Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 6 Jan 2004 09:12:39 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: shouldknowbettertt@yahoo.co.uk (shouldknowbetter) 
 

Title: A Logical Proposal
Series: ENT, First in a series of 9 stories.  
Author:  Shouldknowbetter
Email: shouldknowbettertt@yahoo.co.uk
Rating:   PG13
Codes:    Tu/T, all "Enterprise" characters, later in series, Soval,
Forrest, action, angst, drama
Disclaimer 1:      Paramount owns the characters, the Star Trek franchise
and the universe.  I just use them for my own private, non-profit
making amusement.
Part: 2/4 Story, 2/34 Series

A LOGICAL PROPOSAL

Part Two



It took Tucker a long time to locate T'Pol, finally resorting to
re-calibrating the internal sensors, and even then it was a long crawl
through access tubes.  He eventually emerged into the small chamber in
something of a temper; it was Friday night, he was supposed to be
off-duty and he was hungry.  "What the hell are you doing in here?" 
Then he got a good look at her as she turned to observe him and
frowned.  "You look terrible."

T'Pol went back to her self-appointed task in some irritation.  She
had not expected anyone to find her here – and by anyone she really
meant Storan and Tucker.  Now the latter was there and was that a very
small part of her that was glad to see him?  No, of course not.

"What are you doing?" he asked again and she sighed.  Tucker could be
very stubborn.

"There is a problem with the environmental controls."

"No, there isn't!"  He had just finished checking outstanding work and
that one would have been right at the top of the list.  "Now just a …"
 He grabbed for the PADD at her side before she could retrieve it.  "I
thought so.  There's a minor problem with the humidity regulators on
E-deck.  Minor."  He scrolled through the information on the PADD. 
"What's going on, T'Pol?  There's nothing urgent here and even if
there was, there's a team of engineers on board whose job it is to fix
things."  She didn't reply, just kept working.  "You're avoiding
Storan, aren't you?"  Still no reply.  "Aren't you?  Damn it, T'Pol,
look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Slowly she closed the access panel and turned to face him,
expressionless.  "It is none of your business."

"Yes, it is.  You're white as a sheet and the Cap'n's worried about
you."  A small pain twisted inside T'Pol.  So Archer had ordered
Tucker to find her?  That momentary pang was what she deserved for
having been pleased to see him.

"You may assure Captain Archer that there is nothing to be worried
about."  She would have left but Tucker was blocking the exit.  She
would have had to brush against him to get through.  "Please move
aside."

Deliberately he shifted to block the hatchway even more completely,
crossing his arms.  "Not until you talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you."

"Fine.  We can just sit here all night and not talk to each other."

"You will leave as soon as you get hungry."  Wasn't she supposed to be
maintaining a dignified silence?

"I already got hungry looking for you."  His eyes narrowed.  "I've not
seen you in the mess hall all week.  Have you been eating?"

"Vulcans are accustomed to fasting.  It promotes constructive
meditation."  Although fasting and carrying out double duty shifts was
not recommended.

"Crap."  Surprisingly there was no venom behind the profanity. 
"You've been staying out of Storan's way.  He's always hanging about
there."

Tucker was only half right.  She had been avoiding him too and he was
just as likely to be found in the mess hall as Storan.

"You've not been sleeping either, have you?"

"I have been meditating."  Whenever she tried to sleep, Tucker was
there, touching her, making her shiver with desire.  She blamed Storan
for having forced her into a comparison of her physical response to
the two men.  "The effect is similar."

"But not the same!  You've let the guy tie you in knots, T'Pol!" 
Tucker was angry again.  "He's not worth it."

"You do not understand."

"I understand that you've not been eating or sleeping; and you're
starting to let it affect your work."  He saw her react to that as he
had known she would, as he would have done.  "If you don't want the
Cap'n reporting you to Dr Phlox and him asking all sorts of personal
questions then you're gonna come eat with me; now."

"Storan will be there."  She had not meant to say that but she really
was very tired.

He gave her a long searching look then shifted to reach the nearest
comm. outlet.  "Tucker to Storan."

