Chapter Eleven - Odd Alliances
Archer swam up through layers of fog and mist. His head pounded like the aftermath of an ill-advised bender. He pried his eyes open, and shifted uncomfortably. Testing his limbs for injury, one by one, he found that his wrists were manacled together in front of him. The angled chair creaked beneath him, and his gaze automatically flew to the workbench across the room. Lab Tech wasn't there. Its equipment was neatly stacked, waiting, perhaps, for yet another round of "cooperation." His mind skittered away from the memory. The past twelve or so hours were on their way to being buried as deeply inside his sub-conscious as he could manage. He was exhausted, deeply ashamed, and – dammit – sore. It was no consolation that Lab Tech had begun to seem more and more reluctant and perhaps even apologetic each time it approached him for a fresh specimen. Each time, Archer had been torn between hoping that whatever experiment Lab Tech was conducting would work already and he would be spared further violation, and praying that the assignment would be a dismal failure for the sake of some unnamed, doomed race.
As the long minutes passed, he didn't know whether Lab Tech had finally succeeded or simply given up. He didn't have any more defenses, and had stopped struggling against the inevitable long ago. After a while, Archer drifted off into a restless, angry, exhausted sleep.
In his dreams, he moved in sensual almost-contact with Darala, her eyes blinking sideways as she led him to a wide red couch. She pushed him backwards, smiling mysteriously, as she stripped the clothing from him with one motion. He was unable to rise now, and he thrashed helplessly on the couch, catching a glimpse of his First Officer watching him, unmoving, in the shadows. He couldn't make a sound, only opened his mouth wider and wider in a silent scream, trying to form her name. She stared at him blankly, and withdrew deeper into the darkness. Somehow, he knew she wasn't coming back for him, and he surrendered himself to the harsh, insistent hands pulling him apart.
Those hands eventually became solid as he was awakened by a seemingly frantic Lab Tech. The alien unlocked his legs, and, using the electromagnetic pole, yanked Archer to a sitting position. The pole gave Lab Tech an advantage that Archer could not overcome. He tumbled off of the chair and onto the floor, taking the brunt of the fall on his wrists and elbows. He managed to put his knees underneath himself but lacked the leverage to raise himself back up to his feet. Lab Tech seemed not to care, dragging the human almost effortlessly along the smooth floor and across a wide hall. Ignoring Archer's grunts of pain and protest, Lab Tech shoved him unceremoniously into a wall access vent and disengaged the electromagnetic pole. It fastened a cold, scaled hand across Archer's mouth and pressed, unmistakably conveying, Shut the hell up. The access panel slammed into place.
That was when Archer realized that he was crouched in a corner of a very small cube, more a closet than a cell. Even with his long legs bent up, forcing his knees to his bare chest, his toes were jammed against the far wall. If he tilted his head slightly, he had a fairly good view of half of the main room on the other side of the vent screen. Ambient light filtered in dimly. Instinctively, he stayed in the shadow, out of sight.
Now he could hear footsteps, loud and purposeful, along with voices. The door opened, and Lab Tech strode in, followed by Boss Flunky. Two more individuals followed. From his vantage point, Archer could only see up to about chest-high, but it was obvious that the two new beings were of a different species from Lab Tech. They were much taller, and of a different general shape. Bi-pedal, two recognizable hands each - humanoid, then, at least.
They wore clothing suitable for cold weather: thick black trousers and heavy soled black boots – there were no spikes on the toes, so these couldn't be Klingons. The new aliens spoke at length, their tone and cadence even and calm, using actual words instead of squeaks and hisses. The language sounded vaguely familiar to Archer, recognizable but not decipherable, in the way that Russian or Hebrew would be to his untrained, Standard English-accustomed ear.
Boss Flunky seemed especially agitated. It chirped and whirred, gesticulating with animation. Beside him, Lab Tech surreptitiously reached into the front pocket of its smock, and suddenly Archer could understand exactly one half of the conversation.
All is as you requested. The flat mechanical tone was the same, and he couldn't see anyone's face, but Archer knew that Boss Flunky was the speaker. Lab Tech seemed removed from the situation, almost a disinterested party. You will be pleased with the results.
