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Thin Man Overboard (Part II)

Author - galleywest
Fan Fiction Main Page | Stories sorted by title, author, genre, and rating

Thin Man Overboard

By galleywest

Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek and all the characters therein.
Rating: PG
Genre: Mystery/Action-Adventure (with a little romance thrown in, of course)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Parts 4-5)


Part 4: A Man, a Plan, an Island

“I’m quite impressed,” Dr. BenCour shook her head appreciatively. “Not many people would have realized what had happened to their crewmate.”

“It is unusual,” T’Pol sat across from her at Enterprise’s conference table. Trip, Captain Archer, Hoshi and Travis occupied the other seats while Malcolm listened to the proceedings over the channel that Hoshi had managed to keep open even while the electromagnetic interference was at its worst. “However,” she continued, “if one takes all the available evidence, no matter how seemingly improbable, into consideration, one can hypothesize a theory to fit said evidence.”

Archer smiled. “Even if the theory is crazier than said evidence.”

“It was Commander Tucker who put the pieces of the puzzle together and led us to von Braun’s Bermuda Triangle hypothesis,” T’Pol motioned to the engineer. “We have a basic understanding of what happened on the planet’s surface but there are several key pieces of information we need before we can locate Lt. Reed and bring him home.”

“And we only have 12 hours to do it,” Trip reminded everyone.

“Have you told anyone on Onara what you’ve discovered?” asked Oula, looking from face to face around the table.

Archer shook his head. “Not yet. They haven’t exactly been helpful. That’s another thing we were hoping you could help with: why doesn’t the Onaran government want to admit what happened here?”

Oula took a deep breath. “It is a long story, Captain Archer, and one my people are not particularly proud of.”

“I, for one, would like to hear it,” Malcolm piped up. He had informed them earlier that he had managed to construct a tent and furnish it with materials from the ship. It was haphazardly fashioned but it allowed him to shut out the ocean, at least in some small measure.

“I think we all would.” The captain looked questioningly at Oula.

“Very well,” she assented. “Onara, as you know, is a planet with some very unusual properties. We are also a planet with very little available land. Like most civilizations, we went through a period of intense conflict over that most valuable and limited resource. About 150 years ago our climate began to gradually change and our sea level rose. The fighting became more intense as there was less and less land to control. Those who had it guarded it jealously, those who were losing it became frantic as they tried to take over areas belonging to other nations. We didn’t know it at the time but the environmental process was actually a blessing in disguise. Eventually our leaders realized that unless we worked together and pooled our natural resources, unless we developed a way to live with and in the seas, none of us would survive. It ushered in an era of peace for my people.”

“Similar realizations were reached on Earth and Vulcan,” T’Pol pointed out.

“Yes, well, unfortunately before Onarans reached this momentous decision, they did some pretty awful things. We created weapons of destruction that killed thousands. We released biological agents on one another. We built military ships for the sea and the air. We began to study the unique properties of our planet not for scientific gain but to try to gain a tactical advantage over our enemies.” Dr. BenCour stood and began to pace the room, unable to hold back her disdain at the past actions of her people.

“For years there were stories about people and ships going missing. The difference between what happened on our planet and your…Bermunga Triangle?”

“Bermuda.” The captain, Trip, and T’Pol all corrected.

“Of course. The difference between this and what happened on our planet is that as we became a more technological society we were able to confirm these stories. Ships were being thrown off course, people were going missing. Sometimes the vessels and the individuals turned up again, sometimes they were lost forever. Even after we understood what was happening it was dangerously unpredictable. We found that machinery that used radiation generators were particularly susceptible to disappearance, so we stopped building them. Most people wanted only to avoid triggering these events.”

“But not everyone…?” Archer prompted.

Oula stopped pacing and crossed her arms. “During the worst years of our conflicts over land one of the most powerful governments, Onataru, began experimenting with these electromagnetic disturbances. They thought that if they could control all of the variables in the situation, they could direct the outcome.”

“My god,” Malcolm piped up. “They were making a transportation device!”

“Yes,” Oula confirmed. “They wanted to secretly transport troops and weapons right into their enemy’s military compounds and cities. This kind of technology was highly illegal, and the Onataru soon discovered why. It was impossible to predict where or even if a ship or object would reappear. They lost thousands of people in their experiments—just vanished, never to be seen again. The main problem was that the Onataru could not control the temporal variance emitted by our electromagnetic field. Normally it’s very small, but certain types of radiation and subharmonics can set it off, creating—”

“A gravitational time dilation,” Trip interrupted excitedly. T’Pol glared at him.

“You knew about this?” Malcolm asked, offended.

“We suspected it was possible,” T’Pol told him. She didn’t want Trip to take the blame; she had agreed to withhold the information as well and she outranked the engineer. “We did not want to worry you until we were sure.”

“Oh, right, because I’m otherwise so bloody unruffled at the moment.”

Captain Archer raised his eyebrows at his commanders. “Back up a minute. What does this gravitational time dilation do?”

“It means that objects are not only lost in space,” Oula explained. “They can also be lost in time.”

What?!” Malcolm sounded less unruffled with every passing moment. “Where the hell am I?”

Oula was on a roll and kept going, ignoring Lt. Reed’s distress. “As I said, normally the temporal variance is quite small, but the Onataru developed a way to amplify the effects. Their intention was to be able to send objects all the way to the other side of the planet, though of course it never worked the way they expected.” She stopped pacing and sat down heavily. “They never admitted to what they’d done. After the wars no one wanted to disrupt the peace process with something as controversial as the Onataru experiments. They were quietly purged from the records.”

“How do you know about them?” Trip asked.

“I did a lot of digging, a lot of research before I implemented this project. I knew that some subharmonic frequencies could be dangerous so I wanted as much information as I could get before I tried anything with them. When Lt. Reed disappeared I realized that I must have missed something…then when Minister Krevet came to see me I knew I had stumbled onto something I wasn’t supposed to know about.”

