29 June 2157. 1530 Hours Earth Standard Time.
It was difficult to work in the icy room, but T'Pol managed to keep from shivering.
She couldn't remember the last time she had been this cold, but, using every single mental trick she had learned, she forced herself to ignore the temperature. As she hugged herself in a vain attempt to retain body heat, she found her attention once more beginning to drift and she struggled to refocus on the problem at hand. At least three standard hours had passed since their captors had accelerated to warp speed. She mentally calculated the distance between the ship and Denebris, factoring in probable warp capabilities of a ship this size. She seriously doubted that it could top warp four, but she made adjustments to her calculations in the unlikely event that it could. Such mental calisthenics served no real purpose beyond distracting her from their current situation; but focusing on the simplicity of pure mathematics and warp calculations was far preferable to obsessing about her mate's current condition.
No longer could she sense Trip's mind as she had while she had meditated earlier. With each moment that passed, an even greater amount of distance was put between them. It was ironic, she mused, that there had been no problem connecting with him during his short-lived transfer to Columbia; but now, years after they had acknowledged the mental bond that linked them, she found it impossible to replicate. Even in the weeks after his return to Enterprise, they had still managed to retain the ability to converse telepathically but, as they grew closer both physically and emotionally, the connection gradually changed from a simple touching of the mind to something more akin to communion. No longer did they need to use words: thoughts alone were enough. Having finally set aside their absurd games of miscommunication and misunderstanding, they had truly become of one mind.
Thus was the nature of the Vulcan mating bond.
T'Pol leaned her head back against the cold wall of the cell, mildly grateful for the length of her hair as it cushioned her neck against the chill. Growing it out had been an interesting exercise in hygiene, one that occasionally necessitated additional meditation due to the frustration inherent in dealing with longer hair, but the result had unexpected uses that she had not anticipated at the outset of the experiment. The ability to conceal a micro-transmitter within the filamentous outgrowth of dead cells from the skin, for example, was something she would not have considered before. And despite some of the rumors circulating among Endeavour's officers and crew, Trip's positive reaction to the new length of her hair had absolutely nothing to do with her decision to allow it to go uncut.
Nothing at all.
Once more, Lieutenant Hayes paced across the room, passing through her line of vision as he slowly conducted another anti-surveillance sweep. By her count, four hundred and thirty-seven such sweeps had been made in the last hour. In that time, he had discovered no additional eavesdropping equipment, but that did not stop him from continuing to seek what was not there. She recognized the effort for what it was: a distraction.
Hayes paused at the hatch once more, fingers tracing the piece of metal that covered its access pad. T'Pol said nothing as he tapped the welded metal, clearly pretending to seek weak points in its surface. Had she not been Vulcan, she would have smiled at his attempt to feign incompetence. It was time, she decided, to address his unique heritage. Escaping from this situation would require both of them to utilize their respective talents to their fullest. Now was no time for continuing deception.
"The hatch is vacuum-sealed," she said into the too quiet cell. Hayes glanced at her once before returning his attention to the hatch; his fingers had now shifted to the hinges and he knelt to examine the lower one. Inexplicably, she found herself grateful that he did not look at her for longer than several seconds. On the rare occasions when he did so, an unexplained threat seemed to lurk in his eyes that disturbed her.
"Yes ma'am," he responded stiffly and she raised an eyebrow as the sharpness of his tone. "This is an old ship, Commander," Hayes pointed out as he began toying with the middle hinge of the hatch. "We might get lucky."
"In my experience," T'Pol stated calmly, "there is no such thing as luck." The moment the words emerged from her lips, she realized the inaccuracy of the statement. More than once, she had marveled at the ability of Commodore Archer to defy the laws of probability and emerge relatively unscathed from any number of situations that should have led to a certain death. Trip also had displayed an uncanny ability to emerge intact from improbable circumstances or to be in exactly the right place at the right time. Luck was as good an explanation as any.
The lieutenant gave her another look, this one half amused, and she tried not to frown at him; nothing she had said should have been amusing. After spending a moment reviewing her words, T'Pol mentally shrugged. Humans were impossible to predict; human males doubly so. Six years around Trip had taught her that lesson remarkably well.
"Well, Commander," Hayes smirked, "this time, we happen to be in luck." He gestured to the three hinges. "These aren't as sturdy as they look. I think, with a little effort, we might be able to work them free."
