Title: The Sound of Silence

Author: Jazz

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Characters owned by Paramount.

Summary: Travis continues the story, and the crew make some discoveries.

Author's Note: I was forced to straighten out the plot in this one. As an aside, I must admit I'm really bad at writing anything scientific or medical. Even with the plainest ideas I imagine there's someone out there howling with laughter at 'that silly writer's' excuse for technobabble, but I soldiered on regardless. Also I wasn't sure if anyone ever used the term 'black box' in the trek universe, so if I'm wrong please let me know.

The Sound of Silence

by Jazz

~~~

Part 5:

Diary of a Lone Pilot

You want to know something? I've lived in space all my life, but I never tire of it. Never. The day I look out a porthole and feel indifferent to what I see outside will be the day dad puts his spaceboots on the wrong feet. It won't happen, not until both of us are so far gone that space turns white and the stars twinkle black.

And yet now I've got the job of piloting Starfleet's finest into unchartered waters…there's something amiss. You know like some days you wake up down and not even the best breakfast can put things to rights? Yeah, it happens to me sometimes. You wouldn't know it looking at me, but there you go.

Anyway, all I'm saying is that sometimes it's frustrating being here at the conn all the time. Don't get me wrong – I love to pilot, and Enterprise is the crème de la crème of piloting. When I say this baby can move some I'm not kidding. But I love to get out; take the helm of one of the shuttlepods and go on away missions. Experience space outside the trade routes I was brought up on.

But there's also the days when I'm quite happy on the bridge, keeping the seatbelt on, as it were. I'm no maverick.

And then there's the times when I get back into my chair and feel the controls humming like a souped up motor, and I wouldn't change it for the world. I'm a pilot. I was born to it, and right now I've got the best seat in the house.

****

While we are stationary I generally have little to do except update previous course logs and occasionally give Hoshi a hand at the comm. Being just like this as we maintain our position beside the nebula, I'm the first to arrive at the situation room for the captain's briefing. I have to say there's a definite spooky feeling hanging about, and the crewmen I've spoken to around the decks and in the mess over the last few days are all thinking the same thing – that something bad happened here, but that no one wants to speculate as to what. Some think we're in danger just hanging around, and ought to high tail out of here. It's like walking on eggshells.

I remember the expression on Hoshi's face when she returned to the bridge before retiring, with the captain's permission, to examine the device Doctor Phlox found. It was like she had put on a mask; that she'd seen something that she didn't want to talk about. The way Captain Archer watched her leave, a kind of frustrated curiosity mixed with sympathy, told me his thought's echoed my own.

Anyway, to the debriefing. I actually like being the first to arrive, because I get to see everyone come in. I'm the ever observant guy that no one sees. Well…maybe just the observant guy that everyone does see because he's sitting at one end of the table by himself. But you know what I mean. When someone enters I like to think I can read their mood in the first seconds that pass as the doors close behind them. Take for example right now. First comes Captain Archer, striding to the head of the table, a slight frown creasing his forehead and a firm set to his mouth, but he leans back in his chair and spreads his hands on the table in a manner which I can only describe as relaxed. Then T'Pol comes in, and almost immediately on her tail is Commander Tucker. Trip's saying something to her and as usual the Vulcan seems to be ignoring him point blank. But she's listening; I can see it. It's in the way she inclines her head ever so slightly to the side, as if she's allowing him her full attention, but knows that Trip lacks the coherence to grasp her body language. So he gets a head of steam up thinking she's ignoring him out of spite, and spends the next thirty seconds sitting in moody silence with arms crossed. Seriously. There's something going on there.

Next comes Malcolm, who enters briskly and drops with a huff into the seat beside me. He looks exhausted, but manages to hide it pretty well. Actually, both he and Trip are covered in grime, a fact which does not escape T'Pol, who, sitting beside the engineer, shifts her eyes to gaze at his grease splattered palms with a mixture of contempt and something I can't identify, but I'm interrupted in my observation of this by the entrance of Doctor Phlox and Hoshi. Hoshi nods at me with a smile, and slips into the seat beside Malcolm. The doctor takes the last seat beside Captain Archer, and we're set.

