Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This is for entertainment purposes only.
Chapter 4: A Picture Develops
The major difference between a thing that might go wrong and a thing that cannot possibly go wrong is that when a thing that cannot possibly go wrong goes wrong it usually turns out to be impossible to get at and repair.
-- Douglas Adams
Two-fifty for a decade, and a buck and a half for a year…
-- The Tragically Hip
He woke to giggles, knew instantly who it was. "Basic first aid, Toby. You know it as well as I do." Archer seemed to have gained some consciousness, or at least some movement, because one of his arms had wrapped its way around Trip, and his head rested snug in the space between Trip's neck and shoulder.
"Sir?" Trip shook the captain, wanting to see if he was awake. Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do but… I don't know. I'm not a doctor; I'm not even a paramedic. All he knew was to get the patient warm and call for help. Well he'd done the first, but the second… call who?
Archer groaned and began to blink. "Hmn? What? What happened?" He focussed blearily on the figure beside him. "Trip? Why are you still here?"
"Long story, sir." Satisfied for the moment that his friend would be okay, Trip began sorting through the tangled mess of clothing, sorting his out, and tossing the others to their respective owners while he dressed. He was tying his shoes when he realised that Archer hadn't moved, was just staring at him oddly.
"Are you okay, sir?" Trip looked at Archer, then down at himself. "Oh. A friend of mine gave it to me a long time ago. Was the first thing I found in the dark." He wasn't sure why he felt the need to lie, or even half lie as he was doing, except that it was easier than explaining the entire story. Besides, he was practically famous around the ship for his collection of odd shirts. Better to let the captain assume that this was just another one of them.
"I'm… I'm fine, Trip." Archer finally began to get dressed himself, but the disturbed look didn't leave his face. Trip could tell that there were questions Archer definitely wanted to ask, but somehow the captain seemed almost afraid to do so.
Odd. That's not the Jonathan Archer I know. Unless it was deeply personal ground that Trip specifically told him not to tread on, Archer never appeared reluctant to ask Trip anything.
"What happened to your face?" Fairly innocent, and obviously a deflector question. More his style than the captain's.
Trip realised that by now both eyes must be blackened, the next step after the nose. "I broke it sir. Might have been on Crewman DiLorenza sir, I'm not sure. Things were a little confusing." Now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember an elbow in there somewhere.
"Crewman…" For the first time Archer seemed to become aware of a third person sharing space with them. He looked at her, back at Trip, a question in his eyes.
"It was during the turbulence, sir. That lousy sense of balance of mine?" Trip could see that the joke wasn't going over; instead, it simply went past Archer entirely. Come on, sir. You were giving me the gears about almost falling off of that mountain. "Can't even stay on a mountain path?"
Archer's odd look intensified. "Okay, Trip. Okay. Whatever you say."
He's probably still coming off that near brush with death. Such things tended to leave a person a little muddled; Trip had had enough of them to know. "Well, I'm hoping to get main power restored, but we're going to have to go to main Engineering to do it, because I've pretty much eliminated our chances of doing that on the bridge. Anyway, I've got more of the stuff I need down in Engineering, but the problem is we can't get to Engineering from the other lift, so I thought we'd try this one…" Oh, my God. I sound like Toby on sugar. He cut himself off before it could get any worse. "You said you had a plan for going through the bottom of this thing?" He addressed the last part to Kaci, who said nothing.
Oh, lovely. Apparently encountering Archer was enough to drive her back into herself. Sighing, he moved out of the way, gesturing for her to put her plan in motion.
As soon as she started, he could have kicked himself. Of course, moron. Rather than going through a centre panel as they had when going up, make a hole in the side next to the ladder. Were Archer not here, and already concerned for Trip's sanity, Trip would have hit his head against the wall for his stupidity. He felt overtired, which was even more stupid, because he'd spent more time sleeping than anyone else around here.
More time sleeping, than doing anything useful, actually. Even as he thought it, he could feel his eyes wanting to close, while his mind continued to race.
{We've got to get you some coffee. Or just mainline you some caffeine before you go into serious withdrawal on us. I'll bet you can feel the headache setting in already, keep it up and your hands'll be shaking, and you'll get all nasty…}
He gave her a look. Shut up, Toby. Unfortunately, she was standing right behind the captain, who took a step back, thinking the look was directed at him.
Trip pinched the back of his hand, hard. Yup, it hurt, he must be awake. So what was going on here? Normally if Archer thought anybody was giving him the eyeball, that somebody would get it right back, and more so. Toby was right, though: Trip needed coffee. Espresso would be better. That's the ticket. He'd gained near legend status during his sophomore year by downing twelve shots straight in rapid succession, and later spending a terrified half hour during a major exam while his heart raced out of control. Only to try it again the next semester. I'm an addict, all right.
{Meetcha down there.} Toby vanished again, up to God knew what.
And I'm not certain He's sure.
