Immune - Chapter 4

Immune

by Trinneergirl

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

Chapter Four

If the hand of Providence had given with the left hand the illness, the right hand now gave them twelve hours before anyone else fell from it. Trip worked like a demon during those hours. Every redundant system was shut off. Any system that could be made redundant was taken off-line. Whole areas of cargo and maintenance were cordoned off. Trip went to Sickbay and gave some blood while Phlox gave him information about taking care of the crew. There were enough emergency stasis units on board to take everyone, but rounds would need to be kept to make sure the auto-systems were functioning. Trip, who had fought for, designed, and installed the emergency stasis units, was very glad he'd won that battle. He went to every department giving his orders, taking reports. He dispensed it all with his unique brand of laid-back yet stringent command. But, when Malcolm Reed came to find him, the Armoury Officer noticed a difference. Trip seemed calmer, stronger. For the first time Malcolm saw the new Commander in Trip's bearing and attitude. Reed reflected that Trip was now only one rank below the Captain himself, even outranking Sub-Commander T'Pol.

Commander Tucker looked up at Reed as he approached, "I thought I told you to stay on the Bridge, Lieutenant," he charged.

"Yes, sir," Malcolm replied. "The secondary watch relieved us two hours ago. Mayweather and I have been completing the work you ordered attaching the armoury and helm systems."

"Have twelve hours passed already?" Trip questioned wonderingly.

"Yes, sir," Reed replied. "Shouldn't you eat something?" The Englishman smiled, "Hate our last line of defense to faint with hunger. I don't want command of Enterprise right now. I'm not immune for a start." Trip smiled in response.

"I'll finish here then see what Chef can rustle up." Malcolm watched Trip as he tapped diagnostics into the computer. Trip, aware of the scrutiny, stood and faced his Armoury Officer. "Is there something else?" Malcolm took a step closer.

"You've always been the Captain's confidant in times of trouble."

"Not lately," Trip interrupted curtly, turning back to the diagnostics. "T'Pol is the Captain's ear of choice these days."

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed cursed himself for his slip. He didn't know why Jonathan Archer had turned his back on Trip Tucker this last few months. It had caused a lot of resentment. Trip was a popular guy and a damn good officer and he deserved a lot more than to be dumped for T'Pol without reason. The senior staff, himself included, had spoken about it and it was generally felt that, by isolating Trip, Captain Archer had treated the Commander very unfairly. How long the state of affairs could go on wasn't clear, but the promotion to full Commander by Tucker, without Captain Archer's knowledge, seemed to suggest it was coming to a head. Would they lose Trip? Malcolm dreaded the thought. The workload all the senior staff carried was huge, but Trip's work was double anyone else's. Reed genuinely believed that no one could fill the void. They'd need a new Chief Engineer, a Councilor, a Pilot, a Bridge Officer, and at least two maintenance experts to take the load. And none of them would be Trip, with his special personality, his dauntless, positive approach, and can-do attitude. And Trip was Malcolm's friend. Deciding to ignore the faux pas and get to the point Malcolm continued.

"Be that as it may, Commander, the point remains that the Captain needs an ear to talk to. Acting Captains need it too. I am your next in command, sir, and I believe I know the rules." Trip paused and looked at Malcolm. Then he passed his diagnostic PADD to a crewman.

"I think that I'll take you up on that offer of food after all," he owned. The two of them stepped out of Engineering and started to walk down the corridor. The pair of them were silent until they entered the turbolift. Trip leaned against the wall, allowing his fatigue to show for the first time.

"I think we've got all the systems shut down we can for now."

"U-huh," Malcolm responded, keeping his eyes on his friend.

"As people fall, the stasis units will take up more and more power, I'll reroute the redundant power units to keep them on line."

"Mmnn," Reed replied, waiting. Finally it broke loose.

"What if I'm not enough, Malcolm? I'm expected to take this whole ship myself! Being acting Captain to a diminishing crew until there's only me. For three weeks I'll be totally alone. Once we re-enter the Vort Cloud I won't even be able to contact Starfleet! You know what it was like going through that thing with all of us."

