Chapter 8 - Desert Rose

Recapof the story: Trip is sent on a secret mission to clear T'Pol and Archer’s names. His vessel is attacked and the ship is blown up. Starfleet believes Trip died in the attack. However, Trip was beamed over to an Orion vessel before the explosion. The Orions sell Trip to the Romulans. In a Romulan prison Trip meets V'Ran, Mita, Gel and Skrov, who become his friends. A group called the Kirakites, followers of Kirak, rescues Trip and his friends. Now they are traveling towards a new hiding place. Meanwhile, Malcolm and T'Pol have discovered the truth: Trip is not dead.

 

 

A/N: The techno babble is not mine. Putaro is the genius behind it. I couldn't have written this story and this chapter without my awesome beta, EntAllat. Thanks to every reader and reviewer.

 

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Part One

Earth – San Francisco

Yellow.

 

She was nervous. T’Pol had taken her place in the small restaurant, sitting by one of the brightly yellow colored tables. The specialty of this establishment was fruit drinks of all kinds – the “newest rage” she had been told by Liz, who had selected this place. According to Liz, banana-pineapple was the most popular drink, which would explain the yellow color that dominated the store’s decor, including the yellow flags that had been placed everywhere.

 

And here, in these bright yellow surroundings, in a busy restaurant in the midst of a crowded mall, T'Pol waited for Captain Archer, a strawberry-banana drink in front of her. She took a sip – it tasted horribly sweet – but she couldn't care less about the drink. Her Vulcan upbringing was telling her to deal with the anxiety but, in spite of having meditated before she came here, she couldn't help the pit that had formed in her stomach. This was a most important meeting. She had to convince Archer to help her, and Malcolm, to find Trip. But she also had to convince him to not to hand her over to Starfleet Intelligence or Internal Affairs.

 

Malcolm was sitting across the street, on a terrace that looked out on this restaurant. If anything suspicious were to happen, he would warn her. That, and the presence of lots of other people, was her safeguard against Starfleet Intelligence attempting to arrest her. Still, she felt nervous being here in the open, more than she had expected.

 

She realized it might have something to do with her pregnancy. She placed her hand on her stomach and breathed in and out. She didn't care much about her own fate, but she had to do this. For Trip, and for their child.

 

A flash of desire washed over her. Images and memories filled her mind: She and Trip holding hands, Trip embracing her, she laying in his arms, feeling his bare skin, immersed in his unique smell.

 

Oh how she missed Trip, his touch, the scent of him...

 

When Trip had first touched her during neuropressure, she had only sensed his feelings vaguely. She had agreed to share the Vulcan practice with him, because she so much wanted to help Trip. She had fooled herself into believing that because Trip wasn't a touch telepath, that his touch wouldn't have a strong effect on her. But it had, and after every encounter it got stronger. The emotions she had felt, they had pulled her in. She had become immersed in them. They were so different, strange, alien, completely confusing, overwhelming, intoxicating, and addictive.

 

In later days, she had learned to discern what those Human emotions meant. She had been able to deal with them and, in fact, embraced them, like she had embraced Trip's touch.

 

She took a deep breath and rebuked herself for her lapse of control. She concentrated on the picture of a strawberry on her cup and started to meditate. It was an odd thing for a Vulcan to do, but she needed control. In a few minutes she felt better and she waited patiently as the minutes ticked away.

 

Finally she saw Archer entering the store. She watched him order a drink and a muffin, getting his food and moving to her table.

 

As he seated himself across from her, she noticed how tired he looked. The last time she had seen him he had seemed very different. He had to make an important speech about the foundations of the coalition and he had been eager to do so, but this was shortly after the accident that supposedly had killed Trip. T'Pol had known this tragedy was very much on the captain's mind. In one very awkward moment, while talking about the task ahead, he had suddenly given her a hug. She had stiffened under his touch, no matter how well it was intended as gesture of comport. He had quickly let go and smiled at her. T'Pol had nodded in response indicating she understood his meaning, had wished him good luck and had left. 

 

How different was his attitude now. He didn't asked her how she was, but said stiffly, “This must be your idea, this restaurant. All these healthy, vegetarian drinks.” He took a sip from his drink that, according to the cup in his hand, contained a kiwi-banana drink.

 

Actually, it hadn't been her idea at all to go to this place, but T'Pol felt it better not to contradict him. Years of experience had told her that if she needed to Archer to listen to her, he had to be in a good mood.

