Captain, We Have Pumpkins
by (Hidden)
Fan Fiction Story: A stand-alone story in a fictional season five of "Star Trek: Enterprise" that we sadly never got to see due to the show's cancellation. Finally having some quiet time, the crew decides to celebrate Halloween. But of course, quiet time on this ship is not always quiet.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Romantic Lesbian Heterosexual Fiction Fan Fiction Workplace Science Fiction Aliens Space Nudism .
NX-01 “Enterprise”, October 20th 2155
Any other Captain would probably have been bored out of his mind by now, but Captain Jonathan Archer did not mind boring in the slightest. The ship had spent the last six hours orbiting an M-Class planet that for all intents and purposes looked rather unremarkable. Granted, the large oceans with several island continents in them looked very similar to Earth, but they had seen several such planets in the past and some had sprung rather nasty surprises on them.
His mind wandered back to that beautiful planet they had visited just a few months into their mission’s first year, only to find out that among all that beautiful flora hid a psychotropic plant that had caused the away team to go bonkers. Not everything out here was what it looked like at first glance.
As a result scans were a lot more thorough, now four years later, creating the current monotony on the ship, but that was not what had made him enjoy it that much. It was the contrast to the previous year, and the start to this one, which made him gladly accept this absence of excitement. They had had way to much of it in the past.
It had all culminated in him having to deliver a Eulogy for a baby a little over eight months ago – the unlikely child of Commanders T’Pol and Tucker. Everybody had known that the two of them had had it bad for each other since even before the Xindi mission, but they had danced around each other like angst-ridden teenagers for over two years.
The real horror was that baby Elizabeth had not been the result of Trip and T’Pol finally smelling the coffee. The child had been created by cloning, using stolen tissue samples, and for the sole purpose to die after a few weeks, just so some terror group called “Terra Prime” could falsely claim that getting involved with aliens was literally deadly.
Although Doctor Phlox had been powerless to save the child, once they had freed her from the Orpheus mining complex, the encounter with the time-traveling Enterprise in the Expanse, commanded by a one-hundred year old son of Trip and T’Pol, named Lorian, was all the proof necessary that hybrid children of mixed heritage were indeed viable, albeit only with heavy medical intervention during the pregnancy.
He had never cornered Phlox about any details, the Denobulan would have just cited doctor-patient confidentiality, but if Jon had to place a bet, he would put his money on the fact that Phlox had pilfered all the medical data he could get from the other Enterprise, just so he could one day help Trip and T’Pol conceive. It was an open secret that, although most of the crew had been rooting for the ship’s chief engineer and the science officer to end up as an item, nobody was more excited about the prospect than, of all people, an alien from a race the family structures of which made a ménage à trois look positively simplistic.
Well, Phlox had gotten that wish at least.
After the funeral of baby Elizabeth the Vulcans had taken both Trip and T’Pol away to Vulcan without much of an explanation. Considering that they had sent a warp 7 capable Suurok class cruiser and had screamed out of the solar system at full pelt, running roughshod over all regulations prohibiting going to warp until after passing the Kuiper belt, one could only assume that this had been a matter of some urgency.
Of course the Vulcans had been typically reluctant to share any details. The only reason that he had any information at all about the four months that Trip and T’Pol had spent on Vulcan, was the fact that he had once taken a hike through the desert with the woman who was now the First Minister on Vulcan – T’Pau.
She had shared some confidential information, on the condition that they would not end up in official Starfleet reports. As the Captain of one of only two deep space vessels he was not necessarily comfortable with keeping vital information from Starfleet, but at the time his worries about the welfare of his two senior officers had trumped any loyalty to the top brass.
From what he could make out from the little information he had wrangled from T’Pau, Trip and T’Pol were somehow telepathically linked by something called a tel, some kind of telepathic connection of their minds. That went a long way to explain why Trip had been the only male on the ship not affected by those three Orion bitches who had tried to take over the ship, shortly before that whole Terra Prime crisis had blown up in their faces. T’Pol had already called first dibs on the ship’s chief engineer without anyone but herself knowing about it.
