Time After Time-Pt. 3

Time After Time

PART THREE: Chapters 9-12

By Aeryn Alexander

If you're lost you can look and you will find me
Time after time
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting
Time after time~ Cyndi Lauper

Chapter Nine

A Change of Command

In the engineering section of the ship, Commander Tucker and his engineers were doing everything possible to maintain the ship’s systems and restore power to areas that had lost it. The fact that the deflectors were down had barely registered when the ship almost simultaneously seemed to slow and to shake as an object collided with it.
"What was that?" yelled Tucker, crashing into a bulkhead as he moved from one station to another, caught in the current of fast-paced and stressful energy that always seemed to fill engineering during a crisis, swirling crewman from console to console and problem to problem.
"We have registered an impact, sir." said a crewman from a nearby station.
"How bad?"
"The ship is venting oxygen. The primary hull has been compromised and the secondary as well."
"We have to repair that. Get someone on it." barked Tucker, stepping fully into the role of chief engineer.
"We can’t, sir. The area has been sealed off." the crewman informed him. The young engineer seemed a bit pale as he swallowed hard and delivered another piece of information. "It’s the bridge." he said.
Commander Tucker was just about to say something when a familiar voice came over the comm system: "Trip, are you down there?" asked Captain Archer, his voice just coming through over the sound of various alarms.
Trip dashed to a comm panel and managed to press the right button before he answered his commanding officer, "Yeah, Jon, I’m down here. Are you all right? Are you on the bridge?"
"I’m fine, Trip, for now, but we have a ... situation up here."
"I know. I just heard. Can you evacuate?"
"That’s a negative. I am transferring command of the ship to you, Trip, in the event that we can’t find and plug this leak."
"Wait a minute. What about T’Pol? Shouldn’t she be in charge?" asked Tucker, his own heartbeat pounding in his ears as he spoke.
"She’s up here too."
"But, Jon, how am I supposed to, I mean, what am I supposed to do?" he questioned, feeling at that moment very dizzy. Everyone that he felt he knew, that he felt right about as a person, was on that bridge. A sickening sense of self-doubt swept over him as he leaned against the comm panel.
"Get the ship through the storm. I’m counting on you, commander." said Jonathan Archer in a firm tone of voice that Trip recognized only too well.
"Aye, sir." said Trip, his voice catching in his throat.
When the commander turned from the panel, every eye in engineering was on him. The engineering sector was strangely still and quiet. Tucker looked at his people, his eyes moving from one face to next.
"Looks like we got ourselves a rescue mission on our hands." said Tucker with grim humor coming through loud and clear despite the emotional upset. "But first things first. Start moving us out of this storm at our best impulse speed. We won’t be able to do anything for the captain until this ship stops shaking." he ordered.
It was almost to his surprise when everybody in engineering, most of whom didn’t even have an inkling that anything was wrong with their chief, began working double quick to obey his directive.
"Full impulse, sir." yelled one technician only a few minutes later.
"How long till we’re out of here?" he questioned.
"Sixteen minutes, and it will be a rough ride." he was informed as the ship pitched more violently.
"Get someone to try and hold her steady then." Tucker told the technician. "Transfer helm control from the bridge if you can. They got bigger fish to fry up there."
"Yes, sir." nodded the crewman, scrambling toward a console in the corner.

******

Chapter Ten

Putting in the Plug

Ensign Sato knew the communications system was going to be the next thing to go when she closed communications with engineering and Commander Tucker, who didn’t sound quite himself. Malcolm and T’Pol were have little success locating the elusive leak, which was probably all but invisible to the human eye. Archer tugged at her arm as he saw her looking at them.

“Hoshi, with your hearing you might have better luck. I’ll try to disable these damn alarms.” Archer told her, moving her out of his way.

“Yes, sir.” she nodded, taking a deep breath and trying to remember the exercise T’Pol had taught her while aboard a Klingon vessel.

When the sirens ceased their wailing and silence filled the bridge, Hoshi heard the sound of a soft hiss, and she knew exactly where it was coming from.

“Over there!” she yelled pointing to an area just below the right side of the view screen.

Malcolm, who was nearest to the screen, practically leapt for the area to which she had pointed and began feeling the bulkhead. In only seconds his fingertips detected a cool spot and a wisp of air flowing out of the bridge. He pressed his index finger over the hole and breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’ve got it, sir!” he informed Archer.

“Well, don’t let it go, Mister Reed.” he said, smiling with relief before turning his attention to T’Pol and Crewman Monroe, formerly the helmsman. “Now we need something to patch that hole with.” the captain told them.

“Other than my finger. What am I? The little Dutch boy?” muttered Malcolm uncomfortably.

Hoshi, the only one who caught the remark, giggled and asked, “Does anyone have some chewing gum?”

