Author's Note: Very sorry for the extremely long delay! I haven't forgotten about the story, and I'm slowly plodding along. However, I had about six weeks of hell on Earth at work, and I'm also in the process of a move to another state. So while progress is slow, there is still some progress happening.
Thanks for all of the reviews! I love the feedback.
Chapter Ten
Malcolm
With the captain's approval, it was time to find answers. Trip and I stood in the corridor of Shuttlebay Two, anxious to examine the craft wreaking havoc on our crew.
The last time anyone was in the room one crewman died. The other was still lying in sickbay. That knowledge and the images it conjured caused me to pause, my hand poised to enter my access code. I glanced over at Trip as he leaned against the wall. "Are you certain you're up for this?"
Suspicion clouded his expression. "Why wouldn't I be?"
I coughed and pretended to be suddenly fascinated with the access panel. "I was just thinking… Last night, in T'Pol's quarters…"
Trip's cheeks flushed with anger. "I'll be no worse off in there than I am anywhere else on the ship," he retorted. "Let's just get in there and get the damn job done."
"Very well." I took a deep breath, steeled my nerve, and input my code into the door lock.
I really don't know what I expected to see once the doors slid open. The room had been left undisturbed in the few days since the incident. The hatch of the small spacecraft was open, stuck at an odd angle. Aside from the ship, the room was empty. The cavernous room was soo eerily silent, one could have heard the proverbial pin as it dropped to the deck plating. An involuntary shiver washed over me.
Next to me, Trip swept the room with a medical tricorder. Phlox had suggested we use the devices to isolate the creatures when we didn't have immediate access to the ship's bio-sensors. Trip's eyes darted around the room and tension tightened his shoulders as he scanned the bay. Finally, he relaxed and turned to me.
"We're good," he said. "Nothin' here but you and me."
"For now."
Trip shook his head, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "Always the pessimist." Cautiously, he approached the craft and ran his hand along the smooth exterior. "'Course, you're probably right. Those things seem to like me for some reason."
I followed him, my fingers tapping nervously on the butt of the phaser holstered to my hip. "The counselor says it's because you're the easiest target."
He stopped with his hand still on the hull of the craft, and glared at me over his shoulder. "She said what?"
"I think she simply meant you have the most on your mind at the moment," I said in an attempt to placate him before the situation escalated. "If these beings do prey on our emotions and amplify them, I think she was implying you are the one easiest to agitate at this moment."
He dropped his eyes and stared at a blank spot on the side of the craft, and I could see the conflict warring within him. Eventually he sighed, his shoulders slumping. "I know she's right, and I've really been tryin' to use some of the relaxation techniques T'Pol's taught me over the years. But…" He trailed off.
"But?"
Trip's brow furrowed as he tentatively stuck his head into the craft. "But I wish she'd leave her nose out of my damn business."
I fought a grin and accepted the tricorder he handed to me. "Have you considered the possibility that, as ship's counselor, she may just know what she's talking about?"
"Yes." There was a brief pause before he muttered under his breath, "I hate it when she's right."
I chuckled softly as I followed him into the ship. We were both slow and careful, as if we expected something to jump out at us at any moment. My hand rested on my phase pistol, which soothed my frayed nerves. Trip made his way to the pilot's chair while I carefully searched the remainder of the ship.
After a few moments, I couldn't stand the silence any longer. "What does the computer system look like?" I called over my shoulder as I examined a storage locker filled with what seemed to be rations.
"Well, I'm not sure." I turned to see Trip running his hand over the top if his head and staring at the main console with frustration etched in his face. "I can't even find the damned 'on' switch."
"I didn't think there was a piece of technology in the galaxy Commander Charles Tucker couldn't master." My lips twitched with amusement.
He glanced up at me with a self-depreciating grin. "I may have just met my match." He slid down out of the pilot's seat, removed the access panel under the console, and began tinkering with the conduits below. "I've never seen anything like this before."
I crouched down behind him, peering over his shoulder at the complex network of channels running under the console. "Hmmm." It certainly wasn't like anything I'd seen before, either. "Perhaps connect this conduit to this one?" I reached past him to point.
"That'd work on the Enterprise, but I'm not sure if it'd work here." Trip studied it, and then shrugged. "Worth a try, I guess."
I moved back to the rear of the ship once again so he would have room to work. After several minutes of muttered curses and annoyed exclamations, Trip emerged from beneath the panels. "Power."
"Power?"
"The ship has been sittin' out in the middle of nowhere for a long, long time. I bet she doesn't have a bit of juice left in her." He stood, and before I could reply, exited the ship. I peered out of the hatch in time to see his retreating back dart out the bay doors.
