To Boldly Go Once Again-Ch 16

To Boldly Go Once Again

By Eratta

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 16

Archer, despite the even direr situation now at hand, had only one thought on his mind: he’d forgotten how cramped it was in here. A decade before it hadn’t been so bad, but he’d also been a decade younger then. He stole a glance at the others who shared this tiny shelter: Travis, T’Pol, and the three women who had spent the last few weeks hiding in Columbia to move the damned temporal device around.

If I ever see Daniels again, I’ll kill him myself, he thought, in all seriousness.

“Commodore,” T’Pol said softly, bringing his wavering attention back to the little meeting at hand.

He cleared his throat. “Right, sorry. Just thinking about Daniels, and the choice words I have for him.”

Directly across from him, the dark blonde—Amy Seltzer—he recalled from their brief introduction a few years back, twisted her mouth into a wry smile. In her lap was Columbia's little temporal stowaway: a saucer shaped thing, seamless, black and matte. As clichéd as it got.

“As I was saying,” she said, eyes flitting down in silent respect to the legend that crouched before her, “it doesn’t seem to be on. No noises, no vibrations, no lights…nothing.”

“But it’s important. The captain wouldn’t have held onto it otherwise.” Baker said from her place next to Mayweather. The stout, serious one of the group had already established her policy of saying as little as possible, and then only when necessary.

“Don’t you just wish you knew what it was for, though?” Archer asked, almost wistful. T’Pol sighed next to him, sharing his frustration and simultaneous resignation.

In the shadows, Mayweather spoke up, his voice low and thoughtful. “I think the more pressing question is how we’re going to get out of here.”

He was right. The frantic Suliban were scurrying all over the ship in their last ditch-attempt to find this innocent little device before going gung-ho off to temporal war. They could hear them, their feet thumping along the decks and harsh voices barking orders. If they found the humans, they’d have the device. If they didn’t find them, they’d probably leave and blow the ship to the next galaxy. Either way, not a good situation, Archer mused.

“We could try a shuttle.” Said Alanna, the third member of Columbia's elite team and the beauty of the group. She looked far too young to be putting her life in danger, T’Pol thought as she looked over the sensitive and delicate set of the woman’s bones. It made her feel old indeed, to look at her.

Mayweather shook his head. “We wouldn’t get far enough, even if Enterprise is somewhere close.”

T’Pol’s nostrils flared, but remained unseen by the others. “Close?” she asked.

The others looked at her, and the Vulcan felt the fizzing of irritation. “You think Trip would make a stand, in the event that we had an opening to escape?” Even as she asked the question, she knew the answer. Of course he’d try to make a stand. Assuming they’d gotten away, that was.

Her question went unanswered as Mayweather elaborated, “we have an opening right now. The Suliban are running around like headless chickens.” He paused, thinking, then continued, “what if we pulled a really crazy stunt. Something they’d never expect. We’d have surprise and their disorganization on our side, and it could be enough.”

They traded looks around the little gathering, each person wondering just what kind of stunt the man had in mind. Alanna finally voiced the question, to which Travis answered with a tiny, almost invisible grin,

“Power her up and get us out of here. At warp speed.”

While she had no doubt the all shared the same vein of thought, T’Pol was only aware of her own amazement. She really thought she’d “seen it all”, as the expression went. For a split second, her mind entertained the possibility that her former crewmate was joking. But it had barely materialized coherently before it was dashed away.

“You want six people to crew Columbia—rife with missing parts, untried modifications and who-knows-what Suliban rigging—with no intel about the very real dangers of several kinds of foes, into the middle of a war zone?”

As was wont with T’Pol, it was more of a statement than a question, delivered without any inflection that would convey incredulity or dubiousness, despite what she was clearly thinking. Travis took that as a good sign, and merely added in response,

“At warp speed.”

T’Pol blinked, face neutral as her brain scrutinized the insane suggestion. And then she turned to the Commodore, one eyebrow lifted. The significance of the gesture did not escape her.

They traded look for look, until Archer finally said, in that especially soft tone that signified tiredness, as well as depths of resolve,

“Technically, it could be done.”

Again, T’Pol blinked. And in the interval that it took for her lower lashes to graze her cheek and sweep back up, she reflected how years ago she would have fought with him, on everything from the plan to the precise technical possibilities, of which she was still very much in doubt.