However, according to T’Pau, T’Pol had fallen into some sort of coma after arriving on Vulcan. She had described it as T’Pol just lying down and waiting to die, her mind going into self-destruct over the grief for their daughter. With Trip being her only hope, the Vulcans had scrambled to teach him basic mental techniques and through some sort of telepathic mumbo-jumbo, he had managed to get T’Pol back to life.
It had all been rather vague, and he clearly remembered the day when Trip and T’Pol had finally returned to the ship in early July, after more than four months on Vulcan. He had not known what to expect. Had T’Pol’s attempt at mental suicide left any damage? Had Trip been turned into an ersatz-Vulcan by the hurriedly administered training, brain-washed into suppressing his emotions?
Thankfully none of his worries had proven to be warranted, although there were three noticeable changes. First, Trip had taken to clasping his hands behind his back, just like T’Pol did. Second, T’Pol had become rather frighteningly adept at delivering jokes and acerbic zingers, and both of them seemed to have no interest in trying to hide that they were an item. One wouldn’t find them tongue-wrestling in a corridor, but the way they interacted made it abundantly clear that they were not mere shipmates.
His reverie was interrupted by a distant voice. “Captain?”
He tried to hang on to his stray thoughts, but the voice insisted. “Captain!”
He shook his head and realized he was on the bridge, watched by a somewhat worriedly looking group of people.
“I’m sorry, T’Pol. I guess I got lost in thought,” he said.
“So much was obvious,” the Vulcan replied dryly. “We have pumpkins, Captain.”
Jon shook his head again. “You have what?”
He saw T’Pol roll her eyes in exasperation.
“Captain, you asked the science department to scan for plants that resemble Earth’s Cucurbita Pepo for your upcoming celebration. We have found some.”
“Sorry,” Jon apologized again for his addled brain. “Are they safe?”
“They do not contain any known toxins. However their color does not conform to Earth standard. They are blue. According to our scans they should be edible. I suggest we deploy an away team to do more precise scans.”
“Assemble a team,” Jonathan Archer agreed. “Take Chef and McIlway from hydroponics with you. I bet Chef will appreciate the fresh air. He’s been on the ship for four years. While you’re down there, scan for other plants we could use to spice up our supplies with.”
“As you wish, Captain,” the Vulcan said and left the bridge.
Trip had had other plans for after the shift, but T’Pol was still on the surface, so he had accepted Malcolm’s invitation to a beer or twelve in his quarters.
“You’ve danced around each other like dumb teenagers for years,” Malcolm Reed said and handed the ship’s chief engineer a bottle of beer. “And now you’re risking that T’Pol boots you out of the nearest airlock because of a Halloween party? I mean, bobbing for apples is probably already insane enough a thought for a Vulcan, but turning it into a strip game? That’s stretching it, even by human standards. And that’s not even considering what the regulations have to say about it.”
“Have you taken a look at the ship’s forum?” Trip asked as he sat down on Malcolm’s bunk. “We have forty-one takers so far. That’s nearly half the crew.”
“I understand that,” Malcolm argued. “People want to let their hair down, okay. But what kind of daemon was riding you when you added a poll for most wished for participant? You and Hoshi are the runaway favorites.”
“Ah, so that’s what’s getting your knickers in a twist,” Trip said, taking a swig from his beer. “You don’t want that people unpack Hoshi.”
Malcolm snorted. “If she isn’t stark rollock naked by the end of the evening, she’ll ditch the frock anyway. That’s not what I’m concerned about. What will T’Pol say when people want to see you naked? I think we can agree she won’t be participating herself, but do you really want to offend her like that? How will she react to knowing that people are eager to get the toga off her mate?”
