Cry Havoc- Pt. 2

Cry Havoc

By ShouldKnowBetter

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimers in Part One

Part Two

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

Out of courtesy, Archer met Dexter when his fellow captain returned to Enterprise from his tour of Pushkin then wondered if it had been a good idea as he had to listen to the man sounding off about the failure to get his ship’s performance up to standard. It was only the sight of Dexter’s pale, strained face and the arm still strapped across his chest that kept Archer’s reply moderate. “Pete, I know you’ve been through hell but that’s uncalled for.” He met the other’s glare calmly. “My engineering team and yours have worked their butts off to save Pushkin. If they hadn’t, I’d have been forced to sacrifice her.”

“You’d have destroyed my ship to keep your own safe?”

“You know I would. You’d have done the same; it comes with the job.” Archer took the other man’s sound arm to lead him into the mess hall. “Now take a break.” He managed to keep the conversation neutral for the few minutes they waited for T’Pol and Tucker to join them although it was an effort - there wasn’t a lot on anyone’s mind except Klingons – but the arrival of his two most senior officers didn’t improve matters. In fact, things went down hill rapidly from the moment he began to introduce his first officer.

“I know T’Pol.” Dexter interrupted and directed a frankly appraising look at the Vulcan woman. “It’s been a while.”

She returned his gaze coolly although Tucker frowned, feeling a faint niggle at the back of his head; that didn’t normally happen unless he was in extremely intimate contact with T’Pol and it certainly wasn’t pleasure his lover was feeling at the moment. “That it hardly surprising, Captain Dexter, when I have been on Enterprise for the last three years.”

He sneered a little and turned back to Archer. “I don’t know how you stand it, Jon, having her breathing down your neck and reporting your every move to the Vulcan High Command.”

“T’Pol’s a fine officer.” Archer’s voice was firm. “We’ve all been grateful for her contribution and I’ve never had any cause to question her loyalty. Now let’s eat.”

Before the main course was removed, Tucker had moved from tired to exhausted from the barrage of questions that Dexter directed at him, mostly repeating issues they had already covered. Even the efforts of Archer and T’Pol to divert the conversation weren’t enough to protect him and Tucker finally gave in to frustration. “I don’t know, Captain Dexter!” He pushed his half eaten meal away from him, too tense to eat. “Pushkin’s phase cannons are fused solid. We’d have to drop out of warp for a couple hours to un-jam them and even then I don’t reckon you’d get the full range of fire. So I don’t know when you’ll have full capability restored.”

“Commander Bester …”

“Is dead. You got me and I can’t fix it. Satisfied?”

“Trip.” Archer shot his chief engineer a stern look before he looked over at Dexter. “We’ve been through this before, Pete. If Commander Tucker says Pushkin’s too badly damaged to be fixed in space then you’ll have to accept his judgement, just as I always do.”

The dark haired man scowled. “You should never have let friendship affect your judgement, Jon. He was never up to the job.”

“That’s crap and you know it.” Archer was angry himself although he didn’t show it. If either he or Tucker lost their tempers it would be a victory for Dexter and however much sympathy he might currently feel for Pushkin’s captain, it didn’t extend to allowing the man to vent his grief by striking out at everyone around him. “T’Pol,” firmly committed this time to changing the subject Archer turned to the woman, only then noticing that the look she had fixed on Dexter was almost as angry as Tucker’s. Never a good sign when his unflappable first officer got angry. “T’Pol, were you able to contact the Vulcan High Command?”

“Yes.”

Archer sighed. Not the time to be difficult, T’Pol. “And, sub-commander?”
Finally she turned to face him. “All non-essential diplomatic personnel and any other Vulcan citizens currently posted to Earth have been ordered to withdraw.”

He shook his head in sorrow. “So the Vulcans aren’t hopeful of a peaceful solution.”

“The Klingon Empire is not renowned for peaceful solutions.”

“What about you, T’Pol?”

She met Archer’s gaze steadily, anger now well hidden. “I was advised to leave Enterprise at the earliest opportunity.”

“And will you?” He hoped he knew the answer. With the situation so bad, he didn’t want to lose his first officer, nor did he want a broken hearted chief engineer on his hands. It might be both logical and safe for T’Pol to leave, but it would feel like abandonment to both him and Tucker.

“The Vulcan High Command is becoming inured to my decisions.”

