Disclaimer: see chapter one
a/n: Alright, let see if this chapter doesn't clear a few things up. I'm so happy you all are enjoying this! Your reviews are so encouraging and they keep me plugging along.
Na, I'm having a blast, and I'm glad everyone else seems to be too!
And here we go...
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The rain was still falling. Malcolm barely noticed it anymore. His eyes were focused straight ahead through the thickening mists, every nerve in his body alive, and fully alert.
T'Pol followed closely behind him as they continued stealthily through the greenery. As they walked her gaze, more then once, fell on Malcolm. She watched the Lieutenant closely. This behavior he was exhibiting evoked her concern. He was tense, edgy, and jumped at even the slightest of sounds. She noticed his paranoia increase as each step led them deeper into the woods. She could not logically deny the reservations she held concerning his explanation of events. But neither could she logically dismiss his account.
Presently the trees were thinning, giving way to tall grasses. Evening was drawing near, and Malcolm's pace quickened.
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Archer looked helplessly down at the dying engineer.
What could he do? How did this...thing...think he could help? He looked back down at Trip, fighting the horrible calm that threatened to over take him, the calm that comes when one knows that nothing further can be done to aid the situation. He shook the calm of resignation from himself, he had to help him. If only he knew how.
"What have you done?" he whispered almost viciously, at It. He began working his arms out of the jacket he was wearing, and then tore it off. Carefully, gently, he wrapped it around Trip's shoulders. Trip's limp body moved with the disconcerting motion of a rag-doll's
"...Good, good...help him..." the silky voice flowed into the Captain's ears. The sound continued to come from an indiscernible direction.
Trip began to shudder as odd little tremors ran through him. His eyes continued their unnerving movements beneath the lids.
"How?!" he demanded, his eyes flitting across the dim room. "Tell me what you're doing to him. Why can't I contact my ship? You want me to help him, tell me what is going on!"
A soft hiss answered him.
Frustration and fear mounting, he called out in angry desperation, "Who are you?!"
"I am Aetas Ferreus."
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Malcolm paused suddenly in mid-stride. Something wasn't right here. They should have at least have been able to see the buildings by now.
T'Pol nearly ploughed into him; she had not anticipated his abrupt stop.
"Lieutenant?" she asked. "Is something wrong?" Her voice dropped a note in the second half of the query.
He shook his head slowly. "N-no. I, um, must have miscalculated the distant," he murmured, knowing that only she would be able to hear him and not the rest of the away team.
She raised an eyebrow. "Miscalculated?"
He swallowed, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm not mad T'Pol. It's here," he said as if trying to convince himself of his sanity.
"I do not think you are of unsound mind," she said carefully, in her calm demeanor. But it was clear that he was no longer listening. His eyes wandered among the waving tips of the tall grass. The chill wind whipped around them, making the dampness even colder as the last rays of sun vanished from the pale, pale sky.
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"...I need him..." continued Aetas.
"Why?"
"The unconscious mind, such an intriguing thing, was a necessity for what I intended."
"And what exactly do you intend?" Jon retorted, with a sharp edge to his voice. It dumbfounded him that Trip continued to live; he looked as though he were on the threshold of death, yet he continued to live. He was sure every passing moment should have been his last.
"...I have not spoken for many years...my voice was lost...you must see...I have to regain what I've lost...I have to bring the parts back to the whole. He was...good. I have long waited for a being that could aid me in this endeavor."
Archer shook his head. "I don't understand," he said, trying to stifle his growing impatience.
"They are me, I am they, we all belong as one. None of us could continue in the way we were. They have forgotten me, but to be forgotten does not drive one into non-existence. Its effects are not lasting. They are foolish, all their focus on choice," It scoffed.
"Who? Who's focus on choice?" Archer asked, grasping at straws, to find an appropriate way to respond. The only way out of this was, obviously, with the help of this creature, and to obtain that he had to understand what was going on here. His eyes fell back down on Trip's pale, pale face. The engineer groaned. The Captain's brow wrinkled deeply.
"Parialter and Diluculo," It both spat the names and yet, simultaneously spoke them with deep affection. It seemed to chuckle suddenly, in a disturbing manner. "They imagine themselves free; they believe that they can make untainted choices of their own free will. But I have always been there, always the silent bridge between the two, forever the soft voice in their ears, which they believe to be of themselves alone.