I crouched in the alien ship for several minutes, a bit at a loss about what I should be doing. I was fairly certain Trip would be back momentarily–at least I hoped so. The very idea of sitting alone in the craft for long was unsettling, images of what transpired when it was opened spinning through my mind. Relief flooded over me as Trip returned with a long run of cable and a box of equipment.
He crouched next to me and unpacked tools from the box. "Let's jump-start this thing," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Seeing him like his old self did my heart good.
In a few moments, the cabling was connected to the alien ship. Instantly, the overhead lights brightened the cabin and the console lit up. "Very impressive Commander Tucker," I said with a grin. "I believe your record remains untarnished."
I may as well have been speaking to a brick wall, as Trip was so focused on his work he didn't appear to hear me. "Malcom, what the hell do you make of this?" he asked, pointing to the control panel. An image of what seemed to be a keyboard flickered in and out of existence. Several other displays also came to life around the pilot's seat, one projecting the quavering image of the ship, along with damage indicators throughout various points of the vessel.
Trip and I exchanged a look, and with a shrug, he reached a tentative hand toward the keyboard. I held my breath, and took a small, nervous step back. It fizzled, and then several lights brightened on the panel. "I believe it's–or was–a holographic interface," Trip said.
"Holographic?" I continued to stare at it, struggling to understand how it would work. He slid back under the console, presumably to get a better look at the ship's operations. I cautiously inched toward the instrument panel as a loud alarm and flashing lights filled the cabin. "Are you sure it's supposed to do that?" I called.
"Don't worry Malcom, I know what I'm doing," Trip replied, his voice almost cheerful. Seconds later a shower of sparks sent me backing quickly to the back of the cabin, and the commander unleashed a string of profanity. Muttering to himself, Trip crawled out from under the console. He rubbed his hand, a fresh plasma burn welling up on the back of it.
"You should have Dr. Phlox take a look at that." I nodded towards the injury.
"It'll be fine," he said dismissively as he pulled something from beneath the instrument array. "Let's see what we can pull out of this thing." He held out a small object triumphantly. "If I'm right, this is the ship's 'black box'. Hopefully there's something on here that'll help us out. We'll need to get Hoshi to interface it with the translator, though."
"Well, then," I said, already moving to the hatch. "Let's go find Hoshi."
"Right behind you."
Hoshi
Retrieving the logs from the alien craft's black box didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would. With the translation complete, I settled at my console to review the information. The first entries were mundane, detailing the everyday activities one would expect on a ship of that size. Systems checks. Sensor scans. Data collection. The pilot–a female, as it turns out, named Andara–was thorough. She entered every step she had taken into both the ship's log and her personal record. The craft she piloted, the Aquila, was an attack vessel, and her assignment had been to test a prototype tactical system.
My lips twitched with amusement and I glanced across the bridge at our armory officer. Malcolm would be drooling if he could see some of the capabilities Andara claimed Aquila had.
I turned back to the logs. As I continued, I began to notice a shift in Andara's tone. In the beginning, she spun her tale in a very precise, scientific manner. I heard T'Pol's voice in my head as I read. Slowly, she began to discuss her feelings on her work. Her loneliness after so many weeks working in space. Andara talked about her longing for her family at home.
The detached, technical discussion of the weapons systems tests faded and she became more erratic with each passing word. Paranoia set in, and she grew convinced some strange alien race had planted a device on Aquila to watch her every move, with the intent of stealing the prototype system. She outlined drastic and complex measures she put into place to protect herself, such as welding the hatch closed and sealing herself in.
Over time, she descended into what I can only call madness. The once fluid, deliberate voice became a mish-mash of unintelligible gibberish. I tried to make sense of her final entries, but eventually concluded she had been too far gone to make any sense.
But then I ran across the final entry; the words sent a chill dancing down my spine.
They are coming.
They are coming.
They are coming.
They are coming.
They…
Are…
"Captain!"
My call sounded much more panicked than I intended. Captain Archer's head snapped away from his hushed conversation with T'Pol at the science station. He quickly glanced around, confusion furrowing his brow. "Hoshi?"
I took a deep breath to gather my composure and spoke again. "I think you need to take a look at this."
He glanced at T'Pol, and crossed the few steps between my station and hers. "What do you have?" he asked, bending to peer over my shoulder.
I moved aside to allow him room to read. Still unsettled, I watched Captain Archer's face. His expression grew increasingly grim as he skimmed through them, and I could almost hear the thoughts churning in his mind.
"Are you sure this translated correctly?" he asked once he finished. Worry darkened his eyes as he looked at me.
I nodded. "Absolutely sure, sir." My voice was little more than a whisper.
The captain fell silent, his attention fixed on the display in front of us. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped when the door to the lift slid open and Commander Tucker's voice filled the bridge.
