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“THE BRIAR PATCH” Rating: PG Author’s note: I want to thank Blacknblue and CX for giving this chapter the once over and offering some suggestions. Please keep in mind that I write slowly. It will be awhile between new chapters. CHAPTER 2: TRIP “You will be late if you don’t hurry,” T’Pol called from the next room. Commander Charles Tucker III looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. The face that stared back at him was half-shaven and clearly very tense. That wasn’t good. Today he was scheduled to act as Starfleet’s observer on the Vulcan battle cruiser, Tar’hana. Regardless of how uptight he felt, it was absolutely essential that he appear composed and professional. As he’d heard time and time again, everyone was counting on him: Starfleet, United Earth, the Vulcan government, the Coalition. No pressure…in a pig’s eye. Sighing, he ran his hand over the unshaven half of his face. He knew he had to relax, but it was hard not to worry. He was confident of his abilities, but…well… He just better not screw up. Turning his head slightly, he lifted his razor to finish shaving. “Of course,” Trip fretted, “I wouldn’t be in this position if Kiran wasn’t such a bastard.” When the admiral – because of his deep distrust of humans – had insisted on placing Captain V’Lin on Enterprise as an observer, Starfleet naturally asked for equal consideration. Admiral Gardner had suggested Captain Duvall. True to form, Kiran had vetoed that suggestion. Then, much to everyone’s surprise, he’d announced that Commander Tucker was his choice. Trip shook his head. He still couldn’t fathom why Kiran had picked him. It made no sense, and it certainly wasn’t logical. The Vulcan could scarcely stomach being in the same room with him. “You know that Captain Archer wants to see you before you leave for the Tar’hana,” Tpol called. This time there was a warning tone in her voice. For a split second Trip felt rather childish. He could have been ready twenty minutes ago, but he’d dragged his feet. This was an important day – a day for which he’d been preparing for over a month – and he wanted his wife here with him, not at her station on the bridge. Through their bond, he knew that T’Pol was aware of his procrastination and, in this instance, was willing to indulge him. “Give me another minute,” he called. “I’ll be right with ya.” When he felt the inner tension begin to build again, he decided that he needed to think of something else – something pleasurable – to take his mind off his problems. Of course, the choice of subject matter was easy. Pleasure had become synonymous with T’Pol. Having finished shaving, Trip laid down his razor and, placing his right hand over the IDIC medallion that lay concealed beneath his blue Starfleet-issue undershirt, allowed his mind to drift back to the day when he and T’Pol had finally left their separate rooms at the United Earth Embassy on Vulcan and returned to Enterprise. There had been no time for a palm tree in cargo bay three, but T’Pol had kept her promise to him, giving him a honeymoon he’d remember vividly till the day he died. Trip closed his eyes and savored the memory of the first night they’d spent together as husband and wife. T’Pol came to him naked, with the body of a goddess and a look of pure passion in her eyes. As he ran his hands slowly along her body, her skin was satin beneath his fingertips. Moaning softly, she claimed his mouth with an urgency that surprised them both. Quickly pulling her close, he reveled in the feel of her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. When he began to nibble slowly along her neck, savoring the marvelous flavor of her, she moved her hand between their bodies and began to stroke… Damn! When he felt the blood begin to rush south, he realized that daydreaming was a bad idea. Shifting restlessly, Trip quickly splashed cold water on his face. He briefly toyed with the idea of taking a cold shower, but there wasn’t time. Obviously, any further thoughts of marital bliss would have to wait until he’d finished his stint on the Tar’hana. After toweling off, he ran a comb through his hair and put on his black uniform shirt, taking time to fasten only the bottom three buttons. Exiting the bathroom, he had to pull up short to keep from plowing into T’Pol, who stood right outside the door. Snatching his uniform from her outstretched hands, he quickly put it on. When he’d finished putting on his shoes and socks, he stood before his wife, waiting for her approval. After looking him over from head to toe, T’Pol allowed her eyes to linger on his for a moment. There was no pep talk or glib reassurances that would waste their precious moments together. She simply reached up and began to button the remaining buttons on his shirt. Over the past several weeks, this had become something of a daily ritual between the two of them. Trip knew that T’Pol wasn’t comfortable uttering the words, “I love you.” But every day, with this simple gesture and countless others, she made sure he knew that she was his. After fastening the top button, she ran her hands slowly down his chest. “You look very handsome.” Grinning, Trip drew his head back slightly, trying to catch her eye. “You think I’m handsome?” “I believe that is the term a human woman uses when she wants to boost her mate’s self-esteem.” Chuckling, Trip leaned forward and gave her a gentle peck on the nose. “Consider mine boosted.” “Bridge to Commander Tucker.” Trip took a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out slowly. “Tucker here.” “The Tar’hana will be docking in five minutes, Commander.” “Thanks, Hoshi. Tell the captain I’m on my way. Tucker out.” T’Pol lightly brushed her hand over the front of his uniform. “Do you have everything you’ll need?” “I’ve got you, haven’t I?” Trip could tell that a part of her was pleased by his response, but her next words made it clear that she thought it was time for him to focus on the task at hand. “In less than twenty minutes you will be on the Tar’hana. You know that Vulcans do not have a sense of humor. You must not…” Throwing caution to the wind, Trip pulled her close and kissed her. When their lips parted, he murmured, “I’ll do my best to make you proud.” “I know you will.” When a damp lock of hair fell across his forehead, she lovingly brushed it back into place. “We must go.” Placing his left hand on the small of her back, Trip guided her to the door and then stood aside, allowing her to exit his quarters first. As they walked down the corridor side by side, Trip tried to push aside the doubts that once again