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"Father to the Man"
Rating: PG-13 (Language, Violence, Adult Situations) Warning Note: All right thinking, civilized readers are hereby warned to take flight and go find something more appropriate to their refined sensibilities. I write to suit my own politically incorrect self, so read at your own risk. A/N: Vulcan terms used in this story were taken from the Vulcan Language Dictionary, the Vulcan Language Institute, or I made them up myself. Part 7: T'Pol settled back on a cushion in front of the single candle in the bedroom that she shared with her husband. T'Para had the baby and was out strolling through the front garden, giving her mother a brief respite. T'Pol needed the respite. Badly. While Trip spent his time in T'Para's meditation garden, striving to improve his inner discipline, T'Pol was laboring to master the art of empathic modulation. T'Para approached the subject from a pragmatic point of view, she believed in teaching by using skills in real world application. So T'Para spent the morning subjecting T'Pol to the most emotionally disturbing stimuli that she could unearth, while simultaneously instructing the younger woman in how not to let the backlash of her emotions strike through the bond and destabilize her bond mate. Finally T'Para decreed that T'Pol should take a break and collect herself before calling Trip for his lunch. Otherwise he was sure to notice her haggard appearance and become destabilized even without the bond. The young woman took a grateful breath and began to sink into meditation. Slowly the pale mists formed. As T'Pol settled firmly into the third level of meditation her vital signs stabilized. Her breathing became shallow and steady as a metronome. Her heart vibrated with a fluttering rhythm that caressed her bones and muscles, soothing away her tension. Finally she entered the state of peaceful indifference that she sought. The cares and fears of the day fell away from her for a time, leaving her cleansed. A timeless interval later she became aware of Trip's form materializing in front of her. He was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed. For a time they two simply sat together, not speaking or moving. Then he opened his eyes and said, “Hi, Hun. How are you feeling now? You ok?” She smiled weakly. “I am better, Trip. Is the meditation helping you?” “Yeah,” he paused to consider. “I think it really is. T'Para hasn't said anything yet about the deeper stuff she offered to teach me. But just sitting out here helps. It's almost impossible not to get peaceful when it's just me and this fountain and some weeds.” “I am pleased,” she said simply. They fell silent for a while. Suddenly T'Pol blurted out, “Why did you lie to me, Trip?” He started. “What? When did I lie to you?” T'Pol blinked away the dampness from her eyes. “Do you remember when I came back after my marriage, and you were avoiding me? I tried to talk to you, to tell you that I still wanted to be close to you. But you lied to me.” “I didn't lie to you,” Trip bristled. “I had just had my heart ripped out and set on fire. I told you I needed time to get used to -” “Not that,” she interrupted him sadly. “That was not what I meant.” T'Pol bowed her head and brushed her eyes with the heel of her palms. Trip was lost and said so. “Then I don't know what you are talking about. I never intended to lie to you, I can say that much for sure. If I did, I am sorry.” She took a shivering breath. “You told me that it was for the best. You led me to believe that you did not think we could have made things work between us in any case.” She looked him in the eye. “And that was a lie.” Trip flinched and grimaced. “I...yeah. All right. You got me. I lied. Guilty as charged. I am sorry. At the time I figured I had lost you for good, and there was no point in making things harder than they had to be with moaning about what couldn't be helped. So I tried to pretend I didn't think it was any big deal, hoping that would make it easier for you.” She looked at him with annoyed wonder. “Even for a male, you can be so incredibly obtuse sometimes. Did it never occur to you that I might be willing to divorce Koss once the danger to my mother had passed?” “Um, not really. No,” he admitted. “I thought Vulcan marriages were for life. Didn't you tell me that you were marked now because Koss divorced you?” T'Pol gritted her teeth. “There are several different options for dissolving a marriage. Koss chose to use the most ancient and traditional ritual. As the husband, it was his right to use the this option if he chose. But by using it the implication is that I betrayed him. Therefore I am now forever marked as dishonored.” “Yet another reason to gut the sonuvabitch. This lad is just piling them up like cord wood,” Trip reflected. He said aloud, “If I had realized that there was any reason to hope we might still have a future together, or that you still might want a future with me, I would have stuck to you like glue. You gotta believe that.” He leaned forward earnestly and took her hands. She shook her head. “I know that now. But at the time, your words destroyed my last hope, Trip. I felt bereft. To me then, it seemed that my only remaining option was to resign myself to a life with Koss as my husband.” She looked up. “At that moment I began trying to distance myself from you. I failed of course. I could never escape from my bond mate. Forever and always, touching and touched.” She rubbed her thumbs across the backs of his hands. “But it was then that I gave up hope for us. I stopped believing that you cared about me.” “Oh, No.” Trip looked sick. He rose up on his knees and enfolded her in a fierce hug. She wrapped her arms around him in return and they remained like that for a time, until an external knocking sound pulled Trip out of the link. T'Pol settled back and resumed her former position for a brief time, thinking. