Disclaimer: I own nothing of ST:Enterprise or Stargate Atlantis. No infrigment intended. I just invited the characters to play in my backyard.
A/N I, like many others, believe the true finale of ST: ENT was Terra Prime. However, I got an inkling to write this story after my roommate got me hooked on Stargate Atlantis. So, this story acknowledges the atrocity of These Are the Voyages and the relaunch series by pocket books: The Good that Men Do.
As for SGA: the timeline is S4 just after Atlantis landed on their new planet and Dr. Weir was lost to the replicators.
Thanks to Ed for being my beta ... although honestly I've seen some things you've written and often wondered how you graduated from college. (so that's my disclaimer for any mistakes)
The promise and comfort of home
I knew he wasn't dead, Travis Mayweather thought to himself as he piloted the scout ship Hero NX-42 through space. Mayweather, like everyone else on Enterprise, saw the Commander lying dead in the torpedo casing and he was even one of the 'pallbearers' that lifted Tucker into the launch tube before jettisoning the pod into space. But he honestly never believed the Engineer was really dead, for all he knew it was another Sim in that pod. It had to be, it was the only thing that made sense. Malcolm was just too calm about the whole thing and the Captain, considering that Tucker was one of his closest friends, was too nice.
Despite what he felt or believed Travis kept it to himself. He knew there was good reason for the Commander to fake his own death and maybe some day he'd discover why. In the meantime, he needed to go on with his life. Six years later, after he was promoted three times, served on two other starships, got married, had a child and settled into his new role as a flight instructor at Starfleet Academy, Travis finally got his answer.
Three weeks ago when Commander Reed knocked on his door and put the offer on the table to tag along to retrieve an intelligence operative, Travis didn't blink or hesitate with his response. He knew by the look in Malcolm's eye that it wasn't just any operative they were going after … it was Trip and finally after six years, it was time to bring him home.
Breaking the news to Gannet confirmed his suspicions all the more. Reed informed him they would be leaving within twenty four hours which meant Travis would miss his three year old daughter's first dance recital. He went home expecting a full out fight, but surprisingly Gannet wasn't that upset. Obviously her covert ties with Starfleet Intelligence had something to do with that, but like always it was don't ask, don't tell.
He left the next day after kissing his girls goodbye. Mayweather and five MACO specialists flew to Alpha Centauri by a civilian freighter. Travis knew a couple members of the team: Major Kristin Mackenzie had served on Enterprise for two years and Sergeant Jon Schmidt was on Endeavor. The others, Sergeant Geoff Kavan, Lieutenant Lucy Alvarez and Lieutenant Chip Bowyer, were friendly enough but all carried that edge about them that was defined the mentality of a MACO. Once they were on the planet they met up with the Reed and his ship's crew: two engineering specialists, Lieutenant Dan Alonso and Ensign Lydia Yi, and tactical specialist Ensign Roger Conroy.
The one team member Travis wasn't expecting was Commander T'Pol. Up until a few weeks ago Travis hadn't seen or heard from her in years. Scuttlebutt was that she had left Starfleet and returned to Vulcan, which he later found out was only half true. T'Pol had returned to Vulcan, but remained in Starfleet as a liaison to the Admiral in the Earth Embassy. In retrospect, he shouldn't have been surprised to learn she was on this mission. T'Pol and Trip did have a child together after all, even if she was a binary clone. Travis wondered if T'Pol had doubted Trip's death like he did or if she knew the truth because of that Vulcan sense of hers.
Mayweather stood from the helm station and walked over to a bank of sensor monitors on the port wall. NX-42 designated as Hero was no ordinary Starfleet vessel. He chuckled to himself thinking back to the moment that he first saw it and busted Malcolm on their true mission. After receiving the briefing, Reed walked Mayweather to the ship to get himself familiar with the controls while the MACO's loaded supplies and weapons onboard.
"It looks like Degra's ship," Mayweather said as he and Reed walked into the hanger bay.
"It is, well, at least a version of it. I thought about naming it Degra, but decided that Hero was more appropriate," Reed said dryly. "The Xindi provided two to Starfleet Security during the war. They were rather helpful in achieving our goals in the peace treaty," he said arching his brow to imply something else.
"It's a lot smaller than what I remember," Travis said as the two men walked toward the ship. "What's this thing got under the hood?"
"Here's when the saying 'good things come in small packages' is appropriate," Reed said with a smirk. "She's loaded to the gills. Two decks, crew quarters for twenty, transporter, tractor beam, replicator, shields, weapons and the grand prize…a warp seven engine."