 

“But I am guessing, you didn't invite me to taste the local beverages,” the captain continued, lowering his voice.  “I.A .and S.I. is looking for you. You’ve been charged with some pretty serious crimes. You need to report in.” He put the drink down, shoved it aside and placed two hands on the table.

 

It took her a minute to realize that the reference to I.A. meant Internal Affairs and S.I. had to do with Starfleet Intelligence. Archer didn't want to name Starfleet in a public place. “What kind of crimes, Captain?” T'Pol asked in a soft tone.

 

“They have evidence that you sold technology to the Romulans.”

 

She felt a fury in her belly developing, anger at these ridiculous accusations and the fact that anyone believed them to be true, but she suppressed it with all her might.

 

“Commander Tucker and I worked on several projects concerning new technologies during the war. I never had contact with the Romulans and I certainly didn't sell any data. Was there any mention of the specific nature of the technology in this so-called evidence?” she said calmly. 

 

“I don't know,” Jon brushed aside her question. “But Admiral Black, S.I., and I.A. all have documents, decrypted files from your computer and a recorded conversation. They didn't come up with this without a good reason.”

 

“And you believe that evidence, Captain?” she said, her voice fully neutral.

 

“No, I don't,” Archer said with conviction. “But hiding from them doesn't work. Just cooperate and let your name, and mine, be cleared. You should have come to me when you heard about the accusations, T’Pol. We could have work something out. Now it looks like you don't trust me either.”

 

“I do trust you, Captain. I always have,” she told him, still keeping her voice down. “You must know this.” She took a breath and continued, “I had lost my husband, and it looked like I would lose my freedom as well. Then I discovered the truth. You haven't been honest to me, Captain. Trip didn't die in that ‘accident’.”

 

In the silence that followed her words, she saw the captain's face turn red. He swallowed hard.

 

“You must have your reasons for keeping the truth from me,” T'Pol said quickly. “But now that we both know the truth, I need your help. I have evidence that Trip was sent on a special mission and his vessel was attacked, but he wasn't killed. He escaped and was imprisoned. I want to start a rescue mission.” She spoke the words with haste, trying to get her message across as much as possible.

 

“So you still see me as your friend?” Jon asked her.

 

T'Pol's mind raced. Obviously there were a lot of things that needed to be discussed between them and, truth-be-told, her friendship with Archer had diminished somewhat in the last few years.

 

In her first year on Enterprise, she had come to see Archer as a sort of friend. She had not always understood him, and Jon had grown up with a lot of prejudice against Vulcans. But he had tried to work with her and she always had been mild in her judgment of him. One time he had suggested he was attracted to her, but she had thought that his being sleep deprived had more to do with his words than it being actually so. Besides that, most men on Enterprise saw her as a desirable woman, as she had discovered to her great surprise.

 

The captain didn't stir such strong and illogical feelings like Trip had, and that was the reason she had been fighting her feelings for Trip from the start. Nevertheless, Archer did seem to have some kind effect on her. If she was being honest with herself, T'Pol recognized that she’d always felt an illogical weakness for Archer. While meditating she had contemplated the possibility that these feelings stemmed from the fact that both their father’s had died young. As a captain's daughter, T'Pol knew the burdens of being a captain. In any case, Archer had tried to be friends with her and she had appreciated his efforts. Later it seemed that Archer had distanced himself from everyone, including Trip, burdened by the mission to save Earth. Their relationship had come to a halt, though they worked together on friendly terms.

 

But judging from that brief moment, as Jonathan had tried to console her after Trip's death, the remains of their old friendship were still there. T'Pol needed to convince him quickly of that, before her time ran out.

 

She took a deep breath, suppressed her feeling of awkwardness in touching someone other than her mate, and placed her hand on Archer’s for a brief moment. Jon’s hand was cold, but also clammy. In that brief moment of contact she sensed anger, confusion, bitterness and an ocean of sadness.

 

“I am your friend,” she said. “Just look back in time and you will know.”

 

Archer gave her a curious look, then smiled. He had gotten the message. She took a PADD out of her purse and shoved it towards the captain. “This PADD contains clear evidence that Commander Tucker isn't dead. In fact, he has been caught in enemy space, probably during a secret mission, and was taken prisoner.”

 

Archer frowned and took the PADD. “You said that before. I wish I could believe Trip was alive. We all loved Trip.”

