Disclaimer: I don't own any of the rights to anything Star Trek. That credit goes to Paramount/CBS. I'm only playing with the characters and their environment. I'm not making any money off of this. I'm doing this for plan old fun. Any of the ideas that seem to come from the TV show Dark Angel belong to 2oth Century Fox. And any of the ideas that seem to come from the Resident Evil franchise belong to Capcom. No copyright infringement is meant. Thanks.
Rated T: For language
A/N: After I reread this chapter to get it ready to post, I was floored by how prophetic or timely my own words would be to myself. I think I needed to read this again to help me through the curve balls life has decided to throw at me lately. I originally wrote this chapter a long time ago. Since then my father has passed away from cancer. It is funny I wrote what I wrote, not knowing how comforting my own words would be later. The heart of this chapter deals with many of the same things that my dad would probably say to me when I get down on myself, advice that would come out of his mouth. To me there is nothing more awesome than a positive father/daughter relationship. My dad was, and is still, my hero, my rock, so I'm going to dedicate this chapter to him and his memory. This one's for you Dad!! Love ya.
Thanks go to LadyRainbow for being my faithful beta reader. Her time and effort is really appreciated. There will be five more chapters, and then this story will be complete. It does have an ending and a conclusion; I promise. This chapter ended up being a long one, so enjoy.
Chapter 35
Wolachea led them into a cave system, and Trip marveled at the inside of it. The cave system had not been made by nature; careful engineering and strategic design had created the wonder before him. The system must have stretched for hundreds of kilometers in each direction, carved right out of the inside of the canyon. Some highly advanced rock cutting tools must have been employed to fashion such smooth and even surfaces. Trip knew only a little bit about geology, but the mineral that composed the layers of rock he was looking at, had to be incredibly strong and dense. Whatever had sliced through it to make the tunnels must have been exceedingly crafted to do such precision work. The walls were a multitude of colors, from black to gray, from brown to beige, with purple and green mixed in throughout the various layers or strata.
The group of Lasiterians and humans were in an antechamber at the end of a long tunnel that turned and headed back northwest, towards the main Lasiterian settlement within the canyon. The ceiling was high and vaulted, lessening the feeling of being deep under the ground. The Lasiterian soldiers had mini lights attached to their wrists, similar to the idea of a flashlight, to guide them through the dark pathways. When they reached this particular antechamber Wolachea went to the back and uncovered a hidden panel. Inside were what looked like ration packs, water containers, sleeping gear, heaters, and some kind of portable light source. The light sources were not like any lantern Trip had ever seen. They were small, round disks, but they had an almost biological look to them. The Lasiterian chief tapped each one twice, and they lit up with brilliant, white light.
The inside of the cave became as bright as daylight, at high noon. It relieved Trip immensely to be out of the dark. It was nice and cool in the tunnel, however, and that was a welcome change from the hot sun outside. The chief engineer had carried Mac the whole way because she was still out cold. It was scaring Trip to no end, but he could see her breathing and had felt a strong and steady pulse in her neck. Malcolm had offered to take her for a little while to give Trip a break, but the commander had obstinately refused to let go of Mac. He wasn't going to let her out of his care until he knew what the hell was going on with her.
Now that they had stopped to rest and regroup, he sat down and adjusted Mac so that she was sitting in front of him and leaned her delicate looking form into his. Her head came to rest just right on his right shoulder, as he supported her unconscious body with his own. Her Vorloren uniform was in tatters, burned and ripped in several places. The transgenic would soon need a change of clothing. Trip would have to ask Wolachea if there was any spare clothing in the cash of supplies he had opened a few minutes earlier. Wolachea reminded the commander of a scholar or librarian, but he fought like a lion. There was nothing timid or weak about him.
As the group situated itself, Reed sat next to Trip and leaned back against the cool, cave wall, closing his eyes for a moment. He sighed heavily. Fatigue and weariness were starting to catch up with the lieutenant. He reopened his eyes and stared at Mac saying, "It was almost like watching a phoenix rise from its ashes, watching her come back to life. How is it possible, Commander?"
"Ya got me, Lieutenant," Trip said with a lazy smile. "That Gen Virus must be somethin' else. It won't let her die."
"Her design and those responsible for it, take the Eugenics Wars to a whole new level," Reed said still staring at Mac. "It makes one wonder what else scientists of that time era were up to. It's a scary thought."
Trip couldn't help but chuckle at his friend's musings. Leave it to Malcolm to dwell on the pessimistic side of things. "At this point I don't care. I'm just glad that Mac can do what she does. I can't lose another person I care about right now. First it was Lizzie, then Lorian, and then Elizabeth. I won't lose Mac too. She is so much more than my friend, Mal, but I don't see her as my mate either. The only other way I can define what she means to me is; she's family. I can't lose another family member, I just can't." His voice had grown soft and almost pleading.
Reed's attention went from Mac to Trip. It had been several months since the terrible Terra Prime incident, ending in the death of Trip and T'Pol's daughter, Elizabeth. T'Pol didn't actually give birth to the child, but she was created from Trip and T'Pol's DNA, cloned by the evil John Paxton. This was first time Trip had mentioned his daughter in all that time. Apparently the cloning process the terrorist group had used had been faulty and the poor baby's systems failed, and she had passed away. Trip and T'Pol had taken it hard; their grief and mourning felt by all those around them. Those who knew them well could see it in their faces, hear it in their tones and inflections when they spoke, and sensed it in quiet moments shared with either or both of them. It floored Reed to hear Trip say he considered Mac part of his family.
"You really feel that way about her?" he asked.