Mayweather's jaw nearly hit the floor. "That little thing carries a warp seven engine?" he shook his head in amazement. "Trip's gonna shit his pants!"
Reed blew a puff of air out between his lips and laughed. "I suspect he won't want to leave the engine room once he comes on board." He closed his eyes and chided himself. The mission briefing covered everything but the name of the operative they were rescuing and Mayweather had just busted him on it. Reed turned back to look at the Lieutenant Commander and crossed his arms at his chest. "How long have you known?"
"Since the day he allegedly died," Travis replied with quiet chuckle. He leaned closer to his friend. "You didn't cry enough at his funeral."
"You've known all this time and you've never brought it up?" Reed remarked.
"I obviously wasn't on the need to know list," Travis replied bluntly. "Don't worry there are no hard feelings."
Mayweather sighed and looked around the bridge to see if anyone had entered the room, specifically Commander Reed. He heard a beep on his sensor array and looked down to check the readings. After a second he keyed up the comm system on his panel. "Mayweather to Reed," he called.
"Reed here," a groggy british voice answered on the comm.
"Did I wake you sir?" Mayweather joked hearing Malcolm's voice.
"No, not at all," Reed mumbled into the comm. "Did you want something important?"
"We're two parsecs from our target sir," Mayweather reported still smirking,
"Aye Commander, I'm on my way. Reed out."
Major Kirstin Mackenzie walked in to the armory and typed her login into the computer terminal. Filled with nervous energy in anticipation of their mission her stomach was a bag of knots. She bounced on the tips of her toes as her fingers quickly tapped the keyboard requesting the ordnance manifest and the blueprints for the asteroid prison complex. As the data compiled on the screen, Mackenzie pulled her reddish brown hair out of its pony tail and ran her fingers through it as it fell past her collar to the mid point between her shoulder blades.
Mackenzie hardly fit the mold of a "normal" MACO officer. She had a natural beauty about her that defied make up or other high maintenance pampering. She was petite but strong, and kept her hair long and her nails perfectly manicured, despite military regulations. Her looks gave her an innocent appearance and hid the genius within.
Intellectually she had no business being apart of a MACO strike team. Kirsten graduated from high school at twelve and before she was old enough to drink legally she attained PhD's in Mathematics and Physics. Most people were floored to find out in her life before the military she taught at an elementary school, reaching out to the youth she had missed growing up. What she lacked in height and stature, she made up for physically and mentally. Kirstin was no one to mess with as she was an expert in several styles of martial arts and defensive tactics. Strategically she could outwit and out-maneuver even the best military minds.
Early in her military career, Kirstin's abilities caught the attention of a certain commanding officer. Before she knew it, she was named to Major Hayes' elite squad and was assigned to serve aboard Enterprise. After Hayes' death, she emerged as a natural leader with the team. She served two years on Enterprise and then went to Officer Candidate School with Captain Archer's personal recommendation. During the Romulan War, Mackenzie served on two starships and was given accommodations for bravery and valor. She moved up the ranks quickly and had just received her oak leaf the day before Commander Reed asked her to join this mission.
Mackenzie was one of the few that knew the truth about Commander Tucker. To the public and many at Starfleet Intelligence Trip was Commander Logan Doyle. To Kirstin and Reed, he was something much more. Mackenzie's team assisted Reed two years ago when he sprung Tucker from an Orion prison cell. While she had always doubted the validity of the Commander's death, Kirstin was surprised to discover Tucker was posing as a Romulan.
Kirstin smiled to herself as she thought about Tucker with the pointy ears and the bubbly forehead. She knew him too well from the Enterprise days to believe he could pull it off effectively. The thought of it always gave her a laugh. When Malcolm asked her to join this mission, she could hardly refuse. After living through hell with him during the Xindi mission, Malcolm and Trip were like brothers to her and she damn sure wasn't going to leave either of them behind.
The computer beeped to tell her the information she needed was ready. She transferred the manifest onto a PADD and turned to begin the inventory of the armory lockers. She wasn't expecting anyone to be standing next to her when she moved and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Geezus Malcolm!" she yelped dropping the PADD as she jumped at the sight of him.
"Jumpy?" the British commander chuckled. "I didn't mean to startle you. I thought you heard me come in."
Kirstin shook her head. "I was thinking bout Trip," she muttered squatting down to pick up the PADD. She stood up and set it down on the console.
"I wanted to talk to you about that," Reed remarked.
"About what?"
"To thank you for keeping it … him under wraps all this time," Malcolm said nervously fiddling with the door to the ordnance locker.
"It wasn't my secret to tell," she replied with a puzzled expression on her face. She noticed Reed chuckle. "Commander?"
