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Vulcan for Intimate - ch. 4

Author - John O.
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Vulcan for ‘Intimate’

By John O.

Rating: PG13 – some language
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek characters/names/fans’ souls/etc. I call shenanigans.


A/N: In case anyone forgot, italics denote internal thoughts, ship names or sometimes just vocal inflections.

Chapter 4


Day 12 (Continued)


Later that afternoon, the engineer and science officer trekked through the dense jungle to survey the damage to the crashed shuttlepod. For the better half of his recovery, T’Pol was forced to repeatedly force Trip to rest. He protested, argued, yelled and finally begged her to show him to the pod so he could assess the damage himself. When Trip had finally worn down her will to say ‘no’, she agreed that if he rested one more hour and desisted from further pleading until that time, she would take him to the pod. She had been conducting her own analysis of the planet’s orbit, seasonal axis and climate with only her Vulcan tricorder when finally even her Vulcan pacifism could stand no more of his complaining without threat of violence.

“This planet must have some axis of rotation, the way the days are so short and the nights just jump up on ya’,” Trip commented as they crossed a swiftly flowing stream. T’Pol mechanically leapt over it. Trip chuckled and imagined for an instant superimposing T’Pol into a Tom Sawyer novel.

“Indeed. My preliminary analyses would suggest that the same anomaly we were investigating may be responsible. My calculations show the duration of a single rotation on this planet to be equal to approximately ten point seven Earth hours.” Trip trailed behind and beside T’Pol by just a few meters, but as she reached an opening to a rocky outcropping from the jungle she stopped and turned towards him. The near-flatness of the jungle floor near the beach had risen to a significantly steeper incline as they reached the outcropping of rock. As he approached, both had to lean into the incline to remain steady.

“A cliff approximately thirty meters high lies beyond this point. The shuttlepod appears to have impacted there,” she pointed several meters up the slope where a great disturbance had smashed the rock into fine gravel and continued for several meters.

“It came to rest just meters from the cliff,” she added as they continued up the slope. Trip nodded and followed. They reached the shuttlepod and Trip made a wide circle about the pod, taking note of the strange pattern of displacement of the rock and soil. T’Pol intuitively answered the query now occurring to him before he could ask.

“I believe when we were beamed off the shuttlepod the auto-descent failed to take over due to the system failures caused by the anomaly. The pod appears to have slammed into the rock bed on its side and turned over several times before coming to rest here.” Trip nodded as he entered the pod.

“Yeah, looks that way,” he added absently while his voice trailed off once he entered the pod. She approached and watched him, curious as to which systems he would attempt to salvage first.

“I checked the primary and secondary systems, none of them are operable,” T’Pol stated flatly, standing just shy of the torn entrance to the pod’s interior.

“I know,” Trip mumbled as he flattened himself on the deck plating and slid beneath a panel where coils of wire protruded from a blown open hatch. T’Pol flinched, shifting her stance uncomfortably as she considered the reason he was ignoring her conclusion.

“Do you not trust my assessment?” she asked, not without a hint of irritation and insult. He sensed the honesty of her question and turned from the hatch’s mangled contents to respond sincerely.

“ ‘Course I do. There’s just a few engineering tricks I know that might help squeeze some power outta’ these babies,” he assured her with a genuine smile. She raised an eyebrow in curiosity and joined him in the demolished shuttlepod. She took a seat in the only chair remaining intact and began another survey of any recoverable components she may have overlooked. It was a senseless activity to her, but she had come to learn that such redundancy is helpful in avoiding unnecessary confrontation with humans.

“I had limited success in connecting my tricorder to the shuttlepod’s sensors; however, the power grid was too badly damaged to power the system for more than a short time before the power failed.”

“What we really need to be worryin’ about is gettin’ power to the distress beacon. Why d’you care about sensors?” Trip asked with a grunt, reaching deep into the console for some elusive component. He pulled a blackened power distribution node from the internals and examined it closely, squinting through the sweat now beginning to coat his face.

“I believe we may have a more serious problem,” T’Pol declared calmly. She had suspected the possibility of what she was about to say since the tachyon readings during descent. It was only when she managed to tie power into the sensor array that she became sure. The connection lasted barely long enough for her to be sure from the sensor readings combined from her tricorder and the pod’s systems, but it was long enough. She had delayed informing Trip this long, knowing the reaction she would get. Not only was it unethical and foolish to keep it from him any longer, it was most certainly illogical. Lying would not change things.

