Blue on Blue

Chapter Eight

Captain Archer, in the moons-light, was pulling one of two empty ore canisters out of the cargo bay.  It gleamed mellow silver as he set it on the ground, then turned to rummage through a half open backpack.  He withdrew a head lamp, revealing a coil of rappelling lines and stakes beneath it, a pair of work gloves and- was that one of Chef’s field lunches?

It was all coming through in fine, intricate detail.

There was an instant of partial separation, enough for T’Pol to recognize that her question- had it first formed an eon or an instant ago?- was being answered.

As she moved deeper into the meld, she could see through Trip’s eyes; she knew what he knew and perceived his emotions.  At the same time she was able to define what she knew, from within her own identity. 

Now she, or rather Trip, was kneeling in the cargo bay, pushing a second canister toward Captain Archer, who, wearing the pack and helmet, stood in the doorway with outstretched hands.  Then, swinging a pack of his own across his shoulder, Trip scrambled from the shuttle-pod.

“Nice night for a stroll,” the captain said as the doors slid shut behind them.

“Little cold for my blood.”  Trip set his pack on the ground, lifted aside a phaser blade kit and an ore sampling case while he took out his own helmet, then tapped a tall metal cylinder.  “Good thing Chef sent a nice hot bottle of coffee along.”

“I asked him to prepare two.”  The captain grinned.  “With reception the way it is down here, I thought there might be a considerable delay calling room service.” 

T’Pol remembered that smile from the day Enterprise first left Earth.  Captain Archer was sitting in the bridge’s center seat watching the view screen full of waiting stars and smiling that smile.  He had dreamed of exploration- stellar phenomena, peaceful first-contacts, possibilities wondrous and unimagined…  It had, she realized, become an almost foreign expression these past months.  How long since his smile had flashed across his face, broad enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes?

“Real command level thinking there, Captain!” Trip studied his friend for one silent moment while he put on his own helmet, closed his pack and swung it over his shoulder. 

For once, we got no Suliban, Xindi, Orions, Klingons, or Romulans to worry about.  We’ll take a nice little field trip, scoop up a few ore samples on a planet with an almost reasonable climate, do a little of the exploring that called us out here in the first place, eat a meal not snatched on the eve of battle and drink a little coffee without needing to gulp it down before the captain hurries back to the bridge to make another life and death decision.

Jonathan lifted an ore canister and started toward the trees, his boots cutting deep tracks in the soil.  Trip picked up the other one and hurried to catch up with him. 

So, T’Pol realized, Captain Archer hadn’t assigned himself this mission.  He was invited along by his Chief Engineer.

We really must consider the advisability of a captain going on landing details…

Still, it had been a long time since he’d smiled that way or walked with that relaxed spring in his step.

Now they were walking into the mine’s dusty entranceway and settling at the battered old table.  T’Pol experienced, without intruding into details, a mellow time of unhurried talk and strong smelling coffee pulled from the captain’s pack then passed back and forth.  There were tangy golden apples- how she had enjoyed those back when she lived at the Vulcan compound in San Francisco- eaten slowly, along with dark slices of bread wrapped around romaine lettuce and- she frowned in distaste- the meat from a large, winged fowl called a turkey. Trip pulled the phase-blade case from his pack and made a leisurely examination of its contents between bites of an extremely sweet concoction the captain referred to as “the best carrot cake this side of Mars Colony”.  All the while, a scanner Trip had unclipped from his belt lay beside them, flashing a series of interference fuzzed schematics of ore deposits.  After what seemed like several minutes, though T’Pol knew it was only instants, they gathered their supplies and started into the tunnel. 

It was so familiar.  There were the lantern hooks, side rooms and branching tunnels, one blocked by an ore cart, another half obscured behind a tumble of rocks.  Meanwhile the scanner flashed bright announcements of five separate ore signatures scattered in several directions.  The one that Trip kept referring back to was somewhere comparatively nearby, beyond a leftward angling tunnel. 

It was this tunnel, though it lost its familiarity as they reached the place where she now knelt.  Back then there was no tumbled pack, no scatter of tools, no dented helmet and no partial cave in with Trip half-buried in the dirt beneath her hands.

T’Pol shuddered.  Under her touch, Trip groaned.  For a moment as the link between them faltered, it was as though she had experienced the same space in two different bodies and in two different times.

‘t’sall right, T’Pol…  Keep going.

Was that Trip within the meld or had he spoken aloud? 

I’m… still with you, T’Pol.  All this…  makes sense to me.  Kind of like… remembering.

Despite the strangeness, he had allowed himself to trust the link and her ability to carry them forward toward Captain Archer.  Didn’t he realize that she was proceeding not from knowledge but from untested instinct? 

It’s the only chance.

She would proceed as best she could.  Whatever the future consequences were, she would accept responsibility for them.  She must gather her reserves and show herself the same confidence he had in her. She would leave this present behind and move onward into the future of Trip’s past.