The captain sits up straight and I mimic him, placing both hands on the polished table.

"Okay, before I go round and get any updates, I'll just rundown where we are at present." Archer scans the table, meeting everyone's eye. We give him our full attention, including eventually Trip, who manages to finally stop fidgeting after T'Pol has given him a glare sharp enough to curl his eyelashes. "When you're ready, Trip…"

"Sorry, Cap'n."

Archer begins handing around pads. "This should give you all an overview of the doctor's findings. I'll let him run us through it, and then I'll hand you over to Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, who have finished their examination of the alien ship. But before that, I think T'Pol has gained some information on just who these people are." He nods at the Vulcan who stands and activates a viewscreen. There is a pause and only when T'Pol is satisfied that she has our attention does she speak.

"I have been going through our databases and have found a number of entries, made by the Vulcan ship V'Mor – incidentally the same ship which first catalogued this nebula – who were conducting a small research station on an outpost some distance from here." T'Pol brings up a series of images, some of head shots, some group shots. But all of walnut skinned, long haired humanoids, in intricately woven clothing. I realise these images would be familiar to people like Malcolm, Hoshi and especially the doctor, but to me they're entirely new. But I have barely time to digest them before T'Pol has brought up a map of a small star system. "But that outpost lay in a trade route belonging to two co-habiting species: the Skori and Boran," T'Pol says, and for some reason it strikes me then and there that T'Pol would be way more approachable if she wasn't so ramrod straight. It's just a thought.

I become uncomfortably aware that I'm beginning to daydream, and with some rapidity tune back in. "…I say co-habiting," T'Pol is saying, "but essentially the two are of single origin, with the Boran splitting into a separate faction. This was the reason the V'Mor noted them in their database. Apparently this newly established trade route has been a mild source of disruption between the two. But it was only this which caused the Vulcans any inconvenience to their research; though post-warp these species are not instigators of any science or technology. From what I understand they are in the business of organic resources and generally live a life of…naturalistic tendencies."

Trip snorts, amused. "I think the word you're lookin' for there is hippies, T'Pol."

I smile, not only for the remark, but for the way T'Pol arches a single eyebrow in Trip's direction, before continuing. "Nevertheless, both species were still advanced enough technologically to operate a successful trade route."

"Until now," Malcolm says.

Archer frowns. "So now we know who they are, what about the crew we found. Were they Skori or Boran?"

"I think I can help you there, Captain." Doctor Phlox rises and replaces T'Pol in front of the viewscreen. He taps in a series of commands and immediately a three dimensional humanoid figure is displayed. "This is the first individual I examined. From what the sub-commander has revealed I can say with almost complete certainty that this male, as well as the other crewmembers, is one of the Skori. Do you see these clefts in the chin, jawbone and earlobe? They are consistent with the established shots of Skori individuals the Vulcans were so kind to catalogue." Phlox brings back the images from the Vulcan database. "This man, identified as a Boran tradesman, has no such clefts. What's more he appears to be of darker skin." Phlox looks at T'Pol. "Did the Vulcan's establish anything about these people's home planet? Where the different factions lived?"

T'Pol blinks, and makes a small motion with her head. "No, the V'Mor had no interest in these species further than a peaceful negotiation to conduct research in their star system. Contact between them had been minimal."

"Is this Vulcan outpost still active?" asks the captain.

"No. The research ended some months ago. There was nothing of scientific interest to warrant their continuing."

Across the table I hear Trip murmur something about typical Vulcans but if T'Pol hears it she shows no acknowledgement.

Archer shoots his engineer a look. "Please continue, Doctor."