Archer smiled warmly back, seeing Tucker’s quick sigh of relief out of the corner of his eye, but Dexter scowled. “Typical Vulcan! Can’t give a straight answer. Run at the first sign of trouble.”

“I think you’ll find that T’Pol just said she was staying,” Archer pointed out but the other captain was barely listening.

“So the Vulcans’ll leave us to defend Earth by ourselves, will they? Not lift a finger to help their allies?”

“It was not Vulcan who provoked this hostility.”

“We didn’t provoke it!” Dexter was leaning across the table, almost shouting into T’Pol’s face. “They fired on my ship.”

“There must have been some reason for the attack.”

“There wasn’t!” The Australian made some effort to moderate his tone as he turned to Archer. “We have to be ready to fight, Jon, to defend Earth. To wipe the bastards out if necessary. We can’t lose this war.”

“We’re not at war yet, Pete.” Archer’s voice was quiet. “I’d like to think it’s avoidable.”

“It’s not. You saw what they did to my crew! We can’t share the galaxy with animals like that.”

Archer saw Tucker shift uncomfortably then look up at Dexter, expressive face bleak. “I joined Starfleet to explore the galaxy, not to fight it. Are we really gonna go down the route of destroying what we can’t understand? I thought we were supposed to have grown out of that.”

“So what would you have us do, Commander Tucker?” There was a good deal of contempt on the rank. “Let them exterminate us?”

“I’ll fight if I have to,” Tucker was keeping his temper for once, despite the slur on his courage and the definite feel of anger not his own at the back of his head, “but I agree with Cap’n Archer. I don’t see why it has to be inevitable.”
“If asked, Vulcan would almost certainly be prepared to mediate,” T’Pol suggested but Dexter made a gesture of flat denial with his uninjured arm.
“Mediate what? A settlement that restricts us to one small area of space? That’d suit the Vulcans right down to the ground.”

The look T’Pol turned on the human matched anything he had produced in terms of contempt. “Perhaps that would make the galaxy a safer place for the rest of us.” She rose, turning to Archer. “Captain, if you will excuse us, Charles is tired and I wish to ensure that he has adequate rest.”

Archer struggled to keep a straight face even as he nodded permission, although Tucker’s shock at T’Pol’s unprecedented lapse into informality was almost too much for him, and he had to smile when the Vulcan woman took a firm grip on the engineer’s hand as he followed her to the door. “Good night, sub-commander, commander.” Now what had that been about? He got the answer when he turned to find Dexter staring at the door, a look of fury on his handsome face.

“She … that Vulcan bitch … and Tucker?”

“They’re lovers,” Archer confirmed coolly, not liking the other man’s description, “and very good friends. They have been for quite some time.”

“And you let them?”

“They keep it off duty.” Tucker had done that better than he had hoped, probably because of T’Pol’s stern glares if he forgot himself. Archer certainly wouldn’t be mentioning to Dexter that Trip tended to become frantic if an away team with T’Pol in it got into trouble, nor that her captain had been forced to firmly reject his first officer’s enthusiastic support for one of Reed’s more violent schemes when Tucker had been kidnapped a few months before.

Dexter rose to his feet, expression twisted. “I’m going back to Pushkin.”

“Fine.” Archer’s tone was bland. “I’ll have someone escort you to a shuttle pod,” and he continued to sit as Dexter stamped out, glowering.

“What’s going on?” Tucker had to jog a few strides to catch up with T’Pol before he could pull her around to face him; she had dropped his hand the moment the door to the captain’s dining room had closed behind them. She glared at him and pushed past to continue on her way and he winced as another wave of anger hit him. His lover’s frequent complaint that his emotions gave her a headache was abruptly understandable. “T’Pol?”

“Leave me alone.”

“No! Damn it, T’Pol, tell me what’s wrong!”

She stepped into the waiting lift and he had to nip in sharply after her as she pressed for the deck where their cabins were located. “Charles, please,” he could see that she was shaking slightly, “I must be alone for a while.”

“Tell me why.” His voice was much quieter although T’Pol still did not look up at him.

“We have not been meditating sufficiently. I am … not myself.”

“You’re pissed as hell.”

“It cannot escape me.” The shaking was getting worse. “If it does … I will hurt people. Even you.”

“I don’t believe that. T’Pol …”

“You do not know me! Vulcans who lose control are dangerous.”