“Did he threaten you?” Archer wanted to know.

“No, not exactly. He asked me a lot of questions about the subharmonic frequencies and insinuated that I was to put the project first, the rescue of your crewman second.” Dr. BenCour smiled slightly. “I knew something was wrong, he was far too interested all of a sudden. As soon as I could, I snuck off the ship. I had to know what was going on, and I finally found it.” She produced a small data node and handed it to the captain. “I want you to know, captain, that I broke several laws to get that information.” She sighed. “My career as a scientist is probably over, but I couldn’t be responsible for the loss of your crewman.”

Archer took the node. “I will do everything in my power to make sure you practice science again, doctor,” he told her emotionally. T’Pol knew he meant it: she had noticed that humans admired bravery and that it often encouraged them to act in kind. “What did you uncover?”

“I said the Onataru came up with a way to amplify the effects of the temporal variance. They created resonance emitters that not only intensified the effects of subharmonic or radiation bursts, they also widened the range of frequencies that would trigger a gravitational time dilation. Once they realized that the effects from the resonance emitters were impossible to control they didn’t just get rid of them—they mined them along the ocean floor.” She paused and let this information sink in.

Trip was the first to make the connection. “My god…any ship passing near them and emitting even a low subharmonic burst…would disappear.” The thought was staggering.

“You can see why my government is not anxious to explain the events that have transpired,” Oula said. “The exact locations of many of the emitters are still unknown; they never even searched for many of them. They don’t want anyone to know what happened here. The Onataru didn’t just take prisoners of war, they didn’t just kill people on the opposing sides…they exiled them into nothingness. All those people, still alive on the other side of the temporal rift, with no means of returning. As I said, this is not a moment in Onaran history of which to be proud.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but again…where am I? And more importantly, how do I get back?” Malcolm asked.

“If you describe your surroundings and the ship you encountered, I believe I can pinpoint your location in our history,” Oula assured him. “In fact, if you are on uninhabited islands I can already determine that you are at least 300 years in the past. After that point there was no uninhabited land on Onara. Once we figure that out, I think we can get you back, though I will need the assistance of your crew, Captain Archer.”

“You know you have it,” he told her. “How long will it take to locate Lt. Reed’s position in time and space and pull him back into our continuum?”

“To locate him? A few hours. To bring him back? About ten years or so,” Oula said calmly. Everyone around her stopped and stared.

“Ten what?” Malcolm called from his comm link.

“We do not have the technology to reverse the effects of the temporal disturbance,” the Onaran explained. “Even with the information from the government experiments, we would be building a highly theoretical and very dangerous equipment to attempt it. Frankly, neither of our peoples have the means to create such machinery. On Onara, that’s the reason the displacement project was eventually stopped.”

“We don’t have ten years,” Archer pointed out. “There has to be a faster way.”

“There is,” Oula cocked her head, “but you aren’t going to like it.”

The captain had no doubt this was true. “I’m open to suggestions here, Dr. BenCour. Start talking.”

“We allow the reclamation project to run its course.” Trip started and she raised a hand. “It’s the only way to re-create the conditions of your lieutenant’s disappearance. If we can locate him, go to his position, and reverse the subharmonic pulse being used to channel the current flow, we might be able to force Mr. Reed back into our timeline.”

Might?” Malcolm asked.

“I thought the next stage of the project was very destructive?” Trip asked. “The Tubat’s not even going to stay in the area. How will we monitor the surface, much less disrupt that subharmonic pulse? Sensors will be useless because of the atmospheric and electromagnetic distortion.”

“We would have to be very close to Lt. Reed’s location for this plan to work,” T’Pol added. “The pulse will have to be extremely localized, over a range of less than one kilometer,” she held out a datapad on which she had tapped calculations.

Oula examined it, nodding. “You are correct, Commander T’Pol—we must be close to Lt. Reed’s geographic position before attempting our rescue. We’ll need to be on the surface. I have already arranged a vessel, though it is somewhat smaller than the Tubat. It’s going to be a rough ride—I certainly hope everyone knows how to swim.”

Through their bond Trip felt a sudden twinge of apprehension. He knew T’Pol was less than eager to spend time on Onara, now she was being asked to get in a very small boat on a very dangerous sea. He tried with all his might to send her reassurance through their bond and had to physically restrain himself from placing a hand on her shoulder.

T’Pol glanced at him and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. “We do, Dr. BenCour,” the Vulcan responded. “We should begin our preparations. Try not to worry, Lt. Reed,” she added as an afterthought.

“About what?” asked Malcolm. “The fact that I’m lost somewhere in the timeline of a strange planet and may never return home, or the fact that I may have just eaten three hundred year old rations?”

---------------------------

“Four hundred and seventy-two years,” Malcolm said again incredulously. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around it. That was how far in the past Dr. BenCour believed he had gone. It had actually taken a very short time for her to determine this, as she recognized the ship he had discovered from his description.

“The Molat!” she had exclaimed. “It has to be!” She went on to explain that in the past Onarans had genetically engineered trees to be used as ships. These trees, called yuwas, could regenerate if damaged and would provide the crew with fruit and building materials as they sailed. Yuwas pulled their own nutrients from the sea, so the relationship was mutually beneficial. Grown on special seawater farms to mimic the shape of an actual ship, the yuwas could hold crews of up to 25 people.

“They kind of sound like mangroves,” Trip had commented. “I’ll bet it’s amazing!”

“It’s a thrill a minute,” Malcolm told him grumpily. He was grateful, though, to have stumbled across a ship that had a specific history that could be traced.

The Molat was something of a legend in Onaran oceanic lore. It had gone missing for no apparent reason and turned up weeks later off the coast of a large southern island chain. The crew had vanished without a trace, leaving no evidence as to what happened or where they might have gone. Theories ranged from a mutiny to a strange disease to pirate abduction, though no proof was ever found. Dr. BenCour sounded a little disappointed that Malcolm wouldn’t be able to shed any light on this mystery, though he promised to search the ship thoroughly before the rescue attempt. Right now, however, he was recalibrating the Onaran communicator array to send out a homing beacon that would be detected through the temporal rift that would hopefully soon be opened.