It was a lie, and she recognized it as such immediately. The hinges on the hatch had been one of the first things she had checked upon waking, and they were as secure as any she had seen before. Vulcans possessed, on average, between two and four times human strength and, if she was unable to budge the hinges, the probability that a normal human could do so was statistically null.
But then, Lieutenant Junior Grade Nathaniel James Hayes was far from normal
"It is fortunate," she stated calmly, "that you possess sufficient strength to accomplish such a task." Hayes looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and she returned his gaze with a bland expression that revealed nothing. Trip had occasionally called it her 'poker face,' and that expression had led her to additional research into human card games, research that had finally resolved her lingering questions regarding the curious human picture of canines that she had seen on Vigrid Station. As in many other cases, she found the human expression to be surprisingly apt.
"Yes, ma'am," the lieutenant said in response, once more glancing away quickly and focusing far too exclusively on the middle hinge. She recognized an attempt to evade additional questions and was nearly amused. A moment of silence passed as T'Pol assessed the situation and made a decision: now was as good a time as any other.
"I am curious, Lieutenant," she said cautiously. Hayes shifted his attention to her without actually looking at her, and she continued. "How exactly are you planning to dislodge the hinges?" She waited until he opened his mouth before pressing the point. "The hinges that I, as a Vulcan, could not dislodge." Again, he started to respond and she spoke over him. "A normal human does not possess the tactile strength necessary for such a task."
The lieutenant's reaction was interesting to observe: His eyes narrowed immediately and he studied her for an extended moment, neither breathing nor moving. Emotion played across his features; he wet his lips as his eyes darted away for an instant. When he looked at her again, T'Pol met his eyes calmly and waited. The silence stretched into minutes as he stared at her, but she gave him no indication of her own thoughts. Slowly, his expression transformed into one that was half-stricken and half-relieved.
"You know," he finally whispered. It was not phrased as a question. T'Pol said nothing in response, instead inclining an eyebrow. It was a tactic that she had learned in her youth from her mother, and one she had used to considerable effect while aboard Enterprise. By remaining silent and focusing her entire attention on the person she addressed, she managed to present the illusion of knowing much more than she actually knew. In most instances, the person in question would then make additional comments or excuses, which then often gave her insight into what was being concealed. It had worked quite well for several years, until Trip had happened to tumble upon the secret during the Expanse mission and then later revealed it to Archer.
She still hadn't quite forgiven him for that.
"How long have you known?" Hayes asked, still crouched by the hatch. Another eyebrow quirk was her response, and he glowered at the floor briefly before looking up again. "It was the computer crash, wasn't it?"
"You aren't as efficient as you think," T'Pol answered him smoothly, giving nothing away. Lieutenant Hayes sighed heavily as he ran his fingers through his hair.
"I was following orders," he started to explain before shooting her a glare. "As an ex-spook, I figured you would understand."
She blinked in surprise at that. Her past career as an operative for the Ministry of Security was not commonly known, nor was it something that a junior lieutenant should be aware of.
"I was not a spook," she replied, hyper-annunciating the slang term. Trip had used the expression once following one of their ... explorations, so it wasn't entirely unfamiliar to her; the idea of her once being a covert agent had inexplicably excited him, which T'Pol still didn't understand.
"Close enough," Hayes muttered. He glared at the wall before sighing once more. "Harris warned me you were dangerous," he grumbled and T'Pol fought the urge to raise an eyebrow in surprise at the name. She recognized it, of course, as the mysterious individual that had once been Lieutenant Commander Reed's employer. It answered one question that T'Pol had been wrestling with in regards to Hayes: clearly he had been noticed by someone. "I guess you can understand why I'm supposed to keep a low profile."
"Genetic augmentation is illegal on Earth," she responded coolly. Hayes winced at that but nodded grimly as she continued. "There are severe repercussions for those involved in such research, regardless of intentions."
"It's not like I had any choice in the matter," the lieutenant snapped in response, and T'Pol rewarded the comment with an eyebrow raise. It had the desired effect, and Hayes looked down. Another long moment of silence passed.
"It was called the Achilles Project," Hayes said after several minutes, apparently taking her continued silence as an indication that she knew much of what he was revealing. Inwardly, she smiled. "A Canadian research team funded by a MACO black ops unit. They were trying to recreate Project: Superman from the twentieth century." He grunted and sank down to sit, wrapping his arms around himself to ward off the cold as he leaned against the wall. "They wanted to use modern technology and science to recreate the successes that led to Khan Noonien Singh, but without the failures."
