he suggested, rather than leave immediately.
"You can check my communication and network device in the studio and download some movies," Rianna pointed out. She headed to the kitchen.
The studio was a light room, sparsely decorated, with a desk and comm unit, a bookcase, large candles, a painter's easel with some brushes and big brownish cushions piled up in a corner. Busy finding a good movie, his eyes fell on one of the books in her bookcase. Malcolm recognized the design: A Starfleet engineering manual. He didn't think Rianna was interested in joining Starfleet. He pulled the manual out of the bookcase and spotted a piece of paper tucked between the pages. He was expecting to find a Starfleet information form of some kind, but it was a pencil drawing. A drawing of a planet.
In the upper half of the drawing, in a dark blue sky, were three planets: One big orange one, a gray one with an ugly surface of rocky stones and craters and one greenish and blue planet, beautiful as Earth. In the center, three persons were standing on the surface of the rocky planet, surrounded by gray fog. It almost looked like the fog consumed them and the whole picture painted a gloomy and depressing sight, but the determined expressions of the three figures in front of the drawing gave it a sense of hope.
On the right stood a small gray-haired, hazel-eyed man, earnest looking and Vulcanish by appearance, in a green robe. Somehow Rianna failed to get his pointy ears right, because the right ear ended in scratches instead of a point. On the other side, a young women with short, brown hair, was dressed in military gray uniform. She had some ridges along her face. In the middle was an older women, with gray hair and pointed ears.
"Did you find anything, Malcolm?" Rianna's voice came from the living room.
He showed her the drawing. "Very impressive, if a bit depressing. A sketch for a painting?"
"Oh, that is embarrassing," she said quickly. "Just a sketch I am not going to use."
He pointed to the drawing. "Planets, aliens. Maybe there is more of an explorer in you than you think," he suggested. "You sure have the imagination."
"Sometimes reality is more then we can imagine," she said back, moving closer to him. Her blue eyes met his brown."I never expected to meet you at a boring Starfleet promotional gathering."
She kissed him. He felt her soft skin against his face, smelt her perfume, cherished the warmth of her body against his. A tingle started to arise at the back of his head. He kissed her back, almost aggressively, trying to force away a daunting feeling of horrible suspicion. He concentrated on her. That was important. He would not give in to this urge as a security officer to start questioning her. Her explanations were plausible.
But at night, when he went to bed in his own home, his sleep was torn apart by a nightmare where he saw Rianna standing on a gray planet strewn with rocks and craters, covered in thick clouds of gray fog. Rianna was upset and the Vulcan man from the drawing calmed her. Malcolm could see the mysterious man's face clearly: a deformed right ear, hazel eyes that glanced at him in a fashion that was oddly familiar.
"What is your name?" he heard his own voice demanding.
"I am Karik," the man responded, with Vulcan candor, before Malcolm woke up in a sweat.
In the months to come, Malcolm wondered if he was just a paranoid security officer who refused to believe happiness was there to stay. He couldn't put his finger on it, but doubt about Rianna crept into his consciousness, poisoning the sense of home and acceptance that he always felt with her. He became aware that her accent changed slightly when she was tired, that sometimes she said she was going to cardio-fitness or fencing, but when he checked, she was never at the gym. If he asked her, she would probably give some very plausible excuses, so ironically he did not. Then, out of left field, she applied to join Starfleet, something he'd never expected she would. Of course, he could flatter himself that he had convinced her to join and that she wanted to be with him, but his arguments seemed hollow to his own ears.
His true suspicion had begun with Rianna's reaction to T'Pol and Trip's fate following the investigation. In an impulse to ease his feeling of unrest, he requested access to all the investigation files. As the Enterprise's Head of Security, it was granted and he started to read every document.
This change in his behavior did not go unnoticed. Sometimes he saw Rianna looking at him, earnestly, like she was trying to figure out what he was thinking. On the other hand, there was times when he could shake his doubt, forget about his silly thoughts and the evenings he was able to manage that, they became memories of his life that he would hold dear.
