Beta Waves - Pt 7

Beta Waves

By Aquila

Rating: PG – 13
Category: Angst, Romance
Disclaimer: All things Trek are Paramount’s. The errors are mine.
Summary: Cornered by duty, Trip fights for the future. Sequel to Theta Waves. There be spoilers and unabashed speculation by Aquila.

==

Part 7

T’Pol took a long, slow deep breath. She held it for three hearts beats then eased the stale air from her lungs a wisp at a time. She repeated the cycle, sitting cross-legged on a pillow of Talaxian silk on the deck of her cabin. The glow of monitors replaced the candles normally lit to enhance meditation.

With each cycle her sense of control increased. She conducted a cautious psychological and physical inventory. She readily contained the surge of joy that rippled through her body by imagining that she had wrapped the feeling in silk and locked it away in an intricately carved box that held cherished possessions.

The Trellium that lined the hull held at bay the terrifying forces of the Expanse. The relief she felt was palpable. Momentarily she revelled in it then locked the appreciation away as she had the joy.

With each new inhalation she deliberately examined the disparate emotions that had bombarded her during their mission. She confronted them one at a time then laid the negative ones to rest in a different box, smooth and metallic with a combination lock.

She imagined a third box, rustic yet lovingly hand-crafted. To the casual observer the nondescript container was merely utilitarian, almost valueless except for its functionality. In T’Pol’s mind the third box was the container for the feelings engendered by Commander Tucker. Feelings she considered the most intimate and precious of all her emotions.

T’Pol decided to choose one moment that best exemplified the complexity of her feelings for the Human. With the symbolic locking away of that perfection she hoped the entire panoply would be contained. Then - and only then - would control be hers again.

==

On the deck below outside the quarters of the Chief Engineer two MACO sentries stood guard, charged with carrying out the Captain’s orders to confine Commander Tucker to quarters.

“It could have been the brig, Tucker.” He addressed the bulkheads as he settled cross-legged on the deck. “The Captain had every right to bust you down to crewman. How the hell are you going to be of any help to T’Pol getting stuck in here?”

The aftershock of an explosion tilted the deck shooting him across the cabin, where he fell in a heap on the bunk. Before he could reach for the comm. to enquire, a tactical alert was broadcast ship wide. Trip scrambled across the cabin to find himself facing the business end of two phase pistols.

“I’m sorry, sir, you are confined to quarters.”

“There’s a tactical alert for Cochrane’s sake,” Trip’s exasperation was evident. “I should be with the engines.”

“Archer to the security detail,” snapped from the portable comm. units attached to the MACO uniforms.

The senior soldier responded, “Murphy here, Captain.”

“If you have Commander Tucker in your sights, release him. I need him in the engine room.”

The sentries stepped aside just in time to avoid colliding with Trip who rushed past.

“The Commander is on his way, sir.”

==

With her left hand T’Pol tugged at her uniform which became twisted when she rolled across the deck propelled by the explosion that shook the ship. With her right she scrolled through the screens that gave her a bridge-eye view of the ship’s conditions.

“No damage reported, Captain.” She had not waited to be asked to contribute. “The scout ship has adopted a hit-and-run tactic.”

The voice of Lt. Reed could be heard, “The Xindi ship is outgunned, Captain.”

“What a display of foolish courage,” announced Archer. “Hoshi, have they responded to your hails?”

“No sir.”

“If they won’t talk to us face-to-face, then let’s try getting them to listen by transmitting that data file.”

“Yes, Captain.”

==

Six hours passed before the situation was resolved without blood being spilled, fuelling Archer’s hope that a diplomatic solution would be found to the situation that had made Humans and Xindi mortal enemies. The conclusion of the crisis coincided with the end of T’Pol’s shift, freeing her to return to her earlier contemplation.

The effect of the combination of protection from and by the Trellium had compounded with each hour that passed. She relished the return of an emotional equilibrium. She had grown so confident and strong that she withdrew from its resting place a personal memento: her great-grandmother’s handbag.

