Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
A/N: Thank you everyone for the reviews. I've tried to guard against long notes because I imagine most people just want to get on with the story. However I had to laugh when I read vlm's review as that was exactly what I was thinking when I wrote that scene: 'My goodness! Travis speaks – how did that happen?!' A shock twist! Poor Travis. Thank you to Cha Oseye Tempest Thrain for pointing out the problems. I'll correct those parts.
I had a computer meltdown this week. I am in diligent in backing up so didn't lose too much. It might slow me up if I can't find another machine to borrow as I am now working on the story at work after hours.
Chapter 14
The corridors on Enterprise were eerily empty as Malcolm strode through them. He was rehearsing in his mind what he had to say to T'Pol as he went. It would be difficult. He had to persuade her that rescuing their crewmates was a higher priority than accessing the energy from the virtual space. But then, what if they did as he wanted to, and ended up stranded here? Then what?
He swore quietly. There were no right answers. But he couldn't bear the thought of Rav and his cohorts inflicting any more pain on the Captain and the others. That was a concrete possibility, no, make that a probability, whereas the other problem was so much more nebulous. But then, was he advocating the rescue of three people against the return of tens more than that? Of course, T'Pol was not sure that her plan would work anyway.
This was impossible! The choices spun about in a maelstrom. He came to a rapid halt and swore loudly and vividly, slamming a hand against a nearby bulkhead. For once, he didn't care if anyone noticed his loss of temper, but as it happened, there was no one around. He had to choose one approach and recalling Archer's pale face, he decided. He would argue for rescue, and soon, as his gut had already told him. He had already lost the Captain once when he should have disobeyed orders - flawed orders - and stayed on the Xindi weapon. He was expendable - the Captain wasn't. Now he had a second chance, something he never would have believed possible.
Malcolm marshaled his arguments in favor of his decision. He would not allow T'Pol to dissuade him. But then, her logic was usually to be trusted. Damnit! He was doing it again - turning circles like a dog chasing its own tail!
With a shake of his head, he pushed down his doubts and carried on, reaching the bridge where a skeleton staff was on watch. He ignored their questioning looks and made straight for the Ready Room without checking his pace.
Steeling himself, Malcolm chimed the Ready Room doorbell. He realized with a slight pang of remorse that he had not showered. That was discourteous of him. Normally he was especially careful around T'Pol. She would just have to realize that other matters were taking priority at the moment.
"Enter," came T'Pol's calm voice from within.
Malcolm stepped over the raised threshold. T'Pol was working at the desk, a number of PADDs neatly arranged in front of her and the terminal display showing a complex graph with multiple axes and colored indicators. Malcolm didn't recognize what it depicted.
"How are you getting on?" asked Malcolm, trying to stay cool by absorbing T'Pol's poised attitude. He consciously relaxed his shoulder muscles, his arms, fingers... working down through his body. When he returned to the top, he found his shoulders were rigid once more.
T'Pol raised a grave eyebrow. Malcolm saw a slight twitch of her nose and felt utterly uncouth. He resisted the urge to apologize. There hadn't been time and she must know that.
T'Pol indicated the graph before her. "I have made some progress. The energy released by the virtual space combined with the relaxation energy will be sufficient to return Enterprise to our home Universe if we can concentrate and direct the energy along a set course coincident with our own course. That should open up a rift in the continuum. However, I have not yet established a method of selecting the correct Universe as a destination prior to the rift resealing."
Malcolm frowned as he considered her words and condensed them down for comprehension. There was enough energy? Good, but controlling it would be difficult. He commented, "Sounds like there is still a lot to do, T'Pol."
"Indeed," she replied watching him unwaveringly.
He took several steps to the window and gazed out at the familiar constellations, arms crossed. "How long do you need?" he said quietly, afraid to hear her answer.
"I estimate one or two days."
Malcolm grunted. Two days! They would be brainwashed zombies by then, or worse, if there could be worse. Absolutely impossible!
Malcolm shook his head and took a deep breath. He stared out at the stars. "I'm sorry, T'Pol. We have to extract the Captain and the others before then. The Captain was in a very bad way, and those Thraxians have odd ideas of what is 'entertaining'. If we delay any more, there will be no one left to rescue. We still don't know if your theories work or that we will be able to act on them. There are a lot of ways in which it could fall apart."
Malcolm turned to look her full in the eye, to give maximum force to his concluding entreaty. "Please don't order me to wait."
T'Pol considered his plea, noting the tension throughout his whole body, the barely restrained impatience. She was aware of his tangy scent, the taut lines around his mouth.
T'Pol shifted her gaze to the monitor, noting the areas of extrapolation and uncertainty. The Lieutenant was correct that the theory was most speculative.
