The BLTS Archive - Stalking the Enemy
Second in the Stalking the Enemy series
by chianna63 (oceans63@swbell.net)

---

Comments: Special thanks to three from the Enterprise Write Brigade
who helped with a much needed lesson in POV- Taryn, DINY and Mara.
There was a moment as I was shuffling through the three beta emails
when I pictured all of you like three benevolent witches of Endor
hovering over my PC trying to help me get this brew straight. Thanks!

Beta reader(s): Special thanks to my beta readers Susan and Rhonda.

Archived to the Web site on 05/04/2003. Archived at EntSTCommunity
with the author's express permission.

---
Chapter 1 - While You Were Sleeping
---

Malcolm had an itch between his shoulder blades for the last two
days. Adventurer, the captain might be. Curious about other races and
worlds would be an understatement. Extending the hand of friendship
was all well and good. But frankly I can do without aliens walking all
over the bloody ship. I'm not head of security. I'm a blasted cruise
ship director who is only occasionally able to deflect the VIPs from
visiting the ship's more sensitive areas.

In fact, he was on his way to diplomatically expel a couple of
overly inquisitive Aviarians from the Armory. His Armory. The crew
made way as Lt. Reed plowed his way through the corridors. No one
wanted to accidentally deflect the lieutenant's sour mood back in his
or her direction.

If Malcolm could find a way, somehow he'd lay the blame at
Commander Tucker's doorstep. The Aviarians were treating them all like
ruddy heroes. Someone on the planet had gotten a hold of the story
that a human had befriended a young orphaned Aviarian. Then the child
had started talking about his friend Trip.

When it leaked that said human had been seriously wounded in the
'battle' to defend their planet, there was a media feeding frenzy.
Aviarians wanted to send their best doctors and Malcolm Reed's most
orderly life was turned topsy-turvy.

If truth be told, Malcolm did understand the fuss. Over 200,000
Aviarians had died in the week and a half that it took to get aid to
their planet. Grief and discouragement had been their bread and butter
for so long that grasping for a happy ending was an almost world wide
imperative.

And they would get it if the blasted yank would get over the
sleeping beauty routine and just wake up.

Rook had arrived on the human starship almost one full cycle ago.
He even spent the night on the ship in Commander Tucker's quarters.
The captain, at first, had seemed very big and serious the first day
as he showed Rook and the ambassadors from his planet around the ship.
T'Pol had been with them and Rook had asked her why the Captain
frowned so much. He did not seem like Trip at all.

T'Pol had told him that the Captain and Trip were good friends
that the Captain would be happy when his friend woke up. Rook simply
said, "Me, too. Could I see him T'Pol, even if he is sleeping?"

Dr. Phlox had assured T'Pol that morning that Commander Tucker's
condition had stabilized. Yet when she had last visited, Mr. Tucker
had still looked the worse for his experiences. T'Pol looked at the
boy. And concluded that Rook had dealt with far worse.

"I will forward your request to the doctor and captain. If they
agree, I will take you to see Mr. Tucker." True to her word, T'Pol did
get permission. She was not surprised to find the captain seated at
his friend's bedside when they arrived at sickbay. Preoccupied with
his thoughts, Archer did not hear the pair come to his side.

Rook thought the captain was looked sad. He placed a hand on the
captain's arm and bent over and whispered, "Trip is gonna be fine.
T'Pol said so. And Trip told me that she doesn't lie." His voice
dropped even lower as he drew closer to Archer's ear. "It's a Vulcan
thing. 'Ya know?" Archer laughed. He could have sworn that that the
kid did a drop-dead impersonation of his friend.

Archer looked over the boy's head and gave T'Pol a big
apple-pie-eating grin. "Why, I think that I have heard that said
before."

The Denobulan doctor approached the trio. "Captain, I'm going to
keep the commander under sedation until tomorrow. When you visit
tomorrow he may even be up for a small piece of pecan pie."

"Alright then. Let's all head to the mess and get some dinner.
What's this, young man, that I hear about Trip wanting to award you
with a field commission as a Starfleet Cadet?"

"He said I could get a medal, too." Archer could see how Trip
could be so taken with this little fellow. Rook's almost coal black
eyes shined with excitement. The captain placed a hand on the small
thin shoulder.

Archer scratched his chin pensively. "Upon reviewing your
courageous actions, I can only think that you deserve the highest
honor awarded to cadets on the Enterprise - the Order of Porthos for
Meritorious Service."

Rook's eyes widened appreciatively. "Really?"

T'Pol looked the captain directly in the eye and took a deep
breath as she added, "This is indeed an honor Rook. No cadet on
Enterprise has ever received this award before." Archer noted that she
did not add that Starfleet did not have an "Order of Porthos" medal or
any cadets serving on Enterprise. But strictly speaking, she did not
lie. Stretching the truth, he thought. That's a human 'thing' he
thought. He could not wait to point that out to T'Pol at the first
opportunity.

Rook looked at the Captain for a moment with a care worn
expression that belied his obvious age. "Could we wait for the
Commander.to get better, I mean." Rook blinked a couple times and then
seemed to contemplate the Captain's boots. "I would like Trip to be
there when I get my medal."

"I don't think that wild horses could keep him away."

"Wild hoses?"

"Horses. Big earth animals. It's an expression. Uh, let's get some
dinner and I'll explain."

After dinner, the Captain introduced Rook to a small quadruped
named Porthos that he called a 'dog.' He must be a very important
member of the crew, Rook thought, to be named after the medal the
Captain and T'Pol told him about. Like the humans, the dog had the
fine strange feathers, but all over his body. And big, soft floppy
ears that Rook liked stroking. Captain Archer said that Porthos and
Rook could have a sleepover in Trip's quarters if they both behaved
themselves. Secretly, the Captain passed a small package of a yellow
substance to Rook and whispered that this was a treat for Porthos, but
that it was Top Secret.

Rook just did not understand why the Captain said that he could
not tell the doctor.

Trip woke up by degrees. Mentally, he took an inventory of the
assorted aches and pains and figured that his luck had finally turned
the corner. He'd put in more than his fair share of time in the
sickbay and he recognized the sounds and smells even before he opened
his eyes. He recognized all the sounds but one - a soft even breathing
coming from somewhere to the right side of Trip's biobed.

Dr. Phlox noted that Mr. Tucker's metabolic rates had increased,
signaling his imminent arrival to consciousness. The chief engineer's
serious injuries had stressed the abilities of sickbay's osmotic eel
population, but now both eels and Mr. Tucker were doing much better.
The doctor glanced at the chair next to the Commander's bed. T'Pol had
been a silent sentry, guarding his bedside every hour that she was off
duty. Occasionally she meditated or, as now, was sleeping next to the
commander's bed. The doctor requested sickbay lights dimmed fifty
percent.

Even with the dimmed light, Tuckers eyes seemed sensitive. Through
a fuzzy focus he could make out T'Pol asleep next to him. Gingerly, he
turned to the doctor on his other side.

The normally booming Denobulan's voice was reduced to a whisper in
response to Trip's unanswered question.

"Yes commander, she has only left your side to go about ship's
business. She seems to be the president of an ever growing fan club
that you have here on the Enterprise."

Their attention was diverted when T'Pol rose from the chair with
cat-like grace. "Currently the president of the fan club is residing
in Mr. Tucker's quarter's with the Captain's dog." After a look of
confusion from Trip, T'Pol added, "Rook came on board after he found
out that you were injured in Engineering. He was accompanied by most
of the Aviarian high council, the chief engineer of the Vulcan Science
vessel San'Jeen and several of the engineering staff of the Vulcan
Combat Cruiser Shiran."

"Whoa, wait just one minute." Trip attempted to sit up and decided
against that plan when he felt a painful pull from his side. "What are
they all doing on Enterprise?"

"They are not just on Enterprise, commander. They are currently in
engineering working with our team to effect repairs." From the sour
look on the Commander's face, T'Pol surmised that human's have yet to
overcome some of their inherent territorial instincts. She also
successfully believed that she had diverted Mr. Tucker's attention
from her presence in sickbay.

She was so very wrong - an unusual miscalculation for a Vulcan. Of
course she was treading in the treacherous waters of human emotion.

---
Chapter 2 - The Sickbay Blues
---

T'Pol, with hands clasped behind her back, made to turn away as if
some invisible superior had barked 'dismissed.'

"Don't make me go and take off after you, T'Pol." T'Pol hesitated
in mid- stride. The sickbay door never had looked so unattainable.

To her discerning review, the commander had not even gotten out
the driveway on his trip down the road to recovery. Where did that
come from, she thought? One of the hazards of a mind meld with this
human? T'Pol speculated as to what other surprises were in store for
both of them. She calculated the amount of time she would have to
meditate to insure that no quaint human epigrams accidentally found
their way into her daily speech. I may have to request additional time
off from the captain, she concluded. She did not make eye contact with
the Commander, but rejoined, "Given your present circumstances, I
doubt that you would be successful."

"Are you so sure?" Trip was sure, but as T'Pol turned back, he
reckoned that she was not willing to call his bluff. He didn't realize
that he had strained forward when he thought that she was going to
leave. For a moment he relaxed back and closed his eyes.

"You stayed with me."

