Disclaimer: If Star Trek was mine I'd be rich and retired. I'm not. Therefore, Star Trek is not mine.
"Nice an' slow," Commander Charles Tucker III murmured, gripping the shuttle controls firmly with practiced hands as he eased Shuttlepod One into her berth inside the docking bay of the Enterprise. The small pod jolted slightly as it settled into the docking clamps. Tucker glanced sideways at his companion in the co-pilot's seat and grinned. "Just the way yew like it, eh, Loo-tenant?"
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed shot him a look of mixed exasperation and resignation as he ran through the power-down sequence for the shuttlepod. Tucker's teasing was not entirely unjustified, although Reed didn't see what was so funny about motion sickness. Apparently intense nausea was humorous when it happened to someone other than one's self.
"Nothing wrong with wanting an uneventful flight, Commander."
"Sure." Tucker grinned again, stretched expansively, and tapped the comm button on the shuttle pod's control panel. "We're in, Cap'n."
From outside the shuttle, Reed heard the low rumble of the Enterprise's docking bay hatch closing, indicating that Tucker's report was unnecessary.
"How was the flight, Trip?" Captain Jonathan Archer's voice crackled over the shuttle's comm system.
"A bit rough. We had some solar turbulence on th' way back that took out our starboard thruster. I'll see to fixin' it right away."
"After your debriefing. Meet me in my ready room after you go through decon, Commander, Lieutenant."
"Yessir. Tucker out."
Tucker rose from his cramped seat and climbed out of the shuttle's hatch. Reed followed him, grateful for room to move properly. He'd had enough of small spaces to last him a decade.
A few days previously, while approaching a binary star system to investigate the gravimetric distortions that allowed three small planets to circle both stars simultaneously, the Enterprise had received a distress call from a species called the Zytexians. A small science vessel, the Sherien, had been damaged by a solar storm that left its warp engine crippled. After a successful first contact, Archer had sent Tucker and Reed to assist the Zytexians in the repair of their engines.
On the whole, the mission had been fairly routine. The Universal Translators had held up admirably – apparently the Zytexian language was similar enough to some they'd previously encountered that Ensign Hoshi Sato was able to configure the UT without difficulty – and Reed and Tucker had discovered that the damage to the Zytexians' warp core was relatively simple, if not quick, to repair. However, the mission had been unpleasant due to the fact that the Zytexian species was approximately forty percent smaller than humans, a fact which was consequently mirrored by their ship's design. The Sherien had been almost unbearably cramped. Even Reed, who was not a large man by human standards, had been unable to stand upright. It was a good thing Sato hadn't come along on the mission – her claustrophobia would certainly have been problematic in such a confined space.
Reed rubbed his neck surreptitiously as he stripped down to his underclothes inside the decontamination chamber, wincing at the dampness of the uniform he pulled off. Adding to the discomfort of undersized rooms and corridors had been the oppressive heat. Zytexians, like Vulcans, preferred temperatures significantly above human comfort level. Sub-Commander T'Pol would have been quite comfortable, Reed thought wryly. Unfortunately, she was spearheading the Enterprise's own study of the Anachron star system and had not accompanied him and Tucker on the away mission.
Another thing Zytexians shared with Vulcans was a delicate sense of smell. The aliens had been excruciatingly polite to their guests, but Reed had more than once seen a Zytexian turn away in disgust upon thinking itself unobserved. The humans' escort had showed them to a room filled with the stifling scent of perfume and encouraged them to try some of the 'essences' which were an important part of Zytexian tradition – a clever way, Reed thought, of trying to ease the burden of sweaty humans on sensitive Zytexian noses. He and Tucker had indulged the aliens by applying several of the odorous substances, some of which were so strongly scented that they made Reed light-headed. It was a good thing Doctor Phlox had given him a strong precautionary antihistamine medication before the mission, else his allergies would have been torturous. As it was, he had a growing headache behind his eyes to add to the crick in his neck.
The perfumes had apparently done little to mask the humans' strongly pungent odour, and for the duration of their stay on the Zytexian ship Reed had had the disconcerting feeling that the aliens were trying to avoid breathing deeply around them. However, the Zytexians' profuse gratitude for the engineering assistance had covered over any awkwardness. It would have taken months, they claimed, to do the work themselves. Theirs was a ship of scientists, not engineers.
