World of Ice

Chapter 4 - Dilithium

Summary: Trip is sent on a secret mission in order to help Archer and T’Pol.   

Against T’Pol several accusations of treason have been made. On his way to his destination, Trip is caught by Orions and sold as a slave. He ends up with the Andorian Skrov, the Tellerite Gel and the Vulcans V’Ran and Mita, prisoners who are sentenced to work in a Romulan mining facility at Farel Moon.   

A/N: Thanks to my awesome beta EntAllat and to my readers for their kind reviews.  

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Part One 

Gray.  They were enclosed by the gray walls of the shuttle, packed into a corner. Trip had been standing here, together with 40 other prisoners, from the moment their journey to Farel Moon had started. There was barely any space between them. It was crowded and warm, and the odor of body sweat was hard to ignore.  Trip could hardly move. On top of that, the collar around his neck was irritating his skin and he had developed a strange rash behind his ear that was itching terribly. And he was thirsty.    

Luckily for him, V’Ran and Skrov were standing behind him. Two times Trip had felt his legs buckle beneath him, but before he could fall to the hard floor he had felt Skrov’s and V’Ran’s hands grab him. “Hold on, Terran,” Skrov had commented. “Please remain standing, Rokel,” the warm voice of V’Ran had added.   

Next to Trip was Mita. The Vulcan woman reminded him of T’Pol. He missed T’Pol beyond words, and the mysterious disappearance of his sense of her and their bond made him feel empty, lonely, and lost.   

Even in his miserable state, he couldn’t help being intrigued by Mita. Her Vulcan features were as delicate as T’Pol’s, and she came across as confident and calm, but her open expression and her smile gave away the fact that she had a totally different background than most Vulcans.  Her bulging belly reminded Trip of the fact that he and T’Pol wanted a child so badly. Their last failed attempt still weighed heavy on his mind. Seeing Mita – a mother to be – caused a pang of pain and regret in Trip’s heart.  It also made him to want to support Mita even more; he knew she’d had a hard time standing all day in her pregnant state in such a crowded space full of smelly men.  

One time he had seen her face turn very pale. V’Ran had asked if she was all right and Trip had taken her hand very quickly and squeezed it.  It seemed to help - the color returned to Mita’s face.  “Pa’Farel aikum,” he had told her in his best Vulcan.  We are almost at Farel Moon.  If that was actually true, he had no idea, but she had given him a warm smile. “Veh-t-ved,” she answered. Only one day to go.   

Trip had lost all sense of time, so he didn’t really know if the journey would take another day. But after what seemed like an eternity he felt the shuttle descend.  The prisoners around him started to murmur; a sense of excitement filled the group. Their journey had finally ended.  

The door of the shuttle opened. Trip heard a howling wind screeching around the shuttle. The Valakian guards, who had been sitting the entire journey with their phasers ready to shoot a prisoner if they felt like it, called for attention. They divided the prisoners into groups of five. One by one, they were ordered to leave the shuttle. Trip was in the first group, together with Mita.  

As soon as Trip jumped out of the shuttle and felt the stony ground beneath him, grains of gray dust flew into his face, irritating his eyes He blinked away tears and stared in front of him. The air was filled with gray flakes swirling around. It was like walking into a snowstorm. “Run,” the guards, protected by the masks they were wearing, screamed.  Trip started running forward, followed by Mita. For a second Trip only saw gray dots in front of him, but then he saw the outline of a shed. This was their new home.  

The doors of the old house opened. Trip and his group walked into a hallway that held a large table on one side. A couple of gray uniforms lay neatly folded on the table. The guards ordered Trip and his companions to take their clothes off and put on the uniforms.  

His clothes had become covered with the flakes, creating gray dots all over his overalls. On closer inspection, Trip could see that they weren’t really flakes, but particles of a shimmery material. Before placing his clothes on the floor, Trip quickly held them close to his nose and inhaled. The particles smelled familiar; they had a dilithium-like scent.   

Trip quickly took off the rest of his clothes until he was standing in his Starfleet blue underwear. He felt his medallion under his shirt, almost glued to his skin. It was his IDIC - a necklace with a triangle shaped hanger that had belonged to T’Pol’s father. Trip had kept this Vulcan jewelry on him since the day he married T’Pol.   

A guard walked towards him, making Trip nervous that he would discover the IDIC, but the guard didn’t look at him. Instead, he just grabbed Trip behind his neck, forced him down, and pushed a few buttons at Trip’s collar. Then he handed Trip a uniform. Under the impatient eye of the guard Trip hurried to dress himself in the uniform, after which the guard held out the hand-shaped device that was used for identification.  Trip’s heart was pounding as he muttered his name: “Rokel”.