“What are you talking about, what ‘more serious problem’?” he asked with a hint of irritation. Somehow she knew his distemper lie with the situation rather than her. She hesitated to turn from the console to face him and took the extra moment to compose her explanation carefully.

When she did not answer immediately, he simply returned his attention to the component in his fingers. It was blackened with damage, and beyond repair. He cursed and tossed it aside, unintentionally severing a connection and setting off a brilliant spark, only inches from his face.

“Ah! Dammit!”

T’Pol turned to find him gripping his eyes with one hand and for a moment lost her composure as she practically leapt to his side.

“Trip, are you alright?” she asked hastily as he removed the somewhat blackened hand and blinked several times. He didn’t respond at first as he looked about, ensuring his sight was undamaged.

“Yeah, it just missed me. Caught it in the hand,” he winced and went back to work. He stopped and looked back at her in shock.

“You just called me Trip,” he announced in triumph, a wide grin melting the Vulcan’s composure for a split second. She pursed her lips and rose defiantly without response, returning to the console. He watched her leave his side, a smile still glued to his face in disbelief. Shaking his head in amusement, he rose to an upright position.

“There is a more important matter to discuss. I have been analyzing readings from – ”

“Don’t change the subject, you called me Trip!” he exclaimed, forgetting the panel of wires above him. T’Pol sighed audibly and turned to meet him steel-faced.

“Commander!” she snapped, losing her composure once again. She quietly cursed how often this human elicited such a lapse in her.

His tongue wagged into the side of his cheek a moment longer despite her recrimination, but when he saw the seriousness in her eyes he finally gave in and returned to work.

“You were saying, Sub-Commander? ” he responded sharply, with professional detachment.

Her voice became lower as she relaxed in the deformed chair and set the tricorder on the burned console. He relinquished the tool in his hand back to the field kit and slid out from under the panel.

“The shuttlepod logs record several transporter signals just before we lost consciousness. Before the power grid failed, I was able to get power to the sensor grid and I recorded the data onto my tricorder. I have since been confirming the results.”

“Which is?” Trip shrugged his shoulders absently as he blinked. “The away team was split up, it makes sense the sensors would pick-up individual signals.”

“However, the logs clearly indicate a single, vary large signal which disappeared from range as it exited the atmosphere. “ Her voice became lower as she looked to the floor. “The other signals are of equal intensity, spread out across great distance towards the planet’s surface.” Trip was nodding.

“All of us up in one group, each of us down,” he mumbled to himself. There was a long silence as Trip realized his hypothesis was confirmed – their signals were duplicated. Suddenly he looked up.

“So which is the copy, I mean…” he gestured from his chest to T’Pol’s direction.

“What are we, just copies, I’m not even me!?” he asked with incredulity. She stiffened, expecting Tucker to very soon lose his temper. She replied honestly, hoping to dispel the disquiet that obviously upset him over the thought of being a copy of himself and not the real thing.

“You are the same person you were on Enterprise, both transporter echoes are in effect a copy of the original. You are as much Charles Tucker the Third as the other,” she assured him. Her voice was sure and comforting and it bid his anxiety down to a manageable irritant.

“So, they’re not comin’ back,” he grumbled, his chin falling.

He let out a long sigh and pushed himself back under the panel.

“It could be worse,” he muttered into the cabling. Her eyes fell to the floor as she let out a small sigh.

“There is something else,” she replied flatly. He looked up with a hint of exhaustion.

”More?” he asked incredulously. This time she did not hesitate.

“The phase pistol is missing from the emergency survival kit.” His eyes got wide as he stared back at her. After a few moments he finally blinked.

“You looked around the crash site? I don’t know how, but I ‘spose it got thrown from the wreck,” Trip replied. She did not reply but gave a slight nod. His hands were frozen on their components in the panel as he sat, chewing his lip in silent thought.

“And you said this place was totally uninhabited?” T’Pol nodded again.

“Hoshi or Mueller?” Trip asked. It was a foregone conclusion for T’Pol that one of the two crewmen must have found the wreckage before she did and taken the phase pistol, however difficult Trip found it to believe. When T’Pol didn’t reply he took her silence as an affirmative that she concurred.

“That doesn’t make any sense, why would one of them take a phase pistol but no supplies? Or not stay with the pod hoping to find one of us?”

T’Pol turned more towards the Commander, her Vulcan seriousness returning effortlessly.

“We must concede the possibility that Ensigns Mueller or Sato may have suffered the same ill effects of the local vegetation as you. If they continued to ingest it, they may be acting irrationally.”

