Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 6 Jan 2004 09:14:19 -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: 3/4 Story, 3/34 Series A LOGICAL PROPOSAL Part Three Tucker was starting see double before the body beside him suddenly drew a hiccupping breath and T'Pol started to cough weakly. He rolled her over, supporting her head while she brought up at least some of what she had inhaled, gulping down much needed oxygen himself, then sat her up. "T'Pol!" She was still struggling for breath, coughing intermittently. "T'Pol, look at me!" Her eyes weren't focussing and he cupped a hand round her cheek to force her head up, careless of the proprieties. "Sub-Commander!" She coughed again, a hand rising to her mouth then she seemed to finally see him. "Commander Tucker. What …" She couldn't finish, coughing hard and he smoothed a hand through her sodden hair. "T'Pol, did you swallow any of it?" His urgency was getting through to her but not fast enough. He shook her. "T'Pol, that stuff's toxic! Did you swallow any?" "Don't …" She seemed to be losing focus again and he dare not wait for her to recover. "I'm sorry, sub-commander," and he flipped her over and stuck his fingers down her throat. At least the gag-reflect worked for Vulcans as for humans and she had swallowed the filthy water. He just hoped she brought enough of it up to do some good. He sat her up when the retching stopped, wiping away the moisture trickling down her face. "Sorry about that." She mumbled something in Vulcan and he looked up at Storan who had stood disapprovingly by throughout the entire unpleasant business. "What did she say?" "She doesn't like you." Tucker almost smiled. "Now there's a surprise." T'Pol might resent having her life saved by a human but she was also starting to shake with the onset of shock and hypothermia. He belatedly realised that he was freezing himself and the wind was still blowing ferociously adding wind chill to the equation. "T'Pol," this time she managed to look at him, "we've got to get to the shuttle pod. Can you walk? Or do you want me to carry you?" "Walk." She definitely wasn't herself yet – he was worried about aphasia – but he hadn't thought she would want to be carried, at least not by him. It seemed that T'Pol over-estimated her ability, however. She couldn't stand when he lifted her up, having to cling to his soaking jumpsuit as she coughed, bringing up more water then vomiting again. "S'OK," he said gently when it was over and she was still clinging to him, head lowered, and hoisted her into his arms. "Just tell me if you want to be sick again, huh?" "I believe," Storan said grumpily, "that it would be more efficient if I carried the sub-commander." "Maybe," she was heavier than she looked, "but I've got her now. Just bring my stuff." The short trip through the vicious wind was a nightmare. Tucker expected to be blown off his feet at every step and he was exhausted by the time they finally reached the shuttle pod although at least the delay had given him the chance to review his first aid theory and prioritise. He set T'Pol down on a seat by the emergency locker, having to prise her frozen hands from his uniform to do so. "Storan, run pre-flight checks." He didn't waste time checking his order was being obeyed, grabbing an oxygen mask from the locker and holding it over T'Pol's nose and mouth. "No, you don't." She struggled against the cold flow and he gripped the back of her neck, keeping her still. "Just breathe, T'Pol." She quietened, starting to breathe more easily and he relaxed his grip, fingers soothing. "Good girl. Nice deep breaths now." The rich flow of oxygen had an effect. Tucker watched as T'Pol's eyes regained their customary intelligence then she closed them for a moment as she visibly regained control although even she could not stop her body shaking. He let her take the mask and used the spare hand to pull blankets from the locker. "Do you remember where you are, sub-commander?" He reckoned she was more likely to respond to her rank if she was still confused although her nod wasn't enough to satisfy him. "Tell me! What happened to you?" "Third planet, Veth system." She still wasn't breathing easily and he pushed the mask back place for a moment. "Away mission … looking for … deuterium. The wind … upset my balance. Fell in." She gasped into the mask again then looked accusingly at him. "You made me vomit." He smiled, relieved that she hadn't suffered any memory loss. "I'm not apologising again." "Commander Tucker." He looked around at Storan. "The