It had been already been a year since Enterprise was confined to dry dock and the crew had scattered. Then the Romulans attacked one of Earth's colonies and Starfleet Command ordered the return of the crew and the launch of Enterprise. Malcolm was glad that soon he would have a chance to meet old friends, like Trip.
The night before the day of the launch, Malcolm worked late to get the final paperwork done. When he walked out the door from Headquarters, Lieutenant Bates-Smith also left. David Bates-Smith was one of the few other Brits in Starfleet and he had shared a couple of drinks with the man in Club 602. The officer greeted him and asked him about Enterprise. While talking, David remarked that he had seen Malcolm's girlfriend at Stinson beach two days ago.
Rianna had told him nothing about a visit there and, as far as he knew, she had spent the last couple of days at dry dock, Headquarters or her home. He went home and gripped Rianna's picture, which stood on his desk, with both hands and stared at her lovely face. There was only one way to break this circle of doubt, something he should have done a long time ago. He should ask her what she was hiding.
When morning came, he checked his messages and found a rather strange report from Phlox about a suspicious manufactured virus that had affected Commander Tucker. Additionally, Phlox mentioned that he had found tissue scars in Trip's brain. It didn't sound too good and he worried about his friend. How had they discovered this? Had Trip already returned to Earth? As far as he knew, Trip would arrive this morning, a couple hours before the bridge crew debriefing. How had they discovered the virus? By a routine medical check-up?
When he entered the room in which the debriefing would take place, Trip was already there.
"Good to see you, Mal," Trip said cheerfully, patting him happily on the shoulder, more happy then he had been in a very long time.
He took a good look at him. "You got me worried. I read some strange report about you having a virus, but you don't look ill at all," he responded.
It was the understatement of the year. Trip didn't look sick; he looked even better than the last time they spoke. Previously, Trip had appeared much older. He had looked at Malcolm with a lifeless, empty stare, his mouth grim and his shoulders slightly slumped as if overcome with fatigue. Today, Trip had bounced over to him in his normal energetic way and his face showed amusement and simple happiness. Maybe he had moved on and found a new love.
Whoever that new love was, it was certainly not Janine Grey, Archer's secretary. When the meeting started, Janine had taken the chair next to Trip. With amusement, he saw her making small talk with Trip, obviously impressed by his charms. Trip wasn't even aware of her presence and stared intensely toward the door, like he was expecting someone.
Every bridge officer, except Travis, was present and with a welcome from Archer the debriefing started. "It's good to see you again," the captain told them. "We all know about the circumstances of our departure and our mission. You will find information about the area of space we will be traveling to at your communication terminals. Before we go into details about the mission, there is a change in the bridge crew. The Vulcans have asked us to add a liaison to our crew and Starfleet has agreed."
"As long they don't put a mental hook in your head, Captain," Janine attempted to joke, "I've heard..."
"You shouldn't believe everything that's been told about us, child," a voice said. Ambassador Soval had entered the room, together with T'Pol.
"Malcolm, Trip, Hoshi, I think you all know Commander T'Pol," the captain took the lead again.
"Reporting for duty, sir," T'Pol told him. "Thank you for accompanying me, Ambassador."
He saw Janine and Hoshi staring at T'Pol as if Soval had pulled a Vulcan rabbit out of his hat. Despite the abrupt silence, T'Pol looked as poised and balanced as she always had been. Before the situation became awkward, Malcolm quickly offered a well meant welcome, "Good to see you again, Commander. Glad you could join us."
During the meeting, Malcolm observed that only he and Hoshi asked questions, while the others listened intently. He vividly remembering the last time he spoke with Hoshi - when she broke up with him - and he felt ill at ease to see her again. Janine made notes, casting attentive glances now and then on Trip, like she was expecting him to speak wonders. In a flash, he saw T'Pol stare at Janine and he just knew she disapproved of Janine's attitude. Then T'Pol's eyes met Tucker's in perfect understanding.
"Good to see them on friendly terms," Malcolm thought.
After the meeting, he went to Trip, chatted at bit and offered an invitation. "Tonight, after the launch, my quarters on Enterprise. If we don't get attacked by the Romulans on the way to this Dosa system. Bring bourbon," It would be good to talk with him again.
