Unbound- Part 8

Unbound
An "Enterprise" story

By Alison M. DOBELL

RATING: G.
ARCHIVE: Yes. Just let me know where.
FEEDBACK: Welcomed.
EMAIL: AlisonMDobell@aol.com
WEBSITE: http://carlajane.50megs.com/Ali00.html

SUMMARY: "Travis Mayweather discovers a new meaning to the term taking out the trash. While Sub-Commander T'Pol tries not to alert the Zenari to her suspicions Trip and Malcolm have more pressing problems."
DISCLAIMER: The usual disclaimers apply. The characters and 'Enterprise' are the property of Paramount. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Part Eight

"THE BOX"

* * * * *

He stared. There was little else he could do. The state of Commander Tucker's quarters was a mess. The Sub-Commander had not overstated her case. He knew that as soon as she could extricate herself from her duties she would come back to speak to him at greater length. Suddenly the impossible sounding story she had told him made sense. He felt sick to his stomach. How had it been possible for the Zenari to replicate their personnel so easily? How did it tie in with the automated space station? What were the Zenari up to? Surely species this advanced would have no reason to interfere with other species in this way? Or was he looking at this from the wrong perspective? He remembered an old Earth saying. 'Just because you can do something does not mean that you should'.

Much as he did not want the clean up detail he could understand why the sub-Commander could not ask anyone else. Did she suspect the rest of the Away Team of being copies? He sighed and made a mental note of what supplies he would need. He left with care and returned less than thirty minutes later with a body bag, a protective disposable suit and extra strength cleaning fluids. Quickly he put the suit on and fastened it, taking the time to quickly check all the seals and fit the thin but durable gloves to the connections at the wrists. Then, trying to resist the urge to throw up, he set about the painful and distressing task of picking up the body parts strewn around the Commander's quarters. He quailed when he located a section of the head with an eye still staring out of one half of it. Unable to stop the bile from rising he stumbled into the head, unsealed his collapsible helmet and hood, and promptly threw up. He kept heaving until will power alone drove him upright again. Splashing cold water into his face helped a little but a nameless terror gripped his soul. He hoped and prayed that T'Pol had a plan to rescue their missing crew and as he steeled himself to get back to his grim duty he promised himself that he would take great pleasure in sending each and every Zenarian straight to hell.

* * * * *

Captain Jonathan Archer was stunned. He had no words for the shock that went through him. The Vulcan First Officer just looked at him, no expression on her face yet still managing to somehow convey deep concern. If those words had come from any other mouth he would have laughed and sent the speaker packing to the funny farm. But this was Sub-Commander T'Pol and she did not crack jokes. The Captain felt the need for a breath of fresh air. Something cool and sharp to kick start his senses and convince him this was not a nightmare. "Sub-Commander, are you telling me members of my crew are not who they appear to be?"

She arched a slow brow. "That is precisely what I am saying, Captain."

"Forgive me if I find that rather hard to believe. I would have noticed something if any of my personnel had been switched."

The Sub-Commander gave him a subtle look that made him feel somewhat uncomfortable.

"How do you know this?"

She hesitated. How far could she take him into her confidence? He was after all the Captain. This was his ship, his crew. He had a right to know all the ugly facts she could unveil. Yet his inclusion was a risk even at this level of contact. "I discovered that the Commander Tucker who returned from the surface with you is not Human. I suspect the same to be true of Lt. Reed."

He frowned as another thought occurred to him. "How do you know I'm not one of them? I could be fooling you right now."

"That is not possible."

"Oh? You sound very sure Sub-Commander."

"You have a very distinct body odour, Captain. I noticed the simulacrum of Commander Tucker had no odour."

"And that's how you knew it wasn't Trip?"

"On the contrary, I did not suspect until he started to act out of character."

"I didn't notice anything."

"The differences were subtle, and we were in his quarters. The close proximity aided my realisation that something was wrong."

Images flicked through the Captain's head. "That's what you and Travis were doing outside the Commander's quarters?"

"We needed to clean up. The remnants of the body need to be placed in cold storage before they degrade. They must remain in storage until we are able to examine the copy in more exacting detail."

The Captain went pale. "Body? Are you saying it's in...? pieces?"

"Yes, Captain. When the copy realised I was suspicious he fought me. I was forced to render it inactive. I regret to say that some of the Commander's effects were damaged and will need to be replaced."

For several minutes the Captain was silent. He sat so still that T'Pol began to wonder whether she should have told him. After all, Commander Tucker was his friend. If he took the news this hard, how would he react on seeing the remains? "Sub-Commander, I want you to get a science team together and prepare to examine the body. We need as much information as we can glean. God knows how long we've got."

"Captain, there may be another problem."

He wanted to put his head in his hands and groan but he was the Captain. "What's that?"