The chief engineer looked affectionately at the woman in his arms. "She saved my life, Mal. I can't explain it. We're connected somehow. Maybe it's because we share the same blood now. I don't know, but she and I have a special and unique bond. She's family to me. I love 'er," Trip voice cracked slightly and tears glistened in his deep, blue eyes as he looked back at Reed.
"Well, then, I guess I'll have to accept that," Reed said with a small smile at his friend's sincerity.
"Do you really mean that, Trip?" came Mac's lovely voice, startling both men.
"You know I do darlin'," Trip said and kissed her forehead.
"Even after all I've done? The evil I'm capable of?" Mac's voice was full of disbelief. She gazed up at him with a longing for his words to be true in her eyes. She now recalled everything that had happened to her; Hister really being a Gorn bent on changing the past, her killing hundreds of Lasiterians for him, Trip singing to try and be of assistance to her, Jonathan stirring the Chimera to life to help her beat Hister's mind control, and the fact that she had tried to save some Lasiterian children from a missile attack.
"You lost your way for a little while, but you found it again. That's all that matters now," Trip told her as he stroked her beautiful face, purposely referencing the song, Amazing Grace that he had sung to her before.
"Thank you, Trip, thank you," Mac said as she was filled with relief and deep gratitude. The meaning in his words was not lost on her. She hugged him to her fiercely; he was her rock upon a stormy sea, her family, her pack.
Wolachea quietly watched the exchange between the humans. It was amazing, the bond they had. It warmed his heart to witness the tender and genuine way they dealt with each other. The regret the transgenic bore and the forgiveness she received from the one called Tucker, touched him. He hated to spoil their moment, but he had to speak with this woman. He needed to find out why she had suddenly decided to save this people's children after massacring so many of his soldiers.
"May I interrupt to speak with you?" he politely asked the three humans, squatting down beside them.
"Sure thing," Trip replied. "Mac, I would like you to met Chief Wolachea of the Lasiterians. Wolachea I would like to meet McKenna McKnight, transgenic super soldier of Earth."
Mac took in the man in front of her. All the Lasiterians made Mac think of the Native American peoples of Earth. This one was tall and lanky, but seemed to be built firmly and solidly. His short, almost black hair was mussed from battle, and his brown eyes were troubled as he looked at her. His skin was a rich, creamy color. He reminded her of some senator from ancient Rome. It must have been his nose; it was long and oddly shaped, but gave him charm and character. Something about him made her respect him and immediately like him. The vibes he gave off were reassuring and friendly, which surprised her. The transgenic thought for sure that he would hate her, want her dead for the destruction she had helped to be visited upon his people.
Wolachea took in the small human in front of him as well. It kept astonishing him how harmless and fragile she appeared at first glance, like a child's breakable doll. Her hair was a glistening shade of dark brown, curly and full. Even with the whitish blonde streaks throughout it, her hair seemed to shine. Her eyes matched his own in their dark coloring. Her face had an angelic quality to it; rosy cheeks, a small and round, yet slightly sharp nose. Again, he was struck by how much she fit the Dark Guardian Prophecy with just her looks alone. Then after what he had seen her do, she had to be the one. She was the alien to come from the stars and save their world.
"It is an honor to finally meet you," Wolachea began simply. "You have been a subject of much debate among my people." He wanted to see what her reaction would be to his turn of phrase.
She didn't disappoint him. "I have?" she questioned. "Why?" Then she hurried on in a panic. "You mean about my rampage earlier? Oh God, I can't begin to even try to say how rotten I feel about that, how sorry I am. What I did was horrendous. You and your people must think I am some kind of nightmare come to life. I can never make up for what I have done." Tears had formed in her dark eyes. Her voice quavered as Trip's arms tightened protectively around her.
"But you have, McKenna McKnight, you have," Wolachea told her kindly, real warmth in his eyes. "You stopped your killing and turned around and gave your life for three of our children. A nightmare, as you so aptly put it, would not do such a thing. For that I am willing to listen to your story. I want to know all about you." She seemed to know nothing of her role in their sacred prophecy. She had thought that his people were angry with her for helping the Vorlorens try and eliminate them, which many were. But Wolachea had learned the virtue of patience. He wanted to hear her explain why she did what she did, before he passed any final judgment upon her.
Mac looked at Trip, and he held her close, trying to reassure her, urge her to tell Wolachea what had happened to her. There are so many ways to explain it, she thought wryly. How can I make this alien understand? Words failed her, and she was sure that Wolachea saw the apprehension in her eyes.
He went on, "It is obvious that others care deeply for you and you for others, but you are also capable of great evil. I can't reconcile these two different aspects of you. I need your help to understand. I need to hear it in your own words."
"You aren't the only one who has a hard time reconciling my two sides," Mac finally said. She leaned back into Trip, trying to draw strength from him. She started at the beginning. The genetically engineered woman explained all about her creation, her life one hundred and fifty years ago on Earth, Victor Knight, the Chimera, how she had met the crew of the Enterprise, why the Vorlorens had wanted her, what Romdel had done to her, and what Hister had then done to her. She expounded all of the enhanced abilities she had and all the special skills she could command. Mac told him all about her and Archer's connection with each other. She included all she had learned about the Suliban and Future Guy, and especially the part about Hister's true identity and how dangerous he was.
Trip was the first to react to that revelation. "Sonvabitch," he swore. "Cap'n Archer was right. There has been another faction wreakin' havoc in the past, tryin' ta change the future. Who the hell are the Gorn?" he added at the end of his rant.