"Lt. Storan here."

"Are you busy, lieutenant?"

"I am just finishing dinner, then I was anticipating a discussion with
Sub-Commander T'Pol."

"Sorry, but I'm gonna have to change your plans.  The Cap'n wants some
sensor modifications made asap.  The spec.s are on my desk.  Shouldn't
take you more than a couple of hours.  Is that all right, Lieutenant
Storan?"

It clearly wasn't, but Storan was a Vulcan, well drilled in the
importance of duty and Tucker was his superior officer – in name if
not in thought.  "Very well, commander.  Storan out."

Tucker flicked off the comm. and looked questioningly at T'Pol.  "Feel
safer now?"

"You lied."

"I exaggerated.  Cap'n said tomorrow would do."  He nodded to the
hatchway.  "C'mon, T'Pol, I'm starving."  Still she didn't move and he
sighed, stepping a little closer.  "You gotta eat and that means with
me because I don't trust you not to bunk off to your cabin as soon as
I turn my back.  And you need to think about something else for a
change."  He gave her his widest, most annoying grin.  "I promise to
be as obnoxious as possible just to give you something to moan about."

She was tired and the thought of company other than her own was
welcome, even if it was Tucker's.  "How will I tell the difference
from your normal behaviour?"

If anything, the grin widened.  "Ah, darlin', I haven't even tried
lately."

"What did you call me?"

"You heard.  Now get in that tube so I can watch your butt."

"Commander!"

He laughed and inserted himself into the hatch with the ease of long
practise.  "Told you!"

By the time they reached the mess hall, T'Pol was in a simmering
temper, even if it was well masked.  Tucker was right, he could be
effortlessly rude and she had remembered exactly why she disliked him
so much.  She glared when he steered her away from the salad.  "I want
that."

"Tough.  You need protein."

"You know nothing about my dietary needs."

"I know two bits of lettuce aren't enough if you've not eaten in a
week.  Have the pasta."

"I suppose I will have to watch you consume large quantities of animal
product."

"Wrong."  He snagged another bowl of pasta.  "I'm not having you throw
up after all the trouble of getting you here."

She subsided, annoyed that she couldn't be annoyed, then stared at the
mug of mint tea he placed beside her.  "I do not want it."

"Don't drink it then."  He looked thoughtfully at her over the rim of
his own glass.  "You really are in a foul mood, aren't you?  I thought
meditation was supposed to calm you down.  Eat!"

T'Pol closed her eyes, seeking to centre herself, to find the calm
point beyond the turmoil.  She should not have allowed herself to be
so intimidated that she stopped eating.  Now it was an effort to start
again and she knew she was becoming weaker and therefore less able to
withstand the pressures of her violent, passionate, ever-denied
heritage.

"T'Pol."  A cool, long-fingered hand covered one of hers.  "Don't
think about it.  Just eat."

She looked briefly into a pair of surprisingly kind blue eyes and
reached for her fork, withdrawing her hand from under Tucker's.  "Chef
prepares a great many pasta dishes."

"Everyone likes pasta."  She was aware that he was still watching her,
no doubt to ensure that she really was eating.  "You still get the
best stuff in Italy though.  I guess that was another place you never
got to visit?"

"No."

"Starfleet's got a place in Marseilles.  We used to use weekend passes
to cross over into Italy."

"For food?"

"Of course for food!  Not my fault Italian girls are real pretty and
like blonds.  That really used to annoy Jon."

"Captain Archer?"

"Yeah.  He used to be a real tearaway before he made captain."

"I do not believe you."

"Honest truth," and he proceeded to tell her discreditable stories
about their captain.  She was fairly sure that he had switched the
names around.

They were just finishing the dessert that Tucker had again bullied
T'Pol into eating when Hoshi stopped on her way out, just a little
curious as to why her favourite engineer had been taking such a lot of
trouble over the first officer's meal.  "Are you coming to the movie
tonight, commander?"

"Dunno."  He looked up with a smile.  "What's playing?"

"Star Wars Part IV."  She grimaced.  "There are too many men on this
ship.  All we get are action films."