These must be the mysterious patrons, Archer realized as one of the new aliens replied, the ones who had commissioned the virus in the first place. He resisted the urge to scoot closer to the mesh screen, to get a better look. Lab Tech's urgency to hide him took on a more sinister meaning. Clearly, the alien was of the opinion that the patrons, whoever or whatever they were, would put Archer to death immediately if they discovered him. He strained his ears to catch the rest of the conversation.
Yes, there were three. Boss Flunky said in answer to some unintelligible question. Two of them attempted to escape, but were disposed of. Archer's heart sank. T'Pol and Egawa had not made it, then. He pressed his fists against his mouth to keep from making a sound of distress. The other –
Expired a few hours ago, Lab Tech cut in, using exactly the same voice.
Archer froze.
He was immune to the virus, of course, but he had refused nourishment for some time. His body was weak and his functions ceased. It is of no importance, for he was of no further use to us. His physiology would have prevented him from being an effective breeder, in any case. Lab Tech's wrist flicked, a laugh. A labor intensive reproductive system. Highly inefficient.
This seemed to satisfy the patrons, as they had no response. Lab Tech drifted over to a cluttered workbench, opened what looked like a cryogenic vault, and retrieved a small silver case. It fumbled with a latch and raised the lid. The patrons moved just close enough to peer inside, but otherwise kept a cautious distance. Don't worry, they are well sealed, Lab Tech said, managing to sound condescending even through the translator box.
Archer could only see that the case contained several glassine vials of various sizes. If his theory was correct, they contained both a virus and an antidote, cultivated somehow from his own body. He tensed his muscles for an instant, then slumped. There was no chance at all that he could spring from this cubicle, take out four able-bodied aliens without a weapon of any kind, and somehow find his way out of this prison and back to Enterprise. He didn't even know if he was confined on a ship or inside a planetside facility. For all he knew, this could be an orbiting station with no breathable atmosphere beyond these walls.
Only two hybrids survived, Lab Tech went on. It remains to be seen whether they will continue to thrive outside the laboratory.
The patron's response was less than enthusiastic.
It was the best we could do in the time provided, Boss Flunky added, at the tail end of the patron's diatribe. It took a great deal of time and effort to identify the compatible genetic structures. Of course, you are welcome to recreate our research if you are unsatisfied with the results.
One of the patrons grabbed the case from Lab Tech rather impatiently and fastened the latch, muttering.
We will need less than one cycle to clear this facility, Boss Flunky said, trailing the patrons to the door. Lab Tech stayed where it was, hands in pockets. As we agreed, the payment is ready?
The patrons didn't bother to answer that question as they strode out the door. It was clear to Archer what the pecking order was. Boss Flunky's questions reverted to clicks and squeals as it moved beyond the range of the translator box.
Lab Tech waited a moment, as if to make sure that Boss Flunky was not immediately coming back, then stepped over to the vent. It unlatched the faceplate and stooped down.
Archer caught his breath sharply and involuntarily recoiled in the tiny space. Lab Tech was no longer wearing its face mask. Its scaly, almost reptilian face was exposed. Archer's mind was thrown back to Darala's shuttle, days – maybe even weeks - before. This was the same alien species that had invaded the shuttle and killed the pilot and flight attendant. He knew first hand that he was physically outmatched, but he also remembered that these aliens were not invincible.
Lab Tech studied Archer for a moment, as if to gauge his reaction - and his intentions. Archer couldn't move, and even if he'd had the power, he was trapped in a box no bigger than a meter square. Lab Tech waited, as if to say, Well? But Archer knew when the odds were stacked against him, and right now, he had about a zillion-to-one chance of getting out of this box alive, no matter what he did. After a moment, Lab Tech blinked sideways and put its ungloved hand up. Stay. It is not safe yet. It flicked its wrist twice, snapped the vent shut and walked quickly back over to the vault.
Archer frowned. Safe? What in the hell –?