“I do know you!” Tucker stepped in close, catching T’Pol’s arms, knowing he couldn’t hold her if she really didn’t want him there but not willing to be pushed away. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“I could.”

“But you won’t.” She shuddered again and this time he pulled her tightly to him. “You’re not gonna lose it, honey.” She pressed hungrily against his body and he gave a grunt of laughter. “Not your temper, anyway.” The lift doors opened and he peeled her away from him and hustled her the short distance down the corridor to her cabin, taking her in his arms again as the doors closed behind them.

“Don’t.” It was muttered into his shoulder. “I will hurt you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I need you!”

“Yeah, I know.” The shaking wasn’t due to anger this time and, if Tucker were strictly honest with himself, he was somewhat curious to know what it would be like with an out-of-control Vulcan. T’Pol was normally far more passionate than he had ever allowed himself to hope for and if she wasn’t feeling quite herself … A hot mouth closed fiercely over his and the bed hit his back as he was pushed flat, strong hands dealing with his clothes with more haste than science. “Uh …?”

“Do not speak,” and T’Pol assured his silence in the most efficient way possible while divesting herself of her own uniform.

Tucker decided to go along with the advice. Rational conversation while being ravished wasn’t the easiest thing in the world and he was starting to lose it himself. There was definitely more than one set of sensations in his head and the second lot were driving him crazy – in quite the best way he had ever experienced.

Archer headed for sickbay once he left the mess hall. He was still frowning thoughtfully when he arrived to find Phlox staring sadly down at the body of one of Pushkin’s crew. The Denobulan didn’t look up as Archer came to his side although his words made it obvious that he knew his captain was there. “He died a few moments ago – fortunately without regaining consciousness.”

“Fortunately?”

“He would not have wanted to be aware of the extent of his injuries.” The doctor finally looked up. “You wished to see me, Captain Archer?”

“Yes.” He steered the man away from the bed. It almost seemed an insult to ask in the presence of someone who had clearly suffered unimaginably. “Doctor, have you spent much time with Captain Dexter?”

“Not a great deal. I treated his injuries, naturally, but I’m afraid there hasn’t been much time for socialising lately.”

“No. Did he … Did Captain Dexter seem … normal?”

“I can hardly say, captain. I’m not familiar with his habits.”

Archer reluctantly put his fears into words. “Do you believe he’s sane, doctor?”

The Denobulan looked surprised; Archer didn’t blame him. “Every Starfleet officer undergoes thorough psychological profiling, captain, you know that as well as I do. If Captain Dexter was not fit for command, he would not be Pushkin’s captain.”

“Could the trauma of what happened be enough to break him?”

“I can’t tell you that, not without a great deal more study and perhaps not even then. I’m a physician, captain, not a psychiatrist, and I certainly do not know enough about the human psyche to speculate.” He hesitated, studying Archer’s pensive expression. “Captain Dexter has given you cause for concern, captain?”

“Concern, yes. Definite facts, no.” He sighed, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “I don’t know. Maybe if Enterprise had taken that sort of hammering I’d lash out too.”

“Not everyone has the same command style, captain.”

“I know that, doctor, and it’s true that Dexter and I often clashed on that one.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry unduly. I recommend a good night’s sleep so that you are fresh tomorrow to worry about certainties, not flights of fancy. Good night, Captain Archer.”

Archer frowned at the Denobulan’s retreating back, trying to decide if he had just been profoundly insulted or if it was simply a matter of poor language skills. On reflection he decided that he had best put it down to the latter and take his medical officer’s advice. He was tired and there were certainly enough problems to be dealt with – such as how to get Pushkin home safely when his first officer and chief engineer appeared incapable of working with the other captain.

Tucker moaned and T’Pol lifted her head to check on his condition. “I think I died.”

“I believe not.”

“Jeez, that was … What was that?”

“I lost control. That … was how my people used to be. Perhaps next time you will heed my warning.”

“Oh, I dunno.” He shifted slightly, grimacing. “No bones broken.”

“But I hurt you.” A gentle hand traced red patches on his arms and shoulders that would be deep bruises by the next day. “I told you I would.”

“I thought you were gonna toss me across the room.” Tucker finally opened his eyes to give the woman beside him a tired grin. “Not have your wicked way with me.”

She looked severely at him. “Why did you not leave me as I asked?”