“Did you set the frequency modulators to a wide dispersal?” Hoshi asked, trying to keep the lieutenant occupied and on-task. “You need to do that before you remove the outer casing of the array.”

“What? Oh, yes, I’ve done that. At least, I think I have. I’m a little nervous about using schematics for a five hundred year old computer!”

“Oula says these computers were in use for over a hundred years after they were introduced,” the ensign reminded him. “And you said yourself it’s in perfect working order.”

“What were humans doing on Earth five hundred years ago?” Malcolm wondered. “1650. They were just colonizing the new world, creating nation-states, reading printed books, fighting off waves of plagues…and the Onarans were building computers.”

“So were the Vulcans.” This was beginning to get frustrating. Hoshi knew Malcolm had been trapped alone on that island for almost three days at this point and tried to keep focused for his sake.

“Hmm. I suppose you’re right. Never thought of it like that.”

“Lieutenant,” Hoshi began.

“I wonder who else was building computers and warp vessels by that time?” the tactical officer’s mind—and mouth—kept meandering. “Maybe the Klingons, though I doubt—”

Malcolm!” Hoshi finally snapped.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, Hoshi. I’m just a little stir crazy, I guess. Um, let’s see, where were we? The casing. We were about to remove the casing. I’ll have to find something to pry it…”

The comm officer stopped and listened to Malcolm babble about removing the casing. He sounded tired, anxious…and alone. Silently she chastised herself. She was supposed to be the communications genius and she had missed the most important message of all: her friend needed reassurance. He needed someone to talk to, to vent his worries about the upcoming mission, and here she was nagging him about the communications array. It would get done, of course, but surely it could wait a few minutes.

“Malcolm?” Hoshi asked, breaking his stream-of-consciousness account of his progress.

“I can’t seem to get the casing off, Hoshi. Hold on, I’m going to look for something to wedge between the outer layer—”

“Why don’t we take a break?” she suggested. “Let’s talk about something different. Why don’t you tell me about…” she searched her mind for an appropriately off-topic subject, “about your first school dance?”

There was a long pause before Malcolm replied. “It wasn’t that exciting…”

“Then how about…” Hoshi thought for a moment. A-ha! “How about the work you did for Starfleet Intelligence before coming onto Enterprise?” she asked. “I’m sure that’s exciting!”

There was another long pause. Hoshi was afraid she’d offended him and was already formulating an apology when he answered. “Yes…now that is exciting. I assume I can trust you to keep this confidential, Hoshi?”

“Of course!” Hoshi assured him.

Malcolm seemed more than happy to take a mental breather. “In that case…I should start at the beginning, with my first mission in Marseille, though I can’t tell you all of the details as some of them are classified…” Hoshi leaned forward eagerly to listen and the pair of them spent the next half-hour blessedly unworried about what the fate of a man trapped on an island.

----------------------------

The door chimed again insistently. No matter how she tried to ignore it, T’Pol could never block out the sound completely. She didn’t know if this was a product of her training as an officer or her acute Vulcan senses. Blowing out the candle before her, she rose and seated herself on her bed. Normally she would have stood to receive a guest, but she knew who was on the other side of the door and knew he would prefer a more informal atmosphere. Truthfully, so would she.

“Come in,” she instructed.

Trip stepped in, giving her a little smile. “Sorry to disturb you.” He eyed her candle, smoke still curling slowly from the wick. “I didn’t realize you were busy.”

“It’s all right. You wanted something?”

He handed her a datapad. “Oula’s latest calculations on the timing of our rescue operation. It’ll have to be exact, down to the minute.”

“I have confidence in the crew’s ability to conduct a precision operation,” T’Pol told him.

“We do work well together,” Trip grinned. She felt his pleasure at her compliment through their bond.

She finished looking over the data and set the pad on the bed next to her. “I will examine the information in detail, thank you.”

He nodded, then hesitated a moment before sitting down beside her. “Actually, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about.” When she did not respond he glanced at her sideways and gave her a sly smile. “Which you probably knew, right?”

“It seemed logical, yes.” He was very near her and she could feel his emotions brushing lightly against her consciousness. As always it was an unusual sensation, but not unpleasant. Personal space was very important to Vulcans, and yet here he sat, only inches from her—and she didn’t mind. In fact, she envied his easy manner as he leaned back on his hands and surveyed her room.

“I was thinking…this mission, going to the surface of the planet during what Dr. BenCour says is going to be one hell of a storm…that can’t be easy for you.” Now he was surveying T’Pol—she could feel his eyes and his mind on her.

“I will perform my duties, I assure you.”

“I have no question about that—you’re about the most fearless person I know.” Now it was T’Pol’s turn to feel pride at his praise. “I just know it’s going to be difficult for you.”

“Commander—Trip, I may feel some unease while on Onara, but as a Vulcan I do not feel fear. You have no need to worry about me.”

“That’s not how this works,” he told her quietly. “You know me well enough by now to know that.” He motioned toward her now-cold candle. “I know you’re a little anxious and you’re doing your best to take care of it yourself. You’re no damsel in distress and I have no doubt that you can do it on your own…but I’d like to help if I can.”

T’Pol was speechless for a moment. He had a way about him, this human. Sometimes she asked herself why her unconscious mind—her heart, if you will—had chosen this illogical bond-mate. Sometimes, however, she knew exactly why, and this was certainly one of those times. Commander Tucker was what Hoshi had once described as “a keeper.”

“Trip,” she finally said, “I appreciate your offer, but I don’t see how you can help.”

“Well, I was thinking,” Trip stood up and walked to where her candle sat on the floor. “Sometimes I feel you through our bond, right? I feel your influence on me, trying to keep me calm, keep me sane…couldn’t I do the same for you?”