For their part, Reed and Tucker had been as relieved as the Zytexians when it came time for them to return to the Enterprise. Two days in cramped, hot quarters, muggy with the sickly scent of perfumes, had given them a proper appreciation for the luxury of being able to stand and breathe properly. Even the shuttle, small as it was and now stinking with the pervasive odour of perfume, had been a spacious refuge in comparison with the Sherien.
Reed climbed into one of the decontamination unit's showers and scrubbed thoroughly with a blessedly unscented soap. When he finished, he turned the water cold and let it run over him until he was shivering. It felt like years since he'd been cool enough to get goose bumps.
Tucker was already out of the shower and towelling his hair dry when Reed emerged, slipping on a loose Sickbay gown preparatory to receiving the physical examination that was mandatory upon return after all multiple-day away missions.
"Feels amazin' to be cool agin," Tucker sighed blissfully, stretching his arms above his head as if to check that he still could. Reed agreed wholeheartedly, though he answered with only a nod.
"You are clear of all contaminants," Phlox appraised them, through the comm. The decontamination unit lock ground and clicked as it unlocked. Reed palmed it open and followed Tucker out into Sickbay.
"Hurry up, Doc," Trip said lazily, sliding onto a biobed with the air of one asking for haste by reason of obligation only. "Cap'n wants a debriefin' an' I've got a shuttle to fix."
Phlox clicked his tongue reprovingly. "Now, Commander, don't be in such a hurry. Surely your health is important enough to make time for, hm?"
Tucker rolled his eyes at Reed as the doctor pulled a curtain around the bed, allowing himself and Tucker privacy. Reed smiled briefly and lay back on his biobed to wait. He frowned and squinted against the fluorescent white glare of Sickbay lights, which wasn't helping his headache at all. He massaged the bridge of his nose gently until it became clear that wasn't helping either, then settled in to wait his turn to be examined. Phlox would give him an analgesic in a few minutes. In the meantime, he'd have to put up with a bit of pain. He closed his eyes, which slightly eased the dizziness caused by the intense headache. Sickbay lights glared red through his closed eyelids, then flicked to black.
"Lieutenant Reed," Phlox said, right beside him, "it's your turn."
Reed jerked upright, startled and disoriented. His head throbbed and he had to blink several times to clear his unaccountably foggy vision.
"Wh-What?"
"I'm ready to examine you," Phlox repeated patiently.
"But you just…" Surely it should have taken more than a few seconds to examine Tucker? Reed shook his head slightly to clear his confusion. He must have fallen asleep.
Phlox surveyed him critically. "Are you feeling all right, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, I'm fine." The answer came automatically. "I'm sorry, Doctor…I must have dozed off."
"That's hardly surprising," Phlox said disapprovingly. "I doubt you've gotten any worthwhile sleep in the last forty-eight hours."
That was true. Between the claustrophobic quarters and the warm, fetid atmosphere of the Zytexian ship, Reed had had difficulty sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time.
"Not to worry, Lieutenant," Phlox added, "You should be feeling more yourself after a good night's sleep. I recommend that you get some rest immediately after you report to the Captain, hm? You'll be off duty until late tomorrow morning at the very least."
Reed nodded and tolerated Phlox's examination with good grace. He'd disliked these routine examinations at first, believing them an unnecessary waste of time and invasion of privacy, but after several personal and second-hand experiences with unpleasant alien contagions, he had to admit that the precaution was less onerous than the potential consequences of skipping it. In time the check-ups had merged into the landscape of life on a starship. Besides, however much Phlox might poke and prod and be generally a busybody about all things related to physical or mental health, he was an excellent doctor. Reed had come to respect the Denobulan for his professional skills, though he tried as much as possible to avoid being the recipient of said skills.
Phlox ran a scanner over the front of Reed's body from head to toe, then repeated the process from behind. "Any complaints, Lieutenant? Pain, nausea?"
"Just a headache."
"Hm." Phlox applied firm pressure to Reed's cheekbones and temples with his fingers, making him wince. "This is uncomfortable?"
"Very," Reed admitted.
