Here is a longer chapter, dedicated to Alelou :-)
§ 9 §
Malcolm stepped on the Bridge, in the morning, to find the complete senior staff already at their respective posts. He wasn't used to this, being generally the first one there; but he had spent another restless night, filled with haunting dreams of a certain man, and getting up in the morning, sore bones and all, had been a difficult feat. Whether it was tiredness, or madness, or PTS, something was seriously wrong with him; he wouldn't be able to go on like this for much longer.
When he had stopped by Sickbay for his morning check-up, he had been tempted to make a clean breast of it with Phlox. But the Denobulan had taken but one look at him and wanted to pull him off duty, which had instantly changed his mind. Malcolm had ended up waging a subtle war of wits with him to be allowed to work; a war he had won by a narrow margin and only on the solemn promise that he'd go back to Sickbay after the Admiral and Ambassador's mission was completed.
After greeting T'Pol and Trip with a nod, for the Admiral's benefit Malcolm pronounced the ritual, "Lieutenant Reed reporting for duty." He hoped this time it would be acknowledged without sarcasm.
Wishful thinking.
Blake shot a glance at his watch, as if to underline that fact that Malcolm was – what – a few minutes late; then, with the caustic tone which he seemed to reserve just for him, he went on to say, "As you must have been informed, Lieutenant, in about one hour we shall reach our destination. It would be nice if you could get to your post before then. I want you to keep an eye on sensors. No ship must be allowed to come close to Enterprise."
Malcolm, who, biting his tongue, was already on the way to his station, stopped in his tracks. His eyes strayed briefly to Trip, whose clenched-jaw expression tied another knot in his gut. "I'm not certain I understand, Sir," he dared, turning to the man in the Captain's chair. He knew that the words were laying him open to another thrust of the Admiral's scorn, but he had to make sure he knew exactly what the man expected of him.
As predicted, Blake didn't miss the chance.
"Do I have to ask Ensign Sato to translate it for you, Lieutenant?" he sneered. "We obviously don't speak the same language." His gaze went back to the viewscreen, as if Malcolm weren't worth looking in the eye. "When I say that no ship must be allowed near Enterprise, I mean just that. Do whatever you have to, but keep them away."
Malcolm stretched his neck. "Aye, Sir," he drew out tightly, painfully aware of Trip following him with his gaze.
"Subcommander," Blake went on, switching off the haughty tone. "Have a shuttlepod readied. Enterprise will stop just inside the nebula, and Ambassador V'Sir and I will proceed on that vessel."
"I imagine you will require a pilot and security," T'Pol asked without asking.
"No. I'll pilot myself. As for security..." Blake snorted.
Malcolm felt a rush of anger, but contained it. Let this bloody fool do whatever he wanted to. He couldn't care less if he got himself killed.
"Navigating inside a nebula can be difficult, Admiral," T'Pol graciously pointed out. "The Shuttlepod's sensors are not as sophisticated as Enterprise's."
"They'll be good enough."
The words had a finality to them that silenced everybody.
Half an hour later Malcolm knew they were in trouble. More specifically, he was. Shran's ship, which had kept at the fringe of his sensors, began to speed up and close in on them. He had feared this; it was clear that sooner or later it would happen, but he had hoped against all hope that the Andorians would make their move after the Admiral and Ambassador had managed to leave on the Shuttlepod. He should have known Shran was too clever for that.
Malcolm lifted his gaze: a subtle something in T'Pol's posture confirmed what he already suspected, that she was aware of what was happening. That knot in his gut tightened a bit more: what were T'Pol's plans? His eyes shifted to Hoshi, still blessedly unaware. Not for long.
Blake stood up. "I will notify Ambassador V'Sir that we need to get ready," he said, moving to leave the Bridge.
Malcolm pursed his lips, torn between duty and... and what? Why should he make life difficult for himself? He was a soldier, raised to obey orders.
The question was, whose orders?
As the Admiral was climbing the few steps to get to the turbo lift, a beep sounded on Hoshi's console.
"We're being hailed," the Linguist reluctantly announced, saving Malcolm from a quick and difficult decision.
Blake turned abruptly. "By whom?"
Hoshi's eyebrows dipped in a passing frown. "The Andorian ship, Sir."
"I thought I had told you to get rid of them," Blake snapped. His reined-in fury made it all the more intimidating.
Flicking his gaze up from his monitors, Malcolm saw the Admiral dart a dark and questioning look to T'Pol and then Trip, and for a short but interminable moment, neither spoke. Then T'Pol rose from her chair.
"We endeavoured to do so," she calmly replied. "We cannot stop another vessel from choosing whatever course they desire."
Blake's mouth tightened. Having probably decided to postpone dealing with that issue, he turned to the helm.
