Note from the authors: Thanks so much for the great reviews so far; sorry it's taken so long between updates. We ran into a case of writer's block on this one, but we're finally back on track. Next post will our last—the end is in sight!
Disclaimer: Star Trek is owned by Paramount; this story is strictly for recreational purposes!
Chapter 7
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Malcolm moved silently down the hall. He was forced to step around several crewmembers lying in the floor of the corridor along the way. Checking a few, he found that they were unconscious, but breathing. I guess I'm the only one annoying enough to kill straight out, Malcolm thought acerbically.
Arriving at the shuttlebay, he glanced inside quickly, checking that he was alone except for the unconscious crewmembers. Seeing no one else, he jogged over to where the Captain lay.
"Captain?" he said softly, bending over him.
Jon answered with a groan and rolled over to look up at Malcolm. His memory came rushing back and he sat up quickly. He swore and grabbed his head, but swatted Malcolm's hand away when he tried to help him stand.
"Where is Jec?" he asked, balancing precariously against the wall.
"He is with T'Pol, sir. They are headed for the Bridge. I tried to contact Hayes to warn them, but our communication system seems to be down. But Travis is missing; I think he may have gone to warn them."
Jon looked surprised. "Isn't he blind?"
"Yes, I believe he is." Malcolm turned back to Jon. "If anyone can get to the Bridge blind, it is Ensign Mayweather." As he spoke, he moved to the closest downfallen member of his security team. Shaking the man awake gently, he assisted him in sitting up. "All right, Russo?"
The Ensign nodded, despite the nasty-looking bruise on his forehead, and then flinched, lifting a hand to his head.
Malcolm and Jon went to the other three crewmen. Two of them woke easily, but Jon was unable to revive the third man. Malcolm looked at him worriedly, but there was nothing they could do until they had regained control of the ship.
Jon glanced around at them all. "Malcolm," he started.
The Lieutenant nodded, interrupting him. "I know, sir." He looked at his men. "Can you walk?" All three nodded and struggled to their feet. Crewman Harris slipped right back onto the floor, his eyes unfocused. He tried again, but Jon put a hand on his shoulder, holding him down.
"I think you're going to sit this one out, Crewman," he said in a tone that discouraged argument. Not that Harris had much of an argument in him.
Jon turned went toward the door, gesturing for the others to follow. Malcolm stopped him with a hand on his arm. Going around Jon, he opened the door, looking outside before leading them into the hall and on to the armory. Inside, Malcolm headed for a weapons locker. From it, he took out a large Bowie knife. He selected several smaller knives and handed one to each of them.
"From my personal collection. You can stun them with a phase pistol, but the only effective weapon so far has been one of Phlox's surgical knives." He looked meaningfully at them. "I expect to get these back, gentlemen."
Jon turned to the crewmen. "I want the two of you to head down to guard Sickbay. Protect everyone in there at all costs."
The men nodded and hurried into the hall, weapons drawn. Malcolm gripped the Bowie knife in his hand, and he and the Captain left the armory.
**
Travis heard voices ahead of him. He crawled faster, and paused where the voices seemed loudest. Holding very still, he became aware of air circulating around his face. That meant he was close to an opening, so he started to feel around. Shouldn't I see light by now? He pushed the thought away, along with a rise of panic. The opening his fingers found was too small for a human adult to fit through. Thinking fast he crawled a little farther, hopefully over the Situation Room. He believed he had seen an access door in the ceiling there once.
Once again, Travis felt around him. He grunted with relief with his hand closed over a small handle. With all of his upper body strength, which seemed to be failing, he shoved outward. The small door clanged open—but he saw nothing. Again swallowing panic, he pulled himself forward so that he could push his legs through the opening. The voices nearby were silent now. With a quick prayer for luck, he let himself drop.
He hit hard, arms flailing wildly. He would have crashed into the floor, and maybe the table, but hands grabbed his upper body, steadying him.
"Ensign Mayweather?"
"Lieutenant Hayes!" Travis turned his head in the direction of the man's voice. 'I'm completely blind' echoed in his brain, even as he gasped, "Lock down the bridge, sir, fast!"
"What…?"
"NOW!!" Travis shouted. He felt Hayes move a little and heard scurrying feet. He allowed Hayes to help him to sit on the floor before the Lieutenant moved away. Sweat dripped down the Ensign's face; he felt completely drained. His head was getting fuzzy and he only wanted to sleep. When footsteps approached, he fought for alertness.
Above him, Hayes said, "It's done. Now tell me what's going on!"
"I only know what I overheard, sir. The Mr'lar are attempting to take control of the ship—this sickness came from their cameras. They were stealing from us...something." He couldn't quite remember the details. He talked loudly, trying to be heard over a strange roaring sound. Alarm at this new threat gave him the strength to struggle to his feet. "Sir…"
He pitched forward, coming in contact with someone who caught him. "Do you hear that?" he muttered.
Hayes said, "Hear what? Ensign?"
Travis lost consciousness even as he realized the sound was in his own head.
