Consequences-Part 22

Consequences

By Samantha Quinn

All disclaimers in part 1

Part 22

Resolutions

xxxxxxxxx

In sickbay, T’Pol opened her eyes to discover two Vulcans she recognized standing on either side of her biobed.

“T’Pol, it is pleasant to see you awake,” Captain Skon greeted her. T’Pau said nothing to contradict or agree with Skon’s sentiments.

Forcing herself into a sitting position, T’Pol nodded in return. “It is most agreeable to see you again, Captain.”

“Yes, it has been some time since we last spoke,” Skon said, not unkindly.
“Ambassador Soval is aboard the vessel. Perhaps the reunion can be more complete,” T’Pol suggested. *Do I display humor in front of a mentor?* T’Pol wondered.

“Actually, T’Pol, Ambassador Soval has been removed from the vessel,” Skon informed her.

“Removed? Why is that?” T’Pol questioned.

Skon and T’Pau exchanged a look. “Did the Captain not brief his second in command before greeting visitors?” T’Pau inquired.

“I have been off duty for thirty point seven hours,” T’Pol said truthfully. Feeling the scrutiny of Skon’s gaze, T’Pol fought off a sigh with difficulty that would have been foreign to her less than a month ago. *My illness increases my ability to feel ashamed at having let my former Captain down,* she noted.

“Why have you been relieved of duty, Sub-Commander?” Skon asked.

“My illness has increased in intensity. Captain Archer wishes for me to remain off duty to allow time to heal.” She tilted her head to look directly at Captain Skon.

“It is most illogical of him, as the cause of my illness is unknown and thus, unlikely to be cured.”

“My father always claimed that humans’ ability to care, while admirable, often led them to illogical and unwise decisions,” Skon remarked. “Perhaps that is true in Captain Archer’s case.”

“He does appear to be guided exclusively by emotions,” T’Pau remarked. “An unwise choice for a Captain.”

“An appropriate one for a human Captain,” T’Pol remarked, surprising herself. T’Pau raised an eyebrow in response, but said nothing. “Why have you come aboard, Captain? I assume you were in command of the second Vulcan vessel?”

“Yes, the T’Lar. We came at the urging of Doctor Ventik. Accordingly, Ambassador Soval was refusing to comply with his required physical. Such irrational behavior lead Ventik to believe it to be Soval’s time of pon far.”

Skon’s words triggered an unwanted memory within T’Pol.

*~*~*~*~*~

“T’Pol?”

“In that event, I would have died as well, Doctor. Perhaps the two situations are not as different as we believe.”

*~*~*~*~*~

“-has apparently purged his illness,” T’Pau continued.

“Do you plan on finding the female with whom he has purged his illness?” T’Pol inquired.

“We do not have the authority to do so,” T’Pau responded. “Because of the timing of Soval’s purge, the female would most certainly have been human.”

“Vulcan law has no jurisdiction upon humans,” Skon agreed. “Therefore, unless Soval’s partner was unwilling, her intimate contact with Ambassador Soval is none of our concern.”

“It is most intriguing. The idea of a human and a Vulcan mating,” T’Pau remarked.

“It would not be a new occurrence, T’Pau,” Skon admonished.

“No. Humans and Vulcans have co-existed for nearly a century. There have been ample opportunities for such occurrences,” T’Pol added. She did not provide her own personal experience as proof of such occurrences.

T’Pau agreed. “True. However, given the human propensity to hold a grudge as they seem to do with us regarding warp flight, I had believed humans would be unwilling to mate with a member of our species.”

“My father often remarked that the human propensity for desiring sex was remarkable,” Skon offered.

“It is,” T’Pol supplied. “In fact, humans frequently use first contacts as opportunities to engage in sexual relationships with alien species.”

“Entirely inappropriate,” T’Pau admonished.

“I had been led to believe that humans place a great deal of importance upon emotions when engaging in sexual intercourse,” Skon questioned.

“I too had heard that rumor,” T’Pau interjected. “It is yet another example of how humans and Vulcans differ from each other. Whereas Vulcans value the procreative properties of intercourse, humans embrace the emotional results.”

“Yet both species value the importance of monogamy and longevity in relationships,” Skon provided.

“This is occasionally true,” T’Pol agreed. “However, they also value discrete sexual encounters with no emotional attachments other than the momentarily and fleeting pleasure. Overall, they value the sensation of pleasure the most in their sexual dealings.” Despite herself, an image of Commander Tucker forced itself into her head and she was unable to prevent a gasp of pain from escaping her lips.

Skon and T’Pau again exchanged a look. “How long have you been ill, Sub-Commander?” T’Pau asked.