"Ensign Mayweather, if we go to Warp 5, how long will it be before we reach the nebula?"
Travis straightened his shoulders and shot a half look over his left. "About fifteen minutes, Sir," he unenthusiastically replied.
Malcolm's fingers flew to the button that would bring the hull plating online. Shran was still a bit too far away to hurt them, but wasn't known for his patience.
"Would the Andorians be able to catch up with us before then?"
It was T'Pol who answered Blake's question, silencing Trip who looked about ready to risk his career with one of his outbursts.
"If they went at their maximum speed, they would reach the nebula in exactly twenty-three minutes."
"Which would give us eight minutes of advantage," the Admiral reasoned.
Another beep made them all look at Hoshi, who silently pleaded for the order to answer it.
"Go to Warp 5, Helmsman," Blake barked, challenging Trip to dare disapprove. Eyes eventually straying from the Engineer to Malcolm, he added, "You will do as ordered, Lieutenant. If they cannot be convinced to leave, you will keep them away any way you need to." Finally, before leaving, he instructed T'Pol, "Answer their hails. I am counting on your diplomacy, Subcommander."
The mood he left on the Bridge as he entered the turbo lift was dark to say the least.
A vein throbbed painfully on Malcolm's temple, reminding him, as if his bruises weren't enough, that the human body is a fallible machine requiring a certain amount of sleep every day. At the moment, that tiny little vein was vexing him more than his lower back, which was saying a lot.
Shran had been engaged in unfriendly conversation with T'Pol for the past few minutes, and no Vulcan logic seemed able to convince him that something fishy wasn't going on. Malcolm couldn't blame the man for being suspicious, actually. The fact that T'Pol was once again sitting in Archer's chair was in itself an oddity which justified a few misgivings.
"I demand to speak to Captain Archer," the Andorian insisted.
Malcolm could almost see the wheels in his head turn, as the blue alien tried to figure out the situation.
"And I demand to know why you've been followin' us," Trip countered, butting into the discussion. "And you better find a more credible excuse than sharin' a glass of that poison of yours with the Capt'n."
Shran's eyes narrowed dangerously. "All right, Commander," he hissed in Trip's direction. "Let's lay the cards on the table, then: our intelligence tells me that you have a Vulcan Ambassador on board. And unless you can explain where you're taking him and why, I will consider Enterprise an enemy ship."
It was a loaded question, and one which – unless Malcolm was wrong – Trip wasn't able to answer. As far as he knew, only T'Pol was privy to that information.
The Bridge, indeed, fell silent. Trip shot the Science Officer an uncomfortable glance, which prompted her to speak. With her usual aplomb, she said, "It is not within your rights to ask such a question."
The tension wasn't helping Malcolm's headache. And now a wave of frustration threatened to send his blood pressure skyrocketing. He hated this unchoreographed ballet, where no one was totally certain of the others' moves. Hell, sooner or later someone would step on someone else's feet, and the result could be disastrous. Trip's doubts once again echoed in Malcolm's mind: where did T'Pol stand?
"Very well," Shran spat out. Turning away from the screen, he barked a sharp, "Bring the weapons online." Then he turned back for a terse, "Good-bye, Subcommander."
The screen went blank and T'Pol turned unwavering eyes to Malcolm. "Hull plating, Lieutenant," she said.
"Already online."
He had known things would get to this.
Trip, who had been standing behind Archer's chair, swung to the left. "I want to speak to you," he said tautly to T'Pol. "In private."
"Commander, this is hardly the time," she started, with what looked like an uneasy lift of her eyebrows. But Trip took a step towards her, towering over the Science station.
"In the ready room," he insisted.
Bending to necessity, T'Pol slowly stood up. "You have the Bridge, Lieutenant," she quietly told Malcolm. "In case of a firefight, you shall try to impair the Andorian ship without causing serious damage or fatalities."
And what about Blake's 'keep them away at all costs'?
Malcolm cursed inwardly as he was left in charge with such lovely and contradictory orders.
"What the hell is this mission about?" Trip snarled the moment they were alone in Archer's ready room. He was determined to remain locked in there until T'Pol had told him.
"Commander," the Vulcan began with her sanctimonious air.
Trip cut her off before she could get onto her logical high horse.
"I don't give a damn about what you can or can't tell me," he spat out. "At this point I have a right to know and you're gonna put me in the loop."
The voice that came out of his throat was unexpectedly harsh, and Trip was shocked by its dictatorial tone; it clashed with the view he had of himself as both a gentle man and gentleman. Anger racked him, which was scary; but so was the idea that T'Pol could be playing behind their backs. She was their Acting Captain, the person in whom the crew put their trust now that Archer... Well, she just couldn't double-cross them!