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then she felt the corners of her mouth turn up faintly. Perhaps the Eldest Mother was right after all. Letting things out helped. She began pulling out of the meditative trance. Dinner and her family were waiting. -&- “Nothing, Doctor?” Captain Archer let the frustration spill out into his voice. “I'm sorry, Captain,” Phlox told him helplessly, throwing up his hands. “I have gone over this body from top to bottom twice. There is absolutely nothing to indicate that Crewman Gonzales' death was anything other than a tragic accident. See here,” he pointed to the side of the skull. “That depressed fracture is an exact match for the corner of the service island, the one that he was found beside. Fragments of counter top material are embedded in the scalp and dura matter, while bone chips, blood and hair are present on the corner of the counter. This injury is plainly the cause of death, and the only cause of death.” Archer turned and paced angrily across sickbay. “What about other marks? Any signs of a struggle? Bruises, choking?” Phlox was shaking his head while Archer spoke. “Just like I told Lieutenant Commander Reed, there is no sign of any struggle, no indications that Gonzales was attacked, no reason to suspect foul play of any kind. From everything I can find it seems that he simply... slipped and fell.” Archer stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I'm sorry, Doctor. I don't mean to be short with you. It's just that I absolutely do not need this kind of thing right at this moment.” “Believe me, I understand,” Phlox told him. “I'm sorry I can't help.” Archer nodded and walked out, thinking furiously. He headed for his ready room hoping that Malcolm would have something more solid to report. He did. He did indeed. It was solid enough to break a tooth on, Archer reflected. He picked up the PADD with a grim expression and turned it over. The back cover was easily removable, exposing several connection jacks and controls that were by no means standard issue. “You found this in Gonzales' locker?” “Yes, Sir,” Reed told him with a scowl, “Along with these,” he tossed a selection of small components onto the table in front of Archer. Each was slightly different, but all of them shared enough similar characteristics to argue a common origin. “Those are communication modules, sensors, encryption nodes, and this,” Reed held up a small silver capsule, “is a laser. When it is plugged into the PADD's power supply like this...” he demonstrated, “it becomes a lethal one shot weapon.” Archer sat back and stared at the array on the table. “Section 31?” “No, Sir,” Reed responded promptly. “How can you be so sure?” “Too crude.” Malcolm told him. “These items are effective enough, but they are not even close to what the Section is capable of producing. Moreover, if Gonzales was a Section 31 operative I can guarantee that I would not have found his gear sitting openly in his locker. Not even a first year trainee would be that careless, much less an agent cleared for field duty.” “Terra Prime, then.” It wasn't a question. “So it would seem, Sir.” “Which makes the chance that his death was an accident slim to none, regardless of what Phlox says,” Archer sighed. “Some great man once said that in a world of cause and effect, all coincidence is suspect.” Malcolm offered, “But still, coincidence does happen.” “Look me in the eye and tell me you believe he died by accident Malcolm,” Archer demanded. “I'm not saying that, Sir,” Reed protested. “I just want to point out that it isn't absolutely impossible.” “It isn't absolutely impossible that Harvard is going to win the water polo championship this year, but I won't hold my breath,” Archer retorted. “We have three, count them Malcolm, three days until we reach Vulcan. In that length of time we have to somehow lure the other Terra Prime mole out of hiding or all of this elaborate charade has been for nothing. And now we have this to deal with. So the question now is, did his buddy kill him or do we have yet another player in the game aboard?” Malcolm sat silently considering for several moments. Finally, “I am going to venture a guess that it was a falling out between the two of them, Sir. Perhaps Gonzales was getting cold feet, and his comrade eliminated him as a potential leak.” “Or vice versa,” Archer offered. Reed shook his head. “I think of the two it is more likely that Gonzales would be the one to back out if either of them did. Remember that the other mole is in security, whereas Gonzales is one of Chef's assistants. Hardly a trained assassin. Most likely he was getting scared and his partner thought he might sell out in order to buy leniency for himself.” “It would have worked too,” Archer muttered. “I would have gladly cut him a deal.” Malcolm nodded. “If I am right,” Reed went on, “the other Terra Primer will be planning to strike as soon as possible. They will expect me to search Gonzales' quarters and find his gear, so from this point on the risk is tripled for them. I have warned the Vulcans, and my staff is on high alert. All we can do now is wait for it.” “They will probably try to start some kind of diversion,” Archer suggested. Malcolm nodded, a touch impatiently. “Naturally,” he said. “We are ready and waiting. But since we know their real target, a diversion won't accomplish any more than tying down a few of our people. Terra Prime is ruthless, but not suicidal. They are not likely to do anything to endanger the ship and risk their own life.” “Backup power to cargo bay two is operational?” Archer wanted to know. “Yes, Sir,” Malcolm confirmed. “Even if all power and life support to that area is cut off, the Vulcans will still be safe and have access to their systems.” “Good enough then,” Captain Archer settled back, moderately satisfied. “As you said. Now we wait.” -&- T'Para moved slowly along the stone bordered, gravel path that wound across the grounds of her home. Wind carved rocks offered weirdly shaped contrast to the twisted forms of tough Vulcan vegetation that filled scattered planters throughout the garden. She paused to