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"Father to the Man"
Rating: PG (Violence, Adult Situations) Author's Note: It's politically incorrect, and I like it that way. I have tried very hard to adhere to canon, but some of what is in here may tick a few people off. I don't care if you disagree, that's fine. Just try not to cuss at me too much. Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself. A/N: T'Pol and Trip are trying to work things out by being completely honest for once. Meanwhile, things are getting complicated on other fronts. Part 6: Malcolm Reed nodded acknowledgment to the salute from the MACO standing guard and opened the door to cargo bay two. He stood respectfully in the open doorway until one of the hooded figures looked up and nodded slowly. Reed stepped through the doorway and sealed the door behind him, locking and securing it with his personal code. The two Vulcans waited patiently as he pulled out a scanner and made a meticulous sweep of the room. After finding and neutralizing the first set of monitoring devices upon their arrival, none of them had found any other evidence of intrusion. But each of the three took pains to make a thorough check before initiating a conference. This time the entire EM band was clean of anything suspicious. Just to be safe, Reed walked over to the empty sarcophagus and felt along the edge until he located the proper carving. He pressed and twisted according to the instructions he had received at the Vulcan embassy, and felt the hum as the jamming field activated. Now, they could talk in privacy. Agent's Keval and Selera joined Reed beside the box. The three stood facing inward with heads lowered. Malcolm spoke in a voice so low that it was almost sub-vocal, so softly that the average Human would have had difficulty hearing him. The Vulcans, of course, had no problem. Still, Reed tried to move his lips as little as possible. He began talking faintly in fluent Gaelic, “We have received word. Confirmed. They have been ordered to strike.” Keval answered him in a lisping, sizzling language that resembled a tiger purring. Reed couldn't stop himself from smiling grimly. Even if someone had managed, somehow, to work through the jamming field they were unlikely to have the forethought to set up a universal translator. And even if, by some fluke, they did have a UT hooked into the monitoring equipment, what were the odds that it would contain the matrix for the dialect of the extinct F'thinra Kathir tribe, who inhabited the Gol region on Vulcan centuries before Surak was born? “This is agreeable news,” Keval said with satisfaction. “We are well prepared for any attempt that the Terra Prime agents decide to make.” Malcolm winced. “It's not agreeable to me, nor to the captain. Nor to any other decent Human. It is despicable that they would consider something this vile. We are deeply ashamed of this, and we sincerely appreciate your assistance in this matter.” Selera and Keval traded looks. Selera answered, “We have certainly known your people long enough to be aware that this behavior is not condoned. In my time among your people I have often noted, Lieutenant Commander Reed, that you tend to be your own harshest critics. Rest assured, Humans are by no means exclusive in being burdened with a criminal element.” Keval added, “Our assistance is also not entirely selfless. Terra Prime has already been responsible for the theft and misuse of genetic material from a Vulcan citizen, bombing of a Vulcan embassy, attempted murder of our ambassador, and attempted murder of our citizens on Vulcan itself. It is absolutely in our interest to help you eradicate them.” Reed flushed. “I promise you, they will taste justice down to the bitter dregs for what they have done. If we can capture these two alive, they will spend the rest of their days buried alive in a stone cage. And their masters will die for their crimes. Strapped to a table, helplessly watching death drip into their veins one drop at a time, after a very slow, very humiliating public trial.” Keval kept his face impassive. “I personally would prefer Tal'Shaya to either of those options. However, it is not my place to offer an opinion. We will be ready for any attempt when it comes.” Reed nodded and reached to deactivate the jamming field. He made a sympathetic inquiries of Lady Selera regarding her needs, and repeated Captain Archer's offer to provide anything that she might require. Then he traded the salute with Keval and left. A few minutes of contemplative silence followed Malcolm's departure. Then Selera ventured, speaking in the same extinct dialect, “He seems vengeful. It is almost as if this is a personal vendetta for him.” “I believe that, to some extent, it is,” Keval told her. “You recall that one of the traitors is a member of the security department? Mr. Reed was chief of security aboard this ship before being promoted to First Officer. He considers this matter a personal betrayal.” “I see,” Selera nodded. “But I get the impression there is something even more. There is a passion in him about this.” “They seek to prove themselves,” Keval told her. “Humans know that many of our people were of the opinion that they were not ready to expand into deep space yet. I believe that they consider it imperative that they prove to us, to the other races of the quadrant, and most of all to themselves, that they are in fact ready.” “They judge themselves harshly,” Selera said. “No one expects them to be perfect. But I think they expect it of themselves. They appear to have very little mercy toward one of their own who breaks their codes.” “They will learn to become more flexible with time,” Keval said confidently. “They will have no choice. The galaxy itself will force them to.” -&- Gonzales glanced around the galley. Chef was busy in the walk-in freezer, and no one else was looking. He