Jon Archer watched his son play. The little boy sat on the ground, small models of cars and trucks around him. He ran them back and forth, bumping them together and making sounds.
Jon smiled. Charlie had a simple life, uncomplicated with the troubles of the adults around him.
Speaking of troubles, Jon still had to deal with the return of his son's namesake. He wanted to believe that it really was Trip, that his best friend had returned from the dead, but he couldn't be sure of it. After all, Trip had been dead.
He'd seen his body with his own eyes.
A sigh escaped from his mouth. He'd get to that problem later. Right now, he was content in watching his son play.
Dr. Phlox hummed to himself, puttering around his sickbay. He pondered quietly the situation with Commander Tucker, and what the captain would do about it.
For his part, Phlox was certain that the man in the brig was no clone. The genetic structure was too detailed, too precise to be a clone. Besides, no culture that they had yet encountered was remotely capable of producing a clone so
The door to sickbay opened with a swish behind him. He turned to see Captain Archer standing before him.
"Ah. Captain Archer. Just the man I wanted to speak to."
The captain shuffled about, studying the various creatures and organisms on the nearby table.
"Are you sure that this is Trip?" he said when he finally spoke.
"I am quite sure Captain, although with our level of medical expertise, I cannot be certain. Anyone that could have replicated Mr. Tucker so well would have to be-"
"-A higher species. I know, Doctor." said Archer, interrupting. He sighed. "Thank you, Doctor. If you'll excuse me, I have someone to see."
With that, the captain turned around and left.
Phlox looked after him for a moment, then went back to his work, humming once again.
T'Pol sat on the command chair on the bridge. All was quiet, and there were no problems.
But she was still troubled.
Emotions ran deep beneath her calm, Vulcan exterior. The apparition of Commander Tucker two days ago had caused her to seriously doubt her own beliefs.
The man had been dead. She had seen his body with her own eyes, ran her scanner over him twice to confirm what she had all ready knew.
Charles Tucker III was dead.
She had watched her crew suffer through this, but did not convey her emotions like they did. They held a wake, cried, shared memories. But she did not participate in their purely human traditions.
She felt the pain of his death, a man she had come to know and respect, but could not show it.
So she meditated.
She released her inner pain, and came to an understanding and acceptance of what had happened. She had moved on, and so had the crew.
When Lieutenant Reed had found him in a corridor, her carefully constructed wall of Vulcan beliefs shattered to the ground. A man that had been dead could not alive.
But there he was. She had seen him, unconscious, in sickbay. In the five years since his death, he had not aged a day.
Scientifically speaking, there was no natural way for a dead body to come back to life. Artificially, a body could be cloned, and then it would be technically alive.
Those had been T'Pol's first thoughts when she had seen Commander Tucker. Doctor Phlox, however, had soon said that it would be impossible to have a clone so perfect.
She was very confused, or as confused as a Vulcan could get.
She would have to meditate on it tonight.