began to intrude on his thoughts, but he failed miserably. Maybe the captain was right. Maybe this was a bad idea. Given his recent problems, was he really ready to represent Starfleet? Was there anything else he could have done to prepare? No. He gave his head a subtle shake. If he was found wanting, it wasn’t for lack of effort on his part. Over the past five weeks, he’d spent every spare minute trying to learn all he could about Vulcan culture and traditions. He’d learned enough Vulcan words and phrases from T’Pol to see him through – God forbid – a total melt down of the universal translator. He’d frequently sought out Soval and V’Lar for advice on the niceties of diplomacy and protocol. One day, he’d even cornered Sirek, captain of the Sas-a-shar, and managed to convince the Vulcan that it was logical to provide him with some basic information on combat tactics. Trip had tried to work his regular shift in engineering and supervise his staff, but there were so many other demands on his time that that was often impossible. In addition to regular staff meetings on Enterprise and his weekly counseling sessions with Phlox, he was expected to attend daily planning sessions for the joint maneuvers and, because of the rapidly deteriorating political situation, there were all-too-frequent briefings with Ambassador Belliveau and Admiral Gardner. The intransigent stance of the High Council had not only alienated the Andorians, but was also slowing poisoning relations between Earth and Vulcan. Starfleet had already postponed the start of the fleet maneuvers once because of Kiran’s bullying tactics. In fact, things had deteriorated to the point where it would take very little for relations between the two species to break down completely. The Coalition wasn’t faring much better. Despite the best efforts of Starfleet Security and the Vulcan Security Ministry, word of the Andorians’ departure and their clandestine meeting with agents of the Romulan Star Empire had mysteriously leaked out, threatening to further destabilize the entire sector. The Tellarites, now firmly in the Coalition camp, were threatening to go to war with Andoria unless the Andorians cancelled their negotiations with the Romulans. This created a sticky diplomatic situation for both Earth and Vulcan because, at the moment, neither species could afford to allow the abrasive Tellarites to drag them into a shooting war. The Rigelians, on the other hand, were looking for any excuse to leave the Coalition, and the Coridans were on the verge of an all-out civil war as the Vulcan-backed government tried to beat off increasingly frequent raids by the Andorian-backed rebel forces. It was hardly surprising that several other species which had shown a passing interest in the Coalition had now backed off, choosing instead to carefully monitor the volatile situation from afar. There was so much at stake here. Others could suffer because of his actions. What if he said or did the wrong thing? What if he ruined… T’Pol gave Trip’s arm a gentle squeeze, snapping him back to reality. “You know that it’s unwise to dwell on the negative. You are well prepared. There is no reason for you to be concerned.” Trip looked over at T’Pol. “Thanks. I guess I just need the occasional reminder.” “Perhaps when you return from the Tar’hana, you should contact Torok. It has been several weeks since you’ve spoken with him.” Trip nodded. “Good idea.” At this point in his life, Trip knew that when he needed to talk, it had to be to someone who wasn’t going to sugarcoat things. And he knew that he could rely on Torok to speak his mind. Trip still found it a little hard to believe that he was being counseled by a Vulcan – and a high priest at that – but it was working. Sometimes it just paid to go with the flow. As they turned the corner and proceeded down the corridor, Trip saw Archer pacing in front of the docking port. Malcolm and Hoshi were standing off to the side, warily watching the captain. Taking a deep breath, Trip thought, Okay. Here we go. Just before they reached Archer, T’Pol lightly touched Trip’s arm. When he came to a halt, she smoothly positioned herself so that she was standing in front of him. “The captain wishes to say a few words to you before you leave, Commander. I look forward to hearing your report when you return from the Tar’hana.” With her back to Archer and the others, she extended the first two fingers of her right hand. Without breaking eye contact, Trip moved his hand until his two fingers unerringly met hers. For a split second they were alone, the only two beings in a vast universe. Each breath, each beat of their hearts came in perfect unison. When their fingers parted, Trip realized that what had seemed like a journey into eternity had, in fact, lasted mere seconds. “I appreciate the escort.” Trip looked over T’Pol’s shoulder and saw that Archer was growing impatient. “I hope everything goes smoothly on this end.” “Good luck, Commander.” T’Pol clasped her hands firmly behind her back and walked over to stand next to Malcolm and Hoshi. Trip’s eyes followed T’Pol as she walked away. He couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. He’d just said a passionate good-bye to his wife right in front of three very perceptive people and nobody was the wiser. In so many ways, T’Pol was vastly superior to a human wife. Trip quickly wiped the smile off his face when he heard Archer clear his throat. The no-nonsense look on Jon’s face made it clear that he was here as the captain of Enterprise, not as a friend. Pulling his shoulders back, Trip straightened his stance. “Commander Tucker reporting for duty, sir.” He could see the questioning look in Archer’s eyes. The same look that he’d seen every day for over a month: Are you really all right or are you going to make a total mess of things? Each morning, Trip had a standing date to meet Archer for breakfast in the captain’s mess. At first, Jon tried to keep things light – time for two friends to reconnect – but somehow the meal always ended in a game of twenty questions. How are you feeling? Have you been sleeping? Did you see Phlox yesterday? What did he say? You met with Soval. Did everything go well? Each day the questions were different, yet somehow they were always the same. After a while, the camaraderie had disappeared and only the questions remained. As much as Trip wanted to put a positive spin on things, there was no denying the obvious: the captain still didn’t trust him. But then, Jonathan Archer really hadn’t been the same since the dedication of the monument at the United Earth Embassy. As the political tensions