Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
A/N: After that slight authorial wobble concerning the previous chapter, I think I'm now back on track - not necessarily a good thing for the characters!
There's a small spoiler for 'Future Tense' in this chapter.
Chapter 10
The bright piercing light threw everything into painful clarity. Archer struggled against the straps binding his limbs to the metal chair.
"Let me go!" he demanded. He cranked his head around to glare at the two aliens standing to one side. They both wore Nazi uniforms. One was his oh-so-kind helper from before. The other - Archer hadn't seen him previously, not that he recalled anyway. The aliens didn't bother to reply. They continued their considering, and disconcerting, observation of him, with occasional inaudible comments to one another. The detached clinical approach was almost more unnerving than the hands-on affair he had suffered previously.
A third alien, dressed in robes, was working on some contraption to his other side. Archer turned his head and struggled to see him better. "Why are you doing this?"
This one also ignored him. He removed the bandage from Archer's head and then disappeared out of Archer's view, behind him.
Archer jumped as he felt a cold metal ring drop down onto his skull, encircling his head just above eye-level. The pressure grew as it was gradually tightened to a snug fit. Archer tried to move his head but it was held fast by the framework. "What are you doing?" he said, gratified to find his voice remained firm. Even as he asked the question, he wondered if it might be better that he did not know. Nothing he could do now would change matters. He tried to fight against the acceptance. Surely his experiences so far had shown him that the most unlikely things were possible? He must not give in.
The unfamiliar uniformed alien walked to stand in front of Archer. Beady red eyes glittered. He spoke in what must be his own language - a musical sound with rapid changes of pitch, quite at variance to his menacing appearance. The other alien - Archer's 'friend' - translated. "We know who you are. You are from this planet's future. We are interested in evolution."
"Evolution?" gasped Archer. Why would any alien want to track the evolution of another species?
The alien exposed his teeth. "Evolution and entertainment. Mostly entertainment, I confess. A diversion. Admittedly, you seem to be similar to those primitives now here but are you? Do humans of your time react in the same way?"
Archer tried to build a bridge to this being. He forced a smile. "Look, let me go, and we'll talk. Find out what is going on, how I got here." After all, with Enterprise gone, what was the worse that could happen? He pushed any qualms to one side. This was not his Earth; he was convinced of that. He didn't think anything he did now would affect his own people.
The alien sneered. "We are not interested in talking. Or how you got here. Our considerations lie elsewhere." He gestured to the alien behind Archer. The helper moved forward so that Archer could see what he was holding. An apparatus - all bright metal and black cables. The alien moved closer and turned it about to catch the light as if displaying a fine object d'art to a connoisseur.
"What is it? What does that... do?" Archer asked, fighting to maintain his composure. His mouth had become dry.
The supervisor said, "We will be carrying out the conditioning procedure - in your case, not the most comprehensive program. Do not concern yourself. We are most familiar with the procedure. It has been widely practiced on humans - although not recently. There is no need now."
"Conditioning?" Archer became rigid, unable to stop looking at the device. "Why?"
"It of no concern to you. Soon you will not care anyway." The alien gave a grunt of amusement. He carried on, seemingly enjoying the opportunity to act as a lecturer - savoring his subject's reactions. He waved at Archer's head. "This apparatus will attach to the head piece here. And then..."
The assistant carrying the monstrous item turned a knob. Archer gazed on in sick fascination as a needle-sharp probe extended from a housing on the device. "There are six such probes which we can control. Then we deliver the fluid via these tubules." He indicated the black cabling. "Finally we show the images, when the subject is suitably... receptive." He pointed to a large curved wall display which was quiescent at present.
The assistant was waved back to his position behind Archer.
Archer's breathing became irregular. He tried to relax, to stay calm, but was distracted by unsettling noises. Clicks as catches were snuck home, the brushing of the alien's robes against the chair. He felt the additional weight as the apparatus was attached to the headpiece, the alien working closely around him. Then the activities stopped. The assistant moved away.
Archer tested his restraints once more but it was hopeless.
The supervising alien spoke again - a few terse words - but this remained untranslated.
Archer tensed as he felt the coldness of sharp metal against his temple - the first probe. Then a second.
In turn, each of the probes was aligned in position around his skull.
"Goodbye, Archer," said the alien in front of him, in heavily accented English.
The probes began to rotate, slowly at first, then swiftly building in speed. The drilling began. Archer screamed.
Trip's first reaction when they were returned to their quarters was to run his communicator over the room. "Still nothing," he muttered with a nod to Travis.
Malcolm sat down on a couch, exhausted. He gingerly stretched his back muscles and shoulders to ease their cramped condition. A long gash ran the length of his left forearm. It had stopped bleeding but was already angry looking. He considered removing his shirt to examine the other injuries, but none felt serious. If he pulled the material away - he winced at that idea - it would start the bleeding again. So he put that out of his mind. It was more important that they got out of here instead of being distracted by matters that could not be changed.