Trip’s entire group had their collars modified and were dressed in the gray outfits before they were guided to their new living quarters. There they waited until the entire group had arrived. Trip was relieved to see V’Ran, Skrov and Gel among them.  

Their new home was built of brick. The first room they entered had only one window and a stone floor.  Two doors – set far apart from each other – were to be seen, suggesting adjoining areas. Several identification devices hung on the walls. The area was filled with metallic bunk beds, one bed at the bottom, one on top, and the beds were set in rows of four. On each of them a perfectly folded blanket was found. There was a sink and a water tap. Next to those was a device that seemed to function as a stove, though it was hardly working; the room felt cold and damp.   

One guard about the same size as Trip, with brown eyes, black hair and the familiar Valakian ridges around his face, appeared to be in charge. Stern yet calm looking,  he ordered the prisoners to stand in lines. V’Ran quickly translated for Trip what the guard said. “I am Sub-commander Hinan. Welcome to Farel Moon, workers. As property of the Romulan Empire you will work in the mines. Our rules must be obeyed.” Hinan stared sharply at the faces of the new prisoners before him. “The other workers will be back soon. You will join them for the evening meal in the mess hall and return here. Tomorrow you will hear the alarm. Report at once to one of the identification devices. After your breakfast you will assemble in front of the living quarters.  From there you will be transported to the mines, and after work back to the workers area.” 

Hinan took out a PADD and called out their names.  A prisoner would step forward to be assigned to his sleeping place. Trip discovered every bed had a metal plate attached to it.  Each prisoner stooped and moved his collar in front of the plate to scan the collar.  

Shrov and Gel’s beds were in the middle of the room, but the ones belonging to Trip, V’Ran and Mita were at the end of the sleeping area.  Mita crawled under the blanket of her bed, the lines in her face indicating how tired she was. V’Ran had the bunk adjoining hers.  V’Ran took his blanket off his bed and covered Mita gently with it. She smiled at him and protested, giving him his blanket back.  

Mita was right; it was too cold to be without a blanket, but Trip had seen the stove, and it could be fixed. Trip hid the dilithium particles under his blanket and stepped towards one of the guards. He gestured with his hands that he would like to fix the stove.  

The guard didn’t get angry, but simply growled and gestured back that Trip could start working.  Trip found a dustpan and a small brush near the stove and cleaned the stove, so that he could reach the airflow opening. He continued working on it as long as the guards were in the room. As soon as Hinan and his men stepped out the door with the changing of the guards, Trip quickly walked to his bed and retrieved the dilithium particles. He placed them in the stove and pressed the button for fire. As he had expected, the stove came to life, spreading warmth across the room.  

From a distance, Trip could see Skrov observing him work, obviously pleased at what he saw. Gel yelled from his place, “Are you finally being useful, Terran?”

Returning to his bed, Trip saw Mita give him a thankful look. V’Ran gave him a short Vulcan nod of approval.  A warm feeling filled Trip’s heart, easing the pain of missing T’Pol and being away from home. He had made some friends. He would need those if he ever wanted to escape. Until then, he knew he needed to keep a low profile and stay out of trouble.  

Part Two  

Gray.  Trouble waited for Trip as soon as the gray faced Nausicaan laid eyes on him in the dining hall. It was dark. He and his fellow prisoners, tired and hungry after a long day of hard work, had returned. Guided by the guards, they all moved directly to the adjoining dining hall. Trip was waiting in line, his plate now filled with a watery substance, looking for a place to sit on one of the benches that were placed in front of the tables.  

The Nausicaan, a tall gray man with spikes running down his forehead ridges, passed him. He gave Trip a nasty look and screamed “Terran!” at him. Trip decided to not respond and walked through, but was stopped once again by the Nausicaan.  He shoved Trip into the nearest wall, causing Trip’s plate to fall on the floor.   

The big Nausicaan growled at him, showing his brownish teeth. With one movement he punched Trip in the stomach. It all happened so fast. Trip saw four more Nausicaans join the first one, each more yellow and pinkish in color than the previous, with big, mean smiles on their ugly faces. One of them grabbed Trip by the upper arm, holding him, while the first Nausicaan got ready to hit him again. With all his strength Trip managed to free himself from the iron grip and tried to escape.

He didn’t get far; he heard a deep growl behind him. Big hands snatched his collar and dragged him to the wall again. Trip stared into the eyes of mad men, his face so close he could smell their bad breath. The big guy’s fists started to pound him, kicking and hitting him wherever he could. The big guy’s friends cheered with every blow.

Trip attempted to suppress the pain and then fight back, relying on memories of Malcolm’s combat training. He avoided some hits, blocked a few blows, and started to punch back. His breathing became erratic as he gave all he had in fighting the Nausicaan. At one point, his opponent let out a scream and banged his head against Trip’s. At the same time, one of the other Nausicaans kicked Trip against his left knee and he lost his balance. Before he knew it, Trip was on the floor, the strong hands of the Nausicaan around his neck with an iron grip, chocking him. 