“I have been displaying symptoms for one week, one day, twelve hours, thirty six minutes and twenty four point five seconds,” T’Pol replied.

“Yet, your brain scan shows sufficiently longer term damage,” T’Pau stated.
“Yes,” T’Pol replied simply.

“The doctor believes the symptoms can be traced to your melding,” Skon provided.

“Doctor Phlox relayed that information to you?” T’Pol asked, allowing a slight edge into her voice. Realizing its inappropriateness to the situation, T’Pol ached for the opportunity to meditate.

“Yes. T’Pau’s medical training could be of benefit,” Skon assured her.

“Doctor Phlox has served on Vulcan and is an accomplished physician. Lady T’Pau has not practiced medicine in thirty two years,” T’Pol pointed out. “It is unlikely that your medical knowledge will be more advanced than that of Doctor Phlox.”

“Perhaps,” T’Pau agreed. “Doctor Phlox however is not as familiar with melding practices as I am.”

“Why is that?” T’Pol questioned.

Skon and T’Pau exchanged looks one last time. “Because we are melders as well, T’Pol,” Skon answered. Having reviewed T’Pol’s testimony at her trial, Skon and T’Pau had decided that she could be trusted with their secret. She would not react in the same fashion as the majority of their contemporaries would.

Their hypothesis proved correct, as T’Pol took their information in stride. “I see. Is Doctor Phlox correct? Is there another illness associated with melding other than the Pa’naar Syndrome?” she asked.

“Possibly. In order to determine whether you have such an illness, we need to inquire in more detail of your meld,” Skon replied.

It was, T’Pol knew, Skon’s way of asking permission to proceed. “Very well,” was the response she gave him. “You may proceed.”

“According to the testimony of both Yuris and yourself, your meld was forced upon you. Is this true?” T’Pau asked.

“Yes.”

“What type of emotions did you experience through the meld?” Skon inquired.

T’Pol looked at him sharply. Vulcans did not typically admit to the ability to experience emotions. As though he knew what she was thinking, Skon remarked, “Melding is a very intimate, and very emotional experience, T’Pol. Surely it invoked an emotional response. If you would like us to help you, you must share the details of your meld with us.”

Closing her eyes, T’Pol recalled the jazz club and the sexual situations she had been placed in. She recalled the emotional response her body had given into due to the meld and lack of meditation. Regretfully, she shared with Skon and T’Pau the details, trying not to focus on the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her as she spoke.

“As it was forced upon you, did you have the opportunity to reciprocate the meld?” T’Pau continued.

“Reciprocate?” T’Pol asked. “I do not understand.”

“There are three distinctly different types of melds, T’Pol,” Skon informed her.

“There is a basic meld in which anyone may share be they the simplest of acquaintances. That bond is less emotional and infinitely more safe.”

T’Pau continued for him. “There is also a meld meant to obtain information, in which both parties are potentially in peril. This meld can be quite useful in the justice department which is why there is always at least one skilled melder employed at the department at all times.”

“The third kind is the bond shared by mates. It is more intimate, and can be quite dangerous. In any instance, the bond is sexual in nature and very . . . Emotional,” Skon finished.

“Indeed. It frequently involves feelings of desire, possession, and sexual attraction,” T’Pau agreed.

“Then that is the type of meld Tolaris initiated,” T’Pol stated. There was no doubt in her voice.

“You said initiated. You did not return the meld?” T’Pau questioned.

“No, I could not. I am incapable of performing a meld.”

“That is a myth,” T’Pau told the science officer. “All Vulcans possess the ability to perform a meld. Our ancestors did and that was not long enough ago for evolution to have changed a simple biological trait.”

“That is . . . Impossible. It goes against Surak’s teachings to lie. . . Yet, that is exactly what the Vulcan government would have been doing if they had supported the efforts to suppress the Melding instinct. We are taught all our lives that melding is done by only a small portion of the Vulcan population,” T’Pol protested.

“T’Pol. You are aware that lying can in some instances be deemed a logical course of action. Melders are believed to be dangerous. Tolaris and others have proved this to be a possible truth. Unfortunately, there has been no proof of the benefits of melding on the same scale,” Skon informed her.

Not wanting to dwell upon the actions of her planet, T’Pol asked quietly, “Is there a cure?”

“Your brain has been sent signals that it needs to bond, to be telepathically linked with a mate. You simply need to select a mate, and complete a bond with him by melding with him,” Skon informed her.

“The only cure then, would require me to meld with another and thereby spread the Pa’naar Syndrome to him as well?” T’Pol asked, aghast.

She was rewarded with a silent nod of Skon’s head.