Arrival in Engineering answered that question. "I love that girl." He pretended not to see Archer's look (how many variations could the man get on confused, anyway? He'd gone through at least twenty while Trip explained his theory on the way down) as the unmistakable scent of near heaven reached him. He followed his nose to his desk, where steam rose from a large cup. "I don't know how you did it…" He tried to pick it up, then realised it was secured to the desk via magnet. A little more force and it came away; luckily, none of it spilled. He took a careful sip. Not great, but hardly the worst he'd ever drunk. And definitely what his body had been asking for.
{Well, I hope you hadn't left it there for too long, because all I did was heat it up.}
That explained the cream and sugar. And the fact that it wasn't coffee. "Remind me to thank Hess." If I ever see her again. Still, it had what he needed most, the organic stimulant that served as an engineer's elixir of life. It couldn't be too old; he didn't remember the cup being there eight hours ago when he'd last stopped by here. Even if conventional biological understanding dictated that it would be awhile before any of it reached his system, psychologically the fact that he consumed it gave him a boost. The heat did him good as well, warming from within. "Shit, sorry."
He held out the cup to Archer, grinding his feet into the deck to keep from kicking himself. "You're the one who almost died of hypothermia, you need this more than I do."
Archer took the cup gingerly, as though expecting it to explode, or the contents to be poisoned. Slowly he took a sip, then another. "Thank you."
"Thank Hess. It's her tea." Normally he avoided the stuff unless heavily iced. And even then he'd rather something coffee, but his SIC claimed that coffee only tasted good as ice-cream. With lots of chocolate. "Now…" He rubbed his hands together, running an experienced eye over the engine. His engine. Sure, the basic design belonged to Henry Archer and Zephram Cochran, but this one was his baby. He knew every piece of her, all her little quirks and complaints. He knew how to coax her, had a fairly good idea how far she could be pushed. Too bad you can't ever pull that off with women. Whoever was doing this; they hadn't messed too much with the engine. It still had power, if only enough to keep containment functioning. Which meant that they had all the power they needed right in front of them, provided he could control it.
Engine, generator, weapon of mass destruction. That was the true trick to being an engineer – a good engineer – not technical knowledge of programming, or construction, or systems but the ability to see a device as more than one thing. Other people looked at a computer and saw, well, a computer, but an engineer saw circuits, saw power systems and components. You have a box of candles, a box of tacks and a box of matches. Your task is to hang one of the candles on the wall and light it. First year quiz from one of his professors. Half the class tried to work out ways of melting the wax so it held the candle to the wall, whittling down the candle so the tack could go through it. Trip had looked at the problem for a moment and scribbled in an answer: pin one of the boxes to the wall, and place the candle in it. Light the candle. He wondered at the time the point of the question: it seemed too easy, a child's riddle. Until he learned that most people looked at the items and focused on the contents: candles, matches, tacks. They sped right past the fact they had three boxes at hand. It would have been an A, but he got docked several marks for handwriting. It helps, Mr. Tucker, the instructor informed him as he handed back the test, "If the answers are actually legible." Hard to believe that scrawl came from the same hand that could create fine detail sketches, then again he'd heard surgeons had the same problem.
Trip smiled at the memory as he swapped out a few components and redirected a couple of the systems. All they needed right now was basic power: lights, heat. Even the air systems could wait for a bit, as far as he could tell it was only the three of them (plus the critters) here at any given time. No way three people would use up all the available oxygen on a starship in the time he allotted himself to get things fixed. Okay, so they wouldn't be able to go to warp anytime soon, but as long as they had – not even a skeleton crew, more like a metatarsal – he had no intentions of moving the ship that fast, if he moved her at all.
He began humming as he connected the last piece, then gingerly flicked on his monitor. It lit up, pink.
"We are busy. Go away now." It shut down again as quickly as it lit up.
"Trip…" Archer let the rest of the statement trail off. The tone was there though: what the hell is going on?
"Damn." Trip didn't waste time explaining, just turned the power back on again. This time the monitor remained dark, but he got the sense it was waiting for something. A memory teased at the back of his mind. She wouldn't, would she?
"Knock, knock." He typed it in, watched the words not appear on the screen. Then…
"Who's there?" That same sibilant hiss, rabbits gone mad.
Okay. Now the fun part. He tapped the board twice. 1,1.
"We don't know that. No talk to strangers. Bye." This time the speakers crackled, then nothing.
"Shit!" He didn't have many more – if any more – chances to get this right. Damn Gina and her paranoid little games anyway.
"Eleven?" Archer looked at Trip quizzically. "What kind of an identity code is that?"
"It's… shit." He looked upwards, shaking his head. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "I'm an idiot."
He typed in again. Knock, KNOCK. Capitalizing the second part to create the emphasis. Rabbits have short attention spans; you need to make sure you've got their attention. Then…
"What?!" Snapped now, more impatient. "Who are you? Identify self or go away. We prefer you go away."