Trip struggled to breathe. His hands tried to push his attacker away, but the Nausicaan held him down and tightened his grip on his throat. Trip started sweating as he fought to get some air, when suddenly the hands of the Nausicaan lost all their strength. Air filled his lungs again, and Trip inhaled deeply.  

He got up, finding the Nausicaan collapsed in a heap on the floor and V’Ran standing over his body. Trip noticed the Nausicaan had a deep purple mark in his neck, and surmised that V’Ran had given him a neck pinch to knock him down.  Gel and Skrov had placed themselves between Trip and the group of other Nausicaans, looking angrily at them. One of the guards, who had done nothing to stop the fight, stepped forward and whispered something to the Nausicaans. The Nausicaans looked in the direction of V’Ran. One of them muttered a response before they all moved along, leaving Trip alone. 

“Come,” V’Ran told Trip, and led him to a place at one of the tables. Without a word, Trip followed V’Ran and sat down, still feeling the tension and rush of the fight. He had bruises on his hands and neck and a head wound that was bleeding.  He wiped the blood away with his hands. 

Mita brought him a new plate of food. Trip’s hands shook slightly as he started eating. If V’Ran hadn’t intervened, he wouldn’t have survived. “Thank you,” he said to the Vulcan who sat opposite him. V’Ran looked up from his plate, his dark brown eyes briefly on him. “Eat, Rokel,” V’Ran replied, “Food will give you strength.”  

But it wasn’t the food that gave Trip strength. It was the thought that his newfound friends were willing to protect him against enemies in this place.  

Part Three  

Gray. Trip followed the line of prisoners, all dressed in their gray uniforms as they made their way back into the mines.  Every day at 5 a.m. it was time to work in the mines. The prisoners worked with a small hand drill to remove the ore from the hard walls. When Trip started working, his fingers were half frozen and he cut himself several times, but he soon he got the technique under control and was successful in retrieving the ore.   

During the long hours his mind wandered off to the events that had led him to Farel Moon. He had so many questions: How had the Orions been able to attack a cloaked vessel? Why did they sell him to the Romulans? He remembered while he had been barely consciousness on the Orion ship that he had heard the voice of an elderly female.  Her tone of voice had been so familiar, like a memory of the past, but he couldn’t put a name to it.   

The most important question for him was why he couldn’t feel the bond. Had something happened to T’Pol? Had Starfleet Intelligence arrested her based on the accusations made against her? He hadn’t thought so when he first felt this mental connection between him and T’Pol, but now he felt incomplete and empty without the sweet buzzing presence of the bond with his wife in his mind. 

To get answers he needed to escape from this moon.  His first goal was to gather as much information as possible about this facility. Trip had noticed that the prisoners didn’t talk much to each other.  He suspected it had to do with the collars – they were obviously monitoring devices - that every worker was wearing and which allowed the guards to keep a close eye on them.  The tunnels of the mines offered a little bit more freedom because the guards seemed to avoid those.  

So Trip counted himself lucky when he was assigned to work with Gel in one of the more remote tunnels of the mine. Gel spoke Trip’s language and turned out be a wealth of information.  In English with a strong Tellarite accent and colored by the occasional Tellerite insult, he told Trip that Farel Moon was a very old mining facility of the Romulans, now guarded by Valakians. Only three months ago two old tunnels had caved in, and one month later an earthquake had damaged several other tunnels.  The death toll had been enormous.   

“So you understand why the guards don’t like to come here,” Gel told him. “It’s also the reason why all the new slaves and convicted criminals are sent here - to make up for lost production.” Gel turned to Trip and grinned. “I can see from your ugly face that you want to know if I am a slave or some criminal.” He held up his hand drill, placed it on the hard wall and retrieved a small piece of dilithium. Holding the crystal between his thumb and finger he said, “I am a honest smuggler, Rokel. Romulans reserve the death penalty for the more serious crimes. They say a man who can use his hands for stealing can better use that talent in the mines.” 

Gel’s past as a dilithium smuggler wasn’t the only discovery Trip made that day.  In the late hours of the day, as Trip and Gel had finished their work and were making their way back, Trip saw the group of Nausicaans again. He felt nervous and prepared to defend himself again, but they only gave the two of them a dirty look and kept on walking without starting a fight.  

Trip was stunned. He had tasted the rage and the madness of the Nausicaan group first hand. Every day he feared he would run into them again without his friends to help him during the fight.

He nodded in the direction of the Nausicaans and whispered to Gel as they continued walking “Did you see that? I can’t believe it. They don’t seem the type to give up messing with us after one fight.” 