slid the plastic cup over and poured a quick dose of red wine. He downed it like a drink of water and closed his eyes. It helped a little, but not much. Too bad he didn't dare sneak any of the brandy. But Chef would certainly notice and take his scalp, ears, and privates for trophies if he touched it. Matty had everything she needed, or so she claimed. Thank all the dark powers that the captain had put a hold on that blasted training exercise for the present. When Matty told him that, Louis had almost shit his pants in relief. She laughed at him. Again. Crazy bitch. Gonzales shot a quick look around and poured himself another shot. It was bad enough trying this insane stunt. Doing it with the whole freakin' security department chasing around and watching everyone else with eyes like tweezers...no way. Of course Matty just thought it would have added to the fun. Suicidal broad actually relished the thought of trying to pull this off right under the noses of Reed and the captain, using the infiltrator exercise as a smoke screen. Gonzales shuddered. He had to get out of this game. Once his term was up, he was leaving Starfleet. He couldn't take any more of this. Beta colony was always looking for strong backs. Maybe he could start over there. Become a farmer or something. Anything was better than living like this. He slipped the bottle back on the shelf and got back to work, oblivious of the watching eyes. -&- Trip leaned on his hands and stared through the glass at the stars. T'Khut was low in the sky behind T'Para's house, casting an indigo shadow that stretched out to erase the garden wall in front of him. A three meter high mass of impenetrable obsidian terminated in a razor sharp line. Above that line, the sky was on fire with crystalline light, blazing like the dilithium chamber of Enterprise's warp core at top speed. The stone sill under his palms numbed his skin, and the cold stone of the floor made his feet ache. But he did not move. Behind him, T'Pol lay awake in the bed and watched him silently. She had been waiting for him for hours. First he had sat thinking in a chair. Then he had stood and looked out the window. Then he paced. Then back to the chair again. Now he was back at the window. But he never looked at her. Not once since they put T'Lissa into the small trundle bed that T'Para kept for visiting children. T'Pol felt the cold air biting into his hands and feet as if they were her own. To her own eyes, the room was dim and vague, with only blended shadows to define the contents. But when she closed her eyes and concentrated, she could sometimes catch brief flashes of what it looked like through Trip's eyes. Bright, and colorful, and harsh. They had eaten the evening meal in silence, as was Vulcan custom. Afterward Trip concentrated on T'Lissa to the exclusion of all else. Secretly T'Pol had been relieved at first. But as the evening aged, she became uncertain. He was trying to block her from the bond as best he could. But his stress was too high. What she felt trickling through was disheartening. They needed to talk. How? What could she say to him? So she waited and watched him. Finally, after more than half the night was gone, Trip bowed his head in defeat. He sighed in exhaustion and came to bed, careful to stay on his side and avoid touching her. Then he rolled over with his back to her and settled down for the night. That did it. “Trip.” He did not answer. She moved across the bed hesitantly and touched his back. He didn't respond. “Husband. I love you. I am sorry. I have failed you and proven myself unworthy. I do not ask forgiveness, for I have not earned that right. I beg you, that you will permit me the chance to earn back some small portion of your respect.” Trip groaned and rolled over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling. “Don't do that T'Pol. Don't ever beg me. Not for anything. Never.” “I am not worthy of anything more, Trip,” she told him bluntly. “Shut up,” He snapped and rolled out of bed. He padded over to the window again and looked out at the sky. T'Pol lay where he had left her, running through her options. Trying to come up with something to do or say that would not set him off again. Trip continued, “I want this understood right now. This bullshit about being worthy, or needing to earn the right to ask forgiveness, or any of that crap is gonna stop right now. I know it's Vulcan custom, and I don't give a fat rat's ass. Hear me? For once, you are going to pay some real attention to the fact that you have married a Human, T'Pol. In this, I'm going to demand my rights as your husband. You will comply with my wishes, as required under Vulcan tradition. You will refrain from unloading any further shit on me about being unworthy. Understood?” “I understand, Trip,” she told him quietly. “You don't have to prove your worth to me, or to anyone else. Get that through your head.” Oddly, Trip didn't sound angry to her. If anything, he sounded tired. “And you don't have to earn the right to ask forgiveness either. You already have it. I forgive you. For all of it. I already forgave you for all the times you lied to me before we got married. I knew up front that you were lying and hiding a lot of things from me. I decided that I could live with it, as long as you were straight with me from here on out. And as far as the drug abuse, I don't believe you did it on purpose, so it isn't a matter of forgiveness is it? We just have to live with it.” She stared at him. “Live with it?” she asked him in a daze. “Yeah. Live with it.” Trip turned away from the window. “You don't think much of me, do you? You talk about earning my respect back. Right. Why bother? It doesn't look like I'll ever earn any respect at all from you, will I?” “Don't say that!” T'Pol sprang out of bed and ran to him. She grabbed his arms. “Please, Ashayam. Don't ever say that. You are