 

“The evidence is compelling,” she replied calmly. “I ask you to study the documents on the PADD.  As you will find out, what I told you is true. I ask you for your help. A plan has been formed to rescue Commander Tucker and do so a vessel in needed.”

 

“That's asking for a lot, T'Pol,” Archer said. Despite the words, the tone of his voice was warm and T'Pol knew he was really listening to her.

 

“You're Trip’s best friend, captain. I know his presumed death must have hurt you. You have also told me about the Terran rule of leaving no man behind and in the first years of your friendship with Trip, you made a promise to always help him,” T'Pol reminded.

 

Jonathan Archer stared at her, disbelief on his face.  He stayed silent for a moment, than clicked on the PADD and turned it off right away. “I don't know,” he said. “I find it hard to believe anything these days. This can't be true.”

 

T'Pol suppressed her annoyance. “But when it is, captain, it's your duty to investigate.”

 

He nodded. “I assume information about the sources of the documents are included?”

 

“Yes,” she said. The PADD contained not only a copy of the documents, given by the mysterious woman Malcolm had met, but also the research T’Pol, Malcolm and Amanda had done. But the captain liked to figure everything out by himself and so he would.

 

“Alright,” Archer said, shifting in his chair. “I will study this, make sure this is authentic. If Trip really is alive and out there, I am going make sure there's going to be a rescue mission. With me in charge.”

 

He thought for a second. “Does Malcolm know about this? I bet he does. We can use a good security officer.”  He stood up and moved to the door. Quickly she joined him.

 

In the corner of her eyes, she saw Malcolm standing up from his place and moving towards her. It was time to go. She stepped closer to the captain. “Find Trip, captain,” she said. “You told the crew so many times that they were a family and that we would leave no family member behind. Trip is not only family, he is the man who made us a family.” 

 

Then she got out of there as fast as she could.

 

Part Two

 

Yellow. Henry Dubois was nervous. He had worked so hard for this moment. Henry looked across the desk at the elderly woman in front of him, his old mentor in journalism, holding his manuscript about Jonathan Archer in a yellow folder. Mrs. Thomas liked to read a printed version, which Henry thought was very old fashioned.

 

Samantha Thomas placed the folder and the manuscript on the table. She was slim, her body fragile, but the look in her piercing blue eyes and her strong, confident voice spoke volumes. Mrs. Thomas was a woman not to be fooled by the whims of time or changes of politics. She saw her task as a journalist to ask critical questions of leaders and to hold them accountable for their actions.  She was one of the few investigative journalists still around, a true role model for him since college.

 

She smiled at him. In her New York-accent she said, “This is great, Henry. Jonathan Archer really comes to life. You get a great sense of the relationship between him and Henry Archer. Good research, as usual.”

 

A sense of relief came over him. He knew he had a great story in the making, but after spending so much time and energy on this project, he was thrilled to hear the great Samantha Thomas felt the same. “Thank you,” he said.

 

This was his second piece about Jonathan Archer. Henry Dubois, now in his mid-forties, had been a journalist since graduating from college in the Netherlands, a small European country. He had grown up in a closely-knit family, with two sisters and an older brother. His career had sent him abroad, working for newspapers and broadcasting companies. Meanwhile, his sisters followed their own career paths, one in art, one in science, while his brother crossed the seas as an officer in the navy.

 

Then the war broke out and Henry had been assigned as a reporter to a Starfleet vessel. As a war correspondent, he kept his Terran audience informed about events in the bloody Romulan war, for five long years. Meanwhile, his brother Rogier, who had changed his name to the more easily pronounced name Roger, had joined Starfleet as his contribution to the protection of Earth. That's the only good thing about the war, Henry thought, that he and Roger see more of each other. In those days of war, Henry had spoken to many people from the crew of Enterprise and he had seen the importance the news media and Starfleet placed on Captain Archer. So much so that he had become fascinated by Jonathan Archer.

 

Henry also had also witnessed Starfleet becoming more of a political power to be reckoned with, without much democratic control.  He’d had many talks about this with his brother, who shared Henry’s concerns. Still, Roger had stayed loyal to Starfleet, working from the inside for a change, until he died on a mission, only a month ago.  Henry felt such a pain in his heart, just thinking about his brother.

 

Samantha Thomas's voice brought Henry back to the present. “I like this. This is even better that your first article about Archer and that interview you had with T'Pol,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Most people didn't like those. I did.” 

 

Henry had received some very strong reactions on his first article about Archer. Remarks like “Henry Archer helped us to get the Vulcans off our backs” and “Henry gave us warp five” and “let those other planets know we mean business” were among the nicest comments.  The others, strong worded protests, he’d rather forget.