"I've only heard them mentioned once," Reed said breaking into the conversation. "When Captain Archer and I were invited over to that Orion pirate, Harrad-Sar's, ship. He mentioned that some of the refreshment we were partaking of was from the Gorn Hegemony. He was very tight lipped about them, however, not offering up much information about their species." From there, Trip and Malcolm had to explain to Wolachea all about the Temporal Cold War and all its facets. The Lasiterian chief was totally stunned by their account.
The only fact Mac held back was about her and the Captain's relationship to Future Guy. That was something no one could know. As she talked, she realized with painful clarity that she was no longer pregnant. The Gen Virus had brought her back, but not the microscopic cells that were the tiny life inside her. When her body had been crushed by the collapsing building, so had the beginnings of the embryo. It seemed that the GV had its limits. This realization filled her with great sorrow. Why do I keep surviving, an evil and vial thing? Why couldn't the innocent life within me have survived? It deserves to live so much more than I do. Why am I still alive? Why can't my existence end?
Then she wondered what the implications of the termination of her pregnancy were. Does it mean the end of Jack and the millions of my descendants? Have I sacrificed the lives of so many for a few alien children? What have I done? Suddenly, she felt very sick; her stomach knotted and twisted on her, and a wave of nausea swept through her. "I don't feel so well," she whispered to Trip, as the story telling came to an end.
"What's wrong, Mac?" Trip asked her with concern, for she looked unusually pale.
"I think I'm going to be sick," she said trying not to let her stomach heave.
"There are bathroom facilities, just before the antechamber ends and becomes the tunnel again," Wolachea informed them. "Take her in there if you need to."
Trip quickly picked Mac up and rushed her to where the Lasiterian had pointed. They barely made it in time before she vomited violently. Trip, ever the gentleman, held her and pulled her hair back from her face. When there was nothing left, Mac continued to dry heave for a time. Trip tried to calm her down until finally, the retching stopped. She fell back into Trip's arms and let him completely support her. He cleaned her mouth and nose for her, and then let her rest.
"What was that all about?" he inquired in a tender tone.
"I don't know," she partially lied. Part of the reaction was from the recognition of wiping out millions of lives with one foolish decision, but she didn't know what else was making her feel so ill.
"Do you think it has anythin' to do with the pain in your head earlier?" he queried, thinking with a completely different train of thought than Mac was.
Mac had totally forgotten about that episode. "Maybe," was all she said.
"What happened out there, Mac?" Trip asked a little more forcefully. "Did you kill that Vorloren sniper?"
"I don't know," she whispered and closed her eyes. "I could've."
"But how? You never touched him. He was too far away. I didn't see you throw anything at him or fire a particle weapon." Trip wasn't about to let her get out of answering him so vaguely.
"I honestly don't know, Trip. Please leave it alone," she pleaded. "I don't want to talk about it right now." It was another monstrous thing to add to her pile of monstrous deeds. She had pictured strangling the Vorloren super soldier to death, smashing his windpipe, and snapping his neck all in her mind. It seemed like that was how he had died too, just like she had imagined. Mac did not want to follow the clues down that road; she knew she wouldn't like where it led. Maybe Hister's drug was causing serious side effects; maybe the drug had unleashed some untapped and latent abilities. What if the Gen Virus is mutating me again? She didn't want to know.
Trip let up on her. She had passed out on him, again, anyway. Sighing, he picked her up and returned her to the main part of the antechamber. Malcolm had collected a sleeping bag and laid it out on the cold, stone floor. "You can lay her here," Reed told Trip.
"Thanks, Mal," Trip said infinitely grateful for his friend's thoughtfulness. "She's in pretty bad shape."
"Coming back from the dead would be hard on anyone," was Malcolm's reply. After Trip had situated Mac, the lieutenant had more to discuss. "I think we have Hoshi to thank for the jamming of the neuro implant signals. I left her in the Lasiterian command center, trying to make herself useful. That kind of move seems like something our communications expert would be able to figure out how to do. Between her and whatever Captain Archer was able to do, you got your Snow White back."
"Yeah. Who'd of thought that by reachin' the Chimera, Mac could break free of Hister's mind control," Trip responded. "What is even more amazin' is that it was the Chimera that chose to save those three little kids. Mac's dark side ain't so dark anymore. But I'm worried about her, Malcolm. Somethin's different about her. I'm wonderin' if Hister's drug didn't mess with her physiology. You saw what happened to that Vorloren sniper?"
"How could I forget it?" Reed shivered at the memory of the big, burly, and bald super soldier holding his throat and spitting up blood, right before his neck broke with an audible crack. "Do you think that Mac did that?"
Trip glanced nervously at the tactical officer. "Yeah, I do," he admitted.
Reed's eyes went wide, eyebrows furrowed. "How in the world could she do that?"
"Psionic abilities," Wolachea said, unexpectedly joining the exchange.
"I beg your pardon?" Trip questioned incredulously.
Wolachea gave them an apologetic smile. "Sorry to eavesdrop, gentlemen, but I think there is a topic I now need to enlighten you about, as you have been so willing to enlighten me." He paused for a moment. "I need to tell you about the Dark Guardian Prophecy long held by my people."
"We're coupling the cloaking generator directly into Enterprise's warp engine," Kajine explained to T'Pol as the Suliban and her men speedily installed one of their cloaking devices.
Lieutenant Anne Hess was overseeing the procedure, along with T'Pol. "Is that really necessary?" Hess couldn't help but asked, worried about aliens messing with Commander Tucker's baby.
"It needs the engine's power to encompass a ship the size of Enterprise," T'Pol said, addressing Hess' concern. Letting the Suliban delve into the internally working of Enterprise's delicate systems was not her favorite idea either, but she saw the logic of it. "Besides you and your engineering team are carefully observing the installation."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Commander," Hess said wryly, "but I would sure feel better if Commander Tucker were here to be assisting these Suliban experts."