"This should help." Phlox applied a hypospray to Reed's neck, and the Lieutenant sighed with relief when the pain eased a few seconds later. "Allergies, I suspect." Reed nodded his agreement. "You seem to be in perfect health, Lieutenant, apart from fatigue. Be sure to get some rest as soon as possible, and come back tomorrow if the headache returns, hm?"
"Thanks, Doctor." The thought of collapsing into bed as soon as he'd finished his report to the Captain was an appealing fantasy, but Reed hadn't been in the armoury in almost three days and was itching to check in on his team and ensure that everything had gone smoothly in his absence.
Tucker was waiting by the door when Reed emerged from behind the curtain around his biobed, zipping up his clean uniform, and the two of them left Sickbay together.
"Good t'be back," Tucker said contentedly, echoing Reed's thoughts, as they traversed the roomy corridors toward the bridge and the Captain's ready room.
Since Tucker was the ranking officer on the away mission, and moreover the engineer in charge of their mission aboard the Sherien, Reed allowed him to lead the report, chipping in only to add particulars here and there. He fell silent as Tucker launched into an intricate explanation of the work the two of them had done on the other ship's warp core. The work Tucker had done, really; Reed had helped, but he was no expert engineer and would be on shaky terrain at best in trying to detail what exactly the Commander had done.
"Lieutenant? Malcolm?"
Reed became suddenly aware that both Tucker and Captain Archer were looking at him, waiting for an answer. He scrambled mentally for what the question had been, and came up empty. Archer was frowning, though not with anger.
"Are you alright, Malcolm?"
"Yes sir." Reed flushed, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. What did you ask, sir?"
"I was wondering what you thought of the Zytexians' defensive capabilities. Is there anything that you learned that we could use on the Enterprise?"
Reed considered the question and shook his head doubtfully. The Zytexian science vessel had been minimally armed and possessed nothing as sophisticated as the Enterprise's phase cannons, torpedoes, and armour plating. "No sir. The weapons systems on their ship were negligible. I doubt we could learn from the Zytexians, at least in the way of defence. They're a pacifistic people."
"We might be able t' learn from them in th' way of perfumes," Tucker smirked. "Eh, Malcolm? D'you think yew could adapt those as a weapon?"
"Perfumes?" Archer looked from his Tactical Officer to his Chief Engineer, puzzled. "Is that a joke?"
"I wish it were, Cap'n. They've got an entire room jus' fer perfumes. Malcolm an' I practically had to bathe in 'em. Apparently we humans are offensive to their delicate sense o'smell. Personally I can't imagine we smelled worse than those perfumes."
Archer looked amused. "I can't really see you bathing in perfume, Trip."
"Never agin," Tucker said fervently. "I am not goin' back there, Cap'n." Inwardly, Reed agreed wholeheartedly. He had no desire to return to the noxious environment of the Zytexian ship.
"Let's hope you don't have to." Archer rose to his feet. Reed and Tucker followed suit. "You're dismissed, gentlemen. Get some rest – that shuttlepod can wait until tomorrow, Trip. T'Pol won't be finished with her scans here for another day."
"Sounds wonderful, Cap'n." Tucker yawned. "I'm exhausted. I'll see yew t'morrow, sir."
Reed wanted nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep for ten hours, but he stopped by the armoury first. Ensign Tanner was in command of the shift. He was bent over one of the torpedo launchers when Reed entered, and didn't look up until Reed tapped him on the shoulder.
"Sir!" Tanner jumped to attention. "I didn't realise you'd returned yet, sir. Welcome back."
"Thank you, Ensign. Everything running smoothly?"
"Yes, sir!" Briefly, Tanner gave him a run-down of the previous two days. A bit of routine maintenance; a few sensory glitches here and there to break up the monotony, but all was well now. Tanner would readily have surrendered his command, but Reed refused.
"It's all yours, Ensign. I'm off to my quarters for some shut-eye."
"You do look tired, sir."
"I'll be in tomorrow morning before I go on Bridge duty. I'd like a report on that targeting sensor glitch then, Ensign." Reed turned to go.
"Yes sir." Tanner sounded slightly crestfallen. Reed glanced back, momentarily puzzled by the change in attitude. Tanner's shoulders slumped a little as he returned to his work on the torpedo launcher.
"One more thing, Ensign."
"Sir?"
Reed smiled slightly. "Well done. Congratulations on your first command."