the finest man that I have ever known. Your honor, your courage, they are above all others.” “No.” Trip sighed. “You think I'm an oath breaker. Either that, or you have already forgotten the promises we made three months ago. Have you forgotten them?” “I will never forget them,” T'Pol said fiercely. “Then you think my word is worth nothing,” Trip concluded. “You believe that I can't be trusted, that I'll turn on you and that I have no honor. We swore for better or worse, T'Pol. Remember that? We also swore in sickness and in health. But you expected me to just bail out and abandon you when I found out about this, didn't you? You thought my given word meant nothing to me. And you thought my love was just a word, that it meant nothing to me either.” He turned back to the sky. “Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear,” she quoted Surak. “I failed to do that, Trip. I never doubted your honor. I have seen it too many times. I hid the truth from you because I was afraid, and because I was ashamed. Not because I doubted you. I never doubted you. But my choice was not based on reason. It was based on fear.” “So your head believed me, but your heart still doesn't trust me.” He sounded very sad. “What more can I do, T'Pol? How much more can I do to prove myself to you, to convince you to have faith in me? I left my world and my people for you. What more can I give you?” “There is nothing lacking in you, Husband,” T'Pol told him firmly. “The weakness lies within me. It is something that I must overcome, and I shall. But first, there is a matter to be settled between us.” She knelt beside him and took his hand, placing it against her face. “Trip, you have been able to feel that I concealed things from you. I know this. Touching me like this, do you believe that I could lie to you?” She looked up at him and met his curious eyes. “No,” he said slowly. “Not a direct lie.” T'Pol let her breath out in a long sigh. “I deserve that. But it will be enough for now, for tonight, if you are certain that I will not be able to tell you a direct lie. Will you be able to believe this?” “Yes,” Trip said, looked puzzled. She looked him straight in the eye. “I have never mated with Koss. He wanted to, but I refused him.” She waited, watching his brows pull together. “Since the night we came together in the Expanse, no man has touched me but you.” Trip stood and felt uncertain. It didn't feel like a lie. It didn't make any sense. “Then why did you lie... no. You didn't really lie to me, did you?” He paused to consider. “Why didn't you tell me about the night you spent together? If there was nothing to hide, why did you hide it?” “I was not really hiding it,” T'Pol told him ruefully. “For once, I was not hiding something. This one time I simply did not see any reason to mention it. It was an unpleasant part of the ceremony. Once it was done, I wanted to forget it. Nothing happened, it was over, and I preferred to pretend that it never occurred. I certainly did not relish discussing it with you, knowing that it would make you unhappy to talk about it also.” “Sometimes,” Trip said, “It's better to talk the unpleasant things out and get them out of the way. That way they don't come back to bite you in the ass later.” “As I am in the process of discovering,” T'Pol admitted. He started to remove his hand, but she grabbed it and put it back. “I am not done yet. First, do you believe me now?” Trip rubbed his brow. “I... I guess so. I doesn't feel like you are lying about it. It doesn't make any sense to me. But it doesn't feel like a direct lie anyway.” T'Pol realized sadly that even with the connection of the bond, part of Trip was still watchfully on guard against her. A piece of his mind was always waiting, wary of attempts on her part to misdirect him. She closed her eyes and silently repeated to herself every curse word she had ever heard uttered during her four years aboard Enterprise. It was a long list. Strangely, it actually helped her feel better. “I remember how, when we first learned about Elizabeth,” T'Pol said wistfully, “you suspected me of secretly arranging her birth without your knowledge. Because of my past behavior, you are always rightfully suspicious. Trip, I am going to make sure that you never have cause to be suspicious of me again. Before we leave here, I intend to tell you everything I have ever hidden from you. I will answer every question you ask me, no matter what it may be. I will hide nothing more from you. So long as we both shall live.” He knelt beside her, suddenly to tired and weak to stand. “That's all I have ever wanted, honey. Just be straight with me. I can take anything, as long as you are straight with me.” They gathered each other into an unbalanced hug, with each of them on one and a half knees. “I want you to promise me something,” Trip said, pulling back. “I am serious here, I need your solemn promise. This is very important to me.” “What is it?” She looked anxious. “I want your word of honor that if I get out of control again, you will do whatever it takes to put me out before I hurt someone,” Trip told her tightly. “Stun me, nerve pinch me, belt me with a stick, whatever it takes. Promise me?” She grimaced. “I do not believe that it will be necessary. But I promise you, Trip. I will do my best to stop you from hurting anyone if you lose control again.” He tilted his head at her phrasing. “What did you just get through saying about being deceptive?” T'Pol winced. “I am not being deceptive. I do not know if I can make myself actually use force against you or not. I will try. But if I can't, I will do what I can to prevent you from hurting anyone else regardless.” Trip nodded and looked relieved. “Good enough then. Let's go to bed.” They helped each other up and fell, more than climbed, onto the bed. Both were asleep in seconds. -&- The Section 31 operative shook his