pre-flight checks are complete but external wind speeds are approaching upper safety levels. Commander," the Vulcan was obviously disgusted, "you are … fondling Sub-Commander T'Pol." "Huh? Oh!" Tucker realised that he still had one hand cupped around the nape of the woman's neck, not to mention the other covering hers on the oxygen mask. He withdrew rapidly and tossed the blankets into her lap. "Get out of those wet things. I'm taking us up." "I feel it would be more appropriate to raise the cabin temperature and assume safety harnesses. The wind shear …" "Fine. You do that, Storan." Tucker left him to it and slid into the pilot's chair. He wanted T'Pol back on Enterprise asap. He doubted she had voided herself of all the toxins she had ingested, never mind the side effects of a near fatal drowning. The board showed green and he waited for a momentary lull in the gale then applied full thrusters, hoping to clear any ground turbulence fast. The shuttle pod was barely 10m up when the intermittent thruster fault reoccurred. Still trying to lift-off, Tucker didn't stand a chance of controlling the suddenly unstable craft. It flipped and came down on its side, the soft ground fortunately absorbing some of the impact although it meant that a metre of hull was buried in mud. Bruised and winded from the impact with his safety harness, Tucker took a few moments to catch his breath then swore furiously even as he shut the engines down. "Everyone OK?" "I believe so, due to the fact that I recommended the use of safety equipment as per …" "Fine." Tucker released his own harness and dropped to the side of the pod that was now become the floor. "I'll be sure to mention it in my report. Run a damage report, Storan; but I don't reckon we're going anywhere." "No. I estimate that …" "Lieutenant! Shut up!" The Vulcan raised a bemused eyebrow and also left his seat while Tucker freed T'Pol and eased her down. "OK?" She nodded although she was panting again, no doubt as winded as he had been. He retrieved the oxygen mask and blankets, giving her a few breaths from the former. "Get undressed." She wasn't happy about it but understood the necessity, turning her back and fumbling for the fastening of her catsuit. "Commander." He had politely turned away, rummaging in a food locker, but looked up. "I cannot." She held out a shaking hand and he grimaced, squeezing it briefly as he clambered back to his feet. "You're freezing." He unzipped her and helped her step out of the soaked garment, mostly looking elsewhere. He didn't dare suggested that she remove the equally wet tank top but she did the sensible thing, wriggling out of it and clutching the blankets around herself. "Sit." Tucker indicated a place by one of the air vents then brought a steaming cup over. "Drink." "I do not like …" "I know but it's hot. You're hypothermic, T'Pol. We gotta warm you up. It's coffee or me under the blankets with you." She managed a weak glare and stretched out a shaking hand for the cup. He steadied it for her and she sipped cautiously. "It's too hot." "No, it's not. It's barely 60o. You're just cold. Drink it." She swallowed some more while he rubbed her legs briskly through the blankets, mentally cursing Starfleet for not including hot water bottles in the standard emergency kit. That was twice now they'd have come in useful. "You are wet too." "I'm OK." It was warm in the cabin and he'd started to dry out a little. "Can't have us both in our undies. What would the Cap'n think?" T'Pol finished the coffee and he took the cup while she leant her head back against the wall, eyes closed. "You must report to Enterprise." "In a minute." He was studying her carefully and didn't like the result. She was very pale and still shaking but there was a definite sheen of sweat on her forehead and her eyes looked sunken. Not just hypothermia and shock; toxic shock or he'd wasted his time in first aid class. "How d'you feel now?" "I am Vulcan. We can control our body's response." "You can't even stop shivering!" Dark eyes opened to stare balefully into his. "Call Enterprise." As it happened, he couldn't. One item on Storan's extensive damage report was communications – unserviceable. Tucker swore and just refrained from flinging the PADD across the cabin. He did need to update Enterprise on their status or Archer would be sending down another shuttle pod and he wasn't entirely sure that it wasn't something in the atmosphere that had caused the thruster failure. He didn't want another shuttle pod crash on his conscience and he did want Phlox's advice on