Time After Time-Pt. 2

Time After Time

PART TWO: Chapters 5-8

By Aeryn Alexander

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time~ Cyndi Lauper

Chapter Five

A Familiar Face in an Unfamiliar World

An hour later found Commander Tucker sitting in chair in sickbay, holding his head in his hands as he tried to digest everything that the doctor and the science officer had told him. It was a whale of a tale as far as he was concerned. Then they showed him a mirror. It didn’t reflect a gawky twenty-three-year-old with an Academy hair cut and a handsome tan. Instead it showed him a confident looking thirty-something who had been in space for the better part of a year. It wasn’t that Trip disliked what he saw. The fellow in the mirror wasn’t too shabby looking, even if he was past his prime. He just wasn’t what Cadet Tucker had expected to see.
"So this is twelve years in the future, and I’m on board an honest-to-God star ship in deep space?" he asked, rephrasing the question for the fifth time. All things considered Phlox thought he was taking it rather well.
"And you are its chief engineer." added Phlox.
Tucker could not bring himself to repeat that phrase: chief engineer. It sounded too good to be real. It was his life-long dream come true.
"Do you remember Captain Archer?" T’Pol asked him.
They, the doctor and herself, had yet to inform the captain of their ... predicament. Trip just didn’t seem ready for another surprise, and she expected Captain Archer to be a bit peeved, to say the least.
"I don’t know any Captain ..." he began to say. Then he looked up at her and blinked. "You don’t mean Lieutenant, j.g. Jon Archer, do you?" he inquired.
"I believe so."
"Jon made it all the way to captain? If that don’t beat all!" laughed Tucker, suddenly seeming more like himself.
"Affirmative. Captain Archer is the commanding officer of the Enterprise. He chose you for this mission." explained T’Pol. Commander Tucker was grinning ear to ear by the time she finished the explanation.
He slapped his knee and asked, "Well, where is he? I want to see Jon. I bet he looks prim as a peacock in that captain’s uniform."
Phlox seemed to be debating whether or not to call for the captain, but T’Pol walked calmly to the nearest comm panel, and, after pressing a few buttons, said, "Sickbay to Captain Archer. Please report here at your earliest convenience.
The doctor looked at her rather oddly as she returned to her seat as though nothing had happened. The science officer rarely did anything spontaneous and because of that, he did not admonish her for it, despite his own misgivings. How would Cadet Tucker react to a Jonathan Archer so much older than the one he remembered? Would he even recognize him?

The captain felt every eye on the bridge on him as he gracefully left his chair and turned the bridge over to Lieutenant Reed at the tactical station. He did not have a good feeling about what was waiting on him down in sickbay. T’Pol’s voice had sounded strained, and that was unnerving enough for anyone who had ever known a Vulcan, especially Vulcan as ... Vulcan as Sub-commander T’Pol.
If his science officer were well enough after her procedure to call him down from the bridge, then that could mean only one thing: something had happened to Commander Tucker. Archer shook his head as he waited for the lift doors to open. If it were serious, then Phlox himself would have informed him. Archer was certain of that. But for T’Pol to call him ... it had to be seriously out of the ordinary.
When Jonathan Archer walked into sickbay, the last thing he expected to see was Trip Tucker sitting a chair, speaking rather animatedly with T’Pol and Phlox. Nothing seemed to be wrong. Then Trip glanced over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening and closing. His face was as white as a sheet as he stood up, swaying unsteadily as he looked Captain Archer up and down.
"You’ve gotten old!" he blurted out, staggering, only to be caught by T’Pol and guided back into his seat.
Archer was too taken aback to answer him with a witty retort. He could only frown and look at the ship’s physician uncertainly.
"Commander Tucker has amnesia." said Phlox.
"I thought I told you to stop calling me that."
"Amnesia?" questioned Archer blankly, walking toward his friend. "Trip?" he inquired, trying to get the commander to look him in the eye.
Tucker seemed to relax at the use of his nickname. It made everything seem so much more normal, more real. It connected present context and memory. No matter what else had changed or happened, he was still Trip to Jon Archer, whatever his rank.
"Jon, they tell me that you’re a captain and I’m a commander. Is that so?" he asked.
"That’s right, Trip." he answered, noticing how Tucker responded favorably to the use of his nickname. "Seniority, you know." he added, cracking a smile.
Trip smiled and shook his head before saying, "I’m guessing it all must be true then. We’re on a star ship far from home and I’m the ... chief engineer."
"Of course."
"This is going to take some time to digest, Jon. It seems like I was just finishing my last class on warp field integrity ..."
Captain Archer took a deep breath and looked at Phlox. He could see that the doctor felt uncomfortable under his penetrating gaze. T’Pol was looking at the deck with her hands clasped behind her back, an unusual posture for a Vulcan.
"It will all come back to him, right?" Archer questioned them both, but the Denobulan doctor in particular. "Right?" he asked, raising his voice slightly.
"I don’t know, captain. I’m sorry, but I just don’t have the answer to that question." replied Phlox, his shoulders slumping.

