Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 7 Jan 2004 15:14:15 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: shouldknowbettertt@yahoo.co.uk (shouldknowbetter) 
 

Title: Repercussions
Series: ENT
Begins with "A Logical Proposal"  "Repercussions'" is sixth in
the series
Part: 2/3 Story 18/34 Series
Author: ShouldKnowBetter
Email:  shouldknowbettertt@yahoo.co.uk
Rating:      PG-13
Codes:  Tu/T, all "Enterprise" characters, Soval, Shran, action,
drama, angst
Summary: A planet holds unexpected treasure for Enterprise's crew.
REPERCUSSIONS

Part Two


T'Pol was using the flames of the small fire Archer had lighted to
help her meditate but most of her attention was fixed on not sleeping.
 She seemed to have lost the ability to prevent unwanted dreams and
the ones she had suffered over the last fortnight had been far more
disturbing than the erotic ones that inflicted themselves on her when
she allowed her lust to get out of control.  At least for the last few
days there had been someone there to hold her tight and stroke her
calm, but she didn't want Archer or Mayweather to be witness to her
weakness.  Bad enough that Tucker knew, although she trusted in his
silence.

"Sub-Commander."  She jerked out of a doze she hadn't realised had
taken her to see Mayweather holding a bowl in front of her. 
"Emergency rations, ma'am.  Not nice but better than starving."

"I am not hungry."

"Eat it, T'Pol."  Archer sounded irritable.  "That's an order."

Reluctantly she took the bowl and looked at the textureless mess that
steamed slightly; her colleagues had evidently used the fire to heat
the rations.  Eating was something else that had become an effort and
without Tucker to force her, she wasn't sure that she could be
bothered but Archer would undoubtedly nag if she didn't make an
effort.

"Should I give Lt Reed some, captain?" Mayweather enquired and Archer
looked doubtfully at the armoury officer who was propped against a
nearby tree, eyes half closed.

"You can try," and he watched as the helmsman filled another bowl and
went to try a further customer with his culinary talents.  The captain
was worried.  Reed's condition was deteriorating and he needed to be
returned to Enterprise asap, but with potential hostiles in the area
and no weapons, Archer couldn't justify the risk of working on the
damaged and powerless shuttle pod in the dark.  The probabilities were
shifting, however, for he was starting to realise that it wasn't one
but two of his crew who were ill.  It had taken Mayweather several
attempts to attract T'Pol's attention and she had clearly been asleep,
not meditating.  In fact, she was again nodding over the bowl of food
she wasn't eating and Archer knew his first officer well enough to
know that that wasn't normal.  Either she had been injured in the
crash and not told him or this was a long-standing problem, and
reviewing the last few days, he thought it was the latter.  He should
have realised that Tucker wasn't happy enough for a man who had just
embarked on a relationship with the woman he loved, but the captain
had put his chief engineer's abstraction down to concern over the
plasma injectors, not T'Pol.  And perhaps, Archer admitted, he hadn't
looked too closely at Trip and T'Pol recently.  It did still rankle
that the Vulcan woman had preferred his friend to himself, even though
he'd had months to reconcile himself to the fact.

"Captain," Archer accepted his own bowl of mush from Mayweather, "I
don't think Mr Reed's doing too well."

"No."  He frowned as he dug into the food, knowing he had to set an
example.  "But at the moment, Travis, there's not much we can do for
him."  He wasn't looking at the armoury officer, however, and the
young man followed his captain's gaze and pulled a face.  "No one
likes my cooking tonight.  Shall I take it away from her, sir?"

"I think you'd better."  T'Pol was clearly asleep, bowl tilting
slowly, and he'd better start thinking of a plan because there was no
way he was going to face Trip and tell him that his captain had let
T'Pol down.



It took Sato some time to track down V'Lar and longer to convince the
Vulcan comm. operator that the ambassador would accept a call from an
Earth vessel.  By the time she succeeded, the rest of the bridge crew
still hadn't made any progress in locating their missing shuttle pod
and were on edge from Tucker's increasing anger.  They had all grown
wary of the engineer's hot temper over the last couple of months, but
for the previous week or so he seemed to have returned to his normal
cheerful disposition.  Now they had the angry Tucker back again and
the only reason no one had filed a complaint was because they all knew
why he was reacting badly.

"Commander, I have Ambassador V'Lar available."  Sato hoped it would
improve Tucker's mood although there was no immediate sign.