"As I was saying, this man is a member of the Skori." Phlox pauses and brigs up further medical scans. "As are the remaining crew I have just finished examining. Which leads me to their cause of death. Certainly they all suffered bruises and burns; I think, for those of you who recovered the bodies, you will appreciate this as fact. But these injuries, though serious, were not life threatening, and those men and women on board certainly didn't die as a result from them. What caused their deaths was this…"

On screen, we watch as a molecular pattern folds neatly in and around itself. Archer frowns, and says with surprise, "Oxygen?"

"Essentially, yes," says Phlox. "But this is not any oxygen you or I would be familiar with. You see, in the lungs of every body in that vessel I came across traces of an oxygen compound so pure that it must have been genetically modified."

"For what purpose?" the captain says, but I get the feeling he already knows the answer.

Phlox frowns. He seems unusually reluctant to divulge information. In the end he doesn't have to, because Malcolm provides the answer.

"Drug trafficking, sir."

There is a sudden clamour of voices. "All right people, let's focus here." Archer's voice raises itself above the others. He turns to Malcolm and Trip. "Tell me about the ship."

They eye each other before Trip shrugs. "Pretty cut and dry, Cap'n. They took some heavy beating, the hull plating almost disintegrated and the interior mechanics overloaded. I'd say that's where your burns occurred, Doc. Total duration of attack, ah…" Trip glances at Malcolm, "'bout ten, fifteen minutes? Yeah, I'd say they took around five or six really bad blows before whoever attacked them bade them farewell. Left the ship dead in the water."

"Did you get a look at the computer?"

"Yes and no, sir," says Malcolm, but I see his eyes flash with excitement. "The main tactical stations were blown to smithereens. But we managed to salvage the communications console and computer. To put it another way, we found the black box."

"The what?"

"Sorry, old aviation term."

Trip interrupts, waving a hand. "What Malcolm's tryin' to say is that we've scored all communications between our ship and whoever went for her. We handed it over to Hoshi just before the briefing."

Hoshi speaks before the captain has a chance. "I've left it running through the translation matrix." Then she smiles. "But I think I've already got a head start."

All eyes turn to her, and to the small device which she places on the table: the communicator which Phlox gave her earlier. Having not got a chance to look at it when Hoshi brought it to the bridge, I lean forward for a closer look. Hoshi says, "From what I could find out it seems to be some sort of personal data recorder. It had plenty of miscellaneous scientific data which I couldn't recognise, and, er, this…"

Hoshi thumbs the device and suddenly a holographic image hovers about sixty centimetres above the table, rotating slowly.

"Here's our owner. Well," her voice drops with sombreness, "here's what she would've looked like. Her name's Rayna and she is, as you correctly identified, Doctor, Skori. She comes from a city called Daccor, on a planet called Skoral, the Skori…and Boran, homeworld. But here's the really interesting thing. This device contains a huge amount of data on a drug which they call 'night vapour'. It's made up of a number of compounds, one of which…"

With a blip the rotating woman is replaced by a scrolling sequence of characters and numbers, which hover like a silent cloud. Sitting up with excitement, Doctor Phlox points at a column. "There!" he exclaims. "That's our oxygen concentrate. Captain, may I take this data to sickbay for further analysis?"

Archer nods, and glances at Hoshi, who says, "I'll send it to you the minute we finish here." She then changes the image so that it resembles lines of alien text, raw and untranslated. "I haven't translated this fully," she says slowly, her tone slightly apologetic, "but here's a rough outline."

English words replace the alien characters. And as we read in silence, these words suspended so surreally in mid-air, I am suddenly taken back to a memory of my childhood. Nine years old, and I was forever getting into trouble with my tutor, running away from lessons and hiding in one of the shuttles. I'd sit in the pilot's chair which was too big for me to see completely over the console, and pretend I was zooming through space, dodging meteors and chasing stars. When my dad would find me, he wouldn't scold, but simply shake his head and say That a good ambition, Travis, but you're too young, and space is very old. Then a smile. Besides, that seat's too big for you. Beware of getting in too deep too soon, for some things are too vast to solve by yourself.

Rotating with agonising slowness are these words:

Night Vapour the final sequence to Boran faction's elimination of the Skori genetic lineage.

Naturalistic tendencies indeed.

TBC