admire one of her prizes. A coiled purple vine with thorns as long as T'Para's hand offered menacing protection to its tiny yellow flowers, which bloomed once every seventh year in conjunction with the low point in Eridani's sunspot cycle. Tan colored insects, almost microscopically small, buzzed around the flowers to steal the precious nectar and spread the equally precious pollen. T'Lissa squealed and reached, trying to grab at the thorns. “No little one,” T'Para chided her. “As you will learn to your sorrow, simply because something is beautiful does not make it desirable.” The old woman started pacing again. T'Para paused beside a shaded nook and nodded regally to one of the security guards on duty. He offered her a respectful salute. “Greetings, Eldest One.” T'Para shifted the baby to rest comfortably on one arm and returned the gesture. “Greetings to you in return, young man,” T'Para told him with dignified courtesy. “When Ganlas next contacts your team, inform him that I wish to consult with him.” “I shall do so, Eldest One,” the security operative assured her. He glanced curiously at the wiggling bundle on her arm. “This is the Tucker child? I have never seen it so closely before.” “She,” T'Para put a slight but unmistakable emphasis on the pronoun, “and I are enjoying the fresh air and sunlight while her parents meditate. Her name is T'Lissa, daughter of T'Pol.” “Certainly, Eldest One,” the younger man said, abashed. “I meant no offense.” “Of course not,” T'Para told him. “And no offense was taken. But she is a full member of my clan.” “Indeed?” The man's eyebrows shot upward and tried to creep into his hairline. “With all privileges? You are most generous, Eldest One. Many families would not have offered the Rite of Inclusion to one who was not born of the womb.” “She carries the blood of the clan, that is all that matters,” T'Para snapped. “The mechanism by which she was conceived and gestated is merely that, mechanics. Even the Humans, whom so many profess to disdain, are enlightened enough to realize such an obvious truth. Her father's family has accepted her as one of their own. And his people have granted her Earth citizenship without question. How can we, who claim enlightenment based on the teachings of Surak, fail to do as much?” The guard looked thoughtful. “I am chagrined to acknowledge that I have never bothered to consider the matter before. You have given me much to think about at my own meditation session, Eldest One.” “It is always agreeable to provoke thought in a young mind,” T'Para told him, and walked on. She continued silently to herself, “Since it is unlikely to the point of incredible that they will initiate thought independently.” She snorted faintly and looked down to meet T'Lissa's curious stare. “What thoughts are sparking in your tiny mind, Daughter of my Clan?” T'Para crooned softly. The baby gurgled happily and reached up to pat at her face. The child's innocent joy washed through T'Para's empathic sense at the contact. For a brief time, the worries and responsibility of being Eldest Mother faded and she could revel in being merely a great-great-grandmother again. She considered progress thus far. Trip was surprising her, pleasantly so. T'Para had long suspected that the broadly disseminated descriptions of Human behavior put out by the High Command were largely propaganda. After coming to know Trip she realized that they were not largely, but entirely propaganda. Instead of a barely civilized barbarian, incapable of the most minimal level of emotional control, T'Para was finding T'Pol's bond mate quite a promising young man. Of course he lacked discipline. This was only to be expected, given Earth's history and culture. But for a people who were still in the initial stages of species unification, Trip displayed a remarkable grasp of the IDIC principle. His tolerance for Vulcan idiosyncrasies, and his willingness to adapt to his wife's culture were most agreeable. His greatest weakness was the innate Human need to purge emotions. The meditation techniques she could teach him would help defer this requirement temporarily, but only temporarily. Meanwhile, T'Pol was struggling with her training. The neural damage that she had sustained was making it extremely difficult for her to sustain the necessary concentration for more than a few minutes at a time. The combination did not bode well. T'Para brooded uneasily, taking care to maintain a barrier between her disquiet and the child's awareness. Removing a child from the custody of her blood parents was such a devastating action that it was almost never undertaken. T'Para herself had never been forced to such an extremity. Her predecessor, Vela, had done it only once during the course of her long reign. The mother of the child in question had been killed in battle against the Orions and the father, driven mad with grief and the backlash from the sudden severing of the mating bond, was completely incapable of caring for himself or his children. Even so, Vela had never truly felt at peace with her decision. Knowing the logical necessity for it had not relieved her of the pain she felt, recalling the crying of the children when they were taken from their father. T'Para looked down at T'Lissa and tenderly stroked her ear tip. The baby gurgled blissfully and kick stretched, craning her neck backward to catch a better view of a particularly fascinating example of imported Terran cactus. No, she would exhaust every possible option before depriving this child of her birthright. Besides, with her mixed heritage it was going to require a concerted effort from both families to get this one raised properly, even as it was. T'Para considered the likelihood that T'Lissa would inherit her father's need to periodically purge her emotions. If she inherited her mother's Vulcan intensity, and her father's emotional openness, then she was indeed going to need careful handling. Perhaps Trip's culture might offer some assistance? T'Para decided to assign Ganlas the task of researching