He watched as T'Pol drew in a deep breath and latched her hands behind her back. She opened her mouth to speak just as the ship suddenly rocked under the force of Shran's first blow, sending them groping for support. Enterprise veered sharply, as Mayweather obviously carried out evasive manoeuvres. T'Pol eyed the comm. link on Archer's desk, but didn't go to it. Regaining her balance, she looked Trip straight in the eye and said, "Ambassador V'Sir is to meet someone to discuss the acquisition of large quantities of dilithium."
Trip considered the words. "What's so mysterious about that?" he wondered tensely, as another hit sent them off-balance. "Why should Vulcans want to hide it from the Andorians?"
"Vulcans do not have a habit of letting the Andorians know about their deals," T'Pol replied. At Trip's long-suffering look, taking another steadying breath, she expounded, "As I mentioned, they are large quantities: the Andorians might suspect that we are preparing an attack. They have a tendency to consider everything we do as an act of war against them."
"And what about Starfleet?" Trip demanded. "What's in it for them?"
"I understand they agreed to carry the Ambassador to the rendezvous in exchange for more autonomy. The High Command was hoping that a Starfleet vessel would not alert the Imperial Guard. They constantly monitor the Vulcan fleet."
Was she being truthful? Studying T'Pol's face, Trip pondered the diplomatic intricacies at play. He hated politics. It was difficult to understand if the subtle signs that had appeared on her visage, signs that on any human face would probably mean nothing, had any significance. Did that quick blink of the eyes indicate tension? What emotion did the twitch of her mouth betray?
Damn if he knew.
"We've got to tell Shran," he finally said. "We cannot endanger eighty-two lives because the Vulcan High Command can't blow their noses without having to do it in a stealthy way." He passed a nervous hand through his hair. "Hell, all that mystery is the best way to arouse the Andorians' suspicions!"
The unmistakable sound of their own phase cannons firing silenced them for a moment. T'Pol's gaze went once again to the comm. link, and once again she refrained from going to it. There was nothing they could do, anyway. Malcolm knew his stuff, and they could be sure that, with Travis's help, he'd do his best to keep them alive and well.
"I am still a member of the High Command," T'Pol said, and this time the drop in her voice was a definite indication of emotional involvement. "Bound to obey their orders. I was told to offer assistance."
Trip felt a stab through his heart. "Your first duty is to this crew! The Capt'n's crew! He trusted you!" The grief that he'd endeavoured to keep hidden since Archer's disappearance was suddenly out in the open.
T'Pol looked confused. "I was not going to betray that trust, Commander," she replied with a slight frown.
Their eyes were locked for a long moment. It was the comm. beeping that eventually broke the silent confrontation. T'Pol went to it and pressed the link open.
"We're about to enter the nebula," Hoshi's voice informed them, without preamble.
"We'll be right there, Ensign."
With a last silent glance at Trip, she preceded him to the door.
The moment they stepped onto the Bridge, Malcolm's gaze darted from the tactical console to acknowledge their return. It skimmed over T'Pol and went directly to him – Trip – heavy with concern. Trip was sure he'd read a silent question in it, but the ongoing fight absorbed the Armoury Officer again, and his eyes dropped back to the instruments in front of him.
"Hull plating down to seventy-five percent," Malcolm said, in his tense-but-controlled voice. He shook his head, without losing sight of his diagrams. "I have disabled one of their cannons and damaged a nacelle; it has slowed them down a little, but honestly we don't stand much of a chance of--- Incoming!"
Another hit shook them.
T'Pol gripped the back of Archer's chair; then pulled to a rod-straight stance. "How long before we are inside?" she asked, watching the nebula looming on the viewscreen.
It was Travis who answered. "Two minutes," he said. "The Admiral and Ambassador are already in the Shuttlepod."
"Enter the nebula and go to impulse," she instructed in a determined tone. To Hoshi, she quietly added, "The moment the Shuttlepod has launched, hail Commander Shran."
Being inside a nebula – Malcolm mused – was like being in a state of semi-consciousness. And he knew that sensation quite well: senses – and sensors – not quite as sharp, a sea of fog. He would have heaved a sigh of relief, because that meant that also the Andorians' targeting sensors would not be functional, except for the fact that he knew Shran wouldn't give up his hunt so easily. And sooner or later they would have to come out of hiding.
Focusing back on his readings, he watched a blip move across his screen. "The Shuttlepod has launched," he announced, following the smaller vessel's course. In a few minutes the pod would undoubtedly disappear, lost in the murky cloud; a nasty part of him almost wished for good.
T'Pol nodded to Hoshi, who immediately set to her given task.
"Are you surrendering, Subcommander?" Shran taunted, the moment he came through. "Just when things were getting interesting."
