Part of the plan to get their daughter hadn't included exactly how they would retrieve her daughter from Terra Prime, but it at least told Archer who was behind this. Although Archer never paid much attention to politics, other than to cast his vote and be aware of the issues, he knew John Paxton. Not only a businessman, he'd been seen shaking hands with politicians and working toward more freedoms for the Moon for years.
"This way," said T'Pol.
The words shook him from his musings, and he followed her.
Leading with her scanner, she filed into the darkened mine shaft and he stayed at her heel. Squinting into the dark, feeling cavern walls, he hoped to figure out his destination while keeping his eyes trained on her white jumpsuit, the only thing that illuminated the corridor. Unable to travel as fast as she, he saw the white jumpsuit in front of him nearly fade out of view and then turn back for him. A hand gripped his to help him find his way through the maze and when he stared at her back, that grasp tightened.
This may help us reach the destination more quickly. T'Pol thought, My eyes are accustomed to low-lighting.
One junction transformed into another giving him time to start adjusting to solid blackness. The dark gave him one added ability, he noticed their telepathic communication became easier.
It is because we are touching, T'Pol thought.
It also became easier to feel the thoughts of his child – lonely, scared and hungry. Basic needs – cleaning, comfort and food – seemed lacking. More than that, Archer got the sense his child was being stifled physically, as if kept in a cage. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he could picture it in his mind: plastic and see-through. Not just an incubator, but a place to contain her and muffle her crying.
T'Pol didn't have a name for any of these emotions and was unsure whether they were normal, though she was aware they emanated from T'Les. Gaining Archer's understanding, realizing how terrifying they were and seeing the contraption more vividly, made her quicken her pace.
"We'll find her," said Archer.
He looked at their connected hands, his feet flying behind her struggling to keep up with the pace she tore through the tunnels.
"To be in such conditions," said T'Pol. "No being deserves such treatment."
Archer felt a lump in his throat, making it difficult to breathe – it was her worry and concern … like a mother's rage.
"They treat our daughter as if she were an animal," she said.
A jolt of electricity, like the one used to awake patients from death, shot through him and his heart spasmed and then pumped fiercely as he gritted his teeth. Anger, pure and uncontrollable stormed in his belly as his eyes narrowed.
It's her emotion, he thought
"How could they do something so sinister?" she asked.
Slamming in his chest, on the verge of bursting, his heart raced. His breath turned ragged, his lips tightened and his nostrils flared. He wanted to take his fist and smash the wall, crushing the stone or his hand, or run in a blind fury in any direction.
Stop! he thought."Why would they treat her such!" said T'Pol.
His mouth strangled a scream, one that would reverberate on the walls, shutting out all other noise. And just as he was about to open his mouth and yell into the darkened caverns, the feeling subsided dwindling into nothingness.
Confusion was left in its wake.
Stopping, he anchored down her own movements until she halted next to him. Slipping his hand out of hers, he took it to her jaw and looked into her eyes as a veil, muffling her emotions, cascaded around her.
And yet, even in the dim lighting, he spied tears threatening to spill from her large, brown eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek and he softened.
"We're going to find her. And we're going to save her."
The Vulcan nodded, tears still clinging to her eyes and he reached out to draw her to his chest. Tucking her head under his chin, he felt himself well up, too.
"I am weighed down with emotion," she said, feebly.
"I know."
"Yours and hers. My control--"
He sighed into her hair. "I know. You don't need to worry about controlling your emotions."
"I always need to worry about control. For a Vulcan it--"
He said, thinking of Surak, "Is the cornerstone to logic. I know that, too. I'm saying, you don't need to control your emotions with me. We can share them."
They broke their embrace and confusion marred her visage.
He said, "Stuffing down your emotions only makes them stronger."
Yes, they are more volatile. This is something you deal with? she thought.
Yeah. "Sharing them with me, rather than letting them build up, should help you control them."
She knitted her brow.
"Maybe we can work through them together," he said.
"I have already been sharing many of them with you."
He shook his head. "For the most part, you've been stifling them. I can feel it."
She seemed to give the matter thought.
"It'll help me, too," he said. "It's comforting to know what you're feeling, T'Pol, and that you're experiencing the same things I am – doubt about being a parent, frustration, anger …."
For a moment, she regarded him – his gesture, his comments and more. Maybe it was his imagination, but for the first time in a long time, she seemed to gaze at him as if making some assessment. He furrowed his brow in response, and he heard a snippet of her thought.
He has strength of character.
"I will endeavor to do so," she said.