It was a simple statement. T'Pol knew that he referred to more
than just the rescue or her attendance on him in sickbay. She was not
yet ready to acknowledge all of the statement's implications. "I
completed my duty shifts when required."

Trip looked up at her and smiled. "Would those duty shifts you're
talking about be the ones here or on the bridge?" As he attempted to
sit up, Trip flounced the sheet out of his way. She recognized the
utilitarian sickbay gown he wore. His left leg was immobilized in a
lightweight frame that supported the mending break.

"Are you purposely being obtuse, Commander, or are you trying to
provoke me?"

"Would it do me any good?" Suddenly Trip felt like he was a salmon
fighting his was upstream. He was tired and just a little dizzy from
his first effort to get vertical in two days.

Dr. Phlox simply shook his head. Being a doctor, he recognized the
complexities of a mating ritual when he saw it. Why were so many
species loath to admit an attraction? Hmmm, he thought to himself.
There were quite a few examples of species that kill their partners
after mating. He looked back at the human and Vulcan - and smiled to
himself. At least they were already in sickbay, if it came to that.

The Denobulan cleared his throat rather loudly, finally gaining
the attention of the sparing couple. "I think that we should notify
the captain that Mr. Tucker has decided to rejoin the crew."

"Sickbay to the bridge."

"Archer to sickbay. Do we have an update, doctor?"

"Why don't you come and see for yourself. But you may want to make
it fast, Captain. Mr. Tucker needs his rest."

"I'll be down, straight away doctor." There was a gratified murmur
and smiles shared with everyone on the bridge. Malcolm looked at the
Captain expectantly.

Archer did not disappoint him. "Malcolm, why don't you join me? I
may need your assistance to forcibly restrain the Commander. When he
finds out what is going on in Engineering without his supervision..."

Malcolm truly grinned for the first time in days. Archer knew
these men had grown close over the past few months. Trip seemed to
have gotten the Lieutenant to loosen up a bit. Trip's tendency for
stream of conscious ramblings and laconic wit was a good compliment to
the more grounded Mr. Reed.

When Archer and Reed arrived in sickbay, they barely got to the
door before they heard an argument occurring inside. Ensign Kelly
passed the captain and armory officer as they entered. Archer thought
that he heard her say, "I'm so sorry Captain" and reflected that her
flight from sickbay resembled a hasty retreat.

Archer whispered through gritted teeth to Malcolm. "I thought the
doctor said that Trip needed to rest?"

Malcolm shrugged, replying, "I seems that word of the progress in
engineering proceeded us."

"I jus' need ta' see what's going on in Engineering. There's
Aviari-ans, Vulc-ans and who knows what other 'Ans all over my
engines..."

Archer approached. "Those others would be Hum-ans, Trip - your
team. They're working three shifts 'round the clock to get engineering
in order - mostly for you, I might add. We're lucky to have the help
from the planet and the Vulcan's. Damage like this would have required
us to go back to space dock at the very least. As it is, the work will
probably be done in a few more days." Archer gave the commander a
measuring look. Trip was pale and definitely pained by more than his
frustration with the current situation.

T'Pol watched the doctor as he attempted to restrain Trip from
sitting up in the bed. Annoying, exasperating human, she contemplated.
Her fingers flexed as she contemplated using a Vulcan neck pinch on
the recalcitrant engineer.

"Good to see you back to your sunny and stubborn self, Commander."
Malcolm couldn't blame the engineer. He well understood where the
Commander was coming from.

Archer added, "Trip, your station is here for..." He glanced at
the doctor.

"At least for two more days, to be followed up with rest in his
quarters for at least another three," finished the doctor. The
Denobulan gave up trying to restrain the commander, who was still
mulishly trying to get off the biobed. He moved over to one of the
cabinets and started to prep a hypospray. As he turned, he noted that
the Captain silently put up a hand, postponing the injection.

"If you are going to proceed with this mule-headed plan, you're
going to have to get to engineering under your own power."

"That's just fine with me," Trip added as he swung his legs slowly
over the edge of the bed. Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Trip
thought. Bending over to sit up hurt like a sonofabitch.

Archer could see the engineer gasping as he tried to master his
uncooperative body. He broke into a sweat as he placed his bare feet
flat on the floor. For the first time, Archer saw the brace supporting
Trip's leg. He winced, but he knew his friend all too well. Hard
lessons were almost always more effective than lectures. He just
wished that Trip would spare himself a few once in a while.

T'Pol took a step forward, but the captain extended his arm
blocking her from assisting.

For a moment, Archer thought that Trip might just make it out of
sheer pigheadedness. He took one step toward the captain. Suddenly
Archer noticed Trip's eyes roll back as he started to pitch to one
side. Jon acted swiftly, grasping the engineer under both arms. T'Pol
took the Commander's feet and together they swung him back unto the
biobed.

They thought he was out until he said, "Alright. Point made."

"Glad you finally agree," added the Captain. The doctor approached
and leaned over to inject Tucker's neck with the contents of a
hypospray.

Trip's eyes opened and he slurred, "What was that?"

"Just something to take the edge off the pain and help you sleep,"
responded Dr. Phlox.

"Mmmm. Working." Soon, the commander's breathing evened.

Malcolm asked the doctor the question that was all foremost in
their minds. "Is there any chance that you could keep giving him
that," Malcolm pointed to the hypospray, "for a bit longer?" The
Captain tried to hide a smile by turning rapt attention to
contemplating the tops of his shoes.

"If you can keep Mr. Tucker's engineering team out of sick bay for
the next two days, I think we might be able to accommodate that
request."

"I heard that," mumbled Trip as sleep finally caught up with him.

---
Chapter 3 - Dress Uniforms
---
"You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a
club." - Jack London (1896-1916)
---
"The females of all species are most dangerous when they appear to
retreat." - Donald Robert Perry Marquis (1878-1937)
---

T'Pol avoided sickbay for the next couple of days. She had had
enough revelations to keep her meditating for many days to come. Close
proximity to the commander resulted in an odd tickling sensation in
the recesses of her mind. She had reread the literature about the mind
meld and could find no reference to a connection lasting beyond the
meld. Connections such as that existed only for bonded Vulcan mates.

She grimly considered as she entered the welcoming solitude of her
cabin, the documentation did not even contemplate the possibility of a
Vulcan/Human mind meld. As Trip would say, she definitely has gone
where no one has gone before.

Trip was going nowhere, fast. The Captain had 'assigned' him to
quarters for the duration of the week. If he was honest with himself,
he was still sore and not yet fit for duty. But true to his contrary
nature, it was all right for him to admit it to himself. It was
another thing to have someone tell him he was less than 100 percent.
But at least his enforced rest had not been boring.

Rook had been thrilled when the doctor had finally relented and
let him see the Commander. On his third day in sickbay, Trip woke to
very loud shushing noises as Porthos was yelping as he went through
his entire roster of canine tricks. Rook sat cross-legged on the
floor, but was not distracted from his primary mission. The moment
that he heard Trip stir, he bounced straight for his hero's bedside.

"Hey Trip. You've been sleeping an awful long time. You feeling
better?"

"Yeah kid, I'm feeling better. Looks like you've had your run of
the ship." Trip realized a moment later that he had opened the
proverbial dam. He got an entire run down on Rooks tour of the ship,
Porthos's unfortunate reaction to eating too much of a yellow
substance called cheese - uh, there's a spot on the floor in your
quarters, Trip - and that the Captain was going to make him a cadet
and give him a medal - called the Order of Porthos.

The doctor wandered over. "It's a good thing you decided to wake
up Commander. All of the festivities have been on hold until you could
attend. I'd like to run a few tests and then I think that sometime
today you can be released you from sickbay."

The Doctor had not been kiddin' about festivities, Trip reflected.
No sooner had Trip been released, than he was informed by the Captain
that they would be attending a reception in the mess hall tonight. The
Aviarians had wanted to honor the Enterprise crew on the planet. The
Doctor's protests that the Commander was not yet up to a planet-side
event and the ongoing repair work had changed the venue to the mess
hall. The Aviarians would not hear of the Commander not attending.

Dress uniforms were the order of the day and Trip was struggling
to get his on when a chime announced a visitor at his door.

"Malcolm, I've never been happier ta see ya. Could you give me a
hand here?"

"I thought that you might need some tactical assistance." Malcolm
stretched to his full height and looked down his nose at the
commander. In very clipped, precise english, Reed added, "Malcolm
Reed, personal valet, at your service - Sir." The effect was spoiled
somewhat by the wide grin that he favored the frustrated Commander
with.

In his blue skivvies, Trip was trying to throw the waist band of
his pants like a lariat to snag his foot since he couldn't quite bend
down far enough. Malcolm was not sure how the commander thought that
he was going to get his trousers on over the brace. It wasn't going to
happen. The hinged brace was strapped around his shin and extended to
just above mid thigh protecting the break in his femur that had
occurred just above his knee.

"Commander, I would think that an engineer of your accomplishments
would know better than to try and fit the proverbial square peg in the
round hole." Malcolm knelt in front of the commander and gently undid
the brace and put it aside. The skin was still discolored and slightly
swollen around the break.

