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"Passionfruit"
Rating: NC-17 Part Four "Captain, it's an urgent communiqué from the Commissioner of the Andromeda Shortline station . . ." the relief ensign from the communications station announced as Archer strode onto the bridge. "On screen." A few musical blips chimed out and a figure appeared on the viewscreen. "Jon, I'm glad you're still in range. We need your help--" the tall gray-haired man boomed. Archer gave a wry smile. "Let me guess, David--you've had a medical problem stemming from some genetically altered fruit and you're looking for the vendor." "Dear God--you too?" the Commissioner's eyes widened. Archer gave a short curt nod. "Yep. We've got it under control--are you all right?" "Just about--trying to culture the DNA for an entire space station isn't easy, but we've doing it. Our security traced this man--" the commissioner disappeared, replaced by a photo,"--as the importer. His name's Mudd." Archer glared at the frozen smiling face before him. "Can't argue with that." "No, I mean it truly is. Fenton Roger Mudd. He claims he's a galactic trader, but con man is a hell of a lot more accurate." "I see. Any idea where he is?" "Well, he doubled his earnings by cheating at cards with the crew of the Manzoo Kleton and barely got away in some sort of warp one runabout. I'd suggest looking for a trail of jettisoned goods, since he's probably trying to get rid of the evidence." Archer shook his head. "It sounds as if you know this Mudd pretty well." The commissioner sighed. "Hang around space long enough and you will too, Captain. Let us know if you find him. Andromeda Station out." "Ensign, round up the primary shift officers to the Situation Room." "Yes, sir." Years of command had given Archer an understanding of tension, an appreciation for the sharper edge it could give his officers. However, the atmosphere of the Situation Room reeked more of awkward embarrassment. Everyone was polite, quiet, and completely unwilling to meet anyone else's eyes. Archer scowled and looked around the room, realizing it would take some shock value to pull his team back together. "The life of every woman on board the Enterprise and on Andromeda Station has been put as risk by this man," he began, tapping on the view table with his knuckles. It worked; all of them looked down at the photo. Mayweather cursed under his breath and Archer shot him a questioning gaze. "Mudd! I should have guessed. He's bad news, Captain." "Care to elaborate, Travis?" Mayweather gave a wincing chuckle as he spoke. "Fenton Mudd's got the knack of trading in damaged goods, sir--nothing he offers works the way he says. Two years ago he promised my uncle that this virility potion from Orion would make a new man of him. Within a week, my uncle had so many testicles he looked like a walking cluster of grapes. I mean they were even hanging off his *nose!*" A pause and then-- Both of T'Pol's elegant brows went up. Hoshi spluttered into a fit of giggles; the dam of reserve broke as the rest of the bridge team reacted to this startling mental image. Archer wheezed, Trip wiped his eyes and Reed kept shaking his head. Every time someone managed to get a grip, Mayweather would look down his nose and set them all off again. Finally, Archer managed to hang on to the edge of the table and choke out, "Th-thanks for sharing that, Travis. I hope your uncle's--" "--Back to just the regular two--" Mayweather managed to blurt, setting off a fresh gale of hysterics. "--But if Mudd ever crosses him again, he's dead meat, sir." "Understandable. But the fact remains that this time, lives were put in jeopardy, and we've got a duty to bring this man back to face his crimes." The room began to sober up, and T'Pol brought up another image on the screen. "The vessel he commandeered has a limited speed and insufficient facilities for any long range travel, " she pointed out. "It would be logical for him to stay within the trade lanes and intercept a larger ship." "Agreed. Mayweather, plot a course based on the Sub Commander's projections. Reed, I want firepower on standby. Trip, make sure that grappler's ready if we're forced to use it." Archer dropped his voice into a softer tone. "I understand that the dynamics of this ship have changed. Sex does that. You all are going to have to deal with the consequences of what's happened. But you're still the best officers in Starfleet and we've got a job to do." *** *** *** Phlox looked at the crusted scratches and his mouth twitched as he suppressed a knowing smile. He let