"Nothing," Reed replied shaking his head. "It's just odd, I thought we had pulled Trip's "death" off pretty well on Enterprise, but you always doubted it and then I found out that Travis doubted it … now I wonder if anyone actually believed it."
"Well, I'm sure people that didn't have a close relationship with him did," she said shrugging her shoulders. "I always thought it was out of character for him. You know, a guy like Trip would think of a smarter way to die."
"As if there is such a thing," Malcolm nodded his head in agreement. "Are you going over the plan again?" he asked her inclining his head toward the blueprint.
"Just anticipating the unexpected," she remarked. "I think we have enough fire power to fight our own private war. Were you expecting a longer trip Commander?"
Malcolm stood upright and opened up the door to the locker proudly. The inside was packed with stun grenades, phase rifles, and phase pistols. Twenty torpedoes lined the walls of the small room and another ten were stowed in the pod bay. "You think this is too much?"
"We're breaking one guy out of jail, not an army!" she laughed. "You have more flash-bangs in these three lockers combined than the entire armory on the Republic."
"You never can be too prepared Major," Malcolm replied flatly
Kirstin caught the twinkle in his eye and started to laugh at her friend. A guy that gets turned on by ordnance …. no wonder why he's still single.
The tingling sensation in his legs was really starting to bother him. He had been concentrating on it for awhile and just couldn't shake it. He could feel his legs and even with a little effort could move them around a bit. But the pins and needles wouldn't stop and quite frankly it frightened him.
How many times had the guards kicked him? He lost count after ten or maybe it was twelve. Why the number even matter evaded him completely. Whatever damage his spine had endured today would never fully heal. They would never allow it. Tomorrow or the next day they would return and target their frustrations on some other part of his anatomy. He didn't care anymore. His body had given up its will long ago; it was his stubborn pride that got in the way of his final demise. Every night his mind and body waged a silent battle over whether that night should be the last night he took a breath. Then every morning he would awake and the vicious cycle would start all over again. Even the guards were amazed at his resiliency, often commenting that a lesser man would have succumbed to death much sooner. Tucker surmised they were referring to themselves since he was the only alien housed in this facility.
If it wasn't the guards beating the crap out of him, it was another resident of the luxury hotel taking his pleasure either physically or mentally or a combination of the two. The door to his cell was always open. The guards refused to lock it and at times he was certain there was a neon sign flashing please disturb on the outside wall. He used to fight back. In the first couple of months he even schemed on how he was going to break out of the hell hole, but they broke his will after the second attempt. As the days and nights began to run together he stopped believing 'the agency' would come for him.
It wasn't the first time he was in prison during his six year stint with 'the agency'. The last time he found himself residing in this type of accommodation, Malcolm was the one to spring him. Mr. Reed had gotten a kick out of that op, referring to his team as "the big guns". Reed managed to bust him out after thirty three days. This time he knew he was doomed. Eight months had passed and no one had come or maybe they had and found he had been moved. It had occurred twice, very suddenly. First he was held on Romulus, then on a moon a few parsecs away and then finally on this god forsaken asteroid.
Trip started to cough and the cringed as a sharp pain stabbed him in the chest. He rolled slowly onto his back and stared blankly at the low ceiling. The floor was cold and felt good against his wounded spine. He struggled to bring his hands together, folding one around the other and resting them across his chest. Very gently with the slightest of movement he rubbed his thumb over his palm. The friction began to relax him immediately as memories of his partner flooded through his mind.
She had taught him to relax like this early in their relationship before he even considered anything romantic between them. He had avoided it for months because she reminded him of … she even looked similar to ….. frustrated and argued with him just like her …T'Pol. In all the ways they were the same, they were completely different. Lennae was open with her feelings where T'Pol was a jigsaw puzzle. Lennae knew what she wanted and went after it, when T'Pol wanted to play cat and mouse games. Lennae knew he wasn't a Romulan and didn't care, while T'Pol had fretted over their interspecies relationship. As much as he knew T'Pol would never deceive him and would always have his back, Lennae was a spy and in his heart he couldn't trust her. But it didn't stop him from loving her … and that is what got him into trouble. Her cover had been compromised and before he could retreat they were caught.
He blocked the angry memories from his mind concentrating only on the sensation on his palm. The friction was like a tranquilizer evoking memories of the quiet moments between them and the unbridled passion that boiled in their soul. Most nights it was the only thing that saved him from the ugliness of the prison.