The danger in assaulting the camp and the dome was that the Thraxians would prevent them from accessing their power source by disconnecting their created and maintained space from this Universe. However, without Commander Tucker, even if the team reached the power source, they would essentially be working blind. His rescue was important to the success in tapping into the energy. Were the Thraxians so invested in their 'game' on this planet that they would continue with it regardless of a rescue mission by Lieutenant Reed and the MACOs? Possibly, from what the Lieutenant had told her. They did appear to exhibit obsessive behavior. And it was possible that the aliens still had no idea of Enterprise's existence or the true identity of their captives. Perhaps if the numbers in the assault team could be reduced, the Thraxians would feel sufficiently confident to continue with their game afterwards. There were many of them to fight, however.
T'Pol looked back to Lieutenant Reed. His fingers were forced down against his arms and his narrowed eyes denoted determination. He was committed to rescue.
T'Pol considered him. If she ordered him to stay, would he obey, or would he lead the MACOs in an assault anyway? She knew he was honorable and dedicated to the service. He would follow orders, wouldn't he? If she and he came into conflict over this, it would split the crew. There would be some who had already mourned their Captain and who could live with further losses if it meant they might see home again. Others would be equally determined to support a rescue bid.
Malcolm sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to make this difficult for you, T'Pol. We all need to stand together. I will wait if you order me to do so."
That was perceptive of him, mused T'Pol. She wondered if her control had noticeably slipped. She was feeling strained and had had inadequate meditation time.
She nodded graciously. "Thank you for that reassurance, Lieutenant." After a small pause she added, "Malcolm."
He gave a small smile at that acknowledgement before grim determination cloaked his features once more.
T'Pol had decided and felt satisfaction at her conclusions. She did not want to lose their companions and her logic supported her.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Proceed with the assault."
Malcolm broke into a broad smile. "Understood!" he exhaled.
T'Pol added, "Minimize any threat the Thraxians might perceive to the virtual space."
Malcolm frowned, "That will be difficult," he replied, "but we don't want to frighten them away do we, not yet anyway. I'll see what I can do."
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'I'll see what I can do,' he'd said to T'Pol, but as Malcolm considered the problem afresh he found he still came up with the same answer. A heavy assault and use brute force to bash a way in. And out, more to the point.
Would a stealthy approach work? Disguise of some sort? The Thraxians were larger than most humans but the main difference was their peculiar articulation of limbs. No human could hope to emulate that, even with Phlox's expert camouflage services. But perhaps he should check with the Doctor anyway. He had an. innovative approach to life. Perhaps there was some obscure method they might use?
He made straight for Sickbay. He saw that Phlox was deep in some intricate task, judging by his close attention to his terminal.
Phlox glanced up and stood to greet his visitor. "Lieutenant! Back so soon?"
Malcolm gave him a wan smile. "Not for treatment. I need to know if it is possible to disguise a human as a Thraxian."
Phlox jerked his head back, almost in amusement. "Your description of them made it seem somewhat unlikely. You said their limbs moved in a strange manner. I'm afraid even I can't alter your skeletal structure!"
Malcolm sighed and gave a rueful smile. "I know. I had to ask. I'm sorry to trouble you." He turned to make for the door.
"Wait, Lieutenant! Can you tell me what you want to achieve?"
Malcolm said, "We need to infiltrate the dome again, or rather, the virtual space it leads to. There are swarms of aliens there, and I had hoped we might reduce casualties if we employed subterfuge."
Phlox thought, holding up his index finger to forestall any further talk from Malcolm.
Phlox gave a small smile. "I might have something of interest," he said. He stepped over to his terminal and stabbed at a few buttons to pull up an image on the main overhead display. "I extrapolated this from the DNA we obtained from your wounds. It is a Thraxian, I believe."
Malcolm moved alongside him and studied it. "To be truthful, I only saw their faces and hands. The rest was covered up. It could be a Thraxian."
"I can move its arm, thus." The arm on the image swung around at what would be an elbow in a human. This joint however permitted a wide range of motion.
"That's right," said Malcolm. "That's just how they move their arms."
"What about locomotion?" The image was set into a jerky walk.
"Yes, Doctor. It's a good model." Malcolm was impressed. It was almost worth getting slashed and punctured for.
"Well then, I hope the remainder is as good." The Doctor tapped some keys to bring up a representation of a complex molecule. "This might react with Thraxian physiology to induce sleep."
Malcolm grew excited, immediately understanding the possibilities this could give. He said eagerly, "We could distribute this around our area of operations, knock them out before they can get in range with their weapons."
Phlox smiled broadly. "Exactly, Lieutenant. I need to make some additional checks, but it is a good possibility."