Boss Flunky stomped in, obviously angry. It crossed the room in several paces, and now Archer could see both of them from head to toe. Both still wore their laboratory smocks, but Boss Flunky's was unfastened, showing a stiff brown tunic underneath. Archer did not see a weapon, or even a holster. But that didn't mean there weren't armed guards outside the door, he reminded himself. He decided to follow Lab Tech's lead, at least for the moment. He had no illusions about what a scientist did with its subjects when the experiment was over. Lab Tech's hiding him probably meant only that there was more experimentation in store, not that his life had any intrinsic value to the alien. But then again, Lab Tech seemed to have kept its promise to try to provide a way of escape for T'Pol and Egawa, even if the plan had eventually failed.
Boss Flunky stepped aggressively close to Lab Tech. The patrons are displeased at the delay.
We gave them what they asked for, Lab Tech replied without concern, scanning the contents of the vault with a small sensor. One cycle earlier or later, what does it matter to the millions they will murder?
Watch yourself, Boss Flunky warned. Lab Tech turned and looked at its colleague without speaking, then resumed its work. Its partner went on. Think of it this way. You were given free rein with subjects nobody else has encountered before. Your data may be useful for some future research assignment. Certainly, the knowledge you've gained of the oomahn will be very lucrative.
Lab Tech kept its back to Boss Flunky, turning its attention to arranging the remaining vials in the cold storage vault with a set of tongs.
Many worlds will pay to know all about this species. Boss Flunky drew a thin cord from its pocket. What it eats, what its vulnerabilities are, how it can be defeated. The one who controls this information will be very wealthy, indeed. Lab Tech cried out and flailed suddenly as Boss Flunky wrapped the cord around its neck. The two aliens were of similar build, but Boss Flunky clearly had the advantage. Lab Tech writhed and struggled, trying to escape. It raised its clawed hands, futilely trying to loosen the cord.
Without thinking, Archer kicked the vent off of the cube and launched himself at the pair. The tongs Lab Tech had been using had slid across the floor. Archer tried to grasp the tool, but couldn't get his bound hands to cooperate. He dropped it twice, fumbling each time to pick it up with the edges of his hands. Finally, he managed to curl his fingers around it, holding it like a dagger, and swung at Boss Flunky's head.
Given the choice between offense and defense, Boss Flunky continued to garrote its partner. The alien had a tough skin, almost a carapace, and Archer's blows seemed not to register much at all. With his wrists bound, he had no hope of incapacitating Boss Flunky before Lab Tech lay dead on the floor. His motives were not entirely altruistic; Boss Flunky would not hesitate to kill him once Lab Tech was dispatched. He would take his chances with Lab Tech instead.
As before, Archer had no real chance at succeeding in hand-to-hand combat. It was ironic, he thought briefly, that Surak's katra would have left behind the echo of a memory of a dead language, but not the technique or skill of performing the neck pinch. He flew backward as Boss Flunky shook him off of its back. Lab Tech crumpled to the floor, and the enraged alien turned its attention to Archer.
The captain scooted backward on his behind, trying to stay just out of reach of the alien's clawed fingers. Boss Flunky was quick – and angry. It grasped Archer by the ankle and flung him into the wall. The tongs went flying in the other direction, landing out of reach. Archer rolled as he'd been taught in combat training, and dove away from the killing blow Boss Flunky tried to deliver.
A piece of metal to the left caught his eye. Lab Tech had propped the electromagnetic rod against the wall just inside the door. He lunged for it, and wrapped one hand around the base. Boss Flunky slammed into him. Archer groped desperately along the prod, trying to find the controls, a switch or something to start the energy flowing. But all he felt was the smooth surface.
Lab Tech made a faint noise from the other end of the room, and Boss Flunky paused, clearly torn between finishing off Lab Tech and breaking Archer into pieces. Archer took the opportunity to hit Boss Flunky squarely in the face with tip of the metal rod. He scrambled to his feet, sliding on the slippery-smooth floor.
Boss Flunky began to rise, but froze mid-motion, regarding Archer, who was standing over it with the metal rod in his hand, with its one open eye. It spat out some hisses and squeals, and the box in Lab Tech's pocket snarled, I will wipe out your whole species.
Archer gripped the rod with both hands, bent his elbows slightly, and said, "No, not today." Then he stepped into the pitch and swung for the fence.