"Don't think so.  I never could figure out how those light sabre
things worked."  He looked over at T'Pol.  "Unless you want to go,
sub-commander?  You'd like it, it's got aliens in it."

"All human films contain aliens."

He grinned at the correction.  "Aliens to us."

She looked suspiciously back.  "When was it made?"

"Late 20th century."

"Humans," she said in disgust.  "Humans in anatomically implausible
costumes."

"They're meant to be aliens.  It would give you an insight into how
Earth thought about aliens in that period."

"It would not."

"Would too."  He leant closer.  "Or d'you go for the theory that first
contact occurred years before Zephram Cochrane and the 20th century
entertainment industry was being run under alien direction?"

"You are being ridiculous."

"Yeah, but it was a theory.  So was …"

Hoshi shook her head and left.  Tucker was obviously just bored and
playing his favourite game of winding up the resident Vulcan.  But it
was a shame he hadn't wanted to see the film.  She was missing
Malcolm's gloomy company and Tucker was great fun when he was in a
good mood.  Mayweather it would have to be, then.

T'Pol made a neat stack of the dirty dishes while Tucker rambled on
about another preposterous ‘abducted by aliens' theory and admitted
that she felt better for the meal.  Perhaps her meditation would be
more productive for the calorific intake although at the moment she
felt uncomfortable full.  She picked up the tray.  "Goodnight,
commander."

"Not so fast."  He took the tray from her and deposited it with the
rest, following her into the corridor.  "And not that way."

"That is the route to my quarters."

"You can't go to bed yet, not straight after stuffing yourself like
that."

"You forced me to consume too much."

"If you go back to your cabin now, what will you do?"  He forced her
to face him.  "Honestly, T'Pol!"
"Meditate."

"Exactly.  You need a break."

"Vulcans must meditate every day."

"Fine.  You can do it later.  But first you need to stop thinking
about Storan for a while.  Did you think about him over dinner?"

"No."

"And do you feel better for it?"

He was very annoying and in this case correct.  "Yes."

"So let's go find something else to do for a while."

"I do not wish to impose on your free time."

Tucker gave the woman a searching look, although she would not meet
his eyes.  She looked rather more healthy for the meal but underneath
the composure he was almost certain that she was miserable and he
didn't like people he was fond of to be miserable.  "You're not. 
C'mon."  And when, he wondered, had a Vulcan he despised and disliked
turned into a friend?  That was a much too difficult question for a
Friday night.

T'Pol halted abruptly at the entrance to Enterprise's recreation room.
 "This place serves no useful purpose."

"Yes, it does.  It's for having fun in."  Tucker continued before she
could protest, "Yeah, I know, Vulcans don't have fun.  So don't you
think that this is the best place to hide out from Storan?"

"There is a certain … perverted … logic to your argument."

"Sure there is.  I'm gonna play pool.  Want to join in?"

"No."

T'Pol found the hour she spent sitting in a corner watching Tucker
drink beer, play pool and laugh surprisingly peaceful.  She was still
tired and for once in her life inactivity had some appeal.  She didn't
quite achieve a meditative state but she was able to suspend her
thought processes for quite some time.  It was only towards the end of
the hour that she realised she had spent of the time glazing idly at a
man she found physically attractive and that her body had taken
advantage of her abstraction.  It was throbbing gently but
insistently, suggesting that really it would quite like to held
tightly against that long lean body and perhaps stroked a little at
the same time.  T'Pol looked away quickly, almost gasping as the wave
of desire hit her.  She was a fool who was old enough to know better. 
Her mother, her teachers had all warned her about this as they did
every Vulcan woman as she hit puberty – control your urges or they
will control you.  Vulcan men had to be locked away into the safety of
marriage or risk death in pon farr, but so too did women.  The
marriage bond helped control the primitive desire to mate, as did
motherhood.  But T'Pol had rejected Kos and now she was suffering the
consequences in the form of the fierce attraction she felt towards
Tucker.  No, not towards him but towards the body he inhabited.  It
could be controlled, had to be controlled, or she would lose every
shred of self-respect.  She didn't even like him.  Almost fiercely,
she turned her attention to Storan.  Perhaps it was the answer. 
Perhaps the fragile link that would only be cemented when they mated
would be enough to control her lust.  Perhaps … she would learn to
appreciate orchids.

