Immune- Chapter 13

Immune

by Trinneergirl

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

Chapter Thirteen

As luck would have it, now Trip could have used something to take his mind off things; everything left on Enterprise was going fine and he had far too much time to just think. Unable to stand the silence for his final hours, he placed some music on the ship's systems as he made his last rounds of each department. Shunning the delta blues he usually favoured as being out of step with his mood, Trip asked the computer to find a selection of peaceful classical music and opera. As he passed from department to department the corridors of the empty ship were gently filled with the haunting sounds made across hundreds of years on a world upon which Trip had been born, from which he was hundreds of light years away, and which he now would never live to see again. The calm that had fallen upon the young Chief Engineer was helped by the soothing music.

Faure's Pavane, Beethoven's 'Moonlight' Sonata, Vaughan Williams' Fantasia on 'Greensleeves, Satie's Gnossienne No.1, Bach's Keyboard Concerto No.5, Barber's Adagio for Strings, Elgar's Nimrod from Enigma variations and other sweet melodies provided the instrumentals. Human voice came in the haunting sounds of J. S.Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, Verdi's Agnus Dei from Messa da Requiem, Franck's Panis Angelicus and Allegri's Miserere mei, Deus. The perfect peace moistened Trip's eyes as he checked the crew whose lives he had been entrusted. He said goodbye in his mind to each of his colleagues, pausing longest by Jonathan Archer, wishing that he could have the chance to say so much to this man. There were so many good times, so much shared friendship, memory, and trust. Trip was deeply saddened that they had to part forever on such a bad note. For one last time, the Commander wished he knew just what he'd done to make Jon reject their friendship. He supposed he'd never know now.

After finishing his round of the ships systems, the young man sat on the Bridge, just waiting for the air to run out. He put the viewscreen on to the galactic core. It was still so far away that even the warping of the stars didn't effect the view. The brilliant centre of our galaxy was itself a symphony of colour and light. Stars so close together, they seemed a solid vertical bar of light blurred at the edges by dust made of a billion suns. Around, the start of the arms upon one of which, so very far away, was Earth, the celestial light show became a display of colours, hot blue stars, white and yellow intermediates, older orange and red, dotted the firmament like spatterworks from some inspired brush. As Trip watched, a piece of music came on that he had never heard before. From an early twenty-first century composition, The Armed Man: A Mass for Peace, by Karl Jenkins, came the Benedictus.

Suddenly the peace broke and Trip began to cry. He shook with the hot tears that ran down his face and ached in his throat. He didn't cry for self pity, nor for the fear of dying. He cried for the sheer beauty of the universe he had to leave, too soon. He gave silent thanks for the life he'd had, the wonderful things he had been given a chance to experience, things no Human had ever seen before. As the work reached its heartrending crescendo, the grief of having to die, alone in the midst of such beauty overwhelmed him, the sobs tearing at his body as he fell apart. Unbidden, memories assailed him, he'd had a privileged life, no doubt about that. A wonderful family, good friends, a job that he loved, and the opportunity to experience some amazing things. It didn't seem fair that it should all be over at thirty four, but that was the chance he'd willingly taken when he'd joined Starfleet, that he wouldn't make it home. Given the same chance again he'd make the same decision.

He thought of the girls he'd known in his adolescence, of the lovely Lisa Braun who had taken the callow tuft he was and made him a man in her bed. He thought of Natalie, whom he'd once thought to marry, and forgetting the bitter end, he remembered the good times, when he had been very much in love. He remembered flirtations and interludes, Ah'len, who'd got him pregnant, Lianna, whose gentle adoration of him had been so lovely, Princess Kaitaama, with whom he'd spent one night of mutual passion and which both had left with no regrets. There were others and they swam in and out of his mind as the tears dried. As he came round from the storm of crying, Trip's natural positivity reclaimed the Chief Engineer. He'd been loved. All his life long he'd been loved and really, when it came down to it, no matter how long or short your life, if you could say you had loved and been loved, it wasn't a life wasted. He'd already lived a lifetime of memories, perhaps it was greedy to ask for more.

Jon and Trip's other colleagues and the ship he'd given so much of his life to creating and running, they would go on. They would have new experiences without him, make new friends, see new wonders and that was what it had all been for, the nightmare journey across the Vort Cloud. Enterprise would continue its journey, become one of many Earth vessels plying the new reaches of space. If he hadn't got the ship here, if the systems had failed, or Kurt Wilkinson had succeeded with his sabotage, the Vulcans may well have convinced Starfleet to stop its exploration of the stars. The second starship was being completed at Spacedock and once >Enterprise and her cured crew left the Vort Cloud, safe and well, they would see her launched. Then this fledgling pair of ships would go on and make 'history with every light year' as Jon would say. That Enterprise would go on without Trip Tucker wasn't really important. She would go on and that was worth dying for, wasn't it? Trip believed so. To his heart and soul, Trip truly believed so.