Gel gave him a peculiar look. “It would be foolish to underestimate them, Rokel,” he answered in a low voice. “I think they remember what the guard told them.”  

Trip remembered that the guard had made a remark about V’Ran. “What did he say? Was it about V’Ran?” he asked Gel softly. 

“Yes,” Gel answered. “He said that V’Ran had killed a man with his bare hands. Nausicaans have great respect for a man of violence.”  

“V’Ran didn’t kill him.  He only knocked him unconscious,” Trip replied. “I just saw my attacker, he looks fine.”  

Gel inhaled deeply through his nostrils. “That’s not what the guard meant. V’Ran is convicted of murder.” 

Trip stared at Gel in disbelief. Gel’s sober expression convinced him that the Tellarite had told the truth. 

At least, it was the truth from Gel’s point of view. Truth was a hard commodity at Farel Moon, and Trip wondered what had really happened with V’Ran. He himself, and maybe many others in this place, were innocent of any crime, and yet were treated as prisoners and slaves. Wouldn’t the murder charges against V’Ran also be unjust?

V’Ran was the same man that just a few days ago had saved his life. The Nausicaans would have killed him if V’Ran had not prevented it.  He had taken a great risk for Trip, an alien and a stranger he’d had met only a few days before. V’Ran had been a friend to him, and in the past few days Trip had come to respect the elderly Vulcan. In his own distinguished way, V’Ran helped the others and quietly cared for Mita, the woman who carried his child.

Trip had a hard time digesting this bit of news, and then a thought occurred to him. “I thought the punishment for murder under Romulan law is the death penalty,” he said.   

“It is,” Gel answered. “I don’t know why he was spared. V’Ran was a servant slave for decades for one of the most important family on Hetaria. That’s a Romulan colony. I lived there for a couple of years. V’Ran was well respected, but when he told the authorities he had killed a man, they arrested him. We all thought he was going to be executed. The story is that Mita came to his defense and explained the circumstances of the murder.  She was allowed to speak in the House of Justice because she had that right as a widow of a Romulan. I was still surprised they let her, because she is known as a Kirakite and the Romulans hate them.” Gel inhaled through his nose again. “I don’t know what Mita said, but it worked. V’Ran got away with a life sentence.” 

Trip always had been curious about Mita’s background, since she appeared to be Vulcan, but showed her emotions much more than a Vulcan would. “What’s a Kirakite?” he asked.  

“Kirakites are pacifistic idiots, trouble-makers,” Gel said. “They are mostly slaves and low ranking people in Romulan society. You can’t call them a threat, although some in the Romulan military think that way.”   

Trip wanted to ask more, but Gel and he passed by another tunnel. Crowds of people came out and joined them as they headed towards the main road.  “No more questions,” Gel whispered. Trip got the hint.  

That night Trip was lying on his bunk bed wrapped in his gray blanket, cold and still hungry. Tonight’s special had been a flavorless rice soup.  All the other prisoners had returned to their beds and were now sleeping.   

But sleep didn’t come for Trip; the discussion of the day kept his mind occupied. Trip’s bed was close to V’Ran’s, so he had seen every day how the Vulcan meditated. Via his marriage and bond to T’Pol Trip had learned that Vulcan body language spoke louder than words.  Often during meditating V’Ran was restless, opening his eyes and closing them. Sometimes V’Ran would stare at nothing and bow his head in that Vulcan way that indicated shame.  Now Trip understood why.  

In a way, V’Ran reminded Trip of T’Pol, who had struggled with the memory of lives lost during her command at Azati Prime and during the Romulan war. She had been the only Vulcan fighting alongside Humans, because as she put it – the times were extreme. Trip remembered that conversation as if it had been yesterday.

It had been the day Ensign McRae died. The ship had been under attack and Engineering had taken a serious hit. A fire had started and Trip had ordered everyone to leave. His crewmates had rushed out; he had sealed off Engineering and put the fire extinguishers on. Communication was off line, so he ordered his second in command Rostov to take the more seriously injured to sickbay. He had noticed one crewmember was missing, one of his new ensigns, Lindsey McRae. She was a red haired woman with the same brown-greenish eye color as T’Pol and a wicked sense of humor. No one had seen her.

But time was running out. He had to monitor the warp core and get the emergency generators on line. After Enterprise had successfully shaken off the Romulan attack, Trip had returned to Engineering. The fire had died out, but Engineering was full of smoke and dust. In the midst of it lay the body of a young woman. She was seriously burned. It was Ensign McRae. Later, Phlox had told him that Lindsey had suffered from severe head trauma which in combination with inhaling the fumes had caused her death.