There was no humour in his voice; more like the ill-concealed irritation of someone who doesn't want to admit that he's been had. At least for the moment – Malcolm thought grimly.
"I have hailed to appeal to your good sense, Commander," T'Pol said. "While I cannot reveal the nature of our mission, I can assure you it has nothing to do with the hostility between our two species."
"Dare you deny the presence of a Vulcan Ambassador on Enterprise?" Shran challenged.
Malcolm saw Trip dart T'Pol a loaded glance.
"Enterprise is carrying Ambassador V'Sir," she grudgingly admitted. "But I repeat, this mission does not concern Andoria."
"Liar!" Shran snarled.
"The Andorian vessel is entering the nebula as well," Malcolm quietly informed their Acting Captain. "Same point of entry as Enterprise."
"You're a damned Vulcan liar!"
Shran's roar filled the Bridge, making everybody uneasy save the person to whom the insult was addressed. T'Pol simply raised her eyebrows. There was no doubt that the two races were as different as black and white; or better, fire and ice. The odd thing, come to think of it, was that the hot planet was home to a cold race; and icy Andoria to a hot one.
Trip's reaction to the words was quite a bit more dramatic: Malcolm watched the Commander's face, which had already been drawn, visibly pale.
"Explain yourself," the Engineer demanded.
Shran's antennae curled forward, and his eyes flashed daggers. "According to our intelligence, a defector of the Imperial Guard, a shameful traitor of our race, is in this area of space. He's in possession of important military secrets." The blue alien snorted. "And isn't it a coincidence that a Vulcan Ambassador should be here too!"
T'Pol's eyes widened. For the first time since he had known her, Malcolm saw doubt show on her face.
"That is not why the Ambassador is here," she said, but the self-assurance was gone from her voice. It was almost painful to watch the unusual change in her.
Shran must have noticed too, because his tone was more restrained as he said, "Think about it, Subcommander. An Andorian defector with military secrets to sell and a Vulcan Ambassador in the same stretch of universe: can you really believe it is a coincidence?"
"We'll find out," Trip butted in, through a clenched jaw. "Hoshi," he said meaningfully. As soon as the transmission had been cut, he went on, "We'll take the other pod and follow V'Sir and the Admiral."
A flicker of disquiet crossed T'Pol's gaze. "That would contravene my orders," she said.
Trip took a step and faced her fully. "Provided you're telling the truth, you've got to decide whether you want to be a pawn in the hands of the High Command, or the Acting Captain of this ship." As silence stretched, he added meaningfully, "By doing nothin', you'll endanger this crew. Besides, if I were you I'd be dyin' to find out whether I'd been deceived."
With a silent nod, T'Pol ordered Hoshi to establish communication again.
"You were at P'Jem, Subcommander," Shran butted in darkly, looking none too pleased about the brief interruption. "You have the chance to help uncover another lie."
T'Pol looked at him pensively for a moment longer; then turned to her right. "Lieutenant Reed," she said, once again her confident self. "Have Shutlepod Two prepared and meet the Commander and me in the launchbay in---"
"Why don't we take my ship?" Shran cut her off. "It's equipped with more powerful sensors, and inside this nebula we'll need that. Send me your coordinates and I'll pick you up."
At least this last request had confirmed that the nebula was providing a good cover. Malcolm treasured the notion, especially if he was going to be off Enterprise. He didn't trust Shran, the man was too volatile.
At long last T'Pol nodded her agreement. Hoshi immediately sent the information to the Andorian.
"One last question, Subcommander," the blue alien said, narrowing his fiery gaze. "What happened to Captain Archer?"
Malcolm bit his lip.
"He... had an accident," T'Pol vaguely replied. "He's not here at the moment."
At the moment. It was – what – the second time T'Pol had used those words. Almost as if the Captain was simply on sick leave. Malcolm found it strangely comforting. Idiot – he cursed himself – he's not coming back, other than in your deranged subconscious.
Shran considered the words, but didn't comment. Glancing at Enterprise's coordinates, which he had received, he said, "See you in fifteen minutes."
As soon as the communication was cut, T'Pol spoke. "Commander, Lieutenant," she summoned. "Mister Mayweather, you have the Bridge."
"I'd strongly suggest Enterprise doesn't remain in the same position while we are away, Ma'am," Malcolm urged. Better safe than sorry. "We can rendezvous at a different set of coordinates."
"Agreed," T'Pol said, to Malcolm's relief. "Arrange for it, Lieutenant."
As he slid out of his seat to join his Superior Officers at the turbo lift, Malcolm tried to hide, even to himself, how unready he felt for an away mission. He'd need to be alert, when since the accident he'd hardly caught much sleep. As he made a mental note of what weapons to take, a part of his mind couldn't help wondering what other unwelcomed surprises could there be in store for them.
TBC
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