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"Calm Before the Storm" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 Thanks, Pesterfield! For some reason, the formatting kept messing up A.G.'s name! Thirteen Trip Tucker blinked as he traced the power feed lines on the blueprint. He glanced over at Commander A.G. Robinson. The assistant head of Starfleet Engineering R&D only raised his hands in good-natured surrender. Commander Phlox stood on A.G.’s far side and hummed under his breath as he perused the same plans. “We squeezed two extra lines to the new Armory, Trip,” A.G. said, “but that was all we could do without compromising warp capacity. I think Henry wanted to shoot me, but I pointed out that the guys at WeTaRD shipped out some heavy-duty stuff for the Armory. If you expect it all to work instead of blowing up in your face, you damn well better provide the power and the safeguards for it to work.” “I love the WeTaRD guys,” Trip chuckled. “To think I nearly ended up as their boss.” WeTaRD was the Weapons and Tactical Research and Development facility at Cape Canaveral. Trip would have been there instead of Enterprise, had the crew rosters had not been changed. Phlox made a noise of grudging approval. “I suppose if we can juggle the consumption ratios, we can make it work. We’ll situate the new shield capacitors here, here and here, with the controls linked between the Armory and the Tactical station on the Bridge.” “That’s really squeezin’ em in there, Phlox,” Trip said. “I know Shran tried to make it as efficient as possible, but geez, they’re failsafes on the failsafes. Can we make all of ‘em fit?” “They’ll fit,” A.G. reassured him. “Come hell or high water, we’ll make ‘em fit.” “Has Nate seen any of this?” A.G. nodded and glanced at Phlox. “We’ve managed to retrofit the Armory to match some of what Enterprise’s getting,” Phlox replied, “but we were on a very tight schedule to make Admiral Gardner’s deadline. There will be a full complement of Mark I torpedoes, but the Mark Two’s must wait until Columbia’s refit—“ A piercing whine interrupted the Denobulan’s words. A.G. was the closest to the comm speaker, so he pressed its button. “Robinson,” he said. “Commander, is Lieutenant Commander Tucker there?” came T’Pol’s voice. A.G. gave Trip a quizzical look, but Trip shrugged and answered, “Right here, T’Pol.” “I require your assistance in Conference Room A Three immediately.” “What’s wrong?” “I would rather disclose the situation in your actual presence, Lieutenant Commander.” Trip frowned; she was back to referring to him by rank, which meant it either concerned official business, or there was something else that required formality. He heard the slight quaver in her voice that told him that she probably wasn’t alone and that she would rather be safe than sorry. “I’m on my way, Ensign. Tucker, out.” He nodded at A.G. to close the channel. “Wonder what all that’s about.” “That isn’t the T’Pol I’m used to hearing,” A.G. commented. “Agreed,” Phlox said. “Commander Robinson and I will continue the circuit analysis and will brief you later on our impressions.” “Thanks, Phlox. I’ll be back later, A.G.” Trip waved and left, but his usual smile faded as he headed toward the conference room. What was going on? As he walked across the skybridge leading back to the main building of Starfleet Headquarters, he noticed strange, sideways looks coming his way from passersby. Ever since he’d come back from Los Angeles, the furtive glances grew more and more frequent. Trip winced; thanks to Terra Prime and ENN, he figured that they were more notorious than famous now. “Lieutenant Commander Tucker?” Trip halted and turned around. A young woman with red stripes on her uniform waved at him. At first he thought she wanted to speak with him, but her speed and her approach were all wrong. Even as the thought crossed his mind, she launched a high kick at his head. His reflexes saved him before his mind caught up; he ducked and swept a foot at her other leg. She recovered with an elegant grace he’d never seen in anyone and came at him again. “What the hell are ya doin’?” he burst out as he blocked punch after punch. They came so fast and furious that he hardly had time to mount an offensive of his own. He finally saw an opening and grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She swung around and slammed the palm of her free hand against the side of his head. The unexpected blow staggered him and he hit the railing of the skybridge. “You would come when she calls,” the woman sneered. He picked Trip up by the collar and hoisted him up with ease. That convinced him that whoever she was, she wasn’t Human, for he must have outweighed her by at least seventy-five pounds. “You are a disgrace.” “Yeah, but haven’t exactly endeared yourself to me, either,” Trip shot back. “Now, if ya got a problem with me, let’s settle this in a decent way. Put me down and we’ll talk.” She smirked and replied, “I will ‘put you down’, preferably in a manner that will leave her in peace.” And she pivoted on one foot and dangled him over the edge of the skybridge, as if he was a mere doll. By this time, people had gathered on either end of the bridge in horror, and a crowd was forming below the bridge. Someone had called Starfleet Security; Trip thought he heard Nate Kemper’s voice on a communicator somewhere. He made the mistake of glancing below him and he gulped. It was a long way down. He kept as still as possible, for the woman’s grip was the only thing that saved him from oblivion. “If I’m gonna be splattered all over the main floor of Headquarters, at least give me the courtesy of givin’ me the name of who sent me there.” The woman’s smirk widened slightly. “I am one who believes in Mal’khoum and those who disturb that balance should be eradicated. Take that with you as you contemplate your fate.” “Wait a minute, what’s—“ Then she dropped him over the railing, like a used tissue. He screamed as he thrashed out blindly, and his hand caught the edge of the bridge. Then the woman lifted her foot and stomped on his hand. Awful pain shot up his arms as he heard a bone or two