“Do the same…?” T’Pol looked at him questioningly.

“I’ve been around the water all my life,” he explained. “I don’t like the thought of being in a storm, sure, but the sea really doesn’t bother me. Why can’t I transfer my feeling comfortable around the water to you?”

T’Pol thought about this. “I don’t know if it would work. You feel me in your mind because of my superior mental discipline.”

“A guy offers you help and you call him an idiot,” Trip grinned.

“That was not my intention. I simply meant—”

“I know, I know, it was a joke,” the engineer raised his hands. “So I don’t have Vulcan telepathic powers. As you pointed out, though, you do. You can send me your feelings, maybe you can access mine.”

“You would allow me to do this? Trip, it’s an invasion of your mental privacy!”

“It’s not invasion if I want you to do it,” Trip reached out and took one of her hands, pulling her up off the bed. “If I want you to do it, it’s called sharing.” He settled himself on the floor in front of the candle, pulling her down across from him. “And you’d better get used to it!”

Flattered, touched, and feeling decidedly emotional over her human, T’Pol simply nodded and reached for the lighting apparatus. It looked like she was going to be learning a lot about breaking the rules of personal space…and she couldn’t say that she minded.


Part 5: Stormy Weather

“Wasn’t this vessel supposed to go for forensic testing?” Trip asked, staring at the small science vessel before them.

“Yes,” Oula answered casually.

He grinned. “I suppose it can go later.”

“That was my thought as well,” she smiled back.

He threw his gear from the private docking platform onto the boat, and helped Captain Archer and T’Pol with several crates of equipment before heading belowdeck. Hoshi was already there, setting up her communications array to look for Malcolm’s signal.

“Any luck yet?” he asked as he stowed his bag in a compartment in the floor.

“Not yet,” she answered shortly.

“You’ll get him back,” he assured her.

“The interference is a lot stronger here.”

Trip looked up at her. She was concentrating very hard on the receiver, her forehead creased with worry. Poor Hoshi, he thought. He knew she had a soft spot for Malcolm and that she had been keeping an almost constant vigil with him since they’d made contact. He wondered how much sleep she’d had over the past couple of days but refrained from suggesting she try to take a nap. Right now everyone’s adrenaline was far too high and Hoshi, he remembered, knew judo. Or was it tae kwon do? Whatever it was, she’d once broken someone’s arm using it and he didn’t want to be bachelor number two.

Instead he put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve done an amazing job, Hoshi. We’re lucky you were around…Malcolm’s lucky you were around. You’ll find him again.”

She did not look up but put a hand over his, grateful for his support. “Thank you Commander.”

“And it’s Trip,” he told her as he climbed back up on deck. T’Pol looked at him curiously as he emerged in the open air. “Never mind,” he told her. “So how are we doing?”

“We are two hundred kilometers from the area we believe Lt. Reed is located,” the Vulcan informed him. “The journey should give us time to set up the subharmonic equipment.”

“We’ll be as ready as we’ll ever be.” Archer came up beside Trip. “Oula says we’re on track, let’s get started.”

---------------------------------

The weather was definitely changing—T’Pol’s could feel the drop in barometric pressure even before the humans did, though it was obvious to all once the wind began to blow cooler that the seas were becoming rougher.

Black clouds were forming all along the horizon, moving in to converge directly on their position. They raced across the sky, turning sunlight into darkness and throwing spidery bursts of lightning across the sky. T’Pol looked up at the shrinking circle of perfectly blue sky above her and took a deep breath, remembering her meditation techniques for remaining calm. Working with Trip had proven very beneficial—the water was not the mysterious, unknown variable it had been only hours before—but the next few hours were going to be very difficult.

She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to find Commander Tucker handing her a deluxe model of the Onaran life vest. This one covered her upper arms and though quite flexible, fit snugly against her hips. As Trip tightened at across her back she could feel it already begin to work warming her core and keeping her dry. Droplets of rain, sparse at first and then more intense, blew against her skin, carried by the cold mounting wind.

“We should get below!” he told her, his voice flying away in the gale. “Oula says we’ve only got about fifteen minutes before the storm is here.” He pointed to the black clouds, which looked far closer to T’Pol than fifteen minutes away. She nodded and let him guide her to the hatch.

“How do things look up there?” the captain asked as they lowered themselves through.

“The winds are rapidly increasing and there is a great deal of electrical disturbance. I believe there will also be cyclonic activity,” T’Pol answered him.

Oula looked up from the computer panel from which she was monitoring the storm. “That sounds about right. I recommend that no one goes up on deck until absolutely necessary. We’re going to start seeing intense wave activity and the chances that this ship will roll are pretty good.” On seeing the look of worry that crossed several of the faces turned toward her she quickly added, “But it shouldn’t affect us much. This ship is equipped with an gyroscopic sensor and attitude corrector. If we capsize or roll the ship will right itself automatically. We’ll be tossed around a bit, but the cabin will always remain right side up.”

“I guess that’s comforting,” Trip muttered, looking less than convinced. He shot T’Pol a look and dropped his voice as she moved to check sensor calibrations. “How are you doing?”

“Fine, Commander.” She used the tone that said, “this is work, not personal” so he simply nodded and began to move away. She placed a hand on his arm and said in almost a whisper, “Thank you.”

He nodded again, this time with a smile. “And what about you, Mal? How’s island life?”

“So far so good,” Malcolm crackled over the airwaves. “There are a few clouds on the horizon but nothing like what you’re seeing.”

“That’ll change soon enough,” Oula commented wryly. “We’re going to initiate the first subharmonic pulse now—our frequency should reverse the one being sent out by the resonance emitters, but it’s going to bring the storm into your timeframe.”

“And hopefully me into yours,” Malcolm said stiffly. “I’m ready when you are, Doctor.”

Oula’s fingers flew over her console. “Initiating reverse pulse…now.”

