This story has been in my mind for a long time. I finally managed to write it.
Grateful thanks to my beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice, and to Smirnoffmule who checked my marine language.
§ 1 §
Even before the comm sounded, Trip had emerged from the depths of unconsciousness to the silence of his quarters.
The silence. That's what had drawn him out of his dreams. Or, rather, the lack of that thrum that every crewman onboard recognised as the comforting sign that Enterprise's warp drive was properly working.
"O'Neil to Commander Tucker."
The voice of Donna O'Neil, alias DO, the Gamma shift's watch officer, sounded in the darkness. Correction: sounded in the eerie blue light cast by auxiliary power. Trip, by now wide awake, threw the covers aside and staggered to his desk, half-tripping over his discarded uniform.
"What's going on?" he asked, pressing the comm link open. He was still speaking when he overheard, through the link, Archer's voice paging the Bridge as well, followed a second later by Malcolm's.
"Systems are failing all over the ship, Sirs," DO replied for the benefit of them all.
"I'm on it," Trip said. He bent to grab his uniform and started pulling it on.
Archer's On my way was cut in half, as also the comm system succumbed to whatever malfunction was threatening the ship.
Reaching Engineering had taken longer than generally necessary. Turbo-lifts were kaput, so Trip had had to climb down two decks. When he finally entered his domain, on the catwalk level, he found Hess and Rostov already at work with the Gamma crew. Dropping out of warp had obviously woken them up too. Their quarters were on the same deck as Engineering, so they had beat him to it. Hannah Hess stood at a console, her hair arranged in a hasty and rather dishevelled ponytail. Michael Rostov was up on the warp drive platform, the frown that creased his face visible even in that less than optimal lighting.
Trip let himself slide down on the stair's railings to the main floor. "How bad is it?" he asked outright, as he approached Hess.
"Sir," she said, acknowledging his arrival with but a glance. "Main power is off all over the ship. Quite a few primary systems are off-line."
"Life support?" Trip enquired, now by her side.
Hess gave a tense smile. "Cross our fingers, that's still working. As is grav plating, though I suppose I don't need to tell you that."
"Guess not. Michael?" Trip called, turning to the man.
Rostov smirked. "The warp engine is down. I'm running a diagnostic."
"Impulse drive?"
"Dead as well."
Trip rubbed his forehead, where tension was beginning to make itself known. "Peachy," he sighed. "Let's see what we can do." And he focused on the info that was scrolling on Hess's computer screen.
Archer finally emerged into the darkened Bridge. In the eerie silence of the powerless ship, voices were unnaturally loud, every sound amplified. Dull thumps reverberated through the ship as the crew opened and closed hatches, and used access tubes. Archer climbed the last step and cast a glance around, taking in the forms of those already at work. The light was dim, but he could make out T'Pol, Hoshi and Malcolm bent over their consoles. Captain's quarters being on F deck, he was the last one here, and also quite out of breath when he finally reached the Chair. He made a mental note to visit the gym a bit more regularly.
"Status report," he wheezed out.
T'Pol looked up, her face not losing any of her impassiveness. "Main power is down. Warp Drive and Impulse Drive are offline. So is the Comm System."
"Tactical Systems are offline," Malcolm echoed her darkly.
Archer turned to him and watched the man rub his forehead. If he hadn't gotten a headache already, undoubtedly now he was going to get one.
"Thank God Life Support is working," Malcolm added under his breath, "though I don't know for how long."
"Let's try to keep positive," Archer told him. "Could this have anything to do with that future ship?" he wondered.
They had just passed their fair share of troubles for having retrieved a mysterious ship with the corpse of a man who seemed to come from the future on board. Tholians and Sulibans had both claimed rights to it, and fought to gain possession of the prized vessel, but in the end the ship had disappeared, probably brought back into its time by whoever had lost it in the first place.
T'Pol looked up. "I see no logical connection to our recent… incident."
"You still don't believe in time travel, do you?" Archer shook his head and turned to Malcolm. "What about you, Lieutenant? What do you think?"
Malcolm winced. "I really don't know, Sir. What I think right now is that I'd better go down to the Armoury, to try and sort out this mess."
Archer nodded and followed with his eyes his Armoury Officer briskly walk to the access tube and disappear into it.
Malcolm jumped off the last step and found himself in the corridor on D deck. He felt sluggish and tired, and heaved an inner sigh at the thought that his bunk was a long way off, given the situation at hand. Their recent close encounter with the Tholians and the Suliban had been no walk in the park for the man in charge of defending the ship, and when the threat had finally been over he'd been ready for a good night's sleep. And instead…
As he pushed the hatch to Engineering open, Trip's weary voice broke into his musings. "Check those antimatter injectors again for me, will ya?" he heard him order.
Malcolm had thought it better to check with the Chief Engineer, before dropping down another couple of decks to his own department.
"Commander," he called.
Trip turned his head. Their eyes met, and suddenly the ground under Malcolm's feet was swaying. A salty smell assailed his nostrils. He felt wind on his face. He groped about not to lose his balance, and his hand found wet wood. A spray of sea water came crashing on the deck of… a galleon? He looked up and blinked. A fleet of sail-ships flying the English flag… A grey sea…
"He won't escape, that Medina devil!" a heavily accented voice he could hardly understand boomed beside him. It was followed by a coarse laugh. "We have the weather gauge!"
Malcolm looked down at himself and his jaw fell open. He was dressed in the most ridiculous outfit – puffy sleeves, lace collar, leather breast-piece, tall boots, and… good heavens! A sword hung in a sheathe at his left side.
"Set the topsails!" another voice called.
He turned to see a rugged man in dirty clothes pass a length of rope to… Trip?
Trip blinked.
"Heave!" the rugged man ordered. "Come on, lad, wake up!"
"Bloody hell," Malcolm mumbled. Trip turned, ran his eyes up and down him, and blinked again.
"Check those antimatter injectors again for me, will ya?" Trip ordered Rostov.
He rubbed his neck. He hadn't realised just how exhausted he was. Well, that future ship had absorbed him like nothing else ever had. He still regretted not being able to investigate it more.
"Commander!"
Trip turned to the voice of the Armoury Officer. Malcolm was coming towards him. Trip met his gaze and… suddenly things began to twist out of shape. Before his very eyes, Engineering morphed into another, very different place. What the hell?
A wilderness like he had never seen before extended before him, as far as his eyes could see. No trace of man-made structures, anywhere; just trees and fields and… A loud snort made him jump.
He turned. Some twenty metres beyond him, a group of large animals nibbled at the ferns around them. The rounded back… the spikes on the tail… the plates along the back… Stegosaurus. The damn thing was a Stegosaurus.
TBC
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