"I don't give a damn what you prefer." Trip didn't expect an answer; there was no voice input on this computer. There will be when we perfect the system. Even now, there were too many bugs to totally trust it, too much data that needed to be stored to allow for the programs. Right now…
A pink rectangle appeared on the screen, large enough for an input of twenty-six characters.
"You're supposed to crack that?" Archer shook his head. "You're good, Trip, but there must be…"
"Only one right answer. It helps if you already know it." Actually, a twenty-six-bit key wouldn't be all that hard with the right tools. Downright simple, actually. Gina knew that too… "The trick is within the trick."
"Huh?" Clearly he'd lost Archer back at the last sharp turn. "You know about this?"
Trip's only response was to smile. Slowly, dramatically, he reached down with one finger. Entered the code. 3.
"Oh. It's you. Hi, 'Levin." This time the voice sounded almost disappointed. Sad he guessed?
"Looking at the input area, you expected a twenty-six character code, didn't you?" Trip didn't even wait for confirmation; it was what most people would expect. "You wouldn't expect it to only accept a single digit. Way too easy to break, far less options. So simple that nobody thinks to look for it."
"But why eleven? I don't get that."
Trip shrugged. "Stupid mistake." 'Levin. "I went with the wrong assumption. It's the same thing, just… base-ten's simpler?"
"Huh?" Still lost. Archer looked like he'd fallen down the rabbit hole and woken up not in Wonderland, but somewhere else entirely.
" 'There are ten types of people in this universe.'" Trip quoted, " 'Those that understand binary, and those that don't.'" Eleven. One, one. Or in binary terms, one two, plus one one. Three. Charles Tucker the THIRD. Triple. Trip. So easy once you knew the inside joke.
Archer's brow furrowed as he worked on it for a second, then he shook his head again. "You could have been wrong on that. What if it hadn't worked?"
"Then we'd be up a creek." He didn't bother clarifying which one; he didn't feel there was a need.
"Are we stopping, 'Levin?" An image resolved on the screen, Gina's digital mascot. "Don't stop us, we have fun. Much fun. What are you wanting, 'Levin?"
Access. He tapped in the single word, waited.
"Okay. But only for you, 'Levin. 'Cause you said, special measures, y. Hurry, up. We not listening to you again."
You better. Actually, it was probably just Gina telling him that the code would be different next time, a new puzzle to figure out. Just in case someone saw him with this one, sought to duplicate the trick.
At least the anti-viral part had been hard at work. Slowly he began bringing the vital systems online, convincing them that they needed to work. A steady hum broke the eerie silence as the heaters and circulation system kicked in, then the lights. It actually hurt for a second, so accustomed had he become to working in the darkness.
Now… he ran a quick, cursory diagnostic and groaned at the results. "Okay. We do have a hell of a lot to repair." He wasn't sure how much was due to the virus and how much was Toby's work, but over ninety-percent of the systems still remained non-functional. And we need some of them. All he'd guaranteed right now was basic survival. "Come on. I'll tell you what to do as we go."
First, however, Archer insisted on a stop. "It's on the same deck, Trip. Please. If you're right and someone is watching us…"
Reluctantly Trip agreed, and followed his captain down the halls to the armoury. Something bothered him, but he bit his tongue. No sense… But still. When did we lose Kaci? He tried to recall if she'd been in main Engineering with them or not, couldn't. He'd been too busy working on puzzles, and Kaci was too good at disappearing.
They arrived at the armoury, the doors locked shut. There was power to a keypad beside the door, kept on an uninterrupted power supply. Trust Malcolm. Paranoid to the last, there was no way he'd risk a power outage giving intruders access to Enterprise's weapons.
Archer entered a code, then frowned as the doors stubbornly refused to open. "That's my code. It overrides everything."
"This is Malcolm, sir." Trip tried a code himself, even that didn't work. "Damn, he changed it again." Well, if the captain wanted into the armoury. "Out of the way, sir."
Trip hated locked doors on the grounds that they kept him out of things. Interesting things, sometimes. Consequently, every one he came across became a challenge he couldn't refuse. Pitting himself against Malcolm, well that just made things more interesting. A year ago, he'd found the lieutenant annoying. So upright and proper. Rules and regs and dontcha know? His expectations of spit-polish and discipline ran counter to Trip's easy-going, argumentative nature. Yet…three days of forced confinement, taught both of them a few things about the other. We've got a lot in common. Not in ways anyone would guess, but enough to allow insight into each other's behaviour, and maybe even a little compassion.
The first person to actually prove it. Lots of people said they enjoyed having Trip around; Malcolm was the first to put his life on the line over it. Had seen the darkness that lurked within Trip and hadn't run away, hadn't even been uncomfortable with it. Everyone else only likes me when I'm happy. Other talks had given Trip hints, glimpses of their true commonality. Neither one would come out and say it, but they shared a past.
