If you are seeing this paragraph, the site is not displaying correctly. You can see the content, but your current browser does not support CSS which is necessary to view our site properly. For the best visual experience, you will need to upgrade your browser to Netscape 6.0 or higher, MSIE 5.5 or higher, or Opera 3.6 or higher. If, however, you don't wish to upgrade your browser, scroll down and read the content - everything is still visible, it just doesn't look as pretty.

Consequences

Author - Samantha Quinn | C | Genre - Romance | Main Story | Rating - PG-13
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Consequences

By Samantha Quinn

Rating: Right now: PG-13. Will be R later, Romance
Disclaimer: I am not responsible for them in any way-except for the nonsensical Vulcans whose names I made up. I’m also not making a profit, so please don’t sue.

Spoilers: Major for "Stigma."

A/N: If you’ve watched Voyager’s "Blood Fever," you will see familiar elements in this story. Think of it as an attempt to reconcile Blood Fever, Stigma, and Amok Time. The key word, of course, is *attempt*.

****


Part 1

As Ambassador Soval took his seat at the conference table, he noticed the curious look of the Vulcan doctors already seated on the opposite side.

“Is there a problem, Vortik?” Soval asked, addressing the highest-ranking doctor. Soval realized too late that his voice betrayed him by flaunting his emotion . Another sign that the time draws near, Soval noted to himself.

“No, there is no problem, Ambassador,” the Vulcan doctor replied. “We are simply uncertain as to why your presence is required here.”

“Indeed,” the Vulcan seated to the left of Vortik agreed. “We were under the impression your duties of monitoring the human star ship would have sufficiently occupied your time.”

Before Soval could reply, another presence joined them at the table and answered in Soval’s place. “The Ambassador joins us due to his high rank and his experience with humans. Do not forget, gentleman, that your actions have involved the human Captain. For that reason, the Ambassador has been briefed on the events that transpired between Captain Archer, Sub-Commander T’Pol, Doctor Yuris, and yourselves.” The voice, Soval noted, belonged to Sumarek, chief of the Vulcan justice department.

The doctors did not question Sumarek’s remarks. Although crime was virtually non-existent on Vulcan, the justice department was in charge of not only making certain that remained the case, but also maintaining order in intergalactic incidents. The recent incident with Sub-Commander T’Pol’s illness fit both categories.

“I see,” Vortik responded, with a respectful nod towards Sumarek. Turning towards Soval, he added, “We can only hope the children can do without their caretaker for the duration of this meeting.”

“If that is your concern, Doctor, perhaps it is best if we get started right away so that the caretaker can return to his post,” Soval rejoined, gritting his teeth as he did so. The anger coursing through his body would have caused him alarm, had he been in complete control of himself at that moment.

Sumarek ignored the conversation between the two of them, and took his own seat at the head of the conference table. “I trust we all know the reason we are here. However, to clear up any confusion you may have,” with this, he looked in the direction of the Vulcan doctors, “I will briefly review. Not only has the incident with Sub-Commander T’Pol raised concern because it involved outworlders, the justice department has become the cause of scrutiny by several of our alien allies due to the increased vocalization of discontent by the former Doctor Yuris.”

“Discontent?” asked Vortik. “By a man castigated from Vulcan society for acts of blasphemy against Surak’s teaching?”

Before Sumarek could respond, the doctor seated to the right of Vortik voiced his opinion. “Yes, why should any of us heed the voice of that ignominy?”

Soval listened as the events transpired, with his hands placed firmly in his lap. There was no other logical locale to place them that would not reveal how badly they shook. Soval was still able to use his Vulcan control to maintain stillness in his shoulders, but his hands displayed movement, regardless of what he willed them to do. Although he did not immediately wish to do so for fear- Vulcans should not FEAR!-- that his voice would betray him, Soval knew it was his place to enter the conversation.

“I do not believe the concern lies with Yuris, or other Vulcans for that matter, gentlemen,” Soval stated.

No one could have doubted the ability of Vulcans to glare if they had been in the room at that moment. “I do not comprehend,” Vortik stated. “If Yuris is not a concern, nor is the population of Vulcan, then why are we here?”