 

But those reactions were nothing compared to the hate mails he got after his interview with T'Pol was published in the Science Monitor, just two weeks ago. People called her a freak, and a traitor that had dared to trash Archer.

 

But Henry knew better. That interview had turned out so much bigger than he had expected. Maybe because, like her, he was also grieving – Roger and Charles Tucker had died around the same time. He had recognized the pain and despair in T'Pol’s eyes and had asked the right questions at the right time. He – like most Terrans - hardly knew any thing about T'Pol, other than the gossip about she and Charles “Trip” Tucker. In that interview Henry had with the First Officer of Enterprise, he got a glimpse of what he liked to call the real T'Pol. 

 

Henry expected to receive the same angry reactions to this new article about Jonathan Archer’s childhood, and his relationship with his father. People didn't like to read anything negative about their hero Henry Archer, like the fits he suffered and the ravings during his illness.

 

One consistent criticism of the previous two articles had been  the fact that Henry hadn’t interviewed Jonathan Archer himself. But they didn't know that Henry had tried everything to speak to the man, but Starfleet Communications would let him anywhere near the man.

 

So Henry appreciated the support he got from his old mentor. “Thanks for siding with me, Mrs. Thomas,” he said. “I have read all of the books about Jonathan Archer and it's all too perfect and shiny. Archer is the most likely candidate to become President of the Coalition, and therefore the most powerful man on the planet. The public deserves a story more true to Archer's real life.”

 

“I couldn't agree more!” the old lady answered. “The truth must be told.” She picked the yellow file up again. “As I said, this is good. But it can always be better. I have some suggestions that’ll make the story clearer.”

 

Henry was all ears, and they spent the next half hour reading and discussing the details of the text. In the midst of their conversation he pulled out one of his PADDs to locate a photo that he wanted published next to his text. As he scrolled through his pictures, he came across several of his brother, and one of his sisters and parents during the memorial service.

 

“Those are nice pictures of your brother, Henry,” Mrs. Thomas said gently. Her eyes went to a corner of the desk. He followed her look. There stood a frame with a picture of  her two sons. They had served together on the same ship and a single attack during the Romulan war had ended both their lives. “I know you were pretty close,” she continued. How’re you holding up?”

 

A lump in his throat developed, preventing him to speak. His eyes drifted from the picture on the desk and his PADD. He finally got his voice back. “I realize how proud I always was of him,” he said. He looked up to the old lady, recognizing eyes that had seen sorrow and grief. He sighed. “I can't believe he's gone. It's hurts more then I can put in words.”

 

“I had that too in the beginning,” her voice came. The woman in front of him placed her wrinkled hand on his, emotion evident in her face, her eyes moist. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft when she replied, “The pain will numb, but it will always be there.”

 

Henry could only nod. At this moment, his life was full of grief, pain, frustration and denial, but also full of questions. Roger had survived the war, but had died shortly after, during a classified mission. To Henry and his parent’s frustration, Starfleet hadn't given many details about the circumstances of Roger’s death. It was all too mysterious.

 

In the back of his mind was that nagging doubt again. Had Roger been trying to say something to him in that last letter? Did Jonathan Archer have something to do with Roger's death or was Henry so mixed up with his research about Archer and the pain of his brother's death, that he couldn't think straight?

 

He had tried to speak to Archer, to interview the celebrated captain, using every trick in the book. But he’d been stonewalled at every turn. Henry’s latest ploy had been to send a edition of the Science Monitor – the onewith that interview of T'Pol - to Archer's office. His secretary had promised to bring it to Archer’s attention and told Henry she had placed it on the captain’s desk.  But when he had called her, she had said Archer wasn't interested in an interview. Somehow he had to find a way. He had to speak to Jonathan Archer.

 

Part Three

 

The Dosa system – the Kirikites ship

 

Yellow. Trip and his friends V'Ran, Mita, Skrov and Gelhad been flying for at least two hours in this small vessel, piloted by the young Voran, when a yellow light on the pilot's panel started to flash.

 

It had only been this morning that Trip and his friends had been kidnapped by Martek and his men and brought to this small vessel. If that wasn't nerve-racking enough they were now flying into hostile space, surrounded by enemies. Their pilot, Voran, was trying to smuggle them to a secret, and hopefully safe, place. It was there that they planned to meet T'Pol's long-lost father. Trip still had difficulty processing that last bit.

