Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
Chapter 7
Malcolm sat on his bunk, supporting his head in one hand with his elbow on his thigh and with his other arm wrapped around his abdomen gently exploring the tender areas. He was sore but didn't think he had suffered any serious injury at Joe's hand. However, the incident showed up the shortcomings of his escape plan. He had the beacon concealed in his shoe but there was no guarantee that he would be in a position to activate it if he needed to use it. He dismissed the worry. No matter. If Trip and Travis were here, there was no way he was going back without them. He was not prepared to abandon his friends.
Soon after he had been dumped in his cell he had heard rapid steps outside. Then the spyhole plate had been dropped and someone had peered through it. Malcolm's guess was that it was the warden, Collier, wanting to make sure he wasn't dead already. Since then, he had had no visitors.
Actually, apart from being used as a punching bag, this was turning out a lot better than he had any right to expect, he reflected. He had ended up in the most likely place to find out his friends if they were here - in the high security area of the camp behind the main office building. Not only that, he had also discovered that forcefield-protected domed building.
He gave a grunt of astonishment at that. What was going on here?
That domed building didn't show on their earlier scan results. The forcefield could explain why they had been unable to pick up any sign of the shuttlepod. Was the craft was contained within the forcefield? It might be having a screening effect, depending on what frequencies were being used.
Malcolm massaged the base of his neck as he considered what to do. Wait for the papers to be validated or take the initiative?
There was no guarantee their carefully prepared documents would fool the Colonel, even with all their precautions. Jones was clearly already suspicious. It appeared that Hoshi had already managed to create some jamming to buy time but she had impressed on them how difficult it would be to maintain that. If the ruse worked, all well and good, but if it failed they would be in no position to gain any information about Trip and Travis.
Having seen the anachronistic forcefield, Malcolm now had another lead - and it could be a winner. He didn't think he would have such a good opportunity as this again. If he were caught... well, T'Pol had proved to be talented at improvising. She could disown him and go ahead on her own, or return to Enterprise and re-group.
He decided. He was going to act. That made sense logically and it appealed to his nature. He hated waiting around for anything... particularly if that 'anything' was potentially another beating!
Malcolm removed his tweed jacket. With deft fingers, he pulled its buttons off and jammed all but one in his pants' pockets. Then he picked at the collar, teasing out the end of a thin cord which he pulled on to remove it. He retrieved several other similar pieces cached in the hem and around the cuffs. He pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his collar. Finally he popped open his belt buckle and drew out a small metal device. He arranged the items on the bunk and looked at them in satisfaction. He had known they would come in useful!
He rolled up his shirtsleeves to get down to work. Grabbing the jacket, he wrapped it around a blanket and laid it out to look like he was sleeping. He studied it critically, biting his lip in concentration. It wouldn't fool more than a cursory examination from the peephole, but then, perhaps that would be enough?
He slid the bunk away from the rear wall. He soon had the microcharge which had masqueraded as a jacket button fixed low down on the wall, with the string explosive firmly attached around it as added 'oomph'. Most of the noise from the explosion would be deflected within the cell. Well - that should be what happened in theory.
Pocketing the undeployed ordnance, Malcolm listened intently for any activity along the corridor or outside. He couldn't hear anyone.
Taking a steadying breath, Malcolm picked up his tiny controller, lifted a protective arm before his face and pressed the initiator button.
The muffled thump gratified Malcolm. He had reduced the charge size and it paid off. He would be surprised if anyone other than another armory officer would peg that as an explosion. He was even more gratified by the hole it blew in the cell wall. It was just large enough for him to get through, but no bigger. Judged to perfection, he thought with some smugness.
Malcolm got down on his knees and poked his head through the hole, ready to pull back immediately if he found himself at the wrong end of a rifle. He was near the barbed wire fence surrounding the secure compound. Looking to left and right, he could see walls of other buildings but no personnel. He crawled through the hole, then turned and reached inside to pull the bunk back against the wall. It would hide the hole from anyone at the cell doorway. There was no way of hiding it from the outside, however. There was no time to waste.