You do not understand because you have the intelligence quotient similar to that of an ameba, Soval thought to himself. Soval let out a deep breath before continuing. “Our allies have heard Yuris’ complaints. They do not understand the magnitude of what he has done. To them, we are behaving quite illogically and hypocritically by condemning a member of our society over an illness.”

“Our methods are not the concern of outworlders,” Vortik stated coldly. “Or has such interaction with humans made your Vulcan blood turn red, Soval?”

Sumarek intervened before Soval could respond. “This is not a matter concerning Soval personally, Doctor,” he reminded the physician. “However, both the Justice Department and the High Command are concerned with the results. There are some high ranking members of our society who have expressed lately that perhaps our actions have been lacking in logic.”

Soval nodded his head in agreement, and his shoulders ached to twitch as well. Fortunately, the attention of the doctors was focused entirely upon Sumarek.

“Such as whom?” Vortik demanded.

“T’Mir, Sulan, T’Pau,” Soval replied.

“Of course T’Pau sympathizes. She has always been leaning towards the radical extreme of Vulcan logic,” was Vortik’s reply.

“Indeed,” the Vulcan seated on Vortik’s left agreed. “I would not be surprised to discover she herself was a melder.”

Sumarek’s eyes flashed briefly. Soval noted that the anger reflected in them must have been a feature on his Vulcan ancestors before the time of Surak.

“And if she is a melder, should we stigmatize her as well?” Sumarek demanded. “Even such a well respected, high ranking official with T’Pau’s numerous accomplishments?”

“Yes,” Vortik said simply.

“Where is the logic in that?” Sumarek demanded.

“Are you not familiar with the history of melders?” the Vulcan on Vortik’s right spoke up.

“I must confess that I am not. Please enlighten me, Doctor,” said Sumarek.

Soval listened as the doctor related the story he had heard numerous times before. In the time after Surak, a Vulcan named Sorik had promoted the art of melding amongst the planet. As a result, mind melds had been a treasured part of Vulcan heritage. Shortly before his death, however, Sorik rejected Surak’s teachings as Sorik became consumed with the privileges brought by his own power. During his last pon far, Sorik was said to overcome a Vulcan prince, enforce a meld upon him, and transmit his own pon far into the young Vulcan.

“The Prince’s body was not prepared for the physiological changes brought about by pon far as it was not his time. As a result, he died. Melding was forbidden on Vulcan from that time forth,” Vortik finished.

Sumarek looked at Vortik for a moment, then turned to look at Soval. “Were you aware of this story, Ambassador?”

“I have heard it. I believe it to be nonsense. The notion that someone can give someone pon far is ridiculous and scientifically impossible,” Soval replied. “Obviously, something else was responsible for the death of the Prince.”

Vortik and his fellow doctors looked at him. “You are suggesting then, that we allow these melders to pollute Vulcan society?” Vortik asked incredulously. “They are a danger to all of Vulcan and must not be allowed to exist.”

Again, the doctor was trying his patience. Not a wise course of action considering Soval’s current physiological state. “I am simply of the opinion, Vortik, that it is unwise to risk interstellar incident over belief in a fictional story that has somehow managed to become known as history.”

Sumarek intervened again, before Vortik could say anything in reply. “The decision will not be made immediately, gentlemen. I shall take your suggestions back with me to the Justice Department.” He looked at Vortik one last time. “Both opposed to the melders and in favor of the melders.”

With that, Sumarek stood and raised his right hand in the standard Vulcan gesture. “Live long and prosper, gentlemen.”

“Long life and prosperity, Sumarek,” Soval stated. The Vulcan doctors quickly followed Sumarek out and Soval was grateful to be alone. He attempted to rise and found it difficult to do so. Reaching a hand out to steady himself, his grasp found the edge of his desk before his vision blurred.

I must fight this. The time must wait. I can return to Vulcan after the signing of the Andorian-Vulcan peace treaty. If I give into the disease now, they will send T’Ling in my place, Soval thought as he shook his head firmly.