the science officer's condition. Tucker had exhausted his first aid knowledge and unless the storm dropped they weren't going anywhere soon. "What's the wind speed outside?" "On average 82km/hour, gusting in excess of 114km/hour." "Shit." The crash had probably damaged the port array but the starboard one should have been working. Maybe it had just been shaken loose but to check he would have to crawl out through the emergency hatch – they had, of course, landed airlock down – and attempt not to be blown off the hull. Or washed off. Naturally enough, the storm also carried the equivalent of rain; acid rain. "Damn." He delved into another locker for the tools he thought he'd need. "Stay here." That was directed at Storan; T'Pol wasn't capable of going anywhere. "I shouldn't be long." "Commander!" T'Pol's voice was still weak but he paused. "You should not go outside alone. If you get into difficulty …" "I won't," he said roughly and glared first at her and then at Storan. "Try to stop her shivering like that." Storan looked unfavourably on T'Pol as she watched Tucker disappear into the emergency exit, detecting poorly concealed concern. Really, he was starting to have second thoughts about their betrothal. She had clearly lived amongst humans too long. "The most effective means of raising your body temperature given the limited facilities available is to share my warmth." "No." "It is the logical course." "I will not allow it." "I believe Commander Tucker suggested it to you." "He was joking." She had to use the English word; there was no Vulcan equivalent. Although if Tucker had insisted it would have been nice to be close to him. She broke off the thought, dismayed; she was definitely unwell. "In that locker, there should be hot drinks. It will suffice." Storan made the coffee too hot and didn't hold the cup for her so that it split and burnt her. She really didn't like Tucker at all. Over half an hour had passed before Tucker emerged from the emergency exit and collapsed in a heap on the floor, panting and shivering, just as wet as when he had pulled T'Pol out of the pond. She had tried to make Storan go and look for the engineer but he had refused, pointing out that she had clearly been relieved of duty and consequently he took his orders from Commander Tucker who had told him to remain within the shuttle pod. She had wanted to hit him. Now both Vulcans watched the human pull himself up into a sitting position, pushing hair out of his eyes with a dirty hand. "Try it now," he managed at last and Storan went forward while T'Pol stretched out a tentative hand to brush Tucker's cheek. He looked up startled. "You must get dry." He was too tired even to smile. "Follow my own advice, huh?" "Yes." "How d'you feel?" She didn't answer and he gave her a searching look. "Crap?" "I am not familiar with the precise definition of that term." That time he just about managed an amused grunt and crawled over to serve himself coffee. "The array is operational, Commander." "Great," he muttered and staggered forward, holding onto furniture. "Tucker to Enterprise." "Archer." The response was immediate. "You're late, Trip. What's going on?" "Thrusters failed on take-off. We crashed and damaged the comm. system. Took a while to get it working again." "Everyone OK?" "From the crash, yeah, but T'Pol fell in a puddle and nearly drowned. Can you get Phlox on the line?" "Hoshi's paging him now. I'll get Mayweather to power up a rescue shuttle." "Cancel that, Cap'n. You'd never land. Conditions are foul down here." "Phlox is here. Go ahead, doctor." "What is the problem, Commander Tucker?" "T'Pol tried to drown herself in a toxic pool about an hour ago." He managed to find the earlier analysis. "3% deuterium, 300ppm beryllium, 60ppm cadmium plus traces of other stuff. She got it in her stomach and lungs and stopped breathing. Oh, and the water temperature was about 5oC." "Were you able to re-start her breathing?" "Yeah." "Give her oxygen and attempt to raise her body temperature." "Done that, doc." "Ah, well done, Commander. Sometimes a little knowledge is useful. What is her current condition?" Tucker twisted to inspect the science officer again. "She's still cold, but she's sweating and pale and her pupils are dilated. Looks like toxic shock to me." "Thank you for the diagnosis, commander, but I am the doctor. Is the sub-commander conscious?" "Yeah." "Good. Keep her that way. Now I need you to run some blood tests." Tucker let Storan take the blood sample and run the tests; he didn't like the sight of blood even when