He ended the music after the Benedictus, unable to bear any more. He realised that he was feeling very tired. Part of that was his exhaustion catching up with him, part of that was the natural lassitude that follows an outburst of tears, but it was also partially, he realised, to do with the thinning of the air. It was only an hour to the rendezvous point and everything on Enterprise was going to be fine. Trip stood and woozily made his way to the truckle bed. He lay down, resting his tired and battered body in well-deserved rest. He didn't know if falling asleep and dying was the coward's way out, but he no longer cared. If every alarm on Enterprise went off now, he couldn't have kept his cerulean eyes open any more. Trip drifted away into sleep, his breathing becoming shallower as he entered that somnolent state. In time it became shallower still. Finally the rise and fall of the chest ceased completely and Trip slid gently into painless death.

Eight minutes later, Enterprise, on her prearranged course, exited warp and drew herself flawlessly into orbit around the silent, dead star. As she completed her voyage a blur of light moved nearby and the Trayia joined Enterprise at the rendezvous. The lifeless figure on the Bridge was scanned, and with a shimmer, transported. The two ships docked and teams of medical staff entered the airless vessel, decked out in EVA suits. Following Trip's explicit orders, they found the two cargo bays and Sickbay and transferred the eighty-two stricken members to the hospital ship. For nearly twenty-four hours, the doctors, nurses, and science teams worked to isolate each mutation of the virus. They studied the physiology of the crew; Human, Denobulan, Vulcan, bat, and beagle. They studied in particular Crewman Wilkinson who'd been able to synthesise a vaccine for the Dryalian Meningitis, and the work Dr. Phlox had done to palliate the illness, both using Trip's blood. Eventually, when they were sure, the Dryalian medics started a course of specially formed drugs to initiate a cure.

Captain Jonathan Archer woke up feeling nauseated and disoriented. Slowly, both unpleasant effects receded. His hazel eyes focussed on a white ceiling with pleasantly low, white lights. He was laying on a matte grey, metallic feeling, cushioned bed dressed in his Starfleet blues. He hadn't a clue where he was. Turning his head he alighted upon the standing figures of Sub-Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Reed. They were both standing in parade rest and looking preternaturally solemn. T'Pol was harder to read, but seemed weighed down, while Malcolm was pale.

"Where are we?" Jon asked croakily. T'Pol acknowledged his conscious presence with a slight nod, then replied.

"The Trayia. A Dryalian hospital ship." The Captain sat up slowly. He was in a white room with a glass wall along one side that led out to a corridor. Various monitors and readouts were set into the wall.

"Dryalian? We made it? Trip got us here?" He asked, amazed. He would never have believed any one person could guide Enterprise through the Vort Cloud. T'Pol seemed to stiffen and Malcolm looked down, his eyes closing for a long moment.

"Not to Dryalia," T'Pol responded. "After exiting the Vort Cloud the Trayia came to rendezvous with Enterprise." There was something clearly wrong and obviously the two officers didn't want to tell him what it was.

"The crew?" he probed.

"The crew have all been revived, sir," Reed told him. "The Dryalians were able to use the work Dr. Phlox did with Tr...Trip's blood to enhance their own cures and everyone who was sick is well on the road to recovery."

"Enterprise?" Archer questioned, trying to fight off the sinking feeling Malcolm's stumble over Trip's name had caused.

"The ship has sustained some damage," admitted T'Pol. "We have been unable to ascertain how much as the Dryalians have been unwilling to talk to us until all the surv... all the senior crew were present."

A cold hand clutched at Jon's heart and he felt his throat close in grief. He had to swallow twice before he could find the voice to ask the next question.

"Trip?" There was an audible pause before the Vulcan replied.

"I'm sorry, sir." Unbidden, tears welled in Jon's eyes. Trip couldn't be dead. Just couldn't be! He had so much to say to his friend. So much to apologise for.

"Dead?" he whispered hoarsely. Both officers nodded.

"The Dryalians claim to have reviving technology, but so far their attempts to bring him back from death have not met with success." Visions of Trip laughing, happy, dark blue eyes glowing with enthusiasm for everything, and the man always so brilliantly, wonderfully alive, kept passing across Jon's mind, making it difficult to concentrate.

Feeling more bereft since any time since the death of his father, the Captain tried to fight back the tears, to be the leader, to give comfort not to need it.

"How?" he asked.

"We're not certain. As we said, the Dryalian's aren't talking much," Malcolm replied. "It seems as if the ship suffered some kind of catastrophic failure of the life support system and Trip... asphyxiated." The Armoury Officer broke off, fighting back his own tears at the thought of Trip choking to death alone. T'Pol brought her arms out from behind her back. In one hand she had a data PADD.

"This was left by Commander Tucker. It was placed into my stasis pod while I was asleep." She handed the PADD to Archer, who took it with a hand that was not quite steady. The message on the PADD was short and direct, in Trip's inimitable style.

'T'Pol, (it read), Take care of him for me. Trip'.