“Good luck, Malcolm,” Hoshi said softly.

“Now what?” Archer asked, arms crossed and brow furrowed.

“Starting the process was the easy part,” Oula told him. “Now the hard part: riding out the storm and hoping it worked.”

---------------------------------

Malcolm watched the skies with growing dismay. He knew this had to be done but the process that had been described to him was in no way appealing.

“At least I know it’s working,” he told himself as clouds began to bubble into existence in the sky. It was as though the storm were simply appearing out of nothing. Along its edges blue sky peeked happily until it was eaten away by the growing darkness. He took a deep breath and checked the communications array one last time just as the rain began to fall. His wet fingers fumbled on the controls and he decided to leave well enough alone.

When he looked up again the sky was filled with angry, swirling clouds and lightening. It had moved in so fast it took his breath away. He saw a greenish cloud dip down toward the ocean off in the distance—a cyclone. Beneath it the sea rolled and heaved as huge waves formed and toppled over one another.

Terrified, he looked down at the communications array once again…but it was gone. So, he saw, was the grass…and most of the island! It was now just a tiny, rocky crag of land almost obscured by the roiling waters around him. It wasn’t being flooded by the sea, he realized, it was rising from it! It was working—he was being pulled into his timeline again, over 450 years in the future when his tiny island chain was being uncovered by the Onaran land reclamation project!

A wave sloshed angrily over his perch, submerging him almost to the waist. Raising a hand to the storm, he tried to make out something—anything—in the murky darkness that surrounded him. Where were they, his colleagues? Were they out there? He peered fervently into the storm, searching.

-----------------------------

“Sir!” T’Pol yelled, motioning to the sea.

He squinted and what T’Pol was indicating. There, rising slowly from the frothing oceans, was land. Waves pounded against it relentlessly as though trying to push it back under the water. It disappeared and reappeared several times, each time emerging more prominently. There seemed to be a strange formation to one side of the tiny island…

“It’s Malcolm!” Trip shouted. Sure enough, the formation stretched and moved, floundering against the heavy winds. Archer blinked several times, trying to assess his tactical officer’s situation more accurately. He appeared to be moving and uninjured—

“He’s gone!” Archer shouted into his subdermal comm link. Sure enough, as clearly as Malcolm had been there one moment, the next he was simply gone. The islet was empty but for the raging sea. Archer was sure he hadn’t fallen into the water, so where had he gone? “What happened?!”

“I don’t know!” Oula sounded frantic. “The gyroscopic sensors may be disrupting our pulse!”

“Then turn them off!” the captain instructed.

“Hold on to something up there,” Oula warned as she disengaged the sensors. “It’s about to get rough.”

“About to?!” asked Trip. No sooner had he said it than the whole ship bucked and sent him flying across the deck.

T’Pol lashed out, grabbing his ankle as it skidded past. “Commander, we must tie ourselves to the deck or we’ll go over,” she told him as she pulled him upright.

Working quickly, all three of them were soon lashed to one another and science vessel’s railings. The storm howled miserably around them and waves pounded ruthlessly against the hull of the ship. Watching with a nervous eye, Trip worried that the force might actually buckle their little craft. He tried to put the thought out of his mind as he worked; as T’Pol would have told him, such thoughts served no purpose here.

Instead, he and the others concentrated on the tiny spit of land that bobbed in and out of sight before them. The three of them leaned against the railing, trying to make out any signs of life. The rain drove into their eyes and ran underneath their vests and the ocean sent up thick sprays of water. The powerful lights from their craft seemed weak against the darkness of the storm, which threw out its own frightening explosions of illumination in the form of lightning bursts.

“There!” Trip finally cried, pointing. “He’s there!”

Sure enough, huddled at the center of the small island was their crewmate. Malcolm was too busy holding on for dear life to acknowledge their calls and Trip wondered if he realized where he was yet.

“We see him!” Archer told Oula. “Take us in closer to the island!”

“I’ll try,” Oula promised.

Archer steadied the handheld grappler and aimed at his stranded officer. The ship surged beneath him and he slid momentarily, quickly regaining his footing and raising the gun-like apparatus once again. “Hold us steady!” he shouted and thought he heard Dr. BenCour swear in response.

“This is as good as it’s going to get,” the Onaran spat from between clenched teeth. “I can’t hold this position.”

The captain took a deep breath and aimed as best he could, offering a quick prayer to the patron saint of water-polo, if there was one. He figured it couldn’t hurt, anyway, and pulled the trigger.

Suddenly the world dropped from beneath him and the gun was torn from his grasp. He, Trip, and T’Pol all toppled against the railing, where they briefly paused before their momentum sent them plunging into the angry sea. The three of them jerked to a halt mid-plummet, held tenuously to the ship by the lifeline T’Pol had insisted they affix to the railing. They dangled momentarily before continuing their descent. Confused, Archer looked up and realized that the entire ship was leaning precariously. He thought it was going to tip over before he realized…the entire ocean seemed to be leaning—and moving very rapidly in one direction.

“The storm has created a vortex!” T’Pol called over the howling winds. Archer looked back and saw her struggling in the water, Trip holding her arm with a white-knuckled grip. Even now she looked calm, as though treading water in hurricane force weather was nothing out of the ordinary.

“It’s a whirlpool!” Trip agreed. “We have to get back on the ship! If it rolls we’ll be trapped underneath!”

Archer could hear a crackling in his ear and knew Oula was trying to communicate. “Stand by,” he told her, hoping she could make him out better than he could her. He turned to his companions and communicated through a mixture of shouting and hand motions. “I think I can reach the railing if I swing, but it means we all have to swing.”

Trip gave a thumbs-up sign and T’Pol followed suit, if a little mechanically. They steadied themselves against the side and started to swing haphazardly back and forth. After a number of false starts their momentum began to build, though greatly hindered by the rocking motion of the boat and their own collisions with the hull. Around them the water was picking up speed—Archer was certain they didn’t have much time and desperately worked his exhausted muscles.

