Repercussions- Pt. 3

Repercussions

By ShouldKnowBetter

Summary: A planet holds unexpected treasure for Enterprise’s crew.

Rating: PG13

Disclaimers in Part 1

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Part Three

Again the small town matched Archer’s expectations of something loosely equivalent to Earth’s western hemisphere in the 16th century although it was pleasantly clean and surprisingly un-smelly; he’d always associated history with a lack of drains. The woman who had first examined Reed had insisted on treating the armoury officer in private, which hadn’t pleased Archer, but having committed them to this course of action he didn’t have too many grounds for refusing. At least they hadn’t had long to wait; the woman had emerged after barely half an hour, smiling encouragingly and gesturing for Archer to check on the status of his officer. He was no expert, but he could tell that the Englishman was better, apparently sleeping normally now, without the snoring breaths that had so alarmed his colleagues earlier.

When he returned to the main room, however, it was to find the woman, whom he assumed was a healer, observing T’Pol with a concerned expression. The science officer had fallen asleep soon after they arrived and, after a brief struggle with his conscience, Archer had moved her from the upright chair she had chosen to a rug into front of the open fire, ignoring her attempt to snuggle against him; he was pretty damned certain she thought he was someone else. The other alien woman looked up as he joined her, pointing first to him and then back down at the sleeping woman, obviously asking a question.

“I’m her captain,” he offered, knowing speech was pointless but unable to resist the urge. “I’m responsible for her.”

He got an annoyed shake of the head and another pantomime, which include a few crude gestures that at least got the meaning across.

“Uh, no.” He shook his head vigorously and pointed away. “He’s not here.”

She clicked her tongue in annoyance and departed, leaving Archer somewhat bemused. “Did that mean what I thought it meant, sir?” Mayweather asked and his captain shrugged.

“I think she was fairly explicit, ensign.”

“So the sub-commander and Commander Tucker are … eh … doing what she suggested?”

Belatedly, Archer remembered that the rest of the crew weren’t supposed to know that the relationship between his science officer and chief engineer had altered, but it was rather too late to deny it. “That’s right, Travis, but I think they’d appreciate your silence on the subject.”

“Of course, sir. Do you know why the woman thought Commander Tucker should be here?”

The answer to that came with uncanny timing as the Vulcan woman suddenly stirred and shot into a sitting position with a sound suspiciously like a small scream. She looked wildly around, caught sight of Archer’s and Mayweather’s shocked faces and turned her back on them, arms locked around her raised knees. Archer grimaced; this wasn’t good. “Travis, would you mind sitting with Malcolm for a while?”

“Oh, er, yes, sir.” The young man caught on quickly and retreated, closing the inner door behind him while Archer crouched at his first officer’s side.

“Is there something you need to tell me, sub-commander?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept that. If you’re not well, I need to know.”

“I am fine.”

“You’re shaking and it’s not cold in here. T’Pol,” he moved his head slightly to see better, “are you crying?”

“No,” but she raised a hand to brush over one smooth cheek.

“Tell me. That’s an order.”

“You cannot order a subordinate to reveal personal information.”

“I can if it affects the safety of my crew. I’m waiting, sub-commander.”

“I have been … dreaming.”

“I thought you told me you could control that.”

“Since … Recently, I have been unable to do so.”

“Since Soval?” She nodded. “So if I was to speculate – we’re talking bad dreams here. Involving Trip?”

She managed a weak glare. “Commander Tucker is not the cause.”

Archer’s mouth pulled sideways into a half amused smile. “I never thought he was. But it helps having him around?” She nodded reluctantly. “And the sleeping?”

She looked away. “I do not know.”

“You’ve seen Phlox?”

“Mr. Tucker made me consult him.”

“Well, that’s something! What did Phlox say?”

“He has not yet completed his diagnosis.”

The captain shook his head in resignation. “Tell me next time you’re not fit for away missions, sub-commander.” Then he cocked his head slightly, lips pursing. “Are you always so formal with Trip?”

There was certainly more venom behind that glare. “That is none of your concern.”

“I’m his friend. I’m your friend, too, I hope.”