 

In addition to Voran, they were two other crew members, Horak and Tilen. Tilen was an elderly man, clearly experienced as security officer. He moved around stiffly, fully focused, but confident. He reminded Trip of how Malcolm reacted in stressful situations. The other, Horak was the engineer. He looked as young as Voran, but also seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

 

When the yellow light kept on flashing and a shrieking, high-pitched sound filled the room, Horak looked at the sensors and turned the sound off. “Sensors are adjusted to amplify their capacities to detect the smallest malfunction in the system,” he explained. “One of the relays near the Electro-Plasma System is functioning at 80 percent. I will replace the relay.”

 

As Horak made his way to engineering, he suddenly stopped in his tracks and turned to Trip. He spoke English, slowly and with an accent, but Trip could easily understand him. “I heard you are a capable engineer, Tucker. Perhaps you would be interested in seeing our engine room.”

 

“Of course!” Trip said enthusiastically. Even in these strange circumstances, the chance to study Heterian and Romulan technology was too great to pass by. He was thrilled by the idea.  Together with Horak, he climbed down the to the engine room in the bottom of the vessel.

 

The familiar vibration of the warp core increased as they entered engineering and for a moment, it felt like he was home. Trip took in a deep breath. After all the turmoil of the last weeks, it was good to be in this peaceful place were everything seemed so familiar and normal.

 

The space wasn't big, but every yard was used in an orderly fashion. He could feel the buzzing warp core, make out EPS conduits and see the large capacitor connected with tubes to the reactor and the insulated container. There was a large panel nearby and on top of it a name was written. Trip squeezed his eyes. The letters were familiar. “Talukh Pollu,” he read aloud. He knew what it meant. T'Pol had told he once what the origins of her name were. “Desert rose,” he translated.

 

“Very good,” Horak commented. “That was the old name of this vessel.”

 

“What’s it named now?” Trip asked.

 

Horak laughed. “We don't name our vessels. We give them numbers. This is number three.” He continued, explaining quickly what kind of machines were in engineering, without going too much details. Then he went to the storage room to get a relay. Trip started to walk around.

 

As his eyes drank in the design of the machines, Trip was increasingly intrigued by the capacitors. Starfleet had a similar type, developed during the war and based on an unknown alien technology. A capacitor allowed a large electrical discharge to run through a gas in the reactor, creating plasma and heating up everything up more quickly, so that jump-starting a warp core was possible, an obvious advantage in a time of war. Trip had spend long hours designing, modifying and testing the technology. Strangely enough, the Romulans seemed to have use the same one.

 

Meanwhile, Horak had returned and replaced the relay. He instructed Trip to go upstairs again; Trip wished he could have stayed longer.

 

Upstairs, he sat down on one of the seats, suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of hunger and tiredness. He could still feel the sweet buzzing of the warp core under his feet and it comforted him. He closed his eyes and leaned against the bulkhead. Memories of a time, long ago, came flooding into his mind...

 

Part Four

 

During the Romulan War –T'Pol's quarters on Enterprise

 

Yellow. In the corner of T'Pol's quarters a candle on a small table was lit, casting a warm, yellow light in the room. The scent of the candle, a mixture of sandalwood and spice, hung in the air. Next to the small table with the candle, yellow-brown colored pillows were placed.

 

Trip had always loved the smell in T'Pol's quarters, the decorations on the wall, the pillows in the corner. Since being married to T'Pol, he still had his own quarters, but because he spent most of his time in hers, he saw her cabin as theirs.

 

Tonight he had hardly time to do more than study, because the day before yesterday Starfleet Research had given him an assignment regarding a new technology they were developing that could change the outcome of the war. The captain had ordered him to work on this new project, together with T'Pol.

 

The time was right. They had been patrolling this area of space for a week and, for now, everything was quiet. However, he’d learned from experience that the enemy could strike when you least expected it, so the bridge crew had to stay alert. Trip had been working with T'Pol for two days straight on this project, only to be interrupted by some quickly eaten meals and a few hours of meditation and sleep.

 

Their working place was the desk with two comfortable chairs, in T'Pol's quarters. On the desk were a dozen PADDs with schematics for the new project and their own personal PADDs. Above the table a bright light was shining, making sure they had good conditions to work.

 

Trip loved every minute of it, making calculations, discussing, arguing and brainstorming about this new technology. He felt challenged and he liked a good challenge, especially when it involved T'Pol.