"Dr. Phlox may be a copy too."

"And let me guess. He's in sickbay so you can't use the facilities in the infirmary?"

She nodded. He shut his eyes and gave himself the dubious luxury of wishing he were anywhere but here right now. The sentiment reminded him of an old Chinese curse. 'May you live in interesting times'. If he ever found the man who had dreamt up that little saying he would cheerfully wring his neck. Only minutes ago he had been lamenting the fact that he was bored. God rip his tongue out, how he wished they could all be bored. That they would face nothing more unsettling that trying to decide on a new menu to put to chef. The thought of food reminded him of Trip. His friend and the most gifted warp specialist engineer he had ever met. He hoped and prayed he would see him again. That all his people would be recovered safe and sound but his heart misgave him. They were dealing with an enemy so technologically advanced that he had no idea where to start. Okay. So let's start with that.

He opened his eyes and fixed T'Pol with a sharp look. "Sub-Commander, your people met the Zenari almost 100 years ago. Now I don't care how classified that information is. I need you to tell me everything your people know about that first meeting and anything else they have learnt since then about the Zenari."

"Captain, I regret to tell you that that information is classified."

The Captain jumped to his feet, frustration and fear making him throw caution and manners to the wind. "Dammit T'Pol this is Trip we're talking about! Not to mention Malcolm and probably Dr Phlox too. Who knows what the hell is happening to them while we argue up here. This is *not* a discussion nor is it a request. I demand to know what happened in that first contact."

He was not sure but he thought the Vulcan had paled slightly. "I am as concerned for them as you are, Captain."

"Then help me, T'Pol. Please don't expect me to fight with my hands tied behind my back."

* * * * *

It was hard to think. Processing thoughts was a pain so intense it took all his efforts to keep an element of consciousness while in such a deep stasis. The invasiveness of the chief scientific officer's intrusions were debilitating but the Zenari did not know everything about Denobulans. That was the only comfort he had.

"I know you can hear me, Denobulan." Whispered the scientist as he pressed deeper with his energy. Tendrils of dark light flickering along truncated nerve endings and making his muscles spasm. The reaction seemed to amuse his captor. Dr Phlox remained silent.

"I admit that I am curious. Fascinated even. The Ambassador is most impressed with you, spy. Your silence will not serve you for much longer. We are a patient species but not particularly tolerant when we are being deliberately resisted. You should reconsider your strategy. What good will you be to the Humans with your flesh flayed from your body and your nerves stripped out one by one? Or should we start with something more eloquent and impale your eyes on a filament of light?"

The doctor ignored the smooth diatribe. Instead he sent his senses deeper, opened up other parts of his psyche and continued to systematically gather information. Let the creature talk. His mind sharpened suddenly becoming aware that he was being watched. The real threat was not the invasion of his body but the subtle incursions into his mind while Vot distracted him. That he must resist beyond death. A dark shade rose and formed beside him, the shape coalescing into that of the Arms Master. The black oily eyes almost glittered with something he would define as a form of malice. "I can hear you thinking, spy."

Why did they insist on calling him a spy? A flicker of fear ran through him before he could stop himself. Vot picked up on it and seemed pleased. "The mind is starting to break down." He said in a flat calm passionless voice.

Dr Phlox felt fear. A deep unreasoning dread that was sweeping through him. He wanted to lash out, to yell, to call on his crew members for help but he could not. Any aid he attracted would have to be done in a subtle manner. He could afford to give nothing away. The stakes were higher than his life. The only protection he could give was his silence. If that broke the enemy would unleash an even bigger terror than the one that was waiting in the wings to annihilate a little known species called the Human Race. Better to die by torture than betray civilisations as yet unborn.

* * * * *

Hoshi was dreaming. Tossing and turning she could not settle but neither could she wake. She was in a dark place yet had the impression of something huge. A place so vast it dwarfed the imagination. Why she thought that she did not know. Voices echoed all around her yet each was separate and distinct. Her ears tuned in first to one then another and another and another. Each had a different tongue, and as she deciphered the language another voice would take over the conversation and she would start all over again. It was exciting. Challenging. Exhilarating. So why did she feel a growing sense of danger?

Carefully she tried to understand what they were saying, what was going on, but the voices kept changing and she was feeling an increasing sense of desperation as if there was not much time to figure it out. She had to hurry but why? Where was she going? What was going on? And why did the shadows of eternal darkness reveal nothing but the many faces of an elaborate black maze?

And why. Sweating and hyperventilating. Did she wake up screaming?