“It is a private matter.”

“OK, OK.” They regarded each other steadily. “How are you doing, T’Pol?”

“I will be fine.”

“Sure?”

“Of course.”

He nodded grudging acceptance and glanced around the room they occupied. “What’s your assessment of this society?”

She too studied their surroundings. “It is primitive.”

“You think so? What about the lighting? The fire?” She stared blankly back. “They don’t smoke, T’Pol. I’ve visited medieval re-enactments on Earth; the main thing you notice is the smoke from the fires.”

“Perhaps there are fewer imperfections in the charcoal.”

“They’re burning wood. Does nature ever grow pure carbon?”

“It is a possibility.”

Archer was about to respond aggressively when he noticed the woman’s abstraction. She was barely listening to him, responding by rote. He gave up on intelligent debate. It looked as if his first officer was on sick leave. Sure enough, after a few seconds silence on his part, her eyes started to close and within a remarkably short interval she was asleep again. It seemed that he would once again be forced back onto good old human intuition.

The nameless ensign at the science station watched the telemetry from the probe attentively, intensely aware that he had a very senior engineer at his shoulder. “Still transmitting, sir.” That quite unnecessary report was brought on by nervousness alone and he clamped his teeth together a moment later. Commander Tucker didn’t suffer fools gladly, even on a good day.

“We lost contact with the shuttle pod at 2km.” Tucker’s usually drawl was missing. “Hold the probe just above that altitude.”

“Aye, sir. Holding at … 2.1km.”

“Anything?”

“No, sir. All readings are steady.”

“Drop another 50m.”

“Aye, sir.” He obeyed then began to sweat. “Sir, I’m having trouble controlling the probe.”

Tucker crossed to view the telemetry of the probe’s internal status, a frown forming. “It’s losing power. Pull it up again.”

“Sir. It’s responding. Handling normally now.”

“Power’s back up.” That was said quietly, almost to himself. “Ensign, take the probe back down again.” He watched the power fluctuations re-commence. “That’s it. There’s something down there that inhibits power generation.”

“What should I do with the probe, sir?”

“Bring it back. No sense losing that too.” Tucker’s eyes were still focussed on the telemetry results, a hand kneading the back of his neck when Sato turned to look.

“You think the shuttle pod lost power, sir?”

“Yeah.” The engineer wasn’t paying her much attention.

“What would happen to it?”

“It’d crash.”

Cato winced. “Will the away team be all right?”

Tucker shrugged, strangely unmoved; there were too many other things to worry about at the moment. “Probably. If Travis had the right angle and enough speed he could get it down.”

“What can we do, sir?”

He didn’t answer her, looking around at the tactical station. “Bring the phase cannons on-line.”

Archer was woken the next morning by a confused and suspicious armoury officer. “Malcolm! Are you OK?”

“Of course. Captain, where are we?”

“What’s the last thing you remember, Lieutenant?”

“We were on Enterprise, following a warp trail.” The Englishman frowned. “Did we find a planet?”

“That’s right. You came down in a shuttle pod with me, Travis and T’Pol, but we lost power and crashed. You had a bad concussion and,” he looked doubtfully at the man’s hands, “a broken wrist.”

“Did I?” Reed waggled both experimentally. “Which one?”

“The right.”

“Feel fine. What happened, sir?”

“Some of the natives turned up and brought us here to treat your injuries.”

“Must have done a good job.”

“Yes. Apparently with 16th century technology.”

“Sir?”

“Let’s have a look around, Malcolm. There’s something not right here.” Archer nodded to Mayweather who had joined them. “Travis, you stay here with T’Pol. We won’t be long.”

“Was the sub-commander injured too, sir?” Reed asked and Archer shook his head, grimacing.

“No. This is something else.” She had awoken a couple of times in the night, crying and shaking, but for the last four hours or more she had appeared to be sleeping soundly; extremely soundly. “Let’s go, Lieutenant.”

They were at the door when the woman from the previous night appeared, a loaded tray in her hands. She smiled warmly at Reed, placed the tray on a table and began to usher them into seats around it. Archer hesitated then caught Reed’s rueful look. “I am quite peckish, sir. Could we scout around after breakfast?”