head in disappointment. On the one hand, it was certainly useful that Malcolm had overlooked the hidden camera and microphone. On the other hand, this was most definitely a serious deficiency in the boy's training. He ran all over the cargo bay with that silly little scanner checking for active sensor probes, and when he didn't find anything looked all happy and satisfied. The old man snorted derisively. The Vulcans were really no surprise. He was constantly amazed that any people so naive could have survived out in space as long as they had without being eaten alive. Like during that heist all those years ago, when he had walked out with the injectors. He almost hated to do it, they were so innocently trusting. It was like kicking a little puppy. But Malcolm should certainly have known better. He was making the chronic mistake of young people nowadays. He overlooked the obvious in favor of the technical. Why bother with breaking your heart and your head trying to bypass all that fancy jamming equipment? All he had to do was set up some passive monitors. A simple video camera in the ventilation system, with a simple physical cable running through the ductwork to connect to the power grid. An equally simple inductance coil activated microphone, also connected to the video camera via a physical cable. A crude but effective plastic cone in front of the microphone, to concentrate the sound like an ancient ear horn. Both of them constantly monitoring. Nothing to see on a scan. The signal from the shielded cable was piggybacked on the power current. It was a technology first developed in the twentieth century as a way to provide data access to remote locations. Unless someone knew it was there and specifically looked for it, the signal would never show up. Even if they did, the information could be tapped from literally anywhere on the ship. There was no possible way to track the source of the spy. Malcolm had really fumbled the ball on this one. He spent all his efforts on checking for scanners, or transmitters, or some other modern form of monitoring device. The kid had not even thought to look for an archaic self-contained video camera. The elder operative wanted to smack the youngster in exasperation. At least he showed some resourcefulness in allowing for the possibility of an undetected monitor. The old man grinned. Gaelic huh? Like the Code Talkers of Earth's second world war. Even if the enemy broke the code, it still came out in a language they were not likely to be able to understand. And the Vulcans were using what sounded like a very, very old version of Insular Golic, with a lot of extra words and weird pronunciation. Ah well, not a problem. He activated the universal translator matrix and instructed it to provide him with a clear stream. In seconds he was reading an English transcription of the conversation. All right then. They claimed to be ready. Let them try to handle Wu if they thought they could deal with her. Personally he had his doubts. The girl could move like a python. She was smart, and fast, and knew everything there was to know about weapons. Beyond all of that, the lass had an innate feel for dirty tactics. He anticipated that at least one, if not both, of those Vulcans were going to pay for their confidence with their asses. But if they wanted to give it a shot, who was he to stand in their way? Louis Gonzales was a different matter. This one was personal. He sighed. What went wrong with the boy? He was raised better than this. He had a proper family background, a good foundation to build from. It was a shame, it really was. Louis could have come to him. He could have gone to Jon, or Malcolm, or any of the senior officers. Any of them would have helped him. Starfleet would have protected his family from Terra Prime. If they couldn't, the Section certainly could. Too bad for the kid. He had thrown his dice and they came up snake eyes. From the moment he passed on the contract to his partner and agreed to set up the hit, he went past the point of no return. The universe didn't give second chances on life or death decisions. The old man shook his head and continued with preparations to remove Gonzales as a factor in any future difficulties aboard Enterprise. For the first time in many years, he was going to carry out a termination with a twinge of real regret. But he had no trouble suppressing it. -&- For perhaps the first time since they moved to Vulcan, Trip woke up before either T'Pol or the baby. He eased carefully out of bed and padded barefoot across the cold stone floor to the equally cold bathroom. He used the facilities and brushed his teeth at top speed, then hopped into the shower, setting the water temperature as high as he could stand it. Rapid scouring got his blood moving again. Trip came out from behind the opaque shower stall to find T'Pol dropping T'Lissa's first diaper of the day into the waste disposal unit. She gave him a an appraising look and handed him a towel. He took it with a smile and started rubbing his hair. “I better get a move on,” he muttered cheerfully. “I don't want T'Para to check and find me not in place out in the meditation spot. In that case, serenity is likely to be the last thing I achieve.” T'Pol raised an eyebrow. “She is unlikely to berate you for oversleeping on your first morning here Trip.” “I'm not in the mood to take chances, hun,” he told her with a quick peck. Trip hustled back into the bedroom and started digging out his clothes. T'Pol returned to find him teasing T'Lissa with a sock, dangling it over her and encouraging her to grab for it. The two of them immediately engaged in a fierce tug of war, complete with sound effects. Momma promptly broke up the battle, citing the baby's current state of undress. “She is not wearing a diaper, Trip. Getting her excited is perhaps not the wisest course of action at this time.” T'Pol