The copious amount of thin, muddy-looking liquid pooling on the floor underneath Boss Flunky's head satisfied Archer that the alien was dead. He let the pole slide out from between his hands, and considered. His gut told him to make a break for it, to find some way out of this house of horrors. But where would he go? He had no idea where he was inside the facility, and even less clue even in which system the facility was located. He glanced over at Lab Tech, who was slowly staggering to its own feet.
He raised his hands in front of himself. "Why don't we call it even. I'm no further use to you, you said. Just let me make my way out of here." He took a step backward.
Lab Tech studied him. Blood stained the front of its lab suit. Out there is death, it said.
"I'll take my chances," Archer replied. He turned toward the door, but pulled up abruptly. The low thrumming sound he had become used to – he had assumed it was a ventilation system – had suddenly stopped. Archer looked around the room, as if he could locate the source of the disturbance. "What – " He didn't finish that sentence, as several things happened at once. He felt the burst of pain in his leg as Boss Flunky discharged the electric prod into his thigh. He saw Lab Tech almost fly across the room toward him, the metal tongs sinking into the other alien's throat. And he heard Boss Flunky's shrieking death cry as the room went black.
"How're they doing, Doc?" Trip kept his voice hushed as he entered Sickbay. He was heartened by the fact that Egawa was no longer confined to the imaging chamber. Both patients were secluded behind separate curtains, resting on normal bio beds.
Phlox turned around with a smile. "Commander, your timing could not be better. I expect that T'Pol will be rejoining us momentarily."
"She go somewhere?" Trip asked, confused. She'd been unconscious and running a light fever the last time he had checked in.
"No, no," the doctor chuckled. "T'Pol was able to put herself into a light trance – Vulcans find it very beneficial for the healing process. Kind of a way of shutting down all non-essential systems and concentrating on the ones that need healing." He checked some data on a nearby computer monitor. "Right on schedule. She'll still be very weak, so, try not to tax her too much, please. This way, Commander."
Gently pulling the curtain aside, Trip was barely able to contain his relief. T'Pol was indeed awake, and lucid. She lay on her back beneath a white sheet and an additional blanket. She looked exhausted.
"Hey," Trip whispered, summoning a smile. "Welcome back. How do you feel?" He bit back the other, more pressing question, not because he didn't know how to ask it, but because he was afraid of the answer.
T'Pol hesitated, as if taking stock. Trip braced himself for some overly technical exposition, a listing of her vital signs, or a clarification that, as a Vulcan, she did not feel anything in the emotional sense of the word.
"I feel better," she said instead.
He reached over and stroked her hand gently. "You gave us quite a scare, there, you know. We've all been so worried about you." She licked her lips. Trip reached over to the bedside table and picked up the cup of ice chips Phlox had placed there. He slipped a small piece between her lips, hoping she would not be too put off by the fact that he had used his fingertips. She didn't seem to notice, or care. Before he could stop himself, he ran his hand down her cheek and across her jaw, just to convince himself that she was indeed here, in the flesh, and not just some undercurrent in his mind. The Vulcan turned her face toward his palm, as if seeking contact and comfort. Then she gathered herself, and the moment was gone.
"How is Mr. Egawa?"
Phlox replied quietly, "His temperature has decreased by three degrees, at my last check. From every indication, he will recover nicely. The virus has almost completely worked itself out of his system, but it will be a few more days before he is able to be up and around."
T'Pol started to say something else but caught herself. After a moment, she enquired, "You have isolated the pathogen?"
Phlox seemed surprised. "It has many characteristics of a human influenza virus, but it appears to have severely mutated, or, more precisely, to have been engineered. And, frankly, there are aspects of the mutation that I am having some difficulty identifying. I did find one very valuable fact, however. When I cross-referenced the nearest known strain with the captain's and Mr. Egawa's own medical records, I found that Captain Archer had contracted a similar virus as a young man – when he was twenty-three years old. It's recorded in his Starfleet medical history. Laid him out for ten days."
"So you think that this particular virus originated with the captain?" Trip asked.
"I do. And not only that; based on these records, I am nearly certain that the captain is now immune to that original virus." He forestalled Trip's expression of relief. "I cannot say the same for this mutation, but it's possible – and I stress 'possible' – that he may have a strong natural defense to it."