‘An army marches on its stomach’, Archer reminded himself, and joined his officers at the table. The fresh bread did smell wonderful. The woman served them then picked up a dish of fruit and crossed to kneel beside T’Pol, shaking her firmly. Archer considered protesting then thought better of it as the science officer stirred sluggishly; she couldn’t sleep all the time.

That did appear to be the Vulcan woman’s aim, but the other chivvied her remorselessly until she was sitting up then thrust the bowl of fruit at her. T’Pol stared listlessly at it but was forced to take it or end up with a lapful of fruit. Still concerned, Archer swallowed the last of his bread and came to crouch beside her. “How are you feeling, sub-commander?”

She blinked at him. “Tired. Where is …” Then she frowned and stared down at the bowl in her hands.

“Trip’s on Enterprise,” he said gently, fairly sure that was the answer to the question she had started to ask. “We’ll get you back to him just as soon as we can find out what’s blocking communications with the ship.”

Beside them, the silver haired woman tapped T’Pol’s hand and pointed firmly at the bowl. The Vulcan looked back and then shook her head, placing the bowl on the floor. “I am not hungry,” and she yawned, surprising Archer who had never seen such a reaction from her before.

The other alien tut-tutted again and produced a hinged series of wooden tablets from her belt, the insides of which appeared to be filled with wax. She laid them on the floor in front of T’Pol and began to draw with a pointed stylus. The figures were crude but the first was obviously female and the stylus indicated it and then pointed to T’Pol. ‘You’ seemed fairly obvious. The second figure was male and the woman pointed to Archer then shook her head, smiling a little at T’Pol’s glare.

“I think it’s meant to be Trip,” Archer offered helpfully, remembering the pantomime of the previous night and was impatiently waved to silence as T’Pol was viewed encouragingly.

“Charles,” she said at last, clearly unwilling. “His name is Charles.”

Archer fought desperately to restrain sudden and inappropriate laughter. Tucker hated his given name or so he’d always claimed. Perhaps he just saved it for special occasions; and people.

It seemed that Archer did not suppress his amusement as successfully as he thought for he got a severe look from both women, although when they looked back to each other, the older one’s look was kind as she carefully drew a dotted line from the head of one figure to the other.

T’Pol averted her head. “It is not possible.” The other tapped the dotted line emphatically, insistent, and the science officer rose to her feet although she swayed alarmingly. “It cannot happen!”

Archer caught an arm and guided her to a bench where she promptly curled up, eyes closing. He frowned down at her and turned to see a very similar expression on the other woman’s face before she shrugged and left.

“What was that all about?” Reed questioned and Archer was forced to shrug too.

“I really have no idea.”

“Was she saying that the sub-commander needs Trip?”

The captain sighed; it looked like the couple’s desire for secrecy was well and truly blown. “It looks like it.”

“I really thought she’d have better taste.”

Archer had to smile. “I guess not. Come on, Lieutenant, let’s go take a look around.”

“Again.” Tucker’s tone didn’t leave room for debate. “Make it a sustained burst this time.”

“Commander Tucker,” the man at tactical said tentatively, just as wary of his boss’s likely wrath if he allowed one of the tactical systems to be misused as of the chief engineer, “the emitters are starting to overheat. A sustained burst …”

Tucker threw the man an infuriated look but came to check the status of the phase cannons himself, swearing under his breath at the result. “All right. Make it a 5 second burst at 75% output.” He headed back to the science station. “Go.”

“I don’t think, sir, that …” began the traumatised ensign and was rudely interrupted.”

“There!” Tucker jabbed at the scrolling information to bring it to a halt. “What’s that?”

“It’s … I don’t know, sir.”

The engineer closed his eyes, teeth gritted; shouting at the man for not having the same level of experience as T’Pol would be unfair and unprofessional, but he was eating into Tucker’s already limited patience. “Then find out! Start with a full spectral analysis and if that doesn’t show anything, try at a higher resolution.” The ensign nodded and bent industriously over the console, leaving Tucker to turn away, one hand kneading the back of his neck again.

