CHAPTER 12;
DROPPING LIKE FLIES
They had come to the definite conclusion that something had indeed happened to T'Pol. They had checked her quarters, the mess hall, and other places T'Pol liked to go to meditate, or get some peace and quiet.
"What do ya' think happened to her?" Trip asked, as he and Captain Archer, accompanied by two security personnel walked back on their way to the bridge.
Archer sighed, glancing sidelong at his Commander, and shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the disappearances of Matheson and Reed. It's too much of a coincidence. Especially aboard this ship."
Trip nodded in unmistakable agreement, and sighed as well. "Do you think we'll ever have a normal day aboard Enterprise?"
Archer laughed quietly, as though he worried about disturbing someone… or something. "I don't think you should get your hopes up, Trip."
Trip gave him a ghost of a smile.
They reached the bridge, and found that the night shift had taken over. Hoshi remained, but Travis had gone off to get some much needed rest, and dinner probably.
Trip and Archer headed on straight through the bridge to Archer's ready room. Archer seated himself heavily, restlessly, on the chair just inside the door, whilst Trip settled for leaning up against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest. He looked deeply pensive.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Archer ventured, raising an eyebrow at his third in command.
Trip looked up, a little surprised by the Captain's disturbance of his thoughts. He shrugged. "I was just thinkin' about the things I saw. They don't make much sense… yet they do, which is real confusing."
Archer nodded, and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, knitting his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands.
"For one thing, there was no sign that Matheson had been injured, but when I saw… her 'ghost', she looked as though she had been. She had bruises on her face, neck, and hands."
Archer knotted his brows in confusion, and urged Trip to continue.
"Well then there's Malcolm. When I saw him, he had half his face missin', but the blood that we found doesn't prove that that could be possible. We only found a little, not enough to solidify that theory. Somethin's goin' on here, Cap'n."
Clearly Trip had gotten over his encounters completely. He looked much more confident now.
"I agree," Archer said, and stood, pacing, as was his habit.
"So we have to search the ship, see if we can find some clues as to their location," Trip said, pushing off the wall with one hand, looking Archer in the eye.
"I'm behind you on this one Trip, but we need to think this over a little bit first," Archer said.
"What's there to think about, Cap'n?"
Archer looked back at Trip, and sighed. "We have to do this the old fashioned way. We have to ask people the last time they say Matheson and Reed. T'Pol too. From there we can figure out a perimeter search."
Trip nodded after a couple of moments, succumbing to sense and reason.
He just hoped they got to them in time.
Travis Mayweather strode down the corridor on the way to the mess hall, yawning a little, tired after a hard, and strange day's work. The recent events had him more than a little spooked, and he found himself looking constantly over his shoulder to check he was alone.
A couple of crewmembers passed by him in the corridors, and he was grateful for their presence at this late hour. He didn't think he scared so easily.
Mayweather thought he heard footsteps behind him, and slowed to talk to whoever it was behind him. The corridor seemed darker somehow, and he would be glad of the company, but when he stopped, the footsteps also did, as if they were never there.
The young Ensign shook his head. It had been a long shift. He must have been imagining it. As he started off again, the footsteps started again, but there was something wrong about them. Not footsteps, lighter, and more of them.
He looked swiftly behind him, his eyes searching the darkness behind him. Darkness? When had that happened?
He hurried on his way, a slight flutter in his chest. He should have been nearing the mess hall, about one hundred metres away from the door, but he wasn't recognising any landmarks. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the padding, yes, definitely padding, once again, and whirled.
He wasn't too keen on predatory animals, his parents had told him about them, and he'd seen pictures and decided he definitely didn't like them. He had been like that ever since he could remember, and wasn't about to change his mind about such things.
He stared long and hard down the corridor, half expecting some large carnivorous beast to pad around the corner, and lunge for him, teeth bared, ready for the kill.
He saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He was being silly. This was a spaceship. What could possibly be on here?
Sighing a heavy, exhausted sigh, he turned back to go the other way.
There in front of him in the corridor he thought he saw two points of light, like from a mirrored surface, bright yellow.
And just as suddenly as they appeared, they faded out of existence, in the blink of an eye.
Mayweather screamed, and turned and ran. His legs carried him faster than he thought possible, and his lungs began to burn as he ran, hell bent on escaping the… whatever, that was ready to tear him apart, devour him, its claws ripping… teeth clashing.
Mayweather was panicking now, running in random directions through pitch black corridors.
He rounded a corner, and something leapt out at him, eyes flashing, razor fangs bared.