Lindsey had been placed under his responsibility and under his watch – and she had died.

That night, even with T’Pol’s warm body curled next to him, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Depression, no stranger to him, was lurking in the darkness. Eyes wide open, he saw in his mind the people he had lost, people he had felt responsible for.

There had been Charles, the Cogenitor, in his early days on Enterprise. Trip had just wanted to be a friend to Charles and let her enjoy all the simple pleasures of life, like books and music, which she seemed to be very interested in. When Charles was denied asylum and killed herself there weren’t words to describe how terrible he had felt.  Jon’s words – spoken out of anger and frustration - that Trip was responsible for Charles’s death had wounded Trip deeply. For months he had struggled behind the doors of his quarters with overwhelming feelings of guilt, until finally he found some peace.

There had been his sister, Lizzie, who died in the Xindi attack. Her death had made his insomnia return. Bitterly he had fought the Xindi until, with the help of T’Pol, he was able to let go of his anger and pain. He still missed his baby sister.

There had been his daughter. He had loved her from his first sight of her. She was the most amazing little girl in the world. When she died, he had felt like he, her father, had failed to protect her, and part of him had died too. There wasn’t a day that he didn’t think of her.

Now there was Lindsey. There wasn’t anything he could have done for her. But he struggled with deep feelings of guilt that this young woman under his command had died in such a horrible way.

T’Pol had stirred next to him. “You can’t sleep?” she had asked softly.

“Yeah,” he had answered.

She had laid her small hand on his chest in a gesture of comfort. “I grieve with thee,” T’Pol had said.

He had sighed. “It’s probably not very logical to feel so responsible for Lindsey’s death,

“Perhaps  not,” T’Pol had answered. “But it’s very Human…and Vulcan.

He had looked at her, her beautiful eyes so close by. Trip knew how she had struggled with the deaths under her command at Azati Prime. He had sensed her deep and overwhelming grief when their daughter had died.

“We should mourn the persons who died,” T’Pol had continued. “But don’t let those emotions consume you.” Her words echoed what she had told him a long time ago in the Expanse as they had mourned Lizzie together.

“That’s not all,” he had answered, deciding he should tell her what had been on his mind lately.  “Part of me is relieved I can still feel,” he had told her bitterly. “There are so many people dying. Sometimes I’m afraid that it will only take a little time before I don’t feel for them anymore.

Trip knew he had hardened during the war – he couldn’t command people in wartime without creating some distance. He wasn’t sure he liked this new Trip. But he had made a promise to himself that he would remember his fallen comrades. He owed them that much.

“Your feelings are your strength, Trip,” T’Pol had answered, while her eyes never left his face. “You won’t lose them. They are part of you. It’s what makes you Human, my Human.

He had smiled at her, his fingers touching her cheeks. “T’Pol. Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you stayed to fight with us in this rotten war that seems to have no end? 

“You’re my mate,” T’Pol had touched his arm in comfort. “I want to fight with you.” She was silent for a moment. “Not that I don’t hate the violence. Surak taught us to turn away from our violent nature and past. Life is sacred for animals and persons,” she explained.

Then she said the words that stayed with him and would help him during the years of war. “But there is a difference between mere brutality and defending your family and friends,” she said.  “Surak would say that there are extreme circumstances when it’s only logical to act and strike back. For me, this war is such time.”   

Maybe such a time had also had come for V’Ran.  

A sound brought him back to the present. It was very soft, almost undetectable, but so different from the sound of sleeping males that he looked up. V’Ran and Mita were talking softly. Mita sat at the corner of V’Ran’s bed. Trip saw V’Ran placed his hand on Mita’s belly in a shy fashion. He quickly jerked his hand back, like he hardly dared to touch her. Mita gently nodded in encouragement.  

It was such a personal moment that Trip turned his head and closed his eyes, still seeing the scene in his mind.  Whatever had happened and whatever V’Ran had done, it had to have been while he was protecting Mita.   

Part Four 

Gray. The morning looked as gray as usual as Trip stood up, stiff from sleeping on the hard bed.  He went through his daily routine: pressing his hands against the indication device, getting in line for his breakfast, and being pushed into a vehicle for his trip to the mines. Since the day Gel had told him about V’Ran, Trip had been assigned to other teams. Today he expected to work with the same small green-faced male as yesterday, but to his surprise, Mita joined him.  

Mita’s delicate fingers firmly gripped the drill as she produced one small piece of ore after another.  “Vohris.” Trip said to her, gesturing at her bulging belly as he saw how hard she worked without taking a break. Slow down. Mita responded with a friendly smile, said “T’hank you,” in her best English and continued at the same pace, fully focused on her task.  