Tucker frowned back at her but could find no holes in her logic, as usual. He went back to work on the cabling without another word, an unpleasant anxiety eating at him.

”Great, now I gotta’ worry ‘bout one of our own people shooting me in my sleep,” Tucker mused with an edge of alarm in his voice.

On top of unknown figures possibly lurking in the jungle, their first and foremost priority was fixing the distress beacon. Even so, Tucker knew that a bucket of good luck lie between them and getting home even if he managed to do so. With the distress beacon repaired, the sensor evidence did not lie and T’Pol was sure they would find copies of themselves aboard Enterprise. She contemplated in silence as he worked quietly in the compartment’s innards.

“You might be relieved, Commander,” T’Pol called to him after several minutes. He looked out with slightly accusatory brows.

“Why?” T’Pol blinked and replied evenly. “Lieutenant Reed, and any of the others who may have been killed, are most likely alive and well on Enterprise.” The anger disappeared and his face melted into a thoughtful smile and the native twinkle returned to his eyes.

“You’re right T’Pol, I am relieved.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 21

It was getting to be a habit – running through the jungle at dusk like a couple of wild animals fleeing a predator. It was damn cold. Every night, Trip thought. He couldn’t get over how this planet refused to have one nice night. After a full day of working at the crash site – Trip on the distress beacon and T’Pol on her study of the anomaly - they had to return to the beach where they wouldn’t freeze to death. They considered using the shuttlepod as shelter, however, one very cramped night and an exchange of unpleasantries between its shifting inhabitants ruled out that idea. As a result, they had spent the past several days making the beach more habitable.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They worked day in and day out, on repairing or salvaging any component of use from the shuttle. It was little more than a skeleton now. Initially, Trip objected to cannibalizing the shuttle on the basis that it might fly again if they got the distress beacon working. After several days of inhospitable cold even on the beach, however, he finally admitted they needed the raw materials more than the pod. He was also beginning to wonder if in desperation, he was failing to see the distress beacon for the lost cause it really was. It had been almost three weeks with no word from Enterprise and strong evidence that there never would be. Very soon, he realized, he and T’Pol would be forced to accept what might be an unpleasant reality.

The seat cushions, floor paneling and any upholstered surface in the pod was ripped up and used as a bedding layer. The most useful of the pod’s actual structure was its outer hull. It was long and tedious work given the limited tools but after two days of tugging and swearing, Trip separated a large outer layer of the pod’s monotanium skin from the hull. The material-memory of the alloy held the shape of the pod’s outer hull, thus forming a natural shelter. They used this to construct a covered shelter under which to sleep. It significantly decreased the bitter cold of the wind during the frigid nights. The day their first real shelter went up, however – it went down! Violent wind and rain prompted Tucker to redesign the structure. He stripped the skin from the rear of the pod and managed to scrounge a low temperature welder from the emergency supplies. He had reserved the use of its power cell for absolute emergency needs, but there was no other way to attach the two pieces together. He cursed not having thought of it before; else he could have cut the pod’s outer hull in one piece.

He dried up another power cell mounting the rear plate of the shuttlepod’s skin to the U-shaped cover – essentially creating a shelter that was closed at one end. To secure it from danger of wind or rain he also dug the sides into the sand several centimeters. As he put the finishing touches on the shelter and took a step back, he couldn’t help but realize what he looking at. It wasn’t just any shelter. His arms went across his chest and he chewed his lip as a brisk wind tossed his hair and he peered up at the sky. It grumbled at him, signaling the oncoming storm and encroaching nightfall. But more than that, the darkening sky seemed to answer the unasked, undesired question he found himself pondering.

He looked to the jungle several meters away, expecting T’Pol to return soon from her own tasks. It was at her insistence that the power cell be used to weld the shelter material, even as Tucker staunchly argued they needed it in case the distress beacon needed supplement power. She became all the more stubbornly set in her decision and he finally acceded. She was, after all, the Commanding officer – and they had not yet completely abandoned protocol. At least not yet. As much as he had been denying it to himself, it was the inevitable conclusion just at the back of his mind. The sky rumbled again.

Standing there as T’Pol emerged from the jungle, for the first time since they crashed he saw the woman differently. Her hair was longer, her skin tinted a darker shade from the exposure to sun. Her walk was agile but alive, unlike the mechanical movements of a Vulcan just three weeks earlier. Her eyes, dark but intense and acknowledging – as if he were looking at them for the first time – as if a new woman emerged from the jungle canopy. The sky churned and a loud crack preceded an immediate downpour. T’Pol lit into a jog for the camp as Tucker stood next to the finished shelter, being drenched by the rain.

