Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! I'm thrilled so many are enjoying this story.
Chapter 9 Acts of Desperation
"You call this adequate! These men need a bed, not a blanket on a floor."
The angry words penetrated Archer's hazy awareness. He was hot. Where was he? Why was it so ungodly hot? He felt people grabbing him, moving his body. He struck out blindly.
"It's all right Captain. You'll feel better soon." The voice said confidently.
He wished he could believe them. He was sick. That's why it was so hot. Memories of the past few days came rushing back. He let a hurt moan escape. He truly felt awful.
He stopped struggling against the restraining hands. A soothing coldness seeped over his face, moving down into his chest and spreading towards his limbs. He blinked, gradually adjusting his sight to the brightness of the room. Phlox leaned over him, examining him carefully. Satisfied by what he saw, he clucked to himself happily.
"That should help Captain." He smiled.
"Wha...what did you do?" His voice came out painfully weak.
"A hypospray with an analgesic, fever-reducer, and something to calm that queasy stomach." Phlox patted his shoulder.
"Trip...Malcolm?" He asked.
"They are fine, sleeping. Apparently you became ill first and bore the brunt of it." Phlox said, pulling a chair beside Archer's bed.
Bed? He lifted his head. Same room, but the three men were now resting in some Taltaxin form of a cot.
Archer let his head drop back on the pillow, "I assume I have you to thank for this?" His voice was stronger, the contents of the hypospray rapidly working against the virus in his system.
Phlox's unflappable demeanor wavered, "Any decent being would have seen you were provided these after it became apparent you were ill. Your hosts appear to be lacking in that trait."
Archer stared at Phlox, surprised to hear the doctor speak ill of anyone. They must have been in worse shape than he thought when the Doctor arrived. Phlox was normally easy-going, tolerant of many things...except when he felt his patients were being mistreated or placed in jeopardy. He could see the tight lines of disapproval in his face. Doctor Phlox was not pleased.
"You said it was a harmless virus?" He asked, concerned that they were worse off than he had believed.
Phlox gestured irritably, "It is, if treated. If left untreated it can be deadly."
Archer blinked. "You didn't mention that before."
"It wasn't relevant. I saw no reason to cause you more worry than you had at the time." Phlox's face flushed.
"I see." Archer looked up at the ceiling. "Anything else you'd like to tell me?"
Hoshi sat at the edge of her chair, poised for action. The level of tension had risen on the bridge as the ships approached Relas V. It had become painful, barely tolerable. The crew waited for something, anything, to break the stalemate they found themselves in, an unwitting player in a convoluted game of which they knew far to little about.
Later Hoshi would remember the phrase, be careful what you wish for, because the stalemate was about to break spectacularly in their prospective faces.
"We're being hailed!" The light on the panel flashed, incoming message. Hoshi swiveled to watch T'Pol, waiting for her orders.
"Put it through Ensign."
"Enterprise, this is Prime Minister Veen. We cannot allow you to protect The Future any longer. Remove yourself from the area. We promise to try and keep your people safe." Veen dictated, as if reading from a cue card. His words lacked emotion.
T'Pol understood the unspoken message, "Get out of the way, or we'll make sure your people become a casualty."
"I can't allow that Prime Minister. Our people are still on that ship."
Veen slapped a hand against the chair, "We'll do our best, Sub-Commander, to cause them no harm while claiming our prisoner."
"I don't believe you." T'Pol stated succinctly enunciating each syllable.
In the days ahead, T'Pol would remember the moment she realized she had made a critical error. She saw the change in his eyes. A cold finality, an acceptance of a course of action that would be made, regardless of what she could do to put a stop to it. "I'm sorry you feel that way." The channel shut with a hard abruptness.
T'Pol pondered the viewscreen, "Mr. Mayweather?"
Electricity snaked through the air.
"Their ship is gaining speed." Travis announced, studying his readings, glancing at T'Pol.
"Destination?" T'Pol unconsciously stepped towards the helm.
Travis punched buttons frantically; this can't be, he thought, "They're going to ram her..." He stared at the scene unfolding before them.
"Set an intercept, Mr. Mayweather." T'Pol fought to keep calm, strength in order. The crew needed to know she could handle this. She strove for the same leadership that Archer offered.
"Yes Ma'am." Travis worked the controls. The Enterprise banked gracefully, swimming in its pool of stars, coming between the two ships, presenting an obstacle of metal and flesh.
"It's not slowing down Sub-commander, she's increasing speed!" Travis shouted.
"Tactical Alert, polarize the hull plating! Maintain course, Ensign." T'Pol demanded.
"Hull plating polarized!"
"Maintaining course!"
T'Pol toggled the comm. switch for ship wide communications, "All hands prepare for impact, I repeat, prepare for impact!"
"Lock onto their port bow, fire a warning shot." She instructed.
"Firing..."
"She's still coming...impact in 5...4...3...2...1!" Travis hollered.
Enterprise rolled, bucked and burned. Sparks exploded across the bridge, debris rained down around the crew.
Hoshi clung to her station; Travis crawled back into his chair.
"Report Ensign!" T'Pol ordered.
"We've lost warp, impulse engines are at 60%, hull plating is down. Their ship is approaching the conspirator's, Sub-Commander." Travis wiped at sticky blood leaking into his eyes.
"Weapons?" She asked.
Travis checked the read-outs, defeated, he shook his head.
Amidst the wreckage of Enterprise, a plan began to formulate in T'Pol's mind. "They may have won the battle Ensign, but they haven't won the war, get a security team to the Captain's ready room. I have an idea."