Sato regarded him sympathetically. “Commander?” He looked sharply over at her, normally relaxed features tense. “Why don’t you take a break, sir? You’ve been here for hours.”

He scowled but came to her side. “I’m OK.”

“No, you’re not.” Sato knew she was taking a risk by speaking so to a senior officer, but she had always liked Enterprise’s brilliant and surprisingly kind chief engineer. “Sir, what’s wrong? We’ve lost contact with away teams before.”

The muscles shifted beside Tucker’s jaw as he leant both elbows on the top of her workstation, dropping his head. Confiding in a junior officer wasn’t in the rulebook, but he had always been more of a team player than a leader – he got gyp for that in every yearly appraisal – and with all his close friends on the planet there was no one else to turn to. “T’Pol’s not well.”

“I’m sorry. That’s hard when you’ve only just got together.” He gave her a startled look. “It’s been pretty obvious the last week or so, sir.”

“Hell.” He rubbed a thumb and forefinger over his eyebrows. “No one’s supposed to know.”

“I can understand the sub-commander wanting to be discreet. Did you know that the words for shame and emotion come from a common root?”

“Oh, jeez, I didn’t need to know that!”

“Sorry.” Sato patted his hand in a mostly motherly fashion. “Go get something to eat, sir.”

“Maybe that’s a good idea.”

“Commander Tucker,” the hard-pressed man at the science station looked up hopefully, “I think I’ve got something.”

“What are we looking for, sir?” Reed was following Archer down the main street of the township, obediently committing details to memory, although he preferred to work to a plan.

“Anything out of place, lieutenant. Such as how a badly broken wrist healed in less time than Phlox could have achieved.”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to contact Enterprise? Repairing the shuttle pod? Finding out what the Andorians are doing?”

“Somehow, Malcolm, I think we’re more likely to find answers to those first two questions right here.”

“And the Andorians, sir?”

“We’ll worry about them later. First, I want to get T’Pol back to Enterprise. Pity they can’t fix her up as easily as they did you.”

There weren’t any clues to be had, however. Although they quartered the town for an hour, they saw nothing that was not superficially consistent with the culture they had expected. “You’d think they’d at least be curious,” Reed groused after yet another silver-haired native nodded them a grave greeting and passed serenely on. “We don’t look like them, we’re not dressed like them and yet they treat us as if they have close encounters every day of the week.”

“You remember what Travis said about this sector?” Archer hadn’t really been listening.

Reed grunted disapprovingly. “It sounded like the King Arthur myths! A great technology sleeping, waiting to return in an hour of need.” He looked over at his captain in consternation. “You don’t believe him, do you, captain?”

“There’s something not right, Malcolm. Different sensor readings on the planet than from orbit. Something blocking communications, damping power systems. Serious injuries healing overnight.”

“Sir!” The shorter man was shoving his captain up against the nearest wall with little ceremony. “Look.”

Carefully, respecting Reed’s caution, Archer peered in the direction indicated and sighed. “You’ve got your wish, lieutenant. At least we know what the Andorians are doing.” Half a dozen stocky blue skinned figures were approaching, weapons drawn – and not all of them modern. At least two appeared to be carrying bows.

“With respect, sir, we should withdraw.”

“Agreed. Let’s head back to the others.”

Unfortunately, there wasn’t quite enough cover and blue Starfleet uniforms stood out amongst the greys and browns of the natives. As captain and armoury officer dodged down a side alley there was a shout behind them and they ducked into a doorway as something thumped into a wall ahead of them. Reed glared. “Arrows can be surprisingly lethal, I’m afraid, sir.”

“Pink-skin!” The shout was accented but understandable. “We saw you! Come out or,” there was the sound of a brief scuffle and a muffled shriek, “we kill this one.”

Sneaking a look out, Archer’s mouth tightened. One of the Andorians had a child by the neck, clearly poised to snap its neck.

“They must have found the shuttle,” Reed muttered and Archer nodded, less in response to his armoury officer than at his own conclusion.

