TRIP FICTION

TripFiles
TripFocus
Tuckerites
TuckerNuts
Trinneer
¡TRIP!

If you are seeing this paragraph, the site is not displaying correctly. You can see the content, but your current browser does not support CSS which is necessary to view our site properly. For the best visual experience, you will need to upgrade your browser to Netscape 6.0 or higher, MSIE 5.5 or higher, or Opera 3.6 or higher. If, however, you don't wish to upgrade your browser, scroll down and read the content - everything is still visible, it just doesn't look as pretty.

Psyche and Sound - Chapter 5

Author - Orion9
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Psyche and Sound

by Orion9

Rating: PG
Genre: General/Drama


Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Long overdue chapter ahead. I was going to make it into two parts but what the heck…:) Hope you’ll like it! Hugs to sHot for betaing!

____________________________________


Chapter Five – Collapse

Tucker didn’t encounter anyone else along the corridor as he walked towards the Armoury late the next morning. Since it was mid shift, he wasn’t surprised, and more than a little grateful for the solitude. He’d purposely chosen this particular time to move around the ship, hoping to minimise contact with the other crewmembers. Although he knew that everyone meant well, he didn’t feel up to another round of ‘How are you? – I’m fine, thanks’ exchange. The way he looked at it, he’d enough of those the past three days to last him two lifetimes.

Whistling softly to himself, the engineer wondered if he could persuade Malcolm to join him for some lunch once they were done with the recalibration of the targeting sensors. He was sure that pecan pie was one of the desserts on the menu today. And, if the chance presented itself, he might even ask the Lieutenant about those damn flying monkeys of his.

Or not.

Trip shook his head, the corners of his lips lifting slightly at what he imagined would be the staid Englishman’s reaction to the question. He wasn’t sure he’d like to risk being rendered unconscious by a phase pistol, no matter how much he’d like an answer to that perplexing image. Heck, I’m not that curious… Well, okay, maybe I am that curious, but suicidal…? Nope, I don’t think so…

He took a deep breath, reflecting on how great it felt to have his mind all to himself again. Whatever the Doc was giving him must be working – he hadn’t experienced a single vision ever since he started on the new set of prescription two days ago. They left him rather drowsy, but considering the painful alternative, a little lethargy was a small price to pay for some measure of peace.

Hiding a yawn behind one hand, Trip reminded himself to ask Phlox when he could stop the ongoing treatment, especially since his symptoms had all but vanished. He felt fine, except perhaps, he noted with some irritation, for a slight sore throat that had started up again not long after breakfast this morning. Rubbing a light hand across his throat, Trip hoped that this particular ache would disappear soon. The last time he’d suffered from it, the soreness had all but dulled his usual appetite for food.

The whole telepathic fiasco may have been his weirdest experience yet but, then again, looking on the bright side of things, he now knew exactly what to get his friends for their birthdays and for Christmas this year. His smile faded slightly. For everyone, that is, except for Phlox … and T’Pol. Exhaling a soft sigh, Trip finally allowed his thoughts to return to last night’s unplanned meal with the Sub-Commander.

Strangely enough, yesterday’s supper with T’pol in an almost deserted Mess Hall was his least stressful moment yet. He hadn’t relaxed like that in the company of another, Jon included, ever since this whole mess started. One main reason for it was because, with T’pol, he could let his guard down without having to worry that he might be receiving her thoughts at any moment. Although, in retrospect, he thought, chuckling quietly to himself, he wouldn’t mind receiving a couple of her thoughts. Headaches aside, they might even help him to understand her a little better.

::Hmmm… I think I need to run those diagnostics again.:: ::What? How could she say that about him?:: ::I feel sick.:: ::Yeah right… If I had a dollar every time he uses that dumb excuse…::

As if in response to some subliminal desire, a chorus of voices invaded his mind without warning, catching the engineer completely by surprise just as he was turning the corner. While most were just indistinct murmurs, several others came through loud and clear, the speakers sounding like they were right there yelling straight into his ears. Eyes widening in alarm, Trip barely had time to brace himself for the inevitable backlash when the sharp stabbing pain that followed almost immediately slammed full force into him. It shot up his head before spreading rapidly to the rest of his body, drawing from him a low, anguished moan.