“Because I love you. T’Pol, I’m never gonna walk away when you’re in trouble. You know that.”

“But you will get hurt.”

“So I’ll be sore for a few days. I’ve had worse on away missions. Honey,” he hesitated wondering if she would answer, “do you often get like that?”

She looked away. “It … has happened twice before.”

“Since we’ve been bonded?” It was a guess but a sure one and T’Pol nodded reluctantly. “You should have told me.”

“The time was never right.” She touched his face lightly, resignation in her eyes. “It only happens when I have missed my daily meditation and the emotions we are feeling are similar and very strong.”

“And anger’s stronger than love, right?”

“No,” she spoke firmly, counterbalancing his bitterness, “but it is closer to the nature we Vulcans strive to deny. There is a reason beyond pride for our mastery of emotion, Charles. We are not a pleasant people when … unbridled.”

“What d’you usually do when it happens?”

“I ensure that I am alone and I … let it out. Then I meditate.”

“And sex has the same effect?”

“Evidently.” She was calm again although meditation was still an imperative.

“Then don’t sneak off by yourself next time. Come to me and we’ll deal with it – together. If it’s my fault, it’s only fair you let me help.”

“It is not your fault. I should be able to control myself.”

“Not with me in your head.” Tucker grimaced. “I’ll meditate more often. I know it helps, it’s just …”

“Boring.” The inflection was perfect and he chuckled.

“Yeah. But I’ll try harder. I don’t want you to suffer because of me.” He hugged her tightly but released her quickly, wincing as every millimetre of sore skin and every aching muscle protested. “I think I’d better have a hot shower.”

He sat up slowly, accepting her help and wincing because it hurt a lot more semi-upright than it had horizontal. T’Pol pushed him back down and he had little option but to obey. “Stay here. I will obtain medical supplies from sickbay.”

“No, you won’t.” He managed to catch her hand. “I’ll be OK and you need to meditate. Besides, blue eyes slid appreciatively lower, “you’re not really dressed for going out.”

She glared and freed herself. “I will, of course, dress first and my need for meditation is not immediate.”

Tucker sat up again, managing not to groan. “All I need is a shower. You,” he pushed T’Pol in the direction of the low table that held her lamp, “meditate.” For once she did as she was told and he made it to the bathroom unaided, inserting himself under the flow of hot water with relief. He hadn’t been this sore since the last time he was beaten up but at least this time his girlfriend was on hand to look after him. Pity that said girlfriend was so much stronger than he – but on the other hand, if she hadn’t been Vulcan, he wouldn’t just have had the most mind-blowingly wild sex of his career. There were definitely pros as well as cons to the relationship!

Waking up to the smell of coffee was a pleasant surprise, but the complaint of his abused body was less so. Tucker groaned and stopped mid-movement even as a hand stroked tousled hair back from his forehead. “What’s happened?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You only bring me coffee when something’s wrong,” or when T’Pol wanted him at her mercy, usually to lecture on irresponsible behaviour. She knew that having her fuss over him reduced him to a helpless pile of mush who would promise not to take stupid risks.

“I am not aware that the situation has deteriorated further.”

“Oh.” Something cool touched his sore back then a warm hand smoothed it over his skin. “What’s that?”

“A salve. It should ease your discomfort.”

Thoroughly suspicious, Tucker eased himself into a sitting position although T’Pol did not stop her ministrations. “Now I know something’s wrong.” She handed him the mug of coffee. “Very wrong.”

“Why should you believe that something is wrong merely because I wish to correct the damage I inflicted on you?” Calm, innocent eyes met his. “You are currently vital to the efficient running of both Enterprise and Pushkin. I would be delinquent in my duty if I did not ensure your well-being.”

She rubbed more salve into the bruises on his shoulders and Tucker shivered with half painful pleasure, not one bit reassured. T’Pol loved him but she wouldn’t go to all the trouble of sneaking into the mess hall in the early morning for an insulated container of a drink everyone knew she didn’t like, nor raid his cabin for the remains of the medicine Phlox had prescribed the last time he’d been beaten up if she wasn’t hiding something. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate the attention, it was just that he knew T’Pol was trying to distract him. Thinking was difficult when the woman he loved was making a very thorough job of easing his discomfort but he was a Starfleet officer, trained to think under difficult conditions. “What happened between you and Dexter? Ow!” She had pressed a good deal too hard on a painful spot on his chest.

