The Final...- Pt. 6

The Final Mission

Part Six

by Aquila

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe.

Summary: A sequel to Starfleet Engineering

Category: Alternate Universe

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

==

“My assistant has requested a moment of my time. I will return shortly.” Phoebus did not wait for a reply. His client had not heard a word.

The lawyer paused in the doorway to regard the professor, whose countenance was so pale. The envelope that he held in his hands trembled. Phoebus held his breath. Would he change his mind?

“I won’t change my mind, Councilor.”

Phoebus closed the door.

Trip turned the envelope over. It was still plain and white. No secret codes or writing activated by the heat of his hands had miraculously materialized. Open the damn thing, his impulsive side shouted in his mind. The grieving husband returned the shout. Don’t do it! The act of opening the envelope would close a chapter in his life. Ineffectually he tossed the envelope. It merely fluttered to the floor - calm in the face of his anger, so like T’Pol. Her unbidden voice filled his head.

“Commander Tucker, your outburst served no practical purpose.”

“It didn’t then, and it doesn’t now,” he conceded, “But it clears the decks, Darlin’, so I can get on with the hard stuff.”

He reached for the envelope, lost his balance, ending up on the floor beside it. He remained there, afraid that if he moved again, he would never find the courage to open it.

==

Trip looked about. The ceilings, five meters above his head, were coffered. The beams carved and decorated in gold leaf. Rich red silk covered the exposed wall surfaces, bookshelves covering the rest.

He breathed deeply, taking in the aroma of leather and dust. There were two large wing-back chairs either side of the fireplace. On a table in between were a decanter and a pair of glasses. Trip helped himself, and then he continued his tour. The windows, stretching along one side of the room, provided a view of grounds that ran down to a pond, with a small jetty to which a boat was tied.

“I do apologize for keeping you waiting, Comm…Professor.” Malcolm Reed, the lord of the manor, entered the room with his hand outstretched.

“Professor?” Trip took his hand. “Jeez, Malcolm, isn’t it about time you started callin’ me Trip?”

“Trip, then.” He pumped harder. “I’m damn glad to see you. It has been much too long!”

The broke the handshake and stepped back automatically, each one taking the measure of the other.

“You are lookin’ well, Malcolm.” Trip meant it. The last time he had seen the man, he had been on a biobed, hanging between life and death.

“Are you able to spend some time? My daughter is getting married next week. We would be honoured if you would attend.” Malcolm gestured to the chairs by the fireplace.

“Isobel is getting married?” Trip recalled the name of Malcolm’s oldest daughter.

“Isobel has been married for ten years.” Malcolm grinned. “She’s made me a grandfather, five times.”

“Five times! But then, she came from a large family, didn’t she.” Trip scanned his memory banks. “You had six daughters?”

Malcolm nodded.

Trip gasped, “You don’t mean, Angela, the baby?”

“That’s right,” Malcolm grinned.

“Who is the lucky fella?” Trip felt old. Baby Angela all grown up.

“I am, Professor.”

Malcolm and Trip turned toward the door.

“Travis Mayweather, if I live and breath!” Trip crossed the room in a bound, to wrap the newcomer in a hug.

When they separated, Trip held the younger man by his biceps. “Malcolm is goin’ to be your father-in-law?”

Travis nodded vigorously as Malcolm joined them in the centre of the room. “This reunion calls for cigars and my best port.”

==

The three men, cigar smoke curling about their faces, were floating in a boat on the pond Trip had seen from the library window. Travis was at the helm, reminiscent of their days on Enterprise. Malcolm sat in the bow and Trip, mid-ships, had his hands on the oars.

“You need to get to Logon II without leaving a data trail?” Malcolm was mystified.

Trip nodded.

Travis continued, “Then you need to come home again, without anyone the wiser?”

Trip nodded again.

Malcolm sighed in resignation, “And you won’t tell us why.”

Travis had a thought, “You can’t tell us why, can you?”

Trip’s face screwed up in a silent apology and acknowledgement of the truth of Travis’ statement.

“When do you want to leave?” Malcolm still preferred action to debate.

==

Dr. Phlox pressed his thumb on the scanner which whirred and flashed. When it fell silent, the courier, departed with the scanner, leaving behind a large container of live Denobulan Dung Beetles.

Grinning with pleasure at the arrival of the fresh supply, he opened the lid.

“Howdy, Doc.”

Phlox’s normally placid face was animated by surprise. Trip, struggling to climb out, let him adjust to his unconventional arrival. Trip ended up in a heap on the floor of the medical lab.

“Damn these titanium knees. They always let me down, when I need them most.”

Phlox bristled at the implied criticism, “The Xindi didn’t leave me much to work with, Professor.”

“I’m not being ungrateful, Doc. I know you did the best to undo the damage that the bad guys inflicted. I’m jist gettin’ old and cranky.” Trip stuck out his hand in a request for assistance. “Good to see ya, Phlox.”

“And you.” Phlox bowed slightly from the waist, then helped him up.

==

Trip looked about the lab. It was larger than the one Phlox had on Enterprise, which meant that he had more space for cages and aquaria. Accompanying their conversation was the continual clicking, clucking and scrabbling about in undergrowth that Trip associated with the doctor.

“Do ya know why I’m here, Phlox?” Trip was sharing a meal with his friend, who had ordered trays to be delivered to the lab from the facility’s cafeteria.

“You are fulfilling T’Pol’s final request.”

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