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"Green Ice"
Rating: PG-13 Thanks for my readers and betas being patient...I was in the hospital this past week, and I’m now getting back into the swing of things. :) Five The transport lurched hard to port before straightening out again. Passengers screamed and cursed as they lost hold and tumbled all over the compartment. Trip grabbed hold of T’Pol and held her fast even as objects flew all around them. She felt another electric shock go through her body at his touch and when she looked up at him, he met her startled eyes with an expression she couldn’t identify. “Ah...sorry,” he stammered as he literally pried his fingers away from her arm. In that brief moment, T’Pol caught a glimpse of the panic he’d kept at bay under the calm expression. It was almost a wild thing, just writhing under the surface, but Trip wrenched it back under control with a strength rivaling any Vulcan’s. “There is nothing to take offense,” she whispered hoarsely. “We must help the pilots.” “Go on. If anyone can land this bucket, you can.” Resolutely, she closed her mind to the unexpected mental discovery. There were people who depended on her ability to fly this transport. She staggered forward, finding her way by touch, until she reached the door separating the pilot compartment from the rest of the ship. T’Pol forced the door aside as another roar erupted from the bank of consoles to her right. A shadow jerked at the helm controls, then was still, and sparks flared in the darkness. “Take the helm!” Trip yelled. He’d somehow gotten a hold on a fire extinguisher and was dousing the nearest panel with flame-retardant foam. The tone of command snapped her out of her daze and she pulled the pilot from the controls. One look at the readouts told her the bare specifics: down to one engine, compartments leaking atmosphere, abrasive hull plating shredded to nothing. As she gripped the helm, a slow calm came over her. Assess, stabilize, repair. Follow these steps exclusively, my daughter. It is the logical way and in this way, you may save yourself and others. T’Pol compensated for the transport’s heavy port list, then activated the security measures. The sensors indicated a mountain valley some twenty kilometers to the southeast, an expanse of rock partially protected from the winter blizzards. It would be a challenge to land in excellent conditions, but T’Pol’s mind calculated angles of approach and the required speed for a safe landing. Trip’s steady voice issued orders to the passengers behind them. She listened as he told them to brace themselves, that everything was under control, that they would all live. T’Pol silently thanked him, then brought her attention wholly to the controls. Again, that eerie calm filled her as her father’s voice gave her instructions: Keep a close watch on the attitude controls. Do not vary your speed too widely. You hand must be sure and steady during landing. And then, through the bands of snow and wind, she saw her goal: a relatively flattened stretch of rock, surrounded by cliff walls on two sides. Straight and true, she guided the ailing transport towards it. Vibrations shook the walls, wind shear thundered on the ceiling, and two of the aft viewports cracked under the strain. The ground came faster than she expected. The impact threw her forward against the restraints, but she tightened her grip on the stick and rudder. The transport began to slide sideways, unable to find purchase on the wind-blasted rock, and it took all her control not to overcompensate and tip the transport over on its side. Then, just as abruptly, the world stopped moving and became still. T’Pol opened one eye, then the other. We have landed. We are alive. She allowed herself a brief flash of gratitude for whomever had guided her, then tucked that emotion underneath the surface. She raised her head to see that the transport was still in one piece and still had power. At least, freezing to death wasn’t yet a worry. “You did it, T’Pol! We made it!” Trip shouted exuberantly. He staggered his way to her side, then put a hand on her shoulder, being careful not to jostle her too much. “You all right?” “I am...unharmed,” she replied, then added, “All things considered. The passengers in the back compartment?” “A few bumps and bruises, but sounds like no one’s seriously hurt.” Trip’s face became serious again as he immediately began to assess their situation. “Damn, we’re lucky that we still have containment, and looks like we’ve still got enough power for heat. Looks like the engines are shot, though.” “One of them,” T’Pol said. “The other is still functional.” “For how long?” “It appears for at least ten hours, if we conserve energy. If I could make a few adjustments to the remaining engine and the power grid, we could launch again before the storms become worse. The distress beacon has activated, but I am not sure of its range.” Trip nodded in approval. “At least we’re somewhat protected by the valley. And it sounds like we’ve got a plan. How ‘bout if we see if we can get some help from back there? We’ll need more pairs of hands if we’re gonna get out of this.” She nodded and said, “I will inquire. There should be someone who could assist us.” The next few hours passed in frantic activity. T’Pol and three other ship technicians surveyed the wreck of the transport engine and tried to salvage whatever they could. The others were reluctant to work with her, a Vulcan, but she had pointed out that one’s survival was a more than adequate motivator to work cooperatively. None of them wanted to find out just how long they could survive in sub-zero temperatures when the power finally failed. Trip helped whenever he could, in between calming down the passengers and making sure none of them were about to kill each other. T’Pol marveled at the frank, jovial manner that still held a note of command. The eighteen passengers grumbled among themselves, but were glad to give up leadership to someone else. Two denizens had tried to intimidate a young woman into giving up a food ration; Trip made it quite clear that he wouldn’t tolerate it. “And what’re you gonna do about it?” the taller of the two snarled. The Oxian stood at least four inches taller and weighed fifty pounds heavier. Trip just tilted his head and narrowed his eyes up at the Oxian. Silence fell in the compartment as the intimidation crackled between the two. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’m not gonna stand for it. Now, let the lady eat. We all need to stay warm till we get outta here. And believe me, once we do, you can eat whatever you want.” The Oxian raised its hackles and sneered, “Roast purva with blood sauce. Ever had that?” “Actually, yeah. Tastes like catfish. How ‘bout sn’nnekkia?” “Tellarite food? How undignified!” “Ever ate it raw? Squirmin’ all the way to your belly? Lots of calories, oughta try it sometime.” Trip grinned and shrugged. “You wanna try somethin’ different? How about snarf puddin’ with all the trimmings? Even get a usha garnish if it’s made right.” The Oxian bared its teeth and it and Trip launched into a concise discussion about outworlder cuisine. T’Pol listened, flabbergasted, at the gastronomical arguments for and against usha garnish. This man is not only illogical, he is the most contrary Armory Officer in Starfleet. He would rather win with charm and words, not weapons of war. This dichotomy both fascinated and repulsed her; the easygoing Southerner with the single-minded defender of the weak. On the one hand, she marveled at the ease of how he could gain a target’s confidence, but on the other hand, she could also understand how such a skill would make him an excellent operative. Your emotions cloud your judgment, Soval said in her mind again. Have a care, Cousin. Long hours later, the winds howled over the transport, and the survivors fell into an exhausted sleep. Trip finally sat heavily next to her on the floor. He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes; automatically, she reached out and touched his wrist. The electric jolt passed clear through her hand and wiped away her fatigue. Shocked, she glanced over at him, but he hadn’t noticed at all. “Sleep,” she told him softly. “We cannot do much except wait for morning.” She could still see his mind turning behind the placid blue eyes. “T’Pol, I’ve been talking quite a bit with the people back there. Sounds like there’s a lot more going on behind the scenes than we know.” “Indeed?” “Yeah.” He paused and continued, “Dunni—the Oxian—his dad’s one of the main Boomer representatives to Earth and Vulcan. They’ve been pushin’ back the borders of known space and Dunni said his people’s on the brink of makin’ some sorta trade agreement with the Illusyians.” T’Pol forced her tired brain to process the information. Trading consortiums were hardly her specialty, but she did know about the major players who dealt with the Vulcan Trading Commission. “Illusyians...they hold a major trading confederacy just outside Draylaxian space.” “That’s ‘em...and guess who’s also in the runnin’ for major concessions and agreements. Earth, Tellar, Vulcan...the Syklonians, and some other mysterious trading bloc. Dunni couldn’t tell me the particulars, but I’d hazard a guess and say our mutual friends have been doin’ more than just attackin’ colonies and expandin' territory.” She closed her eyes and thought, So, this is what T’Phena and the rest of the V’tosh Ka’tur have been doing all this time. Marshaling their resources, forging agreements, expanding their territories, strengthening their position for the future. And then what? What next? What will they do? Her tone was calm, though the implications were terrifying. “They plan on attacking Vulcan and its allies, including Earth.” “Sure sounds like it.” Trip glanced sideways at her and she saw the worried shadows beneath the casual tone. “Unfortunately, all I’ve got to go on is Dunni’s word, and I don’t think Starfleet or the Vulcan High Command’ll put a lot of stock in hearsay.” “Then we must gather proof, proof that even the Vulcan High Command cannot deny. We must contact Vaeben—Vhadek—and the others. If T’Phena and the V’tosh Ka’tur have been planning this for decades, time is of the essence.” Trip sighed and rubbed his eyes again. “I have the feelin’ that it wasn’t an accident that we got stuck on this particular transport on the surface.” “No.” T’Pol wasn’t one to believe in Fate, but she wouldn’t have put it past T’Phena to conveniently get them out of the way. T’Pol cursed inwardly at the woman’s mad ingenuity and at how the V’tosh Ka’tur seemed to have all to perfection. She felt her frustration melt away as she channeled it into a single thought: The gauntlet has been thrown. We will answer it. “We’ll find a way, T’Pol,” Trip told her softly. “We just have to be patient.” Suddenly, he grinned. “Listen to me: tellin’ a Vulcan to be patient.” “Patience is a virtue, Trip,” she said, with a trace of humor. “And we will need it more than ever now.” “This is the Aegis, hailing unregistered transport. Please respond.” The words were in Vulcan, but they slowly registered in T’Pol’s consciousness. It was the familiar voice that lulled her, another voice from her past that had been kindly yet firm, humorous yet stern. More repressed memories flashed in front of her eyes: hands showing her how to disassemble and reassemble her first Vulcan blaster, guiding her firing arm towards the target, and blocking her first attempts at Suus Mahna. Why had they erased the good memories with the bad? It wasn’t logical. Her eyes snapped open and the welcome warmth evaporated. Her breath came out in small clouds of vapor; the temperature had dropped substantially during the night as the transport’s sole engine steadily provided the necessary heat. She stumbled into the pilot’s seat, hands trembling as she activated the communications circuit. “Vhadek?” she whispered. “Is that you?” “T’Pol?” The relief in her former mentor’s voice was overwhelming. “Are you well?” “I am functional, but we cannot survive much longer here—“ “I have you on sensors. Quite ingenious, landing in a valley to avoid detection. We will be there in fifteen point seven minutes.” “My gratitude to you, Vhadek.” T’Pol sighed and closed her eyes. “It has been too long.” “Indeed.” The humor was back in his voice. “And your—companion?” She heard the hesitation in Vhadek’s—Vaeben’s—tone and wondered at it. “He is also well; he has been instrumental in keeping the passengers alive through the night.” “I am glad to hear of it. T’Pol, we must talk as soon as possible. I need your help...T’Phena has escaped and we must pursue. Will you help us?” She nodded, although he couldn’t see it. “Of course. The bonds of mentor and apprentice run as deep as blood family, Vhadek.” “And as time runs, the bonds may alter, but they stay the same. I must admit that time has altered our mission and what we must do...and I ask that you listen before you decide to join us again.” She raised an eyebrow at his ominous words. “You will speak and I will listen.” “That is all I ask. Aegis, out.” The communications circuit closed with a final snap, leaving T’Pol to wonder just how much her mentor had changed, and just how much T’Phena had changed all of them. |
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