* * * * *

Lt. Malcolm Reed was finding it hard to keep his temper. They had been trapped for almost thirty hours. Neither he nor Commander Tucker had any idea where the others were but they knew with sickening dread that at least one of their friends was injured. He looked at the Chief Engineer. Trip looked exhausted, his face haunted by the trail of blood they had watched drip from the high ceiling. It made him shudder just to think of it. Was there another room above this huge vaulted place? And how could they explain the pattern of blood? The rhythm suggestive of Morse code for Christ's sake. None of it made sense. It was like being trapped inside a warped version of a Hitchcock film only no Joseph Cotton was going to come bursting through the doors to release them. No drawling James Stewart was going to produce film footage to prove the guilt of their captors. No eleventh hour rescue was on its' way *in the nick of time*. No. This madness was for real. The blood was real. The fear building inside them that they were trapped with no way out was real.

He walked over to Commander Tucker and hunkered down next to where his friend sat on the floor, head bent, right hand on the wall as if it was holding the whole universe up. Lt. Reed put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Commander? Trip? Are you alright?"

Trip looked up, his eyes a little glassy from staring at nothing for so long. "No, but then neither are you." He paused then continued speaking before Malcolm could respond. "We have to do this, Malcolm. Before I lose my nerve."

Lt. Reed swallowed slowly and looked up. "You can't be serious?" He looked at Trip's face. "One slip and there's no second chance, Commander. If you die you'll never see your beloved warp engine again."

"That's it Malcolm, go an' cheer me up why don't ya?"

He fell silent for a moment, looked up again then gazed at his friend glumly. "It's a rotten idea you know."

"An' I suppose ya have a better one?"

He shook his head. "No, I don't. Look, maybe I should go? Enterprise needs her Chief Engineer."

Commander Tucker shook his head and got to his feet. "Uh huh, no ya don't Malcolm. We both know I got a better head for heights. Besides, you're only gonna need me when ya get there. This way we save two idiots fallin' to their deaths instead of one."

Lt. Reed looked glum. "I don't want anyone to die."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"You know what I mean, Commander. This is suicide."

Trip shoved his face close to Malcolm's, his concern pushing through the fierce mask betraying his fear that whoever needed them was running out of time. "This is a rescue mission, Lieutenant, and don't ya forget it."

Reluctantly Lt. Reed nodded. "Understood Commander. Sorry, sir."

Trip nodded. "I should think so." Commander Tucker wished he had something to say to reassure the Armoury Officer but he could not think of a thing. Instead he told him to keep an eye out in case anybody came. If any Zenarians appeared he was to distract them and keep them away from this side of the chamber. Lt Reed nodded and watched him get ready to climb up the first wall frieze. They had examined every possible approach but there was no easy climb. It would be a long hard slog with only minimal handholds in the pierced friezes. Trip wished he had some rope with him but it was not exactly the type of thing you brought with you on a diplomatic mission. He was going to have a whole host of suggestions to give the Captain next time he suggested an Away Mission. Always supposing he survived this one.

Lt. Reed had not prayed in a long long time. Watching Commander Tucker carefully inch his way up the first wall frieze he prayed, his heart in his mouth as he watched. *Please God don't let him fall. I'll never forgive you Mr. Tucker if you fall and die.*

"Hey Malcolm?"

"Yes, Commander?"

"Drop that Commander bullshit."

"Okay - Trip."

"That's better, now move away. Ya stand there like that you'll tell anyone stickin' their nose round a door exactly where I've gone."

"I thought I'd better watch you to start with, make sure the climb goes alright."

"An' do what?"

Silence. Trip huffed to himself and shifted his weight as he looked for a better handhold.

"That's what I thought now move your ass to the other side of the room."

Lt. Reed hesitated. "I don't think this is a good idea, Trip. I think you should come back down."

"An' I think you're distractin' me. Now go on, move. Keep your eyes and ears open an' keep lookin' for a way out."

"We've already been over this place at least a dozen times..."

"Then go over it another dozen! Whatever happened to not givin' up?"

He sighed, nodded then apologised and did as he was told. Trip knew how Malcolm felt but he could not let his own nerves show. He tried instead to think of the person trapped forty feet above his head and losing blood. What if that person was Hoshi? She must be going insane with panic and fear. Or maybe it was Jon, his life's blood ebbing away while he dithered and thought how dangerous the climb up would be. Well screw that. He wasn't about to sit on his fat behind while one of his friends bled to death. He inched steadily upwards. Wondered where the doctor was. Hoped whoever was in trouble could hold on long enough for Malcolm to get them both some help. That was a laugh. Who the hell was he kidding? Him and Malcolm were trapped in this glorified box, had been for hours, and he was making plans to get the injured person medical treatment. Knowing his luck they would both fall to their deaths. And he accused Malcolm of being a morbid son of a bitch.

