"The Thorn and the Rose" By Dinah Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: It all belongs to Paramount. No infringement intended. Genre: Action/Adventure, drama, romance Summary: What happens to Trip and T’Pol’s relationship after the events of “Terra Prime.” A/N: Many thanks to Distracted for her beta-ing skills. CHAPTER 21: TRIP As soon as he was certain that T'Pol was out of earshot, Soval said, "I believe I owe you an apology, Commander." "I didn't think Vulcans apologized," Tucker responded quietly, "but under the circumstance…yeah, I think you do." His eyes never left Soval's face. "It's a funny feeling having somebody rummaging around in your head." Soval raised one eyebrow, but otherwise remained motionless. "I did not think that you would be aware of my presence." A smile tugged at the corner of Trip's mouth. "My mind's workin' all the time, Ambassador, even when I'm not. So, that was a mind meld?" Soval nodded. Unconsciously, Tucker raised a hand and slowly began to rub his temple. "After our embassy on Vulcan was bombed, I remember watching you get information from a man who was in a coma. It helped us to identify the bomber. Were things really so serious that you had to resort to that with me?" Soval slowly made his way across the small chamber. Upon reaching the bench, he paused. Tucker slid to his left and Soval took a seat beside him. Both men kept their eyes focused straight ahead. "I…regret that it was necessary to render you unconscious," Soval began. "I also regret that it was necessary to enter your mind without your permission, but you left me no choice. You were not behaving like a man who was prepared to sever the bond that joined him to another. You should be grateful that I stopped you. I know what you feel for T'Pol. Any attempt to sever your bond would have had grave consequences…for both of you." "I doubt that," Tucker sneered. "Do not underestimate T'Pol's regard for you, Commander. She cares deeply for you." Trip shifted restlessly. "If she cares so much, why doesn't she want to have anything to do with me?" "You will have to ask her that." Tucker shook his head. "Every time I try to talk to T'Pol, we only end up fighting. Maybe the captain can make her happy. I sure never could." "Vulcans do not experience happiness, Commander." Tucker snorted and laughed humorlessly. "That's exactly what T'Pol said. I guess it's about time I start accepting the fact that the two of you know what you're talkin' about." A frown passed over Trip's face as an unpleasant thought popped into his head. Had that been the problem all along? Did he really want a human wife? Did he want someone who could feel things as deeply as he did, someone with whom he could share the many facets of human emotions? Had he tried to force T'Pol to be something she wasn't, nor could ever be? Is that why she ran from him? He wrinkled his brow. No, he couldn't accept that. He loved T'Pol for who she was. He didn't want her to change. Her Vulcan traits were what endeared her to him – made her special. Why hadn't he ever taken the time to make that clear to her? He had never expected her to return his love – not in the way that a human woman would – but he had hoped that she would care enough to want to be with him. He knew she had once had feelings for him. As she regained control of her emotions – as she became more Vulcan – she began to push him away. The cultural gap that separated them was every bit as wide as the one the Xindi weapon had blasted through Florida. Maybe it was too big an obstacle for any two people to cross. T'Pol was the realist. Maybe this was the only way she could jolt him back to reality. He'd been holding his breath, hoping for a miracle that could never be. Their societies wouldn't allow it. Regardless of the pain, regardless of the emptiness he would feel each and every day, he would have to learn to live without her. Sighing, Tucker once again became aware of his surroundings and the composed figure seated on the bench next to him. "Apology accepted, Ambassador," he said wearily. Turning his head, he looked over at Soval. "I know that you were only trying to do what was best for me, and I wasn't cooperating. I'm sorry. I should have been honest with you from the beginning. You went to a lot of trouble for us. Thank you for that." Suddenly, Tucker was uncomfortable with the way Soval was scrutinizing him. He'd seen that look before, and it usually meant nothing but trouble. "Well," Trip said, slapping the palms of both hands against his thighs, "I guess I should be goin'. Thanks again for the help, Ambassador." As he started to rise, Soval asked, "Why do you want to leave Starfleet, Commander?" Caught off guard, Trip sat back down. After giving the question some thought, he answered, "I guess I'm just tired of fighting. There never seems to be an end. Now I'm even fighting myself." He straightened his back and took a deep breath. "Besides, I figure that it's only a matter of time before Starfleet finds out that I'm no longer officer material. I'd rather leave with my head up before they decide to boot me out." "I believe your actions may be a bit premature," Soval said. "There may be other options that you have yet to explore." "Like what?" Tucker tilted his head as he tried to figure out where Soval was headed. "I know that you are in a great deal of emotional pain. Your primary concern should be coming to grips with those feelings, not submitting your resignation to Starfleet. You need to find someone who can help you deal with your self-destructive emotions." Tucker compressed his lips into a thin line as he fought to control his temper. "I'm not going to see some know-it-all psychiatrist, if that's what you're gettin' at." "Remember that I have seen your thoughts, Commander. I know how much your career means to you." "I'm an engineer," Tucker shot back. "I can get work anytime I want. I've already had a couple of real good offers. I don't need Starfleet." "That may be true, but at the moment, Starfleet is an important part of your life. You do not want to give that up." Soval fixed his eyes firmly on the young human. "You have a natural gift for command, Mr. Tucker. I believe that, in the coming years, Starfleet will be in need of your skills." Wrung out both emotionally and physically, Trip leaned back and rested his head against the wall. "Okay. Just out of idle curiosity, what do you have in mind?" Soval folded his hands and turned to look at the commander. "Once when I was troubled, I spent some time here at the Sanctuary on Mount Seleya. I spoke often with a priest who helped me see things more clearly. I believe that he could do the same for you." Incredulous, Trip stared at Soval. "You want me to see a Vulcan priest?" "I want you to speak with the man who helped me. Torok is now the High Priest. He is revered throughout Vulcan for his logic and wisdom." Soval paused when Trip shook his head vigorously, but it didn't prevent him from forging ahead. "Starfleet will never know that you sought help, Commander. The only way you can endanger your career is to continue to do nothing to resolve your problems." "This is crazy." "You have everything to gain and nothing to lose." "I'm not Vulcan!" "That fact is made abundantly clear to me every time we meet." Tucker scrubbed his hands over his eyes. Just when he thought his life couldn't get any more complicated, Soval had to go and prove him wrong. "I don't know," Tucker mumbled as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think. He had always taken great pride in his ability to solve his own problems, but this time it wasn't working. No matter how hard he fought against his dark, destructive thoughts, he kept sliding deeper and deeper into the abyss. If he couldn't turn things around soon, he stood a good chance of losing everything he'd worked a lifetime to build. He couldn't allow that to happen. Trip opened his eyes and looked over at Soval. "Do you think this High Priest would be willing to talk to me?" "I believe so. Would you like me to seek him out?" Trip wanted to say no. It would be so easy. All he had to do was get up and walk out. He knew Soval wouldn't follow him. He could return to Enterprise and pretend that none of this had ever happened…until the next time his nightmares made it impossible for him to sleep…or his temper got the best of him…or Starfleet asked for his resignation. He groaned inwardly. He was backed into a corner, and he knew it. Soval had just pointed him toward a possible way out. Maybe he should take it. "Yeah," Trip said quietly, I guess I would." "Good," Soval said then he rose and started for the door. Before he disappeared into the corridor, he paused long enough to say, "I know that you would prefer to change into your uniform, Commander, but please refrain from doing so. I believe that Torok will be more comfortable seeing you in your present attire." When Tucker nodded his head in agreement, Soval left. Slowly, Trip rose and walked outside. From his place on the landing, he could see the shuttlepod parked below near the foot of the stairs. He knew that T'Pol was inside waiting for him. Pulling his robe about him, he hiked the hemline up far enough so that he could walk down the steps without worrying about getting his feet tangled up again, and he started down. When he reached the shuttlepod, he found the hatch open. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and walked over to where T'Pol was seated. She looked up at him and, for a moment, he allowed himself to get lost in the unfathomable depths of her eyes. "Are you ready to leave?" she asked softly. Her voice brought him gently back to reality, and he sat down on the bench directly across from her. "Not just yet," he answered. "Soval wants me to talk to some Vulcan High Priest, so I've decided to stick around for awhile." T'Pol's eyebrow shot up. Trip chuckled at her reaction. "Yeah, it kinda surprised me, too. Soval thinks this priest can help me with some of the problems I've been havin'." He shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it can't hurt." "I think you've made a wise decision," T'Pol replied. "Will you be headin' back to the conference? The captain is probably missin' ya." "I will remain here," T'Pol said with a firmness that caught Trip by surprise. He tilted his head inquiringly. "Has Soval got some secret agenda for you, too?" "No. This could be a difficult time for you. You may find that you need the support of a friend. I believe that it is important for me to stay." Trip was slightly taken aback. "That's not necessary, T'Pol. I'm a big boy. I can take care of myself." "I am aware of that. I will contact Captain Archer and tell him that we have not yet completed our…research. I am sure that he can manage without us for another day or two." As Trip watched her stand and move forward to the pilot's seat, he tried to figure out what had just occurred. In spite of everything that had happened, she wanted to stay with him. Could Soval be right? Could she still have feelings for him? Trip scrubbed one hand across his forehead. No. He was tired of playing games. It was time for him to cut his losses and move on. He stood and headed over toward the hatch. When he came up next to T'Pol, she turned toward him. "The captain is meeting with Admiral Kiran and Captains Sirek and V'Lin. He will contact me later." Trip nodded. "Well, I guess I better be getting back. Soval may be looking for me." He hitched up his robe and stepped out of the shuttlepod. Once outside, he paused. There was still one thing that needed to be said. He turned back to look at her. As he took in the exquisite contours of her face and the warm glow of her complexion, he had to fight hard against the lump that was forming in his throat. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between us, T'Pol," he said huskily. "I'd give a lot for things to be different between us, but I guess it just wasn't meant to be." Trip managed a half-hearted smile, but his words received no response. T'Pol sat unmoving, her jaw clenched and her hands folded tightly in her lap. There was sadness in her eyes, but there was also something more. If he didn't know better, he would have said that it was longing…but that didn't make any sense. He leaned in to take a closer look, but before he could make up his mind, she blinked and it was gone. Confused and disheartened, Trip turned around and headed back up the flight of stairs toward the Sanctuary. * * * * * * Tucker nervously scrubbed his hands together as he paced back and forth. What was taking so long? He'd been stuck in this same lousy room for over three hours. Trip wasn't exactly sure what high priests did, but if the guy was too busy to see a mere human, Trip figured that it was only polite for somebody to pass the word along. He could be back on Enterprise right now preparing for the talks with Admiral Kiran and the rest of the brass from the Vulcan fleet. But no, he was stuck in another windowless, look-alike room, waiting for the little man who wasn't there. He plopped down on one of the two long, stone benches in the chamber, fidgeted for a few moments, and then jumped back up again. Why had he ever agreed to go through with this nonsense? He should have just said no to Soval. Now he was trapped. The commander ran his fingers nervously through his hair. It was time to go. He'd waited long enough. Trip turned and started for the doorway, but, much to his surprise, his way was blocked by an elderly man in a black floor-length tunic and russet robes. With an air of quiet dignity, the man pulled himself up to his full height and announced, "I am Torok, High Priest of Vulcan," in a rich baritone voice. Without waiting for a response, Torok turned and, with the aid of a cane, made his way slowly to the bench closest to the doorway. Even in a room illuminated solely by candlelight, Tucker could see that the Vulcan's skin was as wrinkled and thin as crumpled tissue paper. His hair was a pure snowy white, and he moved haltingly, but there was nothing frail or fragile about the man. Strength and self-confidence seemed to radiate from him. Once he was seated, Torok fixed his gaze on Tucker. "I have observed humans for many years now, but you are the first one that I have met. Ambassador Soval tells me that you are an exceptional example of your species. Would you say that that assessment is true?" It took several seconds for Tucker to realize that his mouth was hanging open. "Excuse me?" "Would you say that you are exceptional, young man?" Disconcerted, Tucker responded, "No, sir. I'm not much different than other humans." He briefly entertained the idea of taking a seat, but for some unknown reason he felt compelled to stand erect while in the presence of this elderly Vulcan. "You are an engineer?" "Yes, sir. I'm chief engineer on Enterprise, Earth's first warp-five starship." "That is a position of great responsibility. You hold the lives of all aboard in the palm of your hand, do you not?" "I never thought of it quite that way," Trip said uneasily, "but I guess that's right. If I don't do my job, a lot of people could end up paying for my mistakes." "Do you believe that others have already paid for your mistakes?" Caught off guard, Trip stared anxiously at the high priest. He knew this discussion was probably going to be difficult, but he figured they would get to know each other before easing into a discussion of his problems. He should have remembered that Vulcans don't bother with small talk. This guy went straight for the jugular. "Commander Tucker?" Still a bit rattled, Trip knew he had to say something. "I always try to do my best. But sometimes things just…happen." "Can you accept the fact that you bear no personal responsibility when people on your ship are injured?" Trip's hands balled into fists. "It's my job to keep the people on Enterprise safe. When someone's hurt…" Trip stopped immediately when he heard the tremulous tone in his voice and tried to regroup. "When someone's hurt…or worse…it just means that I have to work harder. If I work harder, I can hold everything together." Torok stared intently at the young human for a few moments then he continued. "I understand that our time together will be limited. You are scheduled to meet with representatives of the Vulcan government. Is that correct?" Trip nodded. "I should be there now. I'm only here because T'Pol and I…" He suddenly clamped his mouth shut and dropped his head. He didn't want to bring the dissolution of his relationship with T'Pol into this. "I am aware that you and Commander T'Pol came here to sever your bond. I was to officiate at the ceremony." Torok shifted slightly, settling into a more comfortable position on the bench. "As a rule, the other priests deal with such matters, but in this instance, they were not comfortable performing the ceremony. They found it…unsettling that a human was able to bond with a Vulcan." Trip's head snapped up, and he stiffened. "There's nothing wrong with T'Pol and me wantin' to be together," he said hotly. "If people – Vulcan and human – would keep their noses out of our business, it would make our lives a whole lot easier." "And yet you came to us to sever your bond," Torok continued logically. "That would seem to indicate that the two of you are not content to be together." "Yeah…well…we changed our minds. T'Pol and I just need a little more time to work things out." Trip bit his lip guiltily. What ever possessed him to say that? He knew better than to lie to a priest…even a Vulcan priest. His mama would be ashamed of him. He couldn't deny that his pride had been hurt, but what if this only proved that he couldn't face the truth? He couldn't even admit to a perfect stranger that he'd failed in the most important relationship of his life. Torok leaned back against the wall and looked appraisingly at Trip. "Your face betrays you, young man. It is obvious that you are not being completely honest with me." When Trip began to protest, he silenced the engineer with a wave of his hand. "If I am going to help you, there can be no lies or half-truths between us. I must know your thoughts. Since it is apparent that you intend to be evasive whenever we discuss topics that you find upsetting, I am left with no other option but to ask that you allow me to touch your mind." Once again Trip shifted nervously. "You mean a mind meld?" "Of course." "Soval already did that. Isn't once enough?" "Some things never change," Torok murmured as he arranged the sleeves of his robe. "Soval always was impulsive." Tucker's eyes shot open. He'd called Soval many things over the years, but impulsive definitely wasn't one of them. Maybe he needed to reassess his opinion of the ambassador. "What Soval may or may not know of your thoughts is of little concern to me," Torok continued. "If I cannot know your mind, I cannot help you." "First Soval and now you," Tucker said defensively. "I thought you Vulcans didn't approve of mind melds. Are you a Syrrannite?" "I am not a Syrrannite," Torok scoffed. "I simply do not allow other people to think for me. Mind melds are a part of Vulcan tradition, a part of the ancient ways. They serve a useful purpose, if used properly. As with all things, if they are abused, there can be negative consequences." "I don't mean any disrespect, sir, but this is my mind we're talkin' about." Trip wrinkled his brow anxiously. "Are you sure you know what you're doin'?" "I can assure you, young man, that you need not be concerned. I mastered the discipline almost two centuries ago. As a matter of fact, I was the one who taught the principles of mind melding to a young upstart named Soval. You seem to have suffered no ill effects from the joining of his mind with yours." Trip had to admit that he'd walked away from his encounter with Soval with nothing more than a mild, short-lived headache. Of course, this time he would be conscious. He had to hope that that wouldn't make any difference. "The decision is yours, Commander." As much as he wanted to forget that he'd ever set foot on Mount Seleya, Trip knew that there was no turning back. He had to see this through to the end. Reluctantly, he nodded his assent then backed it up a moment later by wearily saying, "Okay. Let's do it." Torok moved his cane out of the way and motioned toward the bench. "Come sit beside me. Soval tells me that the human mind is a chaotic place. This should prove to be an interesting experience." Trip warily crossed the room and sat down on the bench next to Torok. "Turn to face me." Trip did as he was told. "What am I supposed to do?" he asked with a hint of trepidation in his voice. "All I ask is that you relax and open your mind to me." Tucker took a deep breath, held it then let it out slowly. "I guess I can do that." "Let us begin." Torok raised his right hand to Trip's face and intoned, "My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds are merging. Our minds are one." Torok adjusted his hand slightly on Tucker's face. "I feel what you feel. I know what you know." At first, Trip only felt a gentle pressure in his mind, but that benign feeling was short-lived. Without warning, the pressure suddenly began to grow. Like the unrelenting current of a mighty river, it tore through his head. Trip tried to throw up mental barriers to protect himself, but the force systematically probed his thoughts, his feelings, his memories and then inexorably moved on. When the force approached the compartments where he kept the great tragedies of his life hidden away, Trip decided to make one last, desperate stand. The force halted in the face of his resistance and for a few brief moments, the irresistible force and the determined human did battle. As the force battered against his defenses, the intense pressure became intolerable pain. Trip's breathing became more ragged as he fought to hold out, but in the end, one by one the compartments were breached. Instantly, the memories began to play out in his mind. Enterprise was being battered by the Xindi ships. He tried to block out the cries of the wounded and dying as he worked feverishly to hold the ship together. It was all so real. He could smell the smoke, see the blood spurting from Masaro's arm as the ensign lay writhing on the deck. Then the smoke was gone and he was in the ocean frantically diving over and over as he tried to locate his buddy, Vince, who'd cried out and disappeared beneath the waves. He saw the Xindi weapon bearing down on his unsuspecting sister. He screamed in desperation, but she couldn't hear his warnings. With a rush of wind it engulfed her and her body burst into flames. He saw his infant daughter take one last shuddering breath. He felt the weight of her limp, lifeless body as he picked her up and held her close. Numbly, he listened to the eulogy at the funeral, but it wasn't her body in the coffin, it was his. Then the lid was closed, sealing him inside, and the coffin was shot into space – cold and alone for eternity. It was all too much. Too much pain…too much suffering…too many broken bodies and shattered dreams. As he was forced to relive one horrendous tragedy after another, great heaving sobs wracked Trip's body. He would give anything, even his own life, to save them, but there was nothing he could do. Just when he thought he'd go insane, the memories stopped and the pressure slowly began to ease. Instead of chaos and misery there was only blessed silence. His breathing slowed, and he felt himself drifting away from the pain toward a deep black hole. "Wake up, Mr. Tucker!" The words reverberated through every corner of Trip's brain and his eyes shot open. Disoriented, he blinked a couple of times and then jerked backwards when he realized that there was a wizened Vulcan face only a few inches from his nose. "Sit up now and take a few deep breaths," Torok said softly as he removed his hand from Trip's face. "You will need a few moments to recover." Dazed and nauseous, Trip struggled to get to his feet. Using one hand to steady himself against the wall, he pressed the fingers of his other hand firmly against his forehead. The almost unbearable pain had not diminished. It felt as though someone was skewering his brain with a red hot poker. Everything in the room was slightly out of focus and strange white lights flashed across his field of vision. "You must sit down, Commander, until you regain your equilibrium." Torok reached for Trip, but he pulled away. "Don't touch me, you bastard," Trip hissed shakily, and then he felt his stomach turn over. Trip managed to stumble a few steps toward the corner of the room before he was violently sick. While he waited for the dry heaves to subside, he leaned against the wall, resting his throbbing head on the cool stone. Off in the distance, he heard voices calling his name. He wasn't surprised. The voices always found him. All dead. Nowhere to hide. So many dead. All his fault. Suddenly the voices began to grow louder and louder, crowding out all rational thought. He tried to block them out, but they all began to blur together into one cacophonous screech -- louder and louder and louder until darkness swallowed him whole and there was nothing left but silence. * * * * * * Trip's first conscious thought was that the voices were gone. So were the intense pain and the nausea. When he felt something cool and wet touch his forehead, he slowly opened his eyes. "The young man seems to be recovering." Torok looked up at the stern-looking Vulcan who stood stiffly beside his chair. "We will no longer need your services, Doctor. You may return to your duties." Frowning, the other Vulcan nodded. "This human has not been permanently damaged, but he should rest. He does not have our strength or stamina." Tucker watched in silence as the doctor glared at him one last time before leaving the room. When Trip raised one hand to touch the damp cloth on his forehead, he noticed that his grey robe was gone. His hand dropped to his neck. Someone had loosened the collar of his suit jacket. Slowly, he turned his head and saw Torok watching him. "Did I throw up on your floor?" Trip asked in a hushed voice. "Yes, young man." "I'm sorry. I didn't mean…." "Do not let it concern you. These things happen." Trip sat up slowly and leaned forward. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he scrubbed his hands shakily over his face. It didn't taken him long to realize that while he felt better physically, the emotional trauma from the meld had not abated. Too many old wounds had been ripped open and allowed to bleed freely. He could feel the anguish and remorse welling up inside of him, choking him. He tried to build new walls to lock the pain away again, but nothing seemed to work. For one terrible moment, fear gripped him. What if he could no longer protect himself when tragedy stuck? How would he survive? "I did not want to cause you pain," Torok said sincerely, "but you fought me every step of the way." Trip lowered his hands. Tears no longer rolled down his cheeks, but his faced was still etched by unbearable pain. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me," he managed to choke out, "but why did you make me see…make me relive those…terrible, terrible memories. I've worked so hard to…" The conversation came to an abrupt halt when a young Vulcan attendant entered and handed Torok a large glass. He immediately nodded, dismissing her. Returning his nod, she quickly turned and left the room. "Would you like some water, Commander? I imagine that your ordeal has made you thirsty." Torok handed the glass to Tucker. "Thanks," Tucker mumbled. He raised the glass to his lips and drank. "I spoke to T'Pol while you were unconscious," Torok said. "She was concerned that I might have injured you. It took some effort on my part, but I believe I finally set her mind at ease." "T'Pol takes her job as first officer very seriously," Tucker answered tightly. He leaned over and set the glass on the floor. "She's always lookin' out for the crew." "Her concern seemed to be motivated by more than duty," Torok said quietly. "But then you obviously know her better than I do." Tucker gripped one tightly balled fist with his other hand. Yeah, I know her, he thought. I know her too well. In his mind, he could see her face so clearly. He could almost feel the warmth…the softness of her skin beneath his finger tips. He could hear her call his name…as she rejected him once again. Trip couldn't stop himself from flinching slightly. This has to stop, he scolded himself. I have to accept that my relationship with T'Pol is over. It's over! "Are you still unwell, young man?" Torok asked, breaking into Tucker's thoughts. "Would you like me to send for the doctor again?" "No. I'm fine." Tucker sniffed and straightened his back. No matter how bad he felt, he was determined not to let it show. A Vulcan would not appreciate his emotionalism, and he knew that he did not want to appear weak in front of this man. He had to pull himself together. "Now that you've poked around in my brain," he finally murmured, "I suppose you think you've got me all figured out." "Soval warned me about the unpredictability of the human mind, and he was, of course, quite correct," Torok said. "Your mind is an incredibly tempestuous place. At first glance, I was only aware of the rampant emotionalism and disorder, but, surprisingly, beneath it all, you possess a solid foundation of logic and discipline. I could spend many months trying to analyze your thought processes, but that is not why you are here." The high priest picked up his cane, planted one end firmly on the floor and rested both hands on the gnarled knob. "You are searching for a way to free yourself from the dark thoughts that are slowly destroying your katra. I will do all that is within my power to assist you, but, in the final analysis, you must find a way to help yourself, young man." Torok looked sternly at Tucker. "You have a brilliant mind and yet there are some truths you refuse to accept. Why do you find it so easy to help a friend who has suffered a loss, and yet you refuse to deal with your own grief? You cannot hide from emotional pain by burying your feelings deep in the recesses of your mind." "I deal with my problems," Trip responded defensively. "Sometimes it just takes me awhile to get the job done. I came to grips with Lizzie's death while we were in the Expanse. Ask T'Pol. She was there." "Do not forget that I have seen your thoughts, Commander. I know that your sister's death still haunts you. You may have said good-bye to her, but you have really never let her go." "How can I? She was my sister," Trip said pleadingly. "I know it will be difficult, but it is something that you must do, both to preserve her memory and to restore your own peace of mind. By constantly denying your feelings, you have chosen to walk a dangerous path. Can't you see that your constant struggle to keep your painful memories locked away only increases your vulnerability? It only takes one unguarded moment for everything to come rushing back, and once again you are bereft." Torok paused. His forehead wrinkled as though he was trying to solve some weighty problem. "You are consumed by guilt, young man, and I do not understand why. You bear some responsibility for the death of the cogenitor, but the other losses you have suffered are not of your making." "You don't understand," Trip whispered. He rose and walked across the room. "I would like to understand. Perhaps you can explain it to me." Trip looked back over his shoulder then dropped his head. He knew he couldn't avoid talking about the deaths that haunted his dreams, but it didn't make it any easier. "Come back and sit down," Torok said. Trip was somewhat surprised by the sympathetic tone in the priest's voice. He hadn't expected that from a Vulcan of Torok's age or station in life. "I want to see your face when you speak to me, young man." "You don't have to do this, sir," Trip said softly. "I know it's an imposition. I can work things out for myself." "Vulcans do not turn away from people in need. Now sit down and explain to me why you have allowed grief and guilt to take control of your life. A shudder passed through Trip's body. Thoroughly defeated, he walked over and sank gracelessly down on the bench. "I know I haven't done a good job of handling my grief, but it doesn't control me," he said shakily. "When we were in the Expanse, I didn't have time to sit in my room and mourn for Lizzie, or Crewmen Taylor or any of the others. People depended on me to keep the ship running, and I did my job." "And in order to do that you had to ignore your own well-being? Going without food or sleep does not increase your productivity." Trip leaned back and rested his exhausted body against the wall. "I've had a problem with insomnia since I was a kid. As for food...well…sometimes I get busy with repairs, and I just forget to eat. There's nothing wrong with that." Suddenly Trip bristled and his eyes flashed with anger. "Now wait just a minute! If you've got some half-baked idea that I'm self-destructive, you can think again! I want to live as much as anybody else!" "And yet you neglect your health." "I'm not all that fragile, ya know. I've gone without sleep before and I'll probably do it again. Sometimes it's necessary." "Do you know what causes your insomnia?" "Not really," Trip said as he nervously ran his fingers through his hair. "It seems like I've always had trouble sleepin'. My mama thinks it's because my mind's always goin' a mile a minute." "You don't believe that?" Trip shrugged. "There may be some truth in it. I think it's mainly because of the dreams." "Dreams?" "Yeah. Not dreams really, but nightmares. Even as a kid I always figured there were monsters under my bed. T'Pol really saved my life…helpin' me with the Vulcan neuropressure the way she did. An hour spent with her, and I'd sleep straight through the night." Tucker ducked his head. "I owe her a lot." "Why do you feel responsible for the death of your child?" Caught off guard, Trip leaned forward and gripped the edge of the bench tightly with both hands. He gritted his teeth as a wave of grief threatened to overwhelm him. In his mind, he once again saw the beautiful little baby, so like her mother with her delicate pointed ears. Trip took a moment more to compose himself then murmured, "I wasn't there for her when she needed me." He lifted his eyes and looked at Torok beseechingly. "Don't you see? If I could have gotten to her sooner, Doctor Phlox might have been able to save her." "You do not believe that, young man," Torok said softly. "You know that the child was doomed from before her birth." "No!" Trip shook his head adamantly. "I know we could have found a way to save her. T'Pol and I could have worked with Phlox. If I had just worked harder…" Trip dropped his head and a sob caught in his throat. He was her father. It was his duty to care for her. "You must accept that you are blameless in her death, and let her go." "She's my daughter," Trip choked out. "I can't let her go." "Of course you can. She was an innocent child and yet you allow her memory to poison your spirit. Doesn't she deserve more from you?" Trip brushed his hand across his cheeks to wipe away the tears. "I guess so." "You will always cherish her, but cherish her for what she was, not for what she could never be. You are blameless in this. Is that so hard to accept?" "Yes," Trip answered in a hushed voice. "She was my future and I let her slip away." He took a deep breath and tried to explain. "When I saw Elizabeth for the first time, I knew she was everything I had ever wanted. With the baby alive and well, T'Pol and I could have built a life together. We could have been happy. But then Elizabeth died." Trip raised a trembling hand to his head and pressed his fingers against his temple. "After awhile, there seemed to be nothing left for us, and I lost T'Pol, too." He looked over at Torok with anguished eyes. "You've seen my thoughts. You know how much I care for both of them. How do I fill the hole in my life?" "I cannot answer that. You and T'Pol must find your own way. It may be together. Then again, you may choose separate paths. We cannot compel others to care for us, just as we cannot prolong the lives of those whose time has come." "I know," Trip said in a voice barely above a whisper. "You must accept that you bear no guilt for the death of your sister or your fellow crewmen." Torok looked intently at Tucker. "You must accept that your child died because of the malevolence of others and not through any fault of your own." Trip shook his head wearily. "I understand what you're tellin' me, but…" "But?" "They trusted me. Even when I was right there, I couldn't stop it from happenin'. I should have been able to do somethin'…" "The power over life and death does not rest in your hands, young man" Torok said firmly. "Until you can learn to grieve and ultimately accept the losses that come to each of us as we age, you will never find peace. Are you willing to sacrifice your career and live out the remainder of your life as a martyr to your lost friends and relatives?" "You don't understand," Tucker cried in a tortured voice. "Then make me understand!" Torok's voice reverberated throughout the chamber. "I don't know how." Totally spent, Trip dropped his head and covered his face with his hands. Torok thumped his cane once on the floor and then slowly got to his feet. "That is enough for today." Trip sniffed and dropped his hands. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to waste your time. If somebody would bring me my uniform, I'll be on my way." "I would like you to stay with us for awhile longer," Torok said softly. "I will send someone to show you to a room for the night." "That really isn't necessary, sir. I've already taken up too much of your time." "Nonsense. We will talk again tomorrow, after you have rested. If you are unable to sleep, young man, please feel free to call upon our physician. He will see to your needs." Before Tucker could protest further, Torok turned and walked slowly out of the chamber. CHAPTER 22: ARCHER In spite of himself, Jonathan Archer had begun the day full of hope. His efforts to build the Coalition were finally paying dividends. The Vulcans had asked humans to sit down and meet with them as equals – not as ignorant lackeys, unruly students, or naive interlopers, but equals. This morning he had fervently wished that his Dad could have been here to see this historic moment. Now he wasn't so sure. Archer sighed and shook his head as he looked out of the side viewport of the Vulcan shuttle. Instead of feeling optimistic at the end of the first day, he had come away with a cold dose of reality. He realized that these strategic talks could go a long way toward redefining Earth's relationship with Vulcan and effectively ending what had amounted to a regency period for Earth. Evidently the Vulcans understood this as well, and some of them were clearly not ready to relinquish control. The primary opposition to this attempt to develop a joint security plan for the region came from Admiral Kiran, his protégé Captain V'Lin of the Vulcan ship Tar'hana, and Ministers T'Lan and Sulin – all hard-line Vulcan conservatives. Of the four, Kiran was by far the most dangerous. He had made it clear from his first look at Archer that he thought all humans were beneath his contempt. Every effort Jon had made to find some common ground with the Vulcans had been derailed by one of Kiran's acerbic comments. Archer knew that he had the support of T'Pau, Soval and Minister Kuvak. Ambassador V'Lar was a reasonable woman. When she arrived, she would probably speak in favor of the humans. Nevertheless, Jon wasn't sure if the four of them were strong enough to sway the others. Admiral Kiran was the key. Without his support, these talks were doomed to failure, as was any unified effort to fight against the growing Romulan threat in the region. If he could find a way to sway Kiran, he knew the others would probably fall into line. Now all he had to do was figure out a way to reason with a mean-spirited Vulcan bigot. "We will be arriving at Mount Seleya in one minute and twenty seconds," the stony-faced Vulcan pilot informed Archer. "I have contacted the priests at the Sanctuary to inform them of your arrival." "Thank you," Archer said as he shifted uneasily in his seat. He was more than happy that this little jaunt was about to come to an end. It was painfully obvious that Vulcan shuttles hadn't been designed for personal comfort. "Ambassador Soval is also visiting the Sanctuary," the pilot continued. "He asks to speak with you immediately upon your arrival." "Good," Archer said firmly. "Maybe he can tell me what happened to my officers." As the shuttle sped through the mountain passes on its final approach to Mount Seleya, Archer rose and looked out the front viewport. Within seconds, he caught his first glimpse of the Sanctuary, an imposing structure carved many centuries ago into one side of the sacred mountain. "Well," he murmured under his breath as they drew closer, "at least I found my shuttlepod." When the shuttle banked to the left and began to descend, Archer