He stood up, trying to get his bearings. From the way the shadows fell, he decided to go to the right. He ran in a low crouch along the outside of the prison, listening out for anyone who might be ahead of him.
Malcolm crouched down, and peered around a corner. He could see the forcefield-protected building. The building was small, having a single door, curved windowless walls and an arching roof. It reminded Malcolm of old-fashioned astronomical observatories. It was quite different to the other block-based architecture. A couple of soldiers walked wandered past the building but paid it no attention.
This was going to be tricky. Malcolm retreated behind his corner, squatting down with his back to the wall. If he could disrupt the power supply to the field generator, he could lower the barrier to get inside. It was odds on, however, that the generator and supply were safely located inside the forcefield. Perhaps he had made the wrong choice after all, he worried. Soon the alarm would be raised and he would have achieved nothing.
Malcolm took another look at the domed-building. The barrier shimmered again. Strange that. It was stable for much of the time, and then a series of closely timed tremors would disturb it. On the whole it was significantly more stable than his own past research efforts had ever managed, but that rippling... What could that be?
It could be the spherical nature of the field. Some sort of feedback around the curved field causing interferences. That was it! He had never encountered that phenomenon because he had only worked with planar forcefields. In this one before him, the disturbances came in waves, and each set of ripples progressed around the sphere in a clockwise direction. If he could get close to a field emitter and place a charge nearby - it wouldn't have to be directly on an emitter or even damage it - and got the timing right, he might, just might, be able to disrupt the field sufficiently to push through. A big 'if' but his best chance.
He had always been able to make a rapid decision when circumstances demanded it. He checked for passers-by. It was clear.
Malcolm sprinted forwards. As he suspected, an emitter was located on the interior of the barrier. Malcolm placed a charge in line with it and a second charge at the next adjacent emitter. He took a few steps back, cast a look around, then waited for the ripple. It shimmered towards him. He detonated the microcharges. A rent in the field.
Malcolm jumped forwards, feeling a resistance to his movement. He pushed and suddenly he was through, lying in a heap on the floor. Gathering himself together, he regained his feet and ran for the door. It was unlocked, and taking a deep breath, Malcolm stepped through it into the interior of the domed building.
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Travis and Trip made their way cautiously from their quarters, keeping a look out for any stray Thraxians, and set off along the gallery landing. The handrail at the inner edge of the landing had one rail only and was just a touch too high for human comfort. They stayed near the wall to reduce the chances of being seen by anyone on other walkways, but the vertigo they both experienced also played a part in that choice. Although the space enclosed by the circular structure was huge, it was finite. The roof was solid, affording no view outside to the planet itself.
Doors were located at regular intervals around the walkway. Each door was individually decorated, using a variety of pastel colors and geometrical motifs, and something that could be writing - a flowing script. The non-uniformity fitted in with their theory that they had been held in the aliens' own living quarters.
They had been walking round the gallery for some minutes when they came upon a door of different construction, with fewer markings and wider than the others.
Trip looked at it and then at Travis. "I wonder if this is a way off the gallery? I haven't seen anything else."
Travis put out a tentative hand. At his light touch, the door slid silently upwards to reveal a small cubicle. "An elevator?"
Well, thought Trip, nothing ventured...Squaring his shoulders, Trip took a step inside and turned to face Travis. Travis waited cautiously for a few seconds then joined him.
Nothing happened.
"How does this work?" puzzled Travis, running a finger along the edge of the opening. The action triggered a display to light up: a column with segments of different colors, one of which was brighter than the remainder.
"I guess this is where we are," said Trip, touching the lit segment. At that, the door dropped shut. "And I suppose we have to tell it where we want to go. Any ideas, Travis?"
"The bottom level," said Travis decisively.
"Yeah. I think so too." Trip laid a finger on the appropriate panel, which duly illuminated as the original lit panel dimmed.
"What do we say if we come across anyone?" said Travis, not relishing the thought of sharing the cubicle with the unnerving aliens.
"We're looking for bears, remember!" joked Trip with a lift of his eyebrows.
Travis laughed. It was wearing thin, but they both needed the diversion.
