The Chaos Series-pt 10

The Chaos Series
An "Enterprise" story

By Alison M. DOBELL

RATING: NC-17
STATUS: SEQUEL to "VAIN PURSUITS"
ARCHIVE: Yes. Just let me know where.
FEEDBACK: Welcomed.
EMAIL: AlisonMDobell@aol.com
WEBSITE: http://carlajane.50megs.com/Ali00.html

SUMMARY: "T'Pol is brought to the brink of despair. Commander Tucker is given what he wants but at a price."
DISCLAIMER: The usual disclaimers apply. The characters and 'Enterprise' are the property of Paramount and part of the wonderful legacy f Gene Roddenberry. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Part 10

BEYOND LOGIC


* * * * *

It was hard. After everything else that had happened to find that the clues led nowhere was a shock her mind, body and soul could not absorb. It was gone. Everything that could have led her to her Ashayam. T'Pol found the emotions she kept contained within her were threatening to spill out, cloud her senses in a way that would have rendered her useless for any meaningful purpose let alone engaging in inane dialogue with Andorians. Commander Shran scowled at her. What was wrong with the Vulcan? Or was she deliberately being obtuse?

"I said we can do nothing further here."

She blinked at him. Lt Reed felt anxious but was unwilling to say anything in front of Shran. T'Pol did not look well. At last she seemed to realise a response was necessary. "Where did you say the Commander was when he disappeared?"

Shran pointed. T'Pol just managed to keep her frustration in check.

"Show me."

The Andorian was about to snap that he just had and if the witless Vulcan had been paying attention she would know when something in her demeanour stopped him. She was worried. He had to admit that things did not look good for the missing Commander. With an abrupt nod he walked over to the area, T'Pol walking quietly alongside him. Her mind expanding and searching for him, as if some errant spark of his consciousness would remain like the afterimage of a fire's glow, a remnant, an echo, a beckoning tendril of his essence to lead her on. Show her the way. But there was nothing. The realisation came as a crushing defeat. Was all hope gone?

* * * * *

It seemed to take forever to take in his surroundings, what was being said, and how it was being said. The Matriarch finally finished speaking. His head ache. His body felt too fragile, as if one quick movement on his part would break it. What the hell was going on and what were they doing to him? Yet he knew he was intact, uninjured, just freaked out.

The alien who had brought him here had stepped forward, was looking intently into his eyes. Trip wanted to blink but couldn't. A nasty thought occurred to him and he tried to move but his body would not obey him. Panic began to rise in his chest. The alien reached out a hand and placed a leathery claw against his chest. The panic froze. His breath became an icy vapor only partly capable of inflating his terrified lungs. Eyes wide he could do nothing but listen. The ultimate captive audience.

"You want to find your Captain?"

Trip could not move, could not speak. The alien nodded to himself.

"If I help you then you must help me."

Surprise. It was the only thing Trip could feel. Was the alien bargaining with him? He wanted to ask how, why and what the hell had changed to make such a bargain possible but questions and speculations would have to remain unanswered. The alien cocked its' head at him then tapped a leathery finger lightly to the Humans lips. "Speak!" He commanded.

The Chief Engineer suddenly found himself able to speak, his words at first just tumbling out in a mixture of anger, confusion and fear. Another tap from the alien stilled the diatribe, then he was commanded to consider the offer. He would have one chance to take it. Trip slowly wet his lips, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. "What if I say no?"

"Then we do not help each other, Human."

"That's not what I meant. If I say no what will happen to me?"

"You will be returned."

"Returned where?"

The alien actually seemed irresolute until the Matriarch muttered something to him then the male straightened and gave Trip a hard look. "To your own time."

"Ya mean I can go back to Enterprise?"

"Yess." He hissed.

Trip fought back the urge to whoop for joy, another thought occurring to him. "Ya said you could help me find the Cap'n?"

"I can."

"How?"

"That is not for you to know."

A horrible notion struck him. "Did you...? Was it your people who...?"

"No. We did not take him."

"Then who the hell did?"

"Human, my patience is not infinite even if Time is. Your choice. Now!"