it was green. He returned to analysing the cause of the thruster failure instead, keeping an occasional eye on T'Pol who looked to be trying to meditate although she kept shifting uncomfortably. He left her in peace until he definitely saw her wince then went to crouch at her side. "What's wrong?" "Nothing." Her eyes were closed but she was breathing rapidly. "You're hurting. Where?" "I can control it." "Could have fooled me." He slid down to sit beside her. "Want to know what caused the thrusters to fail?" "Very well." Perhaps it would distract her; mediation was not helping. He offered her a PADD that she couldn't be bothered to take so he told her instead. "The average concentration of zeon in the atmosphere is no more than 3ppm so Enterprise's sensors didn't recognise a problem, but I ran some more scans down here and it collects in pockets where it's up to as much as 50ppm." She made the connection easily enough even feeling miserably ill. "When the thrusters' exhaust passed through a pocket the zeon caused it to stall." "Yeah. I should have spotted it before I tried to take off. Maybe …" "You could not have avoided the pocket, nor altered the exhaust flow without access to Enterprise." "I guess." He wasn't convinced by the reassurance. "I'll get them on modifying the other shuttle pod. If the wind ever drops …" "It is still rising." The pod was shaking as gusts impacted it. The comm. activated and Tucker nodded Storan to answer; he was too tired to move now that he had sat down. "Ah, Lt. Storan." Phlox sounded cheerful although Tucker wasn't fooled. The Denobulan would tell you your leg had been chewed off and still sound up-beat. "I have extrapolated from the results of your tests. Is Commander Tucker there?" "He is." The Vulcan was still disapproving. In his opinion, Tucker was again sitting too close to the sub-commander. "Go ahead, doc. T'Pol's listening in, too." "I'm afraid that Sub-Commander T'Pol is going to become extremely ill unless she can be returned to Enterprise within the next few hours. As Commander Tucker observed, the water she fell into was highly toxic; it is doing some rather unpleasant things to her lungs and stomach. Vulcans are vulnerable to lung complaints at the best of times having evolved in a dry environment and the sub-commander is already in a weakened condition. Her blood chemistry indicates that she has not had adequate rest or nutrients for some days. I don't like to gainsay tradition, sub-commander, but this isn't one that, as your physician, I can recommend." There was ominous silence then Archer's voice came over the comm., asking the question Tucker hadn't had the courage to voice. "How long, doctor?" "Unless she returns to Enterprise within the next six hours, I will be unable to correct the organ damage." "Trip, how long until the wind drops?" It was Storan who answered. "I estimate approximately 8 hours, Captain." "Can you use the transporter, Cap'n?" Tucker didn't trust the technology but their options were limited. "Negative. There's too much interference to get a lock. We'll bring another shuttle pod down." "No, Cap'n!" Tucker was firm. "They're just not designed for these conditions. Even Travis couldn't keep one flying straight, plus you'd need to make some mod.s to the exhaust system to cope with the atmospheric composition." "Then what's your plan, commander? I'm not prepared to sit up here while T'Pol gets sick." "Sub-Commander T'Pol should be able to put herself into a deep, healing trance," Storan pointed out coolly. "It has been a proven technique for many centuries." "I would normally agree, lieutenant," Phlox put in, "but it does require the patient to have the strength of body and will to achieve that state in the first place. I'm afraid that Sub-Commander T'Pol may already be too ill to achieve it." "Can you?" Tucker asked quietly of the woman by his side and she shook her head slightly. "I do not know." "Next time you decide to go on a meditation binge, you stay off away missions, you hear?" Concern was making him snap. "Doctor, T'Pol'll give it a go, but isn't there anything you can do to help? She's in pain even if she's too stubborn to admit it." "Unfortunately, most analgesics also depress the breathing process. She would need oxygen to compensate." "I can fix that." "Very well. Then you may administer 2cc of diamorphate every hour. The red phial in the med. kit." "OK. Anything else?" There was a pause. "A warning, commander. If Sub-Commander T'Pol cannot achieve the desired trance, she is going to develop a very high fever, high