Soval would not allow that. The signing of this treaty would be a historic event and Soval aimed to be present at such an event.

His vision restored, he contacted his ship to let them know he was ready to be beamed aboard. He was greeted by Sub-Commander Slark. “Greetings, Ambassador Soval,” the officer acknowledged.

Soval was not in the mood for such pleasantries. “I am going to my quarters to meditate, Sub-Commander,” he said forcefully. “I do not wish to be disturbed until we rendezvous with Enterprise.”

***


Chapter 2

A/N: This first part is mainly dialogue, and for that part I’m sorry. However, how can I have characters communicate if they aren’t talking?

***

Meanwhile, Back on the Enterprise . . .

Trip Tucker hadn’t been having a very good day. The engines had been thrown completely out of whack in their last alien encounter, and Trip estimated that it would take at least two weeks to repair them.

“Oh, but Trip, that inn’t good enough, is it?” he grumbled to himself as stomped into the Mess hall for a late night snack. There was no way he could go to sleep as he still had plenty of fixing to do with the engines, but he had skipped dinner and was beginning to feel it. Hopefully there’d be a piece of pecan pie left.

That’s just what I need, Trip thought to himself. Comfort food and sugar. Food for the soul and energy to run on.

“And I need plenty of energy because the Cap’n wants to have the engines back up to Warp 5 in five days!” he grumbled again as he opened the refrigeration unit.

Helping himself to the rest of the pie-there was really enough for three pieces, but then, Trip had skipped dinner-as well as a cold glass of milk, Trip maneuvered his way to the seating area, still complaining to himself as he sat down.

“Just because the damn Vulcans and Andorians are signin’ a stupid piece treaty, the Cap’n’s expecting miracles,” he grumbled, stabbing his force savagely into the pie.

“Are you frequently in the habit of communicating with yourself, Commander Tucker?” a familiar voice asked.

Trip looked up to see Sub-Commander T’Pol standing in front of him, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea.

Such delicate hands too, Trip thought with a grin. Aw, hell, where did that thought come from? he asked himself.

“Sleep deprivation,” he muttered. At T’Pol’s questioning looking, Trip flashed his most charming grin and waved towards the seat in front of him.

“Have a seat, T’Pol,” he said. “And no, I am not in the habit of talkin’ to myself. I was just complainin’ about my current circumstances in life,” he explained, taking a swig of his milk.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow in response. “You are experiencing unhappiness with your current post?” T’Pol asked. Although she would not have shared it with Commander Tucker, the thought of him being unhappy was one she found greatly dissatisfying. As the tremor of dissatisfaction made itself known, so too did a strong stab of pain behind T’Pol’s eyes. She ignored the pain, surmising it was one of the many side affects she had been experiencing lately due to the Pa’nar Syndrome. Instead she chose to focus on the words being spoken by Commander Tucker.

“Nah, I'm not unhappy on the Enterprise. It’s just been a lousy week,” Trip explained, with his mouth full of food. When he was rewarded with only a raised eyebrow, Trip took that as his cue to continue.

Strange, how we’re learnin’ to communicate without even speakin’ sometimes, he mused.

“Well, the whole attack wasn’t good for anyone I guess. But it really messed up the engines and it’ll take a least two weeks to fix ‘em, but Jon wants ‘em done in five days. Impossible. But he says if we aren't up to Warp 5 by then, the Andorian-Vulcan peace treaty-“

“Most likely will not be signed, as they will not have Captain Archer as a negotiator,” T’Pol finished for him.

Trip nodded, taking another bite of the pie. “Yep,” he mumbled through his food. “And I certainly don’t wanna be the one responsible for preventin’ peace, ya know?”

T’Pol shook her head. “I have great faith in your capabilities, Commander. You are a very . . . competent . . . engineer,” she told him, taking a drink of her tea.

Trip looked at her in surprise. “Why, Sub-Commander, if I didn’t know better, I’d take that as a complement.”

“You may take it as such, if it pleases you. Is that all that has concerned you this week?” T’Pol inquired.