The door slid upwards, revealing a different scene. There had been no sensation of movement but evidently they had been transported to the ground level. The galleries extended in tiered array far above them now. Before them was a level floor and a corridor of sorts defined by walls about two meters tall but lacking a ceiling so that the high roof was still visible.
"I wonder how they built this place," said Travis enthralled, his eyes roving over the vista. "Are all their cities like this I wonder?"
Trip spotted what seemed to be a part of the system of pipes he had noticed from their original vantage point high above. It was ahead and accessible via an opening in the right hand wall.
"There's still no one around," said Travis. "Odd. Where is everyone?"
"Let's take advantage of it while we can, Travis. I want to examine that over there." Trip pointed to the construction.
The complex structure was formed from a mix of transparent cylindrical tubes and metallic versions, dully gleaming. They interwove in a web of curves, joints and straight sections, with diameters ranging from a hand's breadth to several meters. The network reached several levels high and Trip had to crane his head back to see its full height.
The floor beneath their boots felt alive. An energy build up from the structure, imagined Trip, rather like static electricity. But this was no electrical system that he had ever seen. Colored lights pulsed along the translucent parts, pulses of pure energy rioting through the visible optical spectrum and beyond. No doubt the metal portions were conduits for more of the same, but why the difference? Circular panels were distributed around the structure, colored segments evidently acting as indicators. There were several panels with what appeared to be schematic representations, illustrating the web.
Trip studied the enigma. Hoshi might have a gift for languages, but he hadn't found any power system yet, alien or human, that he hadn't been able to make some sense of.
Travis waited nearby while Trip made his examination. He kept stepping over to the opening and then back to Trip, unable to settle.
"Travis," said Trip eventually, not dragging his attention from the panels, "Please, choose where to stand and stay there, will ya?"
"Sorry, Commander," said Travis. He was finding the influence of energy saturating the atmosphere here disturbing. He ran a hand over his hair and down his neck in a futile attempt to sever himself from the sensation. He wondered if that was why there was no one about on this level.
Trip traced a path though the pipes, over his head, into the center, off to a far part of the arrangement, then referred to the schematic. He nodded. That did make sense. They were using an anti-matter/matter generator arrangement piggybacked with some other basis of generation, perhaps at a quantum level.
There were huge quantities of energy at use here, being manipulated. He wondered why the Thraxians required so much. It might even be sufficient to power a whole planetary infrastructure. There were parts where excess levels could be filtered off, dumped in loads cooled by liquefied gases, if he read the symbols correctly. In the context of this system, that did seem to be correct. Emergency shutdown valves were unmistakable. Even the most non-technically minded person would be able to find and operate them.
Stepping away from the generator, Trip sighted along the major conduits, running in a radial pattern into the center of the space. They were near a single one of these, but he knew now that there were many, equally as power capable, running to a focus.
"This is some serious piece of engineering," he said to Travis. "Really impressive. I just don't know what they are doing with it all." He squinted up at the radial pipes extending up at an angle to meet at the center rather like the spokes of a parasol.
"What now, Commander?" asked Travis.
Trip ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek in contemplation, his fingers rubbing his face. "I'd like to see what else they've got here. Let's make for the middle of this place. That's where the main conductors are aligned. Perhaps we can discover what they do with all this. Perhaps it's associated with find their inter-planetary transport system."
The two men walked along the corridor but had not gone far when they saw a dark colored strip running along the floor next to the each wall. The strip material also had a different texture to that of the floor. A line of yellow posts marked the starting points of the two strips.
"Strange," remarked Travis.
"Uh huh," said Trip crouching down to examine the left hand strip. He warily stretched out a hand and placed his palm on the roughened surface. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, jumping back, as his hand was swept to one side.
"A moving walkway," said Travis happily. "That'll save some time."
"Shall we?" said Trip with a grin.
"Why not?" said Travis, grinning at him. He stepped onto the walkway, almost expecting to end up on his backside, but the walkway swung into a most gentle action. Trip had no difficulty following his lead.