Unlike her emotions, she could touch this treasure, burying her nose in the leather to breathe deeply of its scent. All T’Pol’s memories of T’Mir were handed down to her by her grandmother. T’Mir had died when T’Pol was an infant. Nonetheless, the family stories had influenced her choice of careers and the attitudes that she brought to them. T’Pol realized as she held the bag close to her heart that one reason for her presence in the Expanse was the stories of her great-grandmother.

Another equally significant influence was her grandfather, whose existence was an unacknowledged state secret on her home world. Before returning returned from her sojourn on Earth - long before the official first contact that entailed Zephram Cochrane – T’Mir had orchestrated the official death of Mestral, a colleague who had accompanied on her the mission to observe Humanity. Only T’Mir knew the truth. Mestral had chosen to remain on Earth living amongst the species he had spent his career observing from a distance.

The secret stories with which T’Mir entertained her children sparked the imagination of one in particular, her daughter, T’Par. She became eventually an ethnographer assigned to the Human observation mission. T’Par’s secret ambition was to discover what happened to Mestral after he remained on Earth. She had succeeded. Her stories were woven into the fabric of family legend that had begun with T’Mir.

T’Pol withdrew a photo from the handbag she held, “Grandmother, you were a seeker as your mother was, as your daughter was and as I am.”

T’Pol’s mother, T’Par’s daughter, Spelt continued the secret research of her mother. Although it was funded by the Vulcan Science Academy, it was classified. Neither she nor T’Par were publicly acknowledged for their contributions to Vulcan ethnographic science. Shortly after official first contact with Humans and with the permission of a secret committee comprised of High Council and senior members of the VSA, Spelt made contact with the descendants of Mestral, whose intimate exploration of Humanity had resulted in offspring.

T’Pol clutched the photo as she stood by her view port and stared out into space. She never met her biological father, Mestral’s grandson, who had aroused an illicit passion in the heart of her mother so strong that she defied the order of the committee to abandon the child she created with him. Spelt never spoke of the reason that she returned to Vulcan alone carrying another state secret: Mestral’s great-granddaughter with Human and Vulcan genes.

==

Trip stood at attention in the Captain’s ready room. “We missed that briefing.”

Archer, tickling Porthos’ ears, grinned wryly, “We did, didn’t we?”

“I’m sorry, Jon.” By using Archer’s first name, Trip hoped to convey the depth of his sincerity. “I had no right to speak to you as I did.”

Porthos jumped down from his master’s lap, permitting Archer to rise. The two men stood toe to toe and eye to eye.

“Commander Tucker, I have given you extraordinary latitude out of respect for your skills and because you are my friend. You stepped over the line today. If you ever speak to me like that again, I will bust you to crewman and confine you to the brig. It will be the end of your career. Do you understand?”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Trip held the older man’s gaze and waited.

“Has your relationship with T’Pol changed in a manner that requires my intervention?”

Trip winced. “We are still working out the details. However, I do not believe the Captain’s intervention is required.”

“Be discrete, Trip.” Archer turned his back on the Chief Engineer, “Clarify the situation - quickly.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“And Trip,” the commander halted when the captain called his name. “I have rescheduled that briefing for 09:00.”

==

When T’Pol earned the Earth posting, her mother presented her with the photo, saying simply, “This is your biological father and me. It was taken the day that we learned that you had been conceived. That is joy on the face of your father. It was his wish that you were raised on Vulcan. It was his dream that you would return to Earth to further understanding between our species.”

“Father, did you expect me to explore passion and desire as I furthered understanding?”

With that question echoing in her mind, she identified the memory and accompanying feelings for her lover that she would metaphorically lock away.

End of Part 7

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Four of you have made comments

Human AND Vulcan DNA? Spock wasn't the first, hee hee. He was only the first anyone knew about. Does this mean T'Pol and Trip might be more genetically compatible? Can't wait to find out.

So when does T'Pol get to come out of her room? And when do her and Trip get to iron out the wrinkles in their relationship?

Please update soon!

Oooohhhhh!!!! The suspence is killing me! I must know what's happening next! I wonder if she'll tell Trip about her Human DNA... and I wonder if she'll ever get out of her room so her and Trip can explore those passions and desires! I can't wait for the rest!

Oh man... you can't continue this story fast enough for me! Great chapter and excellent story developments! Keep 'em coming!

Leaving us in suspense?!? More please