“I am sorry.” Carefully she rubbed more salve into the place and Tucker drew in his breath in a soft moan.

“Oh, no. You can’t get round me that easily. What are you hiding?”

She glared and went to wash her hands. “You are being offensive.”

“No, I’m not.” He came to stand behind her, hands on her waist, pulling her back to lean against him. “Tell me, T’Pol, or I’ll kiss your ears until you’re not fit for duty.”

“That is a foolish and unfounded threat.”

“Is it?” He began to carry it out and she stiffened, making an ineffectual move to push him away. “Not convincing, darling.” He kept up the gentle assault. “I’d be on my back if you’d meant that.”

“I do not wish to damage you further. Charles,” she was breathing noticeably faster, “please desist.”

“Tell me,” he shifted to the other side, “about you and Dexter.”

“You are incorrigible.”

“Yeah, that’s why you love me so much. Spill.”

“We met when I was first posted to Earth.” She turned in his arms and raised her mouth for a kiss that he supplied as reward for the disclosure.

“And?”

“He attempted to become intimate with me.”

“Excuse me!” Suddenly furious blue eyes looked down at her. “He did what?”

“Why should you be surprised? You know you are not the only human to be attracted to me – and you know that you are the only one with whom I have reciprocated.”

“What happened?”

“He asked me to spend time with him. I was curious to learn more of humans so I agreed. It rapidly became obvious to me that Dexter was likewise curious – about Vulcan biology. After I told him that our association was at an end he became offensive, much as you saw yesterday.”

“Did you let him kiss you?”

“No. Charles, I rejected Dexter because he was not interested in me, merely in a female of my species. I believed he lacked the emotional maturity necessary for an inter-species relationship and I let that belief affect my opinion of all humans for a considerable period of time – until I came to realise that it was possible for friendship to exist between us.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks!” He paused. “A compliment to me, right?”

“Partially.”

“I knew that.” He bent his head for another kiss. “What are we gonna do about Dexter?”
“We will treat him with the respect due his rank.” He started to protest. “Charles, he is your superior officer. Do not allow him to make trouble for you. You will only create another problem for Captain Archer if you do.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It is the truth.” She pushed him gently away. “You are due in Engineering in twenty three minutes. Unless you hurry …”

“Damn it,” he jumped for the shower, “why didn’t you tell me? Or bring breakfast along with the coffee?”

The Vulcan woman glared after him.

They were thirteen weeks from Earth at Pushkin’s best speed, which, despite the combined efforts of both engineering teams, they could not increase beyond warp 3. That was a long, long time in which to watch the gradual slid towards war when they could do nothing to influence the outcome. Archer’s reputation might be high within Starfleet but he was one man and very far from home and it frequently seemed to him that no one was listening to reason. He spent a great deal of time in contact with Starfleet discussing options for both peace and war, then more with Dexter who only had one option in view. It meant that Archer had very little time to dedicate to his own ship and he used that talking to his crew who were tense and unhappy, wanting to be reassured. He only wished there was any reassurance to give. He had to turn the day to day running of Enterprise over to T’Pol but at least he could do that with a clear conscience; the days when he hadn’t trusted his first officer were years in the past.

Tucker spent at least half his time on Pushkin, doing his best to put her back together, and the rest with Reed, tossing around ideas for improving the offensive capability of the two ships. What the armoury officer did with the rest of his time Tucker didn’t know, but whatever it was, it made the man increasingly paranoid and not about the threat of a Klingon attack. Reed was still attempting to analyse what had happened to Pushkin and her crew and a lot of his questions had Tucker doubting his friend’s sanity – when he could be bothered to listen. Mostly, he let Malcolm’s speculation flow over him and tried to focus on doing his job – and staying out of Dexter’s way, not easy when he had to report progress or lack thereof to Pushkin’s captain. Tucker was actually quite proud that he kept his temper with Dexter despite severe provocation and comforted by the fact that the remnant of Pushkin’s engineering team did not follow their captain’s lead. But most of the comfort came from T’Pol, who chased him unmercifully to ensure that he ate and slept and then switched from first officer to lover to sleep with him every night; and to nag him into meditating. He hated to admit it, but it did help. Then they started fixing the internal sensors.