He gave a smile. "Good."
--
Trip was glad when Hoshi walked back onto the Bridge and nestled into her chair. She looked pooped, despite getting six hours of sleep, and her hair wasn't in the tidy ponytail she usually wore at her station. Even her shoulders sagged a little.
Six hours after being awake more than 24 will do that to ya, thought Tucker.
Sometimes Trip wondered if the rigors of the Expanse and the torture she'd undergone had caught up with her and whether she still had nightmares. He still had them about the Xindi and what happened to his sister, and he wasn't bound to a chair, forced to decode information for two days straight.
Stepping on the balls of his feet, he approached her gingerly.
"Hosh?" he asked.
Snapping back to attention, her eyes turned a little brighter. "Yes, sir?"
"I have something I'd like to talk with you about," he said.
Curling up his finger, he led her into the Ready Room and then sat on the edge of Archer's desk, his hands folded into his lap as he imagined the captain would've done.
"Hosh, you look beat-tired."
A flimsy smile crossed her face. "I'm fine, sir."
He shook his head, and before he could open it again, she interrupted. "I think I've had more sleep than you have, Commander, and I have less to worry about."
His hand reached out and took her bicep tenderly before he released it.
"If you're up for it, I have something I'd like you to look into. It'd be a favor for me," he said.
Her eyebrows climbed onto her head.
"I think we have a spy on board," he said. "I think Terra Prime got Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol's DNA from here. Aboard Enterprise."
Her eyebrows slid into a deep furrow and he nodded.
He said, "I don't like it either, but Dr. Phlox and I think it's true. And I'm betting they contacted someone back home to assist them or send them a hair follicle or more to create that child."
The Communications Officer folded her arms. "How old is the little girl?"
"Six months. It means someone must've given it to Terra Prime in the Expanse."
"Or when we arrived on Earth."
"I suppose. Although, Phlox thinks they would've needed more time than just a year to develop a hybrid."
"I still can't believe someone would do that," she said.
He couldn't disagree. "That means you'll look into it?" he asked.
"And what exactly should I be looking for?"
"Someone who transmitted a package, checked out some biohazard packing material, anything suspicious …. Phlox may be able to help you."
"Yes, sir."
"I keep asking you to do the impossible, but you know what, Ensign?"
She shook her head.
"You keep doing it. Thanks for you help. I owe ya one."
A genuine smile worked onto her face, pushing aside the purple bruising under her eyes. "Then, I want to see Singing in the Rain next Tuesday."
He'd planned The Wolfman for that night, but gave a smile and a wink.
"You got it."
--
Reed sipped at his cup with a frown. He'd talked himself into and out of following Rachel at least a dozen times. And though he hated to admit it, he followed a gut instinct that told him to sit still until she came back.
It also allowed him to sip his coffee while looking out at the Paris.
Springtime in the city was like none other – trees blossoming, tourists kissing and sunshine caressing gothic buildings, bringing the temperature up to where one might need only a light jacket. The city gardens shone like none other and even places outside the town, like Versailles, radiated. The Arc de Triumph had a circle of flowers – red and yellow tulips – encircling it. At least from what he remembered.
He wouldn't be biking there today, this was a trip with a purpose.
Taking another swig of his coffee, he thought about Rachel's response. There was a Terra Prime spy onboard, maybe someone who took DNA from Commander T'Pol and Captain Archer.
I wouldn't have thought anyone on Enterprise could do such a thing.
In Malcolm's own list of "shady characters" were only a few crewmen, including Commander Kelby, the snot-nosed kid who took over Engineering in Trip's absence. Although Reed had a blinding loyalty to Tucker, Kelby was a prat who couldn't make even the most meager of decisions. It turned his stomach. The boy, and that's what he was, had been promoted before his turn. Why Tucker had recommended him for an extra set of bars, and not that Malcolm would complain, but … earning bars before he personally did, burned him.
Commander Kelby.
He'd ask Rachel about that engineer when she returned. With his coffee poised at his mouth, a stranger's voice was behind him.
"You're from Enterprise – the ship that saved us from the Xindi."
Malcolm narrowed his eyes, turning to a tall man with a dark moustache. The gentleman was in his late 50's or early 60's, which made his dark hair somewhat of an anomaly against his wrinkled skin.
"You must have me mistaken for someone else, sir," lied Reed.
"I watched my screen when the heroes of the Expanse returned, after destroying the Xindi weapon. I made no mistake. Your name is Lt. Reed."
"No." With a smile, he tried to change the man's mind. "But, I get that a lot."