Trip was surprised that Mita knew a little bit of English, and the rest of the day they spoke to each other in a mixture of simple Vulcan and English words. At the end of the day Mita pointed to Trip’s ear and said slowly in Vulcan, “You have a rash behind your ear.” He nodded, glad he understood all that she had said.  He first had felt it during his transport to the Farel Moon because of the terrible itch it caused. In the last few days his skin behind his ear had felt swollen and had started to burn.

The next sentence that Mita spoke was more difficult to comprehend, but he understood the words “swollen” and “rash” and “worry”.

Trip shook his head. “Not to worry, Mita. It’s just a rash,” he reassured her.

Mita didn’t look convinced, but as they both resumed their work, she didn’t bring it up again.

That night, after he was asleep, someone woke him by pulling at his arm. Startled, he opened his eyes and saw Mita standing by his bed, joined by V’Ran. “Mita is convinced that the rash behind your ear is caused by an insect. If not treated, you could become seriously ill,” was the first thing the Vulcan said.  

Trip rose to a sitting position. It was strange to speak with V’Ran again now that he knew of his past. Keeping his voice down he answered calmly, “I wasn’t bitten by an insect.” He pointed to the spot behind his ear. “It all started with a sort of patch. I can’t get it off.” V’Ran translated Trip’s words to Mita. He explained that the patch had been given to him as a means of communication.

The patch had the same color as his skin and had been affixed to his skin; he hardly could feel it himself. He guessed it could only be seen by looking very closely, so the guards hadn’t noticed it.

Mita asked him if she could see the patch. He agreed, and bent his ear forward so she could have a better look. Mita examined the rash and moved her small fingers on the area of the patch. She murmured a few words, sounding concerned.

“Rovotkau,” she said slowly.

“What’s rovotkau?” Trip struggled to pronounce the alien name.

“An insect,” Mita answered in Vulcan. She frowned slightly and quickly she started to tell him her observations, her tone of voice of that of a professional doctor. V’Ran translated her every word. “Your patch looks like the inner casing of the rovotkau insect. I have seen it before. When the casing is placed against the skin, it opens and the insect infiltrates into your body, more specifically your brain. It will leave a poison that will have a paralyzing effect on your qui’lari.” 

“Poison? In my brain? What’s a qui’lari?” Trip asked, suddenly concerned.  

“The focal points of the bioelectric field of the brain,” Mita told him. “The poison of the rovotkau is used to block certain connections in the brain of a Vulcan. It’s a very effective method, mostly used in war times by enemies. I have never seen it used on other species.”  

“I have a bug in my brain?” Trip tried very hard to contain his horror. “Are you sure? How do you know so much of this?” 

“I was a doctor of medicine and an entomologist in a former life,” Mita answered, but before she could continue talking, a guard opened the door. It would only take a few seconds before the guard would discover them talking, so Mita and V’Ran rushed back to their beds and pretended to be sleeping.   

A day passed before V’Ran and Mita dared to speak with him again. Trip had a hard time believing Mita’s disturbing story of an insect in his brain. He told Mita that the patch was given to him. “It attached to my skin right away. I felt a burning sensation, and after that I was disorientated.” 

“Normal symptoms, Rokel,” Mita remarked. “Did something else happen? Did you notice something was off?”  

It suddenly hit him. He had lost his bond with T’Pol at that moment. Trip felt so stupid for not realizing it before. It wasn’t T’Pol’s fault, or his; they had been manipulated.  

He hesitated to tell Mita and V’Ran of his discovery. He always had kept his bond with T’Pol secret. Only recently had the Vulcans in his part of the universe discovered their Vulcan heritage, including the fabled bond between mates. Would Mita and V’Ran understand? His gut was telling him it was important to tell them.

“Have you heard of the bond – of the Kah-ka?” he asked them.  

V’Ran gave him a strange look and answered before Mita could. “The Kah-ka is a bond between a Vulcan couple, Rokel,” he said. “I didn’t know that Terran couples had bonds.” 

“My wife is Vulcan,” he said. V’Ran raised an eyebrow and Mita smiled. “That would explain a great deal,” she said, sounding very pleased.  “Does your infection interfere with the bond?” 

“It disappeared,” Trip whispered and he heard his own despair in his words.  “Right after I got the device. Can you help me?” 

“I can’t use modern methods here. But there is an old and rather primitive procedure, using certain herbs and other botanical ingredients. The material for this we can find in the medical facility. It will neutralize the poison,” Mita told him. “One of the side effects would be that the rovotkau dies as well.” 

Mita gave him an earnest look. “It’s not an easy method. There is a two percent chance the rovotkau will not die, but instead mutate, and that only the poison will be neutralized.  Most Vulcans get sick using this method.” She hesitated, but then added “Vulcan metabolism seems to be much stronger than Terran, so prepare for the worst, Rokel.”  