"I don't recall that a gentleman's gentleman would give his
employer any lip, Lieutenant. Maybe you should rethink this career. I
don't think it suits ya."

"Just as long as I can 'suit ya' as you so colorfully put it.
Dreadful pun, by the way, Commander. After tonight, I think that I can
retire from this line of work with a sense of accomplishment."

Trip leaned on Malcolm's shoulder as the Lieutenant helped the
commander with his pants. Trip put on a shirt and shrugged into his
dress jacket. He sat heavily on the edge of his bed as Reed helped him
reattach the brace over his trouser leg. Once the operation was
completed, a bit of the Commander's irrepressible humor surfaced. As
he stood up glanced in the mirror. "Damn brace. Completely ruins the
line of the uniform. Won't have the same impact on the ladies."

"Don't worry about the brace commander. What with your dubious
charm, newly acquired hero status and limp - women love this wounded
hero business - you will be the belle of the ball."

"Finally," Trip said with satisfaction, "something to look forward
to."

As the two friends made their way to the mess hall, Trip thought
that the ship never seemed bigger. Maybe he had been a little cocky to
decline the use of an antigrav sled. He was leaning pretty heavily on
Malcolm by the time that they reached the doors of the mess.

But when Trip got an eyeful of what was waiting for him when the
doors slid open, he straightened up and practically pushed Malcolm out
of this way.

Malcolm was just as impressed as a soft whistle escaped his lips.
He thought that the uniform that T'Pol wore daily was quite
flattering. What she was wearing tonight would pop the pennies off the
eyes of dead Irishmen. Malcolm looked back at the Commander to check
on the effect of T'Pol's 'dress' uniform.

Mr. Tucker looked like a hound that had treed a fox and didn't
know what to do next. Trip's jaw dropped open and then snapped shut.
Somehow he achieved forward momentum again only to be cut off from his
desired destination as crew and visitors surrounded him.

---
Chapter 4 - Shall We Dance?
---

Trip could see lips moving but could hear no sound. Most of his
gray matter that would normally be dedicated to other functions was
rerouted to try and enable him to get another glimpse of T'Pol.

The sea green dress that she was wearing showed a considerable
amount of Vulcan shoulder. It was of very simple design, hugging
T'Pol's curves as it then flared at her hips to drape simply and
elegantly to the floor. Lacking jewelry, a diaphanous material of
striking hues of green and gold cinched at her throat with a simple
gold brooch. The material flowed behind her in a way that reminded
Trip of shimmering dragonsfly wings.

Stunned, Trip was sure that there was probably some Vulcan law
prohibiting anyone of her race from looking that, well - Wow. If an
outfit like that did not evoke some good old earthy emotions from the
average Vulcan male, Trip mused that probably nothing else would.

Malcolm noted that his friend had taken a trip to somewhere that
was light years away from the mess hall. Or maybe just across the room
to where T'Pol was speaking with the Vulcan officers of the Shiran.
Reed took charge of the situation, gently maneuvering Trip to a table.
He was pretty sure that Trip did not hear him making apologies,
explaining that the Commander was still a little off, the medications
you know. Fortunately, once the other attendees blocked Trip's view of
T'Pol, he seemed to snap out of his trance.

As they approached, Malcolm noticed that Hoshi was perched on the
edge of the seat closest to the Captain. She looked up and saw them
approaching the table. She stood to make the seat on the Captain's
right available to the Commander. Trip gratefully accepted the offer
and sat down.

Malcolm felt a little like a balloon with a slow, agonizing air
leak. Hopefully, Reed thought, he wasn't squeaking like said balloon.
Suddenly the room had gotten quite close. Malcolm swallowed slowly and
tugged on his collar. Damned dress uniforms, Reed thought. They never
give a man enough air when he needs it. Hoshi was breathtaking in an
exotic gown similar to the one he had seen on the Sub Commander. Her
dress was in a deep royal purple, with a transparent over tunic shot
through with silver and countless shades of purple and blue. The
colors of the dress accented Hoshi's creamy, flawless complexion. She
wore her hair up with delicate enamel combs that reminded Malcolm of
graceful watercolor portraits of ancient Asian noblewomen.

Hoshi's self-consciousness got the better of her as she noted the
lieutenant's unwavering stare. Looking down, she nervously smoothed
out an invisible wrinkle in the bodice of the gown. "Our dresses were
gifts from the Aviarians for our assistance on the planet. T'Pol
didn't seem keen on wearing hers, but the Vulcan ambassador said that
refusal might be considered a breach of etiquette."

Seeming to finally come out of his fog, Tucker replied. "God bless
Vulcan Ambassadors everywhere for that gem of diplomatic wisdom." Trip
looked around as if he finally had become aware of his sumptuous
surroundings. "Whew, these folks really know how to put on a party."

The Aviarians had catered the entire event and spent the entire
day decorating. Utilitarian mess hall walls were decorated with yards
of the same iridescent fabrics that Hoshi and T'Pol were wearing. The
tables were draped with similar material. Each table had a stunning
centerpiece made of a metal so shiny that it looked like fluid
quicksilver. The metal itself gave off a soft glow that illuminated
the table. Throwing caution to the wind, Trip reached out and touched
the luminous metal, finding it neither wet nor warm.

Dinner comprised several courses and thankfully the awards
presentation was brief. Rook's little chest had puffed out so far it
had strained his buttons. Trip clapped the loudest and winked when the
youngster beamed at him, fingering the medal pinned to his chest. The
captain and bridge crew stood together as they accepted awards from
the leader of the Aviarian World Council for their service on behalf
of their home world. The captain surprised Trip and the rest of the
crew alike when his dismissed the rest and asked the commander to
remain.

"Standing in for the Secretary General of Star Fleet, it is with
great honor that I present to you, Commander Charles Tucker of the
Starship Enterprise, designation NX-01, Starfleet's Distinguished
Service Medal for your act of bravery in the face of enemy fire and in
being instrumental in preserving this ship and it's mission." Captain
Archer placed the ribbon and medal around Trip's neck, shook his hand
and motioned his officer to face the gathering. Trip turned to face
the audience and the room burst into an uproar of applause. Normally
not shy, the commander gratefully took his seat at the Captain's table
as the socializing and festivities resumed.

Malcolm finally noticed that the music playing softly in the
background was an entertaining mix of earth music from the past three
centuries. A Chopin waltz was playing softly in the background. As if
reading Malcolm's mind, Hoshi commented, "The Aviarian's are very keen
on all forms of music. The captain said that they requested a
selection of music that humans would appreciate for such a gathering,
so I collected selections from our database." Her eyes fell on the as
yet was unused dance floor. Malcolm knew a cue of cosmic proportions
when he heard it.

"Hoshi, in the interest of diplomacy and interspecies
communications, would you aid me in demonstrating a waltz or two for
our hosts?" At the smile on Hoshi's face, Malcolm presented her his
arm and the two walked off toward the dance floor as the opening
strains of Waltz in A flat Major from Opus 34 resonated across the
dance floor. As Hoshi placed one hand on the armory officer's shoulder
and the other hand in his warm grasp, Malcolm only had two coherent
thoughts. The first was a blessing to a Miss Tuttlewhite for the
tedious dance lessons in the front parlor so many years ago. The
second was a silent thanks to the universe that the tune playing was
one of Chopin's longer waltzes. He'd enjoy every second.

Watching the couple gracefully glide around the dance floor, Trip
looked at T'Pol and then contemplated the brace on his left leg. He'd
give anything to be able to take T'Pol out on the dance floor if it
gave him the excuse to hold her in his arms again.

Trip was startled to see T'Pol make eye contact with him for the
first time this evening, canting her head questioningly as if he had
spoken his last thought out loud.

---
Chapter 5 - Wallflowers
---

It was obvious from the festivities, that the Aviarians enjoyed a
good party. They seemed to delight in the alien music from the human
homeworld, Earth. Several Aviarians had asked crew members to show
them the dance steps that accompanied the music from various eras of
human history.

Archer seemed to think that their guests had a particular affinity
to the bright, catchy tunes from the big band era. They had flocked to
the dance floor, and though well past midnight, did not seem to want
to end the party any time soon.

The Vulcan's were another story entirely. Now that most of the
conversations taking place were between couples on the dance floor,
most of the Vulcans had departed. To them, the dinner had been
obligatory, especially while diplomatic relations could be furthered.
Given Vulcan reasoning, dancing was probably not conducive to either
gathering information or diplomacy. Lacking the experience, Vulcan's
underestimated how much you can learn from your partner during an
intimate conversation while dancing.

Archer contemplated his two senior officers. They sat across the
table looking at each other, busy trying to avoid making eye contact.
In Jon's mind he pictured Trip and T'Pol on opposite sides of a junior
high gym - like a couple of wallflowers at a Sadie Hawkins eighth
grade dance. He knew that any developments between the two would most
likely cause him a headache of galactic proportions. Archer's face
broke into a wide grin. He never was one for playing it safe. At least
there would be headaches enough to share in both the hallowed halls of
Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council. It was their idea to put a
Vulcan on a human ship, right?

The distance across the table might as well be just as wide. Jon
noted that the wife of one of the diplomats was sitting looking rather
longingly at the dance floor while her inattentive husband was
chatting with others on the far side of the room. A plan started to
formulate in the captain's mind. Maybe with a little space, his two
officers would come to an understanding of sorts.