 

Both he and T'Pol needed this time, for each other and for their marriage. They both spoke the language of science and spoke it well. He and T'Pol needed this, spending every minute together in a room alone, away from the others and the pressures of their normal life.

 

He loved T'Pol. He loved being married to her. He loved arguing with her, living the challenge of being in a relationship with someone from a totally different background. He loved sleeping with her, almost every night, her warm body next to him, even when most of the times they both were too tired or worn down to do anything more than sleep.

 

But lately Trip had realized the events of the past still had an effect on their relationship: things like T'Pol's complex youth, losing her father, the rocky beginning to their relationship, and all the painful miscommunications between them. Add to that the fact they both still grieved the loss of their daughter and the year of separation that followed when T'Pol was imprisoned…

 

But somehow, both wanting so much to be together, they had managed to make this relationship work. At times like this, Trip realized how good they were together.

 

Only one thing bothered him in more ways than he could say: his promise to Starfleet, or rather, Admiral Black, to keep his marriage a secret “for the sake of the Coalition”.

 

Every day that promise made him feel as if he lived in the shadows. Sometimes he felt so bound, restrained, that he wasn't able to breath normally. When he had made that promise, he hadn't expected that it would be so tough, hiding from everyone that he and T'Pol loved each other.

 

Trip looked at the woman across the table. His eyes searched T'Pol's face, her lovely features, framed by her medium length hair, as she worked on the latest calculations of Starfleet Research.

 

T'Pol looked up. Her greenish-brown eyes sparkled. “If this works, it will be a significant improvement,” she said. “We could go to warp within seconds.”

 

Trip nodded. “We need to double-check the calculations. We're dealing with hot plasma here, and any miscalculation can mean the end of the ship.” He lay his PADD down on the table. “The slightest mistake in the combination between matter and antimatter and the warp core is going to breach. No wonder Starfleet Research has been testing this technology for almost a year.”

 

He leaned over to his wife. “But whoever thought of this must have been a great engineer or scientist. I am dying of curiosity to know who we have to thank for this technology.  I suspect the Andorians.”

 

T'Pol closed her PADD and straightened up. “The way the notations were made... it seemed almost Vulcan,” she said.

 

Trip laughed. “Maybe some mad Vulcan scientist is the genius behind this idea,” he said, causing his wife to raise an eyebrow. He stood up, barely suppressing a yawn, stretched and sat down again, ready to continue.

 

“Twenty years ago,” T'Pol said, as she stood up from her chair to walk a little, “I read an article from a famous Vulcan scientist named Vertek. His ideas used the same principles we have seen in here.”

 

“Maybe he’d be willing to help us,” Trip suggested halfheartedly, not fully convinced an old Vulcan scientist would do so.

 

“Vertek went missing on a research journey, shortly after he went public with his theory,” T'Pol explained, “He was never heard of again. The Vulcan Science Directorate has declared him dead.”

 

“That figures,” Trip said. T'Pol sat down again and took one of the PADDs. She looked up a certain section and showed it to him. Then she asked him a question about the electrical discharge. Soon they were busy with the research material again.

 

They worked together in harmony but after four hours Trip’s eyes hurt. He blinked, stood up and got himself a coffee and T'Pol some water. “Maybe we should do this all the time,” he said, saying aloud what had been on his mind the last several hours.

 

T'Pol frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

 

“I’ve been thinking. After the war, we could work on science and engineering projects for Starfleet or for some Coalition research facility,” he explained. “We could move to some remote planet and have a family.” In his mind, Trip could already see their house, the facility were they would work, all the hours spent together.

 

“I have thought about that as well,” T'Pol said. “From the start of our marriage.”

 

“Really?” Trip responded.

 

“First I thought I was being selfish,” she explained. “The need of the many outweighed the need of the few. Our mission with Starfleet and the Coalition is more important for our planets than my desires.”

 

“But…” Trip interjected, but T'Pol leaned over and silenced him by placing two fingers on his lips.

 

“I was wrong, Trip,” she said. “Our talents can be of great use for the good of the Coalition, especially on the field of engineering and science. We would also be able to have a family and live our lives, openly.”

 

“Instead of what we do now,” Trip understood, hardly suppressing his relief. It was like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. T'Pol had spoken about a life outside Starfleet, a life together, and about having children. It was everything he had wished for.

 

“It's sad that there is no room for a Vulcan-Human couple in today's politics,” Trip added.