The dust-cloud, the remnants of giant stellar collisions millions of years before, encircled most of this quarter of the galaxy. It was one of the clouds of dust that prevented Earth from seeing the galactic centre. The cloud enclosed a vast area of space, although the individual particles were of no special problem to Enterprise. Providing she kept to a safe speed to allow the deflector dish to cope, warp four point five or less was okay, she shouldn't have any trouble. Going round the cloud was impossible because of its size. Up, down, and across, it stretched for dozens of light years. So Captain Archer gave the order to go through. They found the thinnest part of the cloud and it still took two weeks to pass across. All their sensors and communications went down. The windows were a matte grey-black and there was nothing, nothing at all to even tell them if they were moving. After a while it began to have a strange effect on the crew. They became listless, demotivated, tempers were lost. It wasn't until Captain Archer snapped at Hoshi for some minor misdeed and it took the combined efforts of Trip and T'Pol to prevent the Communications Officer from going for his throat that they realised the problem had become that bad.

Malcolm remembered those awful weeks with a shudder. The idea of spending two weeks in there alone, with a shipful of near corpses was horrible to contemplate.

"You were the least effected, along with T'Pol," he reminded Trip.

"After leaving University and before I joined Starfleet, I did two years training and two years work at the Woods Hole Oceanographic institute," explained Trip. "I became a trained engineer and helped with the geological surveys that formed the base for the underwater cities and plankton farms."

"While doing your Doctorate in Theoretical Physics and your Honours degrees in Biology, Geology, and Engineering. Before you joined Starfleet and got your Orbital Engineering, Space Science, and Exobiology-Communications degrees. Oh, and your Orbital Engineering Doctorate. Yes, I've read your record, sir," Reed said offhandedly

Trip was thrown for a second. He knew Malcolm had access to his record as Security Chief, but the Englishman had never brought it up before.

"Yeah, well," Trip continued. "We were on the sea floor in an experimental biosphere when a storm blew up. The pod could only take four of us and there were five down there. We couldn't trust the escape pods in those conditions. I volunteered to stay behind." The turbolift door opened and the two men stepped out. "They promised they'd return for me, but by the time they'd depressurised and surfaced the hurricane forced the recovery ship to go for port. The last message they sent said they'd come back as soon as possible."

The two men entered the Officer's Mess and Malcolm grabbed Trip's arm, steering him to the head of the table where he now belonged. The senior officer, who had started to go to his usual spot, realised and took the chair. Malcolm went to the foot of the table and they waited as a steward served them. When they were alone Malcolm asked, tentatively.

"What happened, sir? In the biosphere?" Trip finished a forkful of pasta and thought back, his dark-blue eyes dulling at the memory.

"It was nearly two months before they could return."

"What?" Malcolm nearly choked. "Two months?"

"The only sub in the world that could come fetch me was on that ship and the ship hit the dock in a storm surge and needed emergency repairs. They came as soon as they could." Trip's brows rose. "But I didn't know that. Not at the time. The hurricane swirled the sand up from the seabed and there wasn't a damn thing to be seen outside the windows for nearly two weeks. I had plenty of food and air, the biosphere was equipped to house five people for six months. When the sea cleared and I could see the crabs and fish in the biosphere's lights and they still hadn't come back, I thought they'd just left me there. I couldn't use the escape pods. They depend upon a ship being on the surface to get whoever into a decompression chamber quickly to prevent the bends. There was no ship there. I was trapped."

Malcolm didn't want to try and imagine it. Millions of tons of water between you and the sun, the air, and freedom. He watched as Trip finished his pasta and sipped his ice tea.

"How did you cope?" he asked.
"The only way a country boy knows. Day by day," Trip responded with a slight smile. "I was determined that someday, someone would find me and they'd find I'd done all I could to make the best of it."

"Like on Shuttlepod One, when we thought Enterprise was destroyed," Malcolm stated. "It was deja vu for you."

"No. You were there. I wasn't alone." The hollow echo in Trip's voice at that last word said a lot of things to Malcolm. "In the biosphere I carried on with experiments, exercised, kept myself trim and clean, wrote the log. Paced my day so there was nothing but the next task. Cleaning the filters, fixing the systems. I held on to hope for six weeks. Then, realising this thing would be my tomb I fell apart."