As do I, Lieutenant; as do I, T'Pol thought wearily to herself, merely nodding a response to Hess. During this entire process, the Vulcan woman had been wishing fervently for Trip's presence. He had competent people working under him, but they were not him. The whole affair was much more his area of expertise than anyone else's, but he wasn't there to oversee the process. He was down on some alien world in the middle of a battle. He could be hurt, seriously injured, or dead. The uncertainty of it all was wearing on T'Pol. She desperately wanted him back, safe and sound. And what of the Captain? He was still a prisoner of the Vorlorens. Was he all right? Had he and Silik been able to get through Hister's mind control and reach McKenna?
Once finished installing the cloaking device, the Suliban informed T'Pol, "I'm leaving two men to watch it, the rest will be returning to their ships. I don't want anymore of my people's interference in the current events than necessary. I don't want to go against my leader's orders more than I have to. Good luck, Commander," she added at her departure.
When the cloaking device had been activated it worked perfectly, allowing the secret operation T'Pol had planned to go smoothly and successfully. Enterprise was able to get into a high orbit around Vorlora Prime undetected. Chief Suran's codes did their job and allowed his team to infiltrate the High Monarch's residence and mask the transporter signal as well.
T'Pol was now at her science station monitoring the Monarch's residence and grounds for Vorloren life signs. She was locating the positions of the ones that would fall along Chief Suran's path and transmitting that data, almost instantaneously, back to him. Suran himself had an isotopic radiant microchip embedded in his wrist so the ship's sensors could pick him apart from the rest of the Vorlorens around him. That had been Phlox's brilliant idea. It also helped that Suran had a group of four MACOs with him, and it was easy to scan for human biosigns among all the Vorloren ones. It was thought that the smaller the group that went in, the less likely there was the chance of them drawing attention and getting caught.
The former Vorloren security chief was almost to the king's private chambers. It wouldn't be long now, before he would, hopefully, have the High Monarch in his grasp, and then T'Pol could have them all beamed back aboard the starship. The impatience she was feeling had to be because of Trip's influence on her. Patience was something Vulcans had in spades. If Trip's emotions were still having an effect on her, then there was a high probability that he was, indeed, alive. That was a comforting thought to T'Pol despite the inconvenience of the small slip in her emotional control.
T'Pol grimaced as she noted that Chief Suran was surrounded by numerous Vorloren life signs. She began to believe the worst, that he was being overcome by the High Monarch's security forces and personal guards. But as she monitored the life signs, she noticed that Chief Suran's biosignature was still moving forward after a brief pause. What could that mean? she found herself wondering. Manso, the palace butler, and also a former security officer high in the Vorloren ranks, came over to her from where he was keeping an eye on Suran's progress as well.
He had helped plan the entire scheme, but had been ordered to remain on Enterprise and provide assistance from a distance. The tall and thin Vorloren had not been happy about it. He had wanted to be at Suran's side, backing him up. "It seems as though Aster still has a few friends among His Majesty's personal guard," the tall and balding, old man remarked at T'Pol's readings.
"You truly believe that?" T'Pol asked, hoping he was right.
"Not all of our people believe as Hister and Romdel do," Manso said with conviction. "Many of them want peace with the Lasiterians, want unification of our peoples, but they are afraid of Romdel and Hister and the power they weld over the High Monarch. We have been trying for years to remove those from the Council of Elders who share their maniacal and fanatical ideas. It has been a very slow process because we have had to be extremely cautious about doing it, but we have made headway. We do have allies in all sectors of Vorloren life, just not enough to make a real difference, yet."
They continued to watch as Suran and the MACOs made it into the High Monarch's private rooms. When that was achieved, Suran was going to hail T'Pol to activate the transporter and get them all out of there as swiftly as possible. Minutes ticked away with no word from Chief Suran. T'Pol resisted the urge to squirm in her seat. It was taking too long; he should have contacted her by now. His life sign was still coming in loud and clear through her terminal, although there appeared to be three other Vorloren biosigns as well. The Vulcan woman deduced that one of them had to be the king, but who were the others? More minutes went by without a word from their Vorloren collaborator.
"Anything?" T'Pol finally asked of Ensign Jacobs.
"Nothing yet, Commander," came the ensign's quick reply. "All channels are open, but we are not receiving a communication."
Manso put a comforting hand on T'Pol's left shoulder. "Give him a little more time," was all he said. T'Pol tried not to flinch at his touch, as it went against her Vulcan nature, but she appreciated the Vorloren's attempt to be comforting. It seemed like a very human gesture to her, and that was a surprising commonality between the two species.
Soon thirty minutes had gone by without hearing from Suran. T'Pol was about to try and beam them out anyway, when Ensign Jacobs put an urgent hail from the Vorloren through to T'Pol's station. "I'm sorry for the delay, but I have a few, old and dear colleagues that want to make sure they are doing the right thing by letting us take the High Monarch away from here. They are very protective of their sovereign, but they have no desire to serve Hister and Romdel. They have not dared to make any move against them, because they were afraid the High Monarch would be killed if they didn't cooperate. Many of their closer family members have also been used to secure their allegiance. They just want to be reassured that you, who are strangers, can and will really help him."
"What can I do to facilitate their reassurance?" T'Pol would do anything at this point.
Chief Suran's face grew tight, as if he was reluctant to make the request of her. "They want to meet you face to face, and they want you to convince them that you are really here to help."