Besides, it's always more fun when you know the guy. Then it became a battle of matched wits, seeing how well you knew the other person. Almost an advanced form of poker, without the cards. "Let's see." Mag-lock doors, probably alarmed. And… he peered closer, examining a small circuit that looked newly installed. It looked like an electronic trip-wire. Disconnect or sever the circuit in any way and the doors would lock, permanently. "You've been reading my manuals again, Malcolm." No way Reed would trust this kind of work to anyone else, especially Trip. The commander chuckled. 'Trip' wire indeed. He knew exactly who this was designed to keep out, and it wasn't any intruders. If the situation weren't so serious, it would be almost funny.
"Who's a clever boy, then." He had to admit, his imitations of Malcolm were better than Malcolm's of him. There was just something innately funny about hearing Southern aphorisms spouted in a British accent. Grinning, he scanned the circuit, determined exactly how much current it carried. He then took a small device from his sleeve pocket, held it directly above the circuit. This was the tricky part. Timing his move so that the fooler current kicked in at the exact same moment he disengaged the circuit from the system. Only then did he begin teasing the mag-locks, convincing them that the signal they were receiving was the legitimate release signal from the security system. Again, he needed to get it perfect. Even slightly off and the system would interpret it correctly as an invasion and wouldn't give them a chance.
A dicey moment passed, then the locks thunked back. Trip looked up to see Archer staring at him in disgust. "Hey. You were the one who said we had to get into the armoury. I thought this qualified under special circumstances."
Archer said nothing, just sighed and stepped through the door. He headed across the room to where the weapon's cabinets waited, locked as shut as the main doors. He muttered something Trip didn't quite catch.
"Sir?" Trip hurried after him, then saw what the captain was looking at. "Son of a bitch." All three cabinets hung open, the phase pistols neatly laid out, all the powercells missing. "Who would…" The answer came to him at the same time Archer began to speak. Kaci.
"Crewman DiLorenza? Unless you think someone from the future needs to steal all our phase pistol batteries." Archer sounded bitter, almost accusatory, as though Trip himself was the one who sabotaged them.
Trip shook his head. "No, sir. I just don't…" What would Kaci need with the batteries? If she planned to do them harm, why not take the pistols themselves? They were all still here, only the powercells had been taken. This had all the earmarks of someone else's crazy exploit, but even then, it still made no sense, even senselessly. No. It couldn't be that.
"Well, Mr. Tucker, now that we're out of weapons, what do you suggest next?" The sarcasm in Archer's voice was unmistakable.
Mr. Tucker? Whatever the hell happened to Trip? Tired, he snapped back. "What I suggested from the beginning, sir. We get this ship back on line. We find out what the hell is really happening. And then we do something about it." What was wrong with this day? He's the one counselling caution and inaction while Archer wants to charge in, guns blazing?
Archer stepped back, shrinking into himself. Once again, it was Trip's turn for confusion. Since when had Archer ever been afraid of him, or anything about him? Lack of anxiety went back to old Jonathan Archer. The Jonathan Archer who would stand up to Forrest, look him straight in the eye during a rebuke. Even when he knew he was right, Trip couldn't do that. Even now, he felt like he should be the one cringing. He was the one who crossed the line. Never complain, never explain, never apologise. That was the Archer Trip knew. Not this…
"Sorry, sir. I shouldn't have snapped like that." Trip was the type to apologise, a useful trait when you tended towards the impulsive. "I'm just…" He blew a deep breath between his lips. "I'm a little short on caffeine. I'm a little short on a lot of things, including my temper. I'm sorry. You're right, sir. We should consider being able to defend ourselves. I've been focussing a little too much on the technical issues." A lousy apology.
Probably because you don't need to apologise. Sometimes, Trip, the other person is the one wrong. If Inner-Charles was being supportive, things were worse than he thought. Of course, that would deny you your 'poor pitiful me' martyr status, wouldn't it.
Well, thank God for some small mercies. They left the armoury in silence, neither one daring to look at the other. Something passed between them, a current of misunderstanding
Halfway between the armoury and the turbolift they hit an intersection. "Crewman." Archer barked it out, a definite command.
Kaci looked at them, no expression in her eyes. No denial, no defiance, no regret. She met them at the T, said nothing.
"Do you mind telling us where the phase pistol batteries disappeared to?" Archer didn't even bother to ask her if she was involved, give her a chance to insist on her innocence.
Her expression didn't change. No yes, no no.
"Crewman? I believe I asked you a question."
"Sir?" Trip couldn't watch this. It was bullying in the first degree, almost a one-eighty from Archer's previous behaviour. From any of Archer's behaviour. "We don't even know that Crewman DiLorenza had anything to do with this." He stepped between her and Archer, shielding the younger, smaller person from the onslaught. "It was just a possibility, sir. An assumption." He searched for something else to defend her with, to even excuse her non-responsiveness. "She's my responsibility sir, she's on my crew. Let me handle it, please?" He hated begging, but… the theft bothered him. Archer's flip-flops were easier to swallow than Kaci being in any way aggressive. And so far, she'd been more help to him than his friend and captain.