"My daughter was killed because of the Xindi. She was vacationing in Argentina."
He must be the owner that Rachel told me about."I'm very sorry to hear that. Seems everyone lost someone there." He shook his head again. "I wish I could take credit for being someone on the Enterprise, for getting those bastards, but I can't. I'm just a tourist."
The man wrinkled his forehead. "I don't think so, masseur."
Why did Rachel take me to this coffee shop? Especially if she knew the proprietor could be a member of Terra Prime?
"Why don't I just pay, and--"
"If Enterprise had not gone poking through the galaxy, Earth would've remained safe."
"Listen, mate--"
"No, you listen! My daughter would still be alive if it wasn't for you! People celebrate what your ship did, but it was Enterprise who caused these aliens to come in the first place."
Reed slipped a few credits on the table, to pay for his coffee, and was about to stand up, when he realized there was a metal contraption sticking into his back. It was a phase pistol or weapon of some kind. For a split second, Malcolm thought he would throwing the man behind him; the tactical officer had taken down more difficult opponents – a man in his late 50s, holding a weapon as if he hated doing so, was no match for him.
The proprietor said, "I'll take you to Miro. He'll know what to do with you. Stand up very slowly and put your hands in the air."
It was then that Malcolm put his hands in the air, producing an odd smile. The slight raising of his lips wasn't just realizing he'd make his way into seeing the possible leader of Terra Prime, but noticing Rachel's raven hair giving her away from behind a cart across the street.
I was bait.
--
One darkened corridor led to another when finally, T'Pol spoke through the hushed darkness.
"This is it."
"What's it?"
He heard the tapping of a few buttons and a contraption come to life. The sound was cranky like rusted machinery parts groaning against ancient cables. A clang finally resounded less than a few feet away and through the blackness, Archer would barely make out what looked like an old mining elevator.
Stepping in, T'Pol maneuvered a bar into position, the lever to indicate which floor, and the elevator slowly shook taking them to the top. Each creak and moan, cables complaining, made the captain more nervous.
This mining lift is still in use, she thought.
The Vulcan, who'd had the foresight to stuff a phase pistol in her medical bag, retrieved it laying the bag at her feet and clicked the nozzle of her weapon to energize it. She placed the scanner in a pocket.
Metal doors screeched open, light poured in – the clinical white glow of a sterile environment like a hospital or business. The captain's eyes squinted, blinded, and then when they'd adjusted to the light scanned the hallway, noticing a banner with a fist raised in triumph, the symbol of the Orpheus Mining Colony. On further inspection, he looked again and realized it was a more intricate design – it was the one Colonel Greene had used to unite Earthers who remained free of radiation. It was a cry of extermination. His blood froze and his feet rooted themselves to where he stood.
"It's the mark of a holocaust," he said.
Giving a near frown, she closed her eyes. "I know."
Taking the scanner from her pocket for a moment, she pointed it into the air.
"We are close. Less than two yards," she said. With that, she stuffed the device back in her pocket.
"Let's go," he said.
Phase pistol pointed in front of her, she shoved it to the right and then left, and then skulked down the hallway, with him sneaking behind her. Their boots barely squeaked against the overly polished tile floor and he could hear his own breath struggling with the urgency of the moment.
T'Pol stopped suddenly. He took it as a sign that humanoids were in front of them, less than twenty feet away and rounding the next bend. Stepping backward, hoping to hide themselves behind a turn, they heard a voice behind them.
"I knew you would come."
Archer turned, his fists clenching as if to use them to see John Paxton, entrepreneur, staring at him with a ridiculous smile on his face. Behind him were three guards, all with phase rifles pointed in their direction. With something akin to pride, Archer noticed T'Pol clung to her weapon, her finger hovering over the trigger.
"You came here for Abomi," said Paxton.
"Who?" said T'Pol.
"Abomination – our nickname for your binary clone."
Our daughter, she thought.
Her finger squeezed just a little harder and before light could travel from her weapon, the guards felled her and she slumped to the ground. Ignoring the rifles on him, Archer's eyes stayed on his first officer as he winced due to her pain, shared through the bond.
T'Pol's eyes closed, and when a phaser blast hit him, so did his own. He didn't miss the ominous words that floated in the air, dreamily.
"I'm glad you arrived in time. We have a reporter that would very much like to meet you, and hear what you've been doing to your first officer." Paxton laughed. "Very eager. It'll be a real scoop. Eh, Watson?"
"Yes, sir."
With his last possible ounce of strength, Archer reached for his first officer and barely touched her forearm.
TBC