So trapped in his thoughts he barely registered the footfall just outside his door. The steps were crisp and calculated not the heavy and sluggish march of the prima-donnas in charge. Trip lie still, like a possum, pretending to be unconscious but acutely aware of the movement around him. There were two approaching his tattered body and at least one in the corridor. The clean scent of their bodies startled his senses and he panicked when he realized it was no one he knew…not a guard, or the medic or the rapist from down the hall. His injuries from today's beating left him defenseless and he could do nothing to protect himself or fend off the cold stab of the needle at the side of his neck.
As the warm venom streamed through his veins he felt his body being handled by a stranger. The movements were quick and deliberate, an assessment of sorts. Trip opened his eyes to a blur of faces above him. He struggled to focus as he tried to discern whether this was real or another cruel trick of his imagination. He heard muted voices around him and was sure they were talking to him. Commander Doyle? Did the voice really say his name … or his cover name that he never got used to hearing or using? How did they know? Trip chose not to answer out of fear that his capturers would use it against him. His Romulan cover had already been blown, but as far as he knew they had yet to figure out his true identity.
He didn't have time to contemplate it for long. The hands rolled him to his side and the pins and needles sensation returned immediately. A stabbing pain sliced through his body and he cried out in protest to the one that was tormenting him.
"Sorry Trip," a female voice whispered.
Trip? Yeah, he heard it right this time, but who were these people to him? A female at that? If I had the nerve to trust myself that almost sounded like Mackenzie, Trip thought as his mind scrambled to make sense of it all. The truth was he didn't trust himself or them at this moment. He felt the arms roll him over on his back and noticed immediately the surface below him had changed. No longer was he lying on the cold floor, there was some type of fabric buffering him now. Trip could barely believe his ears when the female voice spoke again.
"Strike one to Big Gun, the package is loaded."
"Aye strike one," a male voice with a thick British accent answered. "We're clearing out."
"Roger that Big Gun. Strike one to Hero, four to transport."
The echo of the British accent brought tears of relief to Tucker's eyes. Sonavabitch, Trip thought as the liquid rolled down his face. He felt the sensation of the transporter beam wash over his body. Reed and his big guns.
Three was starting to be a number of significance in her life.
It was three years before she admitted to herself that she truly had feelings for Trip and three days she suffered through the rage of jealousy over Amanda Cole before she seduced him. She made it through three months of torture when she was forced to marry Koss. After her divorce when she thought Trip would understand and just be there for her, she dealt with three months of agony when he transferred to Columbia to get away from her. And then he let her squirm and practically beg him to return for three days before he told her he had transferred back.
He let her think he was dead for three days, not that she truly believed that in her heart. She last saw him three years ago. Reed had asked her to join the mission three weeks ago. She had been sitting at the side of his bed watching him sleep for the past three hours. She barely recognized him, let alone herself.
Much had changed in her life since they last had contact. He had come to her and asked her to join his mission. She turned him down flat. He would never know the regret she felt at the harsh words she had spoken, how they haunted her like a ghost that would not move on to its final resting place. Even as the bond between them severed and she lost her instincts about him his ghost remained apart of her. After time, she decided it lingered to remind her he was dead and to taunt her into believing she was somehow responsible.
T'Pol stood from his bed and walked toward the window in the small medical bay. She crossed her arms at her chest and stared blindly at the star field streaming past. Three months ago she had reached out to Jon with her dilemma. She never meant to ask him directly, merely looking for a confidant. She expected him to say no, had prepared for his refusal and even ran away from him when he tried to accept. Archer refused to be let off the hook so easily and chased her all the way to her mother's house. He filled her need for three days in the privacy of T'Pol's home. Three days of unadulterated hunger, of exploration and hidden passion between them.
Then thirty days later her life was turned upside down. On the same day her doctor told her she was carrying his child, Admiral Miller at the Earth Embassy on Vulcan informed her Jonathan Archer was dead. He was killed instantly when struck by a hovercab while crossing the street in San Francisco. The irony of it all floored her. The man who saved Earth from a terrible enemy and brokered many peace treaties was dead from a meaningless accident. A miracle child would be born yet would never feel his father's touch or understand his mind or know that he once carried Surak's soul.
T'Pol ran her hand over her stomach and tilted her head as she felt pressure against her palm. Her reason for being here was selfish and she prayed that he would not turn her down. Her child needed a father and there was no one better to raise Jonathan's son but the man who lay on that biobed.
The chirp of the communicator pulled her from her thoughts. T'Pol walked quickly to the side of Tucker's bed to pick it up. "T'Pol," she answered after flipping it open.
"Commander, your presence is needed on the bridge," Sergeant Kavan said flatly.
"I'm on my way," she replied looking down at Tucker's sleeping form. She closed the device and quietly left the room.