the matter. Humans could not have built a space faring civilization without addressing the issue of channeling aggression into non-destructive paths. She would examine the methods they used. Perhaps some of them could be adapted to fit this situation. T'Para reached the end of the path and stopped at the door leading to her meditation garden. “Shall we go inside and summon your father to his meal, little one?” she asked T'Lissa. At the words, “your father,” T'Lissa became a wriggling dynamo of excitement and one corner of T'Para's mouth twitched faintly. “Very well. Let us proceed.” She tapped the door and reached for the latch. -&- Admiral Gardner sat at a corner table in the 602 club and sipped his cold beer. A long day again, and it looked like a long night ahead. Why was it the older he got, the less chances he got to relax? Blast it, a man needed some down time once in a while. Even admirals got tired sometimes. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. No such luck tonight though. He just hoped the man he was supposed to meet was prompt. He had skipped lunch and was already late for supper as it was. The beer was half gone when a nondescript figure settled beside him at the table so quietly that Gardner almost didn't notice it himself for a moment. “Good evening, Admiral. Always a pleasure.” “Mr. Harris,” Gardner replied wryly, “I am duly impressed. I was expecting one of your underlings. To what do I owe this honor?” “The honor is mine, Admiral. Always,” Harris insisted. “And the reason is that I need you here to mediate, so to speak. Or more accurately, to provide reassurance to our guest. In fact, I believe I see him heading this way.” Gardner glanced to his left and noted a figure entering in a long coat with the hood pulled up, still dripping rain from the nasty evening weather. The person scanned the room quickly, then headed for their table without bothering to remove the rain gear. Harris stood up and politely offered the newcomer his chair, which sat against the wall in the dimmest corner of the room. The visitor sat down and pulled back the hood, revealing the features of Ambassador Soval. Gardner felt his hand tighten on the beer glass, but he kept his face immobile. Harris reached inside his jacket and made some kind of adjustment, then seemed to relax slightly. “We can speak freely for a brief time gentlemen,” he said softly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice, Ambassador.” “Your message stressed the urgency of the matter, and mentioned the potential for serious inter-species strife,” Soval responded flatly. “Under the circumstances there was no logical alternative.” “I regret to say that the message was quite accurate,” Harris told him. “I apologize, Admiral, for not briefing you in advance on this matter. The information has just come in and I thought it best to bring it to the attention of proper authority immediately.” “What is it then?” Gardner demanded. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. Harris folded his hands in front of him. “It has to do with Commander Tucker and Lady T'Pol, and their child. It seems that Lady T'Pol's extended clan has important business ties to certain highly placed members of the Vulcan government.” Harris shot Gardner a warning look. “I presume that you were aware of this, Ambassador.” “I was,” Soval said with dignity. “It is commonplace among my people. Our customs and standards are quite strict in regard to the ethical requirements involved in such arrangements.” “At least in theory.” Harris said, looking Soval in the eye. The Vulcan merely tilted his head slightly and returned his gaze. “Do you mean to imply something Mr. Harris?” Soval asked him, sounding almost bored. “For myself, I am in no position to imply anything,” Harris said. He went on carefully, watching Soval while giving Gardner occasional significant looks, “However it seems Commander Tucker was in a somewhat different position. I have received reports that Tucker has filed a formal accusation involving his wife's prior marriage. Specifically he alleges that she was coerced into the marriage by the threat of reprisals against her mother.” He sat back and waited. Soval sat and blinked for a few minutes, absorbing the information. “Indeed. This is disquieting in the extreme.” Gardner gritted his teeth. “Do you allow this sort of thing, Ambassador?” “No, Admiral, we do not,” Soval responded. “If these allegations are proven true they would represent a very serious ethical violation. However, as distasteful as this information may be I fail to see how it can qualify as an emergency.” “There is more,” Harris took a sip of his water. He looked at Gardner. “Yesterday we intercepted a Vulcan coming in on a Tellurite freighter under false papers. When we pulled him in for questioning it turned out he was a known smuggler. Except he wasn't smuggling contraband this time, he was carrying information.” “Go on,” Gardner growled. “Lady T'Pol's ex-husband is named Koss,” Harris explained. “Koss has an uncle named V'Rald, who is a sub-Minister with the Vulcan Science Directorate. The smuggler we picked up, Linyarn, told us that V'Rald had hired him to come to Earth and contact Terra Prime. He was carrying information on how to bypass the security arrangements around the Tucker home. He was also carrying the information that T'Lissa Tucker is really Elizabeth Tucker, and that the cloned baby never died.” Gardner consciously loosened his grip from the beer glass. No sense in breaking it and cutting his hand. He leaned back and closed his eyes, breathing slowly and carefully until his reaction was under control. When he opened his eyes Soval and Harris were eyeballing each other like two fencers facing each other at sword's point. “What happened to Linyarn?” Soval asked mildly. “I regret to report,” Harris did not sound the least bit regretful, “that he was carrying a suicide capsule in a hollowed out tooth. We did not expect that tactic from a Vulcan. I am embarrassed to admit that he caught us by