Still a bit off-guard due to T’Pol’s complement, Trip didn’t answer for a moment. When he did find his voice, however, he shook his head. “Nah, got stood up for a date too.”

T’Pol tried to suppress the jealously she felt twinge within her. She was not entirely successful.

“Hey, T’Pol, ya okay?” Trip asked, his voice full of concern. The normally reserved Vulcan had clutched her forehead and was visibly in pain.

“I . . . am . . . fine,” T’Pol stated. Her voice shook slightly though, betraying her words.

“Ya sure? Maybe ya should head to sickbay,” Trip asked, concerned.

“I am fine, Commander,” she replied, taking another drink of her tea. She did not wish to visit sickbay again. She had just visited there this morning and the unpleasant truth of the conversation she had experienced with Dr. Phlox still weighed somewhat heavily in the back of T’Pol’s mind.

“Um, okay, T’Pol. If you say so,” Trip said skeptically. “But ya don’t look okay. Ya hungry? Here, have some of the pie. I certainly don’t need it all.” With that, Trip pushed the plate and his fork closer to T’Pol.

T’Pol started to protest, as she did not require nourishment. T’Pol also had been avoiding pecan pie for the past month, as it had been causing her the most unpleasant sensation. Curiously, the pie had induced headaches very similar to the ones she had been experiencing tonight.

However, T’Pol had known Commander Tucker long enough to know the extent of his stubbornness and as T’Pol had been having her own rather bad week, she did not have the strength required to disagree with him. Instead, she picked up the fork gingerly and cut off a small sliver of the pie.

As she placed the morsel in her mouth, T’Pol felt an overwhelming agony inside her head. The last thing she heard before passing out was the frantic voice of one very worried Commander Tucker.

****

Please R/R: It helps feed the muse. Parts I and II will eventually come together, I promise.

A/N: If anyone is wondering-I haven’t given up on And Baby Makes Four. The next part of that should be up by the end of the week. If a certain flighty muse co-operates.

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

Chapter 3

A/N: Hey-I paid homage to Dr. McCoy in this passage. (Well, Answers had Kirk and Spock. Bones was feeling neglected.) Happy points to anyone who figures out where it is. Asterisks denote thought.

*****

T’Pol slowly opened her eyes and immediately regretted doing so. The lights in sickbay greatly aggravated an already agonizing headache.

“Hey, T’Pol, you’re awake,” she heard the familiar southern accent beside her. Trip turned his head briefly to yell, “Hey, Doc! She’s awake!”

In spite of herself, T’Pol winced in pain at the sound of Trip’s elevated decimal level. “Please, Commander, lower your voice,” she whispered softly. The sound of her own voice caused her accelerated pain as well. With a sigh, T’Pol closed her eyes and took two deep breaths in an attempt to control the pain.

“Aw, geez, I’m sorry, T’Pol,” Trip whispered. “How ya feelin’?” he asked, continuing to speak softly.

T’Pol knew that if she lived to see three hundred years, she would never ceased to be amazed by this human. There were times when T’Pol was convinced that Commander Tucker was determined to be an insensitive and irrational being. At other times, Commander Tucker seemed determined to prove that assertion false. Now seemed very likely to be one of those times. Although he made no attempt to hide his typical jubilance at sparring with T’Pol and frequently jumped at the opportunity to do the exact opposite of what she asked, he had just demonstrated the ability to ascertain that now would be an inappropriate time to do so.

“Vulcans do not feel, Commander Tucker,” she responded in reply to his question. Surprisingly, the engineer laughed in response.

“Well, ya must be feeling much better if ya’re feelin’ up to disagreein’ with me,” Trip remarked.

“I would not disagree with you, Commander Tucker, if you would not insist on demonstrating such illogical behavior when it is obvious you are capable of logical cognitive processes,” she replied.

“Yep, back to your feisty Vulcan self,” Trip laughed before pausing to consider the full impact of what she had just said. “Hey-did ya just admit that I’m capable of logical thought?” he asked.

Unwilling to admit to her slip, or more importantly, unwilling to face the ramifications of her slip, T’Pol deftly ignored his question and responded with one of her own. “ ‘Feisty’, Commander?”