break under the impact. His fingers let go of their own accord and he started his free fall. It happened so fast his brain was numb. Just as he tensed for the deadly impact, he felt something soft under him as he landed. No, wait a moment: someone. Two someones, one of them swearing outrageously in Tellarite, the other more quietly in some strange dialect he’d never heard before. No, wait, four someones; the third one definitely cursing in English and the fourth muttering something about antennae. “Wha—?” he choked out, still dazed. He tried to get up, but couldn’t. His back hurt, his shoulders hurt, and his right hand...Trip deliberately didn’t look at it. He couldn’t feel it anymore and that was a bad thing. “This was all your idea, Pink-skin,” moaned one of the four who’d broken his fall. “I am beginning to question the wisdom of this act,” muttered another voice. “Just because the two of you have no extra subcutaneous fat doesn’t mean you are incapable of saving a life,” retorted the third voice. “Oh, shut up, Gral,” said the fourth person. Trip swallowed hysterical laughter as he identified the voice. “Jon??” He managed to whisper. “What?” “You’re hurt, Trip, stay still.” Jon Archer managed to weasel his way out from under the pile. He offered Shran a hand, and the Andorian took it. Trip thought one of Shran’s antennae looked a little bent, but maybe that was just a trick of the light. And his third savior...Soval gracefully picked himself up and straightened his ambassadorial robes. With a flick of his hand, his silver-white hair settled into its usual style. “As much as I’m sure my stomach serves as a soft pillow, Tucker, I’d appreciate it if I could move a bit,” joked Gral. Trip felt a slight tremble as the Tellarite tried to hold in his laughter. “I dunno, Gral, I s’pose I could jus’ take a nap right here—“ he slurred. Reality was starting to break up around him. And just before Trip lost consciousness, he felt a gentle touch on his forehead. I am with thee, do not surrender to the darkness... T’Pol clenched her fists in her lap, out of sight of the video pickup. She glared stonily at the screen, at the image of her fiancé. Koss and T’Les were just concluding their bride-price negotiations. Although it concerned T’Pol, tradition strictly forbade her participation in the talks. She could only sit there and silently fume as her future was discussed. A tickle deep within her brain distracted her from the proceedings. She didn’t know from where it came, but it was strong enough to catch her attention. T’Pol drew all of her senses inward, mentally tracing its path. To her shock, it had come from a thin link, barely formed, a nebulous web connecting her consciousness with... Pain! Fear! Agony! Rage! The emotions slammed into her, stealing her breath and filming her eyes in a bright green haze. She felt a hand clasp hers and calm support flowed into her. T’Pol took a deep breath and blinked hard. “I am gratified to have your cooperation in this matter,” Koss was saying. “My father and I treasure this connection between our families and we would be...quite disturbed if it was to be terminated.” T’Les regarded her potential son-in-law with a cool eye. “Indeed. I am sure it would disrupt many future plans. Yet the future is not set in stone, Koss, and you yourself have told T’Pol that you are willing to wait until this crisis is resolved. Has that changed?” “No, T’Sia,” Koss answered, using the formal address. “That has not changed. I will be patient until this issue with the Va’tosh ka’tur and the I’Rhiamanau is resolved, one way or the other.” “You are quite generous.” “There is enough upheaval in our society as it is, T’Les. One strives for Mal’khoum, for serenity, in the winds of change.” The word echoed in T’Pol’s mind. Mal’khoum. Once, she had informed Doctor Reed that his given name was almost the same as one of Vulcan’s most important tenets. Serenity. The mastery of rampant emotion to find inner peace and balance. Different from kolinahr, the eradication of all emotion. The fear shattered in her heart and blind panic hit her. She felt her mother’s mental command: Go. I will follow when I can. I doubt that your betrothed—and here, T’Les’s mind-voice turned wry—“will even notice your absence.” T’Pol got up as quietly as she could and swiftly left the Conference Room. Her feet flew down the halls and passed by startled Starfleet personnel. Then she emerged on the main floor of Headquarters, just in time to see Trip Tucker clinging onto the skybridge for dear life. A woman in a Starfleet uniform glowered over him; that woman looked up and T’Pol’s heart froze as she recognized those cold, dark eyes. The eyes narrowed, then glimmered in triumph. T’Pol wanted to move, to scream, to do something, but the hateful glare glued her to the spot. In slow motion, she saw the woman lift her foot and bring it down on Trip’s right hand—the one clinging to the skybridge. He cried out and lost his hold and began to fall. Agonized fear slammed through her... ...then figures ran past her. One was Soval, one was Jonathan. There was no time to be gentle or subtle as they—and two others—ended up as a multi-species mattress to break Trip’s fall. She heard Jon’s gasp as the wind was knocked out of him, Shran’s yell as Soval accidentally landed across the back of his shoulders, and Gral’s roar as Trip landed directly on his rotund stomach. There was shocked silence for a heartbeat, then Security and Medical began to close in. T’Pol snapped out of her trance and looked up again, but the woman who’d nearly killed Trip was gone. A surge of anger went through her as she thought, I shall find you and make you pay for what you did. T’Pol...the mental voice was weak, but it was there. She stumbled forward and collapsed at Trip’s side. Somehow, Gral had wriggled out from under him, and now he helped T’Pol settle Trip’s head on her lap. She put her hand on his forehead and thought to him, I am with thee, do not surrender to the darkness. I am with thee...Suddenly Koss was the last thing in her thoughts and she didn’t care. |
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