Trip was convinced of the seriousness of his situation. His communication with T’Pol had been sabotaged, and if he ever wanted to escape he needed the bond back.  “I don’t care – you do whatever it takes, Mita,” he answered.  

Mita tried to contact the moon’s medical facility. Later, as Trip was sitting at his table in the mess hall surrounded by the din of pans, plates, cutlery, yelling cooks, and people walking around and finding their places, V’Ran and Skrov came to sit next to him. V’Ran had a message from Mita. The medical assistant was willing to give the necessary ingredients for the antidote – but for a price. “He wanted something of value  in exchange for the material,” V’Ran explained. “That’s hard to find.” 

For the first time doubts entered Trip’s mind. Trip indeed had something of great value that he didn’t want to lose. Would he risk his precious memories of his life with T’Pol because of a fantastic diagnosis by a woman he hardly knew?  

“Mita is right, Rokel,” Skrov interrupted his thoughts. Skrov took another bite of the stale bread in front of him, swallowed it and continued, “Mita’s a good doctor. She helped me when one of my antennae got infected.” 

Trip touched the irritated spot behind his ear. He recalled Peterson’s words, then the symptoms he had experienced after attaching the patch behind his ear. Trip remembered how the bond had disappeared. He reached down his shirt. With pain in his heart he pulled off his IDIC and gave it to V’Ran. “This will be enough.” 

V’Ran took the medallion and admired the Vulcan jewelry in the curve of his hand. “What a beautiful da ek’zura, Rokel. It’s a family piece, isn’t it?” V’Ran closed his hand, making it into a fist, and reached out to return the medallion. “Keep it. We will find another way. This is much too valuable to give away,” he said.  

“You’re right,” Trip answered, “but it’s the only way to get the antidote.” And my only way to get T’Pol back.   

With the help of the medical assistant Mita was able to collect the material she needed and made it into a smelly juice that Trip had to drink.  He felt terrible after doing so, suffering from intensive migraine attacks. He was hardly able to eat. Meanwhile, he was expected to work in the mines as usual. To make things worse, there was no sign the bond was returning. He felt depressed, thinking he had lost the IDIC for nothing. He feared he would walk around with this insect in his head forever.  

His symptoms got worse. One moment he was as cold as the ice around him, the next his body was on fire. But change was coming.  It started with a very vivid dream of T’Pol about the morning after their wedding day. Everything was just like it had been, and it had felt so terribly real until he woke up and saw V’Ran’s face.  After that dream his body felt as if it was getting worse, but he could tell that his mind was getting stronger.  

A couple of days later Mita told him that she was worried about his condition. “The treatment isn’t complete yet, and will be less effective if we stop now, but maybe it is better that we do,” she said.

“Do I need more treatment?” he asked.

“Yes,” Mita answered in her straightforward manner. “But you’re already very sick; you’re taking a great risk if we continue.”

“I’m stronger than you think, Mita,” Trip replied. “Just get on with it.”

So Mita went on with the treatment. Trip became sicker than he ever had been in his life. He couldn’t get up anymore, and just lay there on his bed. He felt like he was burning inside, streams of sweat poured from him. Even his bones ached. As the hours went on, he developed such a pounding headache that he had to bite on a piece of wood to prevent himself from screaming. It was followed by long waves of nausea and violent shaking; he couldn’t stop his body from moving. He went in and out of consciousness, lights flickered on and off. Vaguely he heard the alarm go off before he lost awareness altogether.  

He woke up. His head was still spinning, but he realized he wasn’t in the worker area anymore.  It smelled like Phlox’s sickbay. He heard a loud voice and felt a hypospray placed against his neck. Then a male voice told him to open his mouth. Pills were shoved in. Trip swallowed his medicine and closed his eyes.  

The next thing he knew  he was walking in a strange landscape with gray clouds and gray particles that fell from the sky. The particle storm became heavier as he walked along, but the storm in his body had ceased to exist. He experienced a peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like a part of him that had been missing had returned and made him whole again.   

As he walked further, it seemed like more and more particles were falling, blurring his view. Vaguely he could distinguish a figure in the distance. When he was closer he could see it was a woman. She was sitting with her legs crossed and staring into a flame of a candle in front of her. She was wearing a gray sweater and jogging pants. The gray flakes from the heavens poured down on her.  

“T’Pol!” Trip called out. 

Part Five  

Earth – San Francisco – The guest room in Amanda Cole’s apartment. 

Gray. Her white space was grayer and darker than it used to be. For a second time T’Pol opened her eyes and promptly shut them again.

