To Boldly Go Once Again-Ch 15

To Boldly Go Once Again

By Eratta

Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

Chapter 15

Trip stood poised over the main consol of the warp engine, his broad palm tracing a very familiar pattern back and forth across the casing. Over the years, he’d done this to the point where the heat resistant paint had worn through, so the revealed metal was warm to the touch. T’Pol had once reflected that it was entirely appropriate of the engineer to seek out the most basic of comforts—physical contact—with a device that was more alive to him than anything else.

Trip had smiled and chuckled at her joke, though to himself he thought, I could find comfort elsewhere, if you’d just let me.

It was the position he took when things were ugly, and about to get uglier. Archer had his pacing, T’Pol had her extra rigid spine and pursing of lips, and Trip stroked his engine.

“Things are go, sir.” He said. While Sato and Reed looked after things on the bridge, Trip captained from the heart of Enterprise.

“Then start transporting. We’ve moved everyone to within a few meters of the surface.” Archer said, his voice thin and grainy through the connection.

“We’ll do three or four at a time,” Trip replied, “assuming everything holds together.”
“Three or four,” T’Pol repeated. Taking careful stock of himself, Trip decided he was neither pleased nor displeased to hear her voice. A small step, he knew, but a good one. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“I’ve made a couple upgrades,” he told her. Usually, that was enough to quell her questions, if not her apprehension. He waited for something customary, along the lines of make sure such-and-such is aligned properly, or maybe just silence. Instead, the Vulcan said,
“Be careful.”

Trip blinked. Be careful?

“We will, don’t worry. Tucker out.”

On the planet surface, Archer put away his communicator and turned around, Mayweather and T’Pol at his side. The first group, those too wounded to stand, de-materialized in front of their eyes, relocating safely back on Enterprise.

“All we need to do is wait.” Mayweather said, arms crossed over his chest. They watched the second group go. Archer and T’Pol let that go without comment, though all three knew it was very unlikely to be that easy. Yet hope grew, little by little, as group after group dematerialized. Despite the smoothness of the operation, T’Pol couldn’t help a little niggling feeling of warning. After a time she said,

“Commodore, perhaps we should ask Captain Tucker to keep a closer eye on the captive Suliban.”

Archer nodded, “Silik’s been awfully quiet,” he agreed. “But they’re under heavy guard already. What more would you have me do?”

He looked at her, catching her gaze and holding it, waiting for the logical answer. And T’Pol knew very well what that answer was. Logic demanded the deaths of Silik and his compatriots. Distasteful and dogmatically avoided by the majority of Vulcans, there nevertheless were situations where violence was the only logical answer, when it was necessary to secure the safety of one’s own.

Archer was prepared for his Number One to tell him this, and to argue against her and trump her as commanding office.

But no such statement came. As T’Pol searched Archer’s blue eyes and in turn searched herself, she knew she could not suggest it. She had grown too much like them; logic no longer ruled her mind, or her soul.

“Increase the guard.” She replied, looking away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now, Tulan said. As the Human guard made the routine change, once every six hours, they rapidly assembled. It was time to take back what was theirs. On his cue, the four Suliban in their row of cells stretched their arms to impossible lengths, forming a chain palm to palm through the heavy metal walls. On the far end, Maar placed on hand on the back wall, her arms at a ninety degree angle. On a count through their telepathy, they focused. The other three, through power of thought and some careful readjustment of their deep organs, activated the minute microchips that thrummed through their blood. They passed the sound of it, building intensity one by one until the veritable pounding reached Maar. With gritted teeth, she sent it through the hull of the starship Enterprise, and hopefully beyond to the helix filled with eager compatriots.

A simple enough plan, one they’d come up with soon after assessing the situation on the human vessel. But it had taken time to figure out the orientation of the brig to the hull, so now that the humans’ plan was in its final stages, time was running short.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lt. Sato, always sensitive in deep space despite her long experience in it, at first dismissed the vibration she felt beneath her seat and fingertips. It’s nothing, she told herself, rather annoyed that after all this time her stomach still tightened a little when the engine did funny things. Everything’s fine.

She had almost convinced herself when her ear picked up a very quiet, very unusual keen. She focused as a little groove formed between her closed eyes, wondering why she had never heard it before. The warp engines made a variety of noises, but she knew most of them, and they usually sounded fairly similar. Not this one. And then, just below the keening--layered throughout--she decided, was a tapping. Arrhythmic, was her first assessment, and it increased her worry. But no, as she listened further, there was definitely a repetition. A pause, and then another. Like a code.