"Penny for ‘em?"

She looked up into Tucker's enquiring gaze as he seated himself at the
small table she had chosen.  At least he was on the other side.  "I
beg your pardon?"

"It's a saying.  ‘Penny for your thoughts'.  What were you thinking
about?"

"Storan."

"I thought I told you to take a break from that!"

Since the alternative had been to think lustful thoughts about him,
she hardly thought the complaint was justified.  "I must come to a
decision."

"Why's that so difficult, T'Pol?"  He sounded genuinely confused, not
trying to provoke her.  "You don't like the guy.  He's boring,
humourless, no where near as intelligent as you and so full of his own
opinion it makes me sick."  He read her surprise – too easily.  "While
you've been avoiding him, I've had the pleasure of his company too
often this week."

She regretted Tucker's all too accurate summary of Storan, an opinion
that coincided with hers.  It made it more difficult to explain, but
perhaps explaining to someone else would clarify her own thoughts. 
"Vulcan women must marry.  As you know, I have already rejected one
mate.  Storan has my parents backing.  If I reject him too, I do not
know if they will continue to acknowledge me."

"That's harsh," he said softly and she shrugged very slightly.

"It is traditional."

"So you need Storan to reject you."

"Yes."  She had not thought of that, perhaps because he had been so
persistent.  "But if not him …"
"That's crap!  There must be dozens of guys better suited."  Then a
thought occurred to Tucker.  "But you don't get the chance to meet
anyone suitable on Enterprise, do you?"

"No."

"Same for all of us," he muttered, frowning.  "So … how do we put
Storan off you?"  It was clearly a rhetorical question.  "You'd think
keeping the guy stringing along for a week would have told him
something."  He grinned suddenly.  "Have you let him kiss you yet?"

"No!"

"Maybe you should.  He might not like it.  Or maybe he won't want you
if he thinks you're coming on to him."

She was not familiar with the term but the amusement in Tucker's eyes
made the meaning clear.  "Has that ever dissuaded you from pursuing a
relationship, Commander Tucker?"

"Hell, no, but I've never been a guy looking for a nice biddable girl
to stay home and raise the kids."  He was teasing her but then she had
been doing the same.  Then he sobered, eyes a little sad as he studied
her.  "I keep remembering something my mom used to say whenever I
brought home another unsuitable girl and then dumped her the next
week.  ‘Happiness is momentary.  Contentment lasts a lifetime.'  I
never really knew what she was getting at back then, but now …  You
need to be sure you'll be content, T'Pol, whatever you chose to do." 
She struggled to breathe evenly, moved by the unexpected sympathy and
he grimaced.  "I haven't helped, have I?"

"No."  Except to demonstrate that, on occasion, Trip Tucker could be
very likeable; too likeable.
"Want me to go back to being obnoxious, then?"

If T'Pol had not been Vulcan, she would have smiled.  "Perhaps that
would be as well."

He gave her an extraordinarily sweet smile that made her ache a little
then it dissolved into a Tucker-normal smirk.  "Did you watch me play
pool?"

She thought carefully about the answer.  "I observed the game."

"What d'you think?"

"It is a pointless and primitive application of Euclidian geometry and
Newtonian forces."

"Primitive, huh?"  He glanced over his shoulder and before she could
anticipate his intentions had bounced to his feet, grabbing her wrist
to pull her with him.

"Commander!"  The protest was instinctive but her attempt to free
herself was ineffectual; and they both knew that she could have
dislocated his shoulder and snapped his arm in two if she had wished.

"Let's just see how superior Vulcan reflexes play pool shall we?"  He
snatched a cue from the table, levelling it for her, the other hand on
her waist.  "You hold it …"

T'Pol grabbed it from him, stepping out of his partial embrace.  "I
was watching, Mr Tucker."