Archer shrunk back again, conceding the point. It was almost as if he didn't hear the pleading, the courtesies, only heard Trip contradicting him, and didn't want to fight. Like… Trip shook his head. There was nothing he could compare it to, had never seen anything like it. Yes, you have.
Yeah, but Archer's not…there is no way… who'd have the guts… What he looked like was someone who'd been hit one too many times and expected it from everywhere. Who'd do anything to avoid another beating. Like…
Like you before you met Toby. When you were the class punching bag, in more ways than one. No, not quite. More like Danny Malone, who'd pick on the little kids at school, and slunk around at home trying to disappear. A bully, but only because he was bullied himself. So, who's picking on you, cap'n? The answer, the obvious one was clearly impossible. How in the hell can it be me?
"This is not the job I expected." Trip teased another burnt out board from its housing, replaced it with a new one. He didn't have the energy to go climbing up and down the ladder forever, so – logically – the turbolift was the thing that needed fixing first. Now that basic services were back on-line. He could have used more help, but Archer didn't want Kaci working on anything, and even Trip couldn't deny his suspicions. True, he'd defended her, but on pure reflex. White knight syndrome.
So she sat just within his line of sight, back against the wall. Archer worked on his own assignment a little farther down, occasionally throwing suspicious glances at Kaci. Why do I suddenly feel like a parent?
The shock came out of nowhere, blasting through the insulation, ignoring the grounds, and heating straight for the bigger target. It lifted him off his feet and tossed him against the far wall like a piece of debris in a hurricane. Every nerve in his body lit up like he'd been dipped in phosphorus. He screamed, thought he screamed, had to be screaming.
He rebounded off the wall, landing almost at the next one. Paralysed, he could do nothing, the world seemed too far away in any case.
"Ohmigod." It came out as one word, Archer's voice. Was that panic in the tone? Why should Archer be panicking? Trip wasn't.
Shock. You can't think straight.
Shock. That was funny. Shock sums it up. Shock from a shock. I'm shocked.
You're hysterical.
Thank you.
I wasn't talking funny.
I wouldn't say anything, even if you were.
Great. Inner-Charles sounded disgusted I'm dying, and I'm carrying on a stand-up routine in my own head.
Dying? Abruptly he realised the tightness in his chest, the fact that nothing made sense. Not again.
Archer rolled him onto his back, untangling his limbs. Unable to do anything else, unable to say what was wrong, he lay on his back, staring up at Archer. Something was odd here, just slightly off. Maybe it was the extreme look of concern in Archer's eyes, more than Trip had ever seen there before. He wasn't this worried last time. Last time, when he'd cajoled Trip into staying conscious, staying out of a coma. He'd been worried then, sure, but now he looked close to tears
Archer leaned in close, his cheek just brushing Trip's lips. He pulled back, "He's not breathing." He leaned in again.
Yes, please. Yes. Trip wanted to scream it aloud, couldn't. He tried to force the words past his lips, but to no avail. I don't want to die. Help me! He knew now why drowning people thrashed around in their last moments. Dying hurt. He felt Archer's lips against his, forceful, desperate, forcing air into his non-functioning lungs.
Archer's hands worked quickly, getting the shirt out of the way, then his head moved down to Trip's chest. He paused there for a second, maybe less -- "No pulse." --then set to work, steady, rhythmically. One-two-three-four-five. He leaned in again, mouth to mouth, then pulled back and resumed the count. One-two-three-four-five. He straddled Trip, and Kaci's face moved in from the top, she looked at Archer with a question, then her lips replaced his on Trip's. Oh, yes…Please, girl, help me out here. I need you again, more than I needed you on that ladder. Help me, please. Don't give up on me…
"Don't give up." Archer echoed Trip's silent request with an order. "He's tough, he's not going to die. He's just unconscious, he's not dead yet."
No, I'm not. Not dead, and not unconscious either. Nor was it an out of body experience, this was way too painful for that.
Lights flickered and exploded in front of his eyes, despite the best efforts of the other two. He could feel himself slipping away, losing touch.
Don't you DARE, Tucker. Don't you dare give up now. Do NOT go into that light, do you hear me? You are not giving up, you are not going to die. Do you understand me, Tucker? If you die, I die, and I'm not dying here, not like this.
But it wasn't his decision, was it? He had no idea how to restart his own heart. A complex, multi-system warp engine was child's play for him now, but this simple pump mechanism was beyond his capability.
{No, it's not your decision, Trip. Trust me, I know a few things about life and death and all that stuff,} Toby knelt beside him, more solid now, more real than the other two. She smiled, a wicked little grin that told him he probably wouldn't like what was coming next. {And if you think I'm going to let you off that easy…} A sharp icy pain hit as she slid her fingers into his chest, straight through the flesh and bone and down to the unresponsive organ, then…
His entire body convulsed, jerking off the deck as another shock coursed through him. He collapsed bonelessly and heard, "We've got a pulse. He's breathing." Well, no shit, his heart probably kicked in just so it wouldn't get nailed like that again. Witch.