 

T'Pol's eyes saddened. “It is,” she agreed. Quickly she composed herself and picked up a PADD.

 

Trip did the same. “Section 3.4.6, what you make of subsection c?”

 

“Subsection c?” T'Pol couldn't find that part.

 

“The subsection that says, “I love you and I am so glad we had this conversation?”

 

T'Pol looked up to him, a smile in her eyes. “I agree totally with subsection c, Commander Tucker.”

 

They continued for two hours, working in the same pace, but with more hope in Trip's heart than before. They both wanted a future together.

 

After two hours, T'Pol laid down her calculations. “We made good progress,” she said, “But it's time now to rest and refresh ourselves. We can continue afterwards.”

 

“You're right,” Trip said, craning his neck in an attempt to relieve the stiff feeling. He put his PADD on the desk. “We need a break.” He took his chair and pushed it over to T'Pol's seat. Close by, he started to observe her face. “You look lovely,” he whispered. His wife's eyes lit up with his words. Trip leaned over to T'Pol close to her lovely face. He reached out and with his fingertips he stroked her hair, fondled the outline of her ear, the softness of her face, rubbed softly with his thumb on her luscious lips.

 

Her face softened by his touch. She breathed slowly and looked at him, her eyes caressing his face. Under his fingertips he could feel her deep regard for him, her longing for him, her need, her desire.

 

Their passion ignited like a flame and in a split second they were standing, their mouths meeting. With haste T'Pol peeled off her uniform. Trip admired the beauty of her wonderful body, as she stood there for him, dressed only in a black lace bra and underwear. He kissed her as his hands moved over her body, caressing. It filled him with pride as her body responded under his touch.

 

T'Pol kissed his face tenderly, but then found his lips again in a more passionate kiss. Her hands started to undo the buttons on his uniform. He helped her to undress him with the same haste she had as they continued kissing. They had the clarity of mind to put the candle in a safe place as they lay down on the meditation pillows. This was their time, only for them.

 

Later, much later, after he had experienced once again how T'Pol's passion grew to engulf them under his touch and, fully spent, they had fallen asleep in each other arms, her bare skin on his.

 

When he woke from his slumber, T'Pol's warm body was entangled with his and for a minute he just lay there, enjoying the moment, fully at peace. Finally he stood up, very carefully as not to wake her, and went back to the desk. His mind was so clear this morning, he finally saw the answer to a problem in the project he’d had for the last several days. He wrote it down quickly.

 

When he glanced back to where T'Pol and he had been sleeping, he noticed his wife had woken up as well. The blanket covering her showed the outlines of her perfect body. She observed him for her place, without saying a word and with an expression that Trip only could describe as a Vulcan smile.

 

Then she cast the blanket off and stepped into the bathroom. Soon he heard the water running. “The water is warm, Trip,” T'Pol called him with a cheerful, teasing voice. “It is a perfect time to join me.” He dropped the PADD on which he had been working, shed his clothes at the bathroom threshold and walked in to join her.

 

Just then the alarm shrieked. “Red alert! Red alert! All officers to battle stations!”

 

T'Pol blinked in surprise, water streaming from her wet hair and face. She quickly turned the tap off and Trip jumped into his clothes as she dried herself quickly. She dressed herself quickly and joined Trip who already stood in the doorway.

 

Again they were two officers in a bloody war. But they were also two people who just renewed their love for each other.

 

Part Five

 

Earth – a few days after T'Pol's talk with Archer

 

Yellow. All the feelings of nervousness left him as he saw the vessel, bright yellow sunlight shining on it, giving the outline of the small ship The Lincoln a golden shine. Jonathan Archer loved the ship at first sight. He felt exited. After weeks of feeling depressed about Trip's death and the failure of his mission, he finally got a chance to make things right.

 

After studying the PADD that T'Pol had given him and discussing its material with Starfleet Intelligence, he had become convinced Trip might be still alive. He needed to bring him home. Jon had persuaded Starfleet Command to let him lead a rescue mission to find Trip, by reminding them that they still owed him a few favors.

 

Jon heard footsteps behind him and, without looking, he knew his latest addition to the crew of The Lincoln had arrived. She had asked to join the crew and the mission. The woman already had been involved in the case and Jon had read in the reports that Ellen Tenson might be involved in all of this. Given that woman's bad reputation he needed a second officer with tactical capacities on his team. That, and her credentials -- and the fact that the woman walking behind him got a clean bill of health from Starfleet Medical declaring her fit for duty – had been enough to make him want her on his team.