T'Pol blanched at the appeal. It wasn't a difficult demand to satisfy, but a very risky one. She and Dr. Phlox were the only ones left belonging to the senior staff of Enterprise. She was the first officer. The Vulcan commander knew that if she went down there, she stood a good chance was walking into a well-laid trap. With her capture Enterprise would be forced to surrender, and they would lose all ability to help their crewmates and the Lasiterians. T'Pol silently cursed that she and the crew had to have gotten this involved in this ridiculous civil war. Why Starfleet had asked them to come here and investigate was beyond her ability to reason soundly.
Then she remembered the tentative new interplanetary and interspecies alliance that humans had helped form not too long ago. Whatever forces were at work here were a real threat to that alliance and its future progression. This system was a pivotal point in the Temporal Cold War, and for some unknown reason Enterprise and Captain Archer had key roles to play in making sure that history and the future remained intact and in their proper order.
"I will gladly meet with your colleagues and help convince them of our sincerity," she told Suran, her decision made. "I will bring Dr. Phlox with me. That way he can get a blood sample from your king and facilitate a cure for the mind controlling drugs in his system."
The surprise showed plainly on Suran's transparent face. "I'll send the coordinates to you right away. Thank you, Commander. I have faith that your argument will be persuasive."
It took less than five minutes for Phlox to gather what he needed from sickbay and for he and T'Pol to arrive in the private rooms of the High Monarch. When they materialized, T'Pol caught sight of the High Monarch of the Vorlorens for the first time. He looked extremely young for thirty. He had some height on him, but was not overly tall. He had short, blonde hair that was combed straight back. He had crisp, white eyes, like a glacier. His chin was rounded, his face oval-shaped. His nose was long and slightly pointed. The king was seated on a deep blue couch. He looked startled by the two aliens' arrival.
Chief Suran and two other Vorlorens, standing on either side of their king, with pulse weapons at the ready, also greeted T'Pol and Phlox. They appeared to be protecting the king, not trying to make any threatening moves towards the two new visitors. They were dressed in a red version of the typical Vorloren uniform T'Pol was used to seeing. They must have been part of the High Monarch's personal guard.
The room around them was colored in differing shades of blues; from navy to royal blue, from light blue to aqua. A dining table with six chairs all made of what looked like a dark, cherry wood, sat towards the back of the room. A writing desk out of the same type of wood was set against another wall to their left. Various chairs and couches of different shapes and sizes were scattered through out the room, taking up the rest of the space. Rich, velvety drapes covered the window to their right. A white door was on the other side of the writing desk, presumably leading to a bedroom suite. Ornate lamps with silver, wavy designs sat on end tables, a smaller one on the writing desk, and a colossal crystalline chandelier was hung above the dining table. Beautiful throw rugs and runners lined the dark, cherry, hardwood floor, all in stylish designs, like oriental rugs from Earth. Adorning the walls were pictures in gilded silver frames of varying sizes. The portraits seemed to be of either past kings, or possibly members of the current king's family.
"Welcome to His Majesty's chamber," Chief Suran greeted his guests. "I would like to introduce you to Malan and Joasal. They are the High Monarch's head bodyguards and close friends of mine. They have been doing what they can to keep our beloved king alive."
"What is the meaning of this?!" the king suddenly shouted. "Why have you allowed these intruders into my presence? You will explain yourself!" It was unclear whether he was addressing his bodyguards or Suran.
T'Pol raised one of her eyebrows. "You have not discussed our arrival with your king?" she asked.
Suran shook his head in the negative. "No. We thought it best that he not be informed. He is still under Hister's influence and is not himself. He may see you as the enemy."
One of the personal guards stepped forward. He was of average build and stature. He had brown hair and a full brown beard and moustache. "I'm Malan," he said, ignoring his sovereign's outburst. "You are a Vulcan," he commented, clearly not happy about this fact. He turned to Phlox. "Your species I do not recognize. I thought the species we were dealing with were humans."
T'Pol tried not to bristle at the disdain she heard in the alien's voice. He obviously knew about how the Vulcans tried to mediate between the warring sides and how they had failed miserably, allowing the war to escalate even further. She now had to overcome that obstacle as well. Before she could reply, however, Phlox spoke up first. "I am a Denobulan. I am serving as the Chief Medical Officer on board the human run starship Enterprise. I am also part of an interspecies exchange program with the humans. I came down here because it will be I who figures out a way to counteract whatever drug Hister has been giving your king. Commander T'Pol thought it would be wise for you to meet me."
Malan's cross look did not fade with the Denobulan doctor's cordial demeanor. The High Monarch made his presence known again. "What are they doing here? I demand an explanation! General Hister will not be pleased by this."
"Calm down, Sire," Joasal told him soothingly. This Vorloren had a very silverish cast to his skin. His hair was completely gray and he was shorter than Malan, by almost a hand length. His whitish eyes twinkled. "General Hister asked them to come here to meet you. He feels they can help solve your horrible headache problem." This was an obvious lie to all those but the High Monarch.
"Really?" the king became much more relaxed. "He finally found someone who can stop the pain in my head?"
"Yes, Sire, he has," Joasal lie again.
The High Monarch looked at the two aliens with a new respect and a little relief. "I thank you for coming. It is good to know that General Hister is finally keeping his promise to me."
T'Pol and Phlox both gave a little bow in acquiescence to the Vorloren sovereign. "Joasal, why don't you help our majesty lie down for a time, while I discuss all the details of his aliment with the good doctors here. Then I will have them see to his treatment."
"An excellent idea, Malan," Joasal said, taking the cue to remove the king from the room. "Come, Sire. Let's get you to bed." The High Monarch glanced blankly at his trusted bodyguard, and then moved to go with him to his bedroom. When Joasal came back, Malan started in on T'Pol again.