"Lieutenant!" Reed called down the corridor when he saw Bowyer walk out of the mess hall. The guy was hard to miss. He looked like a linebacker from the Chicago Bears packaged neatly in a lab coat and a buzz hair cut. Reed jogged a few steps to catch up to him. "What's the prognosis?"
Bowyer finished swallowing his protein shake and turn to toss the empty container in the waste receptacle before answering. "I've stabilized him for now," Bowyer said avoiding eye contact with Reed.
"And?" Reed asked resting his hands on his hips, when Bowyer didn't respond immediately he crossed his arms at his chest. "Why do I get the impression you aren't telling me everything?"
"Commander, I'm a medic…"
"You're a little more than the average medic Lieutenant," Reed interrupted him.
"Okay…but I'm not a miracle worker," the Lieutenant replied flatly.
"I'm not asking for miracles," Reed began to counter until Bowyer's interrupted.
"Well you should be because I've seen dead men with fewer injuries."
The bluntness of the comment took Reed back a bit. He tilted his head and chuckled at the irony. "I'm sure Commander Doyle will take that as a compliment. But he's…"
"As I said, he's stable for now. I've removed as much of the cosmetic alternations as I can and at his insistence, shaved his head. He'll need a couple more passes through the imaging chamber before he'll be about to walk on his own."
"It's probably about time that I fill him in on what's been going on these past few months," Malcolm muttered aloud. "Is he awake?"
"That depends if Commander T'Pol is in the room or not," Bowyer said looking at his watch. "I had Kavan call her to the bridge a couple of hours ago. He doesn't seem to sleep much if she is around."
Reed nodded and chose his words carefully. "They served together on Enterprise," he finally explained taking the low road to describe their history.
"Hmm," Bowyer grumbled rolling his eyes. He didn't need Reed to explain the obvious. It was clear to the medic the two were star-crossed lovers. His patient could barely take his eyes off the Vulcan and she hadn't left the room since the Commander had come on board. "Well, he was just dozing when I left the bay about forty minutes ago. Schmidt is on watch while I catch some shut eye. I'll check on him again in three hours or so," Bowyer replied.
"Thank you Lieutenant," Malcolm remarked watching the man walk away. Thank you for understanding, for being intuitive, for saving Trip's ass and for damn sure being the miracle worker that I needed for this mission. Malcolm hesitated in the corridor for only a moment more as he thought about the promise that had led him to this moment.
Everyone at 'the agency' was aware of Trip's imprisonment before it even happened. Tucker's partner and sometimes lover, Lennae, had inadvertently compromised their cover and before Harris could get word to Trip to retreat, he was caught. Since Harris had played match-maker with the two operatives, he made it his personal mission to recover Tucker at all costs. And so he did … the Romulans very conveniently returned the Agency boss to Starfleet Security in a nice pine box. Once Harris was out of the picture, Tucker's extraction became Malcolm's crusade.
Reed brought in the most ruthless couriers to carry out the deed, the Nausicaan's. While their methods were questionable, Nausicaans were known across the galaxy for getting the job done. They had the intel and nearly had him twice, but both times arrived only to find Tucker had been moved to another facility just that day. They suspected a leak in their chain and all arrows pointed at Lennae. She was a spy after all. The new agency boss, Bailey, set a trap for her and when she fell right into it, he took her out. After she was removed from the picture, the Nausicaan's got the scoop on Tucker's location and then ran interference for Reed and his team for the retrieval.
Raver, the Nausicaan operative, and T'Pol kept the guards busy with a supply load at the docking hatch which allowed Reed and the MACO's time to beam in, sweep the prison block for the package, quickly assess his condition and beam out. The security or lack there of at the facility perplexed Reed a bit, despite that Raver had forewarned the team about it. Raver's boasts that with hardly any effort he could walk Trip right out the front gate was nearly the truth. They faced little resistance and found Tucker's cell wide open.
It was his friend's physical condition that shocked him the most. The Romulans were known for their harsh interrogation methods, but after eight months Reed thought they would have given up. Apparently that wasn't the case as Tucker's initial scans showed nearly every bone in his body had been broken and not just once. His current injuries included several crushed vertebrae, cracked ribs and a fractured pelvis. And that was only the start of the list, Malcolm was certain Bowyer could rattle off a whole slew of conditions if he pressed the Lieutenant hard enough. The truth of the matter was, as long as Trip was alive and safe, Reed didn't really need to know. All that mattered is that he made good on the promise he made to Archer on the day that he died.