Knew he would never forgive himself if he took the opportunity to go back to Enterprise knowing he could have chosen to find the Captain. His loyalty would not allow him to ignore the opportunity even if his conscience would. Trip swallowed. "What would you want from me if I ask ya to find the Cap'n? Return us both."

Even though the alien did not smile, there was something in that leathery expression that bespoke smug satisfaction. This was a species that liked to get what it wanted but if the trade meant the Captain's life it had to be worth it. Didn't it?

* * * * *

He felt sick, the blur of images too fast for him to comprehend, the speed a dizzying whirl that left him feeling weak and disorientated. "Why are you doing this to me?"

The frantic merry-go-round slowed and gradually stopped but the images kept up their unseemly and senseless parade for several minutes longer and he had no choice but to go along with it. The Sentinel was well aware of what the Captain was feeling. His control was absolute. "It seems you have a champion."

Captain Archer forced weary eyes to open but how could you gaze into the face of darkness? Yet he could feel the power of that dark presence. It made his skin crawl. "I do?"

For long minutes the being did not speak. The Captain began to see images again, this time he was in them, no longer an observer. The pace was much more leisurely now. Places he had been not so much in reality but in his head. What kind of sense did that make? Were they dreams or nightmares? Or in this twisted reality was there no dividing line? No right or wrong? Warmth fanned his cheek and he closed his eyes opening them some time later to a soft feathery touch. That jolted him. Feathery?

He opened his eyes to find himself back on the plateau, oddly enough not surprised to see the great beast next to him, those great majestic wings swept and folded across his back. The solemn eyes filled with a wisdom he could barely comprehend but the intelligent spark in those eyes reassured the Captain. "What am I doing here?"

"Leaving."

What? "Leaving? I thought I had already left?"

"In thought but not body."

Captain Archer shook his head, sure that all the important bits were either loose or missing. "Then where the hell have I been all this time?"

"You would call it limbo."

"I was talking to someone - or some 'thing' - I'm not really sure what it was but it seemed powerful."

"The Sentinel."

Surprise. "You know about him?"

"You violated his space."

"That's what he said."

Long pause. They were near the edge of the plateau and now his host was not looking at him but looking down. Curiosity propelled the Captain to crawl up to the edge and look over. As he did so shots whistled passed his head and he hauled himself back in a hurry. He noticed his host did not move nor did he seem surprised. Something about the attackers seemed familiar. "I think I recognised them."

"My cousins."

He started, surprised then shocked. "Your 'cousins'? You mean you're related to them?"

"I was." Said his host softly, his voice ineffably sad.

The Captain had the strangest feeling that they had either had this conversation before or something very similar. Why was his memory like Swiss cheese? Must have something to do with being whisked from one timeline to another. Yet he also felt as if all the things happening to him were connected. If he could only work out why. He was about to ask more questions when something tugged at his senses, his body feeling like it was beginning to distill into a of mist like some backward genie being sucked into a lamp.

"Time to go." Whispered his noble friend.

Captain Archer had to resist the urge to cry then his life became a compressed blur which bled out of one reality and went seeking another.

* * * * *

She lay in his arms. Every dream and wish of his heart fulfilled. The very air caressed his senses with the scent of her, his hands ghosting over her warm flesh. Nothing parted them, not even words. Trip lay on his back, sated from love making but knowing he would never tire of his hunger for her. T'Pol rolled on her side, her skin glistening with a light green tinge, moisture pooling in droplets on her glowing skin. Her eyes as fiery as the Vulcan lava plains, her silky touch memorising every inch of his body with slow erotic precision. Weary as he was he found himself getting his second wind.

"Darlin', do ya have any idea what ya do to me?"

She affected ignorance and he loved that she could be so delicately playful with him. Especially given how rough she could get when they were in the throes of passion. This time had been gentle, a flow of emotional need and physical joining that was too beautiful for words. "You are tired." She murmured as she moved closer, her hand trailing down his chest from his neck to brush a nipple, a leg draping over his to trap him beneath her. He longed to pull her down to him, crush the breath out of her with his lips, but forced himself to be passive. Wanting to let her do with him as she would. An elegant eyebrow arched so slowly it made him want to laugh. "You wish me to initiate sexual intimacy?"