"Drink?" said Trip, offering him a glass of water. Up close, Malcolm didn't look too good. Trip hadn't seen any medical supplies in these quarters.
"Thanks." Malcolm gulped it down in a single draught and held it out for more.
"Well," said Trip, studying Malcolm from under his eyebrows as he carried out refilling duties, "That wasn't very clever was it?"
"What do you mean?" said Malcolm, bristling.
Trip pointed at the livid bruise already forming on his cheek. "Spitting at that alien for a start!"
Malcolm ran an exploratory hand over his jaw. "Hmm. Possibly not," he conceded.
Trip wiggled his eyebrows at him, wanting more.
Malcolm sighed. "You're right, of course. But I got so angry, thinking about jackboots in England. I should have known better. Okay - I admit it. It was not the best move - arrant stupidity actually. I justify it by telling myself it was perfectly in character for the part." He gave a quick half smile, which mutated into a grimace as the consequences of his defiance made themselves felt. "How are you both anyway? We've had a problem keeping track of you."
Trip wondered what the jackboot reference was about was all about, but he had a more serious matter to discuss with Malcolm. "What were you doing, allowing yourself to be dragged off like that?" he demanded, worry lending an edge to his words. "You could be dead now."
"I need to get out of the dome so that..." started Malcolm and then clamped his mouth shut.
Trip said, "Was that T'Pol they were talking about?"
"Commander," said Malcolm warningly, glancing around the room.
"It's okay," said Travis. "We've already checked. We don't think they are watching us."
"No?" said Malcolm skeptically. "I find that hard to believe."
Trip shrugged. "They don't seem to be set up for it in here. This is their own quarters. We got away before and they could easily have stopped us if they were watching."
"Perhaps it's one of their games," suggested Malcolm darkly.
"We are as sure as we can be - I did check again when we returned. What's our status?" said Trip. "Lieutenant?"
Reluctantly, Malcolm said, "T'Pol was with me. We came to the camp to look for you when your biosigns vanished. We lost the shuttlepod signature as well. We have a means for escape..." Malcolm hesitated but at Trip's encouraging jerk of the head he carried on, albeit in a quieter voice. "To use it, we have to get outside the shielded area of the dome."
Trip digested this information. So - Malcolm had some means to transport out. He saw that Travis had also understood Malcolm's cryptic comment.
"What dome?" asked Trip.
"The domed building in the camp. That leads to this virtual space."
Trip frowned. "Back up. What 'virtual space'?"
"Well, it seems appropriate terminology as it's larger on the inside than the outside, like that time ship we found, remember?"
"This doesn't sound very familiar. What dome is this?"
"The entrance is via a forcefield shielded building, near the detention center." Noting Trip's puzzled reaction, Malcolm asked, "Didn't they process you at the detention center?"
"They zapped us with stun guns, and then we ended up here, on Thrax," said Travis.
"Thrax?" Now Malcolm was confused.
"That's what this planet is called," replied Trip.
"Unless I am much mistaken, we are still on Earth!" said Malcolm.
"What makes you say that?" Sure, thought Trip, gravity was the same, there was not much difference in atmosphere, but they had not detected anything like this place on their initial scans.
"I stepped through a door and ended up here. It took a fraction of a second - not long enough to travel anywhere, even if we were using a Xindi vortex."
"But you don't have any problem with places bigger on the inside than the outside? Why can't that involve travel through space too?"
"It's not important." Malcolm dismissed Trip's observation. "Wherever we are, if we can make it back to the portal, we can get back to Earth immediately. Well, I think we can."
"Hmm. Possibly. They said something about parameters having to be correct before we could travel."
"I had no problem. But that's why I wanted to go back there - to get back to the portal and Earth, so I can get help. You shouldn't have stopped me." He made an exasperated noise.
Trip couldn't believe he was hearing this. "Look, Malcolm, they were all set to kill you. Don't you think that would have cramped any escape attempt?"
"There would have been time..." he started.
Trip interrupted. "I bet they would have put a bullet in the back of your head the minute they got you back to Earth. You wouldn't stand a chance. It takes time to transport out." Trip swallowed, remembering Hayes.
Malcolm blinked at Trip. Then he dropped his head. "You're right," he said quietly. He was thinking of Hayes as well. Shot in the middle of transporting off a Xindi ship. He slumped down. "Fine rescuer I am. I only reach you by getting caught myself."
"We'll get out of this, somehow."
"Umm," said Malcolm sounding pessimistic. Then he brightened a little. "I do have some items to make things go with a bang, if we can make use of them."
Trip and Travis grinned at each other. They both knew what that carefully worded statement meant. "I'm sure we can," said Trip.
The officers planned their next escape attempt. The bolts on the door should be easy to deal with using the remainder of Malcolm's stash of demolition materials. Trip and Travis knew how to get to the portal. They would make for that at top speed, find out how to operate it, travel via the portal to the camp, Malcolm would transport back to Enterprise when free of the forcefield and then bring the other two back.