eventually managed to get both of her charges properly clothed. No thanks to Trip, who complicated matters with T'Lissa by hanging over the head of the trundle bed, making faces and emitting uncouth sounds that sent the child into paroxysms of laughter. Ordinarily T'Pol would have expressed irritation. But she was so relieved and happy to see his improved state of mind that, just this once, she would not have offered a peep of objection if he had decided to re-attempt the Great Pudding Debacle. Fortunately for T'Pol's blood pressure and T'Para's furnishings, Trip wasn't quite that giddy with relief. His wife eventually managed to finish supervising his dressing and shoo him on his way for his assigned two hours of morning meditation in T'Para's garden. Then she settled down with T'Lissa's bottle and started attempting to calm her own mind for what was coming. A light tapping at the door announced that her taskmistress had arrived. T'Para nodded approvingly at T'Lissa's enthusiastic appetite. “The child is eating well I see. Most satisfactory. If, as you say, she develops approximately fifty percent faster than a Vulcan baby I can see the necessity for rapid intake of nutrition.” “We are facing a long term challenge,” T'Pol admitted. “Her physical and mental development will be atypical for either race. Trip also tells me that Human children normally exhibit rebellious behavior at frequent intervals. Sometimes even open defiance. Instilling proper discipline will be a complex matter.” “You cannot master others until you have first mastered yourselves,” T'Para observed. “Is my tired old brain displaying the first stages of senility, or did I detect the sound of whistling in the hallway this morning?” “You were not mistaken.” T'Pol gave her a quick summary of the previous night's conversation. “He woke up this morning and seemed happy again. I am not certain how to react now.” “Would you prefer that he remain enraged?” T'Para inquired mildly, taking T'Lissa and administering a brisk burping with practiced hands. She was rewarded with a massive eructation that momentarily startled both of the Vulcan women. Then, retrieving the bottle from T'Pol, the Eldest Mother resumed stoking the kid with yet more nutrition. “No, of course I would not,” T'Pol protested. “But I know my adun, Eldest Mother. It is not possible that he has come to terms with what I did this quickly. I am confused.” “Trip has been forced to deal with many shocks and stresses over the past few days, Daughter,” T'Para murmured. “Each of us has a limit. I theorize that Trip has reached his limit of stress reaction for the present. The primary high stress trigger yesterday involved your concealing the seclusion period from him, and his subsequent reaction to this. Being relieved of this burden has, for the present, allowed his mind a badly needed respite. No doubt you will be forced to deal with the ramifications of other matters later. For now, he is at least able to stop stressing over one matter.” “I suppose it would be futile to protest further that I did not deliberately conceal the fact of the seclusion period from him,” T'Pol said with a touch of disgust. “Correct,” T'Para confirmed. “It would be futile.” T'Pol rolled her eyes but did not otherwise reply. T'Para went on, “For this morning, you have an assignment, Daughter of my Clan.” T'Pol looked up sharply. “You will obtain a PADD. You will settle your mind and search your memory. You will begin to document a complete list of all remaining issues wherein you have been less than fully open with your adun. All issues, Daughter of my Clan, no matter how seemingly slight or insignificant you might consider them to be.” “I will do this, Eldest Mother,” T'Pol agreed. “Shall I have it ready to give to Trip after breakfast?” “It is unlikely in the extreme that you will complete it today,” T'Para told her bluntly. “I doubt sincerely that you are able or willing at this point to acknowledge, even to yourself, the entire list. In any case we need to hear Trip's input on the matter. But certainly, bring the list with you for your joint lesson. You may present the partial list for his review and comment.” T'Pol kept her face still. “Yes, Eldest Mother.” -&- Ambassador Soval opened his eyes reluctantly and spoke to the darkness in his sleeping chamber. “Acknowledged. I am awake. Bide a moment.” He swung his legs off the bed and walked over to the closet for his lounging robe. Then he answered the door with, perhaps, slightly less than his usual bland politeness. “Yes, Kioras, what is it?” Soval asked his most junior attache, reflecting that some things never change. Invariably, it was the newest member of the staff who was sent to awaken the ambassador when a message came in the middle of the night. “Ambassador,” the young man said nervously, “there is an urgent message. It is from an anonymous individual, but the identification codes are verified as authentic for the Security Directorate.” Soval dismissed the youngster and headed for his office at a brisk pace. Not jogging, but not far from it. An urgent message from the Security Directorate at this hour, especially from someone who refused to provide their identity, was likely to be a top priority matter. Soval slid into his chair and activated the comm link. He was not surprised to find that the screen remained dark. The voice on the comm, plainly machine generated, demanded, “Confirm identification.” Soval complied. Then he said, “Awaiting message.” “Linyarn, son of Senal, known smuggler and suspected assassin, arrived on Earth at 0227 hours Greenwich time yesterday. He had been traveling as a passenger aboard the Tellurite cargo ship Griklar's Dripping Tusks under false identity. He was identified upon arrival by Human operatives. Upon leaving the spaceport he was captured and interrogated. Interrogation revealed that his assigned