“Yes,” the thunder replied silently. “This is your new home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 22

The sound of the slowly wracking waves told him they were already nearing the beach. It was nearing nightfall once again and the two sprinted through the dense foliage for their shelter. Between panting breathes, Tucker almost gaped at their record time. He wondered if he wasn’t getting in better shape as a result of this little island getaway. With only two meager meals a day and a good five kilometer morning walk and evening run – he was losing weight and getting leaner. He couldn’t help but notice T’Pol’s physique was harder as well … not as if she needed it, he chuckled to himself. He glanced beside him to find her matching his speed with ease and instinctively allowed his eyes to fall down her body as she ran.

Some days, like this one, they hurriedly chased the setting sun, barely making it back before the night fell. Such un-Vulcan unpunctuality was in fact Tucker’s fault (most of the time). He lost track of time as he recalled his childhood to T’Pol and spoke of his parents, sister and various relatives. He would tell T’Pol stories about Elizabeth, and in return she finally spoke of her own family. It had taken a few weeks of total isolation with this nosy human to open her up, but one day, to Tucker’s great surprise, T’Pol replied to one of his common anecdotes with a story from her youth. He found himself smiling as the Vulcan recounted tales of her “Vulcan childhood”, a topic in which he was supremely interested.

**Missing Scene – T’Pol’s Garden**

She would never admit it, but on this night she had herself “lost track” of time while relating stories to her companion. As they ran side-by-side, a spark lit into the telepathic centers of her brain and she turned to find Tucker glancing down her body as their run slowed to a jogging stride. He admired her features, that much was obvious to her, but hardly disturbing. What was indeed disturbing was her reaction to such an appraising glance from a loud, nosy human – it excited her.

As they came to the sand and halted to a walk, they went about their predetermined chores. When their talks and repairs on the shuttle ran long as they had this night, they had to rush to cover the sensitive equipment. As Trip had learned his first night, although it was warmer, being closer to the beach meant a higher chance of rainstorm. Windy rainstorms. As Tucker dashed about and his hair tossed in the wind that began to pick-up, he had a feeling this was going to be a bad one. Thunder clapped above them as Tucker ran into the opening of their metal shelter as it faced towards the ocean. Since T’Pol had deduced that the weather patterns forced the rain to come in from the landfall side, they kept comfortably dry even in the most torrential downpour. The length and breadth of the shuttlepod itself meant that it made for a spacious interior, roughly the size of a pod’s interior. As Tucker ran in, ducking below its ceiling, T’Pol was already waiting with her share of the equipment and supplies. He read the look on her face instantly and snapped back with a smirk.

“You’re Vulcan, you’re supposed to be faster!”

She lifted an eyebrow and was tempted to taunt him verbally. As many times as he had insisted Vulcans were not superior to humans, she filed this admission of his away into her orderly memory for future recollection to him.

The bedding was wide enough for two people to sleep comfortably – and with professional distance between them. The first night they slept on it Tucker was surprised with the softness of shuttlepod upholstery. Then again maybe he was just comparing it to three weeks of sleeping on hard ground and pricking pebbles. The edges of the pod’s skin sat just under two meters wide, and the length stretched almost four meters in length. On other similar occasions when the storms kicked up early and the pair made it back late to the shelter, they were forced to make fire on the edge of their shelter, far enough from the bedding for safety. It was a contingency that became habit over the past several days as the torrential rains continued to fall. Trip had often preferred to leave the cooking fire burning after they finished to provide extra warmth, so the small fire pit sat right on the far edge of the open side of the shelter. They were running low on remaining field rations, so T’Pol had begun augmenting their meals with indigenous plant life she identified to be safe from the Vulcan survey information. It was something of a minor miracle that her tricorder had remained with her upon their arrival; for they often depended on it for crucial survival needs such as these.

The storm raged on outside their shelter as they finished up yet one more meal between well-fed and starving. There were few words between the two through the meal, but it was hardly silent. The constant beating of rain against the shelter grew to quite a disturbing racket for T’Pol’s sensitive hearing. As Trip wiped his mouth he sat back on his hands and looked up at the ceiling of their shelter – only about six centimeters above his head. The rain continued to pound on their shelter and the cross winds at the door tossed and turned the flames of the cooking fire. Every so often a gust of wind would carry a pocket of rain into the opening and quenching the flames intermittently. Trip frowned as he watched the flames flicker lower and lower until they crept only around the red embers at the base of the fire. He stared into the fire, wondering if he would see Elizabeth, or his mom and dad… or the Enterprise ever again. T’Pol must have sensed his apprehension as she gained his eye and held it steadily.