“Well, she’ll probably think we’re stark raving mad for participating in ‘inane rituals’, but she won’t have much of a problem with me chucking the frock off,” Trip explained. “Vulcans don’t have the same attitude towards nudity that we have. I’ve been there at the height of summer this year. They have no problem with stripping down to nothing when it gets too hot. And trust me, that was not always an exciting sight. Now if anyone were to touch me while I’m naked, that would be bad.”
“Would she know about it when she isn’t participating?” Malcolm asked. “Not that I would want to suggest anything, but I don’t want to have to post a security detail to guard you either.”
“You don’t need to,” Trip answered. “For starters T’Pol would know before anyone with the wrong intentions would even come anywhere near me.”
“How?” Malcolm asked.
“T’Pol and I are linked. She can sense what I am feeling, and I can sense what she is feeling.”
Trip closed his eyes.
“Right now she’s bored stiff, because Chef and Pat test all kinds of plants down on the surface and she has nothing to do. Oh, and she’s not best pleased that we are ‘imbibing intoxicating substances’ again.”
“You can sense that, all the way up here while she’s on the surface?” Malcolm asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.
Trip shrugged. “I don’t know if there’s a physical limit. Not even the Vulcans have the faintest idea how well a human can adapt to telepathic contact. Full-blooded Vulcan mates can sense each other over hundreds of light years.”
“So if someone were to touch you, T’Pol would feel it immediately, even if she’s on the bridge?” Malcolm asked for confirmation.
“Much earlier than that,” Trip replied. “I would sense if someone wants to come on to me and I would recoil. This link between us is a safeguard. That’s why I was immune to the Orion women. I tried not to show it, but I was feeling sick as a dog when those bitches tried to get too friendly with me.”
“That’s one helluva a chastity belt,” Malcolm said with a chuckle and handed Trip a fresh beer.
“I don’t really need a chastity belt,” Trip said. “We’ve suffered hard enough to get to where we are.”
“And yet, you pull a stunt like that,” Malcolm argued. “Not only that – you’re participating in it.”
“You don’t understand the change she’s gone through,” Trip explained. “Yes she thinks it is a ridiculous idea and generally completely illogical, but T’Pol accepts that this is what humans do. I bet you’ve been on Vulcan before when you were in that section 31 of yours.”
“I can’t possibly comment on that,” Malcolm answered in a clipped voice.
“I’m just going to assume you know what a Sehlat is,” Trip continued, undeterred by Malcolm’s secrecy. “They are predators and Vulcans keep them as pets. Eating meat is abhorrent to them, but they feed meat to their Sehlats. That’s the logic T’Pol is working with. Our behavior might be illogical to her, but she knows that’s how we roll, so she accepts it. At least she does now. Things were a lot different in the early years of our mission.”
“So in essence, she’ll just stay away herself, but have no problem letting you participate, as long as the female crew keep their hands off you,” Malcolm summarized for clarification.
“Exactly,” Trip confirmed. “And since everyone knows that T’Pol and I are together, nobody will try anything funny. I couldn’t think of a single woman aboard who would like to find out what it looks like when T’Pol gets possessive.”
“I’ve only had two,” Trip said when T’Pol came into their, now shared, quarters. This would hopefully help him avoid the fate of having to listen to a lecture about ‘debilitating substances’.
“I do know,” she replied calmly and took off her uniform and underwear before she disappeared into the bathroom.
After enjoying the view for the few seconds he could, he noticed that T’Pol had folded her discarded clothes neatly, but had not disposed of them into the laundry chute. That was very unlike her. He could have used their connection to try and sense if something was distracting her, but he had decided, while still on Vulcan, that he would mostly rely on good old verbal communication.
“Something on your mind?” he asked, when T’Pol finally came back from the bathroom. She was wearing a bathrobe and Trip quickly increased the ambient room temperature to prevent her from getting cold.
“I have only sensed parts of your conversation with Lieutenant Reed, but it appears that he considers us a security risk if we were to partake in this peculiar celebration.”