“Technically.” She repeated. And that was all.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trip ignored the faint ache in his lower back, concentrating instead on the soreness in his knuckles. He’d gripped the handrails around the bridge so tightly his palms were crossed with deep lines of red from the pressure. The adrenaline that had surged through his veins was dissipating, and he suddenly felt old and tired.

But they were alive.

“Status,” he said, turning around and taking care not to collapse into the captain’s chair. They had taken quite a beating; he didn’t really want to know how bad it was, especially considering what he had in mind as his next move.

“Hull integrity is at forty-six percent, but holding. A lot of casualties, but no fatalities, engines are holding, as is life support.”

Commander Reed looked up, half his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. He waited for Tucker’s lined eyes to meet his.

“They’re not following us.”

“No.”

“We did it.” Said Lt. Sato, quietly but with a degree of cheer. Tucker nodded; another barely successful mission. He blessed Enterprise and her makers, and once he was finished Trip heaved himself to his feet once more.

“Hoshi,” he began, scrubbing his jaw with the back of his hand, “get on the line and see if anybody friendly is around to take some of this crew off our hands. We’re going to need speed. Malcolm--”

Reed nodded, way ahead of his friend. “I’ve got people working on photon torpedoes now.”

“Good man. You’ll know where to find me.” And with that he lurched to the turbo lift, descending again into the bowels of the vessel. Just before the curved door hissed closed, his voice floated back into the room, low and terrible.

“Oh, and Malcolm…about our special guests…”
Reed’s lips pressed together into a thin line. “I’ll take care of it,” he replied.

No one needed to ask what that meant.

No more words penetrated the bridge for some time, until the black-haired ensign at the helm couldn’t help herself any longer. Turning her shoulders towards the other woman in the space, she whispered,

“What about the Commodore and Commander T’Pol?”

Hoshi met her gaze, trading a steady gaze for the wide-eyed one. “We’re going back for them, of course.”

Pallavi’s eyes grew wider still, and her lower lip trembled, but held. “Of course,” she repeated, turning back towards her consol. Hoshi stifled a tiny grin. These young kids, she thought, they had no idea what they were doing, trying to follow in this crew’s footsteps. And with that, she busied herself overseeing repairs and status reports from across the vessel. They weren’t out of this yet.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

From his tiny office in Engineering, Trip tried to steel his nerves.

They’re okay, they’re fine, he repeated over and over, so often the words lost meaning, degenerating into mere sounds that were silly and nonsensical. His best friend and –dammit, he was sick of denying it—the love of his life had been in scrapes worse than this before. And they always managed to get away. Always.

Just by the skin of their teeth, his memory viciously amended.

Trip desperately hoped there was someone nearby to take Columbia's crew off his hands; risking their lives further wasn’t part of the original deal. It was with no small amount of irony that he realized how nice it would be to have a nice big Vulcan ship around right now. He shifted in his chair, and his foot clinked into something made of glass. Stooping below the work table, he delighted in the discovery of an unopened bottle of whiskey, one that he’d brought aboard Enterprise years before. Opening it, he took a long pull and gasped as it burned down his esophagus and settled in his stomach. To one last hurrah, he toasted silently, and took a second drink.

The bottle was replaced in its spot, and Trip knew he’d never drink from it again. With the comforting fire in his belly and his head cleared, he headed back to the bridge. There was a fair bit of captaining to do.

Meanwhile, Commander Reed stood outside the brig with three of his staff, phase pistols set—as ever—to stun. Looking each of his associates in the eye, they swiftly entered the room, keyed open all the cells and unceremoniously shot each prisoner. And then shot them again, for good measure. No telling what else these bastards might have up their sleeves, he thought grimly. The job finished, he dismissed his team back to the armory and made his way back through the corridors to the fore-turbolift. Inside, he joined Captain Tucker, who was looking rather the worse for wear, he decided.

“You all right?”

Trip did not answer. He merely continued to lean against the back of the list, hands folded over each other between his back and the curved metal. His eyes floated on two bags of exhaustion and his mouth was slack.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Malcolm persisted. Slowly, Trip’s gaze met his own.

“It’s not exactly like we have a choice, do we?”

“No, but I could take over if you’re unfit.” The tactical officer said, in all seriousness. Which was why he was somewhat surprised and miffed that Tucker chose to chuckle after his suggestion.