enough to break her mental controls. You could find yourself with a primitive Vulcan on your hands and given your past history together … you may well be advised to let Lt. Storan handle her." "OK." Tucker was watching T'Pol who was looking at him. One wondering if someone he had just learnt to call a friend would really hurt him. The other concerned that it wouldn't be a violent reaction he provoked. "Shuttle Pod 1 out." It wasn't working. There were too many distractions, too much pain, she couldn't breathe properly. The flame in her mind wouldn't stay still and without the flame she couldn't meditate. For what seemed like the hundredth time, T'Pol opened her eyes and looked around the shuttle pod, confused by its orientation until befuddled memory caught up. "You will not be able to achieve the desired state, sub-commander, unless you persevere." Had Storan always been that smug or was it simply her illness making her less tolerant. "I cannot." "Surak teaches that patience and perseverance are the route to calm." "I cannot!" Even T'Pol could hear the impatience in her own voice and tried to calm herself. How had the doctor described it – a primitive Vulcan. She didn't want to become like that. But it was so hard and Storan was so annoying. "Where is Commander Tucker?" Perhaps he would make the other man keep quiet. "He is in the engine compartment. I fail to see what he hopes to achieve since my damage report clearly indicated that an extensive period of repair would be required to seal the breaches in the outer hull." "He likes to fix things." "In this case such activity is entirely illogical, although I have of course observed that Commander Tucker's behaviour is characterised by that trait. I anticipated that a human serving in a senior role aboard a ship that Earth considers its finest achievement would have demonstrated more reliable characteristics. I find this …" "He is a good engineer." "So you told me. However, as you yourself observed, he does not follow due process. Such a failing must eventually lead to disaster. Ultimately I predict that he will make a catastrophic error. It is to be hoped that he endangers no one but himself." T'Pol would have liked to say a great deal in Tucker's defence but she didn't have the breath and she rather thought she would sound too partisan. The downside of saying nothing was that Storan continued to talk. "I have been considering our betrothal, T'Pol. I have decided that once it has been witnessed you must leave the Earth ship. You have clearly been away from your own people for too long. Your failure to achieve the required level of consciousness today is systematic of that. The way you permit the humans to have physical contact with you is another sign. I have an aunt in the monastery of Kiv. I will arrange for you to spend time there." "I have not yet given you my answer, Storan." "There can be only one logical answer. As I was saying …" "Storan, will you shut the hell up!" T'Pol silently thanked Tucker for voicing her precise thought as the engineer slid awkwardly into the main compartment and reached behind him to lift down a small crate. "How can T'Pol meditate when you keep yakking at her?" "The sub-commander stated that she could not achieve the desired state despite my advice as to ..." "Well, at least keep quiet and let her rest." Tucker didn't take his own advice, moving to crouch at T'Pol's side. She wondered vaguely if he would like to hold her hand but unfortunately she had both tucked inside the nest of blankets so she couldn't find out. "You are very dirty." "You're not so clean yourself. How d'you feel?" "Cold." His mouth pulled to one side. "You don't look cold." Briefly cool fingers pressed against her cheek but before she could lean into them they were withdrawn. "Your temperature's up." Behind them, Storan sniffed. "Vulcan body temperature is higher than human. You are no doubt mistaken, commander." "No, I'm not." Blue eyes were still on hers. "Want a drink?" She nodded and he fetched a water pack, tipping it to her mouth. "Not too much." The liquid soothed her burning throat but hurt her stomach; she couldn't control the pain and a faint gasp escaped her. Tucker winced too and reached for the hypo lying nearby. "It's just about time for you to have more of this." "The last injection was administered 54 minutes ago." "Yeah, about an hour ago." Tucker glanced around contemptuously. "Is 6 minutes going to make any difference, lieutenant?" "I recommend asking Dr Phlox that question." "Then remind me to ask next time he