Hoshi’s eyes snapped open. “Malcolm!”

His Suliban-looking head flew up, instantly alert. This was the problem he’d been expecting, no doubt.

“I think someone’s sending out a code.” She said rapidly, hands flying over her consol as she sent inquiries through the general computer system. She needed to isolate it, find out if her suspicions were correct.

When Reed didn’t answer, she briefly tore her eyes away to glance at him. He was already up and in the turbo-lift. Clearly, they had the same idea.

Back to the computer she went, searching, searching…

“Lieutenant,” said one of the bridge ensigns, still in his Suliban gear.

“What?”

“He nodded towards the viewscreen. She looked, and felt a old, cold stone sink into her stomach as she watched the cell ships, dozens of them, float quickly towards Enterprise.

Sato hailed Tucker in engineering, but there was no response. At the same time, several hails were coming in from the ever-closer cell ships, demanding answers to what was clearly some kind of signal from their personnel in the brig. About to hail Tucker again, she suddenly became aware of another person on the bridge. Without even glancing, she knew it was him.

“What do we do?” It came out more frantic than she had intended.

“Fight.” Captain Tucker said. It was a quick, knee-jerk response: not well thought out, and he knew it. He had two crews aboard. Could they afford to fight?

Hoshi raised her eyebrows at him, challenging. There was no way they’d win that. And with nearly all of Columbia’s crew aboard, the situation was very clear. Double or nothing. Stay and die, or run with a chance.

All this passed between them in a tight second, and as Trip’s jaw set and his shoulders went up, he gave the order. “Go to warp.”

“But sir,” Ensign Pallavi said from the helm, “three are still planetside.”

No one needed to ask who two of those three were. It stalled Trip for a moment as his heart constricted, but there was no time. There’s never enough time.

The ship was seconds away from being enveloped by the swarm. And again, with bile in his mouth and murder on his mind, Trip squeezed the growled order through the fear and tension.

“Warp.”

Coming about and shooting off in a merciful burst of speed, Enterprise fled, leaving three of her own behind.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“That’s the last of them.” Mayweather said. T’Pol and Archer stood, waiting to be returned to the blessed cool and freshness of Enterprise's air. As predicted, the strange fizzy sensation began, followed by the overlaid images of first the planet jungle and then the transport room, finally solidifying into the transport room. It was familiar, and yet…

“What’s going on?” Archer was the first to voice the question. He directed it to the only other person in the room: a short young woman with cropped mouse-brown hair and a sturdy body. She was definitely a stranger to him.

“Welcome aboard, Commodore.” She deadpanned, almost Vulcan in her delivery.

“Baker?” This came from Mayweather, and although it was a one worded question, it spelled the answer out nicely: Columbia

“Well, this isn’t good.” Archer said.

“Indeed.” T’Pol replied.

“Enterprise is gone.” The woman named Baker told them. She was already moving out of the transport room, beckoning the three to follow. As they passed through the entrance to the corridors, nearly indentical to Enterprise but for a few small changes, T’Pol thought furiously.

Something had gone wrong; and the Suliban were likely behind it. Trip would have fled with Enterprise, carrying its double complement away despite whatever personal issues he’d have about leaving Archer, Mayweather and herself behind. While her mind moved on to calculate how she and those on Columbia were going to get out of this new situation, part of her soared. Trip was safe. The Suliban were so poorly organized and open war was so close, they would not risk a large part of their force to follow a technically neutral vessel that only wanted to save it’s sister crew. They would be all right; Trip would be safe. Again and forever, he would be safe.

From me.

“T’Pol?”

She looked towards the sound of Mayweather’s voice, suddenly back to business, her entire concentration put to the task. She noted they had come to the engine room, and were at the foot of the shaft leading to the nacelles. Her skin crawled at the memory of two weeks spent up in the hot, fetid tunnel with eighty-three humans.

“We have to be in them?” she asked.

“Now that Enterprise has shaken things up, they’ll be scanning and searching us again.” The woman named Baker answered. T’Pol decided she trusted this woman; she seemed capable and as stable as her appearance led one to believe.

Ignoring the offered hand from Archer, she brushed past him and followed Baker up the steep, narrow shaft. The men followed behind, and Mayweather’s voice echoed around them,

“So, any ideas about getting out of this mess?”

Chapter 16

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