"They were successful," T'Pol stated, her tone partially questioning, and Hayes shrugged.
"Mostly," he replied. "I'm faster, stronger and tougher than a human." T'Pol nearly frowned at the implication that the lieutenant no longer thought of himself as human. "My reflexes are quicker, I process information at a rate better than most computers, and I heal really fast." Hayes gave her a half smirk. "I also rate a five on the Vulcan intelligence test." She nearly frowned at that: a five was the highest level currently listed, and less than one percent of Vulcans were capable of such high level thinking.
T'Pol only rated a four point five six.
"Your parents?" she prompted, not liking the implication that this human was potentially more intelligent than she was, and his smirk faded.
"My mom was recruited by the black ops team straight out of Boot Camp," the lieutenant said, looking away from her as if he was embarrassed. "As far as I know, my dad was never told the entire truth." That didn't surprise her; from her interactions with Major Hayes during the Expanse mission, she had perceived him to be a rigidly honest individual who would have not been involved in something like this. "I'm pretty sure he suspected something, though," Hayes continued, his expression turning sad as he recalled his lost parent. "He knew my mom went to a fertility clinic in Montreal, but he didn't know that it was a cover for the program. And then he was always being deployed to hot spots so he wasn't around enough to actually see many of my temper tantrums."
T'Pol was silent as she studied the lieutenant, processing this new information; he squirmed under her gaze. Finally, she spoke again.
"The research team?"
"They were shut down by the Canadian government," Hayes replied, shrugging. "My mom never told me the specifics, but I did some research a couple of years ago." He began rubbing his hands together for warmth. "One of the researchers, a Doctor Castanaveras, started questioning some of the more unethical experiments that were being done, and he went to the government. There was a firefight when the authorities came, and that started a fire." Hayes shrugged again. "Or a fire was started. Either way, the complex was burned to the ground along with most of their records." He smiled slightly. "Apparently, they never made digital copies of their work. Some sort of safety measure, I guess."
"And Harris?" The lieutenant broke eye contact at hearing the man's name, and glanced away once more.
"He recruited me during high school," Hayes grimaced at some memory. "That was a difficult time for me. Teenage hormones and Augment fury don't exactly mix well." He looked back at her. "Harris saved a couple of lives when he brought me into the Section," the lieutenant stated, and T'Pol made a mental note of the word: Section. "He gave me a purpose and a goal… one that didn't include killing the captain of the football team because of an incidental slight." It was said with such absolute conviction that T'Pol knew Hayes was not exaggerating.
To her surprise, she found herself experiencing something akin to sympathy for Lieutenant Hayes. According to what she had learned about Augments, they were more like primitive Vulcans before Surak's Reformation than modern humans. Blessed with superior physical and mental gifts, they were also cursed with untamed emotions that could run wild at a moment's notice. Anger and hate were dangerous in a creature with such physical might as the lieutenant, and giving him something on which to focus his entire life was not only essential, it was familiar. For Vulcans, that focal point was Control; Lieutenant Hayes' focus was this mysterious Section.
A sudden beep sounded, and T'Pol felt the neural inhibitor activate. She slumped to her side, once again unable to force her limbs to answer her demands. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Hayes in a similar state and, judging from his grunts, he was struggling as hard as she to defeat the inhibitor.
The hatch opened with a hiss and a familiar-looking Orion male entered. Harrad-Sar stepped through the doorway, his face set in grim lines, and looked down at Hayes' limp form. At once his expression transformed into an angry scowl, and he turned upon the Orion male following him. Furious words were exchanged in their native tongue, and Harrad-Sar's aggressive gestures forced the second male from the room. With a final glare at Hayes, Harrad-Sar stepped through the doorway and sealed the door once more. Another beep sounded and T'Pol felt control return to her muscles.
"This is bad," Hayes said before T'Pol could speak. She narrowed her eyes, and he continued. "The big Orion was pissed that they got the wrong guy." The lieutenant speared her with a look and she was suddenly reminded that he understood Harrad-Sar's language. "They wanted you and Captain Tucker."
"Why?" she asked, although she already suspected the answer.
"Because the Romulans want you." Hayes was bleak. "Ma'am, we are in deep trouble."