"Were you able to get the logs translated?"
Captain Archer's eyes snapped up, and the color drained from his face. "Yeah," he finally managed, a bit hoarsely. He smiled tightly. "It came through just fine."
"Oh good," Trip replied. "Anything we can use?"
"We're not sure yet. Hopefully, we'll know soon enough." The captain glanced at me. "Hoshi, send those logs to the counselor and tell her I want her to take a look at them. I'd like her opinion on them before we take any more steps." He squeezed my shoulder in a silent warning and dropped his voice so only I could hear him. "And don't tell anyone what's in those logs just yet."
"Yes, sir." I hurriedly forwarded the logs from my terminal to Callie's office. I lifted my eyes long enough to give Captain Archer a visual acknowledgement of his order, only to catch the brief glimmer of fear in his eyes as he spared one more gaze in Trip's direction.
With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, my fingers flew over the console. He didn't have to say it, but I knew the same thought was spinning through the captain's mind that was tumbling through mine.
If we didn't move fast enough, would Trip end up like Andara?
Jon
When I didn't hear from Callie after two hours, I headed toward her office. I knew I should give her time to read the logs and analyze them. For all I knew, she was with a patient. We were all in emotional upheaval because of the creatures, and I was well aware her workload had tripled. But I couldn't wait. As I read through the logs on Hoshi's console, Trip's face flashed through my mind. My best friend. My chief engineer.
I would do everything in my power to protect him from the same fate Aquila's pilot had met.
Hesitating outside of Callie's door, I took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. I heard her distracted answer from within, granting me entrance. I blew out a relieved sigh. At least I wasn't interrupting a counseling session.
Callie was seated behind her desk, absorbed in the display. She pinned her hair up that morning, but strands of it escaped and teased around her face. Tucking one behind her ear, she spared a glance in my direction and then back to the monitor. The corners of her mouth twitched with amusement. "If you want this done right, you can't expect instantaneous results."
I moved around the desk and perched myself on the edge of it. "I don't have the luxury of giving you the time you need to do it right. Just give me what you've got."
She blew out a breath and looked up at me. "I don't think I need to tell you there's cause for concern," she began. "My assessment is Andara was under extreme emotional distress which resulted in paranoia. I think." Callie rubbed her forehead with the tip of her fingers. "I'm making educated guesses based on the evidence I have. For all we know, something may very well have been trying to get at her."
"But you don't think so." It was more of a statement than a question.
"Honestly? No." She turned from me, her eyes once again fixing on the display. "There could have been something after her, but based on what we've seen on Enterprise, I'm pretty sure what we see in these logs is a result of what those creatures did to her."
I stared over her shoulder at the screen. "Do you think this is going to happen to us?" I already knew the answer, but I needed to hear someone say it.
Slowly she nodded, still not looking at me. "One by one, yes, I'd say so."
I heard the meaning beneath her words. "Trip is first." My gut wrenched as I voiced what we were both thinking. "Isn't he?"
Sighing, Callie moved around the desk and leaned against it. "If we're going to get technical, Summerfield was first." She wrapped her arms almost defensively around herself. "But I am worried about Trip." She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and I could see her fear. "These things are pretty attracted to him."
I ran a hand over my face. "Was there anything at all in those logs that will help us fight them?"
"Not really," she admitted. "I understand what to expect a little better, but I still have no idea how to fight them."
She leaned to the side and rested her head on my shoulder. It required every bit of self-control I possessed to resist the compulsion to slide an arm around her and pull her closer to me. Her lavender scent stirred a hundred memories I thought I had long buried. Unconsciously, I sighed.
That pulled Callie out of her reverie. She snapped upright, her cheeks flushing. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"
"It's okay." I tucked the strand of hair back behind her ear. "You're upset and worried. Besides…" A small smile tugged on my lips. "I didn't mind."
She studied me, indecision on her face. Her eyes closed. "Jon," she said, pleading in her voice, "I need you to be somewhere else."
Startled and hurt, I pulled back. "Excuse me?"
"Don't take it so personally." Her tone was gentle. "We know the creatures loose on the ship feed on our stronger emotions." I nodded. "Then the best way to protect ourselves right now is to set aside those feelings." She smiled ruefully. "You're not helping my situation."
That was the closest Callie came to admitting she still had feelings for me, and I knew it was the closest she would come–for now. I pushed off of her desk and stood. "Then I'm going back to the bridge. I have T'Pol reviewing the technical logs for the ship. I'll see if I can help her. In the meantime, talk the situation over with Phlox. The two of you put your heads together and see what you can come up with after reviewing the ship's personal logs." I paused, reaching out to touch her cheek. "We'll get through this. And when this is all over, you and I are going to talk."
Callie nodded mutely as I strolled out the door.