 

The rest of the crew was made of the best of the best and people who had fought with him side by side for so many years.

 

There was Lieutenant Malcolm Reed for Security and Lieutenant Rostov in engineering.

 

Ensign Hoshi Sato was still the best at Communications, despite her injury she had endured at the beginning of the war. Besides that, Jonathan thought with a smile, it was always a pleasure to work with Hoshi.

 

Navigation and piloting was in the hands of none other than Travis Mayweather, the man who had worked on Enterprise all those years. Jon had seen him grow up to one of the finest officers in Starfleet. 

 

And there was Phlox. Archer had to tell Phlox about the discovery that Trip maybe alive.

Phlox had been relieved. “You can't go on this mission without a doctor,” Phlox had said with a great smile on his face. “I am free. I was worried about an old friend and patient, but I was happy to hear, she is receiving excellent medical care.”

 

Jon had no idea what he was talking about, but one thing he did know. “You missed the old crew,” Archer had said to him.

 

“And so do you, Captain,” Phlox had replied. “And this old crew wants to do everything in its power to get Commander Tucker home.”

 

As Jon stepped on the bridge, Hoshi called out “Captain on the bridge.” She gave him radiant smile.

 

He turned to the woman who had entered together with him. “Welcome, everyone. We have an addition to the crew. She worked on Enterprise as well. Corporal Amanda Cole is one of our finest MACO's. She is going to work mostly with Lieutenant Reed.”

 

“Welcome Corporal Cole”, Reed said, lips pressed together and his arms folded in front of him. Archer knew his security officer well enough that he wasn't happy with Cole's presence. It surprised him; he had heard the two were friends. Maybe he didn't like the idea of Amanda being on such a dangerous mission, Jon thought.

 

“Yes, welcome,” Hoshi repeated Malcolm, in a much warmer tone. 

 

“Now that we have finished our introductions,” Archer started. “Let's talk about our mission, this special assignment. We all knew and loved Trip – Commander Tucker. We were all were upset about his death. But now we have compelling evidence that Commander Tucker is still alive – and held prisoner in enemy space. The details are classified, it looks credible. If there’s even the slightest chance that Trip is out there and needs our help – we must go on this mission.”

 

Jonathan looked around at this wonderful group of people. “Three days ago someone said to me that the old crew of Enterprise was a family and that we would leave no family member behind. Commander Tucker is not only family, he is the man who made us a family. Let's find him.”

 

He turned to Travis.  “Ensign, lay in a course to the Dosa system.”

 

Within seconds The Lincoln was on its way to Romulan space.

 

Part Six

 

Somewhere in the Dosa system

 

Yellow. Trip was nervous. V'Ran, Mita, Skrov, Gel and Trip had been traveling with the Desert Rose for what seemed to be days. Finally they had landed on a planet and were ordered to walk out quickly to the rocks nearby. In that few seconds, Trip's eyes had been blinded by the bright yellow light of the sun of this planet. The ship flew away and he went into the coldness by entering what looked like caves.

 

In the caves he and his friends, guarded by the security officer Tilen, walked for hours through small tunnels, passing through several doors made of thick iron. It was like he was lost in a labyrinth under the ground. Finally, they reached a door and saw another man standing. Tilen ushered Mita, V'Ran, Gel and Skrov right, then he turned to Trip. “You follow me, Tucker,” he ordered.

 

Trip did as he was told, trying hard to suppress his anxiety. Tilen took him to another tunnel, followed by a locked door. He opened the door, took a corner and stopped. Tilen pointed to another door, close by. “Go in there,” he said.

 

Trip did and as soon as he opened the door he noticed he was entering a small room. Candles were placed to light the place. Yellow-brown meditation pillows were laid on the floor.

 

There were two men in the room. One man, dressed in a brown robe, turned to him. “You must be Tucker,” he said in perfect English. “I am Vertek.”

 

The other man also stepped forward. His face was hollow, his black hair look greasy. He wore a black robe that didn't hide the fact that he was terribly skinny. But that expression on his face, Trip recognized at once. It was T'Pol's closed expression, when she was burdened by a huge problem, but didn't want to tell him.

 

“And I am Kirak,” said T'Pol's father.

 

To be continued.

 

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Explanation of Talukh Pollu

 

Talukh means precious. Pollu was a bush with purple berries that are edible found near oases in the desert. Together the words means desert rose in Vulcan.

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