He took a steadying breath and continued climbing. The sweat beading on his forehead as he concentrated, muscles bulging. The hours stretching, time a meaningless monotony of strained muscles, aching fingers and cramped hands. He tried to use his balance to relieve the weight on his hands and arms but the toeholds were so awkward, slotting the narrow toe of his shoes into pierced angular fretwork. The only good thing was the material the friezes were made of. It seemed like a kind of glassy marble, maybe even a form of crystal like the floors. Damned if he knew what the substance was but it was hard and bore his weight with ease for which he was grateful.

He did not look down so was unaware of how high he had climbed when he became aware of something. He froze and listened. There it was again. A soft snuffling sound. Was someone crying? The hope that he was close to his journey's end spurred him on. "Hoshi? Is that you?"

The sound stopped abruptly. He listened again. Nothing. Damn. Maybe he had frightened them by speaking too soon? Best climb some more, get closer. Then he should be able to find out what state they were in and take it from there. He redoubled his efforts, not attempting to speak again but saving his energy and breath for the climb. He was so weary but did not dare tarry. What seemed like hours later the top of his head brushed against something and he paused. Carefully he wound one arm around the side of the frieze he was climbing then reached his other hand tentatively to feel above his head. He was too shattered to look up, not sure he could do so without losing his balance. Whose damn crazy fool idea was this anyway? He felt another frieze, this one was horizontal. His heart thudded in his chest so loud he thought it would deafen him. Then a nasty thought occurred to him. What if the frieze on the ceiling had no breaks in it? How the hell was he going to get to whoever was trapped *above* it?

* * * * *

The orb glided through the silky expanse of space. The darkness parted before it then closed in after it. Distance meant nothing. Time was an artifact. Just another tool. One more construction of an uncaring universe. Another spoil of war.

* * * * *

Captain Archer had had enough. His patience stretched beyond breaking point. He glared at his First Officer. "I don't care about your tight lipped Vulcan paranoia. This is my crew we're talking about. Don't you have an ounce of feeling in that cold heart of yours?"

Sub-Commander T'Pol managed to hide the sting of his words. "I have feelings and emotions, Captain, and I am not without sorrow at the situation they find themselves in..."

"Them not us." Clipped the Captain barely biting back his anger.

T'Pol blinked, not comprehending the reason for his attitude.

"The situation *they* find themselves in. They not us." He paused, tight lipped, expression grim. "When you *defied* the Vulcan High Command, resigned your commission to come with us, why did you do that?"

"We have already had this conversation, Captain."

Captain Archer shook his head. Calmer now. "I don't believe we have. Why come with us, T'Pol?"

"To help you."

The Captain's voice dropped further. Quiet. Thoughtful. "Are you sure about that?"

T'Pol found herself blinking back her anger. Determined not to lose control, to block out the image of a certain Chief Engineer. "What are you suggesting?"

"Not suggesting anything T’Pol but don't you think it's funny? The Vulcans won't enter the Expanse. Yet here you are defying all *logic* to do just that. For our sakes? Then we meet this highly technologically evolved species we've never even heard of who - surprise, surprise - is known to your people." He paused, watching her face intently. Noting that it appeared to have paled somewhat. "Yet the details of that first encounter is shrouded in secrecy. Even though this single contact occurred nearly a hundred years ago and ended in bloodshed you won't tell us why or what it was about." There was a longer pause. T'Pol said nothing. Sensing the Captain had not finished. "I have to wonder, T'Pol. Are the Zenari the *real* reason the Vulcans won't enter the Delphic Expanse?"

T'Pol stared at him. The seconds lengthened into agonisingly slow torturous minutes.

"What are you really doing here, T'Pol?" He asked softly, leaning forward on the situation room table so that he could peer into her solemn closed face. T'Pol did not so much as twitch a muscle. He tilted his head, his voice mild, his words driving long sharp daggers into her body as if seeking her heart. "Are you here to help us or take notes on how long it takes us to die?"

* * * * *

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Four of you have made comments

I like this part.

But I'm a little annoyed at Archer. He keeps talking about loyalty. Why should her loyalty to him/Starfleet outweigh her loyalty to the Vulcan High Command? Is loyalty only good if it's to him? How would he feel she were to give his classified information away? Can he promise that this information will not be passed along to Starfleet? That he'll never mention it or use again for any other purpose?

They need to know what's going on. But if Archer had trusted her in the first place, it never would have happened. And he doesn't seem to realize that. So he wants to lay the blame on her.

Oooo, this story is so good! I know I suck at getting feedback to my fellow fanfic writers, but I *am* reading them! And this one is absolutely fantastic! I wanna know what Polly knows!

Damn, I hate psuedo-omnipotent races. They always wanna start some kind of trouble or another.

I'm quite curious as to how T'Pol is going to respond to Archer's allegations.

I agree with the post above about Archer. I also want to add that I feel really bad for poor Travis. He's going to have nightmare for a long time.