They stood still while the walkway did the hard work, smoothly gaining in speed. They would soon be at the center of this intriguing place.
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What had he done?!Archer gasped as his body jerked, his breathing paralyzed for a moment. Startling bright images flashed through his mind's eye. Enterprise hanging jewel-like in space. Trip, T'Pol. Earth. That dreadful sphere of destruction, ruthless in its intent.
The struggle. The explosion. Destruction.
His breath caught as it instantaneously flooded into his knowledge. All of it.
He knew who he was. What he'd done.
Captain Jonathon Archer of Earth's flagship, Enterprise, on a desperate mission to save Earth from obliteration. He had succeeded... hadn't he? That final tremendous force which had caught him, tossed him around effortlessly. That was when the weapon was entirely destroyed.
He relaxed as he remembered. There could be no doubt. It had worked. That terrible confusion could mean nothing less.
And there was this evidence. He was now safely back on Earth. He closed his eyes in luxurious relief, relaxing back.
Except...
The warm tranquility of satisfaction fled.
The aliens? The old uniforms... the surroundings... everything.
A cold hand gripped his guts. This was utterly, exceedingly wrong. This was not right.
He clutched at the armrests of the low recliner he was sitting on, seeking stability in a shifting world. For a few brief moments his self-composure had returned. Now he was adrift once more. At least now, he had the knowledge of who he was. That brought a scintilla of comfort.
An orderly came over, said something in German and pulled at the throw covering his legs, adjusting it to make his charge more comfortable.
Archer watched the orderly in horror as he worked away, oblivious to Archer's new understanding. This man was wearing a uniform straight out of a history book, down to a swastika on his arm. So, his memories of what he had seen here were not false then. What the hell had happened? How had he got here?
Then the orderly paused, transfixed by Archer's hands. Archer glanced down at them too. His knuckles showed white, they were trembling a little. The orderly looked searchingly at Archer with narrowed eyes. He said something - it had a questioning tone.
The orderly stood slowly. He moved across to the wall and pressed a call button.
Archer's nightmare solidified when the door opened to admit an alien, presumably alerted by the orderly's call. Archer stiffened as he took in the strangeness of the creature clothed in that uniform. An alien in Nazi gear and accepted without question by the orderly? No, this couldn't be right. He had to be hallucinating... didn't he?
The alien spoke quietly with the orderly then came over to Archer, pulling up a chair to sit besides him. Archer recognized him as the individual who had been working with him previously. So, if he was hallucinating, at least he was self-consistent. He gave an unamused grunt.
The alien settled comfortably in the chair and exposed sharp, white teeth. "I understand that you have become agitated again. What is the matter? I thought you were beyond this now." The tone was considerate, warm - that of a concerned friend.
Archer didn't know how to answer. He did not want to have anything to do with this... aberration, not until he had had time to think about what it all meant. His eyes flickered over the alien and his uniform, noting unsettling details that had not bothered him before. He cleared his throat. "Uhh. I'm okay," he said eventually.
"Good, good. You do appear stressed however. What is the matter?"
"No. I'm fine." He tried to smile but didn't succeed.
"Shall we discuss where we had got to in our last talk?"
Shock ran through Archer's body. My God! He had mentioned Enterprise - he remembered that. What else had he casually disclosed, with no thought for the consequences? Desperately trying to remember, he shook his head. "No. I'm fine. I need to rest, that's all."
"I'm not so sure of that," said the alien sharply, red eyes glittering. "What are you hiding?"
"Nothing. Thanks for your concern."
The alien came closer. He said quietly, "You have remembered more, haven't you? You know who you are?"
Archer consciously relaxed his muscles, allowing himself to sink back. He gave a regretful smile. "Unfortunately not. I still need some time."
"You can't fool me! I know all there is to know about humans." In a swift fluid movement, the alien reached his hand into a pocket and pulled out a hypodermic. He plunged it into Archer's arm before he could even think about evading it.
As darkness closed around him, Archer heard that insidious voice. "A sedative. You will co-operate, whether you wish it or not."
TBC
A/N: I hope the various threads aren't too confusing. They come together... eventually!