"Simple," commented Malcolm caustically after Trip had run through the steps. "And then all we have to do is figure out a way home, to our own Universe or timeline. Once we've found T'Pol." He gave an unamused laugh. It would need a miracle more like.
Trip said pointedly and with some annoyance, "One step at a time, Lieutenant." What else could they do?
Travis said, "We need to add another step. Find a way of getting rid of these aliens. Stop them interfering with Earth."
"Absolutely," snapped Malcolm. He jumped to his feet and began pacing, becoming progressively more agitated. "What they are doing here is completely unacceptable. Distorting history for their own selfish ends - and I'm not convinced that they 'need' to do this to preserve their society - and the hurt they have inflicted on the people here. Brutalizing them, making them suffer through hundreds of years of war. For entertainment!" He stopped abruptly, glaring at his two companions, his face flushed.
"Malcolm?" said Trip. He had rarely seen the normally self-contained man get so worked up.
"I wish I'd had a chance to do more than spit at that Nazi bastard." The frustration was almost palpable.
"I know. I feel the same about them," said Trip. After all, he had already said his piece.
Malcolm stared at him, then looked away and nodded. "I realize that," he said, calmer now. He gave an embarrassed twitch. "Got a bit carried away. Sorry about that. It's just I've seen some of the results of their meddling at close hand." The people they've hurt.
"It's understandable," said Trip. "Don't worry. We won't forget them." He stood up. "Right. Let's get out of here."
Malcolm pulled out his explosives and worked meticulously to connect the button charges and string explosive. He had already decided on where they should be placed, having taken note of the bolts on the outside. He squatted down next to the door, ready to attach the first charge when they heard a noise outside.
"Malcolm," whispered Trip urgently, moving away from the door.
Hastily, Malcolm stuffed the explosives into his pockets and joined him. The three men stood together, wondering what was going to happen next. Might this give them an opportunity to escape?
The door opened and Rav entered, holding a weapon in his right hand, several other armed aliens at his back. "Move away," he ordered.
The humans complied, edging back to the rear of the room.
Rav said, eyes glittering, "I said we had another game for you. This gentleman here," he indicated one of his companions, "is carrying a recording device. It also allows us to provide a live broadcast. No reason for our fun to be limited to present company, is there?"
Rav studied the silent, watchful humans. He gave a broad grin. Without taking his eyes off them he called over his shoulder, "Enter."
Behind him, another gray-clad figure entered. But this was no Thraxian. This was a human.
Captain Jonathan Archer - resplendent in Nazi uniform, his face marred by an ugly burn down one side.
Trip swore. He almost collapsed as his knees became weak. He choked out. "No... It can't be..."
Besides him, Travis and Malcolm were equally shocked. Malcolm's mouth had dropped open and he had turned sheet white. Travis found he couldn't breathe properly. He shook his head rapidly.
Rav watched with delight, relishing their stunned reactions. Eventually, he said, "Let me introduce my interloper, "This is Captain Archer. Also from the future."
Archer stood expressionless, unmoving, and seemingly unaware of anyone or anything.
Trip shook his head, tried to still his trembling. "No! You're dead. It can't be..."
"Remember," said Travis under his breath, his dry throat causing the words to come out in a rasp. "T'Pol said this could be a parallel universe. It might not be our Captain Archer."
"Yeah," replied Trip, unable to tear his eyes from a face he thought he would never see again. "Captain? Jon?"
Archer, or his facsimile, slowly turned to look at Trip. His eyes were cold, blank - unrecognizing and unrecognizable.
"Is it you, Jon? Captain Archer?" Trip said, willing it to be true. But how could it be?
"Do you know these people, Captain?" asked Rav.
Archer shook his head once. Rav laughed. "It seems he doesn't know you. How sad!"
"Care for some more?" asked Rav of the assembly. The Thraxians responded favorably.
Rav grinned. "I thought so." He raised his weapon and aimed it at a large metal block pushed to one side against a wall. Rav pressed the trigger. A green energy beam spat from the muzzle, blindingly bright, and melted the block into a shapeless, lump which gave off a choking vapor.
Trip didn't know what the block had done but whatever it was, it sure wasn't going to do it again.
"Now, Captain," said Rav, handing the gun to Archer. "Let's try an experiment. What does this do to those humans over there."
Archer took the weapon without looking at it and held it firmly, testing its weight. He raised it, swinging the muzzle to point at Trip's chest. Travis and Malcolm standing next to him looked on in horror.
"Pull the trigger," said Rav in a smooth voice. "Go on," he encouraged. "For the Fatherland."
Archer straightened his shoulders, his burnt face showing no emotion.
Trip cried out, "No! Captain! Jon! It's me - Trip, and Travis. Malcolm. Captain! Don't do this. Don't let them!"
Archer spoke, a grating voice, devoid of expression. "It is my duty. For the Fatherland."
"No!" called out Trip, one last desperate cry. "Stop!"
It was no good. Trip stared transfixed at the muzzle, unwaveringly waiting to spit its deadly charge at him. Archer's fingers tightened on the trigger and he squeezed it, depressing it fully.
TBC