"And, perhaps, hold the potential anti-virus," T'Pol suggested. "Or vaccine."
Phlox offered a small smile. "Quite."
The science officer began to rise to a sitting position.
"Whoa, hey, what do you think you're doing?" Trip held her by the shoulders to arrest her movement, a little concerned by how fragile she seemed beneath his hands.
"If I can examine the data, I may be able to assist the doctor in his analysis," T'Pol said with an edge to her voice. "I have at least some experience in human virology." She glanced pointedly at Trip's hand, and he removed it and took a step back.
"That may be," Phlox responded, "but I would like to see you get a little bit more rest first."
"We may not have time for that," T'Pol stressed. She flung off the covers and swung her legs around to dangle them off the bed. The baggy hospital smock she wore hung off her hunched shoulders. Trip reached out again to restrain her; she pushed him with Vulcan force. He staggered backwards.
"Commanders," Phlox barked in the hard voice he rarely used. Both officers stopped. "T'Pol, you are not cleared for duty, and I will sedate you if necessary. Commander Tucker, I will release T'Pol from Sickbay the instant I decide she is fit. In the meantime, Commander, you may review the data on a padd from this bed, if you wish." He turned to Trip. "And you, Commander, I would assume you have your hands full with the mystery of why this virus was even created in the first place. The moment I have any information that might help you, I will let you know."
Trip bit back a retort because this was Phlox's domain and, in the end, the doctor was right. He turned apologetic eyes toward T'Pol, who, despite her best efforts, still looked ready to keel over. "Sorry, T'Pol, I didn't mean to man-handle you." He took a deep breath, then plunged in. "One question, though. We're heading back to the origin point of that pod. Do you – will we find the captain there?"
T'Pol held his gaze. "I do not know. It's been some time since the captain and I were together. I would be merely speculating." Trip's shoulders slumped. She'd been the last person to see the captain, and she couldn't even say whether he was still alive.
"Do you even – no, never mind," Trip caught himself. "You did what you had to do. Egawa would be dead right now if you hadn't gotten him out of there. Look, when you get the go-ahead from the Doc here, I'd like for you to debrief with Hoshi and Malcolm. We've got some leads from this Shevon Oreevi woman – she's a member of Geren Liaison's staff who's, well, she's kind of working with us now – and you might be able to fill in the rest of the blanks. When you're up to it, though." He hoped that hadn't sounded too desperate. If he could have, he would have overruled Phlox's medical judgment and hit her with every single fact and theory they had. He needed her intellect, that formidable Vulcan logic that would find the connections that he was missing.
"Commander – Trip," she called as he turned to duck between the curtains. "I felt it was my duty to get Mr. Egawa back to Enterprise if it was at all possible. It was logical to do so, even if it meant leaving the captain behind."
Nodding slowly, Trip said, "You did the right thing, T'Pol. Let me know when you're up to that debrief. I'll send Hoshi down to fill you in on everything we know so far. I'm not giving up hope yet." The curtains swished back into place behind him as he left.
The connection came to T'Pol as she lay staring at the white curtain that served as a wall between her bed and the rest of Sickbay. Phlox's notes were meticulous and detailed, and at first glance they had little relation to the kidnapping or the information gleaned from the Carah Shon interviews.
Why would anyone target a ship with two humans and one Vulcan?
What possible purpose could a human-derived, mutated virus serve?
And what did the Vya, those children in stasis, have to do with either one?
Suspended between sleep and wakefulness, her mind drifted to that last night on The World. They had watched a dance performance – or more accurately, Archer had watched the performance, and Darala had watched him. Then, after the concert, Darala had drawn the captain into a provocative, sensual dance of her own. And the captain had seemed almost entranced.
That dance ritual was something she had not been able to reconcile with a diplomatic first contact. It had been a seemingly out of place, far too intimate dance which had left Archer off-balance even the next day as they had boarded the shuttle bound for Enterprise. And, later, in captivity, the ongoing effects of the hormone-enhancing drugs pumped into Archer's system intravenously had yielded a sexually-charged restlessness as he had slept (which she had pretended not to notice to avoid embarrassing him unnecessarily) and an uncharacteristic aggression when he had been awake.