calls." He pressed the hypospray against T'Pol's jugular and she felt the almost instant relief, closing her eyes. She still couldn't concentrate enough to meditate but it was easier to cope. "T'Pol." Tucker's quiet voice forced her to open her eyes again. "Move this way a bit." He helped her into a corner and pressed the modified oxygen mask to her face, now connected to the shuttle pod's own supply. "You need to wear this for a bit." She nodded and leant her head back against the wall, making him grimace and fetch his jacket, folding it into a crude pillow for her. "I'd let you lie down, but it wouldn't help your breathing. Try and get some rest. I'm gonna have another look at that pattern enhancer for the transporter we talked about." If she hadn't been prevented by the mask, T'Pol would have told him not to bother. There was no way he could get such a device to work without proper research and development. On the other hand, it would keep him busy; a bored Tucker wasn't a good thing to have around. She closed her eyes and turned her head to rest her cheek on the folded jacket. It smelt of him; she just wished that there was a body inside. Tucker was deeply engrossed in extrapolating working technology from an idle half hour's speculation over coffee when T'Pol became restless. In fact, he was so engrossed he didn't even notice although Storan did, looking with yet greater disapproval at his almost-betrothed. Her behaviour was really most unsatisfactory. "Sub-Commander T'Pol!" Tucker looked up at the sharp admonition. "Leave her alone. She's just dreaming." "Vulcans do not dream." "Whatever." T'Pol appeared to be in some distress, muttering and tossing her head. Perhaps she'd be better conscious. "Wake her up if you don't like it." Storan did not appear to approval of that suggestion either, but rose to his feet and went to poke the sleeping woman roughly. T'Pol jerked upright, saw Storan looming over her and panicked, scuttling away from him. He frowned and followed. "Sub-commander, this behaviour is most unbecoming. Compose yourself." She whimpered and stammered something in Vulcan, curling herself into a tight ball, and Storan found himself moved roughly aside as Tucker pushed past him to kneel in front of the distressed woman. "T'Pol," he made his voice as calm and firm as he could, "it's OK, you're safe." If she had been human he would have touched her but Phlox's warning made him wary; a broken jaw wouldn't help any of them. She muttered again and he looked up at Storan. "What's she saying?" "That there are hokeet – small rodents native to Vulcan – under the bed." His disgust was obvious. "She is delusional." "She's just had a bad dream from the fever," Tucker corrected; he could feel the heat radiating from her. "T'Pol, there's nothing here gonna hurt you. Just me and Storan." She uncurled very slightly so he supposed she had understood the English if she had forgotten how to speak it. "Come on, T'Pol," he risked a hand on her shoulder through the blankets still wound around her and her eyes seemed to focus on him, "let's get you comfortable again." She gave a convulsive shudder. "Hokeet." "No." He was trying to be gentle and firm at the same time, remembering how Archer had been with him when he was off his head with sunstroke. "No hokeet. Not on any ship where I'm chief engineer." T'Pol swallowed, maybe relaxing just a little more. "Commander Tucker." "'Fraid so." He managed a faint smile to mask his concern. "You back with us, T'Pol?" She nodded although the hand she raised to her mouth was shaking. "OK, let's get you back in your corner." He helped her move and gave her the oxygen mask again, hearing her breath wheezing, and without thinking pressed a hand to her forehead, grimacing at the heat. She sighed, eyes closing. "Your hands are cold." "Sorry." He drew back and the dark eyes flickered open. "It's nice." "Oh." He was so surprised he couldn't think of anything to say, although if he had been as hot and feverish as T'Pol perhaps he too would have liked anything cold against his skin. "OK, let's try to cool you down a bit." "No." Her hands tried to prevent him stripping away some of the blankets but he persisted. "You're too hot, T'Pol. We gotta keep your temperature down." "It's cold." "No, it's not." If she felt cold why had she liked his hand on her? Just showed how screwed up she was. "Don't worry, I'm not going to look at you." "Why not?" He almost laughed, wondering if he would be able to tease her about that one later; she had practically sounded disappointed. "Because I'm