surprise.” Privately, Admiral Gardner considered the odds of a prisoner catching Harris by surprise to be about equal to the odds of Mt. McKinley erupting. But all he said was, “Don't blame yourself. You and your men did well to intercept him before he could complete his mission. That's what counts.” “The problem, Admiral,” Harris offered, “is that we have no way of knowing when or if sub-Minister V'Rald will send another messenger. Since he is a high level government official,” Harris shot Soval a look, “he could easily use an official channel that we could not interdict.” “I have every confidence that Ambassador Soval is gong to make sure that doesn't happen. Aren't you, Ambassador?” Gardner said heartily. “I'm quite certain that neither of our governments wants this to become public knowledge.” “I concur,” Soval agreed dryly. “I will notify Chief Minister T'Pau immediately of the information presented in this meeting. I am certain that she will take the necessary steps to prevent a recurrence.” “Superb. All taken care of,” Gardner said cheerfully. “Gentlemen, let us adjourn to our respective dinner tables, and maybe even manage to get a few hours sleep. If that's not too much to ask of fate.” The three of them wrapped up and headed out. Soval was met at the door by his escort, who led him to the embassy limo. Gardner made a head motion to Harris and the two men started walking down the rain swept sidewalk. The late hour and miserable weather gave them some precious privacy. “What's the status now on neutralizing Terra Prime?” Gardner asked sotto voce. “At the moment,” Harris told him, “the rank and file are busy keeping their heads down while the big dogs rip each other to pieces. We are staying back and letting them self-destruct as much as they care to before we step back in. No sense getting our hands dirty when it's not necessary.” “Never interfere with an enemy who is in the process of defeating himself,” Gardner nodded. “Do you have someone on Vulcan watching the Tuckers?” “Of course, Admiral,” Harris was offended that he would need to ask. Gardner chuckled. “Sorry. It's been a long day.” The Admiral stretched. “We need those warp six plans Mr. Harris. I really don't like the way the Klingons are stretching out in this direction, and the Romulans are starting to make me very nervous indeed. We need those plans, and we do NOT need any petty Vulcan bureaucrat throwing a monkey wrench into our way of getting them.” “Understood, Sir,” Harris told him. “Good enough. Good night Mr. Harris.” “Good night, Admiral.” As the two men parted ways, neither of them noticed a slightly parted pair of curtains in a third floor window above them. -&- The second evening meal passed as quietly as the first. But this time, it was due to absolute exhaustion. T'Para quietly made sure that food and drink were prepared and conveniently placed, then took the baby into another room for her umpteenth changing of the day. Trip looked at his wife in concern. “Hun, your eyes look like they are sinking into a snowbank. As soon as you get done eating I think you better lay down and get some rest.” His concern surged across the bond and for once T'Pol didn't even try to modulate the effect. She soaked up the healing warmth of his affection and let it soothe her abraded nerves like a medicinal balm. “I admit that I am somewhat fatigued. But I will be all right for now. How are you feeling, Trip? You have never spent an entire day in meditation before.” “I didn't spend one today either,” he admitted. “I couldn't do it. No way. I had to take periodic breaks and walk around. Do some stretching exercises. Just look at things. But when I wasn't meditating I was doing a lot of thinking, which helped too.” He brushed his fingers across her cheek. “What has T'Para had you doing that's wringing you out like this?” T'Pol explained, “She is teaching me how to understand and control the flow of emotions across our bond. We have talked about the feedback loop that sometimes happens between us.” He nodded at her. “What she is doing is trying to teach me how to slow down the flow of my own emotions, to prevent me from amplifying yours. It was my anger at the two men who interrupted us in the coffee shop that pushed your rage past the point of self-control. But I was also feeling your anger at the time, which helped provoke me. Do you understand what I am trying to say?” Trip nodded. “I think I get it. I was pissed, which leaked across the bond and rubbed you raw. Then those two walked up and made you even more irritated, which fed back to me through the loop and added just enough to what I was already feeling to make me snap.” “Yes. Exactly,” T'Pol nodded emphatically. “So what T'Para is teaching me is the discipline necessary to stop myself from reacting to your emotional... leakage... when it comes across the bond. She is showing me how to stop the feedback loop from cycling, by preventing my portion of it from activating.” “Okay,” Trip said hopefully, “makes sense. How is it coming?” “Slowly and painfully,” T'Pol admitted, rubbing her forehead. “Today was only the very beginning. I cannot expect to master this without extensive practice of course. But I will master it, Trip. I promise you. I will master it, for both of us, and for T'Lissa.” “And I promise I will keep staring at that fountain until my butt wears a trench in T'Para's stone bench if I have to,” Trip told her. “Whatever it takes to learn how to keep my temper under control.” “Ashayam,” T'Pol whispered sadly, “it is not your temper that is the problem. I keep telling you this, but you refuse to believe me. The meditation is good and useful, yes. It will help you deal with my emotional instability. It will give you tools and defenses to protect you from me. But you are not the problem, husband. I am.” She looked down at her salad. “We're a team, Lady,” Trip pressed her face between his palms. “WE are the problem. Therefore, WE will fix this together. As a team. Got it?” She managed a faint smile. “Yes, husband.” Trip