Her Vulcan physiology had rendered the virus only mildly effective, but Egawa had taken the full brunt of it. Had he been the human test tube for cultivating this particular strain of the pathogen?
It would be a logical next step to test the virus on a non-human host, to determine its effects on other species.
It was only mildly effective against Vulcans, perhaps, but what about Carah Shon L'os? One would need a "guinea pig" to test The People's vulnerability. A willing participant, or, failing that, an unwilling one. A kidnapped one. The Vya.
A mutagenic virus derived from humans, still deadly to humans, but genetically engineered to be deadly to The People, as well. T'Pol couldn't think of a more devastating biological weapon than that.
Because without the cooperation of the other, neither humans nor The People would ever develop an anti-virus.
She peeked around the curtain into the main room. The light in Phlox's alcove office was off. The doctor must be on a dinner break. She didn't have much time, then. She knew enough about the bio bed to disengage the monitor (useful for when a patient wanted to use the bathroom without setting off an alarm) before striding across Sickbay to the clothing locker. The alien-provided shirt and trousers she had been wearing when rescued had been analyzed down to its fibers and then destroyed. Her own thermal clothing was in her quarters. She searched through the piles of folded jumpsuits until she found one that was close to her size, and slipped it on.
Ensign Stackhouse was manning the Science Station when T'Pol strode onto the Bridge moments later wearing a slightly baggy, Starfleet regulation uniform with red piping. Reed stood up in surprise. "Commander," he said.
Trip whirled around in the command chair. "What the hell are you doing out of Sickbay? Phlox hasn't cleared you for duty."
"I believe I – "
"Get back to Sickbay. Now. That's an order, Commander." Trip looked angry enough to carry her down several decks himself.
T'Pol raised one eyebrow calmly. "Phlox has cleared me for light duty," she emphasized, "which is why I was reviewing the data you've accumulated so far. And since I out rank you as First Officer under Captain Archer - who is, at this moment, only Missing In Action - I am not subject to your orders." Trip gaped at her with his mouth open. "In any event, Commander, I am not here to take over as Acting Captain. You are doing an exemplary job in that capacity so far. However, I do wish to share information with you, and I need to show it to you in person. It is more logical for me to come to you, rather than ask you to leave the Bridge."
Nobody moved for a moment. T'Pol was at once pulling rank and disobeying a direct order – neither of which was comprehensible under any circumstances. Oddly enough, Stackhouse was the first to react. "Sir," she said, vacating T'Pol's customary seat, "your station."
"Your relief," T'Pol responded, sitting. With her customary economy of words, she outlined her theory: that the virus was a biological weapon which could be used against either humans or The People. Neither species could develop a cure or vaccine independently of the other, since it contained genetic markers of both species. Released on Earth or on The World, it would cause an unstoppable pandemic that could wipe out either species.
"Travis, how long before we reach the black box coordinates?"
"Approximately ten hours at our current speed, warp four point two."
"Push it a little harder, Travis." Trip glanced at Reed. "Help me get Miss Insubordination back to Sickbay, will you, Malcolm? And Hoshi, I need to talk to Dr. Fenree on The World, asap. She's the Head Forensic Investigator. Geren Liaison will know how to contact her." Stackhouse resumed her station.
Both Reed and Trip knew enough not to touch T'Pol, but they couldn't help but flank her protectively as they entered the turbolift.
Twenty minutes later, Hoshi commed Sickbay. "Bridge to Commander Tucker."
"Go ahead, Hoshi. Did you reach Dr. Fenree?" Across the room, Phlox activated the visual monitor in anticipation of the communication from The World.
"Sir," said Hoshi slowly, "I've talked to everyone I can reach. There's no such person as Ryamon Fenree in the Forensic Investigation Unit."
"That's not possible, Hoshi. Malcolm and I talked to her ourselves. She's the one who interrogated Arat Atanoma."
"I spoke to the Head Forensic Investigator, and he's definitely not the person you dealt with. There's nobody by that name anywhere on their official rolls. And, sir?"
Trip closed his eyes. He definitely didn't want to hear what came next. "Go ahead."
"Geren Liaison has disappeared."