::Urgh…I think that last piece of pie was a huge mistake.:: ::Good grief! Why is he still wearing that stupid thing?:: ::I think I need some water.:: ::What the heck was that?::

His legs buckling from under him as the assault of voices continued their merciless pounding, the engineer fell to his hands and knees with a cry of pain. The roaring in his ears seemed to increase with every second, until it blanked out everything else around him except for the pounding of his heart. The world around darkened and he shook his head, trying to clear it. Feeling like he was slowly being turned inside out, he forced himself to take slow breaths past the piercing pain.

With mounting desperation, Trip tried hard to remember the various mental exercises that T’Pol had shown him. Despite his best efforts, however, nothing immediate came to mind. Another wave of pain washed over him and he groaned, shivering uncontrollably. What was he expecting? He could barely think beyond the mind-numbing pain, let alone remember something he’d only learnt a couple days ago.

Before he could move, the sharp pain in his chest twisted suddenly, robbing him of his next breath and doubling him over. For a moment, the world spun crazily out of focus and he bit his bottom lip hard, tasting blood as he fought off the accompanying nausea.

::What was that all about?:: ::Is there enough time to catch a short nap before my shift?:: ::I really hate this thing!:: ::Should I go for the chicken or the fish?:: ::Don’t tell me I’ve lost it again…? The Commander will kill me for this!::

Stop! Someone, please, make it stop… One hand clutching at his chest, Trip struggled painfully to his feet and leaned shakily against the corridor wall. He didn’t need anyone to tell him he was in serious trouble. With each ragged breath, shafts of pain assailed his body while his skull felt like it was currently being split into tiny pieces by razor-sharp spikes. Eyes closed and mouth hanging open, he strove to stay conscious, his heart pounding so fast it seemed like the organ was going to burst out of his chest this very second. Need … air … can’t breathe …

::I have to find some time to write home or Mum is so going to kill me...:: ::Porthos is so cute! Wish I had a dog like that.:: ::I can’t believe I overslept this morning!:: ::Now, that’s what I call a smile!::

Balling his fists tightly against his temples in a desperate attempt to ward off the incoming thoughts, Trip tried to call for help. But no matter how hard he tried, nothing came out of his cotton-dry mouth, and he soon gave up, focusing instead on gulping precious air into his lungs. Hardly aware of his surroundings, Trip stumbled blindly, stubbornly, onwards; blue eyes only mere slits on a pale, sweaty face, as he tried to get as far as he could from the horde of voices in his head.

A blurry door loomed into view. It was only a short distance away but to the stricken man, it could have been in another galaxy altogether. Squinting painfully at his goal, trying hard to focus pain-glazed eyes, the engineer stretched out a trembling hand before him and staggered forward. Each laboured step more excruciating than the last, he lurched unsteadily towards the door, a part of him vaguely puzzled that it looked no closer but instead, seemed to be retreating to an impossible distance away.

As another violent spasm racked his fast weakening body, Trip noticed with a start that his teeth were chattering, the sound abnormally loud in his own ears. Wrapping his arms around his chest in an attempt to ward off the chill, he looked feverishly around him, disorientated. Where am I…? It’s freezing in here… How’d it get s’cold…?

::Where did I put that PADD?:: ::Hey! What happened to my uniform?:: ::And how many bloody times have I told him to not–::

Without warning, the voices increased in their intensity, blending together into a cacophony of horrifying sounds. But it was the destructive backlash, which effectively blocked out everything but the intense pain that siphoned whatever remaining strength the young officer had left. With another soft cry, Trip collapsed, a faint sigh escaping his lips as he spiralled helplessly into a deep black abyss.

* * * * *

And how many bloody times have I told him to not write the report that way–? Malcolm Reed was in mid-rant when a faint sound caught his attention. He looked up distractedly from the data PADD in his hand, a frown drawing his brows together. That was odd. He could’ve sworn that he heard Mr Tucker’s voice just now. A quick glance around the Armoury told him what he’d already knew, although the Commander was supposed to come help with the targeting sensors, he was currently nowhere in sight.