Tanner brightened, his chin going up with pleased pride. "Thank you, sir!"
Reed was still smiling as he left the armoury. He wasn't given to praising his team – their best job was to be expected, and besides praise should come from the Captain, discipline from their CO. Still, he remembered the difference that a word of encouragement made when one was a young and eager ensign.
His quarters were dark and quiet except for the distant hum of the engine, and Reed did not bother to turn on the lights when he entered. He undressed by feel, folded his uniform over the back of his desk chair, and crawled, exhausted, into his bunk. Sleep came almost instantly, but not the deep, sound sleep he'd hoped for. Reed fell into the twilight doze of one who is too fatigued to stay awake but too tired to sleep properly. Lulled by the low purr of the warp core far away, he drifted in and out of a hazy slumber.
In the darkness of the room, something moved.
Reed felt more than heard the movement, but he was awake in a flash, his heart thudding against his ribs. He lay perfectly still and listened. There was no sound. It was too dark to see.
Something brushed against the bed, so lightly it was almost imperceptible. Reed's skin crawled. Unreasoningly, by instinct rather than conscious thought, he knew he was not alone. There was a sentient entity in his quarters, one that did not belong there and was hostile to him. In the blackness, something stalked him.
Reed uncoiled and sprang for the light switch in a single swift movement, tensed for danger, his back to the wall. The lights came on, blindingly bright for a moment. Out of the corner of his squinting eyes, a shadow flickered at the door of the bathroom. Reed stood motionlessly for a long time before cautiously retrieving his phase pistol from the desk. He advanced slowly on the bathroom door, pistol readied.
"Who's there?"
No answer. He hadn't expected one.
He flung the bathroom door open with a sudden motion and swept the small room with the muzzle of the pistol, expecting any second to see a hostile alien.
The bathroom was completely deserted.
Reed sat up in a cold sweat, gasping for breath and disoriented. He was sitting on something hard and flat, and his surroundings were dark and chilly. He groped around him for anything familiar.
It was the floor of his quarters, cold and unyielding beneath him. In the dimness, he could just make out the outline of his bed a few feet away.
Unsteadily, Reed got to his feet and staggered to the light. Its cheery glow revealed his quarters, exactly as they ought to be, except – the bed was neatly made. The bathroom door was closed, and his uniform was not on the chair. Reed glanced down and realised with a shock that he was wearing it. His phase pistol was clipped securely in its holster.
Reed went to the bathroom door and opened it warily. Nothing was out of place.
Had he somehow, inadvertently fallen asleep before he'd undressed and gotten into bed? Had he been dreaming? Reed resisted the urge to comm Sub-Commander T'Pol and have her perform an internal sensor sweep of the entire ship for an alien presence. It was a dream, he told himself firmly. He checked the chronometer: 2058 hours, ship's time. That didn't help. He'd left the bridge around 2015 hours, but he did not know what time it ought to be. He hadn't checked the time after leaving the armoury. It felt much later than the chronometer showed.
Unnerved by the vivid reality of the dream, Reed undressed slowly, stoically ignoring the creeping sense of déjà vu he felt as he laid the neatly-folded uniform on his desk chair. He turned off the light and lay on top of the blankets on his bunk, staring up at the unseen ceiling, still hyper-alert from recollected alarm.
If it had been a dream, then when had he fallen asleep? Reed clearly remembered folding his uniform and climbing into bed. Surely he hadn't put his uniform back on while sleeping?
It was just a dream. He tried to force his racing mind to calm down. You must have sat down for a moment, maybe to take off your boots. You fell asleep and had a weird dream. Relax, Lieutenant. Sleep.
But his veins still thrummed with adrenaline, and it was over an hour before Reed drifted into a troubled sleep.
A blaring alarm sliced through Reed's uneasy slumber, jerking him to his feet almost before his eyes opened.
"Tactical alert!" Archer's voice cut crisply through the comm system. "All senior officers to the –"
The ship shook, sending Reed stumbling drunkenly across the room. He barely managed to catch himself against the desk. From somewhere on the hull of the ship, there was a horrible searing screech of weapons fire.