"Put it through to the ready room," he snapped and headed that way
himself.  "Ransom, try re-routing auxiliary power to the sensor net."

"You want to blow half the relays?" the woman at the engineering
station asked – but not until her chief had disappeared from view.  "I
wish Captain Archer had taken him along."

"He's just worried, Sarah," Sato said soothingly and the other woman
sighed.

"Do you know what happened, Hoshi?"

"With Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T'Pol?"  Her grin was impish.
 "They made up."

"We guessed that!  But how well?"

"I don't know but I'd say … very well!"

"Damn.  Makes me wish I'd entered the betting pool."

Sato grinned.  "You can't fool me, Sarah.  There hardly a woman on
this ship who wouldn't have cut the sub-commander's ears off if it
would have made Commander Tucker take notice of them instead."
"Well, he's cute."

"Mmm."  Sato's eyes unfocussed slightly.  "Particularly when he's in
the gym.  Have you …"

"Do you mind?"  T'Pol's replacement glowered at the two women. 
"Because while I happen to agree with you, I also know that Commander
Tucker's going to come back out here and flay us alive if we've not
made any progress."

Sato and Ransom sighed, shoved fantasies to one side and returned to
work.



"Commander Tucker," there was resignation in V'Lar's voice, detectable
even via a sub-space channel, "if this concerns the fact that
Ambassador Soval is petitioning to have T'Pol expelled from …"

"It doesn't."  He knew what Soval was doing because T'Pol had shared
that much with him.  Fortunately, the man considered her action in
taking a human lover so distasteful that he was not using that as
evidence and so he had little leverage to apply beyond the force of
his own reputation and Soval had also spent long enough away from
Vulcan to be viewed with suspicion in certain stratas of Vulcan
society.  "T'Pol's still not well."

"I understood that she was fully recovered."

"That's what we thought, but she's been deteriorating all week."  He
glared at the image of the Vulcan ambassador, no more reconciled to
her species than he had been immediately after Soval's attack on
T'Pol.  "Dr Phlox says that she's … I dunno … shutting down or
something.  She's having bad dreams and yet she wants to sleep all the
time."

There was a pause then V'Lar's grey head moved in a fractional shake. 
"I cannot help you, commander."

"Then one of your doctors …"

"No. I have heard of the condition you describe.  There is no remedy."

"What?"

"You must understand how rare it is for a Vulcan's mind to be violated
as T'Pol's has been – twice, from what I was told, even a third time
if you include my mind-meld with her.  Your description was accurate,
she is retreating from a life she no longer wishes to lead.  There are
no recorded instances of someone … returning."

"T'Pol doesn't want to die!  She loves me!"

"So I believe, but against every tenant of her beliefs, her
upbringing.  Do you really appreciate, Commander Tucker, the sacrifice
she made in admitting her feelings not only to you but to me as well? 
Consciously she accepted you as her lover.  Unconsciously, it may be
that she is retreating from the consequences of that acceptance."

"She told me that Vulcan's don't allow their sub-conscious to affect
them."

"She lied.  We are less influenced by our sub-conscious than I suspect
your own species to be, but it still occurs.  Perhaps at a deeper
level than we admit."

"So you're saying I'm the one killing her?"

"You over dramatise, commander.  T'Pol made her own decision to join
with you."

"What if she comes back to Vulcan?"  Tucker was clutching at straws. 
"She mentioned some masters, kolinahr …"

"I said there was no remedy."  She seemed to study Tucker's image for
a moment, perhaps judging his desperation.  "You may try if you wish. 
I will ensure that the necessary orders are given to any Vulcan ships
in your area."  She paused again.  "I regret that this has come to
pass.  Farewell, Mr Tucker."

The screen went dark and Tucker sank back into the desk chair,
dropping his head, heels of his hands pressing into his eye sockets,
fingers digging into his scalp.  He thought he'd hit rock bottom after
the explosion in Shuttle Pod 1 that had nearly killed Archer and put
him under investigation for negligence, then again after T'Pol
brutally rejected him shortly after.  He'd been wrong both times.



Reed had lapsed into unconsciousness and was snoring in a way that
Archer didn't like at all when Mayweather, who had been prowling
around the perimeter of their small camp, said urgently, "Captain!"