Grimacing self-depreciatingly, Malcolm turned back to the report on the screen, remembering an occasion where he’d once needled Mr Tucker about this very same thing. Now who’s the one with the active imagination?

Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, Malcolm couldn’t get rid of the sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong. Finally, realising that he was rereading the same paragraph for the third time, he put down the PADD with a sigh and walked towards the door. Perhaps his concentration would be better after lunch. I think I’ll go look up Mr Tucker and see if he’d like to join me for an early lunch before we start on the recalibra–

All thoughts skidded to a halt as the door slid open. His eyes went wide. Bloody h–

“Commander!”

Crouching down beside Tucker’s prone figure, Malcolm quickly felt for a pulse, fearing the worst. Puffing out a breath of relief as he found one, he hurriedly felt around his pocket for the communicator. Pulling it out, he flipped it open.

“Reed to Sickbay.”

“Yes, Lieutenant Reed?” Phlox’s voice came back almost immediately.

“Send a medical team to the Armoury right away. It’s Commander Tucker.”

* * * * *

On any given day and time, Sickbay would have been filled with an assortment of sounds and voices from time to time, as afflicted personnel sought out the good doctor, each seeking some measure of relief from whatever that was presently ailing them. From his examination and some relevant questions, the doctor would then be able to prescribe the appropriate medication to counteract each specific complaint. All in a day’s work for the Chief Medical Officer on board the USS Enterprise.

This particular Sickbay visit, however, was different, as the Denobulan’s many medical pets made the only sounds in the area. There were no questions being asked or any answers given. Neither were there any voices raised in complaint nor words of thanks gratefully professed even as the medication took effect. The two officers who were present scarcely even breathed as they stood silently watching while Phlox examined the third man, who was lying unconscious on a biobed.

Shifting his weight soundlessly from one foot to the other, Malcolm looked on, his apprehension obvious on his normally inscrutable features as he watched Phlox bend over the unmoving form, a medical tricorder in hand. It didn’t show but he was still a little shaken from finding Trip that way. For a really brief moment out there at the corridor, he was sure the Commander was dead.

Inwardly shaking his head, Malcolm frowned, seeing his friend looking so … fragile … troubled him greatly. Mr Tucker’s gregarious and fun-loving nature had, in some way, made him larger than life. To a certain extent, he’d got so used to Trip being full of life and energy that it was somehow all wrong to see him just lying there, so silent and still. Looking down, Malcolm glowered at the floor. The thing he hated most about this was the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that he felt; if only there was something he could do besides just waiting around.

Beside his silent officer, Jon was equally tense, face dark with concern. His hands, clenched tightly at his sides, belied his calm demeanor. Entering Sickbay and seeing Trip looking as still as death was one of the most painful, unnerving experiences imaginable. Only the soft beeping of the equipment beside the unconscious engineer assured him that he’d not lost his closest friend yet.

Unexpectedly, a memory popped into his head and the still shaken Captain couldn’t help but wince. The last time Trip was even remotely in the same condition was when he and Malcolm had just been rescued from their appalling adventure in Shuttlepod One. But unlike that time, right now, they had no existing assurance that he would be all right. Looking away from the still figure, Jon studied the floor, momentarily lost in his recollections of his best friend.

After what felt like hours instead of the actual few minutes, the doctor straightened and turned towards the waiting officers. Phlox’s movement alerted both men and they each looked up from their personal musings, faces expectant.

“As you can see from the monitor, the levels of the neurotransmitters in Commander Tucker’s brain have elevated to almost three times higher than what is considered normal, along with his synaptic activity, since his last check-up three days ago. It seems that the stimulants I have prescribed have only slowed down his condition, but not any more.”

“How did this happen?” Archer asked, his voice low and strained. He’d clenched his jaw so hard during the waiting period that it now hurt. His eyes flickered apprehensively towards the unconscious man before meeting the doctor’s anxious gaze.