"Tactical alert," the comm screeched, weakly. "Senior officers report –"
The comm died, as did the flashing red light of the tactical alert. Reed snatched for his uniform, throwing it on haphazardly on his way across the room. He hit the door button and in the darkness ran face-first into the stubbornly closed door. He swore aloud at the sensation of blood trickling down his face. The ship trembled again, more distantly.
Think. Working by feel, Reed returned to his desk and rifled through the drawers until his hand stumbled upon a flashlight. By its bright glow, he pulled a panel from the wall and disabled the door lock. The corridor outside was filled with smoke and he banged his head hard on something metal that shouldn't have been hanging over his doorway. Dazed, Reed stumbled away, aiming his flashlight around somewhat at random. Its light, dispersed oddly by the smoke, showed a scene of destruction. Several of the ceiling panels in the hall had fallen, sending debris to the floor in jumbled piles.
"- to senior staff. Do you read? Repeat, Tucker to senior staff, do you read?" In his breast pocket, Reed's communicator crackled to life with Commander Tucker's panicked voice. "Senior staff, do you read me? Is anyone there?"
Reed snatched it out of his pocket. "Reed to Tucker. What's going on, Commander?"
"I don't know, we're under attack. Where are you?"
"I'm on B-deck near my quarters. Why don't we have backup power?"
"I don't know. I'm trying to get to engineering, but there's a lot of damage on E-Deck." The ship shook again, drawing a torrent of cursing from Tucker. "Fuck! See if you can get t'the bridge, Malcolm. I can't git the Cap'n or T'Pol or Hoshi."
"Right." Up one level – that shouldn't be too difficult, even without working turbolifts. Reed made his way cautiously along the corridor to the nearest access tunnel. The hatch was jammed. With grim determination, he drew his phase pistol and fired continuously until the edges of the hatch melted and the cover clattered off. Ignoring the heat singing at him as he climbed through, Reed crawled up the ladder and forced his way through the stiff hatch at the top.
The bridge was in chaos. It was so filled with smoke that Reed could hardly see anything except for the hot orange flickering of fire in several places. He had to shout over the roar of flame and renewed weapons-fire from outside.
"Hello! Is anyone here? Captain?"
"Lieutenant Reed!"
He looked left. T'Pol sat on the floor, leaning against a twisted glob that had once been the science station. Her right leg was trapped under a chunk of metal nearly the size of her entire body. The far edge of it glowed with heat.
"Sub-Commander!" He hurried to her side. "What happened? Are you alright, where's the Captain?"
"We have been attacked," T'Pol said, her voice calm though hoarse with pain. "An unidentified ship fired on us. I do not know where the Captain is."
Reed bent over the metal holding her down and got a firm hold on it. The heat scorched his fingertips as he heaved, but the strength of adrenaline allowed him to lift it just enough for the Vulcan to pull her leg free.
"I believe my leg is broken," T'Pol observed with uncanny coolness. Based on the way it was twisted, Reed agreed. The leg of her uniform was singed through in several places, and green blood seeped out onto the charred red-orange fabric.
"Can you get to the hatch? I'll try to find the others."
He left at her nod and threaded his way carefully through fallen, twisted pieces of debris and patches of flame. The communications station was empty. Beside it was a body, mangled beyond recognition. It was with a shock of relief that Reed managed to make out that the stripe on the uniform was red, not the yellow that Archer and Ensign Travis Mayweather wore or Sato's blue. Shame crowded in immediately after relief; someone was dead, what right had he to wish death on an innocent crewman rather than on the Captain, Mayweather, or Sato? He pushed the feeling away. There was no time for it.
"Captain Archer!" Reed shouted over the noise. "Hoshi! Travis! Is anyone here?"
"Malcolm!" He heard Sato's shrill cry, faint against the background of chaos. He sought her ought, unerringly, and found her crouched by the navigational station, cradling Mayweather's head in her lap. The young navigator was unmoving, but a quick touch to his pulse point showed that he was unconscious, not dead.
"Are you hurt?"
Sato shook her head. "Help me," she begged. "We've got to get Travis out of here!"
With great difficulty, Reed and Sato dragged Mayweather to the access tunnel hatch. Reed stopped there.
"I've got to find the Captain. Hoshi, where is he?"
Her face was streaked with tears and sweat, but she answered strongly. "The last I saw he was at the tactical station. Malcolm, I don't think –"
Reed was already turning away, toward where the tactical station should be. A gigantic metal beam protruded grotesquely from it, the other end jammed against the ceiling. He climbed around it with difficulty and stopped short.