“Soon you will have recovered power to the main grid, correct?”

He nodded and forced a curve of his lips, though a frown still stuck to his face.

“Then we will activate the distress beacon and signal Enterprise or any passing ship. There is an inhabited system of a peaceful race only twenty-eight light years from this planet. They are primitive but possess limited warp capability. There is a chance they will detect us,” T’Pol consoled him. He smiled through a chuckle as he realized what she was doing. It was kind of her to put any effort into allaying his illogical fears, as it was a burden Vulcans were not forced to bear. She was in a situation of extreme circumstances and she followed the protocol she knew and understood to the letter. She would practice every precaution and use every measure necessary to procure rescue – without being fearful or apprehensive. Her human companion, she knew, was not trained to accept the situation so coldly.

They both knew the power grid in the shuttlepod was not the key to the distress beacon, even as T’Pol used the assurance to allay his anxiety. Even once he activated it, he would only be able to determine if the beacon’s own power relays were fused or not. T’Pol knew, but it was an excuse to give him the support he needed. He spared her a long look, and for a moment thought he saw something - emotional. As he watched her blink curiously, he couldn’t help an appreciating grin break across his lips. Several seconds later he looked away and tucked himself under the heat blankets and shuffled himself closer to the fire. As appropriate, once beneath the covers he shed his uniform until clad only in Starfleet undergarments and pushed his bodysuit uniform to his feet beneath the covers.

T’Pol did the same, removing her jumpsuit from the shoulders down as she did each night to sleep in a gray tank top and matching gray shorts. The two comfortably situated themselves as far apart as possible and turned to face away from one another. A barrage of illogical imagery refused to leave her in peaceful sleep, testing her convictions and tempting her desires for over an hour, staring into the empty metal. She evened her breathing to keep the Commander from being aware she was awake, just in case he was awake too. His was even and unlabored as well. On the other side of the shelter, Trip, too – stared into the metal plating.

What am I doing? Why do I keep thinking about this?

He asked himself over and over.

Things seemed to be going well on Enterprise wasn’t it? We were… well, what were we? Dating?

But now, on the planet she had recoiled into a professional detachment for most of their interactions.

Why don’t you just tell her how you feel? This isn’t the place for it! Part of him replied. Then again, he realized… it may be the only place for it.

It was only because there wasn’t another soul on the planet, Trip thought, that she spoke a word of a non-professional nature at all. Soon, however, both of them were fast asleep.

The light flickering off the steel-gray walls grew darker as the coals of the fire burned lower and dimmer. Sometime late in the night, as Tucker dozed with his face towards the wall, there was a rustling of the covers opposite him. His eyes fluttered partially open, groggy with sleep. A moment later they closed again as he began to doze off once more. Though sleeping, he became aware of the warm body that pressed against his back. Her bare legs brushed his and her lightly covered breasts came into soft contact with his bare upper back. Tucker suffered a moment’s lucidity and began to wonder – am I dreaming, or is this real? A warm hand crept over his abdomen and came to rest against his pecks, splayed flat and possessively against his chest. He sensed her closeness as she nestled her head only inches from his and breathed him in. He let out a pleasant sigh, and knew he must be dreaming. Whether T’Pol heard Trip sigh sleepily with satisfaction, she herself was already fast asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Day 23


When he awoke the next morning, T’Pol was gone. He rose from the sheets with hair sticking up in some directions and out in others. He yawned loudly and went to jump to his feet, bringing a loud *thunk* against the inside of the shelter. Outside, T’Pol was several meters down the beach sitting cross legged on the sand just out of the tide’s reach. She made a point to find a place for meditation out of earshot of the camp even for her attuned hearing. The endeavor this morning was, unfruitful to put it mildly. Many images, sensations and memories from the night before plagued her and embarrassed her.

Tucker spit and swore at the shelter as he greeted the blinding sunlight that met him when he emerged from it. He stretched his arms high above his head, letting out another pleasant yawn. It was still early morning but the chill was much more manageable. He idly thanked the planet for not being a cold pain in the ass this morning as he dressed and thought about breakfast.