returned to his seat. He still wasn't sure why he'd felt it was important to make this journey, but somehow he knew that it was. Maybe it was the mysterious way Soval had spirited Trip and T'Pol away from the meeting that morning. Maybe it was T'Pol's insistence that they were only doing some vague research project. Or maybe it was the nagging feeling that Trip was in trouble. The Vulcan shuttle landed smoothly and came to a halt about twenty feet from Shuttlepod One. By the time Archer got to his feet, the pilot had the hatch open for him. "Please pass along my thanks to Minister Kuvak for the use of the shuttle," Archer said as he approached the exit. "It is not necessary, but I will pass along your sentiments." Archer stepped out of the shuttle, but came to a halt when the pilot added, "I will be here when you are ready to leave, Captain." "That won't be necessary," Archer assured the pilot. "I can use the shuttlepod from Enterprise." "Minister Kuvak told me to wait. I will follow his instructions." "Suit yourself," Archer grumbled. Then he turned and headed up the flight of steps. He could see Soval and T'Pol standing at the top, waiting for him. When Archer reached the head of the stairs, Soval said in a rather guarded tone of voice, "Your visit is unexpected, Captain. What brings you here?" "I'm looking for my first officer and my chief engineer." "It is obvious that you have found them," Soval replied. Jon looked pointedly at T'Pol. "I could have used their help today, Commander," he said a little more forcefully than he intended. He immediately turned his attention to Soval. "I could have used your help, too, Ambassador. By taking off, you both left me swinging in the wind." Soval's eyebrow rose. "I take it things did not go well." "You could say that." "I would imagine that Admiral Kiran expressed his…reservations at working hand in hand with humans." Soval led Archer across the landing…through the left doorway into the Sanctuary…and into a small nondescript chamber. T'Pol followed quietly several steps behind the two men. When they entered the room, Soval motioned the captain to one of the stone benches that lined the walls. Great, Archer thought. Don't Vulcans believe in cushions? Jon sank down onto the bench and leaned back wearily against the wall. "If Kiran had his way, all humans would go back to being shepherds." "That is an accurate assessment," Soval said with a trace of weariness in his voice. "The admiral can be a difficult, when he wants to be." He and T'Pol seated themselves on the bench directly across from Archer. "So…would somebody like to tell me about this research you're conducting?" Archer looked from one Vulcan to the other. "What could be so important that it takes priority over a discussion of security in this region of space? And where's Trip?" "Commander Tucker is resting," Soval said firmly. T'Pol shifted uneasily, but remained silent. "As for the research…" "Resting?" Archer asked bewilderedly. "What's the matter with him? Is he sick?" "He has had a tiring day." "Doing what? And don't tell me research." "He recalled some memories from his past," Soval explained, "and he found them…distressing." "Memories from his past?" Archer was starting to lose his temper. He'd been getting the run-around from Vulcans all day, and his patience was wearing thin. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I want to see Trip, and I want to see him right now." "I do not think that would be wise," Soval said quietly. Archer was on his feet in an instant. "I want to know what's going on!" he barked angrily. "I let Trip walk out of that conference room with two Vulcans, and the next thing I know he's being spirited away to some religious sanctuary!" "Captain, please," Soval said in a calm reassuring voice. "Surely you know that we would not harm Commander Tucker." Archer turned toward the wall as he struggled to compose himself. After a few moments he resumed his seat and muttered, "This has been one hell of a day." Taking a deep breath, he scrubbed a hand over his face and then focused his attention once again on Soval. "I'm sorry" Jon said sincerely. "That was uncalled for. I know you would never hurt Trip. Please accept my apology… both of you." "Your apology is accepted, Captain," Soval replied. "And you are correct. We do owe you an explanation." He looked over at T'Pol. Nodding, she rose silently, crossed the room and sat down next to Archer. "Commander Tucker and I were faced with a problem that could not be resolved on Enterprise," she began. "Ambassador Soval suggested that one of the priests at the Sanctuary could be of help to us." "And Trip agreed to this?" "Yes. When the commander realized that anything said here would be kept in confidence, he decided that this was an opportune time to discuss some of the personal matters that have been troubling him." T'Pol hesitated. "Starfleet would never need to know." Archer took a moment to let T'Pol's words sink in. Suddenly things were beginning to make sense. "Look, I think I understand what you're saying. And I'm glad Trip is finally getting some help, but I still want to see him." Soval started to protest, but Archer cut him off. "I want to see him now." "As you wish." T'Pol rose and started toward the doorway. "Please come with me, Captain." * * * * * * Archer paused at the doorway to Trip's room. Much of the chamber was in darkness. He could make out a bed placed against the wall to the left. There was a small table and two chairs at the center of the room and little else, except for a meditation mat on the floor at the right. Several tall, freestanding candelabra were placed strategically around the room, but only two of the candles were lit. "Trip?" he called anxiously, but there was no response. He took a few cautious steps into the room and looked around. "Trip, are you in here?" He was just about ready to head back out into the corridor to find T'Pol when he noticed a hunched figure seated on the floor at the back of the room. Concerned, Jon walked over and knelt by his friend. He'd known Trip for over a decade, but he'd never seen him behave like this. Even when he was distressed, the young engineer had always found solace in work, not hiding alone in the dark. Archer hesitated, his hand suspended in mid air. Finally, he reached over and lightly grasped Tucker's shoulder. "Trip, are you all right?" "Go away and leave me alone," Tucker growled. "You don't mean that," Archer said quietly. He threw a quick glance around the chamber. He couldn't assess his friend's condition under these conditions. After giving Trip's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he stood up and walked across the room. "I think we could use a little more light." He quickly lit the additional candles from the flames of their two brethren and then returned to his friend. Tucker, dressed only in his blue Starfleet underwear, looked as if he was trying to curl himself into a tight little ball: head bowed, arms wrapped around legs drawn up close to his chest. Without raising his head, he murmured, "Captain, I'm askin' ya to leave. I need to be alone right now." This was not what Archer had expected to hear. More concerned than ever for his friend's safety, he sat on the floor facing Tucker. When Trip decided to raise his head, Jon wanted to be able to see his face. "If you won't tell me what's wrong, would you at least let me get Phlox down here to make sure you're okay?" "I don't need to see Phlox." ‘Well, you need to see someone. This isn't like you." "Get out an' leave me in peace." "Trip, I'm worried about you. I just want…" "I said, no!" Trip exploded. In one quick, lithe movement, he got to his feet and moved away from Archer. "Just leave me alone!" Startled by the vehemence of his friend's outburst, Archer snapped, "What in the hell is the matter with you?" Tucker stood silently glaring down at him, fists clenched and jaw muscles working furiously. Scrambling to his feet, Archer was completely at a loss. This was not the same man who'd left Enterprise this morning. What in the hell had these people done to him? "Did the Vulcans hurt you? Because if that's what happened, I…" "You never listen!" Trip shouted furiously. "Get out! I don't need you and I don't need Phlox!" Sensing that the situation was getting out of control, Archer took a couple of steps toward Trip. He held out his hands appeasingly. "You need to calm down now. Just let me…" Tucker's fist lashed out, slamming into Archer's jaw. Stunned by the blow, the captain staggered, but managed to stay on his feet. Before he could raise his hands to protect himself, Trip sent a violent blow to his mid-section. Jon doubled over and another fist crashed relentlessly into the side of his face. Archer was just conscious enough to realize that he was falling. There was a moment of pain as his body struck the floor, and then nothing. * * * * * * Jon groaned and rolled over onto his side. For a moment he didn't remember where he was or why he was on the floor, but then the image of Trip's fist heading toward his face flashed into his mind and everything came back to him. Slowly pushing himself into a sitting position, he shook his head, trying to clear away the fog, but the pain only made him wince. Squinting slightly, he looked around the room. Trip was sitting in the same place Archer had first seen him. His back was once again up against the wall with his legs drawn up to his chest, only this time he was staring straight at the captain. He appeared to be less agitated, but the misery he felt was clearly written across his tear-stained face. "You pack quite a punch," Archer said quietly as he felt his jaw. His tongue briefly explored the inside of his mouth, checking for damage. "I think you chipped a tooth," he mumbled as his tongue moved back and forth over a rough place on one of his incisors. He shifted slightly to find a more comfortable position. "Do you want to tell me what that was all about?" "Go ahead and court martial me," Trip said shakily. "I don't care." Sniffing, he turned his head away from Archer. Cautiously Jon scooted a little closer to his friend. "I don't want to court martial you, Trip," he said sadly. "I just want to help you. Why won't you let me?" "I told you I wanted to be left alone." "You warned me, and I didn't pay attention. I'm sorry about that. But you have to know that there's no way I'm leaving you in this condition. You need help, Trip." "I'm gettin' help." "From the Vulcans?" "Yeah, from the Vulcans," Trip's head snapped around and anger blazed again in his eyes. Jon raised one hand, palm forward, in an attempt to pacify his friend. "Okay. I'm glad they're helping you, but it's pretty clear that something's bothering you. Do you want to talk about it? I'm always ready to listen." "You don't want to hear what I've got to say," Trip answered tightly, "so why don't you just go back to Enterprise?" "I don't think so." Archer looked closely at the commander. He didn't want to misjudge the situation again. "You're obviously mad at me, but I don't know why." Tucker sniffed and rubbed one hand angrily across his face, wiping away the tears. "Whatever it is, we might as well have it out right now." Jon pressed his lips together. He didn't know what was going through his friend's mind, but he was under no illusions that the next few minutes were going to be anything but unpleasant. Trip's eyes were riveted on Jon's face. His right hand clenched and unclenched as he apparently fought to control himself. Just when Archer was ready to give up on getting his stubborn friend to talk, Trip whispered, "Do you know what it's like to see yourself lyin' dead in a coffin?" Archer caught his breath and sat perfectly still. He'd lived in fear of this moment for almost two years. He knew he should have discussed Sim's life and death with Trip while they were in the Expanse, but he could never bring himself to do it. From the moment the casket was shot out into space, he'd never even uttered Sim's name. The guilt was still too overpowering. He should have realized that the event would be even more traumatic for Trip. "I just stood there, lookin' down at him," Trip continued in an anguished voice. "I knew I was still breathin', but how could I deny that that was me in that casket?" "Trip, please…" "After the funeral, nobody would talk about him. It was like he never existed. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore, and I broke into Phlox's medical logs. That told me everything I needed to know." Tucker stuck out his chin defiantly. "You took a part of me, made a copy, and then you threw him away!" "That's not the way it happened," Archer shot back. "The hell it wasn't!" Trip shouted. "After the funeral, people came up to me and told me they were glad that I was feelin' better, but I could tell that things had changed. They all knew Sim – watched him grow up. And then just like that, he's gone and I'm all that's left. I'm surprised they didn't start callin' me Lazarus. After all, it's not every day ya get to see someone rise from the dead. It's just too damn bad that Sim had to face the executioner to make it happen!" "That's enough!" Archer roared as he jumped to his feet. "I'm still your commanding officer, mister. I expect you to show me the proper respect." "Fine!" For a few tense moments, Tucker glared at Archer. Finally, he looked away. "Whatever you say. You're the boss." "Damn it," Archer muttered under his breath. Bringing his right hand up to his temple, he took several deep breaths. He knew better than to lose his temper. Trip had every right to be angry. Jon knew that if he was going to make things right with his friend, he was going to have to get himself under control, and fast, because he probably wasn't going to get a second chance. "I'm sorry, Trip," he said sincerely. "I know I let you down. Please let me explain." Tucker kept his face averted. He appeared to be calmer, but Archer could tell that the anger that had raged through him a moment ago was waiting just below the surface, ready to explode again. "Why did you do it?" Tucker finally asked plaintively. "I never wanted anyone to die for me. Why couldn't you just let me go?" Archer walked over to Trip. Cautiously, he sat down beside his friend and put an arm around his shoulders. "Trip," he said in a soft, but firm voice, "I want you to listen to me." Tucker tried to pull away, but Jon held on tightly. "When you were injured in that explosion and Doctor Phlox told me that you might not live, I felt as though a ten-story building had come crashing down on me. We had to stop the Xindi weapon, and in order to do that, I needed you alive. Phlox told me about the mimetic symbiot, and I jumped at the chance." "You had no right," Trip choked out. "I had no choice," Archer shot back. "When Sim devised a way to move Enterprise out of that polaric field, I knew I'd made the right decision – the only decision. Your memories enabled him to do that. Without you, Enterprise would have been destroyed. Earth would have been destroyed. Don't you understand how important you were to the mission?" Archer squeezed Trip's shoulder. "Don't you understand how important you are to me…to your family and friends…to Starfleet? So many people depend on you." "No!" Trip shouted. When he couldn't break out of Archer's grasp, Tucker threw an elbow into Jon's ribcage. Surprised, Archer loosened his grip and Tucker scrambled to his feet. "Nothing can justify what you did! Sim wanted to live! He'd fight for his life just like I would!" "You're right," Archer said as he rubbed his side. "Sim did want to live, but he knew he only had a lifespan of fifteen days. There was no proven treatment that could have prolonged his life. Sim finally accepted that if the operation was delayed, you would both die. He gave his life so that what happened to Lizzie wouldn't happen to anybody else." "Phlox should have tried. There should have been something..." "There was nothing anybody could have done. Phlox loved Sim like his own son. Believe me, he would have saved him if there had been a way. Phlox performed the operation because he realized that it had to be done." "How could you just stand by and watched him die?" Trip asked in an anguished voice. Archer rubbed a trembling hand across his brow. Put into words, it sounded so cold. Did Trip really believe that he was some kind of monster? He was just an ordinary man who had been placed, by circumstances, in an impossible position. Yes, he'd stood by while another sentient being died, but it had to be done. He had to find a way to explain that to Trip? He had to make him understand or Sim's death would always stand between them. He valued Trip's friendship too much for that. "Trip, do you have any idea how hard it was for me to watch Phlox press that hypospray to Sim's neck, knowing that he'd never wake up again?" Archer asked in a strained voice. "I watched him grow up, too. Every day he looked and sounded more like you. There were times when I had to slip into sickbay just to remind myself that you and Sim were two completely different men." Jon swallowed hard as he fought to push from his mind the image of Sim lying down on the biobed for the last time. It was a memory that still haunted him late at night, when he was most defenseless. "A part of me wanted to rip the scalpel out of the doctor's hand, but I knew I couldn't do it. I stayed through the entire operation. I owed Sim that much, and a great deal more. Phlox did everything he could to keep him alive, but the surgery was just too much for him. When he took his last breath, it was like watching you die." Archer paused momentarily, pressing an unsteady hand against his mouth. "Sim was dead, but you were alive, Trip. Don't you see? We had to do it. It was the only way we could save you." Distraught, Trip turned away. "How am I supposed to live with this? He died because of me." Archer got to his feet and walked over to stand in front of his friend. Gently grabbing both of Trip's arms, he said, "None of this was your fault. Blame me. Heaven knows, I blame myself. You did nothing wrong." "I wish I could believe you." "You can, but you have to try." "If I hadn't gotten hurt…" "You got hurt because you were doing your job. If you hadn't shut down the warp reactor, Enterprise could have been destroyed." Trip only shook his head. When he tried to pull away, Archer tightened his grip. "Remember, Sim didn't die just for you. He died to keep everyone on Earth safe. But then that didn't exactly come as a big surprise to me. I've known only two truly brave and selfless men in my life. One of them was Sim. The other is you, Trip." "Don't say that." Tucker spoke in an anguished voice, barely above a whisper. "Sim was brave, not me." "You ought to know by now, Commander, that it's not a good idea to argue with your captain," Archer countered as he gave his friend a gentle shake. He searched Trip's face, desperately trying to gauge if his words were hitting home. Never in his life had Jon felt so helpless. Trip was coming unraveled right before his eyes, and he was partly to blame. What if he couldn't make things right again? Tucker covered his face with his hands, and then slowly pulled his fingers back through his hair. "It's all too much. I can't…" "You're exhausted," Archer said gently. "I know it's still early, but why don't you try and get a little sleep? Maybe things will make more sense in the morning." Slowly, Archer turned his chief engineer around and headed him toward the bed. The bounce in Trip's step was gone; he moved sluggishly, like a beaten, broken man. A deep blue suit lay discarded on the bed. A portion of Archer's mind registered surprise that the only garment in the room wasn't Trip's uniform, but that thought was quickly pushed aside as he scooped up the jacket and pants and deposited them on the table in the center of the room. Moving back to the bed, he raised the covers and Trip crawled in. When he was settled, Tucker cast a guilty look at Jon. "I'm sorry I hit you." "I know you are, buddy," Archer said, cautiously sitting down on the bed next to Trip. He tried to smile, but his heart wasn't in it. "You didn't deserve that." "I'm not so sure. Maybe I did. Trip, I want you to promise me that the next time something is bothering you, you'll come and see me so that we can talk it out." Trip scrubbed a hand wearily over his face. "Okay." Archer took a moment to gather his courage before continuing. "I'm hoping that you can find it in your heart to forgive me for giving the order to create Sim. I didn't know what else to do. God help me, if I had it to do all over again, I'd do the same thing. You had to live, Trip. I couldn't lose you." There was surprisingly little emotion in the blue eyes that stared back at him. It was as if all of Trip's anger and guilt had finally consumed him from the inside out, leaving nothing but an empty shell. "I understand why you did what you did. In your shoes, I might have done the same thing. But don't ask me to forgive you. Not now. I can't do it." Archer felt his heart constrict. "That's fair enough," he said quietly. "Are you going to need some help sleeping?" Jon looked over toward the doorway. "They probably have a doctor somewhere around here." "Yeah, it probably wouldn't hurt." Jon stood up and looked down at his friend. "If I can't find a doctor, I'll have Phlox send something down," he said, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. "Get some rest." Without responding, Tucker rolled over and buried his face in the pillow. Dejectedly, Archer retraced his steps, extinguishing all but two of the candles. Then he turned and left the room. He looked down the corridor and saw T'Pol waiting for him. When he reached her, she fell into step beside him and the two officers walked down the hall side by side. "You are injured," T'Pol said quietly. Archer gingerly touched his swollen lip. "It's nothing." "Your eye is beginning to discolor." "Damn," Archer mumbled, carefully fingering the slightly swollen flesh below his left eye. "Maybe Phlox can do something about this before the meeting tomorrow. It's going to be hard enough to convince the Vulcans to take us seriously. I can't afford to show up looking like I've been in a bar fight." "I take it that your meeting with Mr. Tucker did not go well." "I‘d say that that was a major understatement." Archer dropped his hand wearily to his side. Whatever small reserve of energy he'd had after the meetings with the Vulcans was now completely spent. "Trip took exception to a decision I made in the Expanse." "I see." T'Pol pressed her lips together. It was obvious that she was as upset about Trip's condition as he was. "Are you referring to Sim?" "Yeah." The captain pulled up. Reaching out, he lightly grasped T'Pol's arm, bringing her to a halt as well. "I know I should have talked to Trip about Sim a long time ago," Archer said ruefully. "Trip does such a thorough job of masking his feelings that it's easy to overlook just how upset he really is about some things." "It would have been wise to discuss the matter with Commander Tucker," T'Pol answered, "but you did have a great many other things on your mind. Perhaps now that the subject has been broached, both of you can finally put aside the guilt you feel and honor Sim's memory." "I guess you're right. Besides, a black eye is a small price to pay if this will help ease Trip's mind." Once again, Jon lightly touched the tender area just below his eye. "Actually, Trip surprised me. I didn't think he could hit that hard. He must be spending some extra time in the gym." "I'm sure the commander regrets striking you," T'Pol said softly. "He has had a difficult day." "I know Trip didn't mean to hurt me," Jon said wearily. "The pressure's been building between us for a long time. I'm glad we finally got things out in the open." His eyes wandered back to the room where his chief engineer lay. "What's being done to help him, T'Pol?" T'Pol followed his gaze, and then quickly looked away. "Commander Tucker spent some time today speaking with Torok, the High Priest. Torok has counseled many people over the years." "All Vulcan?" "Yes," T'Pol conceded. Archer frowned. "Do you really think that he's the best person to talk to Trip? Does this priest have even a basic understanding of how humans think, how we feel? Trip needs someone who can empathize with him – get him to open up. He doesn't need to be told that he has to control his emotions. He's kept things bottled up far too long as it is." "I believe that you are underestimating Torok, Captain. He may be a Vulcan, but he is very wise. I have spoken with him myself." Archer squinted slightly as he concentrated on what T'Pol was saying. "My marriage to Koss was…sudden. It left me uncertain about the direction my life was taking, so, immediately after the wedding, I made the decision to journey to Mount Seleya to meditate. While I was here, I asked for an audience with the High Priest, and it was granted. It was most unexpected." "Unexpected? I thought you said that this priest counseled many people. Doesn't he see everybody?" "Torok is very selective about whom he sees." "But he's willing to see Trip – a human?" "Yes. Perhaps he is able to see the same positive attributes in Commander Tucker that you and I see. Whatever his reasoning, I believe that Torok only wants what is best for Mr. Tucker." "Are you sure?" "Yes," she said confidently. "I drew comfort from Torok's words. He helped me put things in perspective. But you must understand, Captain, that this will not be easy for the commander. As you say, he has kept his feelings bottled up for far too long. Today, he was forced to confront some painful memories he'd hidden away – hence his anger with you over Sim." The captain nodded his understanding. "Okay, T'Pol. I hope you're right." As his anxiety level began to mount, Archer felt the need to move. He turned abruptly and headed down the corridor again with his first officer by his side. "Trip's slipping away from us, T'Pol, and I don't know how to stop it. If he can't pull himself together, and fast, I'm going to have to transfer him back to Earth. He's the best there is, but I need a chief engineer I can rely on. I'm not sure Trip's that man anymore." "Do not give up on Commander Tucker just yet," T'Pol said. "Why did this have to happen now? There's so much at stake. I need you and Trip at your best if we're going to make these meetings with the Vulcans work. I was counting on…" Archer suddenly clamped his mouth shut and shook his head. This was getting him nowhere. He balled his hands into fists as he fought against a growing sense of hopelessness. "I have to get back, T'Pol. Admiral Gardner wasn't too happy that I left when I did. I'll swing by Enterprise and see if Phlox can do something about my eye." Archer made his way out to the landing. When he reached the head of the stairs leading down to the shuttle, he paused and looked over at his first officer. "I managed to get Trip to lie down, but I doubt that he'll get much sleep without some help. Is there a doctor here or should I get Phlox to send down a sedative?" "There is a physician here. I will see that he visits the commander." "Thank you, T'Pol. Whatever happens – good or bad – keep me informed." "Yes, sir. Rest assured that I will join you when Ambassador V'Lar reaches Vulcan in three days. I will bring Mr. Tucker along with me if he is well enough to participate in the talks. Try not