Archer lay sprawled on his back, his head lolling sideways against his shoulder. The end of the gigantic metal beam thrust out of his stomach. His lower torso was completely crushed. Blood pooled around him.
Incredibly, he was still alive. As Reed knelt beside his fallen Captain, Archer's green eyes blinked hazily up at him. Reed cupped his hand under the other man's head, cushioning it from the hard floor.
"Captain!"
He had seen death before, and he knew he was seeing it again. Reed had never been an optimist, nor one to lie to comfort others, but words spilled involuntarily from his mouth as he tried to hide from his Captain what he knew to be the terrible truth.
"We'll get you out of here, sir. You're going to be fine. Just hang on, sir, it's going to be okay."
Archer's lips moved soundlessly, and Reed bent closer to hear the murmured words. "Was – a ship –"
"It's gone, sir." Reed didn't know if that was true or not. He didn't care. "We fought them off. You'll be alright, sir, Phlox is on his way. Stay with me."
"My crew, Malcolm," Archer whispered, and drew no more breaths.
"Captain! Stay with me! Dammit, don't you dare –!" Insubordination, whispered a faint part of his mind that had been his civilised self. "Sir! Stay with me, you'll be fine!" Reed was choking – crying, he thought for a moment, but then he became aware of the sharp pungency of smoke clogging his lungs. Coughing and gasping for breath, he scrambled away from his Captain's dead body and the spreading fires on the bridge. T'Pol, Sato, and Mayweather were gone when he reached the emergency hatch. He scrambled in and slammed it shut against the billowing smoke. When he reached the bottom of the tube and the comparative quiet of B-deck, he found the three of them waiting. The emergency lighting was on now, and their faces were strange and otherworldly in the hazy dimness. T'Pol was propped against the wall, pale and sweaty despite her Vulcan ability to suppress pain, and Mayweather, though awake now, wobbled unsteadily as he stood.
"The Captain's dead," Reed said. The words rang hollowly in his mouth. "We've got to get T'Pol to Sickbay. You too, Travis." His mind was completely clear, and painfully sharp. "Travis, can you help T'Pol? Hoshi and I will try to get to engineering to help Tucker."
"I can do it, sir." Shakily, Travis helped T'Pol to her feet and the four of them set off along the smoky corridors of B-deck. At a split in the hall they parted ways without pausing or speaking. Good luck, Reed didn't say. I hope we see you again.
Labouring to breathe through the thickening smoke, Sato and Reed pried open the next access tunnel port and climbed down the ladder. The tunnel took them down two levels. D-deck was quieter and the air cleaner, but its halls were eerily deserted. Perhaps the rest of the crew was trapped in their quarters. The thought made Reed's spine prickle. More likely they were at their posts or trying to help from some functional portion of the ship. That, or they were dead.
"Tucker to Reed, come in."
Reed jumped and swore inwardly. In his haste to get to engineering with Sato, he'd forgotten to report back to Tucker.
"Reed here. I've got Hoshi. T'Pol and Mayweather are alive too." The awful enormity of what he had to say swelled up in front of him and stuck in his throat when he tried to speak it aloud.
"Where's the Cap'n, Malcolm?"
The block was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. "Captain Archer is dead."
There was no reply. Reed coughed against the smoke, which was thickening again. "Commander? Did you hear me? I said –"
"I heard yew, Malcolm." Tucker's voice was unreadable over the comm. "Just git down here, we need –"
The ship shook under an impact that seemed almost to tear the world in two. Reed and Sato were thrown to the deck, and in the confusion the communicator slipped from Reed's hand and clattered across the floor. Reed's ears rang with the force of the blast. All he could hear was screaming – tinny, distant, terrified. Then he realised he actually was hearing screaming. The communicator, several metres away, was still on, its channel open. Reed scrambled for it.
"Reed to Tucker! Tucker, are you there?"
More screaming. Then a voice, Tucker's, commanding but shrill with hysteria.
"Tucker to all hands, git out of here! We're losing containment, the core's goin'! Git out, git out! Evacuate the ship!"