Archer put his plan into action by standing up and striding to the
far end of the table. Jon smiled at the shocked looks from both
officers. It was a look he'd expect from a couple of kids being told
by the chaperon that he was ditching them and handing them a bottle of
booze to spike the punch. He held out his arm to the abandoned wife,
who graciously accepted the offer. He proceeded onto the dance floor
without a backward glance.

It was no surprise that Trip was the one that finally broke the
silence. "Thought that you might head in for the night when your
Vulcan pals decided to ditch the party." Oh hell, Trip inwardly
grimaced. How did he always seem to manage to end a conversation
before he had even started it with T'Pol?

She looked him directly in the eye with that unnerving, unblinking
gaze of hers. "Captain Archer is my superior officer and the
Enterprise is my ship. As such, it would be inappropriate as a senior
officer to leave a ship's function prior to the captain taking his
leave." Tucker could feel his frustration rising as it did every time
that T'Pol spouted off with something in that maddeningly reasonable
tone of hers. And it was a twist of the knife that it always seemed in
retrospect that she simply was stating the obvious. What did he expect
her to say? I can't leave as long as you are here? I've missed you so?
Would you like to dance?

"Would you like to dance?" Trip himself heard the words and was so
taken aback that his mouth shut with an audible snap. He'd really put
his foot in it now.

T'Pol had avoided this moment all week, by avoiding the commander.
To this point, it had been a successful. Though, she now realized, it
was a somewhat deluded plan on her part. Unless she left Enterprise
immediately, she assumed that her concerns about her relationship with
Commander Tucker would be confirmed. The signs of her continuing
'link' with the commander did not abate. She had been disturbed
several times during the week by odd thoughts. She had startled that
captain at dinner by adding sugar to her iced tea. And twice during
the week she had used a contraction in discussions with the crew.
Though she was sure that the crew did not note it, her lapse in proper
grammar startled T'Pol.

And, at a distance she could sense his - what would humans call it
- mood? Feelings? Nothing so specific as exact thoughts. Though she
did not know the cause, she sensed the commander's frustration prior
to the party and acted on it, suggesting to Reed that Mr. Tucker might
need assistance. The generic suggestion had been adopted with
seemingly no suspicions on the armory officer's part. Within a quarter
of an hour, she felt the chief engineer's mood lighten. Fifteen more
minutes and he was standing in the doorway of the mess, thinking that
she looked beautiful.

And she had been pleased, as well as discomfited by her pleasure,
which was supremely illogical.

She was concerned, too, that in close proximity, T'Pol was able to
read some of his more emphatic thoughts. So, she had avoided contact
for most of the evening. She barely had the needed time to contemplate
the events of a week ago. And the possibility that they had initiated
a bonding, that at least for Vulcan's, was irreversible. Her people so
zealously guarded the rituals of their mating practices, that she was
sure that the commander had no idea of the implications, both
interpersonal and interplanetary, for either of them. Well at least in
a few moments she would not be alone in her concerns. Trip would be
aware as well. Once she took this step, she was doubtful that there
would be many options.

Well heck, thought Trip, if she didn't want to dance with me, she
could at least simply say no and stop starin' a hole in me. Oddly, at
that moment, T'Pol closed her eyes.

Yes, I would be...pleased to dance with you.

Really? Slightly flabbergasted at the affirmative, Trip did not
immediately grasp, as he responded to T'Pol's reply - that she had
agreed to dance with him - without moving her lips.

They both started to stand and T'Pol moved around the table to
pause directly in front of the commander.

I'm not normally a bad dancer, but with this leg... Wait a
cotton-pickin' second. I heard ya', but your lips aren't moving. How
are you doing that?

T'Pol thought her answer right back to her partner. The same way
you are, commander. Now, we should proceed to the dance floor or we
will draw unwanted attention.

Still befuddled, the commander held out his hand and T'Pol firmly
grasped it. He was not sure who was leading whom onto the dance floor.

On the other side of the room, Malcolm and Hoshi were observing
the other couple's progress as they entered the dance floor.
Whispering, they put their heads together.

"That leg of his is still stiff, Lieutenant. Do you think that we
could make a request to play something a little slower for them?"

Reed felt Hoshi's breath on his neck as she questioned him. It was
doing wild and wonderful things to his heartbeat.

"Malcolm, you call me Malcolm - especially when you're out of
uniform." He looked at her appreciatively and added with a theatrical
flair, "And you are most definitely out of uniform." Hoshi blushed but
covered it up by gently chucking him in the arm.

"Malcolm, ask the ensign playing DJ to pick something slow - and
romantic."

"Indeed. Your wish is my command." He grinned expectantly.

"For them, you goof." Ok, for us too, Hoshi smiled to herself.
She'd have to ask the Aviarians about acquiring more of this fabric.
It would make quite a stunning negligee. As Malcolm returned, he
caught Hoshi deep in thought. He just hoped that whatever she was
cooking up involved him.

The music stopped and then resumed just as Trip and T'Pol arrived
on the dance floor. As the strains of muted brass instruments floated
around them, Trip sent up an unspoken thanks to whoever chose this
particular tune. With his leg stiff and still in a brace, 'Moonlight
Serenade' by the Glenn Miller Orchestra was just perfect. He looked
around briefly before wrapping one arm around T'Pol's slim waist.
Thankfully, she was the only Vulcan still at the reception. He wasn't
ready to make explanations to the Vulcan delegation. One of T'Pol's
hands alighted on Trip's shoulder. The Commander captured her other
hand in his and tucked it close to his chest.

Their link was strong and though familiar with the music, even
T'Pol was astonished at how natural the steps were. It was if she had
done this many times before. It was the link. As they danced, she felt
his questions and greeted then with what little she knew or had been
able to surmise over the last week.

Trip was amazed at the information that passed between them, and
how quickly he was able to assimilate it. Lifemates? Bonded? He knew
that he should be running scared, but in fact he was awed at what he
was learning about T'Pol, and what she felt about him. And she did
feel. It was heady, to experience the emotions that someone felt about
you. In sharing this information, T'Pol was sharing herself with him,
intimately, and amazingly in a room crowded with people. Maybe it was
the knowledge of this connection; this intimate awareness of another's
emotions, which in all other aspects of Vulcan life were suppressed,
that caused the Vulcan's to so carefully guard the specifics of these
same intimate relationships.

And she shared her uncertainty, her vulnerability, as to whether
he would feel compelled by the bond in the same way she did.

Maybe, biologically, he was not bonded in the same way that a
Vulcan would be. There was no way for either of them to know this in
the short term. But the very human emotions that flowed through him
and then reflected back to him by T'Pol's thoughts, made him feel a
connection to her that he had experienced with no other. With that
thought, the music ended and they broke the connection and stood back
from one another.

For a moment, the absence of the connection left a void in Trip.
Like his heart was beating in T'Pol's chest and he had nothing left to
sustain himself. After a moment of panic, T'Pol sensing Trip's
distress, touched his face for a moment, soothing the parting.

As they both came back to themselves, they realized they were
alone on the dance floor. The other dancers had encircled them and
applauded gently for the couple that had danced so in tune with the
other that none could tell where one partner began and the other
ended.

Slightly nonplussed at the attention, Trip parted from T'Pol and
said, "Oh and uh, Subcommander, I'll see you at the, uh, mission
briefing tomorrow at 0800 in the Captain's ready room."

"Indeed, Commander,' replied T'Pol.

The commander turned unsteadily and exited the reception, leaving
many pairs of questioning eyes boring holes into his back.

Malcolm turned to Hoshi. "I'd better tag along and make sure that
Fred Astaire makes it back to his room in one piece, Hosh. I don't
think that his feet have touched the ground yet." He squeezed her hand
and smiled. "And as the Commander so romantically put it, see you at
0800 tomorrow." Reed turned and followed the commander out of the mess
hall.

Hoshi contemplated Malcolm with a smile. At least his mother
raised a gentleman. He leaves a party with the same partner that he
brought to it. And she sighed.

---
Chapter 6 - Something Wicked This Way Comes
---

Darkness embraced the figure in the remote chamber just as surely
as the hooded ebony cloak that he wore. He sat at a table in this room
deep in the heart of the subterranean mining operation on the former
homeworld of the Jaxians. At first glance, he seemed to be reviewing
reports on a PADD at a simple worktable in the corner.

The master's modest workspace and garb belied the success of his
schemes and the scope of his control over those in his employ. Their
efforts five planetary cycles ago had insured that currently there
were no Jaxians alive to occupy the now unpopulated world.

The Andorian, Ritan edged closer. He was not sure whether it was
his fear of the Master or something of the aura of this being that
seemed to leech the cold from his slim blue frame. As the master
turned toward him, he felt an involuntary shiver grip him. It was a
relief that the hood was in place, saving the Andorian from that
darkly beautiful and ruined face.

"Ritan?" The master's well-modulated, emotionless greeting only
made his lieutenant feel more uneasy. "What of the intelligence from
Aviaria?" Ritan shifted anxiously on his feet, hesitant to impart the
bad news that they both knew was coming. Best to lead with
the-not-as-bad news, he thought.

