The Final...-Pt. 13

The Final Mission

Part Thirteen

by Aquila

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the Star Trek universe.
Summary: A sequel to Starfleet Engineering
Category: Alternate Universe

==

The Logonian captain saw his status slipping away like sands in an hourglass. His status female considered his special relationship with the Attorney General a valuable asset. An asset that he felt helpless to retain as his anonymous passenger slipped deeper and deeper into depression.

They would dock tomorrow, a week ahead of schedule. The captain had made good time, thanks to a ‘tweak’ the passenger had made to his engines. On the third day out from Logon, the man the captain presumed was the Attorney General’s Primary Male Presumptive had offered to examine his engines...

“There’s somethin’ peculiar about your engine’s heartbeat, if ya don’t mind my sayin’, Cap’n?”

He had minded, but his guest was right and the Attorney General had mentioned that her favoured one possessed an uncanny skill with engines.

“It has never been the same, since my last overhaul. Would you mind investigating the problem?”

“I’d be pleased, bein’ a passenger, even a pampered one, can get borin’.”

The passenger had spent a week in the bowels of the ship, with the ship’s engineering staff at his side. By the time he was finished ‘tweakin’, a word for which there was no Logonian equivalent, the engines were running at optimum. The Logonian Chief reported that he had been awed by the stranger’s skill.

That was the last time their guest had spoken to anyone, except the steward who brought him his meals. The servant, assigned by the captain to whom he owed a favour, reported that the stranger ate less and less, seldom changed his clothes and had ceased to smile. The guest refused all invitations to dine with the officers. The crew’s attempts to include him in their down time had been rebuffed. The captain did not look forward to reporting the condition of the passenger to the Attorney General. He had 24 hours to rectify the situation.

==

“Risa? I hate Risa.” Trip muttered to the walls. “Why did they have to pick Risa? I hate Risa.” He stuffed another dirty shirt into his duffel. “Risa’s good for gettin’ mugged and gettin’ laid, that’s all. I’m a married man, for damn sake.” He threw the bag at the bulkhead. “No, I’m not. Maybe I am. What the hell, I’ve no idea what I am anymore!”

“Enter,” he shouted in response to the door chime.

“Ah, I’ve interrupted your packing,” the captain began to bow out the door.

“No, you haven’t interrupted anything, but self-pity.” Trip sat on the bed with a thud. “Would ya do me a favour?”

“Anything for the man who ‘tweaked’ my engines,” he replied insincerely.

“Glad to have helped. There’s nothin’ like workin’ with your hands to make a man feel useful.”

“Your favour?”

The captain had spent a lifetime avoiding manual labour. He saw nothing therapeutic in muscle strains and sweat, unless it was to gain the attention of a superior female.

“Can ya get me on to Risa, under another name?”

“Do you have the paperwork?”

“Yeah, I do.”

The captain was not surprised. The Attorney General had a taste for the seamier things in life.

==

“Gerard Knightley.” Trip passed his papers to the immigration android.

“Pass your hand across the scanner, please, Mr. Knightley.”

Trip did as instructed.

“Are you here for the engineering conference, sir?” Risan androids were programmed to speak of the inconsequential with travelers.

“Just a little down time.”

“Enjoy your stay.”

==

Slipping dark glasses over his eyes, Trip departed the bath house feeling refreshed. His scraggly beard had become a goatee. The masseuse had pummeled the ache from his muscles, if not his heart. He had splurged on a pair of linen trousers and an oversized shirt in the bath house shop. He wiggled his toes in his sandals in anticipation of what, he did not know.

The barber had shaped his hair, but would not cut it. She said that the women he met would want to run their fingers through the longer locks. When he said he wasn’t interested in woman, she replied without blinking, there are many boys on Risa who would also consider it a pleasure.

Trip ran his own fingers through his hair. “What Risan pleasure would Gerard Knightley seek?”

“And who is Gerard Knightley and why would Professor Charles Tucker be interested in his pleasure?”

Trip could not put a name to the face of the woman who had slipped her arm through his. Seeing his embarrassment, she let go of his arm.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She tilted her head to one side while he squirmed.

Was there a question more likely to strike fear into a man’s heart than that one? No matter how a fella answered that question feelings would be hurt. Unless of course, he could provide without prompting the name and the conditions under which they had become acquainted.

Trip snapped his fingers, “Anya Annickova. I haven’t seen you since the Warp Theory Conference in?”

“In much too long!” Anya took Trip’s arm, once again. “Now tell me, who is Gerard Knightley?”

==

The obligatory umbrellas were resting in oversized cocktails under the artificial Risan sky, before Anya stopped pumping Trip for information about Gerard Knightley’s desires.

“I didn’t notice your name on the list of presenters at the conference, Professor?” Anya played with the umbrella in her drink.

“I’m not registered.” Trip wondered how many engineers were attending the conference.

Anya frowned, “You must. I insist, on behalf of the profession. Coincidence or not, you must attend.”

“Hey, isn’t that?” Across the room a gaggle of engineers turned their heads in the direction of Trip and his companion.

“Well if I don’t purge and propel…that’s Charlie Tucker…”

“That’s Professor Tucker to you, Abe.”

“With Annickova if I’m not mistaken.” That observation was delivered with cool disdain by a former Starfleet engineering cadet who had worshipped the unattainable Tucker from afar.

Simultaneously, the group rose, drinks in hand, and crossed the patio. Anya and Trip were swallowed by a swarm of inebriated and worshipful colleagues.

==

The cocktails had been replaced by finger food and bottles of beer. As the evening progressed, members of the original crowd had called colleagues with invitations to join the gathering.

“No, really,” They just walked in. I called you as soon as I could. Tucker and Annickova. Get here as soon as you can.”

By midnight, the engineers had taken over. The manager, made aware by latecomers queuing to join the party of the celebrity of the pair, sent a complimentary round of drinks to Trip’s table.

“You could do it, sir,” boldly declared a fresh faced graduate student.

“Call me Trip.” He gave the young man his undivided attention, which unbeknownst to Tucker, sent the student’s social standing into orbit. “What exactly do you think that I can do that others haven’t already tried?”

“Nothing new, sir, er Trip.” He gazed about the room, which had fallen silent. “But you would bring something to the equation that no one else could.” He took confidence from the heads nodding in agreement.

“What might that be exactly?”

Annickova answered for all of them, “Your reputation, darling, your reputation.”

==

A unanimous resolution was passed at the annual general conference of the Society of Space Engineers of Earth that Professor Charles Tucker III act as the Society’s emissary to establish an intergalactic organization for the exchange of knowledge.

The resolution was passed five months to the day that Trip learned of T’Pol’s death.

End of Part 13

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Two folks have made comments

ah that's so sweet! man I love this story...

I did smile at Trip's attempt to disguise himself being blown out of the water and finding himself a celebrity whether he wanted to or not. T'Pol's codices and the cloak and dagger stuff with Phlox and the 'beetle wagon'was by turns sad and funny. This is well written though I did feel sad that there was no friendly banter between Phlox and Trip taking up their old friendship. Can't wait to see what happens next! Ali D :~)