to worry." Archer tried to smile, but it was a weak effort at best. He knew T'Pol was only trying to be optimistic for his benefit. As much as he'd like to believe otherwise, Jon knew that it would take Trip more than three days to pull himself together. He'd just have to manage without him. "Take good care of him, T'Pol." With a tired wave of his hand, Archer started down the staircase, but as he descended, his pace slowed. Finally, he halted. He knew that his decision to create Sim would haunt him for the rest of his life. But his peace of mind was a small price to pay for saving Trip's life. Without turning around, he confessed, "I've never regretted saving him, T'Pol. Not for a single minute." With that said, he continued down the stairs and into the waiting shuttle. Without uttering a word of greeting, the pilot closed the hatch and proceeded to get underway. "I'd like to make a brief stop at Enterprise before returning to the conference," Archer said, making an effort to keep the fatigue out of his voice. "As you wish," the pilot replied neutrally. Archer leaned back, resigned to the fact that he would never be able to get comfortable on the shuttle's rigid seats. He had to hope that tomorrow would be better, because he couldn't take too many more days like today. Sighing deeply, he turned his head and gazed disinterestedly out of the viewport. If the talks with the Vulcans fell apart, he would feel a sense of personal failure, but he'd get over it. He knew he wouldn't recover so quickly from being forced to relieve Trip of his duties. How could he, in good conscience, send his best friend back to Earth to be picked apart by a battery of Starfleet psychiatrists? It would mean the end of Trip's career. And without Commander Tucker in uniform, Starfleet would be denied access to one of the greatest engineering minds of his generation. And what about Jonathan Archer? What did he stand to lose? Only the companionship of a man he loved like a brother. He'd fought so hard for Trip, protected him on so many occasions, but without a little luck, that was all about to come to an end. He was the captain. This time he had to do what was best for Starfleet and for Enterprise. All he had to cling to was the wafer-thin hope that a Vulcan priest could pull off some kind of miracle. If that didn't happen, if there was no miracle, then his hands were tied. This time, instead of saving Trip, he could, in fact, become the instrument of his destruction. CHAPTER 23: SOVAL "How much do you think the humans know about our wayward cousins?" Torok asked Ambassador Soval. The two Vulcans were sequestered in the small library, which along with an equally small bed chamber, comprised the quarters of the high priest. The only furnishings in the room were two curved-back chairs and a small octagonal table of brushed metal. An intricately stitched wall hanging adorned the wall behind the chairs. The focal point of the hanging was a large grey triangle. Wedge-shaped rays, done in muted shades of burgundy, orange, gold and dusty blue, radiated from the center, giving the entire piece a circular effect. Three bolts of embroidered light done in metallic threads shot from the top of the triangle at right angles, endowing the hanging with a power and grandeur that Soval had always found pleasing. Floor to ceiling shelves ran along the opposite wall. Those shelves held the reading materials that Torok had meticulously collected during his lifetime. An encyclopedic collection, it contained a portion of the wisdom and knowledge of many worlds. "Very little," Soval answered, after giving the matter some thought. "I have made some discreet inquiries with representatives from various branches of Starfleet. To a man, their knowledge of the Romulan Empire seems to be confined to the encounter with the drone ship." "Wasn't the humans' ship damaged several years ago by a Romulan mine?" "Yes, but it amounted to nothing," Soval assured him. "The humans have had no direct contact with the Romulans. They are unaware of our common heritage. It would be best it we can keep them from discovering the connection, at least for the foreseeable future. Diplomatic relations between Earth and Vulcan are difficult enough without providing the humans with new reasons to distrust us." "Romulan agents have spent decades infiltrating our government," Torok observed. "It is only a matter of time before the true identity of one of them is revealed. We must take precautions so that, when the worst happens, it does not become common knowledge. The humans must not learn of it." "I will speak with Kuvak and T'Pau," Soval said as he leaned toward the table. "We need to begin making plans to deal with such an eventuality." He picked up a glass and filled it with water from an elegantly curved alabaster carafe. Before setting the carafe back on the table, he held it up, offering to fill a glass for the high priest. Torok distractedly shook his head. "I was relieved when V'Las was removed from power. I have been suspicious of him for many years now. His policies have steadily pushed us toward a confrontation with Andoria. Of course, you are aware that he was the man responsible for setting up the listening post in the P'Jem monastery." Soval nodded. "Covert surveillance. Spies." Torok waved his hand dismissively. "Blatant sacrilege. The threat of a war with the Andorians has been hanging over our heads for far too long. If this policy is allowed to continue, it will further divide our already weakened government, leaving Vulcan ripe for a coup d'etat. I don't need to tell you, Soval, that the Romulans destroy by stealth. They burrow from within, spreading their poison, until the body politic dies. They do not want to unite our peoples; they wish to enslave us." "I agree," Soval said seriously. "Given the present circumstances, we could be vulnerable if the Romulans choose to mount a well-organized attack. It might be necessary for us to seek help from the Coalition." Torok leaned back in his chair. "An alliance cobbled together by humans. It is ironic, isn't it?" "Yes. The future of our species may well rest in the hands of those same emotionally unstable humans we have disdained since making first contact over a century ago. But there can be no doubt that the humans are all that hold this uneasy coalition together. In my estimation, we must do whatever it takes to keep their loyalty. Unfortunately, it will not be an easy transition for many of our people." "No. We have felt superior for far too long." Torok looked pointedly at Soval. "Where are we most vulnerable." "At the moment, Admiral Kiran is in a position to do the most damage." The wrinkles on Torok's forehead deepened as he furrowed his brow. "Kiran is a fool. He is easily led by shrewder men who pander to his prejudices." Before Soval could reply, there was a knock on the door. "You may enter," Torok called authoritatively. The door opened and T'Pol stood in the arched doorway, her red uniform standing out in stark contrast to the tawny color of the surrounding walls. She hesitated before taking a few steps into the room. "I do not wish to disturb you, but I thought you would like to know that Captain Archer just left. I am afraid that his meeting with Commander Tucker did not go well." "And how is Commander Tucker?" Torok asked. "He is deeply disturbed." T'Pol seemed to be unaware that as soon as she spoke those words, both of her hands clenched into fists. "I believe that he is in danger of being overwhelmed by his grief." "You seem unsettled, T'Pol," Soval said with concern in his voice. "I take it that Mr. Tucker is no longer able to shield his thoughts from you." "He is trying to protect me, but he cannot. His emotions are too chaotic, too painful." T'Pol suddenly took a deep breath and straightened her stance. In one smooth motion, her hands disappeared behind her back. "You need not be concerned. I have dealt with Mr. Tucker's turbulent emotions in the past. I can do so again." Lifting her chin, she continued, "Captain Archer was finally able to convince the commander to lie down, but I do not believe he will be able to fall asleep without assistance." "Have Doctor Kaal see to the commander's needs," Torok said. "Instruct him to give you a sedative as well." "That will not be necessary. If I meditate,…" "Do as I say, T'Pol," Torok ordered in a no-nonsense tone of voice. "Commander Tucker's ordeal has only just begun. Tomorrow, he will need your strength and support. It would be best if you are rested." "I will do as you wish," T'Pol answered. When she turned to leave, Soval called out to her. "T'Pol, I was just about to brief Torok on a matter of great importance. I believe it is something you should hear as well." Soval glanced quickly at the high priest who instructed him to proceed. "I spoke to Admiral Kiran twenty minutes ago. T'Pol, he knows that you are here with Commander Tucker. Like many others, he is aware of the furor that surrounded both of you when Terra Prime created a child from your DNA. So far, the admiral has not been able to discover why the two of you came here, but he is suspicious." "What T'Pol and that young man do is none of Kiran's business," Torok replied. "He should be spending his time reorganizing our fleet, not behaving like a gossipy old woman." "I am afraid it is far worse than that," Soval said grimly. "The admiral has threatened to break off the talks with Archer and the humans unless he can be assured that T'Pol and Mr. Tucker have not entered into a relationship." T'Pol pressed her lips into a thin line. She was obviously distressed by the news. After a silent struggle to regain her composure, she murmured, "I can assure you that we will not allow the talks to be cancelled. When Trip…Commander Tucker is better…when he is thinking clearly…we will try to find a way…" "That will not be necessary," Torok said firmly. "You have more pressing concerns. Let me handle Admiral Kiran." "And what if he will not be handled?" Soval observed reluctantly. "I do not like to submit to threats, but we must think of the good of the many. I believe the admiral has the power to drive a wedge between the humans and our government. His distrust of all aliens could even put the Coalition at risk." "There are always options." Torok turned his attention to T'Pol. "Go and see the doctor. Tell him that I want him to sedate both you and Commander Tucker. Is that understood?" "Yes," T'Pol answered quietly. "And I shouldn't have to remind you, T'Pol, that your uniform is out of place here. While you are at the Sanctuary, I expect to see you in more appropriate attire." She bowed slightly, then, turning on her heel, left the room. When they were once again alone, Torok said, "I believe I will have a drink of water after all, Ambassador." Soval reached for the carafe and poured a glass of water for the high priest. "Do you really think that we can stop Kiran and his supporters?" "We have no choice." Torok took the glass from Soval, drank deeply and returned the glass to the table. "The talks must continue. That is inarguable. We must also do all that we can to protect Commander Tucker. I believe that he can be useful to us. With the proper training, he is a man who could eventually move comfortably in both the human and the Vulcan worlds." Soval was caught off guard by that statement. "Commander Tucker is one of the most emotional humans I have ever known. I find it hard to believe that he would ever be comfortable in our world." "Do not underestimate him. He has an agile mind, an ability to adapt to his surroundings, and a gift for putting people at ease. Through his relationship with T'Pol, I believe he has also developed a genuine interest in our people. He has integrity, and he is not easily intimidated. If this Romulan threat persists, he could become a valuable advocate for us." "Yes," Soval said slowly as he carefully considered his mentor's words. "You might be right. He did make a favorable impression on T'Les, and I know that she held a rather low opinion of humans." Soval folded his arms and began to think out loud. "At present, Jonathan Archer is the man who holds the Coalition together. I believe that he will try to be impartial, but he has resented Vulcans since he was a boy. That mindset is hard to break. Archer is stubborn and often unwilling to take the advice of others, but if any man can get through to him, it would be Commander Tucker." Soval found himself beginning to warm to the idea. "And if for some reason Archer is forced to step aside, Mr. Tucker is a formidable leader in his own right. He has twice prevented a war with Andoria while in command of Enterprise. Yes. It might be a viable option." "But this must be handled carefully," Torok cautioned. "That young man is no fool. If he thinks that we see him only as a pawn we can control, he will resent it…and rightly so. I want him to think for himself. If he formulates his own opinions, his arguments will be far more compelling." "I will make a point to spend more time with him whenever possible. At the very least, it will give him an opportunity to use me as a sounding board." "That is very wise, Soval." Torok allowed his gaze to travel around the room. "I believe Commanders Tucker and T'Pol represent the future. For the preservation of both species – humans and Vulcans – we must learn to set aside our differences and work together, much as they have." "Our people will not accept their relationship. I doubt that the humans will either." "It will take time. For now, it would be best if their relationship was not common knowledge. But if we lay the proper groundwork, they can eventually emerge as a symbol of the strong union between our two peoples." Torok leaned in toward Soval. "It