increased, Trip slowly began to realize that, inexplicably, Jon saw each diplomatic setback as a personal failure. He was once again turning into the driven, haunted loner that Trip had last seen in the Expanse – a man who had carefully concealed his fear behind a mask of anger and impatience. “Are you ready?” Archer asked, the tension clearly audible in his voice. “Yes, sir.” “I don’t need to tell you that this has to go off without a hitch if we’re going to shore up relations with the Vulcans and hold the Coalition together.” “No, sir.” “There is no margin for error.” “No, sir.” After taking a deep breath, the captain gave a curt nod of the head. It was painfully obvious that he was trying to relax. “Do you have any questions about Phase 1 of the maneuvers?” Archer asked. Trip had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. In one capacity or another, he’d been involved in the planning process for these maneuvers almost every day for the past month. He knew what he was supposed to do: be polite, answer questions, relay information when necessary, and above all, don’t make waves. “No questions, sir.” “Give me a quick run down.” Hands clenched in a fist, Archer scrubbed the knuckles of his right hand with his left thumb. “One final check.” “Two squadrons – one lead by the Tar’hana, the other lead by Enterprise – will attempt to locate and neutralize an enemy base. For the purpose of this exercise, the enemy ships providing support for the base will be led by Columbia. The goals of the exercise are simple: work as unified teams and neutralize the enemy. My role is to be helpful, when called upon; otherwise, I’m supposed to keep my head down and my mouth shut.” Archer couldn’t prevent a smile from playing at his lips. “Do you think you can manage that, Commander?” Trip allowed himself to relax slightly. “After five years of bein’ put in my place by T’Pol, I know how to keep quiet around Vulcans.” Slowly, Trip could see the captain begin to thaw a little. Tense fingers relaxed and the clenched fist disappeared. “Before Admiral Kiran took control,” Archer began haltingly, “I was a guest aboard the Yarhala.” “I believe I remember you sayin’ something about that once.” “In those days Vulcan ships weren’t off limits to humans.” Trip nodded in an attempt to show interest and keep the captain talking. “Of course, I was still viewed as an outsider, but…well…I have to admit that, on the whole, they did treat me with respect. It was an experience I still value. I…I hope you come away from this with those same kinds of memories.” Archer fondly clapped Trip on the shoulder and, for an instant, the pressures of the moment disappeared. They were just two friends again, comfortable in each other’s company. “Trip, I know how hard you’ve worked to get ready for this. I appreciate it.” “Thanks, Cap’n. I promise I won’t let you down.” Before Archer could answer, he was interrupted by a call from the bridge, informing him that the Tar’hana had just docked. As soon as Archer heard the message, he drew his hand back, all thoughts of friendship forgotten. Sighing inwardly, Trip walked over to the docking hatch and opened it. The first man through was Captain V’Lin. Archer immediately stepped forward to greet the stocky Vulcan. In many ways V’Lin appeared to be the antithesis of his mentor, Kiran. Where the admiral was a tall man with the well-muscled physique of a wrestler, the unprepossessing V’Lin was barely of medium height with a soft, round body that reminded Trip of his friend Kov. V’Lin had spent enough time around the admiral so that he had his strut and his posturing down perfectly, but there was a look of indecisiveness in his features – a need to please – that set him apart from Kiran. After a few quick words of welcome, Archer introduced his senior officers. While V’Lin was reasonably courteous, he made no secret of the fact that he had absolutely no interest in meeting Starfleet personnel. Bristling slightly, Archer then suggested a tour of the ship. When V’Lin immediately shot down that idea and asked to go straight to the bridge, he only took an already tense situation and made it worse. Trip was relieved when Major Luvan stuck his head through the hatch and informed him that it was time to go. The Tar’hana still had a two-hour journey before she rendezvoused with the other ships in her squadron. After a glance in T’Pol’s direction, Trip said his good-byes and followed Luvan through the hatch. As soon as he set foot on the Tar’hana, Trip quickly realized that he’d only traded one set or problems for another. Standing in front of him was a roadblock in the form of a rock-solid, six-foot-tall Vulcan male. “I am Subcommander Vasic.” The voice was deep and impeccably controlled, but there was a slightly superior overtone that set Trip’s teeth on edge. Giving the man a quick once-over, Trip wondered if Vulcans practiced nepotism. This officer, in build and facial features, bore a striking resemblance to Admiral Kiran. It would be just his luck that the admiral had a large extended family, each one more mean-spirited than the next. Trip raised his right hand in the Vulcan salute. “Pleased to meet you. My name’s Commander Charles Tucker III. I appreciate the…” Trip never got to finish his sentence. The subcommander brusquely said, “Follow me,” and, turning on his heel, started down the corridor. So much for a warm welcome, Trip thought. He caught sight of his hand still raised in greeting and slowly lowered it. Luvan walked up beside him and, motioning with one hand, said, “This way, Commander.” Following along in Luvan’s wake, Trip took a few moments to look around. Once again he was impressed by the Vulcans’ appreciation for beauty. The Tar’hana’s corridors were a pleasing departure from the stark, utilitarian interior of Enterprise. The bulkheads, although made from a metal similar in appearance to those on Enterprise, were decorated with a simplified version of the Vulcan star charts. Planets, moons and stars were done in muted shades of blue, gold and mauve. Trip had no trouble identifying the planetary configurations depicted in this passageway as being from the Tellar sector. Everything was spare and functional, but there was a surprising warmth – a feeling of being at one with the universe – that his beloved ship somehow lacked. As they entered the turbolift at the end of the corridor, Trip felt the ship go to warp. “Could you tell me where we’re going or is that classified information?” Trip asked. Subcommander Vasic stiffed slightly. “We have a two hour journey to our rendezvous point. Until that time, your presence is