What Little Boys Are Made Of - Part 1

Captain Jonathan Archer sat, somewhat reclined, in the chair at his desk. The ready room's limited space was usually manageable, but seemed more confining on this day. He stared at the blank viewscreen from his desktop terminal.

It had only been two days since the Enterprise crew had made contact with the Montelosians via the viewscreen and audio communication. The Minshara class planet was post-warp and had hailed the ship when they were in orbit only a few minutes.

Robann, the governor of sorts of the region in the Northern Hemisphere, was a very obliging male. His smile was genuine as it spread across his light orange colored face. It made the ridges in his forehead seem softer and his violet eyes exude warmth.

The captain eagerly accepted Robann's invitation to dine with him and the council of his village that evening. He had picked his chief engineer and best friend, Trip Tucker, Sub-Commander T'Pol and Ensign Hoshi Sato. It had all seemed so wondrous and exciting. Then what in the hell went wrong?
The landing party had all been invited to come back the following morning for tours. The captain and T'Pol were taken to the council chambers and informed about how the governing body functioned. Hoshi was taken to a primary school and higher studies university. Trip had been taken on a tour of the village power plant and shipyards.

When the crew had regrouped, Archer remembered how he had easily given Trip permission to go back this morning and visit with Ashegan. Trip had been quite taken with her and Archer knew his friend relished the company of a female engineer. As Trip put it, "It's like killin' two birds with one stone." Ashegan took Trip to eat breakfast at a small diner on the edge of the village...and that's when the trouble began.

"Bridge to Captain Archer," Hoshi's com voice broke his thoughts.

"Archer here."

"Captain, it's Commander Tucker."

"Thank you, Hoshi. Send it through, please." Archer took a deep breath as he sat up straight in front of the terminal.

Trip appeared on the console screen, looking tired and sullen. His short-cropped blond hair was tousled, making him appear so much younger, Archer thought.

"Guess this is my one phone call, Cap'n." Trip offered.

Archer managed a weak smile. "How are you holding up?"

Trip shrugged his shoulders. "Been better, sir."

"What happened?" Archer asked, with confusion in his voice.

"Ah didn't like the way that guy was knockin' his kid 'round," Trip replied, his southern drawl more pronounced due to the stress.

"Robann said it took four of their guys to pull you off of him."

"Okay, so ah really didn't like the way he knocked his kid 'round."

"Trip," Archer warned, the way he always did prior to pulling rank if he didn't get the response he wanted.

"Look, sir, ah don't have much time," Trip said looking around. "What's done is done. Ah promise ta tell ya everythin' when ah get back."

There was a pause as Archer stared at Trip.

"You know, I'd be there with you if I could. But they banned any more of us from coming down to the surface until further notice."

"Ah know, Cap'n, but they said ah could have someone here when the sentence is carried out. 'Less you'd rather not come..."

"I'll be there," Archer quickly replied.

Robann came into view now, standing next to Trip.

"I'm afraid there won't be time, Captain." Robann placed a hand on Trip's
shoulder. "As soon as this communiqué has ended the sentence will be announced and administered. Mr. Tucker will then be free to rejoin you on your ship."

"I understand, Robann," Archer relented.

Robann gently squeezed Trip's shoulder. "I will remain by his side throughout, Captain."

Archer nodded his thanks, as an audible response was difficult.

"You may have a few more minutes." Robann offered.

"If it's okay," Trip shook his head negatively. "Ah'd just 'soon get this over with, sirs."

"I'll be waiting, Trip." Archer assured.

The screen went blank and Archer's chest heaved the breath he seemed to be holding throughout. His shoulders sagged as he placed his elbows on the desk, running his hands through his hair. Damn! ----------

Robann held onto Trip's upper arm as he guided the younger man out of the room. The halls of the detention facility were stark and a pale, cool, light green. Trip wondered if there was a reason for the color. Was it supposed to be soothing? He let out a low sigh, as he thought it wasn't working.

Here he was the chief engineer of a starship; an officer in Starfleet, walking the last mile like a common criminal. But that's exactly what he was. He had pleaded guilty. He had done the crime. So, why was he feeling unjustly treated?
They turned the corner and stopped in front of a door where two guards stood on either side. Robann let go of Trip's arm.

"You will want to walk in unassisted?" Robann whispered, questioningly.

Trip slowly nodded his head. He took a deep breath and Robann nodded to one of the guards. The door was opened. ----------

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sat alone eating at a corner table in the mess hall. He purposely positioned his back to the room hoping no one would approach him.

"Mr. Reed."

