MU Angst

Disclaimer: No filthy lucre changed hands

Rating: R

Genre: Angst, anti-romance

Summary: A vignette showing a glimpse into MU Tucker’s thoughts. I feel that female Vulcan Pon Farr is reactive only, so decided to give a possible explanation for MU T’Pol’s experience with it. This story occurs sometime before the events of the two mirror universe episodes in the fourth year of Star Trek: Enterprise.

Note: Thanks to CX for being a beta and cleaning up a couple of awkward spots!

MU Angst
By Linda

Tucker’s eyes raked up and down the Vulcan’s slim form. He unconsciously touched the scar on his cheek, and Soval knew that was a bad sign. Soval waited for Tucker to speak, though nominally, he outranked Tucker.

“Commander, I told you two hours ago that I needed more parts from storage!” barked Tucker.

Soval stood there, his body absolutely still, his face an enigmatic mask. “Your request was noted, Lieutenant Commander. The ship is not run from engineering; the bridge has priorities. You will get your parts in forty-five minutes.”

“Not good enough!” Tucker’s voice become louder, showing strain. “If I don’t get my damn parts, we’re dead in space. How’s that for priorities, Vulcan!”

Soval raised his chin, but kept silent for a moment, trying to project calm telepathically. “If that is all you wish to report, I have business elsewhere.”

Tucker smirked and pushed one foot into the scan area of the door which opened displaying the noise and blinking lights inside engineering. But he paused, giving Soval an insolent once over before turning to walk into his kingdom. Soval sighed as the door swept shut before continuing on to the mess hall.

At the foot of the ladder to the warp engine, Tucker grabbed a padd from a crewman and stood frowning into it. Nothing was wrong with the figures, a fact he noticed at first glance, but he wanted the crewman to stew a little. Besides, Tucker was mulling over the confrontation with Soval. Slaves should not outrank Humans, no matter what their job was. And as a recent transfer to this ship, Tucker felt like Soval was not really part of the crew. His retirement should be coming in soon. Sending him home to Vulcan would not do. Vulcan officers knew too much, and with time on their hands could easily be courted into the Resistance. Tucker thought that Vulcans like Soval, even though useful, should be retired through termination.

Little did Tucker know that this was exactly what happened to redundant Vulcan Starfleet officers. In order to keep up ship’s morale, the Vulcans got a retirement party like any Human crew member, and were left off at a star base with many well wishes from shipmates. But even before the ship left space dock, their Vulcan comrade would be unceremoniously shoved into a bio recycling unit. A brief note would then be sent to his family on Vulcan saying that he had succumbed to a heart attack . . . or choked on a cookie at his retirement party . . . or something.

Tucker shoved the padd back at the crewman and strode to his office. It irritated him every time he looked at the old Vulcan’s trim and fit physique. The man had already lived twice as long as Tucker would. Vulcans scared him — stronger than Humans, quicker at mathematical calculation, better hearing, and some had non-touch telepathic abilities. You never knew which ones did. They were so sneaky and secretive about that.

Tucker stabbed the com button. “Ensign Mason, check panels A2, C7, and F1. I noticed some intermittent warning light activity on my last rounds. Nothing critical yet, but I want a report in fifteen minutes on the status of those panels. And if the parts I ordered finally arrive, you are to stay on after your shift ends to make sure your replacement knows exactly where they are to be installed. Got that? . . . Okay, out.”

The hum of machinery usually soothed Tucker, but today his head was pulsing with the beginnings of a headache. He used the fingers of both hands to massage his forehead, his fingers slipping on the moist sweat and grease that eventually caked into the age lines that were starting to develop on his face.

He dropped his hands into his lap. That damnable Vulcan was on his mind again. Never did the Vulcan quite cross the line into insolence or mocking — but he came so close. So VERY close. Nothing the Vulcan could be written up for though. Those vague impressions of insolence did not count, for Tucker only dealt with cold hard facts. Concentrating on the concrete was the way he had survived in Starfleet so long.

Tucker made a fist and released it — several times, because his thoughts shifted to that other annoying Vulcan. The young one. She scared him even more. It had felt so good to punch into her, invade her body during that Pon Farr. But instead of being humiliated the bitch appeared to have enjoyed it, he thought. Yeah, he got his rocks off too. But she ruined it when she told him that the Pon Farr came on because her mate back on Vulcan had gone into it. And she was responding to HIM, thinking of HIM — her stupid mate, all during the time Tucker was huffing away to satisfy her. He had slapped her, making her mouth bleed when she told him about her mate. She had made him feel . . .used — manipulated like one of Phlox’s sadistic experiments . . . a lab animal. Not that he wouldn’t service the bitch again. Yeah, he would. And the next time he would make sure he left more bruises on her than she had on him.

He stood up. Enough of these thoughts. They made him hot and bothered. His shift was about over and he needed some relief of the physical kind. He stabbed at the com unit again to reach the MACO office. “This is Tucker. Is Corporal Cole off duty now?”