"See, I knew you couldn't resist …  Hey!"  She had swung the cue
around at groin height.
"Do you wish to break?"

"Are you sure you've never played?"

"Positive."

He grinned and slid around her to the top of the table, brushing
against her.  T'Pol had to make an effort to glare at him for the
quite unnecessary physical contact.  "Want to make it interesting?"

"I do not understand your meaning."

"A bet.  A wager."

"Star Fleet regulations prohibit gambling on board ship."

"For gain.  Not for anything else."  His eyes met hers.  "If I win,
you have to call me Trip."

"No."

"Why not?"

"It is a stupid name."

"Charles then."

"No."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Vulcans do not address anyone except family and close friends in an
informal manner."

He rolled his eyes at her and broke, muttering when nothing fell and
handing her the cue.  "Want some advice?"

"No."  She made some basic calculations, lined up a shot and missed,
staring at the outcome as she re-ran her maths.  It was not logical.

Tucker retrieved the cue, breath caressing her ear.  "Should have
taken the advice."

She had drawn the only possible conclusion.  "The table is not level."

"That's right."  He lined up a shot, sinking the ball squarely. 
"Pulls left to right."  He made another couple of pockets then missed.
 "Damn!  Want some advice this time?"

"No."  She had adjusted her calculations; and still missed.

"Not bending over enough," he told her.  "You need to get your right
eye in line with the cue.  If you'll just let me …"

This time she avoided him.  "If you attempt to touch me again,
Commander Tucker, I will …"  Then she had to break off as a suitable
threat failed to materialise.  She was Vulcan, she did not resort to
violence.

He chuckled and went to finish potting the balls.

Watching from the doorway, Archer wondered if he was hallucinating or
whether he had just walked into another dimension.  Had he really seen
Trip flirting with Enterprise's first officer?  And more unbelievable
yet, had she almost responded?  Never mind the fact that they were
together at all.  He waited for Tucker to sink the nine ball then went
over to find the pair arguing, although it still sounded a lot like
courtship to him.

"So now you have to call me Trip."

"I did not agree to the wager."

"Or Charles.  Charles is a nice name."

"No."

"Give you best of three?"

"I do not …"  T'Pol broke off as she saw Archer; he was sure that her
expression cooled to near absolute zero.

"Hey, Cap'n."  Tucker showed no such inhibition.  "Want a game?"

"Not this time."  Archer was making an effort to play it cool.  "Would
you care to explain, Commander Tucker, why I've got a pissed tactical
officer complaining about erroneous orders?"

"Oh."  The engineer glanced at the woman at his side.  "When?"

"About five minutes ago."

"Took him that long, huh?"

"Care to explain, Trip?"

"I asked him to implement those sensor mod.s you wanted."

"And?"

"The requirements were wrong.  He's probably been going round in
circles."

"I wrote the requirements."  T'Pol was frowning slightly.

"Yeah, but you wrote them around the assumption that the calibration
factors were to Vulcan standard.  Enterprise's systems use Earth
standard.  I … um … forgot to mention the anomaly to Storan."

"So," Archer said slowly, "you purposely set a junior officer a flawed
task then came down here to enjoy yourself?"

"Sort of."  Tucker glanced sideways at T'Pol again, but her expression
was unreadable.  "Trust me, Cap'n, he deserved it."

"I will correct the problem."  T'Pol started towards the door, but
Archer held out a restraining hand, noting that she drew back to avoid
contact with him.

"I think, Commander Tucker, that you'd best clear up the mess you
purposely created."

"Ay, sir."  Archer's evening took another turn for the worse as he
noted the reassuring look Tucker turned on T'Pol as he passed her and
the way her eyes briefly followed the engineer before turning back to
him.

"If you'll excuse me, Captain?"

"Of course, Sub-Commander."  And that served him right for failing to
notice that his best friend appeared to be trying to cut him out.  Not
that Trip knew about that, of course, but when the hell had T'Pol and
Tucker stopped fighting and started acting like … whatever they were
acting like?  Not when Archer had been around, that was for sure.  And
he'd make damn certain that in future they never had time to meet
except when there were plenty of other people around.