"In the habit of your culture, Commander Tucker always referred to Enterprise as a she," T'Pol reasoned. "I assume therefore that the 'him' in the note, Captain, refers to you."

It was too much for Jon to bear. The words of the note blurred together as the tears fell. He sobbed in raw grief. Despite everything, the loyal, brave friend he'd accidentally isolated into feeling he had to leave Starfleet had, as his final act, thought of him. Covering his face with his hands Archer continued to cry in a storm of bereavement and regret. Malcolm turned away from his colleagues, his shoulders shaking as he attempted to hide his own tears. T'Pol, envying her Human colleague's ability to shed the pain of loss so openly, stood in silence, a deep emptiness within her at the thought that she would never see Trip again.

For a long time the three officers, in their own way, grieved. When the two men were able to fight back the tears the conference went on.

"Do you have any idea what the cause of the life support failure was?" Archer questioned. T'Pol shook her head.

"Not really," she replied. "Although the Dryalians have been preoccupied with saving the Enterprise 's crew, they have been unusually evasive about many of the events which led them here."

"All we know for sure, sir," Malcolm elucidated, "is that they came here in response to a hail from... from Trip. They boarded Enterprise and took us all off, treated us, and made us well. They have had several teams on Enterprise since the two ships docked, not medical teams, sir, military ones. And one of the crew members, an exobiologist named Kurt Wilkinson has been kept under close arrest since he was revived."

Jon's brow creased in perplexity. There certainly was no need for the Dryalians to steal Enterprise 's technology, their own ships were far more advanced, nor was such behaviour like the race. He didn't like the idea of alien soldiers picking through his ship, but was powerless to stop it. If one of his crew was being held prisoner he had a duty to find out why. It sounded as if a lot had happened since he'd fallen prey to the illness.

"Something that occurred before the Vort Cloud?" he mused aloud. Lieutenant Reed shook his head.

"No, sir. I was the last crewman to fall to the illness.” His eyes misted over in memory. "Everyone else was already in the stasis modules. Trip told me that he promised we would all make it. He vowed that even if he didn't, we would." Jon fought back another bout of tears that threatened to overwhelm him. Before he could speak, A delegation of four came down the corridor and into the room. A man in a military uniform spoke to the Starfleet personnel.

"I'm glad to see you and your people awake, Captain," he began. "I am Captain Dan'een of the Hospital Ship, Trayia. This is my Chief Medical Officer, Professor Sau'mara, my Chief Engineer, Commander Mel'tar, and our Science Officer, Chau'tara."

"Captain Jonathan Archer," Jon introduced, remembering the Dryalian custom of formal introductions. "My First Officer and Science Officer, Sub-Commander T'Pol, my Armoury Officer, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Pleased to meet you." The hazel eyes focussed on Sau'mara. "Any news on Commander Tucker?" His dark green eyes sad, the CMO shook his head.

"The computer is having difficulty locking on to all the neurons in the young man's mind. We are using new algorithms to compensate. If it doesn't work in the next ten hours, I'm afraid we will have to cease our attempts and call in the Commander as irrevocably dead." Jon nodded, the half-molten stone in his chest burning within acutely.

"Captain Archer. There is more to the events that brought you back here than you know," Dan'een revealed. Jon looked at his counterpart, seeing the seriousness in the dark, almost bottle-green eyes.

"My officers have told me that you are holding one of my men prisoner and that you won't say why," he offered evenly.

"I'm sorry if we have seemed evasive," Dan'een apologised. "I would not authorise an disclosure until we had found all the evidence aboard you ship and until you, yourself, were awake and cured from your illness to help decide what must be done."

"I don't understand," Jon confessed. "What evidence? What disclosure?"

"I understand your confusion," Sau'mara said, his deep voice soothing, even if his words were not. "If you will kindly come with us we will show you what we have learned. If we explain, it would be hard to believe. In fact with the hard evidence it still sounds like a fiction, believe me. You must see yourself."

Jonathan Archer stood instantly. He had noticed his uniform neatly folded on a nearby chair and he began to dress. He pulled on socks and his black shirt before stepping into his uniform. Shrugging his broad shoulders into the coveralls he zipped up the front and sat to pull on his boots.

"Ensign's Sato and Mayweather are also part of my Senior Staff," he explained. "My Communications Officer and Helmsman."

"They are waiting for you," Dan'een assured him. Along with Dr. Phlox and Lieutenant Llywellen Griffith, your Head of Exobiology." Nodding, Archer stood, feeling a captain once more now he had his uniform back on.

"Thank you," he replied. I'm ready if you are. If you'd like to lead the way, I'd be interested in finding out what this is all about."

Captain Dan'een nodded and the four Dryalians filed out. Archer signaled to T'Pol and Reed with his eyes and the three Starfleet personnel followed the aliens from the room. Through his grief, Jon wanted answers. Why and how Trip had died? Why Crewman Wilkinson had been arrested? What had happened to Enterprise since he and his crew had become incapacitated? He fully intended to get those answers, and soon.

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