Trip took another sip of ice tea. "I got drunk, got angry, cried my eyes out. I remember laying on the floor looking out of the big bowl window, thinking about how many tons per square centimetre pressure were forcing down on it. And for a minute I froze. Imagining it pushing down on me. I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, the weight of the ocean crushing my chest. A mile and a half of utter blackness above me before there was anyplace the sun could reach. I have never felt so alone, so hopeless. In my madness and claustrophobia I determined to open the air lock and die quickly."

"Oh, lord!" Malcolm breathed. "What happened?" Trip gave a rueful laugh.

"You know me, Lieutenant," he replied self depreciatingly. "I have a guardian angel with a sense of the ridiculous! As I was climbing down the ladder to the air lock, I fell and hit my head. When I woke up I was more interested in getting a pain-killer, for my duckegg-sized bump and the hangover, than I was in committing suicide!"

Malcolm grinned as the Commander rose from the table to fetch himself more ice tea. He proffered the jug to his colleague but Reed shook his head. Returning to his place, Jon's place, he reminded himself, Trip could see that Malcolm wasn't going to let go until he'd heard the whole story.

"After that debacle, I went back to my routine. Working, eating, sleeping. I didn't think they'd come rescue me anymore. I just decided to continue until the end, so when they found me, my mom and dad, and my family, they'd all know Trip didn't give in. That he died with some Tucker pride in his spine. Then one day the radio clicked and they told me they were coming down. To get ready for evacuation. Kinda numb, I logged the radio entry, packed away everything from the logs and experiments, made sure all was tight, and sure enough six hours later there was a gurgling crunch on the airlock and they came in. Commander Braun was first through and the hug I got was about the sweetest I ever did have." Trip gave a wolfish smile, his cerulean eyes back to their mischievous best. "Course it helped that Lisa Braun was real pretty!" The two of them laughed out loud. Trip's love for the ladies was legendary.

"Yes, that would be a bonus!" Malcolm agreed. He sobered. "Even after all that you went for Starfleet?" Trip looked out at the warping starfield.

"Malcolm, I learned that if rescue is a hands-breadth or a million light years away, if they can't get to you, you die. I also learned to make the most of my life, when I got it back that day." The blonde brows rose. "But I don't like being alone. Not for long anyway. I guess I was naturally sociable before, but... Now, I really don't like being alone. And alone is where I'm gonna be. Nothing to see, no one to talk to. Alone except for a shipful of unconscious colleagues." He turned and looked Malcolm in the eyes. "If I tell you something, you promise it stays just with you?"

"Of course, Commander," Malcolm answered readily.

"I'm real scared," Trip owned. Lieutenant Reed could not fault or blame him. He didn't envy Trip, not one bit.

"Sickbay to Commander Tucker," the Communications panel spoke. Trip stood and went to respond.

"Tucker here," he replied.

"Commander, three more crewmembers have fallen sick," Phlox revealed.

"On my way. Tucker out." Malcolm rose and Trip, who was walking to the door, stopped. "Thanks for being there," he told the Lieutenant gratefully. "It did help, being able to talk." Surprisingly Reed came over and placed his hands on Trip's shoulders.

"You will make it, sir," he stated seriously. Then he smiled. "You have Tucker pride in your spine, remember?"

"Yes," Trip returned the smile. "I do have that." Malcolm stepped back and allowed his friend to pass.

"Just don't get drunk, sir," Malcolm recommended. Trip paused in the open doorway. His expression and raised brows asked the question. "There are no ladders on Enterprise between the Bridge and the airlock," Malcolm pointed out, his concern for his friend in his dark blue-grey eyes. Trip looked down briefly, a smile of understanding just touching his lips.

"I know," he responded. "I designed them out." The door closed behind the Commander, hiding the look of shocked uncertainty on Malcolm's face, his heart sinking as he tried to comprehend exactly what Trip meant by that statement.