Archer had made his request to Reed during their weekly lunch date. The Admiral and Reed had a standing reservation at a little café in downtown San Francisco every Wednesday at eleven thirty. The 'formality' of the Captain-Lieutenant relationship had long drifted away and a true friendship had formed between them. Malcolm often felt it was because of Trip's disappearance, but whatever the catalyst, it became a friendship that Malcolm cherished.
Archer would often inquire about Trip by dropping obscure hints knowing that Reed was in touch with the Commander on a semi-regular basis. But lately those hints had given away the true sense of concern for their friend and in a desperate plea the Admiral made Reed promise to bring him home alive once and for all. Unfortunately Archer would never live to see it through. They went their separate ways after lunch that day. Archer had told him that he was going to window shop for a baby gift and Reed cabbed it back to Command. Three hours later Reed heard the news, that Archer had been struck by a car while crossing the street and died instantly from his injuries. After that Malcolm knew he could no longer leave Trip's extraction in the hands of strangers. He had to bring him home in honor of Jonathan Archer.
A few minutes later Malcolm found himself standing at the end of Trip's bed. Tucker appeared to be fast asleep and Reed quietly stared at the monitor on the wall that tracked all his vital statistics.
"I hope that's a pin up you're staring at," Tucker grumbled as he peered up at Malcolm.
"Trip," Malcolm mumbled looking down at him.
"Malcolm," Trip replied gruffly. "I guess I owe you another thank you."
"It's all part of the job my friend," Malcolm replied nonchalantly. "According to the monitor you're still alive, how do you actually feel?"
"Well," Trip mumbled closing his eyes. "It's all relative I guess. I can finally open my eyes without feeling like my brains are being squeezed out my pores. I can wiggle my toes without feeling a thousand needles sticking in them and I guess at some point down the road I'll be able to take a crap again without my insides falling out." He looked over at Malcolm and shrugged. "Was that colorful enough for you?"
"Yeah, thanks for the description," Reed replied rolling his eyes.
"It really doesn't matter though," Trip added quietly. "My three wishes were all fulfilled today …I heard Mackenzie's voice in my cell mention your name, I woke up on a biobed in a real Starfleet medical bay and found T'Pol sitting next to me. Considering I asked God this morning why he was forcing me to live my days in agony, I couldn't want anything more." Trip was quiet for a minute. "Unless of course you tell me that Cap'n Archer is sitting on the bridge."
Malcolm cringed at the mention of Archer's name. He had a lot to tell Trip, but that could wait for later. He just smiled and shook his head. "T'Pol is on bridge watch right now."
Trip took a deep breath and exhaled slowly still feeling pain in his side. "Major Mackenzie told me you sent the Nausicaans after me."
"Yeah, your old friend Raver," Reed smiled happy the subject was moving away from Archer. "He was quite efficient in getting the intel to retrieve you." Malcolm laughed leaning against the biobed.
"Efficient? I was in that hell-hole for five months. I have half a mind to tell Harris to shove this crap up his ass when I get home," Trip chuckled and then stopped when he noticed the serious expression on Reed's face. "What?"
Malcolm looked down at the floor. "Harris is dead," he replied flatly.
"What you mean by dead?" Trip asked with a perplexed expression on his face. "Guys like Harris don't die."
Reed bit his lip and nodded his head. "He felt responsible for your capture and went undercover to retrieve you. He was compromised and the Romulans made an example out of him. They sent him back to Starfleet in a box."
"Harris came after me?" Tucker scoffed. "What'd I do to deserve that?" he chuckled in a low growl.
"Well according to the reports, you were his number one operative," Reed replied.
"Like hell," Tucker said rolling his eyes. "You're only as good as your last op. If you make it home you're a hero. If not, they run your name through the mud to scare the younger agents. Besides, everyone knew Bailey was his number one."
"Yeah, well Bailey is the boss now," Malcolm remarked, biting his finger nail nervously. "And he called in the Big Guns to get you back."
Trip groaned and shook his head. "I see you're still calling your team that … although back in the cell it was music too my ears."
"If the shoe fits," Reed chanted. "Between Harris and Bailey, they sent three other retrieval teams in to get you. Harris was killed and the others came up empty handed." Malcolm put his fist to his mouth and blew on his fingertips. "Then I was called in."
"Ah, the shit is getting deep in here," Trip moaned pulling to pillow over his head.
"I'll say," remarked the voice of Travis Mayweather from the doorway. "What kind of chest thumping ceremony did I walk into?"
"Travis Mayweather," Trip mumbled when he saw the African American helmsman at the door. "I should have known you'd be the only guy that could pilot a starship into enemy territory undetected to rescue me."