grinned back at her. “That's what I like to hear. A nice, dutiful wife. When it suits her purposes anyway,” he grabbed his fork. “Let's eat. I'm starving.” She caressed him briefly with her eyes and joined him in feeding herself. Once they got started, T'Pol realized that she was just as hungry as her husband. They didn't get much more talking done before T'Para returned with the baby plus bottle. She seated herself without speaking and watched the two younger adults with approval as they shoveled it in. After their plates were seriously denuded T'Para ventured, “I am told, Trip, that your people often converse during meals. Is this true?” “Sure,” he replied, swallowing a mouthful of something orange and crunchy, “we chat over dinner all the time. Feel free to talk about anything you want.” T'Para inclined her head. “I was considering this situation earlier, and it came to me that we have not explored your cultural traditions regarding the management of negative emotions. Perhaps Human history can provide some insight that would benefit both of you.” Trip stopped eating and sat back with a sigh. He absently scratched at the surface of his plate with a forlorn fork, making a scritching sound until T'Pol reached over and forcibly stopped him. “We have a lot of historical options for dealing with them,” he finally said, “but they almost all involve displacement. Like, instead of killing your enemy go out and smash something inanimate. Other people do what I do at home, exercise. Or set up an athletic event and hammer each other with non-lethal weapons.” “Are there no options available for re-routing the energy internally into more constructive channels?” T'Para inquired. Trip dragged his fingernails through his hair. “'He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city,'” he quoted. “The principle has been stated over and over, sure. But putting it into practice is not so easy for us. A lot of people advocate what you've got me doing, meditation and/or prayer. It does help. But ultimately we come back to the bottom line.” He looked at her helplessly. “Once the fight or flight mechanism kicks in, and the adrenaline plus all the other chemicals get released into our bloodstream, we have to work them out somehow. Otherwise the stress turns inside and our bodies start to devour themselves. I mean literally. Our digestive system goes berserk. Our circulatory system clogs up, and our heart starts to misfire and cramp. Sometimes our arteries and veins bust wide open from the strain. Our nervous system short circuits and we go crazy. We get mood swings, we can't sleep, our judgment goes haywire, we get suicidal... ” T'Para held up her hand. “Enough, Trip. I understand. You are telling me that the best you can possibly achieve is a temporary deferment. Ultimately, your emotions must be purged no matter what.” He nodded, looking defeated. “For T'Pol's part,” T'Para continued, “her condition will likely make it impossible for her to regulate the emotional balance of the bond for more than brief intervals of time, even after extended practice. Therefore the two of you will need to develop working procedures to deal with the reality of this situation.” “What do you mean, Eldest Mother?” T'Pol asked her, looking less than eager. “How did you think I came to gain the skills in empathic modulation that I am teaching you, Daughter?” T'Para asked her calmly, raising T'Lissa to her shoulder for a brisk burping. “I...” T'Pol stopped with her mouth open for an instant. She exchanged a look with Trip, who shrugged. “I confess that I had not paused to consider the matter, Eldest Mother.” T'Para nodded. “I am unsurprised. You have been occupied with your own concerns.” She brought T'Lissa down from her shoulder and wiped the upchuck with the effortless efficiency of someone who had done it more times than she could remember. Then she stuck the bottle back in the kid's face and continued without changing expression, “My adun perished from Bendii syndrome twenty-three years ago. During his final years it was necessary for me to learn the techniques of empathic modulation, to assist him in maintaining minimal daily functionality.” T'Pol's face drained of color. Trip felt a cold hammer hit him in the chest. His breath locked up and his vision darkened. Her tidal wave of emotion was devastating, unlike anything he had ever felt from her before. Gasping hard for air, Trip forced out frantically, “What is it?” From a distance he heard T'Para sharply order, “T'Pol, assume the t'klaI inversion and apply the discipline immediately. You are inflicting damage on your adun. Control yourself.” Trip immediately felt relief from the pressure on his chest. Warmth returned to his lungs and feeling tingled back into his hands and feet. When his eyes finally cleared he discovered both of the women watching him anxiously. Even T'Para had a barely detectable trace of concern in her eyes, which promptly got snuffed as soon as he met her gaze of course. “I'm ok now. Sorry,” Trip told them, embarrassed. “So, what is this... whatever you said it was?” He watched T'Pol with concern as she swallowed. “Bendii Syndrome. It is a disease that afflicts some of us near the end of our lives, Trip,” she told him. “It attacks the brain, Trip. It destroys our ability to control our emotions.” She looked up, desolate. “Like trellium.” Trip hissed between his teeth and slid out of his chair. He circled the table and knelt beside her, taking her hand. “It's ok, Hun. It's all right to be upset. You have a right to feel things.” “Many Vulcans consider Bendii Syndrome a shameful disease,” T'Para told him flatly. “When Seren was diagnosed with it, many members of his own family chose to withdraw from him. His own brother, V'Naar, chose to break all contact rather than be associated with one who was afflicted with Bendii.” Trip stared at her in shocked disbelief. “No.” He shook his head numbly. “You can't mean it.” “She means it, Trip,” T'Pol said sadly. “It is not uncommon here.” “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!” Trip