DROPPING LIKE FLIES
They had come to the definite conclusion that something had indeed happened to T'Pol. They had checked her quarters, the mess hall, and other places T'Pol liked to go to meditate, or get some peace and quiet.
"What do ya' think happened to her?" Trip asked, as he and Captain Archer, accompanied by two security personnel walked back on their way to the bridge.
Archer sighed, glancing sidelong at his Commander, and shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the disappearances of Matheson and Reed. It's too much of a coincidence. Especially aboard this ship."
Trip nodded in unmistakable agreement, and sighed as well. "Do you think we'll ever have a normal day aboard Enterprise?"
Archer laughed quietly, as though he worried about disturbing someone… or something. "I don't think you should get your hopes up, Trip."
Trip gave him a ghost of a smile.
They reached the bridge, and found that the night shift had taken over. Hoshi remained, but Travis had gone off to get some much needed rest, and dinner probably.
Trip and Archer headed on straight through the bridge to Archer's ready room. Archer seated himself heavily, restlessly, on the chair just inside the door, whilst Trip settled for leaning up against the wall behind him, arms crossed over his chest. He looked deeply pensive.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Archer ventured, raising an eyebrow at his third in command.
Trip looked up, a little surprised by the Captain's disturbance of his thoughts. He shrugged. "I was just thinkin' about the things I saw. They don't make much sense… yet they do, which is real confusing."
Archer nodded, and leaned forward in the chair, his elbows on his knees, knitting his fingers together, resting his chin on his hands.
"For one thing, there was no sign that Matheson had been injured, but when I saw… her 'ghost', she looked as though she had been. She had bruises on her face, neck, and hands."
Archer knotted his brows in confusion, and urged Trip to continue.
"Well then there's Malcolm. When I saw him, he had half his face missin', but the blood that we found doesn't prove that that could be possible. We only found a little, not enough to solidify that theory. Somethin's goin' on here, Cap'n."
Clearly Trip had gotten over his encounters completely. He looked much more confident now.
"I agree," Archer said, and stood, pacing, as was his habit.
"So we have to search the ship, see if we can find some clues as to their location," Trip said, pushing off the wall with one hand, looking Archer in the eye.
"I'm behind you on this one Trip, but we need to think this over a little bit first," Archer said.
"What's there to think about, Cap'n?"
Archer looked back at Trip, and sighed. "We have to do this the old fashioned way. We have to ask people the last time they say Matheson and Reed. T'Pol too. From there we can figure out a perimeter search."
Trip nodded after a couple of moments, succumbing to sense and reason.
He just hoped they got to them in time.
Travis Mayweather strode down the corridor on the way to the mess hall, yawning a little, tired after a hard, and strange day's work. The recent events had him more than a little spooked, and he found himself looking constantly over his shoulder to check he was alone.
A couple of crewmembers passed by him in the corridors, and he was grateful for their presence at this late hour. He didn't think he scared so easily.
Mayweather thought he heard footsteps behind him, and slowed to talk to whoever it was behind him. The corridor seemed darker somehow, and he would be glad of the company, but when he stopped, the footsteps also did, as if they were never there.
The young Ensign shook his head. It had been a long shift. He must have been imagining it. As he started off again, the footsteps started again, but there was something wrong about them. Not footsteps, lighter, and more of them.
He looked swiftly behind him, his eyes searching the darkness behind him. Darkness? When had that happened?
He hurried on his way, a slight flutter in his chest. He should have been nearing the mess hall, about one hundred metres away from the door, but he wasn't recognising any landmarks. He stopped dead in his tracks when he heard the padding, yes, definitely padding, once again, and whirled.
He wasn't too keen on predatory animals, his parents had told him about them, and he'd seen pictures and decided he definitely didn't like them. He had been like that ever since he could remember, and wasn't about to change his mind about such things.
He stared long and hard down the corridor, half expecting some large carnivorous beast to pad around the corner, and lunge for him, teeth bared, ready for the kill.
He saw nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He was being silly. This was a spaceship. What could possibly be on here?
Sighing a heavy, exhausted sigh, he turned back to go the other way.
There in front of him in the corridor he thought he saw two points of light, like from a mirrored surface, bright yellow.
And just as suddenly as they appeared, they faded out of existence, in the blink of an eye.
Mayweather screamed, and turned and ran. His legs carried him faster than he thought possible, and his lungs began to burn as he ran, hell bent on escaping the… whatever, that was ready to tear him apart, devour him, its claws ripping… teeth clashing.
Mayweather was panicking now, running in random directions through pitch black corridors.
He rounded a corner, and something leapt out at him, eyes flashing, razor fangs bared.