It was one of the last jobs on the list, even after fixing the protein re-sequencers, but eventually they got around to the internal sensors. Almost every outlet had been taken out, Tucker vaguely supposing that the attacking Klingons had done so to make it harder for the defenders to track them. He put a couple of Pushkin’s engineer’s on the relatively straight-forward job of replacing the sensor net and went to tackle the complex task of sorting out the mess that had once been the primary surveillance computer. Why Starfleet felt it necessary to know what went on in every public area of the ship twenty-four hours a day Tucker did not know, but it required a hefty piece of technology to make it happen and it had been shot to hell. Weird place for a Klingon to crate havoc, Tucker thought as he crawled through the access tubes to reach the trashed computer, but they had had plenty of time.

Three hours later, he had managed to clear the mess and salvage what he could, including an almost intact memory module. That was something else Malcolm had been bugging him about, lost records from just before Pushkin was fired upon, so perhaps the find would keep the Englishman quiet for a few days. More because he was hot and tired and wanted a rest than out of interest, Tucker sank down against one wall and slotted the recovered module into his tricorder to see if any useful data had survived. The first image he got was of Bester, his counterpart, slumping down in front of Engineering as an energy beam caught his heart, which made Tucker scan hastily forward but that fragment ended as the scanner was apparently taken out only moments later. He grimaced and flipped back, watching in surprise as Bestor appeared to be engaged in heated debate with someone off-shot before again falling dead. Did you argue with Klingons who had boarded your ship? Personally, Tucker would have fired first and run away before stopping to discuss the matter. Intrigued, he tried to access the next sensor in the net, but that had clearly been damaged and the image was too noisy to show anything but vague movement. Or was it? One small portion of the image was clear and a brief flicker there caught Tucker’s attention although he could not have said why. Stepping back a frame at a time, he finally discovered the why - and didn’t like it one bit. Surely that was a leg that appeared in the shot and dressed not in the black leather of a Klingon warrior but in Starfleet blue. Someone in Starfleet uniform had been standing in front of Bestor when he was killed. Perhaps they hadn’t done the killing but it looked damned suspicious. A cursory look through the remainder of the memory module showed that there was more damage than he had thought. There were no other clear images but he suspected that some portions would respond to image enhancement and he knew the very person for that. He was about to hail Enterprise when a twinge of doubt halted his hand. Instead he stuffed the memory chip into a pocket along with any others that might be salvageable and returned to work.

It was only seconds later that Dexter appeared out of the hatchway, peering around him. “I was told you were here, Commander Tucker.” There wasn’t a lot to say to that. The Australian crawled out and stood surveying the cleared area and neatly piled heaps of rubbish and salvageable components. “Did any records survive?”

Tucker would probably have lied even if he hadn’t felt an uncomfortable tickling between his shoulder blades. “No, sir.” He indicated the shattered chips he hadn’t bothered pocketing. “Not a hope.”

Dexter grunted and took another look around, nodding as if in satisfaction. “This is the last job? Then I won’t deprive Enterprise of your skill any longer, commander. My own people can finish here.” For once he sounded almost pleasant. “Thank you for your efforts on my ship’s behalf. Dismissed.”

Tucker didn’t have any objection to returning to his own ship but he did have a profound dislike of leaving a job half done. “I’ll just …”

“I said dismissed, commander,” and this time there was very little to do but leave as hastily as possible.

“Tucker to Reed.” There was a pause and then the hail was repeated, followed by a less than formal prompt. “Come on, Malcolm, move your butt.”

Tired and irritated the armoury officer hauled himself up to punch the comm. outlet over his bed. “Reed here.” Then he caught sight of the time. “Do you know what time it is? This had better be good, commander.”

“It’s not.” The engineer’s flat address woke the other man fully. “Get over to T’Pol’s cabin.”

“What’s happened? Is the sub-commander …?”

“She’s fine. Get a move on, Malcolm. Tucker out.”

Reed had never been in the first officer’s quarters but he had always presumed that they would be Spartan and obsessively neat, rather like his own. The scatter of cups, components and other detritus that greeted him when the door slid open was therefore a surprise, although that could be explained by Tucker’s presence. What really threw Reed, however, was the fact that the other man was sprawled on the bed with the science officer perched beside him. He knew that Trip and T’Pol were lovers, of course, even if his friend had selfishly refused to reveal details of Vulcan mating rituals; he’d just never expected that the Vulcan woman would allow sprawling. Disconcerted to say the least, Reed fell back on formality, standing practically to attention. “You wanted to see me, sub-commander, commander.”