will not be easy. As you have already noted, it is never easy to change the habits of a lifetime, but it must be done. When I am gone, the responsibility will fall to you, Ambassador, to continue to mold public opinion. The bond between humans and Vulcans must ultimately become as strong the bond that joins T'Pol to that young man." Frowning, Soval quietly said, "You do not set an easy task for me." "Of course it isn't easy, but it must be done." Torok leaned forward, giving added weight to his words. "We have always lived amidst our enemies. Some of them now purport to be our friends, but I ask you, Soval, can they be trusted? Our Romulan cousins threatened us from within. The discovery of the Kir'Shara has left our people feeling confused about who they are and what it means to be Vulcan. Our fleet is ineffectual. Our government is in chaos. We do not live in easy times, Ambassador." "I did not mean…" "We have adapted in the past in order to survive. We must do so again. Mark my words, these humans will not stop until they have reshaped this quadrant to suit themselves. They are not as ruthless as the Klingons or the Romulans, but they are just as determined. If we do not move forward with them, we will be left behind to struggle alone." "I understand." "I hope you do, Soval. The members of the High Command made a serious mistake when they refused to support Earth in the fight against the Xindi. For years, humans have chafed under our control. Now Archer and the crew of Enterprise have proved conclusively that the humans no longer need us. Unaided, they not only destroyed the weapon that threatened Earth, but managed to persuade their enemies to become allies. That is an impressive accomplishment." "You are correct in your assessment," Soval observed, "but, whether the humans are prepared to admit it or not, they do still need us. We represent the voice of order and reason. Vulcan logic will ensure that any strides the humans make will be built upon a solid foundation." Torok leaned back in his chair and seemed to relax a bit. "I agree. Now you must convince both parties that this is the new reality." Soval nodded in resignation. "I do not expect you to do this alone, Soval. Kuvak is too weak to be of much help, but T'Pau and Vaaris stand ready to assist you. They are still very young, but I have been grooming both of them for years to assume positions of authority in the government. Now that they sit on the council, feel free to make use of their prodigious talents." "I regret that Admiral Forrest is no longer alive," Soval murmured. "His assistance would have been invaluable." "Another victim of V'Las and his unspeakable treachery," Torok observed. "The admiral's death was unfortunate, but we must concern ourselves with the resources that are now available to us. Who speaks for the humans?" Soval paused for a moment to organize his thoughts. "Admiral Gardner has assumed Admiral Forrest's duties. He is a risk taker with modest diplomatic skills. He is rumored to have less than warm feelings toward aliens, but I have personally seen no indication of prejudice on his part. "Admiral Uhlani has little deep space experience, having spent most of his career in administrative positions. He is a staunch advocate for the creation of a strong, unified front to meet the Romulan threat. He is both a visionary and an extremely powerful man. We would do well to keep our eye on him. "Mr. Samuels is a politician." Torok's only response was a dismissive wave of the hand. "Can you tell me anything more about Jonathan Archer?" "He is a good man. Some day he might even become a great man. At the moment, he is well positioned to influence history, but he must first master himself. Most of his life has been spent trying to emerge from his father's shadow. Archer is an idealist who has been gravely disillusioned by the Xindi conflict. He has consistently shown an inability to delegate in times of crisis. By choosing to place himself in life-threatening situations, he removes himself from a position of overall command and ultimately places much of the responsibility for the success or failure of a mission in the hands of a subordinate. His strongest asset is his gift for bringing people together. "So my recommendation," Soval concluded, is to watch Gardner, court Uhlani, and rely heavily on Archer, T'Pol, and Tucker." A shadow passed over Torok's face. "What is it?" Soval asked uneasily. "Commander Tucker can only help us if he is able to resume his duties. At the moment, I am not sure if that is possible." "Your talk with him was not beneficial?" "Yes and no," Torok said softly. "At some point in his life, that young man experienced a horrific event, which is slowly destroying his katra. He has buried that memory so deeply that I would have done irreparable damage to his mind if I had tried to forcibly gain access to it. In order to help him, I must know what he is hiding." Torok locked eyes with Soval. "I want you to speak with someone who knew him as a child, preferably his parents." "His parents were members of Terra Prime. They may not be willing to talk to me." "Until recently, Commander Tucker has had a close and supportive relationship with his parents. I am sure that they will only want what is best for him. If you approach them in the proper way, they will tell you what I need to know." "I will do my best." Torok allowed his eyes to roam around the room once again before settling on the ambassador. "This young man intrigues me, Soval." The high priest's voice was surprisingly gentle. "We must set his mind at rest." * * * * * * "May I help you, sir?" Even across the light years Soval could see the confusion in the intensely blue eyes that stared back at him. "I would like to speak with Mr. Charles Tucker, Jr." The young freckle-faced man in Starfleet blue tilted his head to one side and wrinkled his brow. "Pardon me, sir, but aren't you the Vulcan ambassador?" "That is correct. I am Ambassador Soval. And you are?" A lock of henna hair fell across the human's forehead as he snapped to attention. "Lieutenant Hugh MacElvoy, Starfleet Intelligence, at your service. It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." Soval raised one eyebrow in surprise. "Starfleet Intelligence?" "Yes, sir. Mr. Tucker contacted us yesterday. I'm afraid there's been a little trouble here." Looking beyond the eager lieutenant, the ambassador could see that the office in which the young man stood was in a state of disarray: a few glass shards still clung to the frame of a large picture window on the back wall, a cabinet door hung askew, and debris littered a large metal desk and the surrounding floor. "What happened?" "A terrorist group planted a bomb in the office at Mr. Tucker's boatyard." MacElvoy head pivoted as he surveyed the damage. "Evidently, they're a splinter group that broke away from Terra Prime. We'd never heard of them until they took credit for this bombing." Taken aback, Soval asked, "Was anyone hurt?" "No. The bomb went off at night when everyone was gone." Lieutenant MacElvoy looked a little disappointed. "Actually, it really wasn't much of a bomb. Just blew out the windows and messed things up a bit. Oh, and some of the boats out in the yard were vandalized." The lieutenant shrugged. "A little paint, a sledge hammer, a couple of two by fours…you know how it goes. It looks like it was done more as a warning than anything else. I think the terrorists just wanted to remind the Tuckers that they could strike at them any time, any where. Fortunately, it appears as though the Tuckers don't run scared. I think if Mr. Tucker had his way, he'd personally kick each of those terrorists from today clear into tomorrow." Suddenly remembering to whom he was speaking, Lieutenant MacElvoy stiffened and instantly wiped the grin from his face. "Is Mr. Tucker on the premises?" "Yes, sir," MacElvoy replied crisply. "He's out in the boatyard. I'll get him for you. Good-bye, Ambassador." Soval nodded and the lieutenant immediately disappeared from view. Soval sat quietly as he reviewed the information MacElvoy had provided. It was fortuitous that Commander Tucker was sequestered on Mount Seleya. In his present condition, who knows what kind of an effect such news would have on the already distraught human? "Who in the hell are you and whadda ya want?" A rather florid human face glared belligerently at Soval. "I'm a little busy right now." Soval took in the slope of the nose and the shape of the face. There could be no doubt that this man was the commander's father. "I am Soval, Vulcan Ambassador to Earth. I would like to speak with you about your son." "Great! That's all I need!" Charlie Tucker plowed his fingers through his graying hair. "Have those terrorist bastards done something to Trip?" The stocky human in the blue plaid shirt thrust his face closer to the screen and stabbed one finger in Soval's direction, causing the Vulcan to instinctively pull back. "I swear if they've hurt my boy, I'll kill the lot of them! They call themselves the Sons of Liberty. Don't that beat all! They're sons of bitches, if you ask me." Huffing, he looked away. "Those worthless scum suckers couldn't even come up with an original name," he grumbled under his breath. "Calm yourself, Mr. Tucker. No one has injured your son." "Then why am I talkin' to ya?" Mr. Tucker's attention snapped back to Soval. "I don't usually get calls from Vulcan ambassadors. We don't exactly travel in the same social circles, ya know." "I am aware of that." Soval sighed inwardly. It appeared as though the father was going to be even more exasperating than the son. "At present, Commander Tucker is staying at the Sanctuary on Mount Seleya. He came to us to try and regain his health. He has been…" "I don't believe that for a minute," Tucker interrupted angrily. "Why would he go to you Vulcans for help? Starfleet has plenty of human doctors. We need to take care of our own." "Mr. Tucker…" "You say he's not feelin' well," Tucker growled. "What's wrong with him?" "Your son is struggling with depression." "Depression? I think you've got your wires crossed. Trip's tough. He can handle anything life throws at him. Now, if there's nothin' else, I've got a real mess to clean up here." "I know you are upset about the destruction of your property, but do not take this lightly, sir," Soval chided. "If we cannot resolve this problem, and quickly, the commander will probably be forced to resign from Starfleet. His career will be in ruins. I do not believe you want that any more that I do." Mr. Tucker stood motionless, hands on hips, as he processed what the ambassador had just told him. Finally, he muttered, "As bad as that?" "I am afraid so." Tucker raised his right hand and scrubbed it across the back of his neck. "You talk like you know my son." "I have known Commander Tucker for five years. He is a brilliant engineer and an extremely capable leader. He is also my friend." "I didn't think you Vulcans had friends," Mr. Tucker scoffed. "I have lived on Earth for many years. I understand what it means to be a friend. Your son stood by me when my government stripped me of my position. He helped to avert a war between my people and the Andorians. Now, I would like to return the favor. I cannot do that without your help." Mr. Tucker cast his eyes downward and shook his head. After a few moments, Soval could only conclude from the human's rigid posture that he was unwilling to cooperate. It was regrettable, but not totally unexpected. This, after all, was a man who had no great love for aliens. He would not willingly entrust his son to their care. "I apologize for bothering you, Mr. Tucker," Soval said quietly. "This is obviously not a good time to…" Before Soval could finish, Mr. Tucker suddenly raised his head and said, "You must think that I don't give a damn about my boy." He swept his arm around the room. "Compared to my son's welfare, my business, this office, the boats – none of them mean anything to me. If Trip went to you for help…if you're his friend, that's good enough for me. I'll do anything I can. What do ya want ta know?" Soval took a split second to reflect on the unpredictability of human nature. No matter how many years he spent on Earth, he would never be able to fully fathom the inner workings of the human mind. "Tell me, Mr. Tucker, was your son involved in some tragic event during his childhood? Something so devastating that it might mark him for the rest of his life?" Instantly, the color drained from Mr. Tucker's face. Turning away, he shook his head as though he was trying to drive an intolerable thought from his mind. "It can't be," he mumbled softly. "Not after all this time." "Mr. Tucker, I know this is difficult for you," Soval said sincerely, "but I must know what is troubling the commander." "There's gotta be some mistake." Mr. Tucker turned back and looked the Vulcan squarely in the eye. "Trip got over that years ago." Soval managed to suppress a sigh. Why couldn't humans be straightforward? Where was the logic in speaking in riddles? "There is no mistake," Soval stated pointedly. "Please tell me. What did your son ‘get over'?" Trip's father continued on as though the Ambassador hadn't spoken. "He dealt with those memories and moved on. He was the same happy kid he'd always been. He laughed, he played..." "Mr. Tucker." "…he was smart – smarter than any of my other kids. It never affected his school work. Trip's the toughest kid I've ever known." Raising his voice, Soval exclaimed, "Mr. Tucker, please." Trip's father immediately fell silent. He had a defiant look on his face, but there was pure anguish in his eyes. "The commander has never been able to deal with the memories of some traumatic event," Soval stated