Dr. Phlox, who had been patiently observing the interaction between the human and the Vulcan, decided that this would be a good moment to make his presence known. Although he was certain that Commander Tucker and Sub-Commander T’Pol were engaged in some type of bizarre human and Vulcan pre-mating rituals, as a physician Dr. Phlox did not believe T’Pol’s delicate condition would allow for such activities.

“Ah, Sub-Commander, I see you’re awake!” he greeted by way of announcing his presence. Although he kept his voice as cheerfully optimistic as always, he did lower it respectfully in light of the headache the Sub-Commander was having.

In light of recent events, Phlox was finding it difficult to remain optimistic.

“Greetings, Doctor,” T’Pol said by way of greeting. Turning to face Trip, she said, “Commander Tucker, do your duties not require you elsewhere?”

“Gee, T’Pol, you’re welcome,” Trip grumbled sarcastically.

“For what occasion do you believe you are owed a ‘thank you’, Commander Tucker?” inquired T’Pol. I have overestimated his logical abilities, she thought to himself. He is every bit as irrational as I have been lead to believe on prior occasions.

“Well, let’s see-after ya pulled you’re little passin’ out trick in the Mess Hall, how do ya suppose ya got here? Think ya floated in?” Trip retorted. The redness which had started behind his ears and was now encroaching upon his cheeks was the only sign that the Commander was angry. Although difficult, he still managed to keep his tone hushed, out of respect for the pain T’Pol was in.

“I did not intend to cause you any inconvenience, Commander,” T’Pol replied, her own voice elevated slightly.

Trip’s mouth dropped open momentarily. *Good job, Tucker*, he chastised himself. *God knows what’s wrong with the woman and here ya are just makin’ it worse. That’s gotta put me up at the top of the list for ‘Bastard of the Year’ honors.* “Ya didn’t cause me any inconvenience, T’Pol . . .I . . . was not expectin’ a thank ya for bringin’ ya here,” he explained sheepishly, his voice even softer than it had been a moment before.

“Then what exactly did you expect, Commander?” was T’Pol’s own cryptic reply.

Tucker’s face hardened, and his mouth transformed from a friendly smile into an unfriendly line. “Nothin’, Sub-Commander. Nothin’ at all,” he retorted before turning sharply and stomped out of sickbay.

T’Pol allowed her gaze to linger only momentarily on the Commander’s retreating form before turning to face the doctor. Raising slowly into a sitting position, she met the physician’s gaze and asked simply, “Am I to surmise that my fainting spell is yet another side affect of the Pa’nar Syndrome?”

Phlox frowned slightly which was rare for the cheerful little man. But no physician likes to feel helpless when it came to curing their patients, and helpless was exactly what Phlox was feeling. Shaking his head, Phlox sighed. “I don’t think so, Sub-Commander.”

Phlox was rewarded with a raised eyebrow. He had grown rather fond of that gesture. He could only hope it was one he would continue to see for some time.

But of that he was not certain.

“I’ve been monitoring your brain wave activities since the commander brought you in,” Phlox paused slightly to remember the frantic look on Commander Tucker’s face and the sound of absolute terror that had been present in his voice. Calling it “emotional” was an understatement. “The portion of your brain that is being affected currently is the medial insula. Essentially, the section of your brain responsible for so called ‘gut impulses.’”

“While your definition is effective but crude, Doctor, it is entirely unnecessary. I am the Science Officer. I am familiar with that section of the brain,” T’Pol told the Denobulan.

“Then you are also aware that this area of the brain is not typically affected by the Pa’nar Syndrome,” Phlox remarked. At T’Pol’s slight nod, he continued, “I am not certain exactly why you have increased brain activity in this area. I need to know what sensations you may have been experiencing prior to your attack.”

T’Pol furrowed her eyebrows slightly. “I had been experiencing acute amounts of discomfort in my frontal lobe region.” She tilted her head slightly and remarked, “The medial insula is in the midbrain region, Doctor. If I had been experiencing accelerated activity in that region, why did the discomfort present itself in the frontal portion of the brain?”