“Relax, Malcolm, it’s the middle of the bloody night.” Tucker yawned as if he had just reminded himself of the fact and half-heartedly sat up a little, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Have a seat. Is there any coffee left, honey?”

Reed flinched even as T’Pol said calmly, “You have had quite enough,” and turned her attention to the armoury officer, who was trying to ignore the fact that Tucker had called his first officer ‘honey’ and not been kicked in the teeth for the effrontery. “We have been able to reconstruct some of the missing sensor logs.”

“Really?” He didn’t want to know that T’Pol would let Tucker lean against her. “Er … that’s good.” It finally struck him that the engineer didn’t just look tired, he looked sick. “Not good?”

“There is a PADD to your left.” He took it because it meant he didn’t have to look at the other two then the first few images caught his attention and nothing else mattered. “Oh, shit! This means …” He couldn’t finish, just stared in horror at Enterprise’s first officer and chief engineer.

“I can’t believe it!” It was an hour or so later and Archer was trying to pace in the too small area of his cabin while the other three – four if Porthos counted – watched. “You’re telling me that Dexter killed his own crew?”

“A number of the officers,” T’Pol corrected. She was standing, hands clasped behind her. She had indulged Tucker earlier because he had been extremely upset, but permitting demonstrations of affection in the captain’s presence – even if he was only half clad – was another matter entirely.

“But why?”

“To conceal the fact that it was Pushkin that opened fire on the Klingon vessel, not vice versa as Captain Dexter claimed.”
“That is a ridiculous allegation! Have you any proof?”

“There’s a lot of circumstantial evidence, sir,” Reed reported. “Some of the facts didn’t stand up from the beginning.”

“It’s my fault there’s no physical evidence,” Tucker admitted gloomily. He looked up from the bed where he was playing with Porthos floppy ears. “Malcolm was suspicious right from the start and I wouldn’t listen. If I’d been looking we could probably have proved it. Sorry, cap’n.”

“Lt. Reed also brought his concerns to my attention,” T’Pol informed the group. “I have been reviewing all engineering reports for discrepancies. There were none that could not be explained in a more rational manner.”

“And none of you saw fit to tell me about this?” Archer demanded angrily and Tucker shrugged.

“It was too crazy, cap’n.” He glanced sideways at T’Pol. “Dexter would have said that T’Pol and I were out to get him. Without evidence, Starfleet would have taken his word over ours.”

“Have I ever given any of you cause to believe I don’t trust your judgement?”

“No, cap’n,” Tucker was still trying to take most of the flak, “but we had no proof. You’d have only got yourself into trouble with Starfleet.”

“I’ll thank you, Commander Tucker, Sub-commander T’Pol, Lt Reed, to allow me to make that choice for myself!”

“We still lack evidence that Pushkin fired first,” T’Pol pointed out calmly. “Even if that is the case, we do not know who gave the order to fire.”

“We’ll see what Captain Dexter has to say about that.” Archer looked grim, already more than half convinced.

The other three exchanged glances; they had discussed their captain’s likely reaction. “We don’t think that’s a good idea, cap’n.” Tucker had again drawn the short straw based on long friendship. “Dexter’ll deny it and there isn’t enough evidence to have him arrested, not without an independent analysis of the sensor logs.”

“Then what do you suggest, commander?”

“Questioning Pushkin’s remaining crew.” Reed answered the question, always happy when he had an investigation to undertake. “Someone must know what happened, or at least hold parts of the puzzle. We need to fit them together.”

“And you don’t think it’ll make Dexter suspicious when you start interrogating his crew?”

“We’ll be discreet, sir. Commander Tucker and I will be on Pushkin in pursuit of our normal duties.”

“I thought Dexter had ordered you off Pushkin, Trip.”

“He did but if he wants to be able to fire his phase cannons, he’ll have to let me back.”

“You’ve cracked it?”

“I reckon. We’ll try it on Enterprise tomorrow. I’d rather trial it on a ship I know.”

Archer paused for a few moments, running options through his head, but finally sighed. “All right. Give it a try. But this time, people, keep me fully briefed. Now get out of here so I can get dressed.”

“All ready here, sir,” Reed reported briskly from tactical and Tucker nodded absently, running a final eye over the readouts on the engineering board.