firmly. "They are slowly destroying his life. Tell me what happened so that we can help him finally put the past to rest." As Soval watched, all of the fight drained out of Trip's father. Within moments, only a weary, beaten man remained. "I need to sit down," he mumbled before turning slowly to retrieve a chair that lay discarded on the floor beside the desk. When he was seated, he once again met Soval's eyes and slowly started to talk. "You're spot on. Trip was involved in an accident. A terrible, terrible…" Obviously distressed, Mr. Tucker rubbed a weathered hand across his mouth. "I guess I'd better explain." He took a deep breath. "My father-in-law loved antique airplanes. After years of beggin' and pleadin', he finally talked his wife, Olivia, into letting him get a twin-engine Piper Seminole. It wasn't long before she regretted her decision because Joe treated that plane better than he ever treated her. He flew every chance he got. A couple of times a month, he'd fly down from their home in Winter Haven and take us for a ride. My other three kids got tired of it pretty quickly, but Trip could never seem to get enough. He loved that plane as much as his grandpa did. "The day after Trip's tenth birthday Joe and Olivia flew down to spend a few days with us and take him on a special plane ride. Trip talked about nothing else for weeks. My wife and I went to the airport with them and watched them take off. That was the last time my wife saw her parents alive. The plane went down in the Everglades. The experts said it was some sort of catastrophic mechanical failure. To be honest, I didn't want to know the details. "I went with the rescue party. We found what was left of the plane about forty minutes after it crashed. Joe and Olivia were dead, but the good Lord was lookin' out for Trip. He was scratched and bruised, but there were no broken bones or internal injuries. We found him sittin' on a log beside the plane. He was in shock: shiverin', covered in his grandparent's blood. The medics wrapped him in blankets and, after he was stabilized, they let me hold him all the way to the hospital. I talked to him about anything and everything I could think of, but he didn't seem to know who I was. He spent three days in the hospital before the doctors finally released him. He's never talked about what happened that day…to anyone." "You tried to find someone to help him deal with the trauma, didn't you?" Soval asked quietly. "Of course we did – first thing," Mr. Tucker said indignantly. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he seemed to regret his abruptness. "Trip is just too damn stubborn for his own good. We took him to one doctor after another. He'd grudgingly talk to them about school or his dog or his favorite football team, but as soon as they'd ask him about the accident, he'd clam up. He'd just sit there, starin' off into space. We even tried hypnosis a couple of times. That didn't work either. We finally gave up. "During the day, he seemed to be doin' as well as could be expected, but at night, he'd have terrible nightmares. He'd wake up screamin', tremblin' all over, covered in sweat. Then things started to get a little better. The nightmares seemed to be a thing of the past. Less than a month after the crash, he collapsed from exhaustion. It never occurred to us that a kid could develop insomnia. He'd read all night or work on one of his hobbies or projects for school – anything but sleep. Trip went back into the hospital for a couple of days. When we brought him home again, a doctor sent along a prescription for a sedative, and he was finally able to get some sleep. He was so young," Mr. Tucker said in a solemn voice. "No kid should have ta deal with so much misery." "But he did deal with it," Soval observed. "He apparently learned to survive by suppressing his memories." "I guess that makes as much sense as anything. A month after the accident my wife asked Trip if he was uncomfortable having a picture of his grandparents on the fireplace in the family room. He didn't know what she was talkin' about. He didn't know the picture was there. He honestly couldn't see it. He never spoke about them, and to make things easier for him, we didn't either. It was hard on my wife. She kinda figured that it was disrespectful to her parents' memory, if you know what I mean. But Trip came first. It took him almost five years before he was finally able to acknowledge that they were dead. To this day, if you ask about his grandma and grandpa, he'll tell you that they died in an accident. That's it." "Having watched Commander Tucker over the years, I would not have guessed that he had experienced such a disturbing event in his youth," Soval said. "When I first met him he seemed rather wide-eyed and innocent, as though the unpleasant side of life had never really touched him." "People think Trip's easy to read, but they're wrong. Nobody knows what he's really thinkin' or feelin' unless he wants them ta know. For awhile, he was kinda angry – lashin' out at everyone who tried to help – but I guess that just didn't sit real well with him. Trip's a fighter. He does whatever it takes to get things done. He decided that he wanted to be happy, so he worked through things until he felt happy again. He wanted his life to be like it was before the crash, so he made it happen. I know it's hard to believe, but he did it all by himself. My wife and I were so relieved to have our easygoing, energetic boy back that we didn't ask too many questions." Mr. Tucker took a deep breath and sighed. "Maybe we should have." "Was he ever troubled again by these memories?" Soval asked. "He hit some rough spots over the years, but I can only remember one other time when things really got out of whack for him. One of Trip's high school buddies drowned accidentally while they were out swimmin' together. When the police brought Trip home, he kept to his room for the rest of the evening. By the following day, he'd pulled himself together enough so that he was able to give the police a statement and talk to Vince's parents. He tried to hold back the tears at the funeral, but it was obvious that he was devastated. His insomnia came back with a vengeance, but somehow it never really seemed to slow him down during the day. About a week after the accident, he asked our doctor for some sedatives. He refused to go for counseling. Said he didn't need it. After a couple of months, he'd worked his way through his grief and things were back to normal." Soval nodded. A great many things were beginning to make sense. "I hope this helps." Mr. Tucker rose from his chair and pushed it back toward the desk. "Please do what you can for my son. I've lost one child already. I'll be damned if I'm gonna lose another." He swallowed hard and looked away. "You must think I'm a pretty sorry excuse for a father, lettin' my boy suffer this way all these years." "Not at all," Soval replied calmly. "I have observed that Commander Tucker will always put the welfare of others before his own. I suspect that when your wife's parents died, she was unable to hide her grief from him." Mr. Tucker nodded. "Yeah, she was pretty broken up about the accident." "Your son wanted to make his mother feel better. He knew that he could not resurrect his grandparents, but he could restore her happy, healthy son to her. He did whatever was necessary in order to make that happen. He was simply too young to realize that his actions could have long-term consequences." "I should have done more for Trip." Mr. Tucker smacked one fist against the palm of his other hand. "I should have found a way to help him, instead of leavin' him to manage on his own." "Come now, Mr. Tucker. Self-recrimination will accomplish nothing. Besides, I believe that you may have just given us the key to helping your son." "I hope you're right." Mr. Tucker again looked directly at Soval. "I'd be pleased if you'd call me by my given name. You can use Charlie or Charles…whichever comes easier to ya. Just don't call me Chuck. Whenever I hear that, it always puts me in mind of a piece of meat." The ambassador raised one eyebrow, momentarily at a loss for words. "I believe I would prefer Charles. And you may address me as Soval." "Soval, huh? Interestin' name." Mr. Tucker took a step closer to the monitor. "Now that we've got that settled, I hope that you'll give me a call and let me know how Trip's doin'. I won't be gettin' much sleep until I know that he's gonna be okay." "I will contact you again in the next couple of days…Charles." Mr. Tucker's face broke out in a grin. Soval marveled again at the enjoyment humans derived from such simple things. So like children. "Thanks, Soval. I'd appreciate that. You know, just when you think you've got life figured out, it jerks you around and points you in another direction. Last year I'd have been glad to personally escort every damned alien off the face of this planet. Now here I am exchangin' pleasantries with the Vulcan ambassador. And you're tryin' your best to help my son." Mr. Tucker shook his head as though he still couldn't quite believe what was happening. "That Dr. Phlox on Enterprise seems to be a real nice guy. And T'Pol – that little Vulcan gal of Trip's…" Soval nodded in recognition. "She called to tell us to be on the look out for trouble. That was mighty nice of her." Mr. Tucker pursed his lips and dropped his eyes. Slowly one foot began to move, tracing lazy circles through the debris on the floor. "Yeah," he mumbled under his breath, "that was sure mighty nice of her. That son of mine had better watch himself." "I beg your pardon." Soval wrinkled his brow in an attempt to understand this human whose thoughts and emotions swung so freely from one extreme to the other. Mr. Tucker's head came up, but instead of looking at the Vulcan, his gaze wandered off to a far corner of the room. "Trip's got no common sense when it comes ta women. That T'Pol's already got him runnin' around in circles. All she's gonna have to do is bat her eyes and swivel her hips a couple o' times, and he'll be roped and branded for life." Soval sat a little straighter. That last statement was definitely unexpected. "Do you find that possibility distasteful?" Mr. Tucker considered for a moment. His face remained impassive, but Soval could tell there was a war going on behind the human's eyes. "I suppose you think I'm gonna say yes," Mr. Tucker responded edgily, finally dragging his attention back to the Vulcan. "Well, I'm nobody's fool, Soval. It's pretty obvious that Trip thinks the world of her. I know that if we force him to choose, he'll walk away from us and we'll never see him again. I'm not gonna let that happen. If Trip loves her, that's good enough for me." Evidently sensing Soval's continued skepticism, Charlie added, "Look, I'm a big enough man to admit when I've been wrong. You can't judge all aliens by the actions of a few anymore than you can with human beings. Besides, it wasn't aliens, but a bunch of no-good, hell-raisin' humans who blew up my office and ruined my boats." As soon as the last word left his lips, Mr. Tucker's brow creased and a troubled look passed over his face. His eyes quickly glanced around the room. "Don't tell Trip what happened here. He needs to be concentrating on getting better, not worryin' about us. We'll be fine. I only hope…" He hesitated for moment as his jaw clenched. "I only hope that he can forgive me for bein' so blind. I want my son back. I miss him." "Rest assured, Charles, that we will do everything we can. And do not worry. I will refrain from telling the commander about the terrorists' activities. You are correct. It will not aid him in his recovery. When he is better, perhaps he will contact you and you can tell him yourself." "That would be…" Suddenly, the office door swung open and a rangy old man in a blue denim shirt stuck his head in. "Hey, Charlie, we got more problems. You better get your butt out here and…" The man's eyes moved rapidly from Tucker to the monitor, taking in the situation. "Sorry to interrupt, but those Starfleet boys think they've found another bomb in one of the boathouses. Thought you'd like to know." His grey eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who's this guy? Is he givin' ya any trouble?" "Shit," Charlie muttered under his breath as he ran his fingers once again through his hair, leaving strands sticking out at all sorts of unruly angles. "Take it easy, Earl. I'll be right out. Ambassador Soval and I are just about finished. He's tryin' to help Trip with some problems he's been havin." "An ambassador, huh?" Earl let the door swing open a little wider so that he could get a better look. "You're gettin' up in the world, Charlie. Maybe when this here ambassador's done helpin' Trip, he can stop by and give us a hand. If a couple more of these bombs go off, we're gonna need all the help we can get." With that ominous pronouncement, Earl left, disgustedly slamming the door behind him. "Don't mind Earl. He's worked for me for over thirty years. Sometimes I think he figures that he's runnin' the place instead of me." Mr. Tucker fixed his eyes on Soval. "Thanks again for bein' a friend to my boy. I'd best be goin' now." "Live long and prosper." Soval heard Mr. Tucker grumble, "Not much chance of doin' either at this rate," just before he broke the connection. The ambassador sat quietly for a moment, reviewing what he had just learned. "You did well." Soval looked over toward the solitary figure seated in a shadowy corner of the room. "I believe that Mr. Tucker has given us all the information we need. "Yes," Torok said solemnly. "Now we must give him back his son." Back to Part 4 Continue to Part 6

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