“Well, not us, but you,” the engineer explained. “We all know you wouldn’t participate in something illogical like that. But Malcolm is afraid you would be upset if someone from the female contingent might get some fancy ideas about me, especially as the evening goes on and alcohol is consumed.”
“That would not be a problem if I were present,” the Vulcan replied dryly.
Trip gasped with surprise. “T’Pol do you even understand how those games work?”
“You described them quite thoroughly in your forum proposal,” she answered calmly. “Several fruit of Malus Domestica are floated in a large bowl of cold water and three contestants try to capture as many fruit as possible, just using their teeth. The eventual winner gets to nominate any of the crew members present and the nominated crew member will be required to take off an item of clothing. Crew members who have been completely undressed can no longer be nominated.
“And you don’t happen to see the flaw in that logic?” Trip replied with an irritated look. “I can guarantee you that you would be one of the first female attendees who end up butt-naked. And on the male side it will probably be me.”
“As long as I do not have to participate in the actual competition, the frequent contact with cold water would cause me several problems, I see nothing that would prevent me from being present. I could guard you against unsolicited advances.”
“While being stark naked, darlin’? I know Vulcans have a different attitude to nudity, but this crew is human, and I could think of of at least a dozen guys who would be very interested in seeing the science officer without any clothes. Some of these guys have to take orders from you again the next day.”
“Then my presence would provide a practical side-effect, would it not?” the Vulcan argued. “I would not be the only officer the male crew members will be eager to divest of their clothing. I am convinced Lieutenant Hess and Lieutenant Sato will be preferred targets as well. Over fifty percent of our current crew members have only recently joined. It would be a very effective way to find out if we have crew members who lack the professionalism required. We are still close enough to Earth. We could have those crew members exchanged within a week.”
“Hell of a way to find the bad apples,” Trip replied with amusement.
“I also have a secondary reason for my decision. Many of the new crew members are apprehensive when dealing with me. They do not have the extensive experience in working with a Vulcan that the remaining thirty members of the original crew have.”
“And you think, when they see that you appear at the party, and see that a Vulcan doesn’t look too different from a human, they will be less apprehensive when dealing with you,” the Chief effortlessly finished her explanation.
“Indeed,” T’Pol confirmed. “You are getting better at subconsciously using our tel.”
“I know, but I still prefer verbal communication over telephathic exchanges,” Trip said. “If nothing else, people would notice if we would have a silent conversation in our heads.”
“Which means I must verbally remind you that it has been forty-eight hours and twenty-six point two-eight minutes since...”
The chief engineer silenced her by putting his finger over her lips. At the same time he pushed the bath robe off her shoulders revealing that she had been stark naked underneath.
“Say no more, darlin’,” he told her and gently pushed her back onto the bunk.
“I would say your transport tags work perfectly,” the engineer told the security officer when they inspected their day’s work, one day after his memorable talk, and an even more memorable night, with T’Pol.
“Imagine we would have had to shuttle all this stuff up here. We would have needed a week,” Malcolm replied, pleased with the result of their nifty little transporter trick.
“Let me guess. It was Hoshi’s idea to turn the cargo bay into an artificial beach?”
“Technically yes, but not our Hoshi,” Malcolm said. “Her counterpart on Lorian’s Enterprise came up with the idea. Apparently the other T’Pol and the other you spent your honeymoon in a cargo bay that had been turned into an artificial beach, complete with what passed for palm trees in the Expanse. Which means it was a much more elaborate design than ours.”
“Well, it’s still better than having the party in the mess hall. T’Pol would have frozen her feet off on the cold floor, and lots of sand will remind her of Vulcan.”
Malcolm spluttered. “Are you trying to tell me T’Pol will attend the party?”
“Having regrets that you volunteered for the skeleton crew?” Trip teased him.
“Not really,” Malcolm admitted. “I won’t lie, a peek at that awfully nice bum is a tempting prospect, but that would also require my participation, and I have a few scars on my back and my torso that I don’t really want to have to explain to other crew members.”