“Almost there!” he called encouragingly and hoped it was not a lie. The railing swung into view and he reached for it, missing by several inches. With his next attempt he grabbed hold of it briefly but found it too slick to grip. He slid off and lost most of his momentum. The ship lurched, taking the rest of it, but he doggedly started swinging again. There was the railing again—if he could just reach far enough…he extended his arm to its limit, stretching his fingers…

And felt a hand clutch his own tightly. Surprised, gasped and inhaled a swell of seawater. Coughing, he looked up to see Hoshi, sans vest but with a rope coiled around her midsection, holding onto him for dear life. Bracing herself against the railing, she hauled him up with all her might. Archer pushed up against the side of the ship, trying to help all he could. Within moments he found himself spluttering on the deck of the ship again, Trip and T’Pol struggling over the rails after him.

“Malcolm!” Archer shouted. “We didn’t get him!”

Hoshi shook her head furiously. “We have to get below—Dr. BenCour says the ship’s going to capsize!”

He nodded and followed her, half crawling, half walking across the violently slanted deck. They made it to the hatch and had just thrown it open when the ship finally gave way to the elements and tumbled into the relentless swirling waters. The four of them crashed inside, Archer last and pulling the door shut behind him.

For a moment all sense of direction and orientation was lost and time stood still and their surroundings shifted beneath them. Up became down which became up again and backwards and forwards switched places. Archer tucked himself into a ball, shielding his head in his hands. beside him he heard Hoshi gasp as something slammed into her head—he reached out and pulled her against him, covering her head as best he could.

Whether it had taken moments or hours he wasn’t sure, but it was several seconds before he or anyone else realized it was over. Gradually he became aware that he was no longer moving—at least with such violent force—and that the room had settled itself, miraculously, right side up.

“Everyone okay?” he croaked, completely unsure of the answers he would get.

“Yes, sir,” T’Pol said in a shaky voice. She had wedged herself beneath a bench and was crawling out. She busied herself with Trip, who had managed to hit his nose in the upheaval and was bleeding profusely. He was swatting her hand away, telling her in a nasally voice that he was fine, really but Archer could tell from the look on her face that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Dr. BenCour?” he called. He had lost track of her in the commotion.

“I thin I’m okay.” She was sitting on the floor behind him, shaking her head as though to clear it. “I had to take the attitude corrector offline when I deactivated the gyroscopic sensors,” she explained apologetically.

Archer smiled slightly. “I guessed that. Don’t worry about it.”

He realized he was still holding Hoshi and looked down at her. She stared back up with dazed eyes. A stream of blood ran from her scalp to her collar; she winced as she felt for the wound in her hairline. Archer examined it for her. “It looks minor, but we’ll have Phlox check it out.”

She sniffled and winced again. “I think I’m okay.”

Trip handed her one of the towel T’Pol had tried to administer to his nose. “Let’s see if Malcolm’s out there,” he suggested, though it sounded more like, “lesseef Mawcomb’s oub der.”

Archer pulled open the hatch and was hit not by a wave but a burst of sunshine. Amazed, he gazed up and saw a bright blue sky filled with whispery clouds. Unbelievable—it was as though the storm had never happened. The five of them clambered unsteadily to the deck and looked out over the water.

“Whoa!” Trip commented, dropping the towel from his nose. Archer had to agree with his assessment.

Rising from the now-calm water was not a tiny sliver of island, but an entire chain of them. They were small and rocky, but flat and their potential was clear. A series of bridges and some terraforming activity would soon make them habitable. For now though, their wet surfaces gleamed in the light of a sun that hadn’t hit them for hundreds of years.

“I am not picking up any bio-signs.” T’Pol, of course, had had the presence of mind to bring a scanner with her. The news it brought, however, was not good. “He is not there,” she said definitively.

“We failed,” Hoshi whispered disbelievingly, her eyes welling with tears of exhaustion and frustration.

“Dr. BenCour?” Archer asked, hoping the Onaran would have some kind of last minute advice on the subject. Perhaps all was not lost? But the doctor did not answer. She seemed preoccupied with something off the bow of the vessel. Fearing the worst in the form of a blue-clad floating body, Archer followed her gaze. What he saw, however…

“What is that?” It was something of an unnecessary question, for even though it was like nothing he’d ever seen, it was clear what it actually was. It was a ship, but such a ship…! It looked like a tree, sailing calmly away from them across the water. Branches knocked askew by the storm waved merrily in the light breeze and the honey colored wood of the hull gleamed in the sunlight. “Is that…?”

“The Molat,” Oula told him, awed. The grand ship skimmed past the islands toward the horizon, five heads turning to watch its progress. Then, suddenly…it was gone. It blinked out of existence, leaving little more than a few ruffled waves in its wake.

Archer shook himself back to his senses. “Wait a minute, if the ship was here, then where’s Malcolm? He should be here too!”

“I don’t know what happened!” Oula practically wailed. “It should have worked! He should be here!”

Archer looked past her to T’Pol, who was still scanning furiously. She caught her captain’s eye and shook her head. Nothing—no signs of life.

“Enterprise to Captain Archer.”

Archer nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard Travis’ voice channeled through his comm link. He’d completely forgotten about it. “Archer here.”

“Were you successful, sir?” the young ensign wanted to know.

Archer paused and took a moment to hate this part of being a captain. “No, we weren’t. We didn’t get Malcolm back.”

There was silence over the channel for a moment as Travis took in this news. “We can run scans from the ship now, sir. The interference is gone,” he finally said.

“Do it. And send down a shuttlecraft.” He turned to his beleaguered and beaten crew. They had all put forth so much of themselves—for nothing. Malcolm, his tactical officer and friend, was gone.

------------------------

“A slight concussion but nothing to worry about,” Phlox assured Hoshi. His usual jovial manner was tempered by the somber news that Lt. Reed had not been recovered. Hoshi’s eyes were still watering, most likely from a combination of sadness, pain, and tiredness. “You’re free to go, but only if you go back to your quarters and sleep,” he instructed the ensign, who assented half-heartedly.