Archer came to join the younger man, peering at the light that had
appeared through the trees surrounding them, still several metres away
but closing steadily, accompanied now by the sound of several large
bodies brushing through undergrowth.  The captain was certainly glad
of Mayweather's muscular presence at his shoulder, but he still
doubted their ability to defend their helpless crewmates if it came to
a fight.  The final few branches parted and a tall figure stepped out,
a flaming torch in one hand that threw a strangely steady light over
the scene, allowing Archer to see the man's very humanoid features and
silver-grey eyes and hair.  The hand not holding the torch stretched
out, fingers spread wide, and despite hard-earned caution Archer felt
some of his tension release.  There was no hostility in that gesture
and the man's expression was benign.  Nothing to stop him cutting
their throats in ten minutes time, of course, but it was a good start.
 "My name's Archer, Jonathan Archer."  He wouldn't be understood, of
course, but a friendly voice never hurt – hopefully.

The other man placed his free hand on his chest and bowed slightly. 
Archer copied the gesture; this was going well.  His early optimism
diminished when the alien made to move past him to approach Reed,
although he halted when Archer held out a restraining hand.  Why the
hell hadn't he brought Sato along?  "Can we help you with something?"

The silver eyes met him for a long moment then the man pointed to his
head then to his wrist and then to Reed, following it with a sweeping
gesture that brought a woman to his side and for the first time the
captain noticed the small group of aliens gathered behind the first,
apparently staying discreetly in the background while first contact
was made.  He hesitated but it seemed obvious what was intended and
Mayweather's low-voiced comment supported his own view.

"Sir, I think they want to help Lt Reed."

Archer nodded and the aliens clearly took it as their permission to
proceed rather than his response to Mayweather.  The woman, whose hair
was as pale as the man's, brushed past them to kneel at Reed's side,
careful hands exploring his skull.

"Do you think these are the natives, sir?"

"It looks that way."  The clothes were vaguely consistent with the low
technological level T'Pol had described although the steadily burning
torch sounded a false note at the back of Archer's brain.  "Maybe they
saw the shuttle pod come down and came to investigate."

The woman rose to her feet, expression grave, and gestured to Reed and
then back the way the newcomers had arrived.  The man nodded and
beckoned another couple of his people forward before turning to
Archer, the meaning of the sweeping gesture plain: ‘come with us'.

It wasn't the ideal solution as far as Archer was concerned but he was
worried about Reed and their options were limited.  "Travis, give our
… friends … a hand with Malcolm."  The young man moved to obey and
Archer crouched at T'Pol's side, hand on her shoulder. 
"Sub-Commander."  He shook her gently.  "Sub-Commander T'Pol."  Slowly
her eyes blinked their way open and she stared blankly at him.  "We're
moving, sub-commander.  On your feet."  She let him pull her upright
then stepped away as her eyes finally focussed, staring at the figures
surrounding them.  "They just arrived," Archer explained.  "They think
they can help Malcolm."

"You have been able to communicate?"

That was more like his first officer.  "Sign language seems pretty
effective."

"Where are they taking us?"

"Their town, I guess."

He got a sceptical look.  "You are willing to trust them on such short
acquaintance, Captain?"

"I don't think we have much choice, sub-commander.  Let's go."



When Sato contacted him, Tucker was still sitting in the ready room,
unsuccessfully fighting despair and guilt.  "Yeah?"

"Commander Tucker," despite her familiarity with the engineer's lack
of formality, that response surprised Sato, "Lt Hess reports that
she's got the modified probe ready for launch."

Tucker thrust his fingers into his hair, struggling to focus on the
immediate task in hand.  "OK."  God, this was hard.  Command school
covered coping with stress, exhaustion and uncertainty – he'd scraped
through - but it hadn't addressed remaining in control when the woman
you loved was dying and you were responsible.  "I'll be there."  He
took a few moments longer to try to stifle his feelings then ran a
hand over his rumpled hair and headed for the door.  Prioritise.  Get
the away team back and then panic.  That was about as good a plan as
he could manage at the moment.



Again the small town matched Archer's expectations of something
loosely equivalent to Earth's western hemisphere in the 16th century
although it was pleasantly clean and surprisingly un-smelly; he'd
always associated history with a lack of drains.  The woman who had
first examined Reed had insisted on treating the armoury officer in
private, which hadn't pleased Archer, but having committed them to
this course of action he didn't have too many grounds for refusing. 
At least they hadn't had long to wait; the woman had emerged after
barely half an hour, smiling encouragingly and gesturing for Archer to
check on the status of his officer.  He was no expert, but he could
tell that the Englishman was better, apparently sleeping normally now,
without the snoring breaths that had so alarmed his colleagues
earlier.