Travis smiled and shook his head. "It all depends on the ship, sir. This is no ordinary starship." The perplexed expression on Tucker's face led Reed to fill in the blanks.
"It's a prototype," Reed remarked shrugging his shoulders. He left it at that so Tucker wouldn't jump out of the bed and head down to the engine room. "It has all the bells and whistles that turn you on. You can check it out later when you're feeling up to it."
The comm line crackled in the background breaking up their reunion conversation. "Bridge to Commander Reed."
Malcolm walked quickly to the nearest comm panel and pushed the talk button. "Reed here."
"Commander we just picked up two Romulan scout ships on an intercept course," Sergeant Kavan reported.
"Mayweather and I will be right there," Reed replied. He let go of the button and looked over at Trip. "Looks like you're not out of the woods yet my friend."
"Report!" Reed barked as soon as he entered the bridge.
"They came out from behind the moon cluster," T'Pol remarked calmly as she stood up from the helm seat. She crossed the bridge to the port wall and took a position at the open station next to Sergeant Kavan. "I've scanned their vessels. Impressive weaponry, but no match for us speed wise."
"Shields up, tactical alert," Reed replied staring at the view screen. "Mr. Mayweather get us out of here maximum warp."
Mayweather powered up the engines and the small ship shot forward at warp seven leaving the two scout ships in their wake. Their get away was short lived as proximity alarms started to echo around the small bridge and a large Romulan war bird de-cloaked just off their starboard side.
"Evasive maneuvers!" Reed yelled out as Hero took the brunt of the warbird's weapons at nearly point blank range. The shields fended off most of the blast, but the ship still rocked under the pressure.
"They're targeting the shield generators!" Kavan screamed from a port side work station. "Shields down thirty five percent!"
"Forward shields are gone! The starboard nacelle's been hit," T'Pol yelled over the bridge alarms. "We're dropping out of warp!"
The next volley of weapons fire knocked Reed completely out of his chair as the display panel in front of him exploded. Lieutenant Alvarez ran across the bridge and felt his neck for a pulse. A long laceration covered half of his face and she reached for the med kit behind his chair. As she applied direct pressure to the wound she heard the other members of the team report their status.
"T'Pol!" Mayweather called to her from the helm. "The war bird is coming around for another pass."
"I'm reading a nebula a half a parsec from here," Major Mackenzie spat out.
"Mr. Mayweather evasive pattern Zeta," T'Pol called out. The pattern was risky and called for Mayweather to barrel roll the ship under their attacker to make their get away. "Major Mackenzie all available power to shields! Mr. Kavan fire at will!"
"Forward shields are down!" Mackenzie reiterated as her hands flew over the console. "Aft shields are at eighty percent."
"Direct hit to their weapons array," Kavan added as he watched the explosion on the sensor array. "They're retreating!"
T'Pol scanned the sensor array and quickly considered their options. The war bird was temporarily disabled but the scout ships were quickly approaching. The Neutral Zone was still five light years away and would be a long trip with a damaged starboard nacelle. They were only one ship and there was no way in hell she would surrender to the Romulan's. The nebula was their only option at this point. Hopefully they could hide there while Mayweather or Reed or one of the technicians in Engineering could get the warp drive back on line.
"Travis, set a course for the nebula, maximum speed!" she ordered from her console.
"Aye sir," he responded as he brought the impulse engines on line.
The ship shook uncontrollably as it rocketed toward the gassy mass in front of them. The bridge began eerily quiet as the ship made it up to speed. The only sound heard were the consoles rattling against each other and the clicks and pops of the fried wiring from the blown panels.
"Thirty seconds to the nebula," Mackenzie reported from her monitoring station on the starboard side of the small room.
"Those scout ships will be on us before then," Kavan bellowed. "They're targeting the aft weapons array! All hands brace for impact!"
The weapons fire caught them as they reached the outer edges of the nebula. The assault spun the ship out of control and rolled it on its axis knocking the crew to the deck. T'Pol stepped out of herself and watched as her body slammed back against the bulkhead and fell to the deck, her head bouncing against the thin carpet covering of the floor. Only Mayweather remained in his seat and fought desperately to gain control of the ship. After a moment, Kavan and Mackenzie recovered enough to pull themselves upright at their stations.
"I'm reading some type of corridor dead ahead," Mackenzie muttered from the comm station to Mayweather's right. Her hands flew over the console as she tried to bring the image up on the viewer. The screen flickered for a moment and a snowy picture appeared revealing a funnel like phenomenon in front of them.