“You did everything you could,” Archer told her as he helped her off the biobed.

“And you saved our lives,” Trip added from his own bed. Phlox had mended his nose, which was now sporting a bandage and a nasty bruise.

T’Pol, who had watched the procedure with both sentimental and (to Trip’s dismay) scientific interest, now turned her attention to the communications officer. “You have no reason to fault yourself,” she said softly. Hoshi simply sniffled in response.

“I feel awful about this,” Oula said again. She was taking the outcome of events very personally. “If my government had only you what was going on this might never have happe—”

“Mayweather to Captain Archer.” Travis’ disembodied voice broke into the room.

Archer slapped the nearest comm panel. “Go ahead.”

“Sir, Minister Krevet and Teleel are requesting to speak with you.”

Archer was in no mood for platitudes or diplomacy right now but he knew they’d be calling until he answered. May as well get it over with now. “Put it through.”

“They requested a private comm line,” Travis informed his captain.

“How nice for them. Just put them through,” Archer said tiredly.

“Yes sir.”

There was a brief moment of static and Krevet’s deep voice filled sickbay. “Archer? Are you there?”

Captain Archer, Minister,” the captain corrected. “What can I do for you?”

“We just…all of us here on the Molat wanted to apologize for the mix-up, Captain.”

Mix-up?” Archer spat. “Is that what you call this? Concealing information that could have led to the rescue of my crewman or prevented his loss in the first place? Refusing to help us find him? Trying to strong-arm your own people into abandoning their duty? Is that a mix-up?”

There was frantic whispering and muttering at the other end of the comm line. Finally, Teleel spoke. “I’m not sure what…well, I’m not sure we’re talking about the same thing, here, Captain. We wanted to apologize for not letting you know sooner—”

“I’d say you owe a damn sight more than an apology!” Archer was furious. How dare they offer feeble apologies when Malcolm was gone forever due, ultimately, to their ineptitude?!

“Well, we’ve apologized to your crewman and he seemed to accept it rather well,” Teleel said waspishly.

“I don’t care what our crewma—” Archer stopped. “Our…what?”

“Your crewman. Lt. Reed.” Krevet said. “We pulled him out of the water about an hour ago when we went to check on the results of the reclamation project. He was right where we lost him, almost the exact coordinates. He wasn’t too happy but we warmed him up and fed him, which did wonders for his disposition.”

Archer sat down on a one of the beds. “Malcolm is alive?”

“Indeed,” Teleel verified. “Again, we apologize for not letting you know sooner, he got a bit lost in ruckus here…and our doctor thinks he’s a little delusional from being in the water. He was rambling about a tree-ship and some islands? Even said he was in talking with you?” Teleel sounded highly skeptical and Archer wondered what his colleague the minister thought had really happened. This was neither the time nor the place to bring up that subject, however.

“We’d like to bring him back to Enterprise immediately,” he informed Krevet in a tone that said argument was futile.

“Of course,” Krevet agreed. “He is ready now.”

Archer cut the transmission and turned back to a room that was quite different from the one he had looked at only minutes before. Trip sat on a bed, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him, T’Pol hand placed a hand on his shoulder. Hoshi was still sniffling but was smiling as she did so, and Oula looked immensely relieved. Phlox beamed in his strange, wide Denobulan way as he readied his sickbay for another patient.

Archer hit the comm link again. “Travis,” he called, “get a shuttle ready. We’re going to pick up Malcolm.”

---------------------------------

Three Days Later:

Malcolm walked briskly through the corridors of Enterprise, happily outfitted once more in his own uniform. After much arguing, Phlox had finally agreed to let him resume his duties and Malcolm felt normal once more. It had taken a couple of days for the motion of the water to wear off, he felt as though he were still bobbing whenever he sat or slept, but it eventually subsided. Other than an even more intense dislike of the water, Malcolm had emerged from the entire incident with little more than mild hypothermia and malnutrition. Today was their last day on Onara and even though he was looking forward to putting the planet far behind him, there was one Onaran he had to thank properly before she left the ship.

He found Dr. BenCour packing her few belongings as she readied herself for the journey back to her planet. Though Earth had offered her amnesty if she wished it, Captain Archer had negotiated her return to Onara, where she would be allowed to observe the rest of the land reclamation project. No charges would be pressed, but she had lost her job as project leader.

“Despite your captain’s efforts I fear my career in science is over,” Oula sighed.

“Maybe you can try your hand at history.” Malcolm held out a datapad for her.

She looked at him questioningly before taking it and studying its contents. “This is…” she shook her head disbelievingly.

“It’s all the data I could get from the Molat,” he told her. “Everything I could remember, anyway. I also have this,” he held out a piece of clothing—the vest he had been wearing when he fell off the Tubat. “Look in the pockets.”

Gingerly, she put a hand in one of the pockets and pulled out a handful of strange objects: splinters of wood, a scrap of sail, pieces of rope. The other pockets revealed an even more wondrous treasure: samples of the Molat’s scientific research.

“Now maybe you can tell where they were going, where they had been, and eventually what happened to them.” Malcolm smiled at her shining eyes. “It’s my way of saying thank you, Dr. BenCour.”

Oula grinned. “Thank you, Lt. Reed.

Malcolm turned to leave, but paused at the door. “Doctor, tonight is Movie Night here on Enterprise. It’s a form of entertainment that is very popular among humans. Would you care to join myself and Ensign Sato for the film?”

“Ah yes, I’ve been reading about “films” in your database. What are you showing?”

“Commander Tucker chooses them…tonight I believe he’s showing Jaws. It’s a movie about sharks,” he told her.

“Sharks? Aren’t they marine predators?” Oula asked.

“Well…yes.”

“Your Commander Tucker certainly has a strange sense of humor, not to mention timing. I think I’ll pass,” Oula grinned.

