CHAPTER 15;
A STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION
"Porthos, stop it! It's not even four o'clock!" Jon protested, slapping a pillow over his head, and closing his tired eyes once again, even as the young dog continued to bark loudly.
Surely not even Trip could sleep through this. Jon supposed he should tend to the needs of his pet before the din affected his Commander.
Archer removed the pillow from his head, and threw back the covers, sitting upright in his bed.
Just as he was about to call the dog to him, he realised what may have caused the animal to start its barking in the first place. Trip was gone.
"Trip?" he called out, slapping on the lights. It was then that he realised the Commander's clothes were also gone. Maybe he had gone to start his shift early. or get something to eat.
Archer leaned over to his communications panel, and pressed the button. "Archer to Tucker."
Jon waited for several moments. but nothing happened.
"Dammit!"
* * *
He forced his aching eyes to open against the dim light, and gasped in pain almost immediately, lying on his stomach on the hard ground, the bursts of blinding agony shooting through his right side.
He groaned painfully, and tried to move, but failed miserably in the attempt.
"Commander?" came a timid voice, as something resembling a shadow moved on hands and knees towards him.
He looked through eyes that refused to focus at what turned out to be one Crewman Elizabeth Matheson, alive and well. apart from the bruises that marred her face and neck.
He rolled over roughly onto his back, and groaned again.
"Let me see him," came another female voice, one that he definitely recognised as none other than T'Pol.
"T'Pol?" he croaked, holding a hand to his throbbing side.
"Yes, Commander, it is me," came her reply, voice calm, as usual.
"Where are we?" he asked with a weak voice filled with pain.
"I am not sure. I do not recognise our surroundings. But I feel it is an illusion, meant to throw us off our guard, so we will not figure out a means of escape." As ever, T'Pol had the answer to everything, but on this occasion, it was more of a comfort to Trip than an annoyance.
He cried out loudly as T'Pol pressed a palm to his right side.
"I believe you have one or more broken ribs, Commander. It is essential we get you to sickbay," T'Pol told him, and he could make out her face now, even through the haze of pain.
"You don't say. but just how do we get out of here?" Trip asked, and tried defiantly to rise from the ground. He managed to sit up, and slump back against the solid wall behind him.
"We can't find a way out at all, sir," Matheson reported, and it seemed as though she was handling it all very well.
"Where are Reed and Mayweather?" Trip queried, taking deep burning breaths, looking around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings.
"They are near the back wall, Commander. They are both still unconscious," T'Pol informed him.
"Perfect," he mumbled, and it seemed as though no one had heard him. "What was that thing that attacked me?" He looked to T'Pol for his answer, figuring she would know more about it than Matheson, even though she had been imprisoned here the longest.
"I believe it is an alien life form, approximately fourteen feet in height, and eighteen feet in length. I have also come to the conclusion that it had psychic abilities, which led me to discover its presence in the first place," T'Pol said, glancing about, as though she were afraid of being spied on.
"Psychic?"
"Yes. Vulcans have limited psychic ability, but we do not display it much around humans. I believe this alien relies on psychic energies somehow."
"What makes you think. think that?" Trip asked, wincing briefly as the pain in his right side returned when he moved slightly.
Matheson frowned.
"I am not sure. But I have observed that it merely sits, fixated on us for some time, and then it merely leaves again. We could not see how it escaped this room, only that it had indeed left," T'Pol replied, kneeling before him.
Trip glanced about the room, for the first time noticing the unconscious forms of Reed and Mayweather, feeling a sigh of relief escape him at realising they were alive.
"Is it here now?" He looked back to the Vulcan Sub-Commander, gritting his teeth against the feeling in his side as it rose up again.
"It is not. It left shortly after it attacked you."
Trip began crawling over to Reed and Mayweather. "Are they okay?"
"Lieutenant Reed has a mild concussion, and an injury to the side of the head from a result of a blow, confirming our suspicions about the presence of his blood in the corridor. Ensign Mayweather is just in a state of shock. I believe he will be fine."
"Good," Trip managed through the agony. He let out a long breath, and closed his eyes tight to try and suppress it. After a short while, it faded once again.
"Commander, you should refrain from moving. Too much aggravation could only result in the worsening of your condition. It would be wise for you to lay down again, and remain still," T'Pol advised, moving over to him, her face serious as always.
"No," Trip protested simply, "we have to figure out how to get out of here, or at least get a message to Jon. He has to know where we are."
A STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION
"Porthos, stop it! It's not even four o'clock!" Jon protested, slapping a pillow over his head, and closing his tired eyes once again, even as the young dog continued to bark loudly.
Surely not even Trip could sleep through this. Jon supposed he should tend to the needs of his pet before the din affected his Commander.
Archer removed the pillow from his head, and threw back the covers, sitting upright in his bed.
Just as he was about to call the dog to him, he realised what may have caused the animal to start its barking in the first place. Trip was gone.
"Trip?" he called out, slapping on the lights. It was then that he realised the Commander's clothes were also gone. Maybe he had gone to start his shift early. or get something to eat.
Archer leaned over to his communications panel, and pressed the button. "Archer to Tucker."
Jon waited for several moments. but nothing happened.
"Dammit!"
* * *
He forced his aching eyes to open against the dim light, and gasped in pain almost immediately, lying on his stomach on the hard ground, the bursts of blinding agony shooting through his right side.
He groaned painfully, and tried to move, but failed miserably in the attempt.
"Commander?" came a timid voice, as something resembling a shadow moved on hands and knees towards him.
He looked through eyes that refused to focus at what turned out to be one Crewman Elizabeth Matheson, alive and well. apart from the bruises that marred her face and neck.
He rolled over roughly onto his back, and groaned again.
"Let me see him," came another female voice, one that he definitely recognised as none other than T'Pol.
"T'Pol?" he croaked, holding a hand to his throbbing side.
"Yes, Commander, it is me," came her reply, voice calm, as usual.
"Where are we?" he asked with a weak voice filled with pain.
"I am not sure. I do not recognise our surroundings. But I feel it is an illusion, meant to throw us off our guard, so we will not figure out a means of escape." As ever, T'Pol had the answer to everything, but on this occasion, it was more of a comfort to Trip than an annoyance.
He cried out loudly as T'Pol pressed a palm to his right side.
"I believe you have one or more broken ribs, Commander. It is essential we get you to sickbay," T'Pol told him, and he could make out her face now, even through the haze of pain.
"You don't say. but just how do we get out of here?" Trip asked, and tried defiantly to rise from the ground. He managed to sit up, and slump back against the solid wall behind him.
"We can't find a way out at all, sir," Matheson reported, and it seemed as though she was handling it all very well.
"Where are Reed and Mayweather?" Trip queried, taking deep burning breaths, looking around the room slowly, taking in his surroundings.
"They are near the back wall, Commander. They are both still unconscious," T'Pol informed him.
"Perfect," he mumbled, and it seemed as though no one had heard him. "What was that thing that attacked me?" He looked to T'Pol for his answer, figuring she would know more about it than Matheson, even though she had been imprisoned here the longest.
"I believe it is an alien life form, approximately fourteen feet in height, and eighteen feet in length. I have also come to the conclusion that it had psychic abilities, which led me to discover its presence in the first place," T'Pol said, glancing about, as though she were afraid of being spied on.
"Psychic?"
"Yes. Vulcans have limited psychic ability, but we do not display it much around humans. I believe this alien relies on psychic energies somehow."
"What makes you think. think that?" Trip asked, wincing briefly as the pain in his right side returned when he moved slightly.
Matheson frowned.
"I am not sure. But I have observed that it merely sits, fixated on us for some time, and then it merely leaves again. We could not see how it escaped this room, only that it had indeed left," T'Pol replied, kneeling before him.
Trip glanced about the room, for the first time noticing the unconscious forms of Reed and Mayweather, feeling a sigh of relief escape him at realising they were alive.
"Is it here now?" He looked back to the Vulcan Sub-Commander, gritting his teeth against the feeling in his side as it rose up again.
"It is not. It left shortly after it attacked you."
Trip began crawling over to Reed and Mayweather. "Are they okay?"
"Lieutenant Reed has a mild concussion, and an injury to the side of the head from a result of a blow, confirming our suspicions about the presence of his blood in the corridor. Ensign Mayweather is just in a state of shock. I believe he will be fine."
"Good," Trip managed through the agony. He let out a long breath, and closed his eyes tight to try and suppress it. After a short while, it faded once again.
"Commander, you should refrain from moving. Too much aggravation could only result in the worsening of your condition. It would be wise for you to lay down again, and remain still," T'Pol advised, moving over to him, her face serious as always.
"No," Trip protested simply, "we have to figure out how to get out of here, or at least get a message to Jon. He has to know where we are."