Commander Tucker reached Sickbay just as another two unconscious forms were brought in. Under Phlox's tutorage Trip placed the forms in the emergency stasis units, fixing up the life support systems, and sealing the squashed cylindrical-shaped pods. Several crewmen were fully occupied carrying the units to the largest cargo bay, where they could be easily fixed to the life support systems. Phlox was impressed by the quiet, dedicated way the young Commander learned the stasis technique. Of course, having designed the units, Trip had an advantage, but he wasn't happy until he had familiarised himself with all the possibilities. The intelligent questions he asked impressed the Denobulan physician immensely. Being an engineer had made Trip thorough. When lives were at stake he didn't stop until he'd understood it all. At last satisfied, Trip stood and talked briefly with the Doctor. Phlox watched for the changes in Trip. Many had heard about Captain Archer's cold-shouldering of Commander Tucker, but Phlox hadn't witnessed it or its effects until now.

Trip looked older. The shadow's worn into his chiseled features, the hollows under his eyes, beneath his cheekbones gave his expression a gravitas it hadn't held before. He was thinner too. The already slender man's uniform, made to fit him snugly, had space round the midriff and the hollows in the long neck were sharper, more pronounced. True, the Chief Engineer's cerulean eyes were clouded with a hundred worries right now, but that calm emptiness, especially in repose, was nothing recent. Phlox felt saddened that a laughing positivity that had lasted through anything the galaxy had thrown at it, had been replaced by a solemnity that spoke of personal unhappiness and betrayal.

"Thanks Doc. Keep me informed." Trip turned to leave.

"Yes, sir," Phlox replied. He watched as the tall human left Sickbay then shook his head. There hadn't been a single attempt at the Southern-boy persona the whole time Trip had been with him. Phlox rather liked Trip's sunny disposition. He hoped that, like the Captain, Sub-Commander, and others, the real Trip Tucker was only sleeping deeply and would come back to them soon.

Trip reached the Bridge just as the second bridge crew's helmsman, Ensign Sharp, fell at his post. Trip flew across the deck and, pulling a hypospray from his pocket, he injected the drug that had been made from the Commander's own blood. The quicker the drug was injected the better it was for the recipient. He looked up to see Lieutenant Harper calling for a stasis module. Trip took the helm, quickly checking the systems. Everything was fine. Sharp hadn't removed the locked-in course. A few minutes later a crewman came to relieve the station and Trip returned to the Captain's chair. It felt awful big to the young engineer. Maybe it just fitted Archer better. Ensign Demarco turned from his Communications station.

"Commander. Admiral Forrest is contacting us." Trip stood.

"No rest for the wicked, huh?" he joked. Demarco, Harper, and Shearer, the Science Officer for the second shift, all found a smile. "In the Ready Room, Ensign.”

"Yes, sir." Trip passed the hypospray to Harper.

"The Bridge is yours, Lieutenant," he commanded. Harper nodded, but her hand shook as she took the spray.

"Do you think we'll need it, sir?" she asked, tentatively.

"Probably not," Trip reassured. He leaned in and stage-whispered. "But if I contact the Admiral with that thing in my pocket he's gonna think I'm over-excited!" Harper couldn't help the giggle, despite her fears. She felt a lot better for the laughter.

Trip moved to the door exiting the Bridge, pausing to glance back once before going through. He made his way to the Ready Room and sat at the Communications station. He took a deep breath and keyed the monitor. The face of Admiral Forrest appeared, reassuringly familiar.

"Admiral, sir," Trip greeted.

"Commander Tucker. I got your message. How are things on Enterprise?"

"The Captain and T'Pol are unconscious and in stasis, sir. Along with eight, no, nine of the crewmen. All the systems which are capable of being taken off-line have been. All the stasis units are up and ready. Enterprise will reach the Vort Cloud in nineteen hours. By then I'll be the only one left standing." Trip paused as his voice shook.

Admiral Forrest regarded the young Commander with sympathy. What was he? Thirty seven? Thirty eight? He glanced down at the monitor in front of him. Thirty four? Trip Tucker had just made full Commander at thirty four? Jon Archer had shot up the ranks and he'd not made full Commander until he was thirty-nine!

"Go on, Commander," Forrest urged gently. Trip cleared his throat.

"Sorry, sir." He apologised. "It will take us..., me..., uh, us..., two weeks to clear the Vort Cloud. Then it's another week to ten days to Dryalia, if the ship holds out."

"You designed a great deal of her, Commander. I'm sure she'll be fine." Trip tried to smile, made a spectacular mess of it, and ended up only looking defenceless, weary, and desperately young.