He didn’t look for T’Pol right away, initially assuming she was already fastidiously at work on the shuttlepod doing – whatever it was she was doing this past week. He made a mental note to ask about that. Just then he was sidetracked when a particularly thunderous grumble of the ocean brought his attention to the sky above the horizon. It wasn’t a storm approaching, it was something else. He thought it might be some kind of disturbance in the atmosphere caused by the anomaly, and for a moment he grew concerned. It was a rapid spiral of brilliant colors in the atmosphere, parting at the center like the eye of a hurricane through which the very stars of deep space were visible. It actually appeared as though the planet’s atmosphere had sprung a leak! An instant after the spectacular display looked as though it was about to catastrophically culminate… Nothing. The vortex of colors fizzled away as a fog fleeing from the warmth of dawn. He chuckled with a “hmf” and hands set on his hips in confusion. He turned back towards the jungle but in so-doing, caught an eye of T’Pol down the beach. The event in the sky was silent aside from the initial thunder which T’Pol must have ignored or been too deeply meditating to hear, since she remained still and silent. He chewed his lip and squinted in the sun, watching her where she perched in meditation. A dangerous thought occurred to him. He considered what he was about to do for several minutes.

Coulda just been a dream… he reasoned. But a dream you’ve had for the past four nights? He argued back. He shook his head as he started down the beach.




Chapter 5

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A whole mess of folks have made comments

Very, very good, John! I'm enjoying this a lot and you've painted a very interesting story so far. In particular, I loved the line:

“Yes,” the thunder replied silently. “This is your new home.”

That was beautifully done. The question now is who is running amok on the island? Is it Hoshi or this Mueller person? However, in the previous chapter, T'Pol said that someone eating the local vegetation would slip into a coma so why hasn't that person done so?

The swirling vortez is slightly ominous as well. Hope this doesn't turn into a reset button. I like the idea of TnT living out a peaceful existence, especially if they are pulled off this planet and decide to "stay low"...

Great chapter, this is getting more and more interesting. I love the idea of the away team being copied, and Trip and T'pol's growing relationship. Update soon!

Well done, John O. Can't wait to see what happens next! You've set quite the scene! thank you. don't make us wait too long!

A technical note. During their discussion in the shuttlepod, an "end italics" code was apparently left off after the name "Enterprise". Off to read the rest of the story now. BTW... thanks for not killing off BOTH Malcolms. : )

Marvelous, John! "A dream he's had for the past four nights", LOL! The boy's kinda slow at taking a hint, isn't he? Let's hope he gets a little quicker on the uptake before he has a terribly frustrated Vulcan on his hands. ; )

And what's up with with the "*Missing Scene – T’Pol’s Garden**"? Are you mocking us? :p

This is great! I'm really enjoying this story and am getting more and more anxious to see what happens. A really intersting story, kinda reminds me of Lost except with our favorite characters! Great descriptions and nice details.

Nope nope Rigil, on the contrary, stealing your idea! =D

"Missing Scene - T'Pol's Garden" will be released with chapter 5 ;)

Veeeeeery interesting! I can't wait to see how this turns out! :)

Really like this a lot. Like Rigil I think it would be great if they somehow get rescued and decide to stay low.
Hope the other survivor is Hoshi, even if she's gone mad because of the plants and they have to take her out. Would be more interesting and more dramatic than it being some random officer.
On the other hand I like Hoshi a lot and don't really wanna see her dead.
Well, looking forward to the next chapter.

On the other hand, maybe Hoshi2 and Mueller2 have both survived and gone primitive a la "Blue Lagoon". Don't you think Hoshi'd look good in a loincloth? Mueller is security, right? Lots of muscle... hmmm. I bet they'd make a handsome pair, LOL!

Distracted only you could make a smut/romance fanfic writer blush!

This is really good Can't wait for the next chapter!

intrigue, mystery, suspense, please don't make us wait to long for the next chapter

^^But John, I merely evoked an arresting visual image. Your imagination made you blush, you naughty boy! (That's okay by me. Just let it run wild, dear. More story for us!)

Or maybe Hoshi2 materialized partially inside of solid rock and went insane with the pain...

Even better! Hoshi2 & Mueller2 were merged by the transporter beam and have gone completely MAD!

:P

Looking forward to more. :)

The story continues to intrigue. Big thumbs up from me. Can't wait to see where all the loose ends go.

I don't think I want to see them rescued too soon. Though if only one other survived (Hoshi or Mueller), that could be an interesting tension-filled dynamic. Provided they could be cured of their dementia and not force Trip or T'Pol to kill them. 'Cause T'Pol will claim Trip, and whoever the third person is, they're not going to get a chance at either one.