Meditation didn’t come easily. She was in a guest room in Amanda Cole’s apartment, dressed in an old sweater and jogging pants that belonged to Cole. They still smelled of the Human woman. T’Pol had come here a few days ago when she had left her own home, so quickly that she hadn’t taken any of her own clothes with her. Malcolm Reed had suggested Cole’s place, and T’Pol had agreed. No one would think to look here for here.  

But it hadn’t been easy. Years of suppressing her emotions had helped her to interact with Cole in a most neutral fashion. She was grateful that Cole had offered them a hiding place, but if she was honest, T’Pol knew her emotions were always stirred when Cole was around. 

Years ago, T’Pol had been devoured by jealousy, thinking of Trip and Cole together.  Cole was Human, brought up in the same geographical area as Trip, confident, beautiful, and intelligent - all qualities Trip liked. It had been one of the darkest and most shameful periods in T’Pol’s life. Her emotions and long hidden feelings for Trip had spiraled out of her control. T’Pol had become an addict, weak, caught up in the consuming fire of jealousy that had flamed so high that logic had left her. Blindly, she had claimed Trip. Not that she regretted that Trip was her mate - nothing could be further from the truth - but her actions had caused harm to others, emotional pain for herself and Trip, whom she loved. 

But it would be foolish to let history impair her actions now. In the past few days T’Pol had come to acknowledge that Amanda Cole wasn’t without logic. Amanda had suggested that the best way to handle T’Pol’s situation was to return to Starfleet and face whatever charges were made against her.  Cole was right, hiding had no purpose. T’Pol needed to know what was going on in order to defend herself.  

One thing had stopped T’Pol from doing so: Trip’s death.  

She felt sick and lonely without Trip. One moment she was almost drowning in grief over his death, the next torn apart by doubts that Trip really was gone.  Headaches plagued her daily, as she obsessively searched every record available of the day of Trip’s accident.  

She had found too many disturbing things, such as several carefully erased data files. The most unnerving piece of data had been the discovery of a very well hidden signature trail. It indicated that during the time Trip had been in sickbay someone had been transported from that location out of Enterprise. Nothing indicated any organic matter floating in space, so that someone had to have been transported to a vessel. Her best idea was to a ship that had been cloaked. 

All of this had raised so many questions that she knew she needed to analyze the data further. She couldn’t do this while being investigated herself. 

In her mind she had developed the outlines of a hypothesis. She knew that Trip would have told her if he was going on a secret mission. What if those criminals that Shran was involved with had kidnapped Trip? Or maybe the Orions - who were very active in Coalition space at that moment – had taken him? Trip was a prominent member of Starfleet. Everyone would think they could demand a huge ransom for him. The only problem with this theory was that she was certain that the captain would have told her if that was the case. He wouldn’t have told her Trip was dead. The captain had been her friend and Trip’s friend for more than a decade. Why would he tell her lies about Trip?  Surely he would know that the truth always would come out and that telling her the facts was far more logical. But then again, why had the captain prevented her from seeing Trip’s body?  

T’Pol took a deep breath. She needed more facts, more hard evidence, and she would only find them if she could focus. Meditation would help her. She resettled herself and looked into the flame of the candle in front of her once again. Soon she was back in her white space, only to find the gray clouds again. She pressed on. It worked. The flame became lighter; it shone brighter before her and her head became clearer.  She felt  tension leave her body, and her katra came to rest.   

She had just begun the second stage of meditation when she heard a soft swooping sound. T’Pol opened her eyes.  Her white space was filled with gray particles raining down on her. It was like sitting in a snowstorm full of silvery dust flakes. She had never experienced this before. It was most… Trip-like.  Only with him around would such oddities happen in her white space.  Against all logic, her heart felt a spark of hope. 

She heard footsteps behind her.  “T’Pol!” she heard Trip’s voice say. 

She turned around and saw Trip standing there. His face was ash gray, his body thinner than before, but his eyes had that famous spark and he was so very much alive. She ran to him, but his arms were already around her and a wave of joy filled her mind.  “You’re back,” she whispered. 

She saw tears running down Trip’s face. In all the time she had lived with this Human, only twice she had seen him cry openly – when they had mourned together for his sister and her namesake, their daughter. Now, again, he had a hard time controlling his emotions. “I can feel you again,” he said with a hoarse voice. “I can feel you again in my head.” He kissed her full on the mouth. “I love you, baby,” he started, “I love you. I probably didn’t say it enough when we were together, but I love you. My universe is hell without you.” 

“As is mine,” she answered.  “I thought you were dead.” 

Trip pulled her closer. “I’m alive, and I’m never letting you go,” he said. “Never.” 

She folded her arms around him and warmed herself in his embrace, deprived as she had been of his affection for a long time.  

She searched his face, drinking in every line.  

“Find me,” Trip urged her as his crystal blue eyes bored into hers.  

She would find him and be with him – no matter the cost or the danger.