No such luck. Malcolm lifted his head, slightly, to see Doctor Phlox standing before him. The armory officer nodded his acknowledgment toward the empty seat.

"I am glad to see not all of the senior staff are neglectful of their nutritional requirements."

Phlox proceeded to audibly ponder on the dark cloud that had descended upon the ship when the incident planet-side involving Trip was made known that morning.

"It is unfortunate," Malcolm remarked coolly. "But Commander Tucker must answer for his actions and he knows that."

"Agreed." Phlox munched on a carrot stick loudly. "But do you not find it hard to believe what he did?"

Malcolm sighed, pushing his tray of half eaten lunch away. "No."

Phlox's brow rose in disbelief. He stared back at the lieutenant expecting him to expound on his answer.

"Doctor," Malcolm leaned in closely. "Mr. Tucker is a hothead. It's not news to anyone aboard this ship. So, it was only a matter of time before he went off."

"But to go off on a total stranger that way," Phlox countered. "There must have been an underlying cause for his behavior."

"He's been brooding ever since the mail from home came four days ago." Malcolm sipped his iced tea. "Perhaps there was some unnerving news from home."

"Uh-huh," Phlox wondered.

Malcolm rose and gathered up his tray. "If you'll excuse me, Doctor."

As Malcolm took his tray to the return and made his way out of the mess hall, he thought over his explanation to Phlox. He knew there had to be a reason for Trip's seemingly unprovoked attack of the patron in the diner that morning. But, whatever the reason, Trip was going to pay the price. Malcolm felt his skin tingle and shuddered at the thought.

Trip's ears were pounding so loudly that he couldn't hear anything anyone had said after the sentence was pronounced. He felt Robann grab a firm hold of him by the shoulders and realized his knees had buckled.

Why was this happening to him? Why did he attack that man for slapping his son across the face in the diner? It hadn't been a very hard slap and, besides, he knew that what was not acceptable behavior to humans may be very acceptable to others.

Robann led Trip through a door off the sentencing room. Inside that small room was a table with an ominous, metallic device attached to the surface. The contraption was in the shape of a box with two small openings in the side. The table edge had large, thick straps bolted to it. The only chair at the table, likewise, had the same type of straps around the legs and back. Trip's knees began to turn to jelly again, but Robann held on tight.

Out of the corner of his eye Trip saw two Montelosian officials standing against a far wall. Robann leaned in and whispered to the two Montelosian guards that stood on the right side of the table and they backed away slightly.

"Sit down and place your hands flat inside the base of the device," Robann instructed Trip.

Trip swallowed hard and found that his throat was as dry as sandpaper. He did as he was told and Robann nodded to the two guards closest to the table. Methodically and quickly they began to strap Trip's legs and waist to the chair. Robann carefully began to strap Trip's forearms to the table.

As the two guards backed away, Robann leaned down and whispered in to Trip's ear.

"Remember, this room is sound proof. No one but those inside will hear if you cannot contain yourself."

Trip just stared at the device in front of him. This was surreal, he thought. He had been no stranger to getting into trouble. Growing up, he had his share of over the knee spankings from his parents for misbehaving. He even had spent a few hours in the local jail when he was 14 years old. It had been a dare from his buddies and he had painted a rather buxom, naked female on the side of the courthouse. But he had gotten caught and his parents had felt he needed a good scare. So, the Tuckers said they weren't going to bail him out and he could just spend the night in jail. A few tearful hours later, his parents came to get him and he swore he would never do anything criminal again. He never did. Until now. Trip's mind suddenly turned to memories of his Uncle Chris. His brother's letter a few days ago said his uncle had died. His liver finally had given out and Trip thought it was about time. Serves him right for what he did. Talk about unprovoked attacks. That sure was one hell of one and his uncle never had to answer for it, because no one but the two of them ever knew it happened. Trip never told anyone, as his uncle had warned him not to. Suddenly, Trip realized what he had done in the diner that morning. He had attacked his childhood memory in the form of that alien father. Oh, dear Lord, Trip thought. This all was happening to him because of that damned son of a bitch! And he had fallen right into it. He was letting his uncle hurt him again, all these years later...

"Ughhhhhh!" The muffled groan escaped through clenched teeth as a growl. Trip closed his eyes tightly and stifled the scream that was pulsating in the back of his throat. He wasn't going to cry out. He wasn't going to give Uncle Chris the satisfaction of knowing he was hurting him again. He could feel the pressure on the backs of his hands and then as it gradually moved down to his fingers. His body stiffened and he felt the sweat beading up on his upper lip and across his face. Just as Trip believed he couldn't stand the pain any longer, blackness overcame him.

Continue to Part 2

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