"Our agents not apprehended on Aviaria are currently working their
way back to Jax to report."

Impatiently the master replied, "Yes, yes, some have already
arrived. What of the Vulcans' plans to investigate?"

"As you already know, remaining operatives on the planet managed
to assassinate the pilots of our ship they apprehended once custody
was turned over to the Aviarian planetary government. We doubt that
the Vulcans were able to gather any information. Planetary news
reports are blaming Aviarian revenge killers. Since the Vulcans did
not dispatch ships immediately to the planet, it is doubtful the
captured pilots divulged any information."

The master's silky tones rumbled with a grim satisfaction. "Ah,
yes. Our reputation for progressive, hmmmm rather, terminal discipline
among the staff does often work to our advantage in terms of
confidentiality."

"Yes, sir. Confidentiality has been the cornerstone of The
Cartel's success."

"What of this Earth ship, The Enterprise? Reports say that she was
heavily damaged in the attack."

"Heavily damaged, but now repairs have almost been completed. They
are the heroes of the Aviarian homeworld, and no expense was spared to
make the repairs for their defenders. Enterprise will be underway
within 48 hours, and if intelligence is accurate, headed in our
direction to check out the site of what they think might be a similar
attack - at the request of the Vulcans." Ritan allowed some smugness
to creep into his voice. "The ship's top speed is Warp 5. Seems that
they are the current pet project of the Vulcan High Command. This is
the first human ship to achieve intergalactic space travel. The
Vulcans have miscalculated in sending this ship to us. They will be no
match."

The master rounded on his subordinate and slowly ground out, "If
that is true, tell me why we are not preparing even as we speak to
move operations to Aviaria?" His voice ended in a whisper but Ritan
could hear him even as he took a cautious step back from the menace
that radiated in waves from his leader.

"I only meant that with you here, master, they will unquestionably
meet their demise at you hands." Ritan knew that the next seconds
might decide his fate and every word must be well measured. He did not
take a breath until the other continued.

"Tell me of the Captain of this ship, this Jonathan Archer."

Relieved that he was now on more firm footing, Ritan divulged what
he knew. "Archer is the son of the man instrumental in developing the
Warp 5 engine on Earth that they are now utilizing. Word is that he
harbors a grudge with the Vulcans for delay of the launch of this
engine. He has a reputation for breaking the rules, and has been in
the last nine months since the ships launch, surprisingly adept into
getting into trouble and finding a way out of it. Some of his people
have called him a 'cowboy.' I am not sure whether this is used as a
derogatory or complimentary term."

"I am familiar with the term and his planet, " the master
countered dismissively. "What is this I hear that he has a Vulcan
first officer?"

"According to intelligence reports, she is T'Pol. One of the
Vulcans assigned to their diplomatic mission on Earth. She is
currently serving as Enterprise's Science Officer. It seems that the
Vulcans thought Archer needed a keeper. But she has proven to be an
elusive quantity. I have heard from some of my people that they
suspected that the Vulcans had a hidden surveillance post on P'Jem and
were in violation of their treaty with Andoria. Archer and T'Pol
exposed this and turned data over to the Andorians."

Ritan paused, hoping to see if his superior would enlighten him as
to the odd behavior of this Vulcan on the Enterprise.

"Interesting. A Vulcan guided by human scruples? Probably not
thought of very highly by the Vulcan High command. Of course, that is
a recommendation in my judgment. This T'Pol - I would be very
interested in getting to know her."

Ritan briefly felt pity for the unsuspecting woman.

"What else have you heard?"

"It is said that they have tangled with the Suliban... and were
not destroyed."

The master had been pacing as the conversation progressed. At this
revelation, he paused and turned toward Ritan. "It would seem that
your earlier assessment might have underestimated them, Ritan. They
must be both resourceful and lucky. An unfortunate combination for me,
but certainly not insurmountable. Tell me of this engineer that the
spies brought news of from the Aviaria."

"He and the Vulcan T'Pol led the team that distributed the
antidote to the Aviarians. He was decorated by his people in a
ceremony attended by both Aviarians and Vulcans. Allegedly, he came
close to getting himself killed while repairing the Enterprise's
weaponry so that it could destroy two of our three ships."

"A resourceful engineer, that could be especially annoying,"
contemplated the cloaked figure.

"And there was one odd note. Probably just hearsay..."

"Continue, Ritan." The annoyance at having to prompt his first in
command laced his reply.

"Some Aviarians that attended an award ceremony for the Enterprise
crew seemed to note that the Science Officer and Engineer appeared to
be...close. The rumor, almost too impossible to believe, said that the
two danced." Ritan awaited some response of disbelief from the dark
figure opposite him. Instead, the reply took him off guard.

"Fascinating. Unusual crew. Interesting ship. This game should be
entertaining. Though I doubt Enterprise will feel the same about me
when we finally meet. I will have to ponder at length how they will
repay their debt to me for the loss of my Aviarian investment." True
to his word the cloaked figure resumed his seat, silently dismissing
Ritan. No doubt he was already meditating on some intriguing and,
Ritan surmised, unfortunate form of repayment for the Enterprise's
crew.

---
Chapter 7 - Men Are From Mars, T'Pol Is From Vulcan
---
0900

"Really Trip. With your track record for getting possessed by
microbes, heat stroke and captured on away missions. Haven't you been
shot twice now?"

Trip and Malcolm were walking down the hall that lead away from
the Captain's ready room. The mission briefing had just finished. It
had been quite obvious to Malcolm that his friend was not pleased to
be staying aboard Enterprise while T'Pol, Hoshi, himself go down to
Jax to investigate.

Trip stopped and turned his head toward the Lieutenant with
exaggerated frustration. "I seem 'ta remember someone else getting'
shot on Risa. Wasn't my ass that the Vulcans had to tractor beam off
of a comet either. Try remembering, Lieutenant, that the number of
times 'ya get your ass kicked is in direct proportion to how often you
put it on the line."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Trip realized his
mistake. Malcolm fixed him with cool glance.

"As armory officer I think it has more to do with the size of the
target. Maybe some of us are just bigger asses than others?" Malcolm
resumed walking down the hall.

Trip stood there for a moment and then jogged a few steps to catch
up. "You enjoy getting the last word, don't 'ya?"

"Immensely."

"Well 'ya should. I was outta line back there, Malcolm." Trip
favored the armory officer with a lopsided grin, "How 'bout ya' take
ma' place on all the away missions. Then, by process of away mission
elimination, I will become a Captain and retire at a ripe old age."

Malcolm tried to stifle a grin. He didn't want Tucker to think
that he was completely off the hook. The Commander truly had a gift
for deflecting aggravation with his sense of humor. To bad it couldn't
shield him from phaser fire.

"Alright then, why are you so bloody hell bent to go on this away
mission?" Malcolm thought he knew the answer, but he wanted to see if
Trip did too.

"Maybe it's my opportunity to return from an away mission with my
own clothes on or not having to visit sick bay? The planet's dead for
cryin' out loud. What trouble could we get in down there, anyway?"

The look Malcolm gave Trip spoke volumes as to the believability
of that statement."

"I'd get a chance to examine alien technology without anybody
hollering at us?" Tucker's voice got a little softer and sounded more
like he was asking Malcolm to help convince himself.

The needle on Malcolm's internal BS meter red-lined. "Would you
like to take one more run at the real reason why you want to go down
to that planet?"

The edge in Trip's voice was more from frustration with himself
rather than his friend. "Would it be that I don't wanna let a certain
Vulcan outta my sight?" Trip knew he had a poor away mission record,
but T'Pol's wasn't much better. "Don't see 'ya complaining about the
company you'll be keeping, 'specially after the calf eyes you were
makin' in Hoshi's direction last night."

"I don't recall that I'm the one having trouble coming to terms
with whom I'm attracted to."

"It'll take us two days to arrive at the planet that we're
investigat'in. Maybe when the Captain sees how peaceful the planet is
and how well I'm doin', he'll change his mind?"

Malcolm pointedly eyed the brace on the Commander's leg.

"You are still limping."

"Less every day."

"Didn't the doctor say that you would need the brace for a few
weeks?"

Trip glared at Malcolm and crossly added, "I thought your rank was
Lieutenant, not mother?"

Malcolm barked out a laugh and shook his head. "I'm not the one
you need to convince, but I can tell you right now, your arguments are
going to need to be quite a bit more compelling if you are going to
change the captain's mind."

Trip hung his head in frustration as Malcolm took the turn to the
armory. When will things, just anything, ever get easier?

The last twenty-four hours helped Trip realize that nothing EVER
gets easier. What guy hasn't dreamed of being able to sense his
girlfriend's thoughts? Girlfriend? Yikes, what would T'Pol say if he
called her that?

Wouldn't it just be peachy if she had normal emotions or
occasionally even had a single thought about him when he was around.
Last night at the awards ceremony, he thought he had everythin' on a
silver platter. Now, if possible, he was even less secure about what a
relationship with T'Pol would involve.

And it didn't help that they never seemed to catch a moment alone.
Right after the briefing, the Captain and senior officers met in the
docking bay to escort the entire Aviarian entourage to their shuttle
to make their farewells.