not required on the bridge.” “Just as long as we aren’t heading for the brig.” Trip began mentally kicking himself as soon as the last word passed his lips. One look at Vasic’s face and Luvan’s raised eyebrow and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. T’Pol had warned him: Vulcans don’t have a sense of humor. Nervously, he began to chew on his lower lip, a not-so-subtle reminder to keep his big mouth shut. He’d only been on the Tar’hana for a few minutes and his mouth was already getting him into trouble. Settle down, he chided himself silently. You’ve handled tougher assignments than this. When the turbolift doors opened, Luvan pointed down the corridor to the third doorway on the left. As they drew near, the double doors slid open, revealing what appeared to be an empty conference room. Trip, following the lead of the two Vulcans, came to a halt outside the room. “Step inside, Commander Tucker,” Vasic said coolly. Well, if I have to be stuck somewhere for a couple of hours, Trip thought, glancing at the room’s rather Spartan decor, I guess things could be worse. Stepping confidently over the threshold, Trip figured that his Vulcan escorts would be following close behind – two bodyguards now instead of one. When he noticed a slight movement out of the corner of his eye, he turned to look and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sour-looking face staring back at him belonged to Admiral Kiran. Suddenly feeling the need for a little moral support, Trip whipped his head around in time to see the doors close behind him. The glimpse he caught of the expression on Vasic’s face before the doors slid shut didn’t fill him with optimism. Swallowing hard, Trip knew instantly that he had to remove any trace of emotion from his features. It would be a mistake to allow the Vulcan to see even the slightest hint of the inner turmoil he felt. The moment Kiran detected any fear or uncertainty, he’d be finished – a wounded animal ready to be systematically culled from the herd. “Commander Tucker.” There was an icy tone in Kiran’s voice. Turning towards the admiral, Trip clasped his hands tightly behind his back. “It’s good to see you again, sir.” Kiran, resplendent in his uniform as commander of the Vulcan fleet, snorted softly and walked over to the head of the large brushed metal table at the center of the room. Pointing to a chair close to Tucker, he said, “Sit down.” Sighing inwardly, Trip acquiesced. He knew this wasn’t the time to challenge the admiral’s authority. When he was seated, he looked up at Kiran’s stern face and couldn’t help feeling like the class troublemaker who’d just been sent to the principal’s office. Kiran’s eyes burned into Trip’s and for a time neither man spoke. Finally the admiral broke the silence. “I do not like you, human.” Trip stiffened. Any feelings of inferiority quickly disappeared as he worked to control his anger. The son of a bitch just loved to rub it in. “I don’t care much for you either, Admiral,” he finally replied, trying to keep the edge out of his voice, “but we have to work together, so I guess we might as well just make the best of it.” After a moment, Kiran nodded his head. “You wonder why I selected you.” “Yeah. You made your feelings about me pretty clear.” Kiran walked slowly toward the viewport which ran along the back wall of the room. For a moment he stood quietly staring out at the stars streaming past. When he spoke his voice was pitched so low that Trip had to strain to hear what he said. “I will not be indebted to any man.” Momentarily stunned, Trip wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. Kiran felt indebted to him? And called him a man? Not a lower lifeform or a barbarian, but a man. That was something he never thought he’d hear from the admiral. Uttering those words must have stretched Kiran’s self-control to the limit. No wonder he kept his back turned. “I misjudged V’Las,” the admiral continued in a normal tone of voice. “I made the mistake of believing that he was a man of honor.” He waved a hand dismissively. “He was, in fact, nothing more than a vile traitor. I should have seen through him.” “He was able to dupe a lot of people. That’s what made him so dangerous.” “He took me for a fool, but it is he who has been reduced to ashes.” Trip saw the rigid set of Kiran’s back and shoulders and wondered if the admiral was contemplating what might have happened if he’d continued to support V’Las. Would the coup d’etat have had any chance of succeeding? Or would the admiral now be just as dead as his former colleague? Head down, Trip brushed his hand lightly over the tabletop. “My Mama always says that things turn out for the best.” “Perhaps. But I do not like to leave things to chance. It is the strong and the resolute that will shape the future.” Trip took a deep breath. He wasn’t sure how his next statement would be received. “That’s plain to see from the work you’ve done to reorganize your fleet. It’s been nothing short of amazing.” Kiran spun around to face Trip. “Do not patronize me, human.” “That wasn’t my intention.” Trip leaned forward, his hands folded in front of him on the table. He knew how critical it was for the Vulcan to accept that he was sincere in his praise. “I’m only tellin’ the truth. In a little over a month you’ve managed to get almost thirty percent of your mothballed ships back into service…and with full crew complements. Your timetable for refits has been moved forward. You’ve started to update your plans for planetary defense. Believe me, Admiral, Starfleet is well aware of the tremendous job you and your people are doing.” Kiran puffed out his chest. “We must be prepared to defend ourselves when the Andorians attack.” “…or the Romulans,” Trip countered warily. “Believe what you want. When Vulcan is threatened, we will be ready.” Trip hesitated, unsure whether to proceed. Finally he decided that this might be his only chance to speak his mind. “We can help…if you’d give us the chance.” “That day will never come.” “Maybe so, but we’ll be here if you need us. That’s what these joint maneuvers are all about. Humans pride themselves on helping friends in need.” “Do not try my patience.” Kiran walked over to the table and, leaning forward, planted his palms on the tabletop and rested his weight on his hands. “You are only here because of my sufferance. This…exercise will prove to even someone of your limited abilities that we do not need outside interference in our affairs. “Besides,” the admiral continued, he steely eyes riveted on Trip, “you do not speak for Starfleet or for the government of United Earth. This is nothing