"When will it be ready?" They could modify some grenade launchers, fabricate canisters... Malcolm's mind was in overdrive.
Phlox smiled at his enthusiasm. "Give me twenty four hours."
Malcolm's face fell. He said dispiritedly, "As long as that? I'm sorry, Doctor. We don't have a day. I don't think there will be anyone to rescue of we leave it that long."
"That is a realistic estimate I'm afraid." Phlox held his arms wide in apology.
"I understand," said Malcolm flatly.
"I'll work on it anyway."
"Yes. That's a good idea."
Malcolm tried to put the disappointment behind him and concentrate on the immediate mission. They would proceed with the original plan. It had to work. He had made the call to delay until nightfall but it had meant leaving their comrades with the Thraxians for several hours longer. He pushed that to one side. He had to make decisions and couldn't afford to second-guess himself, not now.
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The assault team observed as the night patrol, standing out clearly in their imager intensifier scopes, met at the mid-point of the boundary fence, turned and made another pass.
"Next time," murmured Malcolm.
The two dedicated snipers readied themselves. The sentries reached their far limits and repeated their pattern, meeting briefly, then turning. Silently, the MACOs took aim and fired - two shots each. One for the man and one the dog. Short bursts that were barely audible.
Malcolm swept his viewer once more across the scene. "Go," he said. The teams moved off, Malcolm with Alpha team to the left, toward the dome, and Bravo team to the detention center. They reached the boundary wire at the same time, quietly dropping down, flanking MACOs alert for more guards.
Without any need for words they cut through the wire with miniature plasma torches and, once through, ran to the cover of the buildings.
Heading up Bravo team, McKenzie crouched low against the prison's outer wall, studying her scanner. Now they were close, it was easier to separate out individual lifesigns around the periphery of the shielded region. She stiffened as she noticed something odd. Dragging out her communicator, she risked breaking radio silence.
"Bravo One to Alpha One."
Malcolm's voice came back after a pause long enough for him to pull his device out. "Go ahead," he replied, wasting no words.
McKenzie said, voice low, "The damping field that was cutting out biosign readings. It's dropped." The shield had dropped. Now she could identify numerous biosigns within the complex.
"Say again?"
"I was monitoring it and it suddenly disappeared. I can detect bio-signs throughout the building." As she awaited a response, McKenzie glanced at Chang, strangely green in her scope. He was next to her, following the exchange intently. He settled his position and swept his rifle around a full sweep.
"Understood. Alpha team will hold position. Bravo team continue with sweep. Out."
"Acknowledged." So, it was down to them. McKenzie smiled. She enjoyed a challenge. In deft voiceless communication using signals she imparted her change of plan. They would disperse around the perimeter and scan for their crewmates' lifesigns.
The MACOS ran along the wall to the end of the building, keeping low. They stationed themselves along it and studied the readings.
Chang made the first target. "I've got one. Mayweather."
'Transport out,' signaled McKenzie, twisting her fist.
Chang called Enterprise. "Lock on here" - he sent the co-ordinates - "and immediate transport." As he watched the lifesign disappeared as the subject was transported. He gave a thumbs up to McKenzie.
The next cells held Tucker and Archer – they were swiftly sent after Mayweather.
'Good work!' signaled McKenzie. She contacted Malcolm. "Brave One to Alpha One. Mission accomplished."
Well done. Withdraw.
McKenzie sent her team back, waiting to transport last. As she awaited her turn she kept watch on the scanner, not wanting to be detected at this stage by a patrol. As she watched, there was a flicker, then the shielding zone was reinstated. They had been lucky, for once, she thought as she returned to the ship.
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After satisfying herself that there seemed to be no retaliation from the planet aimed at Enterprise, T'Pol went to Sick Bay to see the rescued men.
T'Pol noted that Travis and Trip were being seen to by medical staff but did not pause to talk with them. She went immediately to Archer's bed, kept private by a curtain around it. He lay unconscious, was strangely dressed and had a large burn along the left side of his face.
"Doctor?" said T'Pol, feeling a sense of dislocation as she looked once again at the man she had thought lost forever. His face seemed unnaturally rigid, as if in the grip of some paralysis. His color was poor.
Phlox sighed and shook his head. "My preliminary scans indicate that he has been badly burned. I can treat that, but of more concern are the Thraxians' experiments on the Captain - some form of mind control. He has lucid periods interspersed with - for want of a better word - murderous episodes. This will prove much greater challenge." He glanced at T'Pol, taking in the worry and concern that she could not hide. "I will do my best, be assured."
"Thank you, Doctor." T'Pol knew he would. She studied the Captain's face once more, noting the harm inflicted on him. She remembered Lieutenant Reed's report and felt a distaste for the Thraxians – not a logical or sane race.
TBC