“I thank you both,” she said simply. She allowed herself a fleeting moment of pleasure as she reflected that her voice betrayed none of the emotion she felt. “However, as that cure is an unacceptable one, I must ask permission to accompany you back to Vulcan.”

“Of course. We will be departing within the hour, as Ambassador V’Lar will return with Captain Vanik and Ambassador Soval must be taken back to the planet immediately for processing,” Skon replied.

“Thank you, Captain. That will provide me ample time to gather my personal items and bid Captain Archer and the crew goodbye,” T’Pol stated.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

In his quarters, Malcolm sat working on expansions to the force field technology he had originally stabilized. The hull plating technology was inefficient, in Malcolm’s estimate, and he surmised that if he could somehow expand the force field to encompass the hull of the ship, it would provide a better type of shielding than that currently in place. A quick glance at the chronometer in the midst of a calculation informed Malcolm that Yamamoto had exactly 30 minutes to provide the security tape Malcolm had requested. With a sigh, Malcolm realized that his plan to work on the calculations as a type of distraction while he waited was not working as well as he had anticipated. Try as he might to focus on the shields, Malcolm found himself distracted by the enormity of the Trip situation. *No, not Trip. Commander Tucker’s situation,* Malcolm chastised himself firmly.
Malcolm frowned in irritation at the sound of his door chime. It wouldn’t be Travis, Malcolm knew. The armory officer had asked the helmsman to arrange his workout at 1900 hours, as to not be in the room when Malcolm needed to review the security tape. Whoever it was, Malcolm hoped they didn’t have plans to stay for a prolonged period of time.

“Enter,” he called. His irritation disappeared when the doors opened to reveal Hoshi Sato. Hoshi Sato and a tray of food to be precise.

“Good evening, Malcolm,” Hoshi greeted cheerfully.

“Good evening, Hoshi,” Malcolm replied warmly, eying the food suspiciously.
“What brings you here?”

“Well, you didn’t join the Captain and myself for dinner, so I figured you had to be getting hungry, so I brought you some food,” Hoshi said, sitting the tray down in front of him.

“That wasn’t necessary, Hoshi. I was planning on -”

“Planning on getting some as soon as you were finished here, right?” Hoshi asked, with a role of her eyes. When Malcolm nodded, Hoshi continued, “Well, Chef made pineapple upside down cake for dessert. I thought you might like some and it was disappearing pretty quickly.”

Malcolm glanced at his tray, and sure enough, there sat an ample portion of said desert, alongside Chef’s trusty pot roast. “Thank you, Hoshi. That was very kind of you,” he whispered softly. “But I sincerely hope you were careful in bringing it here.” At Hoshi’s quizzical glance, he continued, “It. . . It would have seemed highly inappropriate for an Ensign to be seen carrying food to a Lieutenant’s quarters.”

Hoshi’s mouth tightened. “I apologize for the breach in protocol, Lieutenant,” she said coolly before spinning on her heels and walking out the door.

Malcolm winced. *Bloody hell, that didn’t go very well, did it?* Malcolm was certain that his life would be a lot easier if people on the Enterprise had any idea how to behave appropriately. *If they did, I wouldn’t have to reject the advances of a perfectly desirable woman and Commander Tucker wouldn’t have slugged an Ambassador over a woman he views as desirable. Bloody civilians is what they all are.*

A chirp from the computer terminal on his desk interrupted Malcolm’s private railings against the crew. Cradling his cake preciously in his hands, Malcolm slid off his bed and walked over to the terminal. He discovered with delight that Yamamoto had managed to send him the security tape a full twenty minutes early. Noting to give the highest commendation to the crewman on his next batch of evaluations, Malcolm opened the video as he took a large bite of his cake.
The scene began innocently enough. Ensign Connelly was standing at attention outside Commander Tucker’s cell, as she had been positioned. Commander Tucker paced in his cell, complaining about the temperature in the cell being too warm. Malcolm noted the oddness of that, as the cell was kept at a constant 77 degrees Fahrenheit. Being from Florida, Commander Tucker was certainly used to much, much warmer weather. Still, Commander Tucker must have been as overheated, as he began to remove his clothing.

As the scenes unfolded before him, Malcolm had to resist the urge several times to turn the terminal off and walk away in disgust. To his utter surprise, Commander Tucker was calling out T’Pol’s name in enjoyment, paying no attention to Ensign Connelly. *Poor bastard. He cares so much for her. Enough to throw away his entire career. . . Yet, she’s incapable of returning it. Poor, poor bastard.* He was certain that the particularly attentive Ensign was going to be doing the most disdainful task he could think of. That depended on his brain regaining the capacity to think, however. Malcolm wasn’t so sure that was going to happen. His opinion of the Ensign’s impending fate did not change even after T’Pol entered, although he did appreciate the professional manner in which she handled her anger. *Anger?* Malcolm questioned himself. No, there was no doubt about it. The Sub-Commander had definitely been angry.