more than pointless conjecture.” “I know. But it isn’t in Earth’s best interests to allow outside forces to threaten the stability of Vulcan. If you ask for our help, I honestly believe that you’ll get it.” Licking his lips, Trip paused. “But you’ll have to ask.” “Never.” Kiran straightened up and walked around the end of the table toward the doors. “I do not have time to indulge in idle conversation. You will be escorted to the bridge when it is time for you to put in an appearance. Until then, you will remain here. Is that understood?” Trip turned in his chair and met the admiral’s eyes. “Yes, sir.” When the doors slid open, Kiran took a deep breath, pulling himself up to his full height, and stalked from the room. Subcommander Vasic cast one last haughty look at Tucker and followed along behind the admiral. Luvan remained at his post outside the door. “I will be here if you need anything, Commander.” Trip figured that was a Vulcan euphemism for “stay put or else.” Deciding not to tempt fate, he managed to mutter, “Gotcha,” before the doors slid shut. As soon as he was alone, Trip restlessly got to his feet. Following in the admiral’s footsteps, he walked around the table to the viewport and looked out at the stars, but there was nothing he hadn’t seen before. He turned back to look at the conference room. There was nothing remarkable here either. The commonplace room, obviously intended for staff use and not for diplomatic functions, was furnished only with the long metal table and ten uncomfortable matching chairs. A small food synthesizer was inset into the wall to the right and a plaque of some kind hung on the wall to the left. Trip made a mental note to ask T’Pol about the plaque when he returned to Enterprise; maybe it held some special significance for Vulcans. With precious little to look at, Trip decided to put his other senses to work. From the feel of things, he was sure this room was directly above engineering. Since this was probably as close as he was ever going to get to the Tar’hana’s powerful warp engine, he knew he was just going to have to be content to use his imagination. Turning back toward the viewport, he slowly pressed his right palm flat against the inside of the ship’s hull and murmured, “Hello, pretty lady. My name’s Trip.” With the introductions out of the way, he closed his eyes and concentrated, reveling in the feel of the subtle rhythms and vibrations of the engine through the deck plating. Using the techniques T’Pol had taught him, he slipped into a meditative state. Slowly as he focused on the barely perceptible sounds and pulsations which surrounded him, he began to create a picture of the engine in his mind. * * * * * * * * As soon as he felt the Tar’hana drop out of warp, Trip roused himself from his meditation and took a look around. Much to his surprise, the time spent communing with the Vulcan starship and her engine during the two hour journey to the rendezvous point had left him feeling remarkably refreshed and reinvigorated. Of course, some of the credit had to go to T’Pol. He’d felt more relaxed from the first moment he felt her presence, as she checked on him through their bond. Although he could tell that she was amused by the subject he’d chosen for his mental exercise, she’d cautioned him that perhaps daydreaming wasn’t the wisest use of his time, given the present circumstances. As a parting gift, she’d lovingly made a few subtle adjustments to his conception of the engine, adjustments that only skilled engineer would notice or appreciate. Her visit had only lasted for a few precious moments, but the inner glow he felt from her presence still remained. With a sigh of contentment, he turned his attention to the viewport. The sight that met his eyes drove all other thoughts from his mind. Off in the distance, six Vulcan battle cruisers were headed his way. Damn, he thought, that’s an impressive sight. Silently saying a few words of thanks to Soval for providing him with images of the other six ships in the squadron, Trip had no trouble identifying the Sh’Raan, Psthan, Nyran, Tal’Kir, Klomak and Kit’es. The ships, flying in a circular formation, closed quickly and swept around the Tar’hana’s port side. Even though he was now a seasoned space traveler, Trip had to admit to feeling a bit of a thrill when the Tal’Kir glided gracefully past the viewport, giving him a close-up view of the magnificent ring ship. Following in her wake was the Suurok-class starship Klomak, which took up a position on the Tar’hana’s starboard side, directly in Trip’s line of sight. When all seven battle cruisers were moving smoothly in formation – two forward, two aft, two flanking the flagship – Trip felt a familiar vibration and the ships jumped to warp. Turning away from the viewport, Trip looked expectantly toward the doors. With the maneuvers underway, it was time for him to head to the bridge. Twenty-five minutes later, he was still waiting. “Some observer,” Trip mumbled under his breath. “The only thing I’ve observed is the port side of the Klomak.” Frustrated, he turned away from the viewport and flopped down on the chair closest to him. “I should have stayed on Enterprise. At least I’d know what in the hell is going on.” Folding his arms, Trip fought to keep his frustration at a manageable level. He should have expected something like this. Kiran was going to let him observe all right, but from this lousy viewport, not from the bridge. And when it came right down to it, what exactly had he seen? Not much. Soon after the ships jumped to warp, the forward ships, Tal’Kir and Psthan, had left the formation. Moments later, the aft ships, Sh’Raan and Kit’es, had followed suit, probably heading out to do a little reconnaissance. That was the grand sum total of his knowledge so far. At this rate, if he ever did get the chance to check in with Starfleet, he’d be able to give his report in about five seconds flat. He’d briefly entertained the idea of jerryrigging the companel near the door to try to gain access to the ship’s communication system, but he decided against it. The Vulcan’s probably wouldn’t appreciate his tampering, and he’d been cautioned over and over not to make waves. Of course he could always knock on the door and ask Luvan to fill him in on what was happening, but what good would that do? Luvan would only tell him that the maneuvers were underway and he already knew that. No, the major couldn’t help him. Kiran was the man pulling the strings. He controlled the flow of information; he controlled access to the bridge. Like it or not, Trip had to admit that the admiral had him right where