boiled to his feet. “And don't try to use that discipline to calm me down through the bond this time, Woman,” he demanded with his face flushed. “This is abominable! They were gonna to throw you to the wolves and let you die untreated from that damn Pa'anar, and now this! And Vulcans have had the FUCKIN' GALL to accuse US of being uncivilized for a hundred years! We haven't had any untreated disease on Earth in generations. And even back when we did, no decent Human family would ever throw away one of their own just because they got sick!” T'Lissa raised her head off T'Para's shoulder and looked around curiously. She heard her father's voice raised and wondered what the commotion was all about. T'Para noted that the child was merely curious, and filed the information away for later cogitation. “I am not Human, Trip,” his wife told him simply. “You have always known this.” He stopped and stood looking down at her, breathing hard and at a loss for more words. He turned his head and started using the deep breathing exercises she had taught him. In a moment he was calm again. T'Para sat quietly observing, saying nothing. “I'm sorry,” he said finally. “It's not my place to judge. And I shouldn't have blamed the two of you anyway.” Trip sat back down and put his forehead in his palms. “That's one of the reasons you were afraid to tell me about the trellium, wasn't it? Because it reminded you of this Bendii thing.” “Yes,” T'Pol's voice was very small. “I am sorry. I should never have doubted your loyalty.” Trip dropped his hands and looked at her with exasperated love. “You said that already. That's out of the way, we took care of it. Ok?” He held her eyes until she nodded. Trip turned back to T'Para, “You were saying, Eldest Mother, that you had some ideas that we could use?” “Nothing elaborate or particularly sophisticated, Trip,” T'Para told him. She looked at them both. “The simplest way to avoid emotional disturbance in the bond is to remove the source. I have observed that for the two of you, the primary source of your difficulty seems to be a truly incomparable lack of ability to communicate. As you will someday be called upon to teach this little one to speak, it seems logical that you should first learn the skill yourselves.” “Ouch,” Trip thought, “Tact is not in this lady's vocabulary.” “I admit that we haven't been real clear with each other sometimes,” Trip acknowledged. T'Para gave him a look that sent him sliding down in his chair like a schoolboy caught cheating on an exam. “As I told you before, Trip, a substantial portion of the anger between the two of you is the result of suppressed frustration over past incidents. Therefore I recommend that you spend the time during your joint morning sessions talking. Specifically, I want you to go back to the beginning of your association, starting at your first meeting, and discuss the entirety of your time together.” They blinked in unison. “Uh, Eldest Mother?” Trip said timidly, “that's four years. You want us to re-hash the whole four years?” “Yes. I believe that is what I just finished saying Trip,” T'Para snapped impatiently. “Are you quite certain that Vulcan atmosphere is thick enough to permit your hearing to function adequately? If not, there should be supplemental assistance available which would allow you to follow the course of normal conversations.” “Unghk,” Trip strangled and coughed. He looked at T'Pol, who picked up the ball and tried to run with it. “I believe that Trip was expressing surprise and bewilderment, Eldest Mother. Re-examining the entire four years of our relationship, which included a large number of high intensity events, would require a very significant investment in time,” she explained. T'Para looked at T'Pol, then at Trip. She asked, “Trip, has your wife explained the structure of Vulcan family law to you?” Trip's eyebrows drew together. He answered slowly, “In general terms, yes. She told me that family matters are handled within the clan, and that the government almost never interferes with an internal clan matter.” “Further,” T'Para told him, “even if the government chose to attempt to interfere, there is a real limit to its authority to do so. Under Vulcan law I, as Eldest Mother, hold final legal authority over several aspects of family law. Such as custody for example, which is how I was able to arrange the stratagem of T'Lissa's name change and false adoption.” T'Pol tensed and straightened in her chair. “You would not do this!” “Not by choice, Daughter. Never by choice,” T'Para told her sincerely. “But it is my considered judgment that the two of you, in your current condition, are not fit parents for a small child. Neither of you are capable of controlling yourselves sufficiently to absolutely guarantee her physical safety. That alone is enough to warrant extreme measures. But even if there were no physical danger, what kind of environment could you provide for her upbringing, surrounding her with out of control rage every day?” Trip had his eyes closed, breathing in meditation mode. His fingers were digging deeply into his thighs. He had clamped down on the bond and was trying to hold back from allowing any trace of his emotion to leak through. When he felt he could speak in a somewhat normal voice he asked, “Why do you bring this up now? We have been on Vulcan for three months.” “The situation has been escalating for three months,” T'Para said mercilessly. “The longer you live together under the same roof, the longer you sleep together in the same bed, eat at the same table, mate at will, touch daily, the more tightly and completely you will bond. Therefore the more deeply and intensely you will share emotions. This difficulty you are having with control will only become more powerful and more difficult to manage over time. You must learn to cope with it, and cope with it now, Trip. I cannot and will not allow the two of you to take this child away from here until I am convinced that she will be safe with you. Do you