"'If you have the glasses ready," Trip answered and moved towards the door. He was stopped in his tracks, because the captain wanted to speak with him.
Malcolm went to the armory and worked a couple hours, after which he went to his office.
There was a knock at the door and Trip walked in. He was carrying two small boxes. "You busy?"
"I thought a couple of hours before launch the Chief Engineer would be," he answered, making a gesture that Trip could take a seat. "I didn't expect you to come by."
"I just finished the tests in Engineering. The new adjustments worked perfectly. Enterprise is ready to go," Trip said enthusiastically, laying down the boxes on the other chair before his desk, then sitting. "But I wanted to ask you about something different."
Malcolm raised his eyebrows speculatively, then asked, "What's in the boxes?"
"Nothing special. A game," Trip said quickly. He gave him an investigating look. "Do you remember the day a year ago before T'Pol was sent to be judged by the Vulcans, which lead to her prison sentence?"
"This game has something to do with it?" He was confused.
Trip pulled the game out of one of the boxes. "No. This is a present from Kov. He's a Vulcan engineer we met five years ago and he was working on the Starfleet research facility in the Kajina-system. The game is called Kal'toh. A Kal-toh set consists of a number of playing rods called t'an. If I recall correctly, the object of the game is to find the seeds of order in the midst of profound chaos. One of the ways to do this is by looking at the missing rods. Kov gave it to me as token of friendship. So back to my question-"
"The other box is a jewelry box. It looks Vulcan," he said in a hesitant tone.
Trip sighed. "You're curious as a Denobulan. Yes, it's a Vulcan jewelry box. T'Pol gave me the box containing a special necklace from her father to me a year ago and I wanted to give it back to her, so she can keep it in her quarters on the shipafter we launch."
"Pretty special that she would give you some of her family jewelry," Malcolm stated. "I can see you're still friends after this year of separation."
Trip simply nodded, his eyes sparkling.
It caused him to lower his voice before asking Trip, "Are you and T'Pol back together?"
"Do you think I'm stupid enough to do that?" Trip answered like he never ever would consider that scenario. Due to the glint in his eyes and his hardly suppressed grin, his deception failed.
"Yes, you are," he replied. "You may have told me that you never should have gotten involved with T'Pol, but that was a long time ago, wasn't it?"
"Just keep your mouth shut," Trip responded firmly.
"If you'll stop grinning like an idiot, then my lips are sealed," he answered. "You still have to satisfy my curiosity."
"There is nothing to know. You better get on with your own love life," Trip teased him.
He was happy for Trip, but he had to warn him. Malcolm knew too much about their past. T'Pol was a very attractive woman, but she never seemed ready to choose Trip above her Vulcan heritage. "You sure about this?" He looked at Trip, challenging him to be totally honest. "Your relationship hasn't exactly been a bed of roses."
Trip had his answer ready. "I'm not saying we don't have a complicated history, but that's the past. We struggle and will continue to do so, but this is what I want, Mal. To be with her, spend my life with her and I know she wants it too."
"What if she goes totally Vulcan again?" He hated to bring it up.
"T'Pol told me that our connection is her path and after a whole year of missing her like crazy, I know it's my path as well," Trip refuted, determination and sincerity in his voice. He spoke from his heart and Malcolm felt privileged that Trip would tell him.
A bit overwhelmed by the course of the conversation he nodded slowly. "I see. It sounds serious." Half joking he added, "You almost make it sound like there's going to be wedding bells in the near future."
Not a muscle moved in Trip's face, nor any attempt to chase away the idea of marriage with a facetious remark.
Bloody hell. It was serious. With some reservation Malcolm brought up, "I'm glad for you, but Starfleet isn't going to be. They're not going like it. Nor the Vulcans. Nor anyone for that matter. The situation in the Coalition is so tense, now with the war hanging over our heads and the Vulcans not helping, T'Pol just being released and installed, the new rules in Starfleet: You are looking at major complications."