"What up, Cap'n?"  Tucker stepped onto the bridge looking mildly
irritated.  "You broken something again?"

"Not this time."  Archer gestured towards the science station. 
"T'Pol's found something you might want to play with."

"Deuterium?"  The engineer turned towards her with a pleased grin. 
"Tell me you've found a source of deuterium."

"Sensors have detected a possible source," she admitted coolly. 
"However, it will certainly require extraction and purification, even
before you run the proper tests to ensure that its use will not
endanger Enterprise."

"So are we going to go prospecting?"

"That's the plan," Archer confirmed.  "Go power up a shuttle pod,
Trip, and pick out a couple of people to go with you."

"Sure."  

He headed for the bridge doors and T'Pol suggested hurriedly, "I
believe that I should accompany the mining team, captain.  They are
likely to require further analysis of samples on the surface." 
Anything to get away from Storan for a few hours.

Archer frowned; this was exactly the sort of circumstance he had
planned on avoiding, even if there had been no further sign that T'Pol
and Tucker were anything other than professional associates.

"Captain Archer?"

He swung round.  "Yes, Storan?"

"I believe it would be a wise precaution to include myself in the away
team.  It is never certain that a security situation will not arise."

"Sensors indicate that the highest form of life on the planet are
microbes," T'Pol said pointedly.  "I do not anticipate that they will
cause a security risk."

"All eventualities cannot be anticipated.  However adequate planning
can reduce the risk.  During one mission to …"

"Thank you, Storan."  Archer had also learnt that the Vulcan tactical
officer could lecture for hours.  "You've convinced me.  Even Trip
can't get into trouble with two Vulcans along."  And flirting should
be impossible.


T'Pol piloted and Tucker took the seat by the engineering console
leaving Storan to the sensors which at least gave them a break from
his opinion on the correct procedure for away missions.  Unfortunately
he gave the results of the scans in such detail that Tucker, never
very happy except with warp theory, lost the plot.  "Excuse me?"

"The planet's surface is 95% water," T'Pol translated before Storan
could simply read off the numbers again.  "The remaining 5% is only
marginally above sea level.  Deuterium is found in solution in shallow
pools on the ‘high' ground.  Surface wind speeds vary from 40 to 200
km/hour."

"That's not good.  The pod can't operate much above 100 km/hour."

"Affirmative.  Lt. Storan, locate an area of low wind speed."

It took him a few minutes before he fed her the coordinates and even
then it was qualified.  "Current wind speeds are in the order of
55km/hour but are subject to rapid change."

"How rapid?" Tucker asked anxiously and winced at the answer.

"I estimate that they could increase to 95% of maximum within a 30
minute time period."

"Can you rig an automated detector to warn us?"

"I will endeavour to do so."

The shuttle pod dropped lower and they could all feel the buffeting
even through the isolation provided by the inertial dampers.  "Wish
I'd stayed home," Tucker mumbled to himself, then swore.  "Shit! 
T'Pol, take us up.  The …"

The howl of over-stressed metal drowned him out as the shuttle pod
veered alarmingly then heeled back as T'Pol fought the wild movement. 
"Commander!"

"Starboard thrusters failed," he yelled back.  "I'm re-initialising. 
Try to fix her attitude at 45 degrees."  There were another few
moments of the wild ride then he nodded.  "OK, they're back on line. 
Feeding power in now.  Got it?"

"Confirmed."  Slowly the shuttle pod righted itself.  "We have
overshot the landing site.  I will bring us round again."

The landing wasn't the smoothest in Shuttle Pod 1's history but they
were all relieved to be down.  Or at least Tucker was.  The two
Vulcans, of course, showed no feelings one way or the other.

"What caused the failure?"  T'Pol had come to peer over Tucker's
shoulder at the diagnostic information.

"No idea."  He ran another set of tests through the now working
thrusters.  "Nice flying there, by the way."  He turned to smile up at
her and noticed she was absently rubbing her wrist.  "Hurt yourself?"