“Yeah, right.” The door slid open, and Trip pulled himself upright and tightened his expression. “Like I’d ever give over command to you. You’d get us all killed.” He said with his saucy Tucker tone and grin. Reed gave a tiny shake of the head to hide his own small smile, and followed him out.
Trip proceeded directly to Sato’s station. Leaning over her rail, he murmured,

“Are we all right?”

“As good as can be expected, sir.” She answered, truth in her dark eyes.

“Right. Ensign,” Trip turned forward, feet planted and hands behind his back, “turn us around.”

Chapter 17

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Fantastic. I was quite glad to see this updated and equally rivetted to see what's going to happen next. Looking forward to the next chapter.

I like this story, but it's been a while. He takes TWO shots of liquor and then goes back on duty? That's not a terribly smart move. He needs his wits about him. I don't remember the first few chapters of this. Does Trip have a drinking problem in this one? If so, I suppose he might be better off with two shots in him than going through DT's. At least he's not the one driving. : D

well jon and trip were interrupted drinking in the expanse episode and seemed to handle that ..

I did kind of wonder at Trip's decision to hit the sauce there - don't recall any real indication from previous chapters that he's turned into an alcoholic or anything, but it may be him thinking that he's going to be dead soon so he wanted to taste the whiskey one last time...

And pookha's right (again); they did establish that Jon & Trip were able to function without being impaired after drinking. Maybe the alcohol of the future is really crappy. :p

If an otherwise healthy adult male has been accustomed to drinking all his life, one or two shots isn't going to get him drunk. It will affect his judgement however. OTOH, Trip is already wound tight as a guy wire, so maybe a little whiskey might actually help him calm down and think?

Good stuff, can't wait to see what happens next! :)

IMO, the myth that alcohol has a benficial effect in any situation is just that... a myth. Alcohol is a central nervous system depressant. Even in small doses it slows reflexes and, as Bn'B pointed out, impairs judgment. The reason I asked about a drinking problem is that in chronic alcoholics who are prevented from drinking, the physical symptoms of alcohol withdrawal can be dramatic. Often, a person going through withdrawal will self medicate to stop the shakes and feel "normal" again. In that instance, Trip might actually be better off with a couple of drinks in his system. The lesser of two evils, so to speak. Barring that scenario, consuming any alcohol at a time when his JUDGMENT as a commanding officer is his MAIN contribution to the survival of the ship and its crew would seem to me at the very least a tremendously stupid decision, and at worst, an example of dereliction of duty that could get them all killed.

Which is why I presume that the alcohol of the ENT era is really lame (probably due to annoying government intervention or something.) We've seen Tucker in command and we know that he wouldn't do something that would screw everyone else up ...

Oh, Christ.

You know what the greatest thing of all is? When people throw away established character and start making up their own.

What happened in The Expanse is canon. How you think Trip should behave, Distracted, really doesn't come to a hill of beans. Also, you have to be a pretty sheltered individual if you think that 2 shots makes him completely unable to function. Those of us in the real world know better.

Also? Maybe the rest of you could you know, quit hijacking the comment thread for a fic with your rather unimportant views about alcohol. You want a soapbox? Go find one. Otherwise, focus on the fic. That's kind of the purpose.

That's kind of harsh and unnecessary, don't you think? Distracted brought up a point about Trip consuming alcohol in a situation where it could be dangerous for him to do so and several points were tossed around.

Fanfic, by definition, is NOT canon and the author is free to interpret the characters however he/she wants (hence the voluminous slash stuff not to mention the Archer/T'Pol ... stuff that is out there). TATV, as horrifically bad as it was, IS canon.

There's absolutely NO call to melt down over someone's OPINION about how the character in the fanfic acted. Let's all focus on what we like (in this case, TnT and Errata's excellent fic) and not starting eating our own...

You know, we may all be missing the point here.

"From his tiny office in Engineering, Trip tried to steel his nerves."

He was a nervous wreck and under an almost unbreable load of stress.

"Inside, he joined Captain Tucker, who was looking rather the worse for wear, he decided... His eyes floated on two bags of exhaustion and his mouth was slack... "I could take over if you’re unfit.” The tactical officer said, in all seriousness."

From the sound of things, Trip is quite far from being at his best anyway. A couple swigs of whiskey sound to me like a symptom of his condition, rather than a cause.

Hiya. Any hope of getting an update soon? I am still keeping hope alive.

Me too!

Soon, my dears. I'm polishing a novella at the moment, which is consuming all my time.