When he returned to the main room, however, it was to find the woman,
whom he assumed was a healer, observing T'Pol with a concerned
expression.  The science officer had fallen asleep soon after they
arrived and, after a brief struggle with his conscience, Archer had
moved her from the upright chair she had chosen to a rug into front of
the open fire, ignoring her attempt to snuggle against him; he was
pretty damned certain she thought he was someone else.  The other
alien woman looked up as he joined her, pointing first to him and then
back down at the sleeping woman, obviously asking a question.

"I'm her captain," he offered, knowing speech was pointless but unable
to resist the urge.  "I'm responsible for her."

He got an annoyed shake of the head and another pantomime, which
include a few crude gestures that at least got the meaning across.

"Uh, no."  He shook his head vigorously and pointed away.  "He's not
here."

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and departed, leaving Archer
somewhat bemused.  "Did that mean what I thought it meant, sir?"
Mayweather asked and his captain shrugged.

"I think she was fairly explicit, ensign."

"So the sub-commander and Commander Tucker are … eh … doing what she
suggested?"

Belatedly, Archer remembered that the rest of the crew weren't
supposed to know that the relationship between his science officer and
chief engineer had altered, but it was rather too late to deny it. 
"That's right, Travis, but I think they'd appreciate your silence on
the subject."

"Of course, sir.  Do you know why the woman thought Commander Tucker
should be here?"

The answer to that came with uncanny timing as the Vulcan woman
suddenly stirred and shot into a sitting position with a sound
suspiciously like a small scream.  She looked wildly around, caught
sight of Archer's and Mayweather's shocked faces and turned her back
on them, arms locked around her raised knees.  Archer grimaced; this
wasn't good.  "Travis, would you mind sitting with Malcolm for a
while?"

"Oh, er, yes, sir."  The young man caught on quickly and retreated,
closing the inner door behind him while Archer crouched at his first
officer's side.

"Is there something you need to tell me, sub-commander?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, but I can't accept that.  If you're not well, I need to
know."

"I am fine."

"You're shaking and it's not cold in here.  T'Pol," he moved his head
slightly to see better, "are you crying?"

"No," but she raised a hand to brush over one smooth cheek.

"Tell me.  That's an order."

"You cannot order a subordinate to reveal personal information."

"I can if it affects the safety of my crew.  I'm waiting,
sub-commander."

"I have been … dreaming."

"I thought you told me you could control that."

"Since …  Recently, I have been unable to do so."

"Since Soval?"  She nodded.  "So if I was to speculate – we're talking
bad dreams here.  Involving Trip?"

She managed a weak glare.  "Commander Tucker is not the cause."

Archer's mouth pulled sideways into a half amused smile.  "I never
thought he was.  But it helps having him around?"  She nodded
reluctantly.  "And the sleeping?"

She looked away.  "I do not know."

"You've seen Phlox?"

"Mr Tucker made me consult him."

"Well, that's something!  What did Phlox say?"

"He has not yet completed his diagnosis."

The captain shook his head in resignation.  "Tell me next time you're
not fit for away missions, sub-commander."  Then he cocked his head
slightly, lips pursing.  "Are you always so formal with Trip?"

There was certainly more venom behind that glare.  "That is none of
your concern."

"I'm his friend.  I'm your friend, too, I hope."

"It is a private matter."

"OK, OK."  They regarded each other steadily.  "How are you doing,
T'Pol?"

"I will be fine."

"Sure?"

"Of course."

He nodded grudging acceptance and glanced around the room they
occupied.  "What's your assessment of this society?"

She too studied their surroundings.  "It is primitive."

"You think so?  What about the lighting?  The fire?"  She stared
blankly back.  "They don't smoke, T'Pol.  I've visited medieval
re-enactments on Earth; the main thing you notice is the smoke from
the fires."

"Perhaps there are fewer imperfections in the charcoal."

"They're burning wood.  Does nature ever grow pure carbon?"

"It is a possibility."

Archer was about to respond aggressively when he noticed the woman's
abstraction.  She was barely listening to him, responding by rote.  He
gave up on intelligent debate.  It looked as if his first officer was
on sick leave.  Sure enough, after a few seconds silence on his part,
her eyes started to close and within a remarkably short interval she
was asleep again.  It seemed that he would once again be forced back
onto good old human intuition.

Continued in Part Three

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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