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Beta WavesAuthor - Aquila | B | Genre - Angst | Genre - Romance | Main Story | Rating - R
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating Beta Waves By Aquila Rating: PG – 13 == Part One A glowing, concentrated beam of energy passed harmlessly overhead as he ducked behind a boulder. He rolled down and to the left as another beam aimed from a higher vantage point heated the air next to his right cheek. He lay still in the shadows, pressing into the dirt attempting to diminish the size of the target he had unwittingly become. High pitched squeaks were accompanied by the grating friction of antennae rubbing together. The Insects were moving in for the kill. Adrenaline coursed through his veins in the instinctual urge to flee or fight. Flight was out of the question. His back was to a wall, literally. A cliff face rose a hundred meters above him, the black, cold surface as smooth as glass. He prepared to fight a losing battle. The three Insects were armed. He had lost his weapon an hour before. Only his wits and his knowledge of the terrain had kept him alive. He breathed deeply, hoping that the whipping wind covered the sound. He exhaled slowly, imagining that his fear and anger were expelled with his breath. He willed himself to stop thinking. He inhaled again, the periphery of his mind tracking the sound of the advancing enemy. He exhaled, tightening his abdominal muscles, using his diaphragm to expel every cubic centimetre of breath from his lungs. “Cast out fear.” The voice of T’Pol reciting the teachings of Surak poured into the vacuum he created. “There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear.” == “Report.” Jonathan Archer strode onto the bridge. Lt. Reed, rising from the chair in the centre of the space, relinquished his temporary command. “You are aware of the condition of Pod One, sir.” Reed stood with his hands clasped behind his back and his spine straight. “Pod Two is en route with Sub-commander T’Pol in stable condition, but unconscious.” “And Commander Tucker?” Archer sat. His communications officer gave him the facts, “He does not answer my hails and we have been unable to attain a stable lock for transportation.” “Is he still alive?” Archer steeled himself for the answer. “The interference that is affecting the transporter and communications renders our scans inoperable, sir.” A junior science officer silently prayed that the captain would not shoot the messenger. “Travis, get us out of here.” As the helmsman bent over his console, he tried to ignore the gasps of concern from the bridge crew. Lt. Reed opened his mouth to protest. “We destroyed the Xindi shuttle.” He moved from his chair to stand behind Travis, one hand on his shoulder. “Neither the Insectoids nor Commander Tucker can leave the planet. We must trust that Trip’s talent for improvisation will keep him alive until we are able to return to collect him.” == Calm, relaxed, aware of blood pumping through his veins, Trip Tucker lay still, his face turned toward the cliff wall, his right cheek pressed into the dirt. He used the reflective surface to watch the advance of the predators. Twitching antennae bobbed and weaved through the undergrowth. Branches would snap back as the Insects passed. Clouds covered the setting sun, bringing an early dusk, deepening the shadow in which he hid. A gust of wind dissipated, depositing airborne debris over him. He watched wide-eyed as he disappeared from view right before his own eyes. No longer in imminent danger, his eyelids grew heavy. Under his blanket of camouflage he passed from beta through theta to the delta waves of exhaustion. == She snapped out of a drug-induced coma crashing headlong into anxiety. For several minutes she stumbled through disconnected memories seeking the source of her apprehension. The mental images increased the dread that constricted her chest, making each breath painful. Phlox responding to her discomfort, approaching with a hypospray. She batted it away. “No,” T’Pol sat up, flinging the sheet away, “Is Commander Tucker on board?” Phlox knew his patient too well to prevaricate, “No.” “The ship is being repositioned for his rescue?” She feared the answer. “No.” Phlox whispered, while watching her vital signs spike on the biomonitor. T’Pol swung her legs over the side of the biobed, “Protest if you must, but let the log record that I, against your better judgement, left sick bay of my volition.” Phlox with an uncharacteristic frown on his face watched her departure in silence. == Paralyzing, bone-chilling regret awakened him. The enormity of the emotional discomfort left no room for awareness of fear or his physical condition. To cope he returned to the breathing exercises that had eased his anxiety earlier. He began with a slow inhalation, which, when his lungs were full, he held for five heart beats. His exhalation was equally as slow. Another five heart beats passed before he inhaled again. Assuming that his enemy was still nearby he kept still, breathing as quietly as possible. He cycled through his breathing for more than a minute before he corralled the emotion, enabling him to examine it objectively. He identified a portion that he was prepared to claim as his own. The rest he attributed to his clone, known to his crewmates as Sim, who had died so that Trip could live. Sim’s body had died, but his emotions lived on, in Trip, a residual effect of the brain cell transplant conducted by Phlox. With the understanding that he was host to Sim’s emotions came the realisation that the clone’s residual emotions echoed his own. Whenever their emotions coincided they were amplified a thousandfold. == “She what?” Archer’s face, inches from Phlox’s, was red with anger. His fists were balled tightly. Phlox was unrepentant. In my medical judgment it was imperative that T’Pol be allowed to return to that planet. “We are going to return to that planet – you knew that – in due course,” spat Archer. “Which,” the doctor replied calmly, “Would not be soon enough.” The Captain sighed, “What have you not told me? And don’t give me that doctor-patient confidentiality crap.” The doctor made an instant medical judgment: For the good of the captain’s mental health and their survival he would ignore his ethics. “You are aware of T’Pol’s condition,” he began, “The Pan’ar syndrome?” Archer nodded. “You witnessed the effects of the Trellium-D on her mental well being.” Phlox paused. Archer nodded again, barely containing his impatience. “Unbeknownst to her, she has been receiving supplemental treatments.” Phlox had the Captain’s attention. “I admit to a degree of subterfuge, the consequences of which we are now experiencing.” Phlox hung his head for a brief moment. “I think I should sit down,” Archer said, hopping on to a biobed. “Begin at the beginning.” == Lt. Reed occupied the command chair for the second time that day. His curiosity about T’Pol’s unauthorized shuttlepod departure ate away at him. He had witnessed the Vulcan interpret standing orders liberally, but he had never observed her defy a Captain’s order. “Archer to Reed,” interrupted his musings. “Yes, Captain?” To Reed it felt as if the bridge crew were holding their breath, as they waited for the Captain to respond. “Detail crews to line the hull with Trellium-D.” Reed turned command over to Travis who was wide-eyed with surprise. Hoshi, her lips pursed in puzzlement, watched the Lieutenant leave the bridge with a feeling of dread. End of Part One
Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS! Four of you have made commentsWhat a great start, I can hardly wait for the next installment. Please update soon. Thank you. Wow, wow, wow! I´m sure I didn´t take a breath through the whole story. Please post part 2 soon! Hmmm... Lot's of questions and possibilities here. I can't wait to see where you are going to take this. Really! I can't wait! Please post the next part soon. Please? Soon? Oh wow, I love this! Hope you get the next part posted soon. Talk about drama and suspense, this is a terrific writing. Thank you! Ali D :~) |