"Why should I trust a Vulcan, when your people were so helpful in the past?" he almost spat his words at her.
"You have no logical reason to do so," she began, "except I am not here representing my people. I am the First Officer of the starship Enterprise. I am Captain Jonathan Archer's second-in-command. I regret that Captain Archer is not here to speak with you himself, but he is a prisoner of General Hister at the moment. I am here representing him and the humans of Earth. Dr. Phlox is an expert at solving unusual medical problems and is also greatly trusted by Captain Archer. We can both adequately speak for him."
Chief Suran jumped into the conversation. "I have a blood sample from the king. If Dr. Phlox can develop a counteragent to Hister's drug, we will then agree to all flee this place with you and try and stop our forces from exterminating the Lasiterians."
"But only after you prove your sincerity and trustworthiness," Malan interrupted. "Aster has spoken highly of your captain and of you, something he does not do lightly. It takes an awful lot to convince Aster of anything. But in this case, I need my own proof. I will do everything in my power to protect my king."
Phlox tried to be diplomatic with his next statement. "If you want me to treat and cure your sovereign, I need to do so aboard Enterprise in my sickbay. I can be most effective that way. I am afraid your facilities just won't be adequate. It means you will have to take 'a leap of faith' as humans call it. I give you my word as a physician that your trust will not be misplaced."
Malan looked ready to argue with Phlox, but it was Joasal that replied. "Then Commander T'Pol stays here while you treat our king. If you are true to your word, we will join you aboard your ship and do as Aster has outlined."
Phlox thought it was a fair trade. It seemed that T'Pol did too. "Agreed. I will remain in your custody while Phlox tries to free the High Monarch from his enslavement." She turned her attention to the doctor. "Do you think you will be successful, doctor?"
"I can't give you a one hundred percent guarantee, but I haven't seen a toxin that I could find an antidote for," Phlox said with forced confidence.
"We don't have much time, doctor," T'Pol reminded him. "So please work with as much haste as possible."
It was then decided that Chief Suran and Joasal would accompany Phlox and the king back up to the ship. Malan and T'Pol would remain at the High Monarch's residence and Malan would try to keep up appearances, so no others would be alerted to what was transpiring. Time would now tell if Dr. Phlox could work another of his miracles and overcome the chemical control that was holding the Vorloren king hostage. And it would tell if the High Monarch was adult enough and a good person enough to do the right thing when he was himself once again.
Captain Jonathan Archer looked Amy hard in the eye to see if she was telling him the truth, that his Mac was, indeed, alive. "Close your eyes and reach out to her with your mind," Amy instructed him.
Archer pulled out of her embrace and gave her a questioning glance. "I don't have the neuro implant anymore. How can I contact her now?" he asked with frustration in his voice.
"You don't need the implant," Amy told him. "Your psychic-emotion bond goes much deep than you know. You're not telepathic, but you can sense her, get a feel for her essence. Just try it."
After giving the temporal agent another doubtful look, he did as he was told and closed his eyes, sitting up straight. He took a deep breathe and thought about the woman who had stolen his heart. Something with in him instinctively sought her out, searching for any trace of her. He couldn't feel anything; that frightened him. He opened his eyes and gasped. "She's not there. I can't sense her," he said, his voice heavy with disappointment.
"Try again," Amy encouraged. "Don't force it. Just let it happen. Have a little faith."
The Captain closed his eyes again and attempted to do as she directed. The same instinctual need reached out for his mate again. Then he felt her; Mac was alive. She was sleeping, dreaming. She felt confused and full of despair. He wanted to comfort her, be there for her. As if by his will alone, he was abruptly pulled into her dream. He felt like he was falling through the air, and he tried not to panic because he wanted nothing more than to be with her. He landed in what looked like a scenic backyard from the Earth of his childhood, in upstate New York.
A picturesque little house sat upon a hill in front of him, painted a creamy white color with a slanted, shingled roof. A small, gurgling stream flowed through the yard. Big elm and maple trees dotted the landscape. A hammock was tied between two large maple trees. The grass was healthy and green, stretching all around the yard. He noticed an old-fashioned rope swing was hanging from what looked like a huge sycamore tree with very large and thick branches. The quaint house had a roomy back porch with an elegant, light oak railing spanning its length. There were deck chairs and a swinging loveseat set upon the porch, back up closer to what was the back door to the house. Mac was sitting in the loveseat, talking to an older looking man, whose hair was growing gray and who wore glasses. The man was dressed in a handsome checkered, blue shirt and khaki pants. Mac was wearing a charming, yellow and white sun dress that came to just below her knees. Archer had never seen her look so feminine and soft before; it was a delightful sight.
The Captain could still feel Mac's confusion and despair. He had to know what they were talking about. He crept closer to the back porch, up and over the stream, passed the tree swing, and up the hill to his destination. Somehow he knew it wouldn't be good to alert the two of them to his presence, so he hung back, hiding behind a particularly large maple tree. He could hear their voices drift down off the porch.
"It's good to see you, McKenna," the man with glasses was saying. "It's been along time."
"Do I know you?" he heard Mac asked, perplexed.
"You'll figure it out in a minute," the man told her. "You were always two or three steps ahead of the rest of your brothers and sisters, always different from them."
Archer peaked around the tree to try and see the pair, as well as hear them. He saw Mac start as recognition came into her eyes. "Victor," she gasped.
"See, I told you," Victor McKnight replied. He gazed at Mac with pure parental love. "I am so proud of you. You have turned out so much better than I could have ever hoped."