No, their 'choices' have been made under the strictest of supervision- my supervision. Ironic that what they value most, they have never experienced."
Jon tried to wrap his mind around this. "What does any of this have to do with Trip?"
"I must regain the control I've lost. It is essential. Diluculo was easily convinced that this being needed to be studied, before he was destroyed, of course. With Diluculo survival, at all costs, is the meaning of existence. And that is a very rational belief, primitive, but rational. I've had It perform these tests on other beings before, as a way of selecting one to aid me when the opportunity arose. But, none of this world's beings provide adequate performances in my trials.
I had all but given up on the idea.
Until these two arrived."
"Who were the people of this world? You don't consider yourself part of it, by the way you've spoken," he stated, beginning to examine Trip's wounds. Beneath the borrowed coat, he noticed the make-shift bandage comprised of a Starfleet regulation shirt firmly tapped down to the Commander's chest.
"They don't matter now. Only I exist."
"I thought you said there were two others."
"We are one. There is only one. Different parts, yes, but the whole is greater, far greater, then the sum of its parts."
"And they don't see it that way?"
"That would go against their nature." The voice flowed, as though amused; Archer noticed that it had been growing steadily stronger and more articulate.
"I am the mediator, and the ultimate choice maker. Together, we make up life, apart, we will surely vanish into non-existence. Together, we will be more powerful then the creators ever dreamed.
But then, what we are, was never what they intended for us to be.
This...being... is serving a great role in making our uniting achievable."
"And how is that?"
"To be free of the machine to which we are bound would mean to leave the crudely designed mind from whence we came. I believe we can exist outside of its restrictions, but only as one.
I had to do something unexpected, Parialter and Diluculo would have rejected this which will ultimately preserve us all.
They have been thrown free of their bonds, and have learned that they cannot survive outside of the flesh. I knew this would occur, and counted on it.
I had Diluculo prepare this being for our purposes and render him unconscious, ready for our entry."
"Entry?"
"Yess..." It hissed with what sounded like delight to Jon. "I have them entrapped within his mind. Soon, I will have completed this task, and we will all be one once more! They resist, but they are fighting a battle they cannot win. Look, see them fight me? Soon, very soon, it will be finished, and we will require neither body nor machine to sustain us."
"What about Trip? Where is he?" Archer asked hoarsely, his mouth had gone dry.
"He is there, somewhere; the unconscious mind is most spacious, most accommodating. And this mind is most flexible for my purpose."
"What will happen when you're finished? When you three are one and you can leave him?" he asked, looking anxiously, but with new disdain, at the twitching engineer.
Aetas seemed to consider. "A non-pertinent factor I have not accounted for. No matter. The answer will not be a mystery for much longer."
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The darkness was thicker then Malcolm ever remembered it being here. He squinted through the shadows, still leading the group. As time slipped by into the inky blackness around them, an unpleasant realization dawned on him; it wasn't here, the city simple wasn't here. He bit his rising panic. T'Pol was right. He was losing his mind. He knew what he'd seen, he kept reminding himself of that, but how could he have? This place did not exist. T'Pol said it didn't. These thoughts sent a chilling thrill through him. He felt utterly helpless; it was terrifying to find himself trying to sort out simple reality. It was as though he was drowning in his own mind.
Suddenly, he felt his shoulder strike a hard corner. He stumbled forward, catching himself before he hit the ground.
"Lieutenant, are you alright?" T'Pol asked, steadying him.
"F-fine..." he started, shining his light back to find what he had hit.
The beam of light revealed a crumbling wall. Slowly, cautiously, he approached it, T'Pol following in his wake.
It was old, much older then the city he'd been in had seemed. He ran his hand across it.
"T'Pol," he said almost breathlessly, sweeping his light across the landscape, "were here."
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TBC...
Reviews of all sorts are most welcome! I'd love to hear what you think about this!
a/n: Congrats to quickbeam1 for her sleuthing abilities! You're getting warmer...; )
I know I keep saying I'm almost done, but you know it can't be too much longer now!
And thanks to my awesome beta reader for all her encouragement and help!!