*Perhaps Commander Tucker’s attraction was not one-sided after all,* Malcolm decided. The thought unreasonably made him happy. The happiness disappeared as he watched T’Pol be overcome with agony.

“You. . . Sex. . . . Hurt so much,” T’Pol managed to gasp out as she pleaded with Commander Tucker to re-clothe himself. Feeling more than slightly guilty at his voyeuristic activities, Malcolm contemplated the meaning of that near-sentence. Was T’Pol implying that she and Commander Tucker . . . ? But that didn’t make any sense. T’Pol was obviously referring to the current scenario. And they definitely were not having sex. *Regardless of what Commander Tucker may have been thinking before she came in, they continue to be separated,* Malcolm noted.

As it ended, Malcolm came to the realization that Commander Tucker’s confession of hurting the Sub-Commander had not been entirely true. Although Commander Tucker’s actions had apparently been the catalyst for her emotional attack, Commander Tucker and T’Pol had remained separated. In fact, Malcolm realized, Commander Tucker had done everything in his power to stop her discomfort, to no avail.

*Yet, Commander Tucker had insisted to me only moments ago that he had hurt T’Pol.* Moreover, Commander Tucker had insisted that T’Pol had entered his cell. That event simply hadn’t happened. Frowning, Malcolm rewound the tape to the moment when T’Pol came in and watched it again, focusing on Commander Tucker’s facial expressions. Pushing down his guilt, Malcolm looked for any sign that would help him to understand Commander Tucker’s confusion. Had he simply been deluding himself by confusing reality with fantasy? No, that didn’t make any sense either.

Malcolm watched in helpless agony for his friend as the Commander retreated back to his cell. Pushing a couple of buttons on his computer terminal, Malcolm magnified Commander Tucker’s face and played the video in slow motion, desperately searching for clues. *Something just isn’t right about this situation. The ‘facts’ are not adding up,* Malcolm thought in frustration. The lieutenant found what he was looking for as the enhanced video made clear the convulsions that overtook Commander Tucker’s facial muscles and the spasms that claimed his hands.

“She was in here” . . . spasms . . . convulsions. . . *I had attributed the redness of his skin and deep breathing to be correlated to the nature of his activities in the cell. . . But that doesn’t explain his confusion, or the near-seizures. Commander Tucker is sick.*

The thought gave Malcolm a great rush of hope. If Commander Tucker was sick, then Trip was quite possibly innocent. The illness was obviously impairing his ability to think rationally-*The Trip I know would never masturbate in the brig-especially not with a lady present. Conversely, he would never slug an Ambassador or be insubordinate to the Captain. He‘s sick-why didn‘t any of us see it sooner?.* With those thoughts in mind, Malcolm rose and went to the comm unit. “Reed to Captain Archer.”

There as a momentary pause. “Archer here. What is it, Lieutenant?”

The happiness could nearly be heard as Malcolm responded, “I need to see you immediately in my quarters, Captain. It concerns Commander Tucker.”

Malcolm heard a gasp of breath on the other end of the comm unit followed by Archer’s cursing. “I’ll be there momentarily, Lieutenant,” he snapped before turning the unit off.

xxxx

In his quarters, Archer ran to T’Pol’s side as she clutched her head. “I thought the very sound of his name didn’t do you any harm, Sub-Commander?” he asked softly.

“My symptoms have increased,” she replied. “Which is why I am leaving.”

Archer sighed. “We’ll miss you, you know that. Especially . . .well, especially myself and the chief engineer.”

T’Pol closed her eyes. “He is ill, Captain. I do not know how, but you must have the Doctor examine him. He is behaving . . . Irrationally. Even for him.”

“I’ll have Phlox look into it,” Archer promised.

“Thank you,” she said and Archer noted sadly that it was the first time-and the last time-she had said the phrase. “I must go. Captain Skon and Lady T’Pau are awaiting me in the Landing Bay.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Archer suggested.

“Please, Captain, I would rather go alone.” As Archer started to protest, T’Pol explained, “I shall be able to control my emotions with greater ease if I am not in the company of a human.”

Archer nodded reluctantly. “All right.”

“It has been a pleasurable experience having served with you, Captain Archer.“

T’Pol extended her hand in the handshake she had refused to give only two years ago.

In reply, Archer raised his hand in the Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, T’Pol.”

To prevent herself from giving in to the emotions which threatened to overtake her at the last gesture, T’Pol nodded and left quickly, heading for the landing bay.

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

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