Mac stared at her creator. "How can you say that? I'm a monster, a demon! I'm no better than those who killed you!" she cried. It cut Archer to the bone to hear say that. She was not a monster, at least not him, and she never would be, no matter what she did.
"Mac, sweetheart, no you're not," Victor said and cupped her face in his hands. "If any one is the monster here, it's me. I'm the one who tampered with nature, who tried to play God. It was I, who mixed human and animal DNA trying to create the perfect creature. It was I, who brought you screaming into the world trying to improve humanity. But you were always different from the others I designed, Mac. From the minute you took your first breath I knew your soul was not like the others. Some being, far more powerful than myself, gave the flesh I created a unique and special spirit. You were pure and good from the very beginning, despite my mistakes. I tried to tell myself it was because when I mixed your DNA sequences I included part of my own DNA in them. That part of me was you, and that I could have a real child, that was truly my own. You 're the only transgenic I did that with."
Tears were flowing freely down Mac's face. "So you're really are my father?" she whispered.
"Yes, sweetheart, I am," Victor said and pulled her into a loving, heartwarming embrace. "But it wasn't my DNA that made you different, made you good. It was the spirit that was housed in the body I created that makes you who you are. Even as a scientist and genetic expert, there was something divine I was missing in my process. All the others I created lacked that divine spark, but it was given to you. I felt it the instant you were born, so I tried to nurture you, teach you, and help you develop that divine nature. I didn't want you to be like the others, mere animals. I wanted to help you be more than that. I wanted you to be more than just a perfect soldier. I desired that you be my daughter, my family."
Mac was shaking with great sobs, clinging to the man who had been her father. He held her tightly to him and patted her back, comforting her. "I loved you so much, my beautiful daughter. I'm sorry that I failed you. That I let my foolish notions of grandeur get me killed. I'm sorry I left you. I'm sorry for all the mistakes I made in mixing your DNA. I'm sorry for probing into areas that were better left to God. Can you ever forgive me for all the horrible sins I have committed against you?" Victor too, was crying, torn by guilt and remorse.
Mac hugged him more fervently. "You don't have anything to be forgiven for, Father," she choked out. "It is because of you that I have kept going; because of all those precious stories you told me. All the fairytales, myths, and legends with their values and gallant heroes you chose to expose me to. I wanted to be like them, like you. I didn't wish to disappoint you in anyway. You worked so hard to teach me what was right and what was wrong. You were so diligent in your instruction of how to be a good person. If it wasn't for you, I would've ended up just like the others. You showed me a better way." Mac was determined to defend her father, to make him see how much he meant to her.
Victor drew back and gently wiped at her tears. "But you never asked for any of this," he told her, waving his hand in the air in a circle. "I hate knowing that you have to struggle with yourself, that you have to fight so hard to keep your spirit good. I didn't make it easy for you." He paused as he watched his daughter's face as she realized what he was doing. "I knew you'd come to realize that you are not a monster or a demon. I have placed you in unthinkable circumstances by messing with the natural order of things, but you continue to fight your way out of them. Every time you get knocked down, you find the strength to get back up. Every time evil tries to control you, you find a way to push it back and fight it off. That's what is important. That's what counts. No one expects you to be perfect. All that really matters is that you stay on the straight and narrow path and get up each time you fall. You don't have come in first place in the race, my dear, just finish it."
"I don't know if I can do that anymore," Mac confessed, full of despair again. "I'm sick of fighting myself. I'm sick of being used by others. I can't keep doing this. I've done so many bad things, committed so many evil deeds. I don't deserve to go on. I'm not worth it."
Victor suddenly became angry, his dark, blue eyes flashing with it, his mouth tight. "Don't you ever say that!" he snapped. "I don't want to ever hear you say that you aren't worth it! Mac, you are the one good thing I ever did in my whole life. You are what made my death mean something. You are my saving grace."
"What are you saying?" she questioned, voice still shaking, shocked that her father thought so much of her.
"I have committed more evil deeds in my life than you could ever imagine. By creating you and trying to teach you how to be good, I changed my ways. You were a path back to purity, a chance to make up for my evil past. You have a destiny greater than you will ever know, Mac," Victor said holding her face in his hands and making her look at him deep in his eyes. "Where ever your divine spark came from, it was placed into the enhanced body I put together. You were born to be a guardian, to strengthen the weak, to defend the defenseless, to save those in danger, to heal those in pain, to succor those in mourning, to bring hope to those who have none, and to kick evil's ass."
Mac couldn't help but laugh at her father's last statement. It was so like him. "All the things you have gone through, all you have suffered, all the trials and tribulations you have had to face, have all been for your experience and for your benefit. They were training you, teaching you, making you stronger, refining you, and helping you purge the potential evil from you. You can't give up now. You purpose and destiny is just beginning. Have faith, my daughter. You're not alone, and never have been. I am always with you and will never leave you. Trust in the Lasiterians' Great Spirit. He is real. I can testify to you he exists. He is why you are dreaming of me now, why I can communicate with you. He can help you. He loves you too, and sees the great potential in you. He wants you to succeed. Don't ever give up, my beautiful child."
"Why are you telling me all this?" Mac asked with great need in her voice, grasping at his hands with hers. All the things he was telling her were things she had already thought about and pondered. She had even said some of the same things to Jonathan about herself, but it meant something more to hear those same ideas come out of her father's mouth. It made them all the more tangible and real.