brought an applicator up and began to swab the wounds clean. Trip fidgeted, but the doctor knew it wasn't physical pain that made the engineer so restless. "A hurt like this can run very deep . . .," Phlox gently observed. "Are you all right?" Trip snorted, and let his head hang for a moment. "I feel like shit," Trip blurted honestly. Phlox cocked his head as the other man turned to look at him. Trip's face was etched with misery. "I lied to her. Told her it was not an emotion, just a sensation, but that's a bunch of bullshit. There are always feelings involved, especially when it's--" "--the first time," Phlox finished for him. Setting the applicator down, Phlox motioned for Trip to sit, and joined him. "Commander Tucker, you acted in the most gallant fashion possible under the circumstances. You not only saved the Sub Commander's life, you gave her an out, so to speak. By telling her that what she was experiencing was not emotional, she was free to respond to you as fully as she needed to." Trip quietly looked at his hands as the doctor sighed. "It is harder for you because for humans, sex carries an emotional commitment. In Vulcan culture, the emotional commitment develops over time." He paused and added, "Unfortunately for Sub Commander T'Pol, the physical changes caused by her defloration will be very difficult for her to deal with unless the two of you are willing to continue the relationship." "Whoa, whoa, Doc--what the hell are you saying?" Trip looked up, his mouth set in a hard line. Phlox shrugged. "The physical loss of virginity for a Vulcan woman is the beginning of maturity. She links to her mate, and follows the cycle of his sex drive-- that's why Vulcan couples must live together for at least a year. Physically, she needs intercourse on a semi-regular basis to mature." Trip frowned, trying to understand. Unconsciously his hand went to his shoulder, where the bite mark had scabbed. "What will happen if she doesn't . . . have intercourse?" "Well, her internal temperature will continually spike to dangerously high levels, and the resulting fever might permanently damage several organs including her lungs and brain. If she chooses to go back to Vulcan, they will put her into a catatonic trance for a year and use chemicals to stabilize her hormones." Trip paled and sucked in a deep breath as Phlox nodded. "Believe me, the logical choice is obvious. She still needs you, but she is struggling to figure out a way to tell you." The doctor lightly touched the wound on Trip's shoulder. "We need to treat this or it will form a scar." Trip studied the bite mark for a moment, then shook his head and reached for his shirt. "She gave it to me, and I'm gonna keep it. Thanks doc." *** *** *** "Really Captain, anyone can make a mistake . . . " "Seems to be a way of life with you . . ." Archer commented bitingly as he glanced into the brig. The figure within it rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "While I'm deeply sorry for the events that have occurred on the Enterprise, I'm as much a victim as anyone else on this ship, sir--I mean how was I to know the fruit was experimental?" "Let me see--fruit stolen from the biotech labs at the Orion colony-- fruit in containers clearly labeled as not for consumption, for experimental data only--is any of this even remotely familiar to you?" "I was always a poor reader, Captain. A misspent youth with little formal education, you understand." "Please, Mudd, my heart is breaking," Archer snapped. He shook his head disgustedly, but Mudd managed a bright smile. "Ah well, Starfleet has so little appreciation for the small businessman . . . I suppose this means detention for a year or two before all this is cleared up--" his voice trailed off hopefully. "Actually, Mudd, Starfleet feels that your case may be one of the great diplomatic turning points out in this sector. Sure, you've committed crimes against this ship, but there are others that have outstanding grievances against you." "Hmmmm. Yes, regrettably there are a few insignificant individuals with a propensity to hold grudges." "The Nausicaan empire, the miners of T'dagga Three, several freight companies and more recently the crew of the Manzoo Kleton. Therefore, Starfleet has decided to invite their representatives to Andromeda Shortline to discuss how best to handle your crimes. Face it, Fenton--it's a party and you're the piñata." Mudd went pale; his previously bright smile faded and Archer relished the moment before stepping out of the brig. |
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