The sickbay of the Enterprise was rarely crowded. It was a small ship with a conscientious crew who had yet to encounter anything too terrible. Casualties were usually minimal and physician’s work load relatively light. That day, as T’Pol and Archer stood watching him perform many tests on Commander Tucker, sickbay felt very crowded to the doctor, especially as he worked under the probing and watchful eye of his commanding officer and cool stare of the Vulcan science officer.
"Still nothing?" questioned Archer as Phlox looked at another scan and shook his head.
"I am afraid that ... Trip ... should rest before I conduct further tests." said the doctor, wincing at the use of the nickname. Tucker had violently objected to being called commander and chafed even at a respectful ‘sir’ thrown his way by the cordial, yet formal Denobulan.
"I will escort him to quarters then." volunteered T’Pol. Archer and Phlox looked at her oddly. The request was uncharacteristic of the science officer. Even Trip had a quizzical look on his face. "I am retiring to my own quarters, which are not far from ... his." she explained, refusing to call him Trip because of all the emotion-tinged memories that the sobriquet stirred.
"Very well. I am sure that the captain has still more questions for me to answer. You may escort him." said the doctor.
"Follow me." she said curtly to Tucker, who was leaning on a bio-bed and watching the conversation.
"Gladly." he muttered.

*****

Chapter Six

Was it terrible?

When they stepped into the corridor outside sickbay, Trip halted the moment the doors closed behind them. T’Pol turned and looked at him with one eyebrow arched.

“Commander, your quarters are in this direction.” she informed him, putting a glacial shield of Vulcan formality between them.

“I have no doubt that they are, but I have to ask you something.” he said, shaking his head. Waiting for no prompting, he asked her, “Do people still eat in this day and age? They did in mine, and I’m awful hungry after being poked and prodded for almost four hours straight. I swear, I’ve been taken apart and put back together again.”

“You want something to eat?”

“That would be ideal.”

“As an experiment, can you guess which way it is to the mess hall?” she inquired.

Trip rolled his eyes and sighed loudly, but answered, “That a way?” He pointed in the opposite direction of his quarters and, strangely enough, in the appropriate direction.

“Very good.” said T’Pol with a barely perceptible nod. “Were you guessing or did you have an intuitive feeling?”

“I sort of had a feeling.” he admitted uncomfortably.

“Perhaps you haven’t lost all of your memory from the last twelve years. Perhaps those memories still exist on a subconscious level.” postulated T’Pol as they walked toward the mess hall.

“That would be better than nothing.”

“Indeed, it would be.” she agreed.

The mess hall was empty, but, of course, it was long after hours for most of the crew. Despite his professed hunger, Tucker walked straight to the nearest window and looked out at the stars with an expression of wonder on his otherwise tired features. The stars were rushing by; the normally pristine pin pricks of light becoming long and colorful streaks as they traveled at warp. It was an awe-inspiring sight, just like the first time the commander had traveled in a warp speed vessel, an event that he did not fully recollect.

“How fast do you reckon we’re traveling?” he questioned, glancing over his shoulder at T’Pol, who stood observing him with her hands clasped behind her back.

“I do not know our exact speed, but I would estimate it between warp 4.2 and warp 4.4.” she told him.

Trip gave a long whistle at the numbers and shook his head. He had never heard of a Star Fleet vessel going that fast.

“What’s the top speed for this ship?”

“Theoretically, it is warp 5.” T’Pol answered. “I thought you were hungry.” she reminded him.

“I guess seeing this made me forget about my appetite.” said Trip, nodding toward the window and the stars.

“Understandable.” conceded T’Pol, walking toward the case of leftovers from the last meal. “There is a salad and some pie ..., Trip.” she informed him.

“Perfect, but what about you?” he asked.

“I am not hungry.”

“Aw, come on now. I know Vulcans got to eat just like everybody else.”

“I will have some tea.” she said, acquiescing as her stomach fluttered. Memory or no memory, he was still the same man who had made a fruit salad for her and persuaded her to try tuna.