Archer picked him up, easily, cradling Trip to his chest. He said something, but Trip couldn't catch it, only "…bed." That would be nice… Only problem being that the bio-beds weren't fixed yet, all they would provide was a nice slab-like surface for him to lie on. Frankenstein's monster. Brought back to life by lightning. Now he did let himself lose consciousness, safe in the knowledge that he didn't need it anymore.
He woke, oriented himself to the increasingly familiar bed of sickbay. How did they get me here? They had been on D-deck, sickbay resided on C. Had he fixed the turbolift? No way they hauled him up the ladder. Maybe Kaci finished fixing it, if the surge hadn't blown everything out. Mmmn. That had to be it.
Slowly he opened his eyes. Archer sat at the foot of his bed, watching.
"Trip." The word came out filled with relief. "You're okay."
"Uhhh. Good. I've always wondered what that felt like." If this was okay, then people could keep it. Carefully he pulled himself into a sitting position, blinking his eyes in an attempt to clear the spots. He felt like he'd been run over, then they'd backed up and done it again a few times. His hands shook. Nerve damage. Not surprising, the human nervous system wasn't intended to carry that kind of a load. At the same time, all he could think of was more time wasted unconscious. He slid his legs to the floor, stumbling when they wouldn't take his weight.
"Easy." Archer caught his arm, steadying him. "You just got one hell of a jolt, Trip. I know you're tough, but…"
"Tough, shit. More like terminally stupid." Lucky too, he realised. The clothing he'd grabbed, all of it was cotton. Scorched in places, now, but… synthetics, like those in his uniform, would have melted to his skin, increasing the severity of his burns. What he had was bad enough.
Archer smiled, didn't let go of Trip's arm. Instead, he reached over with his free hand, smoothed an errant lock of Trip's hair off of his forehead. "I wouldn't say that…"
Um…Trip pulled back, found himself trapped by the bed and the wall. "Sir?" There was something a little too tender in Archer's gesture. A little too gentle. And the look on his face…
I've never gotten that look from any guy before. I've never wanted it either. A look of longing, backed by deep sadness.
"Just… you've been acting so different, lately, Trip. These past few hours…the ones you've been conscious for. I was hoping maybe…"
Maybe what? His heart started racing again, and it wasn't anything to do with caffeine. That ladder was starting to look damned attractive at this moment…
"But who's Toby? You kept saying his name while you were out of it. Not Lindekker, is it?"
"Uh, no." Had there been death threats involved? Promises of mutilation, if he could only get his hands on her?
Archer stepped even closer, seemingly oblivious to his chief engineer's panic. "Just tell me, Trip. You've never hidden anything before…"
Bang! Before Trip could answer, could think of an answer, something hammered into the sickbay doors. Both heads whipped around, Archer gaining a look to match Trip's.
BANG! The doors began to buckle. Whatever was hitting them was hitting them hard. From this angle, he couldn't see what it was, doubted Archer could, either.
BANG! They buckled further, close to giving way.
So this is how Nell and Theo felt in The Haunting. The 1963 version. Julie Harris, Claire Bloom, Richard Johnson and Russ Tamblyn. Directed by Richard Wise. The good version of the movie, not the crappy remakes that came later.
Archer let Trip go, backing away. He looked terrified now, as though anything could be coming through those doors. Trip, veteran of many more horror movies had a better idea of what to expect.
A final blow and the doors gave way entirely. A mass of energy hurtled into the room, all reds, greens and purples. In the centre, obscured by the roiling colours around a human figure was barely discernable. She stalked towards Archer, pure anger spoiling her otherwise pretty features. She didn't like Archer, had told Trip as much on more than one occasion. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" Archer pulled back further, looking to Trip for support.
Trip shrugged, relief flooding through him. Best friend comes through. "She never really did learn how to share."
Another thought occurred to him, a recent mystery solved. She sucked the energy out of things when she manifested, hence the cold spots that served as telltale signs of a haunting. Energy could come from anything if you thought about it, especially a nice, portable power source. Like, oh, a dozen or so phase pistol batteries… His eyes widened, a new, horrible thought burning into his already overloaded brain. "You didn't take them all did you?"
She stuck her tongue out at him, crossed her eyes. Little brat. Probably had sucked them all up at once, she'd never been one for half measures.
It took a couple of minutes to calm Archer down into coherence, even more to get him to understand what it was he saw.
"Toby." He stared at the apparition, clearly unwilling to believe his own eyes.
Trip nodded. "And she's definitely dead. Has been for about twenty years now." He fought to keep the giddy grin off his face. "My best friend."
"Toby." Archer repeated. His tone indicated that this was worse news than the possibility of Crewman Lindekker.
"Sorry, sir." He lost the fight, covered his mouth with his hand. Just when he thought things couldn't get any more insane, fate tossed him another curveball to swing at. Or maybe this time it was a slider.