understand me, young man?” T'Para could not help feeling a flicker of sadness at the murderous glare Trip shot her. Of course no trace of it reached her face. T'Pol, on the other hand, simply looked distressed. “I understand, Eldest Mother,” she said. “Your position is logical. T'Lissa's welfare must always come first for all of us, of course. Neither of us would ever dispute that.” “I dispute that you, or anyone except us, have any right to say what is best for our daughter!” Trip snarled. T'Pol reached over and grasped his wrist firmly. “Trip,” She said sharply. Her tone caught him totally by surprise. He whipped his head around to stare at his wife. “T'Para is right. Remember what happened in the coffee shop. What might have happened if T'Lissa had been there?” He froze. “We can do this for our daughter, Ashayam,” she told him softly. “She trusts us to give her a safe home. We must do this for her.” Trip slowly caved in on himself before their eyes. His shoulders hunched forward and he put his head down on his folded arms. Several minutes passed before he straightened up with his teeth locked. “All right. Let's do this then.” “You will need to pace yourselves,” T'Para told them. “As you pointed out, it will take a considerable amount of time. For today you have both expended enough effort on this matter. I recommend, Daughter, that you take Trip into the city and purchase some additional clothing for both of you. Perhaps also toiletries and anything else you might require. T'Lissa's supplies will be taken care of by the Security Directorate, but neither of you have anything with you aside from the clothing you were wearing when you came here.” Trip snorted. “She's right,” he grudgingly admitted. “The dispenser in that bathroom works fine, but Vulcan underwear just isn't the same. I can make do but it pinches in some awkward spots. Plus this sand suit is a bit warm for house wear.” “Agreed,” T'Pol said tiredly. “Some time alone together would be pleasant as well.” Trip smiled tiredly at her and reached for her hand. -&- Soval settled back against the seat in his personal car and told the driver, “Our business is complete. Return to the embassy.” The Vulcan made vehicle rose smoothly and silently into motion, heading for the the San Francisco air traffic launch point without any sense of detectable motion to the occupants. J'Nal asked him, “Did everything go well, Ambassador?” She scrupulously refrained from asking for any details about the meeting, but he could easily hear the curiosity in her tone. “Not well, no. I would not use that term to describe it,” Soval sighed. His eyes roamed over the occupants of the car. J'Nal, the driver who also doubled as a bodyguard, and his personal secretary, S'lask. All held top level clearance. “I met with Admiral Gardner and another highly placed operative in the Human government.” J'Nal's brows leaped at this roundabout way of describing things. “Another highly placed operative?” Soval gave her a direct look. “Yes.” Nothing more was said. In a few breaths he went on, “You will recall my earlier speculation that the message we received concerning Linyarn was actually sent incognito by Human agents. This has now been called into question, as the purpose of the meeting was to inform me of that very situation. Further, it seems that the Humans possess complete background information concerning Commander Tucker's allegations of extortion against Clan Tren'nik'lok'hlt'li'jan'mrifloj'hed'fr'dac.” S'Lask winced. “This is disagreeable in the extreme.” “More disagreeable than you know,” Soval said tiredly. “Mr. Harris is... not a representative of any typical branch of the Human government.” “What branch does he represent then?” J'Nal asked. “I have never been able to determine that,” Soval said flatly. Silence fell. “However, there seems to be very few limits to his access to information or resources. Certainly the highest echelons of both Starfleet and civilian authority are familiar with him, although none of the Humans that I have observed appear to be fully comfortable in his presence.” “I see,” J'Nal said flatly. “He represents the Human equivalent of the Andorian Dark Guard.” “I believe that to be the most logical conclusion,” Soval agreed. Despite his best efforts, S'lask's face still showed distress. “I did not realize that Humans still engaged in politically sanctioned assassination. I had hoped that they were beyond such barbarity.” Soval glanced at the young man in surprise. Surely he had not reached Level 5 classification in the Diplomatic Service without gaining more understanding of realpolitik than this? The ambassador confined himself to tactfully murmuring, “The government of any warrior race is capable of resorting to extreme measures when it believes that the ultimate needs of its people require it.” “Why would a representative of... the Human Dark Guard for lack of a better name, be interested in the allegations made by Commander Tucker?” J'Nal wanted to know. “This is hardly a matter affecting their species security, or even planetary security.” “There are aspects of this situation that I am not at liberty to reveal,” Soval told them unhappily. “Suffice for your purposes that he is involved, and that Starfleet both knows and approves of his involvement. When we return to Cairo I will need to arrange for emergency transport to Vulcan. I must discuss this matter with the High Council directly. Some things cannot be entrusted to couriers.” J'Nal straightened and said crisply, “Of course, Ambassador. Do you have a time estimate for the length of your trip and your return?” “If a fast ship is available, travel time will be no more than six days round trip,” Soval considered aloud, “The meeting itself should require no more than one day. Otherwise it will be up to the Council, and any supplemental instructions they may have for me.” “Understood,” J'Nal told him. “S'Lask and I will adjust your schedule accordingly.” The secretary nodded agreement. |
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