Where he would once have winced at her logical assumption he was now amused. He raised a hand to cup and stroked her cheek, fascinated when she turned her face into his touch. The welcome in her eyes almost broke his heart with the joy of it. "Yeah. Anythin' ya want, T'Pol."

Her touch was so beautiful, the stroke of her hand sensitising his body and building anticipation into every muscle. The other hand rose to touch his face, their eyes locking on each other in perfect understanding.

"I love ya, darlin'."

"I cherish you, Ashayam." She murmured back.

Then her fingers splayed across the side of his face to the contact points and her mind opened to his, a flow of feelings and desires seeping through his while her other hand explored another landscape. Where he had been resting her touch aroused the ache of renewed need, her hand turning so that she could rake her nails gently up the length of him enjoying the way he trembled as he hardened beneath her. She went deeper into his mind, sparking off memories of their earlier passion, her lips sinking into his, her touch carrying him higher and higher but with a maddeningly slow pace that had him on the verge of begging but T'Pol would not be rushed. In his mind he saw why. She intended to extract every atom of feeling and sensation out of him, not letting him come until he was so far over the edge that he was flying.

"I will catch you, Trip."

He could not speak, his body was doing the talking for him and T'Pol had quickly mastered every nuance of that language. She caressed him, her tongue slowly pumping in and out of his mouth in mimicry of the rhythm of her hand, her thumb brushing across the slit making him jerk beneath her. She mentally savoured the leaking jism lubricating her thumb, rubbing it back and forth over the full flushed head, her hand riding his foreskin until he was leaking so hard the movement of her hand became almost frictionless. He gasped into her mouth, the images multiplying in a slow hypnotic dance in their minds binding them closer and closer in their rising passion. Each adding their feelings to colour the sensations they were experiencing and sharing. Then with fluid grace T'Pol raised her hips and impaled herself on him. Trip moaned then sighed, shuddering with emotional bliss as they docked perfectly. She paused, resting her pubic bone between the cradle of his hips. Totally content. The feeling mutual. The bonding as irreversible as the love that spawned it.

Then T'Pol began to rock him, he let her for as long as he was able then passion and need fueled a furious drive to completion that took her to the edge and literally threw her off. Falling, she was falling, the heart and body aching in unison, then Trip was catching her and she him as they exploded the one into the other, so in harmony that only death could part them. It made no sense, was beyond logic, yet was all she craved. He was her Ashayam and she was his. Quite simply, everything else was meaningless.

* * * * *

Lt Malcolm Reed could not help but feel depressed. It was his bloody fault. If he had only stayed closer to the Commander, somehow intuited what the alien planned, but no. It was only after Trip had been taken that he realised this must have been part of the alien's plan all along. But why? And why take the Chief Engineer and not the rest of them? What was it about his amiable friend that seemed to attract trouble like iron filings to a magnet?

They had returned in silence to Enterprise. Commander Shran and Lt Dala anxious to return to the Nestra and no one seeing any reason for them to delay. A deep depression fell over the command crew and that seeped through to the rest of the ship as if a malady infecting one and all. T'Pol did not know what to do. She knew what she wanted but not how to get it. Ensign Sato cast the Armoury Officer a worried look. Even Travis Mayweather's normally positive slant on life had been dulled to the ache of a heart trying to beat in stasis. They were all numb, going through varying degrees of shock. The loss gradually sinking in. Yet still T'Pol did not give the order to resume their course. She did not care that they seemed to have reverted to their own time period and position in space. None of it mattered any more and yet it had to matter. To ignore the here and now, the crew that looked to her for leadership and guidance, would be to betray both the Captain and the Commander. It was something which - as a Vulcan - she could never do.

Stiffening her back, T'Pol refused to allow her deepening sense of sorrow and loss to rule her. There were people relying on her. She could fall apart later. Yet inwardly she was already collapsing. She forced herself to look away from the viewscreen to give the helmsman the order to resume their previous course when Lt Rostov's voice suddenly broke through on the com. The Vulcan arched an eyebrow in surprise. Not at his communication but at the barely suppressed excitement in his voice. And something else. Something that sounded suspiciously like awe.