“I’m going out there, lieutenant.” He held up a hand to prevent Reed’s instinctive protest. “They only saw one of us and I don’t think they’ll kill me out of hand. You’re to get back to the others then head for the shuttle pod. Try to contact Enterprise; I’m sure Trip’s doing his best at their end, too. Make that your priority.”

“What about you, sir?”

“Don’t try anything until you’re back in contact with Enterprise or until you’ve got weapons operational. I’ll be all right.” There was another shout from the main roadway and Archer squeezed Reed’s shoulder. “You’re in command, Malcolm. Do your best,” and he was gone before the Englishman could think of a further protest.

The replacement science officer had been over optimistic. He had certainly proved that their weapons fire wasn’t getting any further than 2km from the planet’s surface, which meant that there was something in the way that let shuttle pods through but not focussed energy beams. However, neither he nor Tucker could work out what was in the way, nor how to defeat it, and it finally became too much for the engineer’s patience. He pounded a fist into a bulkhead, swore at the pain and headed for the lift.

“Commander Tucker,” his precipitous exit startled Sato, “where are you going?”

“To prep a shuttle pod.” He glared at her over his shoulder. “You’re in command.”

“What?” but he was already gone.

Archer’s gut feel that the Andorians wanted a prisoner not a corpse proved true. There was a certain amount of shoving and slapping around to demonstrate who was in charge but it became obvious what they wanted when they bundled him in the direction of the downed shuttle pod. Evidently the Andorians’ own ship was just as useless and they were hoping to make use of an alternative. When they reached the shuttle pod, the dents around the hatch made it clear that they had already tried to get in, and their leader thrust Archer roughly against the hull. “Open it.”

“It’s not working, you know.” Even that token protest earned him a painful blow to the kidneys with a rifle butt so he pressed his thumb to the release mechanism; for some reason auxiliary systems had remained operational. The leader, whose name appeared to be Fran, gestured one of his men inside although he returned after a short time shaking his head.

Fran slapped the hull in frustration – which made a change from hitting Archer – and scowled at the human, antennae tilting backwards. “Activate it.”

“I can’t. I lost power on the way down and crashed, just like you.” He got a backhanded blow across the face for the insolence and winced, raising a hand to wipe away the trickle of blood from a split lip. “What are you doing here?”

“I ask the questions, pink-skin! Why are you here?”

Imaginative, Archer thought ironically. “I’m looking for someone.”

“You found someone – us!” The Andorian paced away, clearly frustrated if the twitching of his antennae was anything to go by. “Do you have a sub-space phase modulator on board?” Archer remained silent and a rifle slammed into his stomach just for a change, sending him to his knees. “I can’t shoot you, pink-skin, but death by blunt instrument is very, very painful.”

“There’s one in the comm. system.”

“Get it.”

“Why?”

A boot to Archer’s already abused abdomen emphasised the inadvisability of further questions. “Get it!”

The captain decided to cooperate. He hadn’t been beaten up for some time and he’d remembered why he disliked it so much; it was damned painful.

Given that he had been left in command, Reed felt justified in disobeying orders. He wasn’t about to let his captain be kidnapped without at least finding out where he was being taken. Having to watch Archer being beaten and abused nearly made him break his cover and go to his rescue, but fortunately common sense held him back. Two against six weren’t good enough odds when he knew the stocky aliens were tough and dirty fighters. So he bided his time and waited until Archer re-emerged from the shuttle pod carrying an equipment unit then followed again. It didn’t take him long to determine that the party were steering a straight course towards a high escarpment and then he turned tail and headed back to the town.

Mayweather was waiting anxiously for him, pacing restlessly around the room while T’Pol slept in front of the fire, oblivious. “You took your time. Where’s the captain?”

“The Andorian’s took him prisoner.”

“You let them! Sir.”

“Yes, ensign, I let them. There were too many of them.” Reed headed for T’Pol’s motionless body to shake her vigorously by the shoulder. “Sub-commander! Sub-Commander T’Pol!” She stirred but only to shrug him off. “Sub-commander!”

“I don’t think she’s going to be much help, sir.”