“Oh, you mean like those bite marks from that crocodile, which I suppose wasn’t really a crocodile,” Trip speculated.
“Exactly,” the Brit replied dryly.
“How come you can talk about that here, but not in your quarters?” Trip asked.
“We have to assume that the Capain’s ready room and my quarters have been bugged by the section,” Malcolm told him. “They are the only two places in which Harris could remotely commandeer the view screens. If he can do that, he can also activate recording devices. There is a reason why I don’t take Hoshi to my quarters.”
“You’ve not been able to find anything?” the engineer inquired. “You’re supposed to be the best at sniffing out bugs.”
“If I did a deep scan I would probably find out what they have done, but if I did that, Harris would know within minutes. And trust me, the section doesn’t take kindly to being found out. Whatever they have done to this ship, they have also done to Columbia. They would off me and the Captain at the very least. It’s a minor miracle that Harris has left the Captain alive after revealing himself to him during the Augments crisis. Captain Archer won’t be that lucky a second time.”
“Forget effigies of witches or jack-o-lanterns, that’s a properly spooky thought,” Trip replied dryly. “I think that’s a job for someone who has literally written the book on this ship. I would find any deviations from the construction plans in a matter of minutes.”
“Good luck finding a reason to take my quarters apart without Harris smelling a rat. The guy has dialed the paranoia to eleven,” Malcolm argued.
“Over the next few days, smuggle anything of value from your quarters to Hoshi’s. One or two days after the party a few EPS relays will explode all over the ship, among them the ones behind the panels of your quarters and the Captain’s ready room. Computers in engineering can act up and reroute the plasma flow to the wrong pipes, you know?”
“And nobody will suspect anything when the chief engineer himself does the investigation, because it involves high-ranking officers’ quarters,” the Brit realized with a grin.
“Exactly.”
Nobody would become suspicious about a deep scan of the cargo bay, and Malcolm and Trip had made sure there was no possible way they could be overheard here. Just for safety Malcolm had activated one of the force field emitters. The low hum of it would drown out any listening devices, should they have missed them.
The door opened and the Captain of the ship joined them. The two officers explained their elaborate plan to him and the Captain authorized it, on the condition that the two of them would make absolutely sure that no crew member could possibly be harmed when the EPS relays were burned through or even detonated deliberately.
“I’ve already planned for that,” Malcolm explained. “If only your ready room and my quarters were affected, it would raise suspicion. Trip has given me the names of five reliable crewmen from engineering. We will approach them and tell them they will be needed for support in an unannounced security team drill, which they of course cannot disclose as to not tip off my team members.”
“That way I can make sure they will definitely not be in their quarters at the time, because they will be helping me find out what is wrong with the computer in engineering,” the Chief added.
Jonathan Archer shook his head. “I’m just glad the two of you are on our side. Okay, do it. There will be no written reports other than reports about an engineering accident. Any other information will be exchanged here, verbally only.”
“Aye, Captain,” the other two officers replied in unison.
“Trip, what about T’Pol?” the Captain asked and tipped his temple with his index finger. “Will she sense anything?”
“Definitely,” the Chief replied. “But she will also sense that it is better not to ask for details. That’s the beauty of it. She definitely knows already that Malcolm and I are plotting something, but at the same time she instinctively knows that the secrecy is needed for the success of the mission, as opposed to doing something behind her back.”
“How does that work anyway?” the Captain asked and sat down on a crate full of tools. “You can have whole conversations telepathically?”
“Not really,” Trip said. “T’Pol can. If she concentrates hard enough, she can literally speak directly to my mind. I can hear the words in my head. But that requires so much concentration, she can only do so when meditating. Humans can have latent telepathic abilities, but on a much smaller scale. Hoshi certainly has them. That’s how she can learn languages so easily.”
“So you have no direct way to reach T’Pol,” the Captain said.
Trip didn’t answer. He closed his eyes and entered the shallow meditative state the Vulcans had taught him. After a while he opened his eyes again.
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