"Lieutenant, please calm down and tell me what has happened?"

"It's...it's... impossible!"

T'Pol got to her feet, the air of command cracking like a whip. Her frustration and tension finding an unexpected outlet. Lt Reed was relieved to see her in command of herself once again even if he could not claim the same. "What is impossible?"

A pause then the sound of sucking cautious breaths. "Um... I think you should come to the transporter room, Commander. And if I may make a suggestion?"

Lt Reed could have sworn that brought the Vulcan equivalent to a frown on T'Pol's face. "What is your suggestion?"

"You might want to ask Dr Phlox to come with you!"

* * * * *

His head was spinning. A vague fog of thoughts and sensations that meant nothing. Commander Trip Tucker blinked but nothing seemed to clear the befuddled feeling from his mind nor the thick rimy film coating his eyes. What the hell had happened? Where was he and why did he feel like he been through the wringer? His thoughts were so slow he felt as if he were seizing up. Memory danced just out of reach as intangible as moonbeams. He blinked slowly, an effort of biblical proportions, a kind of opaque layer like ice sliding across his eyes and crusting at the corners. So chilled it did not hurt nor did it cause him any distress but neither did it help him see. Rather it aided the feeling of disorientation, his world lost in the milky coloured residue. Numbness seeped through every weary limb. Fatigue from every pore.

Noise rushed in like a police cordon effecting crowd control but nothing touched him. Sounds that could have been anything from crashing waves on some distant shore to anxious voices wheeling around his head like vultures come to pick his bones buffeted him and left him dazed. Yet something must have come to rest on his arm and shoulder because his body responded, bending and lowering itself in silent acquiescence while Dr Phlox fussed and clucked as he was placed on the stretcher. He did not know that he was not alone. That a buzz of excitement and concern followed him all the way to sickbay like some ebbing tide. Nor was he aware of the small diminutive hand anxiously clinging to his. A tenuous lifeline to which two hearts were tethered.

Lt Reed reeled from shock to shock, his eyes like stunned saucers as he took in the scene. Behind him four MACOs slid to a surprised halt and warily put the safety back on their weapons. The Armoury Officer stumbled forward, his eyes glued to Trips' face as if he expected him to dematerialise at any moment. Was this real? Had his friend actually returned and if so, how? How had he managed to activate the transporter from wherever the hell he had been? And why had they known nothing until Lt Rostov saw them materialise on the transporter pad and hailed the bridge? Them. Lt Reed blinked back a rush of emotion and turned his head to look at the second figure. Captain Jonathan Archer was unconscious. His clothes appeared to have rips in them, he was grimy and much the worse for wear but oddly enough appeared to have suffered no obvious physical injury. A fact thankfully confirmed by Dr Phlox.

He looked back at Trip hardly noticed the way T'Pol hovered over him, her anxious hands seeming not to know quite what to do. At last they settled and she took one of the Commander's hands in her own, eyes fastened on Trip's face. Something like deep emotion welling up in those dark brown depths but refusing to brim into tears. Tears. Did Vulcans cry? And if they did, why would one cry over a Human? But T'Pol wasn't any normal Vulcan and Trip wasn't any regular Human. Perhaps that was what bound them. The French celebrated the differences between nations, between people. Malcolm found himself celebrating the similarities.

* * * * *

Sick bay was a chaotic place. Initially Dr Phlox ignored the anxious officers, his concern for the Captain and Commander blocking out every distraction. Then he became aware of them and shooed everyone away. Commander T'Pol tried to linger but he was firm. Adamant. A man of steel when it came to protecting his patients' interests.

He noticed Commander Tucker's body temperature was dangerously low and took immediate steps to elevate it. Nothing too quick or rash. The body needed to thaw slowly to prevent further trauma. He then turned to Captain Archer and sighed. The rips in the Captain's uniform making the doctor unusually sombre. They looked like claw marks yet when he checked the Captain's body there was no sign of any open wounds or recently healed cuts. The body was whole and unblemished. He could not find so much as a bruise. Another thing he noticed was that the Captain's body was not cold but at normal body temperature. He pressed his lips together thoughtfully and realised that the two men must have endured different experiences. Yet they had returned together. Or had they?