“Then it’s up to you and me, ensign. We’ll have to leave the sub-commander here. I don’t think she’ll come to any harm.”

“What’s your plan, sir?”

“I thought I’d do it Captain Archer’s way and make it up as I go along. Come on, ensign, move your butt.” Unfortunately, his mimicry of Archer wasn’t as good as his impression of Tucker’s more distinctive accent.

Archer was certainly hot and tired after lugging several kilograms of sub-space phase modulator at a brisk pace for 6km, but not as tired as he made out. He must have been convincing, because his captors made no protest when he sunk to the ground once they reached the rock face that appeared to be their destination. He was still left with too many guards when Fran disappeared into a cave but it had been worth a try. Archer was shocked out of his charade, however, when Fran re-emerged, dragging with him the oldest and frailest Vulcan Archer had ever seen. The captain shot to his feet to steady the old man as Fran thrust him forward, gesturing to the unit at Archer’s feet. “Is that what you wanted?”

“Maybe, maybe.” The Vulcan knelt, oblivious to Archer’s supporting hand. “Power coupling, data interface.” He was practically crooning to himself and Archer frowned. This was strange even by his standards. And since when had English become the langua franca between two other space fairing races? The Vulcan struggled to lift the unit and Archer moved him gently aside to pick it up himself. It was almost as disconcerting to see one of that proud race so diminished as to have seen T’Pol crying for a man she loved.

Fran smirked and made a mock-courteous gesture towards the cave. “I’m glad to see you so cooperative, pink-skin. In there.” Archer sighed and went where he was directed; anything for a quiet life.

The cave was lit by a series of self-powered lights – apparently it wasn’t only locks that worked – and was half full of a heap of junk that Archer suspected was anything but. The ancient Vulcan tugged him over to one corner and urged him to deposit the unit on the floor where he promptly began to hook it up to the rest of the equipment.

On the pretext of helping, Archer knelt beside him. “Professor Tossan?” The man nodded absently. “Professor, what is this thing?”

“A disruptor field generator.”

“A what?”

Tossan looked amiably up at him; Archer was convinced that the man was several marbles short of a full set. “It will disrupt any damping field in the vicinity.”

“An anti-cloaking device?”

The Vulcan nodded, more of a bob of his white head, and turned back to his task. Archer pursed his lips and sat back to watch, wishing he had the slightest idea of what was going on. Fortunately for his self respect, Tossan did not take long to complete the hook up of the shuttle pod’s comm. module. He hummed contentedly to himself once that was done and pottered off to the other side of the heap of technology. Archer didn’t see what he did, but suddenly instead of a small cave they were situated at one end of a long corridor that curved back into the cliff, artificial lights glowing softly.

Reed and Mayweather were several kilometres from the town when Reed’s communicator bleebed. They had got so used to their equipment being dead that it took them both by surprise and Reed had to fumble several times to get it out, by which time Sato was thoroughly annoyed. “Lieutenant, where have you been? Why aren’t Captain Archer and Sub-Commander T’Pol responding?”

“Hoshi!” Reed ignored the irrelevancies. “How did you manage to contact us?”

“I don’t know. The channel just opened.”

“Where’s Commander Tucker?”

“On his way down to the planet. Malcolm …”

“Good. Patch me through to him.”

“Yes, sir.” If Sato sounded resigned, Reed did not notice, waiting impatiently until Tucker’s voice came through, sounding no more happy than the Englishman felt.

“This is Shuttle Pod 2. Malcolm, what’s your status? Where are the cap’n and T’Pol?”

Captain Archer’s been taken prisoner by the Andorians we’ve been tracking and the sub-commander seems to have decided to go into hibernation.” He heard Tucker’s sharply indrawn breath and abruptly remembered that the latter comment hadn’t been tactful, although he felt that he could be excused. The image of the reserved and fastidious Vulcan allowing Enterprise’s very human chief engineer into her bed was not one that wanted to stay in his head. “Can you land near us, commander?”

“Yeah.” Tucker sounded more strained than ever. “Hold your position. ETA … 7 minutes.”

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