As they spoke, he could see the energy draining away from Toby; she grew dimmer, the colours became less riotous. Pretty soon she'd once again be visible only to himself and Kaci. Probably for the better, that, because Archer didn't seem to be handling the whole disembodied soul thing too well. The man needed distracting.
"I'm hungry." Trip quickly moved the subject into the realm of the physical, hoping to pull Archer's mind out of meta. "Who wants dinner?" He saw Kaci now, she'd entered sickbay shortly after Toby did, but with far fewer dramatics. He caught the flicker in her eyes, took it for a yes.
"Dinner." At least it was a different single word response. Gently, gingerly, Trip reached out for Archer's elbow, began pulling him out of sickbay.
"Food will probably do you good, sir. You're probably suffering from low blood sugar or something." He stared out over Archer's shoulder at Toby. Don't you dare mess with him any further. Okay, so Archer was acting weird. That didn't make torturing him any more fair.
He guided the captain down to the mess hall, then through into the galley. Now that he thought about it, he was hungry, and could use some calming down himself. He placed Archer on a stool in the corner, motioned for Kaci to take another one. "Let's see what we've got." He began sorting through various containers; some things he could identify, others he couldn't. "How does spaghetti sound to everybody?"
He took lack of argument for a yes. Humming, he set to work, chopping vegetables, boiling water, seasoning and cooking up some meat. Slowly he surrendered himself to the rhythm, let himself be pulled in by the intricate timing. Cooking required concentration, good cooking required serious focus.
"I didn't know you knew how to cook, Trip." Archer spoke his first full sentence since sickbay, his voice unsteady, uncertain.
Trip shrugged, not even looking up. No sense chopping off a finger, and he still couldn't keep his hands fully steady. "I don't do it all that often. On the other hand, it seemed like an essential survival skill at the time." He had started out of necessity: both Mom and Dad often worked late, someone had to feed the kids. Later it became a comfort, a source of control. A way to keep himself in control. The multi-tasking forced him to slow down, to pay attention. And like anything he put his mind to learning, he'd decided to take the time to learn it well.
"You're going to love this." He finished grating some Romano cheese, mixed it with the Parmesan he'd done earlier. "A friend of mine once swore I was half-Italian." Actually, this was going to be – by his standards – a pretty poor excuse for a meal. Most of the fresh stuff had frozen when the stasis units went offline, and he didn't have the protein resequencers up and running yet. But with any luck, they wouldn't be expecting much, and he'd be able to get by.
Could be worse. Could be emergency rations. His lips twitched again. Could be Malcolm cooking.
"Something funny, Trip?" Archer cautiously tried a mouthful, nodded his approval.
"Nothing, sir. Inside joke." Given the weird way Archer'd been behaving all day, he wasn't sure how the captain would take to Trip's insulting a crewmate. Hell, given the sickbay there was a large possibility the man would get jealous.
He sat down with his own plate at a counter-top, not trusting his hands to hold the plate and feed him at the same time. While this kept him separate from the others, what's the matter, don't you trust them? it also meant he could see through into the mess hall. And see the shadow coming towards them.
Right. His hand closed around something round and heavy. Weightier than he was used to, but the size was right, settling familiarly into the palm of his hand. Slowly, quietly, he stood up, moved towards the doors.
Archer started to rise, but Trip motioned him back down. I'll handle this. He reached the doors, they slid open…
The intruder turned and ran. Normally Trip would give chase aren't a lot of people who can outrun me over 100 yards, and I tackle pretty well for an ex-quarter, but he didn't trust himself to make it in his current state. Instead, his arm pulled back, into the wind-up.
It wasn't his best, it wasn't his fastest, and the weight almost ripped his arm and shoulder to pieces, but it worked. The newcomer screamed as the heavy iron ball – I wonder what Chef uses that for – hurtled in to his leg. He collapsed, whimpering, which gave Trip plenty of time to catch up.
He reached down with both hands, pulled the stranger to his feet, recognised him. "Daniels. What the fuck is going on here?"
Daniels took one look into Trip's eyes, gave up. "I haven't got a clue."
After going through what he could find of Daniels' pockets (there were only so many places Trip was willing to explore), and pulling out a few gadgets he couldn't recognise, Trip escorted Daniels into the galley. Archer jumped to his feet, looking at Daniels like he'd never seen him before. Kaci slipped back into the shadows, but not before Trip caught a glimpse of the large knife she concealed on herself. Noted.
Trip shoved Daniels towards a chair, picked up a knife of his own. "Start talking." He wasn't sure if Daniels would call his bluff; wasn't sure if he was bluffing.
"It's not supposed to be you." Either Daniels was a very good actor and liar – something Trip hadn't seen proof of up until now – or he really didn't know anything. "This wasn't supposed to happen at all, but if it did, it wasn't supposed to be you, or her." Daniels gestured vaguely at Kaci. "Archer was supposed to be the one who stayed behind. You don't figure into this."
"Into what?" Trip's patience frayed another notch.