Saying good-bye to Rook was hard. The little fella wrapped both
arms around the Commander's neck. The difficulty was that in order to
say goodbye, you needed to be able to take in a breath.

Before Trip had a chance to react, Rook fairly launched himself
into the Vulcan's arms. "Hey T'Pol, I'll miss you and the Commander
somethin' fierce." Wiggling closer so that he could get near T'Pol's
ear, Rook whispered, "I won't be around to look after Trip. Would you
take care of him for me? He gets into a lot of trouble."

Fortunately for Malcolm, the Captain's chuckle drowned out his own
laugh that he tried to camouflage with a cough. Out of the mouths of
babes, he thought.

"The Enterprise crew and I will make the utmost effort to fulfill
your role as the Commander's protector," T'Pol solemnly vowed with out
a hint of amusement.

It just keeps gettin' better and better, Trip thought as he looked
up at the ceiling plating as if for divine guidance. None was
forthcoming.

The ship went underway within a half hour of the departure of the
Aviarians and Vulcans. Trip was kept busy monitoring the equipment
that had been repaired - ever vigilant for fluctuations that might
signal a need for adjustments. The Aviarians had helped with some
upgrades that would ensure that the Enterprise's engines could
maintain top speed for a longer interval than previously recorded.

Not that the Captain would call on the engines to reach top speed
on a milk run to a planet that they would probably scan to pieces and
then kick the dirt around for a while. What evidence could be left on
a planet after ten years of an epidemic and what and who caused it?

T'Pol was busy conferring with the doctor about the environmental
scans that they should run and what type medical records that they
should try to download from any medical facilities they encounter.
These duties put a welcome distance between herself and the Commander.
She knew quite well that there was quite a bit they had to work out.
And she could sense Trip's questions and even insecurities over their
current circumstances. They would have to work out the answers
together because there was no Vulcan philosophical text that would
guide them through this situation.

Trip would probably not appreciate being referred to as a
"situation". She would need to ponder more appropriate terminology
before they next consulted. He probably would not appreciate a
"consultation" either. Possibly some more time and a little more
distance might make this somewhat easier. She wondered if what she was
experiencing was what humans referred to as "procrastination." And to
think that on Vulcan they referred to this same strategy as
contemplation. She needed to think more on all of this.

At least she has some space. As a Vulcan, she did not necessarily
feel relief, but her universe was a much more manageable place with
the Vulcans off the ship. Odd that only a few months ago she craved
the companionship of other Vulcans for the respite from being
surrounded by these humans and their disorderly rationales.

Hoshi was busy researching the history of the Jaxians and getting
a solid understanding from the Vulcan database of the Jaxian written
language. They had two days and she wanted to make sure that she could
direct them to the right areas for their research. Hoshi also wanted
to make sure that the Universal Translator was programmed with as much
Jaxian syntax as possible. They might run across recordings that might
be invaluable in their search.

Malcolm reviewed the armament that they were taking down to Jax on
what could be one of many visits across the planet. No one was
expecting a confrontation, so the weapons that he chose were mostly
hand phasers. He took some shock grenades that would quickly scatter
any wild life they encountered on the planet.

If precognition had run in the Reed family, Malcolm would have
nuked the planet from orbit and saved them all quite a bit of mayhem.
Instead, he closed the small weapons locker and secured it in the
shuttle.

---
Chapter 8 - Ancestors
---

Hoshi sat at a table in the mess off to one corner by herself. The
sweet- natured ensign rarely sat alone. But today, her thoughts clung
to her like an invisible cloak that warded off any interlopers or
interruptions. It didn't help that Hoshi had also unconsciously
positioned herself with her back to the rest of the room.

Malcolm spied Hoshi as he carried his tray of resequenced protein
away from the buffet. Her back did no look very inviting. Of course,
this fortress could only be breached by an intrepid armory officer and
Malcolm knew that he was the man for the job. Or at least that's the
kind of talk you give yourself before you dive into a pond that could
very well be ice cold, he mused. Better to just jump in and risk a
heart seizure rather than dip your toe in and change your mind. Faint
heart never won fair lady and all that rot. Malcolm balanced his
dinner tray on his right arm and tapped her shoulder.

Hoshi stopped spinning the same forkful of spaghetti that she had
been worrying for the last five minutes. When she looked up at
Malcolm, he reflected that she resembled a pretty, but slightly
unfocused owl blinking at him as her focus came back to the mess hall.

"If you continue spinning the spaghetti like that, you'll wring
all of chef's marinara right out of it. Would you mind some company?"

Hoshi's eyes were dark and clouded over with some emotion Malcolm
couldn't quite fathom. She blinked and looked up at him for a moment
in confusion. Awareness seemed to dawn when he nodded gently in the
direction of her hand on the mess table. Some spaghetti noodles were
tightly wrapped in a mass around her fork. The pale mass looked to be
setting up and seemed thoroughly cold and unappetizing. She looked up
again and favored Malcolm with a halfhearted smile and gestured to the
seat across from her.

"I guess Chef would not be too pleased if he saw what I've done
with his noodles."

Malcolm sensed something wrong with Hoshi. He had seen her
nervous, even frightened before an away mission. Tonight was somehow
different. Tonight there was a melancholy spirit that seemed to hover
about the diminutive ensign.

Reed meticulously unloaded the contents of the tray that he
carried onto the table, allowing himself time to gather his thoughts.
Mr. Tucker was the natural for inspiring, or rather provoking,
confidences. Personal intimacies of this nature had never been
Malcolm's forte - never even dreamed of with his family. His time on
Enterprise had stretched his abilities in this area. He found his
interest in Ensign Sato had further provided inspiration to stretch
his empathic skills.

"Indeed. It seems that your appetite tonight would not be a seen
as a compliment by our temperamental cook. You seem preoccupied. Is
something bothering you, Hoshi?"

She tried to smile to ease his concern. The Malcolm that had
originally shipped out with them would have never been so forward to
use her first name. As for asking her how she felt.

"I've been researching the spoken and written Jaxian dialects that
we might encounter on the planet. I guess that I'm having a little
trouble with the thought that there will be no one actually there to
converse with." Malcolm noted that the forced lightness of Hoshi's
tone was in stark contrast to the darkening in her eyes and furrows on
her brow.

Malcolm's discomfort with this role of confidante caused him to
study his plate as he gently suggested, "It's a dead planet Hoshi.
There is nothing to be afraid of there." He finished with more
confidence and met her eyes to gauge her reaction. Maybe even a little
confidence leaked into his voice knowing he would be with her down on
the planet to protect her.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts, lieutenant. It's not a dead planet that
bothers me, it's that Jax is now a planet of the dead."

With Hoshi's words, Malcolm realized that the picture he had
fostered in his mind was of a planet sans humanoid life forms.
Suddenly, he pictured the images that her comments inspired. At the
beginning, early victims on Jax would have been buried with mourning
and reverence. Later as fear of contagion set in, mass burials or
cremations would be likely. Finally, when social structures fragmented
and finally collapsed, the sick would die wherever they lay. It was a
grim vision that chilled even a jaded armory officer. He reached
across the table and covered her hand in his.

"Ten years gives nature time to soften edges on a tragedy like
this, Hoshi. Our imaginations are probably far worse right now than
what the reality will reveal tomorrow."

Hoshi sighed softly. Only slightly frustrated, she understood the
conclusions that Malcolm had drawn. Question was, how did she explain
the deep sadness that had preoccupied her? Could she help someone from
such a different cultural experience understand how the events on the
planet they were approaching so deeply affected her? All she knew was
that it was important to make this man understand. It mattered. More
deeply, in fact, than she cared to suppose right now.

Very gently, Hoshi contradicted the lieutenant. "No Malcolm, it's
not that. Tell me, are you familiar with Japanese traditions regarding
death and the afterlife?" Hoshi could tell from the fleeting emotions
of concern and surprise that chased there way across the normally
taciturn officer's face, that her question had taken Malcolm off
guard.

Under any circumstances, Lt. Reed was not a man that was
comfortable being lead into a situation that he had not personally
anticipated or reconnoitered. Hesitantly, as if opening a door to a
room that he was certain held a tiger rather than the lady, he
answered, "I know that the Japanese hold their ancestors in deep
reverence. Other than that, not much."

Preoccupied in getting his answer right, Malcolm did not note,
until he felt a gentle squeeze, that Hoshi's hand had slipped out from
under his grasp. It now gently rested on top of his.

"You're right and yet it's so much more." Hoshi's eyes turned
inward as she pictured her home in Kyoto, where she grew up with her
parents. "In an alcove in our home there is a small wooden cabinet.
You might refer to it as an altar. We call it a 'butsudan.' Every day,
without fail, my mother lights the 'senko' or incense that she places
in a polished brass bowl filled with sparkling white sand. She also
makes a food offering. And she says a prayer. Roughly translated 'For
aid received, by day and by night, accept, August Ones, our
reverential gratitude.' You see, we believe that they are ever with
us, guiding us, inspiring and supporting each member of the family."

"In our botsudan, there are five tablets with the names of my
grandparents and my uncle that have died. Also, there is a scroll that
lists the names of all our honored ancestors. In bring the dead into
our home; we keep them a part of our life and love. It is hard to
explain, but to forget or ignore them would be considered an
unpardonable cruelty. Everything about the situation on Jax just seems
so much more.unforgivably pitiless for robbing the entire planet of
any descendants that could keep those that have gone before in their
hearts."