Deep inside its bowels, the Enterprise trembled with forces it could not withstand. Reed leapt to his feet, tugging Sato up alongside him, and they sprinted through the empty halls of D-deck toward the port escape pod. Around them, the ship quivered violently in its death throes. Reed tore open the escape pod hatch and urged Sato inside. He turned back, staring helplessly into the smoke.
"Is anyone there!? Hurry! We're abandoning ship!"
Travis, he thought wildly. T'Pol. Phlox. But there was no time.
"Malcolm!" Sato screamed. "Get in!"
Something gave way in the heart of the ship. A roaring tremble built; ten metres away, the bulkhead collapsed under enormous pressure and a wall of fire surged onto D-deck.
"Malcolm!"
Reed dove into the escape pod, slamming the hatch behind him. He heard the hermetic seal lock into place with a sickening squelch, and then the pod jolted, pulling away from the ship. Sato's practiced fingers flew across the controls of the pod. Through the small port, Reed saw the ship shrinking behind them. Fire licked from countless points; the bridge was an inferno. Reed counted the other escape pods. Two, three. A shuttlepod fled from the ship's belly. Seconds stretched into millennia of agonised waiting.
The ship exploded.
Blue-white fire leapt outward, soundless in the vacuum of space, consuming the Enterprise. The escape pod surged forward with a sickening crunch; sparks showered around them. The pod rolled, tumbled, came up with its port facing back toward the ship again. But there was no ship any longer, only a field of sparkling scraps lit by the golden light of the Anachron stars.
Beautiful, was the first thought that registered in Reed's mind. It's so beautiful. Heavenly light shone off a thousand, a million scraps of the dead Enterprise. How many dozens of those scraps were bodies? Which one of them was the Captain, which one was T'Pol or Phlox or Travis?
"Escape pod B to…anyone," Sato said, behind him. It was a disoriented second before Reed realised she was trying to contact the other escapees. "Do you read? Repeat, this is Ensign Sato to anyone who's left. Come in." She was remarkably calm, though her voice trembled slightly.
"This is Ensign Hutchinson. I'm in Escape Pod C." Hutchinson's voice shook; much worse than Hoshi's, Reed thought.
"We read you, Ensign. Who's with you?"
"Crewman Cutler, ma'am, and Corporal Ryan. But he's hurt bad, I don't know if he'll make it."
"There should be a medkit in the pod," Sato said, still completely calm. "Port side compartment."
"Yes ma'am, Cutler's seeing to him."
"Good. Come about towards us; bearing one-eight-three mark four. Try to hail the other pods and the shuttle."
"Yes ma'am."
Sato's hands hurried on the controls. Her fingers were steady. "Ensign Sato to Shuttlepod Two. Come in, Shuttlepod Two."
"Ensign, this is Shuttlepod Two, Commander Kelby speaking. Do you read?"
"I read, Commander. Who do you have with you?"
More conversation followed. Reed struggled to keep up with what was happening around him. Shuttlepod Two had Kelby, Crewmen Fletcher and Jenkins, and Lieutenant Fincke, all from engineering. Escape Pod C reported back; they'd made contact with Escape Pod F, which had Crewman Eddie and Ensign Hart. Pod F also reported the destruction of Pod G; they'd been too close in the blast.
That was all that was left. Eleven, out of a crew of eighty-three. Tucker had gone down with the ship, along with the Captain, T'Pol, Phlox, Travis…
Something Sato said caught Reed's inexplicably wandering attention. "Lieutenant Reed's with me, but he has a concussion."
Oh. That explained the haziness, his inability to grasp the enormity of his ship's destruction.
He heard Sato talking and understood in a vague sort of way that she had temporarily taken command of the tiny fleet of escapees and had set a course away from the wreck, back toward the nearest inhabited system half a light year away. Far away. Too far. At sub-light speeds, they'd die of old age before they were a quarter of the way to the system. And there were plenty of things they'd die of before old age: starvation, dehydration, oxygen deprivation. But what else could they do?
Reed gazed back out the port at the binary stars and the shimmering debris field, growing smaller in the distance, and tried to condense the inconceivable size of the tragedy into something his rattled mind could acknowledge. He couldn't do it.
Something was making a horrible, bestial groan of pain and terror and bereavement, and not until Sato slid out from behind the controls and wrapped her arms around his shoulders did Reed realise that it was him.