Daniels sighed. "I've told you before, this time is a very important one for the Temporal Cold War. There are people out there who want nothing more than your mission to fail."
"The virus."
Daniels nodded. "Yes. We weren't able to stop them from infecting Enterprise's computers, but it's supposed to be Archer here. He's supposed to be the one who stops it. Not you. You've upset everything history has ever known."
Well sorry I couldn't be more cooperative. I'll try to remember that next time I end up lying on the floor, unconscious during an evacuation order. Asshole.
Daniels caught something in Trip's eyes, shrank back. "We can't compensate for you. There's some pasts where it's not Archer, I'll admit, but it's never you. One or two for Mayweather, another for Sato. There's even one where Reed ends up being the one left behind, but not a single one where it's you. Do you understand?"
Trip shook his head. "No. Because, apparently it's just happened. And the fact that you're here implies that there's a future of some kind, somewhere." Amazing how tired and shock could get your brain working in ways it didn't normally. Better. Nastier.
Daniels gritted his teeth. "That's what's wrong. It shouldn't be you. You've screwed it up." He flinched as Trip cracked his knuckles during the last sentence. "Every single future is now bearing down on this one point. Do you know what that means?"
"Yeah. We've stopped." There was more to it than that – wasn't there always – but he was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that out of all the countless possibilities, not one of them was supposed to include him. It defied rational thought. It defied irrational thought. It was insulting.
Daniels blinked, surprised. "That's one way of putting it. Nothing is happening, nothing can happen until this issue works itself out. Time itself is no longer functioning outside of this ship, and I don't think I have to explain how that could be a problem."
"I'm surprised you didn't just go back and make sure I left the ship. That's what a reasonable person would do in this situation, but maybe I'm overestimating you." I did just say what I thought I just said, right?
"Go back to when? I told you, there is no point in any history where this happens. There is no point to go back before. You've…" Daniels gestured, looking for a word.
"Sideslipped?"
Daniels nodded. "I suppose that's as good a word as any. History doesn't work like everybody thinks. There are timestreams, and there are places outside… not outside. It's more like a dam across a bunch of streams. They all pile up, converge until the dam breaks, usually with disastrous results. You haven't just dammed up a few, you've managed to cut off every single one. That has never happened before, not as far as we can tell."
"Damn." Trip couldn't help himself, the opening waited there like a gift.
"You may well be." Daniels muttered something else under his breath.
" 'Scuse me?" When Daniels didn't reply, Trip tapped the knife against the Temporal Agent's chest.
"I said we should have done more to prevent you from getting assigned to this ship. You're dangerous, Mr. Tucker. A loose cannon."
Trip smiled; it wasn't friendly. "Well too bad for you I've got such a short fuse. Strip"
"What?" Daniels eyes widened, he looked over to Archer for support.
"Strip." Trip tapped the knife against Daniels' chest again. The thought that he might have been prevented from serving on Enterprise pissed him off, sent him on a childish search for revenge. And to think I helped the slimy bastard.
Daniels pointed over at Archer, obviously stalling. "I bet you haven't even figured out that that's not your captain."
"Fuse is burning, Daniels. Either take your clothes off, or I do it for you. I can have DiLorenza leave the room if that's a problem for you. But one way or another you are losing what you're wearing." Trip had no real desire to see Daniels naked, but he had a plan forming and didn't want the Temporal Agent to be fooling around with any of his little toys.
Kaci stood up and walked out, but not before looking at Trip and giving a slow nod. Daniels began removing his outfit, stopped when he stood in his underwear.
"All of it." He wasn't going to risk Daniels holding any gear stashed away where he could easily get to it. Anything he could hide without his clothing, he could keep. 'Cause I'm not chasing after it.
"Captain." Trip gestured towards one of the pantries as Daniels took off the rest of his clothing. Archer scrambled to his feet and opened the door. Trip kicked Daniel's clothing away into a jumbled pile, then jerked his head towards the pantry. "Inside."
Daniels allowed himself to be locked in, clearly not believing the events. "You're crazy, Commander. You're absolutely insane."
"So I've been told. Unfortunately, nobody's been able to prove it. Don't worry, you should have plenty of air. We'll let you out later, after I get this fixed. Otherwise, I can't have you getting in the way."
"You have no idea what it is you're doing. How can you fix it when you don't have even the slightest clue what's going on?" Daniels' voice held an extra note of pleading. Maybe he was afraid of the dark.
Should've thought of that before you fucked with me, buddy. I'm about as dark as it gets. "From what you've said, you haven't got a fucking clue, either. Nighty-night." He shoved the door closed, soldered it shut. If he'd brought the tools he'd have welded it. He turned away, ignoring the pounding from within.
"Trip?" Archer peered at him, afraid to approach. "What's going on?"
Trip took a deep breath, got control of himself again. "Like he said, I haven't really got a clue. Well, maybe…" He looked at Archer again, looked closely. Something Daniels said did make sense, explained a lot of things. "Tell me about us."