The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [91]
T’Pol looked to the side of the launch bay, where she noticed Doctor Phlox studying her intently. She stared back at him, and they locked eyes for a moment before the Denobulan physician turned away.
For some reason she could not identify, the doctor’s inquisitive stare made her apprehensive. She decided then and there that the best way to pursue these accumulated oddities might be to question the chief medical officer directly.
How much has she figured out? Phlox thought, more than a little concerned.
“Thank you for coming to see me, T’Pol,” he said, doing his best to sound casual as he gestured toward one of the sickbay’s biobeds. “I was going to request that you pay me a visit anyway, so I’m pleased that you’ve saved me the trouble.”
T’Pol leaned against the bed, keeping her hands at her sides. “Why did you wish to see me, Doctor?” she asked, one eyebrow slightly raised. She seemed to be making no effort to conceal her curiosity. “Might it be related to the reason you were staring at me during Commander Tucker’s memorial service?”
Phlox could have kicked himself now for having stared. He had clearly further roused suspicions that she had developed when she’d gotten close to the torpedo casing.
The casket that most definitely did not contain the remains of Commander Tucker.
He chuckled, temporizing as he decided on the best way to allay T’Pol’s suspicions. “In addition to my role as a general physician, I often function as a mental health practitioner, in lieu of any other officer aboard this ship acting in that capacity- other than Chef, I suppose.” He spread his hands and smiled widely. “I don’t know if that’s because of my bedside manner, or because doctors are bound by their medical ethics to hold anything their patients tell them in strictest confidence, as long as it doesn’t endanger the ship.”
He paused, letting his words hang in the air for a moment, but T’Pol merely stared at him curiously, making no immediate effort to step into the conversational breach. After thirty seconds or so, she finally opened her mouth as if to speak, closed it again, then spoke at last.
“Are you saying that you believe that there is something confidential that I wish to share with you?”
Phlox tilted his head, returning her curious stare with one of his own. “I didn’t say that, Commander, but if you were burdened with such a secret, I’d be more than willing to hear it- and I’d be obliged to be discreet about it.” He folded his hands in front of his stomach, waiting. Beyond his genuine concern, he also hoped to gauge exactly how much T’Pol might really suspect about the truth behind Trip’s “death.”
T’Pol dipped her head, then spoke again in a much quieter voice than usual. “I have had difficulty controlling my emotions ever since Trip’s death.” She began twisting her hands together, evidently unconsciously. “I had a very difficult… breakdown of my emotional barriers last week, while I was packing up Trip’s personal effects.”
“That isn’t surprising,” Phlox said gently. “Losing a compatriot is difficult enough, and losing a… lover is wrenching, to say the very least. But when one factors in the extraordinary emotional strain you’ve been under lately, on Vulcan, and on Mars, this… event might be- as the humans put it- the proverbial ‘straw that broke the camel’s back.”’
She stiffened, as though offended. “I am a Vulcan.”
“T’Pol,” he continued, “Vulcans are most certainly not devoid of emotions, however adept you have become in the practice of suppressing them. Vulcans experience feelings as full and rich as those of any species. But suppressing emotions tends to put them under pressure. And when something is under too much pressure for too long, it can erupt unexpectedly, sometimes with rather alarming results.”
He turned and grabbed one of his handheld medical scanners, then approached T’Pol more closely. “Lift your head, please.” He began scanning her, holding the glowing, whirring device next to her temple. “Were there any