contract had been to notify Terra Prime of the continued survival of the Tucker clone. He also carried detailed information concerning the security arrangements protecting the Tucker family on Vulcan. Linyarn identified Sub-Minister V'Rald as his client. Linyarn has been terminated.” The comm link went abruptly dead, as did Soval's entire computer system. He attempted to activate several controls but to no avail. The ambassador sat back in his chair and 6.9 minutes later his senior aide, J'Nal, came into his office to inform him, “Ambassador, the communications system for the embassy has suffered a temporary malfunction. The entire memory core will have to be replaced and reloaded from backup.” “Why am I not astonished?” Soval murmured to himself. J'Nal gave him an odd look and Soval realized what he had done. Once again, he chided himself on having spent too many years among Humans. “Acknowledged, J'Nal. I am returning to bed. Notify me if another emergency occurs. As soon as communications are restored, arrange for a secure comm link to the captain of the nearest Vulcan cruiser.” Soval headed back to his room replaying recent events. He harbored dark suspicions about whether the message he had received really came from the Security Directorate. Such detailed information concerning Human clandestine operations was most unlikely to be available to any Vulcan operative. The minuscule few who might perhaps be capable of obtaining such knowledge would have no reason to hide their faces from Soval. Either way, T'Pau would have to be notified. He started composing the letter. -&- Trip spooned up his thick porridge with real appetite. “This is really good, T'Para. Back home we make something like this out of grass seeds. Is that what this is?” He scooped up another mouthful, capturing a fruit chunk this time. T'Para hoisted a minor eyebrow at him. “Actually it is pulp from a desert plant, mixed with shaved roots. I am pleased that you find it agreeable. Feel free to eat as much as you wish, the available supply is plentiful.” “Thanks,” Trip grinned and dug back in. T'Pol finished her bowl and pushed it back, watching fondly as her husband wolfed his way through his third helping. “I haven't had much appetite the last day or two, but this is really great.” T'Lissa watched with her beady little eyes gleaming, and her fingers started reaching for T'Pol's spoon so she could join in. Trip noticed and tipped a tiny spot of porridge onto the tip of his own spoon and offered it to her. “She is too young, Trip,” T'Pol objected. “A little taste won't hurt her,” he pleaded, and inserted the blob between his daughter's lips as T'Para watched with interest. T'Lissa licked her lips and got a good taste of the stuff, then promptly spit the wad back out all over Trip's hand with a repulsed grimace. “Oh well,” he said philosophically, “more for me,” and went back to eating. After breakfast they retired to the front room. T'Para provided a wide pad for T'Lissa to sprawl out on while Trip and T'Pol sat alongside her on cushions. The Eldest Mother settled herself on her favorite chair and propped her feet up. She seemed in no hurry to start lecturing them, which didn't provoke any complaints from her guests. The three adults enjoyed themselves watching the baby crawl and play for awhile. Finally T'Para asked, “How did your meditation proceed this morning, Trip?” He raised his head from where he lay flat on his back with T'Lissa yanking his chest hair. “Restful. Relaxing.” Trip returned to tickling the baby and she started flailing at him in joyous exuberance. “And you, T'Pol,” T'Para asked. “How far did you progress on your assignment?” “Assignment?” Trip looked curious. T'Pol set her jaw. “Yes. The Eldest Mother set me to the task of documenting all of the times that I have been less than completely forthright with you,” T'Pol said tightly. “I have completed the list.” “Have you?” T'Para asked her mildly. “Well then, let us hear it.” T'Pol took a deep breath. Trip sat up and pulled T'Lissa into his lap, cuddling her carefully but not allowing any major upheavals. He watched closely as T'Pol gathered her forces. “The first time,” T'Pol said, looking Trip in the eye, “was after our first night together when I told you that it was merely an exploration for me. You knew better and so did I. I lied to you then.” Trip did not change expression, he just nodded for her to go on. T'Pol took another breath. “The second time was after we met Lorian.” She looked at him with wet eyes. “I know how much it meant to you to meet him. It meant just as much to me. Everything that happened then was so frightening to me, so unexpected that I could not cope with it. I had no idea what to think. My emotions were out of control, and I was afraid that if I allowed myself to acknowledge them, I would break down completely. So I pretended once again that I felt nothing. I lied again.” “The third and final time,” T'Pol said, “was when we came to Vulcan and you met my mother. After Koss made his claim, I spoke with my mother about you. We argued, because she knew what I felt for you. When I told you at the Fire Plains that I was to marry Koss, what I really wanted to say was that I loved you. I wanted to tell you that I did not want Koss, that I wanted you. But I was afraid. I feared that you might not truly love me, or want me, after the way I had treated you in the Expanse. And so I hid my feelings once again.” “You claim that this is everything T'Pol?” T'Para asked her in a voice suddenly hard. “I told you to write down every time that you had been less than open with your adun. Not merely every time that you had lied to him. Do you truly maintain that this is every single time?” “Yes, Eldest Mother,” T'Pol raised her chin. “Is this true Trip?” T'Para snapped at him. “Not really,” Trip said mildly. “Not even close.” T'Pol looked startled. “When? When