Given the new perspective, Malcolm was beginning to grasp that the
enormity of the crime perpetrated on Jax. In Hoshi's eyes, it went far
beyond the murder of the inhabitants. With the complete loss of life,
they had also lost the remembrance and the comfort of being surrounded
and a part of the joyful noise of their living families.

Malcolm could see that Hoshi's eyes were overly bright with unshed
tears. He felt his own chest tighten as he struggled to say something
that would somehow ease her sadness.

"Hoshi. There is no giving back what has been lost on Jax. But
when we go down to the planet and collect a record of what happened
there, we will give them remembrance. Don't doubt that each of us that
go down to the planet will take back some part of these people that
will stay with us always. You have the unique ability to seek out,
interpret and share the literature, art and song of the Jaxians.
Hoshi, sweetheart, that is something, isn't it?"

Whether it was the uncharacteristic endearment, Malcolm's concern
or the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead that she guessed were the
result of his efforts to negotiate his way through an emotional
minefield, Hoshi finally let loose with a genuine smile.

"I'll do what I can to make it something, Mr. Reed."

With that, Malcolm rose from the table and simply offered, "May I
escort you to your quarters, ensign?"

"Why, yes indeed, Lieutenant." They left their island table, waded
through the ocean of crew in the mess. Understanding, consolation and
another tentative step in building a lasting relationship was taken.
No one around them was any the wiser, engrossed as each was, in Chef's
delightful marinara sauce and there own micro-universe consisting of a
table and a couple of chairs.

---
Chapter 9 - Partings
---
Parting is all we know of heaven,     And all we need of hell. -
Emily Dickinson
---
The day breaks not: it is my heart,     Because that you and I
must part.

 - Anonymous from John Dowland: A Pilgrim's Progress
---

Commander Tucker hunched over the shuttle pod console. He seemed
to be reviewing the Padd that detailed the results of the engineering
preflight checklist like St. Peter perusing a list of sins and virtues
of a soul intent on heaven. If anyone in the shuttle bay wondered why
the Chief Engineer was doing a routine preflight check at 0500, they
kept their thoughts to themselves. Or, quite possibly, not many of
them had to wonder. The Chief had not been too circumspect about
communicating his eagerness for the mission or his disappointment for
being grounded.

Trip checked the list for a third time. He'd racked his brain to
come up with a compelling reason why the away team would need an
engineer. While he was willing to accept the logic of the Captain's
decision, logic was not sufficient to put a muzzle on the little voice
in his head that said something was not right. When the engines were
acting up, he could feel the odd vibrations from the floor panels and
up through the balls of his feet. This feeling was more like a lead
ball of dread lodged firmly in his chest. Maybe his sense of
foreboding was just a projection of his own unfortunate away mission
experiences. Malcolm had implied as much last night. Somehow it
feeling seemed so much more substantial than just reliving a bad
experience or two

Travis, assigned the role of pilot for the mission, approached the
Commander with a loose-limbed gate that seemed to eat up the space
between them. The Chief Engineer was not sure he wanted to give the
thumbs up on the shuttle, but could not, for all the Andorian ale on
Risa, come up with a likely sounding reason. Trip could tell that his
sense of unease had telegraphed itself to the young pilot as he
watched Travis's smile dissolve into a look of concern.

"Hey, Commander. Is there something wrong with the pre-flight? You
look like someone stole you last mono-phasic capacitor."

Trip favored the pilot with a half-hearted smile. "No ensign, not
since you borrowed one to soup up the audio system in your quarters.
The capacitors are all accounted for, mono and multi-phasic."

Trip glanced back at the shuttlecraft. "She's ship-shape and ready
to fly." Trip grimaced slightly at the note of levity that rang
falsely to him. The ensign didn't seem to notice as he moved to give
the shuttle a once-over. A couple of bad experiences had not damped
Mayweather's excitement at exploring a new planet.

Junior officers always seem to have a knack for ignoring the
unpleasant, if adventure was in the offing. Tucker recognized this
recklessness in himself. Until now he had not noticed that time had
begun to instill a sense of caution. The Captain might be surprised to
hear Trip admit it. In fact, the Captain probably thought that Trip's
desire to go on the away mission was nothing more than a result of
Trip and T'Pol's budding relationship.

As Mayweather conducted his own preflight check, Malcolm
approached. The armory officer's hands were grasping two metal trunks.
Breaking into a genuine grin this time, Trip thought, God bless
Malcolm. Even if the armory officer was informed that only microbes
existed on a planet, he'd still feel it necessary to go on an away
mission "loaded for bear."

Always slightly suspicious of Chief Engineers bearing wide grins,
Lieutenant Reed asked warily, tilting his head toward the craft, "She
checks out, Commander?"

"Not sure, Lieutenant. If you are planning on installing a phase
cannon on the shuttle, I might have to do some rewiring."

Malcolm confusion lasted only a moment before he aimed
half-annoyed, half-amused look back at the Commander.

"You were thinking that the well-dressed Armory officer should
accessorize with black leather rather than titanium weapon's cases?"

"Naw, Lieutenant. Actually I heartily approve of your fashion
statement. Besides, black leather would clash with your blue
jumpsuit." Trip crossed his arms and seemed to shake his head grimly.
"The haberdashers on Bond Street would be appalled at such as
suggestion."

Malcolm's eyes glanced heavenward for strength. Silently, though,
he was pleased that the Engineer seemed to come out of his sulk.

"T'Pol and Hoshi are making a final review of the linguistics and
cultural databases that we received on the Jaxians from our Vulcan
friends. We'll be ready to leave within the hour."

"Actually, Lieutenant we are ready right now." T'Pol serenely
glided in, carrying a simple black cloth utility bag over one
shoulder. Hoshi, slightly breathless, looked like she would have
enjoyed the luxury of the rest of the hour to complete her
preparations. She tucked an errant stand of hair behind her ear as she
fumbled with her other hand to get the Padd she was holding into a
similar bag she gripped awkwardly. Trip could see that Malcolm looked
ready to make a diving catch if the contents of her bag followed
through with its promise to spill all over the shuttle bay floor.

Hoshi looked over at Malcolm and favored him with a harried smile
as she righted the bag and secured the flap. Her amusement increased
as she noted his stance relax ever so slightly.

Trip's amusement, however, vanished upon T'Pol's entrance to the
shuttle bay. As if in answer to his unasked question, T'Pol informed
him, "We'll be gone most of the day. The Captain requested that we
check in every two hours. Our return is scheduled promptly at 1900
hours."

As T'Pol stepped up into the waiting shuttle, Trip placed an
unnecessary hand under her arm to help her go aboard.

Trip was choking on everything that he wanted to say to her -
longing, love and concern. His arm moved to rest on her shoulder. The
only two words to get past the lump in his throat were, "Take care."

She looked back at him for one intense moment and Trip could swear
that her warm brown eyes darkened and deepened as she studied his face
- and thoughts.

Her simple answer: "Indeed."

Forty-five minutes later, Travis radioed the bridge that they had
arrived safe and sound.

Two hours later, they checked in to inform the Enterprise that
they were exploring one of the buildings that appeared to be a
government center.

Precisely one and one half hours after that, a breathless
Lieutenant Reed hailed the ship. His statement was as simple as it was
chilling, "Captain, Sub-commander T'Pol has disappeared."

---
Chapter 10 - Abducted!
---

The shuttle pod managed to descend into the planet's atmosphere
with little trouble. If a Vulcan could be credulous, T'Pol was often
baffled at the versatility and stamina of the stocky little crafts. In
fact, the pods did not look so far removed in design from the "flying
bricks," also called shuttles, that populated earths early 21st
century space program. Ensign Mayweather was a competent pilot, yet
the Vulcan, used to more fleet and graceful Vulcan craft, always
seemed to unconsciously calculate the likelihood of safe landing.

The other two members of the away team seemed unconcerned as the
conversed quietly in the aft seating area. None of the members of the
away team seemed to have the almost giddy anticipation that marked
most away missions for this crew. T'Pol mused that some of the crew's
past experiences might have sobered their opinions on adventure. No,
T'Pol concluded, more likely, the somber mood was due to the officers'
awareness of the fate of planet's inhabitants.

Mayweather negotiated a simple landing, skimming close to the
treetops, as he dropped down into a clearing that surely had once been
a recreation area near the former capital's center.

After studying information from the Vulcan database about the Jax
home world, the captain and T'Pol had decided on attempting to check a
government location first, as stored data on what happened would
likely be concentrated in such a place.

As they approached, what had seemed intact given the myopia of
distance, took on the look of buildings long abandoned. Walkways they
crossed, made of an odd gray-green, slightly bouncy substance, showed
sun bleaching and a web work of hairline cracks in the surface.
Manicured grounds, once tamed by an army of caretakers, had long now
gone to seed. An infant forest springing up in its wake.

The environment seemed much more sanitized than what the away team
expected after a global epidemic event.

Hoshi gave voice to the surprise of three out of four members of
the group. "I thought there'd be bodies or skeletons." Her voice
trailed off. Quietly, almost to herself, she added, ".or something."