“Could I get some milk or maybe some soda pop with my pie?” he asked.

“Soda pop?” she questioned evenly.

“It’s a ... carbonated drink with ...” he began to explain.

“An abundance of sugar and caffeine. Perhaps milk would be best.” she said, finishing his statement in Vulcan English.

“All right.” he said, watching her remove the dinner selections from the case. “You don’t have to do that. I think I could manage.”

“You should not exert yourself. The doctor expected me to take you directly to your quarters. If something happens, I would be to blame.” she said as an excuse. More honestly, she wanted to repay Trip for the meal he had prepared and shared with her during their misadventure.

“I hardly think it’s a crime to feed a hungry cadet.” said Trip with a smile.

She frowned as she filled their cups at the machine. Was he flirting with her? Or was it merely his sense of humor.

“You are not a cadet.” she said stiffly.

He recognized the change in her tone and asked, “Did I say something wrong? If so, I didn’t mean to offend.”

“It is all right.” she said, taking a seat with him at a table near the window.

She sipped her tea and kept her eyes on the window and the rushing stars as he ate his rather frugal meal. To him it seemed as though she were brooding. Trip wasn’t sure whether Vulcans brooded or not, but something was on her mind and, he surmised, it had something to do with him or his situation.

“You and Phlox never finished explaining about those three days.” he remarked.

T’Pol turned her head slowly from the window and looked at him without expression. Setting her cup down on the table, she seemed almost to sigh softly.

“The doctor is not in a position to explain. He has no memory of the events about which you inquire.”

“And you?”

“I have recovered mine.”

“Was it terrible?”

The question was unexpected. She blinked rapidly, her eyes stinging suddenly without reason. She found that she wanted to rub her eyes again, but clasped her hands in her lap instead. Terrible? It was strange that he should ask about the events in that way. It would not have occurred to her to phrase it thus.

“No, it was not terrible.”

“What was it like then?” pressed Tucker, leaning slightly toward her across the table.

“I do not believe that a detailed description of the incident is required. Your memory will return soon.”

Tucker chuckled and shook his head, but he wasn’t surprised by her answer: Vulcans were always cryptic, secretive, difficult to read. This one, no matter how pretty, wasn’t any different.

“Well, I can only hope that what I’ve lost will one day be found.” he said, tipping his cup of milk toward her and winking.

A few minutes later T’Pol walked him to his quarters. Something seemed to be hanging over them like a cloud. If the wrong words were spoken, it would rain upon them both. She was reticent to speak, and he felt like he had already said enough. They stood there in awkward silence for a moment before Trip worked up the courage to say something to her.

“Do you want to come inside? You could make sure I find everything okay.” he suggested, feeling a slight color creep into his cheeks as he spoke.

T’Pol raised one eyebrow and answered, “I am confident in your ability to find anything that you may need. Your quarters are, after all, not very large.”

“Will I see you tomorrow? For breakfast?” he asked, perhaps a little more persistent than the Trip Tucker who had tried to ask her inside less than a week earlier.

“Perhaps.” she replied impassively. For a moment her lips seemed to turn upward in the semblance of a smile, but the expression faded quickly.

“I’d like that.” he said, a slow grin spreading across his boyish features.

“Good night.” she said almost solemnly, making up for the momentary chink in her armor, as she turned to go.

Commander Tucker could only shake his head in confusion. She looked Vulcan. She sounded Vulcan. But no Vulcan he had ever seen had smiled as she just did, or rather, almost did.

“I wonder if she likes me.” thought Trip as he walked into the strange, unfamiliar quarters that he was forced to call his own. “I wonder if I like her.” he muttered, shaking his head at the sheer abnormality of the situation.

*************

Chapter Seven

In the Middle of the Night

Commander Tucker was awakened during the night by the terrible cacophony of red alert klaxons sounding. Trip had spent three days and four nights aboard the Star Fleet training vessel Roosevelt what seemed like scarcely two months earlier and knew that baleful sound well. His skin was clammy with sweat as he automatically threw on his uniform, preparing to face the hell of a training drill. Then a shiver went up his spine as he realized that it was most likely not a drill, and that it was for real. He hesitated at his door, hanging his head as he tried to figure out what he should do, where his responsibilities lay.

“To the ship and to the captain.” he said aloud, hurling himself through the door as the ship shuddered and pitched. “No, this is not a drill.” he thought, catching his balance, though more easily that he had ever done, or remembered doing.