For a second she allowed the gentle exploration then drew back.  "It
is of no consequence.  If you will remain here, commander, and attempt
to isolate the failure, Lt. Storan and I will locate a deuterium
sample."

"OK."  He followed them to the exit.  "You rigged that warning device,
Storan?"

"Indeed.  It will signal if air pressure changes.  That …"

"Fine."  The hatch opened and they all stepped back from the icy blast
that carried a fine spray of moisture with it.  "Watch yourselves out
there.  It looks pretty nasty."  As far as the eye could see – which
wasn't actually very far in the misty conditions – there was nothing
but low banks of glistening mud and the deeper shine of water between.

"There is no cause for concern.  Proper attention to one's footing and
an excellent sense of balance …"  Tucker thrust a container at Storan
and winked at T'Pol as she led the way down the ramp, hefting another
container.  She didn't respond.  In fact, she had gone back to
ignoring him the last couple of day.  Who would ever understand
Vulcans?


Tucker was still trying to track down the source of the intermittent
thruster problem when Storan's alarm went off.  He wasted a few
seconds remembering what it signified then identified the problem
himself as the shuttle pod shook to a stronger than usual buffet of
wind.  "Tucker to T'Pol."
"T'Pol here."  She sounded breathless, making Tucker very glad he was
in the shelter of the pod.
"The wind's rising.  Get back here."

"Acknowledged.  We are returning now.  We will rendezvous with you in
fifteen minutes.  T'Pol out."


Tucker actually saw the accident happen.  The fifteen minutes were up
and so was the wind, shaking the pod.  He had opened the hatch and was
peering out anxiously when he finally saw the two figures emerge from
the gloom maybe a hundred metres away and pick their way cautiously
towards the shuttle pod.  Both were carrying containers that appeared
heavy even for the ultra-strong Vulcans and he was debating the wisdom
of going to lend a hand when the strongest gust of wind yet sent him
ducking for cover against the spray that blinded him.  When he looked
again there was only one figure left, peering downwards.

He covered the distance as fast as he could but it took what felt like
hours in the appalling conditions, most of the time bent double to
avoid being blown off his feet.  Storan was still standing there
uselessly.  "Where is she?"

The tactical officer gestured down the steep slope of mud at his feet.
 "The sub-commander slipped down there.  She disappeared."

"Oh, jeez."  The pool at the bottom of the 2m drop was opaque with mud
and there was no sign of a grey uniform.  "Why didn't you go in after
her?"

"I cannot swim."

"Neither can she!"  Tucker's hands were shaking as he directed his
scanner at the pool; 3m deep, 5oC and a rapidly cooling body at the
bottom, 2.5m from the point where they stood.  He dropped the scanner,
tore off his jacket and kicked off his boots, slithered down the
slope, took a deep breath, closed his eyes and dived as deep as he
could.  The cold almost made him gasp and he had time for a frantic
prayer that Vulcan discipline had protected T'Pol from doing the same,
then his groping fingers encountered something that wasn't mud.  He
took a double handful and kicked upwards, breaking the surface panting
and trying to squint through stinging water in his eyes.  At least it
was a body he had dragged up; he just hoped it wasn't a dead body but
surely she hadn't been down there that long.  He floundered to the
edge of the pool where at least Storan had had the sense to move to a
point where the slope was less steep and let the Vulcan relieve him of
the dead weight, hauling himself out afterwards.

"How is she?"  He had to shout to be heard over the shrieking wind.

"The sub-commander appears not to be breathing."

"Aw, shit."  Tucker crawled to T'Pol's side, fumbling for a pulse,
finding a faint one.  He prised open her mouth, made sure the airway
was clear, then tipped her head back and exhaled into her mouth,
wishing he wasn't panting so hard already.  Did the technique even
work on a Vulcan?  God, but she was cold.  Count, Trip, don't think. 
Count and breathe.

"Commander, what are you doing?"

And ignore the blathering idiot.  C'mon, T'Pol, breathe, damn you.  I
can't keep this up all day.  Breathe!

Continued in Part Three

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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