“Cap’n?”

“Stand us off from Pushkin, Travis. Hoshi, warn them that if we drop out of warp they’re not to wait for us; we’ll catch them up.” The two ensigns hurried to obey and Archer looked back at the two men to his right. “On your mark, gentlemen.”

“OK.” Surreptitiously, Tucker took a firm grip on the edge of his console. “Watch your course, Travis, this could get a little shakey.” Cautiously, he fed in a new set of equations. “Extending the warp field … now.” There was the faintest of tremors but nothing worse and he confirmed, “The warp field’s stable. Malcolm?”

“Deploying phase cannons.” The Englishman sounded less pensive than the engineer although he shook his head a moment later. “It’s not enough. The disruption’s still too intense to let us work down there.”

Silently Tucker mouthed abuse at his console, even as he re-ran another set of calculations. “Let’s try a little more, then.”

“Commander,” T’Pol had been monitoring the progress of the experiment from the science station, “you are proposing to exceed the limits of your simulations.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He didn’t look up from his screen and T’Pol looked disapprovingly from the engineer to Archer who nodded his acceptance of her objection.

“Trip, are you sure there’s no risk to Enterprise? We don’t have too much leeway at the moment.”

“It’ll be OK. Extending the warp bubble by another … 5%.” This time the vibration was far more noticeable and didn’t subside. Sato looked nervously around as a PADD slid from a nearby console and gripped her seat. “Is that enough, Malcolm?”

“Yes.” Reed nodded firmly. “If you can hold it long enough.”

“How long d’you need?”

“Ninety minutes.”

Tucker grimaced. “There’s a heavy power drain. How’s the course looking, Travis?”

“Drifting but nothing I can’t correct. Our speed’s decreased by around 3% though.”

“What about the turbulence, Trip?” Archer questioned. “Pushkin’s not in good shape.”

“She’ll be OK. What d’you reckon, Malcolm? Can we cut it to an hour?”

“Oh, you’re helping for once, are you?” Tucker grinned at his friend. “It sounds feasible.”

“If you’re agreed,” Archer said dryly from where he was keeping a prudent hold on the command chair, “perhaps you’d like to restore Enterprise to normal, Commander Tucker, and tell me what you’ve got planned for Pushkin.”

Ten minutes later, Archer looked up from the schematic presented on the situation room’s screen and frowned reprovingly at Reed. “You expect me to authorise this?”

“Sir?”

“You’re proposing to access Pushkin’s phase cannons at warp. In an environmental suit.”

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm, that’s crazy. The near field effects alone …”

“That’s why I needed Commander Tucker to extend the warp bubble, sir. It creates space for us to work,” the Englishman leant forward to indicate the small envelope, “just there.”

“T’Pol, you tell them.”

The first officer gave her captain a resigned look but obliged. “Extra-vehicular working at warp has never before been attempted. Under the present circumstances, to risk both our tactical officer and chief engineer in an unnecessary and futile attempt to restore another ship’s offensive capability is illogical in the extreme.”

“How else are we going to gain access to Pushkin’s crew?” Reed asked and T’Pol turned to give her conclusion to Archer.

“Perhaps direct questioning of Captain Dexter is the only way to proceed.”

“Not gonna work.” Tucker had been lounging on the edge of the table. “We need to get over there. I always wanted to see space up close and personal.”

“If the risk was acceptable, why do you and Lt. Reed find it expedient to undertake the work yourselves?” Vulcans could glare very hard. “If you were confident of success, you would delegate.”

“We’ll be fine.” He wasn’t answering Enterprise’s first officer and T’Pol turned back to Archer, annoyance growing. Her objection had been rational and professional; Tucker had no right to imply that she was concerned for him at a personal level.

“Since it appears that my opinion is not required, captain, I have other tasks to perform.”

She stalked away and Archer sighed. “She has a point.” It was his turn to glare at the two men. “If I could think of a better plan I wouldn’t permit this, but unfortunately I can’t. I’ll let Dexter know that you’ll be reporting to Pushkin at 0900 tomorrow – once I’ve reviewed those probability figures again.”

“Malcolm can go over them with you, cap’n,” Tucker was already edging towards the main bridge. “I got … other stuff to do.”

Archer shook his head and let the engineer go. He had a pretty good idea exactly what sort of other stuff his friend needed to take care of.

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

Continued in Part 3

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