Dr Phlox commed Lt Rostov. The man sounded weary but quickly became alert on realising he was being hailed from sickbay. The Denobulan realised he had woken him and glanced at the time. It was hard to believe he had been in sickbay for four hours. "I apologise Lieutenant for disturbing you."

Lt Rostov immediately sounded somewhat anxious and strained. Dr Phlox realised the lieutenant would assume there was an emergency even if he said there wasn't. "What's the matter? Has something happened ...?"

Dr Phlox quickly cut him off. "No, no, nothing like that. I just need to ask you a few questions."

* * * * *

Surprisingly enough, the doctor discovered all the Captain needed was an increase in bodily fluids and rest. Both were easy to accommodate and he watched the deepening sleep pattern with satisfaction. The Commander was not such an easy patient. Whatever had happened to him the trauma still lingered. He wanted him to rest but the southerner kept tossing and turning, mumbling incoherent gibberish until the Denobulan gave him a sedative.

Trip was vaguely aware of being angry but could not recall why. He had been struggling to wake, to get up, to protect himself as best he could but hands had held him down. Something dark and insidious flowed through his veins robbing him of function. He swore, he quietly railed and inwardly seethed. Then as his will collapsed errant memories broke through like little shards of glass, their bright shiny edges cutting him and causing him pain he could not understand.

Images. Alien faces. Enterprise. His friends. The Captain. T'Pol. Then he saw the alien camp. The second world war scenario and being taken from there to the alien's homeworld. He struggled to wake, to sit up, but his sleep induced body would not obey him. So he took stock of his surroundings, checked his body from on high, and returned to his sleeping consciousness. As he did so more recent memories coalesced in fragments no longer whole until with a mental gasp he realised what had happened and the devil's bargain he had struck with the alien Matriarch. He reached for T'Pol in his mind, felt the trembling edge of his consciousness spark at the contact. Then she was flooding his mind with reassurances and all the love in her heart. As she did so he realised that what the enemy wanted from him he could never recapture. For they were thoughts, memories, emotions. Every time he and T'Pol had loved each other had been taken from him. Every smile and every touch. Even unconscious he trembled from their lack of sensitivity. The ultimate voyeurs. It was like being raped but without a single finger being laid upon him. It made him feel soiled, unclean. And filled his veins with the burning need for revenge.

A calm sea washed through the red haze of his anger, love lapped at his sleeping shores. T'Pol! *They stole my memories, darlin'.*

*Memories? Why would they do that, Ashayam*?

*'Cause they're sick, perverted sons of bitches...*

*Hush, do not upset yourself*

*I can't, I can't....* He struggled to say the words. Saying them would make it all real.

*What can't you do?*

*I can't remember you.*

That stunned her. He could sense her shock and felt guilty. Her mental touch soothed his anguish, comforted him. Her love became stronger, more insistent until he yielded to it. Allowing it to buoy him along. *Do not be distressed, Ashayam. They may have taken your memories but I still have mine. We will share them you and I*

He felt the weight crushing his soul lift. Hope lit a furtive lamp, he wanted so much to believe her. *Ya can do that?*

*Yes, Trip.* Her thoughts were so soft, so gentle and loving it brought tears to his sleeping eyes. *Then we will make new ones, you and I. Until they are so numerous that not a single moment of our lives will be void of them. Never again.*

*An' I'll remember how to love ya?* He choked out.

*Yes. Let me show you Ashayam, open your mind and let me love you as once we did in the flesh.*

He wanted to ask a whole host of questions, query how it was possible to do what she was suggesting by thought alone but T'Pol literally took the wind out of his sails, flooding his mind with images and sensations so powerful it took his breath away. When Dr Phlox next checked on the sleeping engineer he was enchanted to see the most beautiful smile on the Commander's face. Truly, Humans were a most fascinating race.

* * * * *

Part 11 CONCLUSION

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