"I know, Mal," Trip said quietly. With a trace of anger and irritation he continued, "You don't have to tell me: Archer was already lecturing me about my relationship with T'Pol but nobody says a word to him about his relationship with Erika Hernandez."
"Captain Hernandez is a Human with the same rank, so no political complications," he replied softly. Rianna was right after all.
"Exactly. We're the same rank and from different departments. There shouldn't be a problem," Trip pleaded passionately, with a bitter sense of reality. "Not for the Vulcans, who let couples serve together, not for Starfleet, with their great ideas about peacefully living together with other species. We both know how Command reacted with that situation with T'Pol; they covered their own asses first. I paid my price. I lost my baby sister, my daughter and almost T'Pol, because of political games. It's enough. I don't care what Command or the Vulcans or anyone says about me and T'Pol. If we don't tell them, they won't officially know."
Trip took a deep breath. "If we get married, that's our business. I don't want to hear for a second time in my life that I can't say goodbye to T'Pol or have any say-so, because I'm only a co-worker."
Surprised that Trip had been so outspoken and confused about his remark about being only a co-worker, Malcolm jostled through his brain for any person who would have said that. "I can't believe anyone would say that."
"Senator Tenson did. I still can hear her voice in my head. I wanted to say goodbye to T'Pol before she had to face the trial in on Vulcan. She said that I was only a co-worker for T'Pol, so I had no right."
"Tenson is a piece of work. The running joke at Headquarters is that she is only nice to her dog. She can hardly conceal her dislike for Vulcans, but they made her liaison a year back, because she is such good friends with the President of Earth. The irony of politics," Malcolm mocked. "You can say a lot about Admiral Richardson, who took over her job, but at least he isn't so full of prejudice. Did you know Tenson was the one who suggested that Starfleet Command extradite T'Pol to the Vulcan Embassy? She claimed that whenever T'Pol's addiction became public, it would show that Starfleet did its best to offer a fair trial for every person in Starfleet, no matter what species, and that everyone is judged by the regulations of their home planet."
"No wonder they nicknamed her the 'iron lady'. Tenson was perfectly aware of the consequences for T'Pol. You better not mess with her."
Trip rubbed his forehead, like he was developing a headache. "Enough about the past. I actually came here to ask you something related to the attack on me. You read Phlox's report about the viruses and the scars that he found in my brain?"
Trip continued to explain in more detail that the viruses were nanites that could form a telepathic transmitter, which could affect Human brainwaves and that the scars were clear evidence that he was attacked by a telepath a year ago. "Phlox's medical records showed that when I finally arrived in sickbay, I was very absent, suffering from what he thought was an emotional breakdown. In fact, my symptoms could be explained by the attack. So we're assuming it took place between the investigation meeting with Arling the day before and my visit to sickbay the next day. You told Phlox I was going to meet someone after the meeting and this person might be connected to the attack."
"You want to know if I remember who you went to," he concluded, his head busy processing all the information Trip had given him. "I'm sorry. All I know is that you said that you wanted to visit a highly placed person that could influence the Vulcans to get T'Pol out of this mess. Those were your exact words."
Disappointed, Trip said, "If you remember anything, let me know as soon as possible."
Of course he would. It crossed his mind that Phlox described Trip as being in a terrible emotional state, but Trip had somehow been able to have a rational conversation with Tenson. Odd. T'Pol had left the day after the investigation meeting, so there was little time between the meeting, the attack and the conversation with Tenson.
"I have an idea," he told Trip, "but I need to ask Phlox something first."
Trip could barely hide his curiosity, but Malcolm thought sharing his idea would be premature. After all, the idea that Senator Tenson, a personal friend to the President of Earth, a former liaison of Vulcan affairs, and a delegate of Earth government in Starfleet Command was somehow involved with a telepathic attack on Trip, was idiotic. But it made frightening sense.
So he walked together with Trip to Phlox's sickbay and when they entered, both of them froze at the threshold. Before their eyes a scene from a movie took place. He could not believe his eyes. It was surreal. Captain Archer, fuming with rage, was strangling a woman, screaming that she hated him. He instantly recognized the women Archer was attacking: Rianna.