“I don’t know, Sub-Commander. What were you doing at the time the headaches occurred?”

“I was conversing with Commander Tucker when I collapsed,” T’Pol replied stoically.

“Yes, Sub-Commander, I realize that. What were you conversing about? Is there anything in your conversation that may have triggered your headaches?”

“No,” T’Pol said quickly. Too quickly. Phlox sighed and wondered if there were any patients in the universe as obstinate as Vulcans. While Phlox respected the values Vulcans placed on privacy, he did not appreciate his patient keeping material from him which would help him in curing her.

“T’Pol, I would hope you know by now that as your physician, anything you say will remain in the strictest of confidence. I know Vulcans don’t like to discuss certain things with non-Vulcans, but I can’t help you if I don’t know all your symptoms.” He smiled his patented Phlox smile and added, “Come on, T’Pol, yield to the logic of the situation.”

*Logic often cannot be counted on in my dealings with Commander Tucker,* T’Pol thought to herself. *Frequently much more human emotions are responsible.* T’Pol was not willing to admit that to herself, much less anyone else. Still . . . Phlox had proven himself worthy of her trust in the past. And although death may be inevitable, T’Pol did not welcome the thought.

“Commander Tucker had made remarks which provoked great emotions within me, Doctor,” she said finally. She hastened to add, “Emotions that I would have normally been able to suppress quite easily, but when I attempted to do so, I experienced great . . . discomfort,” she finished.

“I see. Did you experience any additional discomfort during your last . . . ah, conversation with Commander Tucker? The one here in sickbay?” Phlox inquired.

“I did not. The headache I was experiencing was a lingering sensation. There were no additional feelings of discomfort,” T’Pol stated.

Then, apparently, the headaches were only caused by some emotions and not by others, Phlox deducted. Because certainly, that last little scene had enough emotion to share with the entire ship. “And is your conversation with Commander Tucker the only event that has triggered these headaches?” he wondered.

“No. I also experienced similar discomfort when I consumed pecan pie,” T’Pol admitted reluctantly. T’Pol’s copper was beginning to have the same affect on her skin as Tucker’s iron based counterpart had had moments earlier.

“Fascinating. I have found humans sometimes associate food with emotion. Does pecan pie have an association other than sustenance, Sub-Commander?”

T’Pol remembered a very similar conversation she had conducted with Commander Tucker two years prior. The memory ushered in an unwelcome feeling of warmth which prompted T’Pol to gasp in pain before she could properly identify which emotion it actually was.

When the sensation passed, she opened her eyes to see a very concerned Doctor Phlox. While T’Pol did not like to admit it, the sight of the typically optimistic alien physician frowning caused her a considerable amount of apprehension.

“I suppose that is a yes, Sub-Commander?” he asked, trying to make his voice sound light.

T’Pol could feel herself becoming agitated. “Is this conversation doing us any good, Doctor?” she asked.

“Truthfully, not a lot. I’ll let you get back to your work, Sub-Commander. However, I want to see you in exactly twenty-four hours. In that time, I want you to take note of each time you have an attack and which emotions trigger the attack. I’ll give you this hypospray so that you can help ease that accompanies them,” he added, handing her the hypospray.

T’Pol nodded in acknowledgment and slid the biobed. “Thank you, doctor,” she replied as she turned and headed out of sickbay.

“T’Pol, I’m not certain what this means in light of our conversation this morning-" Phlox started but was interrupted by T’Pol.

“I am well aware of the contents of our conversation this morning, Doctor. We do not need to have a duplicate conversation. As for what this current problem ‘means,’ that should be fairly obvious.” With that, the Vulcan turned and left, leaving the poor physician to his own musings.

*Yes, it should be fairly obvious. I just hope I’m wrong.* Phlox thought to himself.

****

To Be Continued….

Please R/R….it does help feed the muse. And we do want to feed her, else she might get as irritable as a certain gremlin muse that currently isn’t co-operating on another story.

A/N, 2: Yes, I know-none of your questions have really been answered yet, have they? All in good time, all in good time.

***********


Continue to Part 2

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!