At first he thought the ship was under fire, although he did not understand exactly why that idea occurred to him. Attack had seldom been simulated on any training vessel that he had been aboard. Then he recognized the pattern of pitching and bucking. It was that of an ion storm, and a rather severe one at that.

Instinct took him to engineering with few wrong turns. The corridors along the way were thronged with crewman, only a few panicking, on their way to their stations or to where they were needed. Their faces were unfamiliar, but they were all in uniform. It wasn’t like moving through a crowd of strangers, who may or may not have been dependable people. This was a crowd of fellow officers and crewman who shared a similar code of ethics and a similar destiny to his own. Of that, Tucker was certain when he occasionally glanced from their uniforms to their eyes.

As he entered engineering, a crewman called out to him, “It’s a ion storm, sir! And a bad one!”

“I thought so.” nodded Trip firmly, feeling at once in his element, although a bit scared as well. “How we doing?” he questioned.

“Not well, sir. The hull plating is down to minimal and we can’t re-polarize. The ship is taking a beating.” was the candid reply.

“Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

************

Chapter Eight

From Bad to Worse

T’Pol, who was again seeking to meditate, blew out her candle and rose to her feet as the klaxons sounded, suppressing a rising feeling of irritation. The universe was against her, throwing every conceivable nuisance her way simply to prevent her from performing her most basic duties as a Vulcan.

“First the commander, now this.” she thought as she smoothed the wrinkles from her uniform and left her quarters, knowing that her place, whatever her current mental state, was on the bridge.

“I only wish we had a chief engineer.” T’Pol thought to herself as she strode toward the lift, near which the other senior officers and bridge crew members were congregating.

When Archer saw his science officer, he almost turned her away from the lift. She looked tired and uncharacteristically troubled. But this was an emergency, and he wasn’t sure that he could afford to send her back to quarters. He wasn’t all that certain she would go either.

“T’Pol.” he acknowledged as they boarded the lift together.

“Captain.” she said in return, clasping her hands and seeming to stand at attention. “What is our status?” she inquired.

“We’re in one hell of an ion storm.” he explained as the lights in the lift flickered as the ship pitched.

“I see.” she said, catching her balance and raising an eyebrow.

When the lift doors opened and they walked onto the bridge, only a handful of crewman were manning stations. It was the night watch, the hours when only a skeleton crew manned the bridge and the more senior officers slept. Archer made his way unsteadily to his chair, struggling against the violent tremors that shook the Enterprise from stem to stern. T’Pol relieved Ensign Knight at the science station and ordered her off the bridge. This was no time to have young and obviously petrified ensigns under foot.

Hoshi and Malcolm scrambled to their stations as well. The communications officer looked a bit pale, but, as ever in a crisis, Lieutenant Reed, who was a natural-born fatalist, appeared to be morbidly calm, but in his element. Archer glanced at the less experienced crewman at the helm and then at the lift. Travis Mayweather, an expert helmsman, could certainly keep the ship steadier, but he had yet to make it to the bridge from a distant set of quarters in the junior officers' quarters. The lights flickered again and Archer made his decision.

“Reed, take the helm.” Archer ordered, selecting the more than capable tactical officer to replace the anxious crewman.

Lieutenant Reed had scarcely settled into the chair when lights on several consoles, including the science station, began to flash.

“We have lost deflectors.” T’Pol informed the captain, urgency in her voice.

“Drop out of warp!” bellowed Archer, realizing instantly that the Enterprise had just become terribly vulnerable, not just to the storm, but to any debris that the ship might encounter, no matter how small.

Only a split second after Archer felt the ship begin to decelerate, the ship shuddered, indicating an impact, and klaxons began to blare, the lights flickered and grew dim, and the quiet hiss of escaping air was heard on the bridge, despite the cacophony. And in that instant all hell broke loose.

“Captain! We’re venting oxygen!” yelled Reed over the din. His heart was pounding in his chest as he thought, “Third time’s the charm.”

“Evacuate the bridge!” ordered Archer.

“The bridge has been sealed to protect the rest of the ship. We cannot get out.” T’Pol informed him, small rips in the veil of her composure revealing the same dread that was openly displayed on the faces of the rest of the bridge crew.

“Then find that leak and plug it! Fast!” barked Archer, springing from his seat to help in the frantic search.

“We are losing power to the bridge.” said T’Pol in a loud voice as she left her station.

“T’Pol, Malcolm, get to that leak!” he bellowed. “Hoshi, you have to patch me through to engineering.” he ordered the young ensign, who seemed to on the verge of panicking.

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