else have I hidden anything from you?” She demanded. Trip snorted. “We don't have all day, do we?” “Yes, we do,” T'Para said emphatically. “We have all day. And all day tomorrow. And all day the day after tomorrow. And as many days as it takes until this matter is settled.” Trip sighed. “We do need to get back to work though. I appreciate you letting us stay here, and the the chance to rest up. That garden of yours is worth a week's vacation by itself. But we have commitments to meet. Those plans are not going to design themselves.” “You are on medical leave, Trip,” T'Pol informed him. “I arranged it while you were in the clinic at the embassy. Doctor Phlox will confirm it when he arrives.” He paused uncertainly. “Medical leave?” “Yes, Trip,” T'Para said. “Are you fully confident in the safety and security of your family in your current condition?” Trip wilted in front of their eyes. “No,” he said in a very weak voice, shaking his head. “No, I'm not. I feel better now. But I can't swear that I could stop myself from blowing up again, since I don't really understand why it happened before.” “Which is why you are here.” T'Para looked at them both. “Now. Let us continue from before. What else has T'Pol hidden from you?” Trip said awkwardly, “Well. A lot of things.” “Such as?” T'Pol said testily. T'Para raised a hand with two fingers pressed closely together and gave her a stern look. T'Pol subsided, disgruntled. “Like...” Trip shrugged. “Where did you go and what did you do that time when you and Jon and Travis snuck off in a shuttle pod together?” T'Pol froze. No one spoke for a moment. Then T'Para told her, “Answer him, Daughter of my Clan.” “I... I cannot, Eldest Mother. It is classified,” T'Pol scrambled for a reply. “Really.” Trip said in disgust. “My rating is Top Secret. Just like Jon's. In fact, my rating is higher than Travis'. So how come he qualified to know about it, but I didn't?” T'Pol look caught and on the verge of panic. “You see, Daughter?” T'Para told her not unkindly. “It is not as simple, nor as easy as you expected. But your husband deserves an answer. Will you lie to him again? Did you not promise to tell him everything?” “It was a mission for the Security Directorate,” T'Pol forced out. “A fugitive needed to be retrieved, and I was called because I had prior experience with that particular criminal. I asked Captain Archer to assist me because I anticipated possible difficulty if I went alone. He ordered Ensign Mayweather to pilot the shuttle.” “OK. Now tell me the rest of it,” Trip demanded. “Tell me why you looked like a rabbit staring a Rottweiler in the face when I asked you about it.” T'Pol sat quietly, staring at her hands clenched together in her lap. “I am sorry.” They waited. She looked up. “He and his partner were smuggling bio-toxins,” she told them. “When I last found them, he escaped me but I killed his partner.” Her voice was flatly mechanical, devoid of expression. “After killing his partner, my first time taking a sentient life, I was forced to retire to the Sanctuary at P'Jem for an extended period before I was able to resume my duties. When I received orders from the High Command to resume the hunt, I lacked confidence in my own ability to maintain objectivity. Therefore I requested Captain Archer's company.” “Were you successful, Daughter?” T'Para asked gently. “Yes,” T'Pol said weakly. “We captured the fugitive, and also confiscated his shipload of bio-toxins.” “So that's why it hit you so hard,” Trip was looking at her sadly. “What happened at P'Jem I mean. That's why it hit you like a kick in the teeth when you found out they were hiding the listening post there.” He reached over and touched her face. “How long were you there?” She blinked a few times. “My memory of my time at the Sanctuary is blurred. I was... upset... by what happened. Killing someone drove me into a state that required the monks to suppress the memories of the event. It wasn't until we left to capture the second fugitive that I recalled the... first time.” “I'm sorry I asked.” Trip whispered wretchedly. “I had no right to open those wounds. I am sorry.” “You had every right, Trip,” T'Para said sternly. “Just as T'Pol has every right to know your pain. You cannot lend strength to each other if you refuse to reveal weakness, each to the other. You cannot heal each other unless you acknowledge pain. Much of this will not be pleasant to hear or speak, for either of you. But it is all necessary.” “She is right, Trip,” T'Pol straightened. “We must do this.” “How did you react to this, Trip? When they left without telling you anything about the mission, and then returned and still kept silent?” T'Para watched his face keenly. Trip shifted uncomfortably. Both of them women watched him, and he dropped his eyes only to find his daughter looking up at him with her own penetrating gaze. For an instant he was startled, and then he realized that she was merely fascinated by his zippered pocket. “Jealous I suppose. Left out. Resentful. Disrespected more than anything else,” Trip said. “I was left in command without any real explanation. My captain and first officer took off with the helmsman and never said where, who, why, or how long they would be gone. I had no way of contacting them in an emergency. I had no way of knowing what they were getting into. I had no way of judging whether they had been gone too long or not. I knew nothing at all. I was left with the full responsibility for the welfare of the ship, but given no information of any kind to base my decisions on. So I got upset about it. Then everyone came back and of course I was relieved. But still, nobody would tell me anything. They all just blew me off like I was irrelevant.” He looked up at T'Pol and finally allowed some irritation to show. “I think I had a right to resent it. I still think I had a right to resent it.” T'Pol