Malcolm shot a glance of concern over at Hoshi, but seemed
satisfied that she was dealing with the situation.

"Many species are known to retreat to dark, quiet places to
expire. As the disease progressed and societal systems started to
fail, it is likely that the remaining survivors on the planet turned
to familiar surroundings to await the inevitable. " As if aware that
her clinical response might not be a comfort to the more sensitive
younger members of the party, T'Pol added, "It is not likely that we
will need to investigate the residential areas of the city."

Travis seemed relieved. "Thank God for small favors" he murmured
to himself. Hoshi, either overhearing the quiet comment or sensing his
general relief, beamed at the young pilot. Misery, indeed, loves
company.

As they approached one of the buildings that seemed to be at the
center of a large complex, T'Pol decided that they we should split
into two teams. Hoshi and Malcolm investigate a communication's center
near the ground floor. Travis, she decided, would join her and seek
out a command center or senior management area that might have housed
classified information.

T'Pol and Travis found what they were looking for on one of the
highest floors of the building. The secure area was wisely located in
the center of a floor away from the external shell of the building.
The security system, of a rather primitive keypad style, was easily
overridden by T'Pol. As they entered the complex rooms, something odd
about their appearance set off warning bells in T'Pol's mind. Thinking
of such an irrational mental warning system as bells in her head make
T'Pol briefly think of Trip. At the thought of him, the formal lines
of her mouth relaxed slightly. She reached out to him for a moment
with her mind, hoping even at this distance, he could sense her
well-being.

"Ensign, analyze the control console in this room. I would like to
establish an interface and see if you can begin downloading data. If
our technology is not compatible, call me. I've scanned this floor and
detected in a power source located down the hallway. When you are
finished here, meet me at that location. I may the need of your
assistance.

"Aye, aye, Subcommander. It is unusual to think that something is
still power up and working after all this time."

"Which is precisely why I intend to investigate. If you are
curious, I suggest that you proceed with your assignment in all due
haste." Travis smiled. From another officer, he might have felt the
chastised. From T'Pol, in her way, it almost sounded like
encouragement.

T'Pol proceeded down the dark corridor. Her head down, she gazed
intently at the tricorder. Without a doubt, there were power readings
coming from the room at the end of the hall. As she stepped into the
room, a computer screen glowed eerily in the abandoned office.

And then she realized what had been bothering her since they
stepped foot on this floor. Unlike the levels below, these offices
looked pristine. Where was the ten years of undisturbed dust? How
could someone reach this level without leaving some evidence of his
passing on one of the floors below?

T'Pol had barely completed this thought, when she felt an arm grab
her in a chokehold. She immediately attempted to use her body as a
fulcrum to grab her larger opponent and tip him over her shoulder. Her
arm had barely reached up to his neck when she felt a sharp pinch on
her neck just above her collarbone. Then everything went black.

---
Chapter 11 - Cinema Prophecy
---

"Captain, Sub-commander T'Pol has disappeared."

Shocked silence was the only answer to the announcement - for the
span of about three heartbeats. Before Archer had a chance to utter a
single question or command, Trip addressed the ensign that sat at
Hoshi's duty station.

"Ensign Calder, hail the Sub-commander - NOW!" Radiating urgency,
only someone who knew the commander was well as Jon did, would hear
the background note of panic that resonated in that final word.

Calder's fingers fumbled over the control panel where Hoshi's
would normally fly with beloved familiarity. He was on loan from
security. Calder had strategic communications training - but it was
painfully obvious that this was his first time negotiating the
intricacies of a starship communications system during a time of
non-simulated crisis.

"Aye, sir, I've already tried our normal channels. I've begun
scanning emergency frequencies as well."

"Trip." Archer started. Before he could continue his request, the
engineer had already fulfilled it. With amazing speed, he had crossed
to T'Pol's science station, and without sitting, had already begun to
run scans of the planet.

To no one in particular, but at least for the benefit of the rest
of the bridge crew, John continued with the command that was already
being executed. "Scan the planet and see if you can isolate the
locations of all of our people."

"Captain, I have three life signs clustered on the 15th level of
the building. I'm spread'n the search to surrounding buildings. into
the city - I can't find anything."

Archer could feel his teeth grinding. This was supposed to be a
milk run, he thought. For once he didn't complain that they seemed to
get the "safe" mission. His crew had needed a break. What they got was
a bad one. Part of him wanted to cling to the possibility of a simple
explanation. "Trip, are you running across any shielded areas in the
building? Maybe T'Pol just can't get through."

"Negative, Captain."

Archer leaned forward in his seat. "Calder, get me the
Lieutenant."

Reeds clipped tones filled the bridge. "Reed here, Captain."

"Any news Malcolm?"

"No sir. We are doing a floor-by-floor search. We're at level ten,
working our way down. It is slow going, Captain. With only three of
us, I decided to take the precaution of staying together." Unsaid was
that he had two junior officers with him, neither of which had more
than rudimentary security training. Every word spoke volumes to Jon.
Get me a bloody battalion down here and I'll take this building apart
- came through loud and clear.

"Agreed. We're sending an away team down to complete the search.
Hold your position."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he heard exactly
what he expected the moment the phrase "away team" left his mouth.

"Captain, I'd like to lead that team." Every word Trip spoke was
as perfectly enunciated - Lt. Reed couldn't have said it more clearly.

Archer closed his eyes for a moment as if the temporary peace
would give him some insight into his options. This was not a
conversation that he wanted to have on the bridge. His alternatives
were already limited and John knew that Trip intended to use that
argument in his favor.

"Senior officers to the ready room." With T'Pol and the lieutenant
on the planet, that left only Trip and Phlox. Turning back to Calder
he motioned him to hail the away team. "Malcolm, I want you to keep
this frequency open and hail us ever five minutes until the team gets
down there."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

The first impression to filter into T'Pol's consciousness was that
she was lying on her side on top of cot. The second was that her hands
were secured behind her and anchored to something that prevented her
from turning over or trying to sit up. Looking around the room through
veiled lashes, she concluded that she was in a small subterranean
cavern. Before she was able to assess the entire room, she heard a
chair scrape the ground. The noise came from her right. In order to
see who was approaching, she would need to lift her head, which she
decided was not prudent. There was no sense alerting her kidnapper
that she was awake until she it was absolutely necessary. It would
have been a good strategy - if it had worked.

"Ahhh, my little Vulcan friend, playing 'possum as your human
shipmates would say?"

T'Pol did not understand the reference to a nocturnal, arboreal
marsupial from earth but she assumed that he was aware that she was
awake. She saw no sense in replying to his question so she remained
silent and watched him as he approached the cot.

T'Pol's first impression was that the man approaching her was
large - physically built like Captain Archer but possibly taller by a
few centimeters. His musculature was hard to make out as he wore a
loose black hooded cloak that effectively hid most of his face and
upper torso. All that she could see in the dim light was the line of
his jaw that looked as hard and implacable as the stone surrounding
her. He moved quite silently for a large humanoid.

"I see that you've given up the strategy of feigning
unconsciousness." For the first time, T'Pol realized that his voice
had an unusual tone. His sibilant consonants seemed to extend longer
than needed, giving his voice a rasping sound that she contemplated
might sound rather sinister if one was susceptible to such notions.

He seemed to be unconcerned with the fact that she refused to
respond to his communications. Instead he approached her. Reflexively,
she tried to shift back as he closed the distance between them, his
black cloak consuming her entire visual of field. Soon she felt a tug
on her bound wrists. Though he did not release her hands, it seemed
that he did undo the tether. Sliding a hand under the shoulder resting
on the cot, he seemed to effortlessly lift her to a sitting position.
She placed her feet on the floor. Standing as close as he was, T'Pol
had to tilt her head quite far back to look at him.

"Now I imagine that you have a few questions." He pulled a chair
from the table and placed it opposite her, so close that their knees
almost touched. The candle light from the table to their right did
nothing to illuminate her kidnapper's features. "Where would you like
to start?"

"Why did you bring me here?"

"Oh, T'Pol, or would you rather I call you Subcommander?" His
question was greeted with an unflinching stare and complete silence.
"No matter. I prefer T'Pol, so T'Pol it is. Well, T'Pol it truly is a
long story, but most of it you already know. Suffice it to say that
you and your ship have cost my operation quite a good deal of time and
capital with your interference on Aviaria. As any good businessman
would, I plan on recouping at least some of my expenses."

"Enterprise will not pay a ransom for me."

"Indeed. I have no intention of requesting monetary compensation.
In fact, I have no plans to return you to your ship. Actually, it is
my fondest wish that your entire crew join us here on the planet. We
are always having staffing problems with this operation. I've decided
that Enterprise's crew is just the ticket for my latest recruiting
drive."

"Captain Archer would never allow the entire crew to come to this
planet for any reason."

"Yes, that would be very poor strategy on his part. But you'll
have to have faith that I have tried and true strategies on my side as
well. Why the whole concept came to me while watching early 21st
century earth cinema. Have you ever seen a movie called Gunga Din? The
Wiseman was a genius strategist. However did he put it? Yes, now I
remember."

"Two come to follow one. Then the others follow."

---

The End