he wanted him – incommunicado. Sighing, Trip didn’t think that Archer was going to be too pleased with his disappearing act. Then again, this probably wasn’t going to be the captain’s only disappointment for the day. Regardless of the lofty sounding words tossed around by Starfleet and the High Council, it was obvious that there was nothing “joint” about these maneuvers. Kiran had seen to that. This exercise was designed for one reason and one reason only: to showcase Vulcan supremacy. Unless blessed by lady luck, the Starfleet squadron would find it virtually impossible to compete. Vulcan ships were faster and their sensors far superior to Starfleet’s. Clearly Kiran was determined to prove that Vulcan didn’t need allies; she could continue to stand alone. On a happier note, Trip figured that this whole fiasco would soon be over and he could go home again. Maybe if he moped around a little, T’Pol would spend the night trying to rebuild his bruised ego. That could be a lot of fun. Suddenly the doors slid open. When Trip looked up, he saw Major Luvan standing in the doorway. “It is time to go.” “It’s a little past time, if you ask me,” Trip replied, making only a half-hearted effort to keep the testiness out of his voice. “I suppose everything’s over but congratulatin’ the winners.” “Your supposition is incorrect.” Luvan’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a glint in his eye that told Trip that something was up. “Will you come or shall I tell the admiral that you are indisposed?” His curiosity piqued, Trip rose and quickly followed Luvan. As soon as the turbolift doors opened and he stepped onto the bridge, Trip could sense the tension in the air. The faces of the bridge crew were appropriately devoid of emotion, but it was apparent that all was not well. Taking a quick look around, Trip was grateful to T’Pol for briefing him on the layout of the oval bridge. Along the back wall to the left of the turbolift door was the engineering station, to the right was weapons. Following the curve in the bulkhead, the communications station was positioned in front of the weapons console and within the captain’s line of sight, if he turned his head ninety degrees to the right. The science station occupied the same position on the opposite side in front of engineering. As with Enterprise, the helm took pride of place at the front of the bridge, only in this case, a navigator sat to the left of the helmsman. Admiral Kiran was seated in the command chair at the center of the bridge, his eyes fixed on the viewscreen in front of him. The viewscreen was larger than the one on Enterprise, extending virtually from the ceiling to the deck. Three smaller views along the bottom of the main screen allowed the bridge crew to see a full 360 degrees: the screen to the left showed the Nyran off the port side; the screen at the right showed the view from the starboard side and Trip’s old buddy Klomak; while the aft view from the center screen showed only the limitlessness of space. Interesting, Trip thought offhandedly, as he continued to absorb everything he could about the bridge. Apparently the four scout ships hadn’t returned yet. Subcommander Vasic stood rigidly beside the admiral. Trip guessed that that probably meant that the subcommander was either the ship’s first officer or just a convenient whipping boy for the admiral. Knowing Kiran, Vasic was probably both. “Follow me, Commander,” Luvan murmured. As Trip passed the weapons station he noticed that the officer on duty was a statuesque brunette with piercing brown eyes. She was attractive – very attractive, in fact – but she lacked T’Pol’s delicate features. He’d have to remember to tell Malcolm to look her up. Luvan directed Trip to an out-of-the-way spot near communications. The positioning made sense, but he was also a long way away from the engineering station. A happy coincidence? Probably not. There were no coincidences in Kiran’s world. There were also going to be no sneak peeks. Without acknowledging Trip’s presence, Kiran gave a subtle nod of his head. It must have been a prearranged signal because the main viewscreen immediately changed from a starry panorama to a view of the Enterprise bridge. Front and center was Jonathan Archer, and he wasn’t smiling. “As you requested, Captain Archer, Commander Tucker is here,” Kiran said icily. “Is everything all right, Commander?” Archer kept his tone even, but the look in his eyes made it clear that what he’d really wanted to say was, “Where in the hell have you been?” “Things couldn’t be better, Cap’n.” Trip knew there was no point in making an issue of his confinement. There was enough friction between Kiran and Archer already. “Have you had any luck locating the enemy base?” “No,” Archer said edgily. “So far the enemy ships have managed to mask their warp signatures, but I’m sure it won’t be long before at least one of them shows up on our long range sensors. How are things on your end?” Trip didn’t think that Archer, in his present frame of mind, would appreciate a shrug and a snappy comment like, “Your guess is as good as mine.” He knew he had to tell the captain something. But what? Looking for inspiration, he glanced Kiran’s way…then did a double take. As expected, the admiral’s face revealed nothing, but the death grip he had on the arms of the command chair spoke volumes. Kiran was royally pissed. That much was clear. But why would… When the answer suddenly popped into Trip’s head, he bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from grinning. Even with all their fancy equipment, the Vulcans didn’t have a clue where the enemy ships were either. That had to be it. No wonder the tension on the bridge was so thick you could practically braid it and trim it with a bow. Kiran had handpicked the support ships assigned to protect the enemy base. They were all older Starfleet vessels – supposedly easy pickings for the vaunted Vulcan fleet. Columbia was only added to the group at the last minute when Starfleet threatened to pull out of the maneuvers. And so far these puny little Earth vessels had had the mighty Vulcans and the cream of Starfleet guessing for over half an hour now. Of course, Trip had to admit to more than a passing interest in their success so far. Acting on orders from Admiral Gardner, he’d worked with the engineers on the various support ships to come up with new ways for the vessels to travel undetected. Evidently some of their crazy schemes had actually worked. “Is there a problem, Commander?” Archer asked. The tense look on his face made it clear that he was running low on patience. “No, sir.” Trip