"It's pulling us in," Mayweather blurted out as the ship lurched forward. "Attempting to reverse thrusters," he hit the control to reverse the ship but nothing happened. "Dammit!" he yelled hitting the console. "Bridge to Engineering…..Engineering respond!"
"Communications are down sir," Kavan coughed out behind him.
"What about the Romulans?" Mayweather asked crawling under his station and pulling wires to connect the manual over-ride system.
"Nothing on the grid," Mackenzie said as she surveyed the remaining crew on the bridge. Ensign Conroy was lying next to her on the deck presumably dead with a gaping laceration across his neck. Reed was awake and attempting to stand, Lt. Alvarez was scanning T'Pol with the tricorder while Kavan was pulling wires out of the station just above their heads trying to get communications back on line.
"What the hell is that?" Reed said loudly looking directly at the view screen. The outburst caused everyone still standing to direct their eyes at the viewer.
The snowy view screen gave way to the purplish-blue nebula gasses and free floating gelatinous bubbles that surrounded the ship. The pattern resembled a slinky tube, expanding and contracting as Hero tumbled along. 'That' which Reed was referring to was the second corridor that appeared to be bouncing in space just in front of them. "Travis how's that manual override coming?"
"Almost there Commander!"
"We're out of time!" Reed shouted sliding into the helm chair. He looked up at the view screen again just as Hero intersected the second sub space corridor. "Grab hold of something!" Reed roared as the ship pitched over onto its top and skidding down the second wormhole.
Travis rolled to the side and braced himself against the leg of the helm station. He looked up at the view screen, watching the events unfold in front of him. It wasn't just one wormhole they had intersected; it looked like a spaghetti bowl of them. The ship was spiraling powerless through the interior of one corridor and then as it collided with a bubble, the ship was bounced like a tennis ball in another direction. The bridge was eerily quiet behind him and Mayweather crawled out from under the helm station to take inventory of their status.
Kavan, T'Pol, and Alvarez were all unconscious on the deck. Reed was slumped over the helm station and Mackenzie was half in, half out of her chair at the monitoring station. He heard a groan coming from her direction and guessed she was beginning to wake. Travis checked the four downed officer's for a pulse and when he was satisfied they were alive headed for Mackenzie. "Kirstin?" he called shaking her shoulder slightly.
"Geezus, what happened?" she mumbled looking back at him. "Ow!" she winced as she moved her head.
"You okay?" Travis asked her, his voice riddled with concern.
"No," she grimaced moving her left arm slowly. "What?" she moaned as he grabbed a med kit and a medical tricorder. She watched as he ran it over her shoulder.
"We're drifting. We intersected a couple of worm holes," Travis remarked. "It's dislocated," he said looking down at her and motioning to her shoulder. "Can you see if you have anything on sensors?"
"Agh, yea," Kirstin answered holding her arm against her side. She slumped into the console and punched some buttons on the panel trying to get some data to appear on the monitor in front of her.
Mayweather crossed the bridge and ran the tricorder over each of the fallen crew. Conroy was dead, Alvarez and Kavan had head injuries and from what he could tell, seemingly minor concussions, Reed was in far worse shape and T'Pol … the readout caught him off guard completely. Holy shit! he thought staring at the tricorder. She's friggen pregnant! He stared at it with a dumbfounded expression on his face. Is she okay? Run the scanner over her again! he yelled at himself while he ran the device back over her body. He stared at the readout and shook his head. She's…. pregnant, frig I don't even know how to read the…..
"Travis!" Mackenzie called out. "I ah ….. I'm reading a ship!"
Mayweather looked back across the bridge, dropped the tricorder and then got up and jogged across the small room toward her. He stared up at the view screen as he passed. "How close?"
"I ahh… I think it's right above us?" she looked up at him with a perplexed expression on her face.
"Romulan?"
"No ….unidentified…there's a temporal sig…." her voice trailed off as Mayweather stood over her shoulder. Mackenzie transferred the data to the main viewer and tried to clean up the static a bit. The image of the wormhole environment was similar to the earlier view with the exception of the color. Instead of the purplish blue backdrop, space had an icy blue hue to it. Mayweather wasn't even noticing though, he was looking at the sensor data on the screen and trying to manipulate the ship attitude control to correct the ships orientation. As the vessel began to right itself Mackenzie became acutely aware of the proximity of the other ship. "Holy shit!" she yelped punching a couple of keys on the panel. "Brace for impact!"
"What?" Travis barely mumbled when the second vessel scraped across the top of NX-42 and threw it into another barrel roll. The impact overloaded the console in front of them and sent both Mackenzie and Mayweather violently to the deck. The last thing Travis remembered was a blinding white light filling the bridge and stunning his senses.
TBC