“Trip’s movie choices are widely regarded as one of the immutable mysteries of the universe,” Malcolm laughed. “If you change your mind it starts at 1900.” He left her quarters and headed off to the mess hall to meet Hoshi for dinner.

-----------------------------

“If this film was intended to inspire my enthusiasm for swimming, it failed,” T’Pol said flatly. She and Trip were seated by themselves in the mess hall, discussing the finer points of what the engineer claimed was one of Earth’s “finest cinematic treasures”. “Why did you choose to show it, in light of recent events?”

“I showed it because of recent events,” Trip told her. “It’s a story about the primal struggle to survive, and triumph on a level playing field between human and animal.”

“Humans are animals,” T’Pol pointed out, but Trip ignored this.

“It’s about trusting your instincts, and about facing the unknown with bravery and little more than your wits,” he went on, “about working together and using ingenuity to face off against brute strength…” he realized T’Pol had left the table. He swiveled to find her just as she emerged from behind him carrying two mugs.

“I apologize, I thought I would be back before you finished. Coffee?” she offered.

He smiled sheepishly and accepted. “I guess I can see why you’d think this movie choice was a little odd. Don’t worry, when I teach you to swim it won’t be anywhere like that. That is…” he stared at her from over his cup, “if you still want to learn?”

She took a sip of her tea and swallowed thoughtfully. “Despite tonight’s movie selection I find that lately I feel…an affinity for the water,” she told him carefully. “I look forward to broadening the boundaries of that affinity.”

Trip smiled into his mug. He loved it when she talked logical to him. Actually, it was when she used logic to justify doing something that she clearly wanted to do that he loved. It was endearing, in it’s own weird way.

“Swimming lessons it is, Nora,” he told her.

-----------------------------

Epilogue:

Hoshi rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn as she headed back to her quarters. Though tired, she felt content: Malcolm was back on the ship, her work on the Universal Translator was going well, and they were leaving Onara light years behind. Tomorrow she would try integrating some of her improvements into a working model for the translator—

“Hoshi!” someone called behind her. She turned to find Commander Tucker walking toward her, carrying something.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” he told her as he approached.

“Can I do something for you, Commander?” she asked.

“No, no, not really. I’ve just been so busy the past few days I didn’t really have a chance to tell you,” he took a deep breath. “To tell you how much I appreciate everything you did on Onara. I know, I know,” he raised a hand as she began to protest, “it was a group effort. It was, but you were the one that found Malcolm, and kept him calm. You saved us from the whirlpool, too.”

Embarrassed, the communications officer flushed and tried to wave off the compliment.

“No, Hoshi, I want to thank you for everything you did. This is for you,” he finished, handing her a flat container.

Mystified, Hoshi examined the box before removing the lid. She stared at its contents, confused.

“Commander?” she looked up just in time to see his retreating form turn a corner. “What am I supposed to do with tea towels on a starship?!”


end



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A whole mess of folks have made comments

I've been following this story on ff.net and was glad to see it here. Enjoyed the resolution of the problem and glad they found Malcolm.

This is another "should have been an episode and they'd still be on the air" story. Even while accessing T'Pol's emotions you stayed right in character for her. Very well done; I'll be reading this one again.

Excellent job! Lots of fun and very well written. Like scarletwitch, I too was following this over on ff.net and was really glad to see it show up here. Are you planning additional chapters?

This line cracked me up: “If this film was intended to inspire my enthusiasm for swimming, it failed,” T’Pol said flatly.

Great job!

That's perfect, how you wrapped up the story with the tea towels! Love this story!

This was a great story, but I thought Malcolm was deathly afraid of water??

This was a great story, but I thought Malcolm was deathly afraid of water??

Hee! What a wonderful story! Your writing is fantastic, and your plots are fun, interesting, and hold me fast to the very end! Thank you for sharing, and ... ahem. S'more, please, ma'am. :D

Great story, looking forward to the next one.

Interesting storyline; I concur with someone above that if the show had had stories of this quality it might still be on air. sigh. Wouldn't mind seeing more fics from you.

This is truly, a wonderful story galleywest; original, imaginative and beautifully told.

The interaction between Trip and T’Pol moves effortlessly, the dialogue is much like you would hear on the show, and to top it off, I love hearing them call each other by name and not over used terms like: “beloved”, “my husband” … etc, etc. Most importantly you’ve captured T’Pol’s caring, playfulness and humour while keeping her in true Vulcan fashion. I love following authors that can write Trip and T’Pol naturally, and you along with a half dozen other writers fit that bill.

The story itself is interesting; you’ve blended mystery, action, adventure, comedy and romance very well and it kept me intrigued all the way through.

Good job and I hope you continue with your “Thin Man” series as it has created a very entertaining life of its own :-)

This so should have been a season 5 episode! Very well done, I enjoyed it tremendously! Please continue. More more more! :)

Hee hee hee. Tea towels. Well done, and the only nitpick I have is Malcolm so freely discussing his spy days. I realize the stress and need for conversation are factors, but I still don't feel he would ever be quite that open with that particular info. Other than that, great stuff again! :)

The ending was perfect!! LOL

That was a great story. I thoroughly enjoyed it. Thank you! I hope that there will be others in the future. :)

Great job, Galleywest! Good story, and excellent characterizations. I can really hear Trip & T'Pol when I read your dialogue. A worthy sequel to your excellent first "Thin Man" story!

You really are an excellent writer. Interesting plots -- great character inter-action! Why aren't you writing novels of your very own? I agree that if there had been stories like this on the show, it would still be on T.V. IMO you've done a better job than the "writers" of the show!

Ahhh, another wonderful adventure/mystery for Enterprise's dynamic crime solving duo! I adore your fics and I would have loved to have seen something like this played out on the show...oh well, at least we have fanfic writers like you that care and know the characters so well! Great work...I hope you have a few more mysteries up your sleeve for them!