Seek First...- Pt. 3

Seek First to Understand

Part Three

by Aquila

Rating: R
Category: Angst
Disclaimer: Thank you Berman and Braga for creating Trip Tucker. Thank you Connor Trinneer giving him life. Paramount do you own their souls too?
Summary: Spoilers, Alternate Universe, The effect of the Expanse on Trip, T’Pol and their professional relationship. Part Three is told from T’Pol’s point of view.

==

Later that evening

He had doused the fire, a precaution with which I concurred. The night was warm, the sky was clear. We would not suffer from the lack of heat. After some deliberation, he had dismantled the tent. This was not a rest and recreation excursion. We were waiting for the sun rise and the possibility of attack.

I entered a report into a data pad to pass the time. He stared into the darkness, oblivious to my presence, his fingers tapping his thigh as he pondered something. Normally I relish silence. It is a rare commodity on board a Human star ship and on away missions with the Commander, who was skilled at small talk. Big ideas? Human vernacular was heavily comparative.

“Care to speculate on the purpose of the device, Commander?”

He did not react to my query. I coughed as I had seen junior officers do when they wished to attract the attention of more senior officers. I returned to my data entry, feeling rebuffed. Admitting that I felt an emotion of any sort was an indication that I too am out of sorts.

“T’Pol,” he turned to me, “I think we’ve been set up.”

“Explain.” I was eager for the sound of his voice, no matter what the subject.

“Somethin’ about that contraption has been botherin’ me.”

He spun around, crossed his legs and leaned across the cold fire pit with a certainty that I had learned not to ignore. His façade of an impulsive innocent melted away revealing an indomitable spirit and insightful mind. At that moment I understood how intractable an enemy he would be.

“Ya know I can make anything work given enough time?” He was not being immodest, merely stating a fact.

“You did not have enough time to make the device work, before it was destroyed.” I soothed his ego, or so I thought.

“There wasn’t enough time in this or any other universe to fix that thing.”

I watched the moonlight play across his face, animated now with the significance of his conclusion. “That thing had no other purpose than to lure Enterprise into staying in one spot long enough for the Xindi to attack.”

“But the Enterprise did not linger,” I reminded him.

“Good for Enterprise, bad for Xindi.” He stood. “Sometimes victory goes to the side with the most horseshoes in its pockets.”

Another colourful phrase that I assumed was a reference to capriciousness, a variable for which the most competent tactician could not plan according to Lieutenant Reed.

“Perhaps our attackers were a scouting party out to confirm the success of their trap?” Another possibility came to mind. “Is it possible that their mission parameters were identical to ours?”

He considered the possibility. “They weren’t trying to destroy Enterprise, but capture some personnel for intelligence purposes? My gut says no.” He frowned, “They are pre-emptive strikers, who do not believe in negotiation.”

“We will act on the reaction of your intestinal tract.”

==

An hour later

“That’s the last one.” He looked drawn and haggard.

Twenty-four hours of tension and disturbed sleep had eroded his natural vitality. We had spent the past hour reducing our footprint to two bio-signs. The shuttle was packed with our gear in preparation for an instantaneous departure, but its energy systems had been shut down to reduce the possibility of detection. The physical activity had drained him of his energy reserves.

I tossed him a sleeping bag, our only concession to the primitive conditions we had imposed on ourselves. He snapped his out, claiming the forward deck. I spread my bag aft.

“Sleep Commander. That is an order.” I took the first watch.

==

At this moment

He dreams the dream of the damned again and I do not know how to help him.

His sleeping bag is twisted about his body, like a strait-jacket. His forehead glistens in the lamp light where fear oozes from his pores. I hold the lamp aloft. His eyes, restless in REM, wear away at his lids.

“You bastards!”

He yells out then begins to flop like a hooked fish on a dry dock. He mumbles incoherently, before resting quietly at last.

Reassured that he does not need immediate aid, I return to my pallet. I am not qualified to provide the kind of assistance he really needs. However that circumstance does not relieve me of the obligation to try.

Was my concern an obligation? Merely a duty? A response to the Captain’s request that I “Help him get over whatever is eating away at him, T’Pol.’

I scan for Xindi bio signs, with my portable device. Our plan for survival includes scans of the immediate area every fifteen minutes. No signs of hostile life. I settle back against a bulkhead with my bag wrapped around me like a cloak.

Ensign Sato’s question floats to the surface of my consciousness. “With whom would you most like to be stranded in Shuttlepod One?”

I look across to the sleeping form, illuminated only by starlight that enters through the shuttlepod ports. Immediately the answer and the situation blend into a disorienting amalgam of emotion and clarity and I am afraid.

End of Part Three

Continue to Part Four

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