looked unhappy. “You did, and you do. I did not perceive how it must have seemed from your point of view at the time. I am sorry, Ashayam. It was most unfair to you.” “That's that thing, isn't it?” Trip was still irritated. “You don't stop to consider how things seem from my point of view and you never have. You didn't warn me that Koss might be at the gathering because of how you were uncomfortable talking about it. You didn't tell me about the wedding seclusion because you didn't want to discuss it. Never mind how it affected me, or how it might cause me to react and affect anyone else around us. He turned his head and swallowed, trying to bring his irritation under control before he got any angrier. In a few seconds her hand touched his. “Yes. Everything you said is true. I acknowledge it. I am trying with everything I am to change. Please believe me, husband. I am trying.” “There is much anger in you, Trip,” T'Para observed. “I do not believe that all of it is derived from T'Pol's neural damage by any means. You have carried resentment for many things for a long time. It has simmered within you and, just as I have been warned is the case with your people, it has turned inward and sickened you. It must be purged, this much is becoming very plain. We have already seen what will happen if it is not purged - it will purge itself. Far better to release it under controlled conditions here. For now I believe it will be beneficial for you to return to meditation until it is time for your mid-day meal.” Trip slowly handed T'Lissa to her mother, over the child's objections. She urgently wanted to maintain possession of Trip's pocket. He knelt in front of T'Pol for a time, looking into her eyes and trying to find the right words. Finally he just said, “I love you.” After he got up and shuffled out of the room, T'Pol finally let the tears trickle. T'Lissa, nothing dismayed, decided to climb down and resume her attack on her exercise toy. The jangling squeaks and thumps provided welcome distraction to her mother. T'Para mercifully kept her attention focused on the baby while T'Pol got herself gathered back together. “Did you feel what I was talking about, child?” T'Para asked her. “Yes, Eldest Mother,” T'Pol told her. “Once you had pointed it out to me, it was obvious. The ebb and flow of the bond is exactly as you described it. It simply never struck me before to attempt to distinguish the direction in which the emotions were flowing. Until now, I had perceived them more in the nature of a state of being, rather than an event.” “A common misconception,” T'Para told her. “Continue to monitor the sensations. You will find that as you develop practice, it will become automatic. It is a simple matter to determine if your bond mate is blocking his emotions from you, or if he is open. That much is instinctive. But once the bond is open and flowing freely, that is when the perceptions become mingled and difficult to define. When both of you are emotionally activated, it can be quite challenging. But it is absolutely necessary for you to learn this.” “It was very difficult for me to absorb Trip's anger without responding,” T'Pol said shakily. “But you succeeded,” T'Para told her approvingly. “Plainly there was no feedback occurring, since he remained in full control throughout the course of a conversation that was painfully provocative to him.” “Not only to him,” T'Pol thought sadly. She wondered how many other things that she had not considered were going to come up. What other buried resentments had she caused in her husband? How many times had she provoked him without meaning to, without even being aware of it? “And what of yourself, T'Pol?” T'Para reminded her. “What of your own pain? Are there no times in your past when he has hurt you? No memories that cry out for him to offer recompense to you?” She sat quietly and made no immediate reply. -&- Captain Archer sat down and said, “Good morning, Malcolm. Sleep well?” He picked up a napkin and spread it over his lap. Reed settled into his own chair and replied, “Good morning, Sir. Actually I was up rather late last night. Since we only have four more days until arriving at Vulcan, I can't imagine that the Terra Prime agents will wait much longer. Frankly I am disquieted. I expected them to strike long before now.” Archer took a sip of water. “That's probably why they haven't Malcolm. Surely I don't have to lecture you, of all people, about never doing what your enemy expects. Getting tense won't help us. Remember what Sun Wu teaches about waiting at ease for the enemy to come to you.” Lieutenant Commander Reed slowly started to grin. “I see you took my advice then, Sir?” “Yes I did,” Archer told him. “And excellent advice it was. I haven't read the Art of War since I was an Ensign. A serious oversight on my part. I plan to get back into Clausewitz tonight.” “Most gratifying, Sir,” Malcolm said happily. He looked up at the door leading from the captain's mess into the serving area. “I wonder what's keeping things? Gonzales is usually quite prompt in the mornings.” “You're right,” Archer admitted. He keyed the comm and asked, “Captain to Gonzales.” He waited a moment and repeated, “Captain Archer to Crewman Gonzales.” No response. Malcolm tossed his napkin on the table. “I'll go see what's keeping him. Perhaps there has been a spill in the kitchen or some such thing.” Archer nodded and Malcolm headed out on his foraging expedition. In a moment the comm buzzed. “Reed here, Captain. I found out what was keeping Gonzales.” “Nothing serious I hope,” the captain responded. “What happened, did Chef burn the eggs?” he asked jokingly. “It is a bit more serious than that, Sir.” “What's wrong Malcolm?” Archer leaned forward, catching the tone of his second in command's voice. “I am afraid Gonzales is dead, Sir.” |
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