took a couple of tentative steps forward and slowly clasped his hands behind his back, trying to buy himself a little more time to think. He had to say something, but as much as he wanted to stick it to the admiral, he knew that politically he couldn’t afford to embarrass Kiran here on his own bridge. “Well…things are going pretty much as expected, sir. We should…” “If that is all, Captain, we have work to do,” Kiran said, effectively silencing Trip. “Perhaps you should focus your energies on finding the enemy base instead of worrying about one inadequate officer.” Archer glared at Kiran with an intensity that could have sliced through hull plating. “I don’t think you’ve entered into the spirit of this exercise, Admiral. We’re supposed to be learning to work together. I’ve given Captain V’Lin unrestricted access to this ship.” “It was made clear from the outset that the same courtesy would not be extended to Commander Tucker.” “Captain V’Lin has communicated with you on several occasions. I expect…” “Captain V’Lin had something useful to say.” Trip winced. Give it up, Captain, he pleaded silently. It’s a no-win situation. “Now look here, Kiran…” “I have a contact, Admiral.” The dark-haired Vulcan science officer appeared to be unaware that she had interrupted what was shaping up to be a rather heated conversation. A look of surprise passed over Archer’s face. He immediately turned to T’Pol, but she only shook her head. “Is it one of the enemy ships?” Kiran asked, but the subtle look of vindication on his face made it clear that he expected the response to be affirmative. “Yes, sir. The readings are definitely those of the Starfleet vessel Normandy.” Archer only had time to fix his eyes on Trip and say, “Stay in touch,” before Kiran raised his right hand and the transmission came to an abrupt end. “Keep searching for the base,” Kiran said to his science officer before turning to his navigator. “Lieutenant Calac, how long will it take to recall our ships? I want them back in formation. Then plot a course to intercept the human ship.” The lieutenant gave a brisk nod of the head and bent over his console. “At maximum warp, we will rendezvous with our ships in eight minutes and intercept the Normandy 16.5 minutes later.” “That is acceptable. Send the course changes.” “All ships report courses locked in,” the young communications officer said, casting a wary glance at Trip. The presence of a human so close to his station obviously made him uncomfortable. “Go to maximum warp.” “All ships acknowledge maximum warp.” “Tell Klomak and Nyran to increase speed on my mark.” “Acknowledged, sir.” “Mark.” When the ship surged ahead, Trip felt a chill race up his spine. WARP 7! He’d often fantasized about this moment, but now, in an instant, he was living his dreams. He owed the admiral a vote of thanks for this, if for nothing else. Feeling the pulse of the ship around him, it suddenly occurred to him that he might be the first human to reach this speed. Wouldn’t that be something? Damn! If he could only get a look at that engine! “Admiral,” the science officer announced, “long range sensors are picking up an intermittent energy reading from a small moon point three light years from Normandy’s current position.” “Is it the enemy base?” “The moon is uninhabited and located well away from the trade routes. It is the type of site I would expect the enemy team to select.” “Plot a course from the rendezvous point to the moon.” “Sir,” the weapons officer said respectfully, “after we rendezvous, I recommend that two of our ships continue on the intercept course. If the moon is not the site of the enemy base, we may still learn something from the Normandy.” “The Enterprise squadron has just changed course, sir,” the science officer interjected. “I believe their sensors have finally picked up one of the enemy ships.” “I want to see the situation on screen,” Kiran ordered. Things are about to get interesting, Trip thought as he studied the display on the viewscreen. Enterprise had picked up a signal all right, but it was the signal from the moon, not one of the enemy ships. T’Pol and Captain Archer must have come to the same conclusion as the Vulcans – the contact was the enemy base – because Enterprise had surged ahead of the other, slower ships in the squadron. While Enterprise was at a definite disadvantage traveling at only warp 5.1, she was a lot closer to the potential target than the Vulcans. With a little luck – and Captain Archer had a way of getting luck firmly on his side – Starfleet could feasibly get to the enemy base first. “We have found our target,” Kiran replied in a tone of voice that brooked no argument. “As soon as the enemy ships realize that we have located their base, they will fall back, forming a defensive screen. We will not have to track the Normandy; it will be there waiting for us. I want our battle cruisers together when we face the enemy ships. I will not be bested by humans.” Seeing the determination on the Kiran’s face, Trip suddenly realized how much a victory in these joint maneuvers meant to the admiral personally. This wasn’t just a test of Vulcan vs. humans, but a one-man struggle to preserve the status quo. Trip could only hope that when the time came the admiral would remember that this was just a game and not the real thing. Apparently sensing Trip’s eyes on him, Kiran gave the commander his full attention. “Do not make me regret my decision to allow you access to the bridge. You may observe. Nothing more.” “You don’t have to worry, Admiral. I know my place.” True to his word, as the minutes passed, Trip watched in silence as the four Vulcan battle cruisers reappeared exactly on schedule and resumed their previous positions forward and aft of the flagship. Once all the ships were back in formation, Kiran ordered his engineers to squeeze even more speed from their engines. Enterprise couldn’t compete with that; there was no way she could reach the enemy base first. Everything was falling neatly into place for the Vulcans. Trip tried to stay on top of everything, but like the skinny little guy at the end of the bench who never gets into the game, he was having a hard time staying focused. Slowly his mind began to drift once again to the steady rhythms of the powerful engine. Even from his vantage point on the bridge, far away from engineering, he could still feel the barely perceptible vibrations. They served as a comforting reminder of the life he wanted for himself – chief engineer on Enterprise, husband to T’Pol. Yes sir. There was something about fine tuning a… Wait a minute. At first the change was so subtle that Trip almost missed it – an infinitesimal fluctuation in the rhythm of the engine. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to block out the conversations on the bridge. He had to concentrate on the vibrations. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was slightly off. “If you want to sleep, Commander, I’m sure we can find you suitable accommodations,” Kiran said, breaking into his thoughts. Trip let the admiral’s barbed comment pass. He knew that a reply would simply be a waste of breath. Besides, he had to concentrate. If only he was closer to engineering – or better yet, in engineering – he knew he could figure things out. “Commander Tucker.” Opening his eyes, Trip tried to choose his words carefully. He knew he was going to come off sounding like the village idiot. “Admiral, would you please ask your chief engineer to check his readings. Things don’t feel… Well, they don’t feel quite right to me.” Kiran’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “We are six minutes away from our target. I do not have time for the ramblings of a deranged mind.” “Just humor me.” Trip looked from the admiral to the engineering officer. “Please check your readings. Something feels off…the rhythm’s off.” The thin-faced engineering officer looked askance at Trip. This unorthodox request only seemed to confirm his rather low opinion of humans. Obviously, Vulcans did not consider rhythm to be a scientific method for evaluating an engine’s performance. Finally after a quick glance at the admiral, the engineer focused his attention on his console. “You are mistaken, Commander Tucker. The engine readings are normal.” “But…” “If you want to remain on the bridge, human,” Kiran stated unequivocally, “you will be silent.” Once again, Trip closed his eyes. Could he be mistaken? Was he conjuring up a problem where none existed? The readings were normal. The Vulcans may be a lot of things, but they weren’t sloppy or careless. No. There it was again. It was barely perceptible, but this time he knew he was right. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that Luvan had moved closer to him. The major probably figured that he was going to have to restrain someone; at this point it was toss up whether that person was going to be his human charge or an incensed Vulcan admiral. Looking at Kiran’s muscular physique, Trip decided that maybe it was just as well that the major was close by. “I know you think I’m crazy, but I’m tellin’ ya something’s wrong.” When Kiran ignored him, Trip focused his attention on the engineering officer. “Please. Just check your readings again. Try the EPS grid,” he continued, thinking fast, “and…and maybe the plasma injectors.” When Trip made a move to head toward the engineering station, Major Luvan smoothly intercepted him. With a shake of his head, he made it clear that Trip would not be allowed to go any further. “Do not distress yourself,” the engineer replied. “All readings are normal.” “You better look again,” Trip snapped. The change in the vibrations was becoming more pronounced now. “That fancy engine of yours isn’t running right.” “Commander…” “I know what I’m talkin’ about,” Trip shot back incredulously. “Can’t you feel it?” The engineer looked down at his control panel. He was obviously uncomfortable with the human’s outward display of emotion. “Engineering has just confirmed that all systems are operating at peak efficiency.” “Your instruments are wrong.” Even to Trip’s ears that sounded lame. He knew he should just shut up and cut his losses, but a growing sense of unease spurred him on. “At least cut your speed, Admiral,” he said beseechingly. “Or better yet, drop out of warp. Give your engineers a chance to do their job.” “What is our situation, Lieutenant Calar,” Kiran asked his navigator. Trip knew from past experience that the slightly greener tinge to the admiral’s complexion was a clear indication that he was struggling to control his emotions. “We will arrive at our target well in advance of the Starfleet squadron, but only if we maintain our present speed.” The admiral slowly rose to his feet and turned toward Trip. “So that is why Admiral Gardner insisted on placing you on the Tar’hana. You were sent here to disrupt my ships and ensure a victory for Starfleet.” Appalled, Trip frantically shook his head. He wanted to remind the admiral that Starfleet had nothing to do with his being here, but he wasn’t given the chance. “Major Luvan, remove Commander Tucker from the bridge.” Kiran’s eyes remained riveted on Trip. “Immediately.” “Please, Admiral, let me explain,” Trip pleaded, as Luvan motioned toward the turbolift. “If you would only…” Suddenly, there was a massive explosion and the Tar’hana lurched, buffeted by the resulting energy wave. In quick succession, two more explosions wracked the Klomak, turning the once-proud ship into a massive fireball. “Shields,” Kiran bellowed, recovering quickly. “Charge weapons. Send to all ships: evasive action.” Turning to his science officer, he asked, “Who fired on us? What is their position?” “I see nothing on sensors.” The science officer appeared to be composed, but her fingers seemed to fly over the console with a heightened sense of urgency. “There are no ships in our vicinity.” “Perhaps the enemy ship is cloaked,” Vasic said as he hurried towards the weapons station. “I want damage reports,” Kiran ordered. Knocked off his feet by the shockwave, Trip stared in disbelief at the lower right corner of viewscreen. Klomak was gone. The debris striking the Tar’hana’s hull was all that was left of her. But how? Why? “There is a minor hull breach on level 4, sir,” the communications officer reported. “It is under control. There is structural damage on the port side. We have five wounded; none serious.” Trip was vaguely aware that Luvan was offering to help him to his feet, but he didn’t have time for that now. He had to think. Ships don’t just blow up. Not without warning. If they weren’t attacked then… Scrambling to his feet unaided, Trip shouted. “Drop out of warp!” “What is the status of the other ships?” Kiran asked, ignoring Trip’s plea. “Sh’Raan and Tal’Kir report minor damage. Kit’es reports…” What does it take to get through to these people? Trip thought as he frantically pushed past Luvan. Grabbing Kiran by the arm, he yelled, “DROP OUT OF WARP! NOW!” Before Kiran could respond, the ship was rocked by another powerful explosion. Fighting to maintain his balance, Trip whipped his head around in time to see the Psthan disintegrate in a fiery cloud of smoke and twisted metal. |
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