"Because you have earned a little remuneration, sweetheart," Victor explained to her. "You have responded well to the promptings the Great Spirit has been trying to send to you. You have been willing to give your life, not only once, but twice now. You have been willing to sacrifice your future, your family, for that of others and their families. It is truly heroic to die that others may live, but now you must be determined to live. You need to live for others, to serve others. It is courageous and honorable to die for your cause, but it is even more valiant to live and live well. There are so many more people who need your help, Mac. You just have to be willing to keep on fighting, to keep on living, not for you, but for those who need you."
Mac stood up and walked to the porch's railing. Archer ducked back behind the maple tree so she wouldn't see him. He couldn't believe what he was witnessing. Some of the conversation reminded him of statements Mac had made to him earlier, but it seemed she needed to hear them again. She was getting a pep talk from her decreased father. It was utterly amazing.
"What if I can't do that, Father? What if I can't find it within myself to do as you say?" she demanded of him.
"Trust your heart. It is virtuous and just," Victor said as he turned her around and forced her to look at him, as he came up behind her. "Your faith with guide you. Trust in your path. Trust that you are chosen. Don't let fear and doubt rob you of your destiny. Just keep believing in the good that you can do, and the noble woman that you are. You know all this deep inside. You are not alone," he repeated his earlier statement. "You are surrounded by trustworthy and compassionate supporters. Lean on them, draw strength from them, and serve them. And remember that you are loved, my daughter. You are loved so very much." The last he stressed heavily and said it in the present tense this time.
"I want to believe, Father, but when I am in the thick of things, I lose my way," she refused to look Victor in the eye, her head bowed.
Victor laughed softly. "Don't we all. We all have our weaknesses, Mac. We all have our faults. We all make mistakes, but those mistakes don't become failures unless we let them. We learn, we grow, and we go on. We can chose how we react to things, even if it seems we can't control what happens to us. I know you can do this, sweetheart. I have faith in you." He regarded her for a moment, thoughtfully. He seemed to know just what her real fears were. "Forgive yourself, Mac. What happened earlier, was not within your control, and you overcame it. Don't dwell on it. It will not be held against you.
"And know that you will get everything you want, Mac. The desires of your heart are pure and exactly what they should be. You may not get it all right now or even years down the road, but it will come to you, when the time is right. You will have a family, and you will be with the man you love. Don't listen to the lies that others have told you. You can discern what the truth is and what is not. Be patient and follow your destiny. Don't be afraid of opposition. A kite doesn't fly high without rising against the wind," Victor finished, hugging his daughter to him once more.
The Captain was shocked by what Victor McKnight had just said. The last phrase sounded so much like what is father had once told him, "Don't be afraid of the wind." He and Mac were so much the same. It seemed that he also had a savage side, that if not controlled could be very dangerous and destructive. He had many faults and preconceptions to overcome. He had demons he had to learn to live with. The faces of the aliens he left stranded in the Expanse after he had stolen their warp coil from them, still haunted his dreams, and the guilt ate at him. Yet, he knew he had good traits too. He understood he was capable of doing the greater good, and that he had done many good and noble deeds. He and Mac were each others Yin and Yang. Together they made each other whole.
He was so amazed at all these thoughts that he stumbled backwards and tripped over one of the behemoth tree's outgrown roots. His crashing to the ground and the movement it created, drew the attention of Mac and Victor. Mac gasped as she saw him, and then her face lit up, as if she had been the sun behind a cloud and the cloud had finally drifted on by. Victor also seemed surprised, but he too, smiled warmly at Archer's appearance.
"Jonathan!" Mac cried and raced down the porch steps and down to where he had so unceremoniously fallen. She reached her hand out and pulled him to his feet. They stood inches apart, just taking each other in. Mac was the first to reach out and touch, caressing his face lightly; he reciprocated in kind. Although, this enchanting and vibrant woman stirred many parts of him to life, it was his heart that she stirred the most. Right now all he cared about was her happiness and her well-being.
He slipped his arms around her and just held her to him. The warmth that passed between them had nothing to do with lust, but everything to do with true love. His strength of spirit flowed into her and hers into him. They energized each other as they replaced what the other had been lacking. It was joyous to just be held and to be loved, no conditions, nothing held back. Both understood the depth of their others feelings for one another. Mac was coming to understand she needed to learn how to love more deeply, more fully, and more unconditionally; with Jonathan that was easy.
"I'm trusting you to take care of her, Jon," Victor said, suddenly materializing beside the couple. "She needs you to help her find the light." Mac was amazed at how much Victor's statement was true. Trip was her rock, but Jonathan was her light. He was her North Star, constant, unchanging, in his devotion and loyalty. He was her light in the darkness. She also was struck with the thought that it didn't matter if he was right by her side, or light years away, he would always be there to light her way. When she got lost, even thinking about him would be enough to help her find the right path again. These thoughts comforted her and healed the heartache she had been feeling about the possibility of having to give him up for what might be a very, long time.
"You have my word, Victor, I will always be there for her," Archer found himself saying. "It may not be in a physical sense, but a part of me will always be there to guide her, and a part of her will always be in my heart to guide me." The Captain was learning what it was like to give himself to another person completely. It was easy with his crew, his ship, but one-on-one was different. This woman complemented him perfectly. Where he was weak, she was strong, and vice versa. They really were two halves of the same whole.
The lovers leaned in towards each other, not for a kiss, but to allow their foreheads to touch and rest against one another. Somehow their connection was magnified and enlarged beyond their abilities to fully grasp or understand, but neither one would ever be without the other in some form or another. It was like two halves of the same soul, merged and became one, never to be truly parted again. They were part of each other, now and forever. It brought a sense of peace that neither one of them had ever experienced before.
TBC
I will start building up to the climax next. Don't forget to leave a parting thought for the author; she is review needy.