a gentleman and gentlemen don't take advantage of ladies in distress. Storan, get me some water, would you?" The other man handed him a ration pack along with a glare that practically equalled one of T'Pol's. "You are dishonouring her." "What the hell?" Then Tucker noticed that T'Pol was cringing again, leaning away from the other Vulcan. "Aw, just keep the hell away from her! She doesn't like having you around." "But she tolerates you?" "Yeah, she tolerates me." Tucker wetted the corner of one of the discarded blankets and started to wipe T'Pol's face and neck, ignoring her murmur of protest; she had wanted to be stroked, not wiped. "We're friends, Storan. I'm sorry if that doesn't translate into Vulcan but that's how it is." "T'hy'la." If a Vulcan had ever looked murderous since the time of Surak, Storan managed it then. "The term you refer to is t'hy'la." "Fine. Now get away from her." Storan retreated in a huff, seating himself and sinking quickly into a trance, while Tucker continued to work over T'Pol in silence, trying to suppress his own anger and impatience. So much for Phlox's advice. He could have done with the other man's help in caring for the very sick science officer, then he could have got on with assembling a pattern enhancer. His long shot was looking promising. "Commander." Half back with his engineering problem, he took a moment to react then found T'Pol looking up at him, apparently half sensible again. "I believe you have achieved your purpose." "Huh? Oh, yeah." She definitely felt cooler. "Want a drink?" "No." "Won't hurt." He picked up a beaker. "Phlox said this wouldn't irritate your stomach." She swallowed some of the alkaline solution then leant back against the wall, resisting the urge to rest her head on the blue-clad shoulder next to hers. He was so kind and she wanted him so much … "You should continue with your work." "OK." Tucker watched T'Pol for a moment. She looked uncharacteristically vulnerable and he didn't like leaving her on her own. "Want me to tell you about it?" "Yes." Then he would have to stay and she wouldn't have that dream again, where she was a little girl and the hokeet came and chewed her hair. All her parents' logic had not helped but she trusted the engineer; he would never allow hokeet into the ventilation system. Tucker left but returned within a very short time with a PADD and a heap of components, handing her a toolkit. "You look after that." Even desperately ill, T'Pol registered that he was pandering to her but didn't have the energy to object. "You remember we had that row with Malcolm over why the transporter was so unreliable?" "We had an intellectual debate on the matter." "Yeah, we rowed about it; it was fun. Well, I reckon it all comes down to pattern discrimination." "That is obvious." "Hush, you're supposed to be resting." He was warming to his theme and T'Pol let herself drift; it was always entertaining to listen to Tucker when he was talking professionally – and sometimes when he wasn't. "So if you could give the pattern a boost at the far end when you're trying to get a lock you ought to have a more reliable transport." "That would require dissolution of the matter into an energy stream by a remote terminal. It cannot work from here." "Nah, you're being too obvious. I said discrimination. If you can't enhance the actual pattern, you can maybe suppress the background noise." "A dampening field?" "Exactly. Tuned to the surrounding environment." "You will never be able to match the frequency spectrum." "Will too." He turned to grin at her, his expression fading into concern again. "Rest, T'Pol. You look terrible." "How will you test it?" "Don't know. Haven't got that far yet." "There is always the captain's canine." He smiled and stretched out a hand to stroke her check; she knew he was only checking her temperature but it was comforting. "Rest." She obeyed. If she did not try whist she still had a vestige of control, she would be trying to climb into his lap to be held while she slept. Continued in Part four -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ Yahoo! Groups Links To visit your group on the web, go to:http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to the Yahoo! Terms of Service. From ???@??? Wed Jan 07 23:31:22 2004 Status: U Return-Path: Received: from n29.grp.scd.yahoo.com ([66.218.66.85]) by swallow (EarthLink SMTP Server) with SMTP id 1aErDF70r3NZFkN0 for ; Wed, 7 Jan 2004 20:19:19 -0800 (PST) X-eGroups-Return: sentto-1977044-12830-1073535420-stephenbratliff=earthlink.net@returns.groups.yahoo.