T’Pol only raised an eyebrow, but Archer grinned and started toward his ready room.

“I think I may have the answer to our dilemma.” he said.

************

Chapter Eleven

Seeking Advice

Most of the engineering staff was hard at work, keeping the impulse drive on-line, piloting the ship, or making general, but necessary repairs. Tucker had noted that the bridge had stopped losing oxygen a few minutes earlier, and for that he was very glad. But, due to design specifications and safety systems, the bridge was failing to repressurize and the lock down on the lift, the only means of access to the control center of the ship, had yet to deactivate. The bridge crew was still trapped, although not in such dire straits as they had been; however, it was only a matter of time before they ran out of breathable air. Given that, Trip considered himself on a timer.

While the rest of staff went about their appointed task of getting the Enterprise through the ion storm, Tucker leaned against the wall by the comm panel located the greatest distance from his personnel. The last thing he wanted was to reveal his memory loss to them. If they lost confidence in his ability as an engineer, it could endanger the lives of the trapped crew members. He did not want to see that happen.

“Trip to Phlox, can I have a few minutes of your time, doc?” he asked over the comm system, shifting uncomfortably as he made the request.

“I have a number of patients, but I can spare just a few minutes if you need them.” answered Phlox.

“The captain put me in charge of the ship. He’s trapped up on the bridge ... with T’Pol and some other officers. I really need my memory back, doc, if I’m going to have any hope of getting them out of there.” Tucker explained.

“I see.” said the doctor. The tone of his voice told Trip that he was frowning.

“You gave me something to make me lose it. Can’t you just give me something so that I can get it back?” questioned Commander Tucker.

“I am sorry, but two wrongs don’t make a right.” said Phlox firmly.

“I’m open to any suggestions you may have, doc.” sighed Trip, rubbing his eyes with one hand while the other clenched into a fist. He wanted to hit the comm panel in the hopes that it would reduce the frustration that he felt so keenly.

“Captain Archer has faith in you. Just keep that in mind and do your best. Now, I have injured crewmen to treat, commander.” said Phlox, giving him the only advice that came to mind and then closing communications.

“I guess it’s about time that I look over the specs for this thing.” muttered Trip to himself as he left the panel to join his fellow engineers in their work.

************

Chapter Twelve

Four hours, Twenty Minutes

The minuscule rupture in the inner hull of the bridge had been plugged with a small, moist piece of chewing gum. It was not something that Captain Archer would be overjoyed to put in a report, but it had worked, at least temporarily. But it still left them with problems to be solved. They had a finite amount of air to breathe on the bridge and no obvious means of letting more oxygen in or getting themselves out. Additionally, their access to the ship’s computer was gone and access to communications was limited. Only emergency power kept some of the lights working.

“T’Pol, can you estimate how long our air supply will last?” inquired Archer from the captain’s chair. The air on the bridge seemed thinner to him, but he wanted to chalk that up to nerves and his imagination, well aware that it could be either or both and not the sickening reality of the situation.

“I can give you an estimate, sir.” said the science officer, who was standing ramrod straight at her post. “It is approximately four hours and twenty minutes until the remaining oxygen becomes unbreathable and we all suffocate.”

Malcolm blinked uncomfortably and looked down at the dark tactical station, wondering, “Did I sound like that when I was trapped on the shuttlepod with Commander Tucker? He was a saint not to shove me out the airlock.”

“Thank you, T’Pol.” said Archer, more than half wishing that he had not asked her. It would have been better not to know.

“You are welcome, captain.” she said neutrally.

“What should we do?” asked Hoshi, who had gravitated toward Lieutenant Reed. Despite his rather negative outlook, he continued to exude a demeanor of unperturbable calm and composure.

“I recommend that we avoid conversation and excess motion in order to conserve our limited supply of air.” said T’Pol, nodding toward Crewman Monroe as her example. He was sitting in a corner with his knees drawn up to his chest.

“Agreed.” said Archer. “Everyone, at ease and take a seat.” he ordered, looking T’Pol in the eye as he spoke. She inclined her chin slightly and raised one eyebrow in her uniquely Vulcan way before having a seat on the floor, which was growing slightly cool to the touch by her standards.

Malcolm and Hoshi sat down quietly behind the tactical station with their backs to the bulkhead. The lieutenant could not help but admire her composure. She had come so far in such a short amount of time. No more screaming for Ensign Sato. He smiled at her and lightly patted her hand. A smile touched her lips as she grasped his hand in her own. His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and she barely suppressed a giggle. He had given her a kiss, a quick peck on the cheek given presumably because she had avowed her confidence in him during trying times. Was it so unbelievable that she might wish to hold his hand during times that were also less than ideal? The shock vanished from his features as swiftly as it had appeared there and he squeezed her hand tightly. It was not unbelievable at all.

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