Waking Reality
At first Captain Archer believed that he had only nodded off for a few minutes. The bridge was very quiet with only the melodious thrum of the impulse engines for background noise. As he lifted his chin, which had rested on his chest as he slept, he realized that his head felt as thought it were floating above his shoulders. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least. Then he noticed someone standing in front of him.
"Are you all right, captain?" T'Pol asked him apparently for the second or possibly third time. His fingertips tingled as she lifted his hand to check his pulse.
"I was just resting my eyes. I'm fine." Archer insisted lethargically. Then it dawned on him. "Did I pass out, sub-commander?" he asked, realizing that all was not right with the world nor with him. Even the air in the room was wrong somehow, stale and difficult to breathe in.
"I am afraid so, sir. Reed and Sato have lost consciousness as well." she informed him calmly. Her composure never ceased to both amaze and annoy him.
"What about you?"
"The air of Vulcan is substantially thinner than that of earth. I am ... holding my own." she informed him, releasing his wrist only after determining that his pulse was more rapid than was normal. "But you are certainly not." T'Pol added.
"Should I make a final log, sub-commander?" the captain asked her.
"The computer is still not responding. I am afraid that you cannot." she informed him, loosening the collar of his uniform.
"What about you?"
"Me, sir?" she questioned, aware that he was somewhat confused or borderline delirious from the oxygen deprivation.
"Having any regrets, T'Pol? About this mission? Being here?"
"I regret ... I regret only that we will die in this manner. Any other regrets would not be logical."
"All the same ..."
"It would have been pleasant to speak to Trip one more time. I wanted ... I believe I wanted to tell him about the memories Phlox recovered." she admitted, lowering her eyes to the deck, which had grown too cold to sit upon.
Captain Archer smiled a little and said, "Depending on how long you can hold out, maybe you will." Then his heavy eyelids slowly drooped and his breathing grew more shallow.
T'Pol turned away from him and clasped her hands behind back as she surveyed the bridge. It felt like a tomb, a sepulcher of cold gray metal that was built for five. She shuddered involuntarily and rubbed her arms to keep them warm. Looking at where Malcolm and Hoshi reclined close together behind the tactical station, she at least acknowledged they were not cold, or not so cold nor so alone as she felt.
"It won't be long now until I am unconscious too." she thought.
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