"I don't know how long it will take to cure the Captain and crew and return, sir," Trip finished.

Forrest sighed, watching the young man. Suddenly, Trip shivered, shaking off the fatigue. He sat up, a new awareness and alertness in his whole being. It was as if he shook off being tired like sloughing a skin and a mantle of command took over.

"As soon as we return, we will contact you, of course, Admiral. If anything catastrophic happens, I'll try to send a buoy with the information. Of course we won't be able to contact anyone this side once we're in."

"I well remember the fun it was waiting for you to return last time," Forrest revealed. "The flagship of Starfleet disappears without a trace for a month."

"The particles of the cloud work like a sound dampener for anything, sir, even sub-space communications," Trip explained. "For now, everything here is under some sort of control. Once I'm alone... If something happens and I can't launch the buoy, sir, please give my apologies to the families of those on board. And the Vulcan and Denobulan governments." Trip's voice and gaze were steady now. Forrest was beginning to see why this handsome child had the three squares and the pip that he had.

"Have you told the Captain about your promotion, yet?" Forrest asked, following the train of thought. Trip looked at the Admiral in some surprise, before answering.

"He knows, sir," he responded diplomatically. Forrest wasn't fooled.

"How'd he take it?" he asked plainly. Trip's light brows raised further.

"Well, he passed out before he had the chance to murder me, sir. But I'm pretty sure that once he's up and well, he'll expel me from one of the air locks," he admitted. Forrest smiled.

"That well, huh?" he sympathised. Trip smiled back.

"Pretty much, sir," he concurred.

"Well, the very best of luck, Commander," Forrest offered. Trip nodded.
"If the worst does come to the worst, sir, can I just say that being chosen to be on this ship was the greatest honour of my life. I wouldn't change a day of it." Forrest nodded, proud of what may very well be Enterprise’s last statement.

"Forrest out," the Admiral finished. The screen went black.

Admiral Forrest stood from his desk at Starfleet Headquarters and walked across the plush carpet. He stopped, as he had many times before, leaning against the floor-to-ceiling picture window, looking out. The Golden Gate shone a rusty red in the afternoon sun, the harbour beneath a glowing blue, reflecting a sky studded with tiny white clouds. On either side of the suspension bridge the red, sandy cliffs were filled with emerald green foliage, the product of the spring rains, soon to be scorched and bleached to a whitish grey with the onset of summer. It was a beautiful day. And there at the desk he had just spoken to a young man who would be going through a horrible ordeal soon. Hundreds of light years away, Charles Tucker III would be stretched to breaking point whilst being more alone than anyone since Adam. What he was being asked to do was almost impossible, the engineers and psychologists both agreed. He'd crack or the ship would reach a cascade failure and detonate. And if he did fail, that young man, Enterprise, and her compliment of eighty-three would perish too.

Forrest returned to his desk and read Tucker's report. He really was an exemplary officer. There were those who said he'd been chosen because he was Jon Archer's friend, but when the candidates were looked at, even the Vulcans admitted Trip was the best man to be Chief Engineer of Enterprise. The Admiral's eyes fell onto the reports of the biosphere incident. He could remember the news footage of the young engineer who had been left to survive alone for two months. The whole world watching, waiting, feeling the horror of being left alone, with no communications, nearly two miles down in pitch darkness, with nothing but millions of tons of ocean water above him. Trip Tucker was the very worst person on that starship that could by fate be left alone to go through this, after his experiences. But because of those same experiences, he might just be the only human alive who had the capacity to pull it off. What cold irony. Bitter cold.

Often Admiral Forrest found himself wishing he could be out there with Archer and his crew, part of the exciting mission, the cutting edge. Instead of flying a desk. Running interference, taking meetings, listening to the same arguments go round and round. But today, the Admiral was very glad he wasn't in Commander Tucker's shoes. He'd rather have a dozen meetings with Soval than fly into the Vort Cloud alone, with eighty-two stasis pods and a whole starship to keep going. Thirty-four years old! Forrest flinched inside. His own son was older than Commander Tucker. He offered up a silent prayer for the handsome young Chief Engineer. It was all the help either the Admiral or Starfleet could give Trip now.

Continue to Chapter 5

Return to Chapter 3

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!