“I’m not sure, Captain. But I do know this. Instead of purging the venom from his system like it should be doing, his body is somehow replicating and assimilating the toxin at an alarming rate, accelerating the degree of neural activity to an extremely dangerous level. His body is slowly shutting down because of this…”

“Shutting down?” Malcolm asked with a frown. “What exactly does that mean?”

“Well, the human physiology is not made to endure the accompanying physical demands of such cerebral activity, especially not of this magnitude. Unlike the last time, where his symptoms gradually manifested themselves over a four-day period, they’ve now developed at the same time, and all at a fairly alarming rate.”

“So you’re saying…?”

“Yes, Captain. As you can see, his bronchitis problem has returned, and with a vengeance, I might add. Commander Tucker is also suffering from severe pneumonia, accompanied by an extremely high fever. I’ve managed to contain the fever but what concerns me the most, apart his mild heart arrhythmia, is that he might be showing slight symptoms of hydrocephalus–“

“Hydocep…?”

“Hydrocephalus,” Phlox repeated, holding Archer’s gaze. “It is an abnormal buildup of cerebrospinal fluid, or what is normally called CSF, in the brain.”

The two men exchanged a quick, worried look before the Captain asked hoarsely, “Are you saying that Trip has brain damage?”

Phlox shook his head, “No, not yet, so far. But if the pressure of the CSF in his brain increases any more, that may well be the eventual outcome here.”

“Isn’t there something you can do for him should that happen?”

“Yes, I can insert a shunt,” Phlox said of the flexible, plastic one-way valve tube, “into the ventricular system of his brain to drain the excess fluid. This will help relieve the pressure on the brain. The flow of the CSF will then be diverted into another area of the body, where it can be drained and absorbed into the bloodstream.”

“Sounds … unpleasant,” Malcolm gave an empathic wince.

Phlox nodded. “However, the good news is that Commander Tucker’s condition is fortunately stable enough not to warrant that process at the moment.”

“So that’s it? We just wait until he gets worse?” Archer asked, a hint of incredulity in his voice. He’d rather face an army of Klingons alone than to stand idly by and watch his best friend die without doing anything possible to help him.

“No, Captain,” Phlox paused, looking from one man to the other. “What we need to do is to formulate an antidote for the venom as soon as possible. I’ll be keeping Commander Tucker here until then, to minimise the chances of another assault on his mind. I can only guess how acute his last migraine attack must have been.”

“What would you need?”

“A specimen of the insect that stung the Commander that day would be an invaluable resource to the serum that we need. In the meantime, I’ll start work based on the scans and test results I’ve got so far.”

Archer frowned. “Does anyone even know what it looks like?”

“No,” the doctor looked thoughtfully at the patient before turning back to them. “But I believe the Commander did mention seeing a flash of gold before he was stung.”

Archer nodded at that small piece of information, his features somber. He knew it wasn’t much; there was the possibility that they would be traipsing around the planet for days without ever finding a specimen of the insect that had attacked Trip. However, given their current situation, there weren’t many options open to them. Hopefully, they’d get lucky. He reached over and pressed the button on the comm panel.

“Archer to the bridge.”

“Go ahead, Captain,” T’Pol’s voice answered him.

“Set a course back towards the planet. And get us there as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, Captain.”


TBC

_____________________________________________

A/N2: Thank you for the reviews. You keep me writing!
Ocean: Thanks! :)
tracy-thecubednag: Haha! Believe me, I’m trying!
cryogenie: Nice evil laughter. *g* Good guess. You weren’t peeping over my shoulder by any chance now, were you? Thanks!
Neo Getz: Now that would be fun, wouldn’t it? Even I’d love a peek into that intriguing Vulcan mind. :)


Continue to Chapter 6

Return to Chapter 4

Back to Fan Fiction Main Menu

Have a comment to make about this story? Do so in the Trip Fan Fiction forum at the HoTBBS!


Two folks have made comments

how can you say tbc, you keep doing this to me :( i need the outcome plz its all to tense

Wow... All I can say is, poor Trip!

And poor us... how could you just leave us there? *sigh*

Ah, the tension builds...