Chapter Three
Morning came without the appearance of proper celestial bodies, but the slight buzzing of shuffling feet and rustling uniforms announced the arrival of another day. The personnel of the alpha shift took their positions throughout the ship, some absentmindedly touching the components of their stations as if to announce their return to the inanimate objects. Whatever it was, when the rituals of exchange were complete, the crew and the ship would settle back into a contented hum of a new day.
Events were proceeding somewhat differently on the bridge. Captain Archer sat perched on his command chair, periodically glancing over at the empty comm station. He didn't know how much time passed before he heard T'Pol.
"Captain, Ensign Sato is not responding to her comm."
He frowned, feeling the lines of his face congregate. He didn't bother to ask her why she tried to contact Hoshi. Vulcans do not worry. Vulcans, however, do get concerned. And Hoshi was thirty minutes late. That, he gathered, was the reason for concern.
Since Hoshi had not been recruited through the proper Starfleet channels, she'd been extra careful to follow protocol--breaking it, Archer thought in bemusement, only when she knew he would give in, as he'd done several times. 'But surely not when it counted,' he reasoned with chagrin.
For a rather quick two seconds, he thought about what he'd say if Hoshi walked off the bridge lift right then. Admonishment? But she would almost certainly feel it in herself. A soft reproach? Yes, that was the good way to go about it. Then it hit him. A captain's intuition? He wasn't sure, but he knew as he rubbed his thumb into the small dent on the arm of his chair.
Something about this was different.
The ambient lights around him glowed with shuttered menace.
Archer turned to his armory officer. The man was spit, shined, and polished as always, but his head snapped up at a rather startling velocity as Archer's gaze settled on him. Was Malcolm worried too? That did not bode well.
Nodding, Archer spoke nary a word, but Malcolm was already halfway up his seat, a phase pistol in hand. A bit severe maybe, for something that could turn out to be just a tardy officer, but Archer had long ago learned Malcolm took the words 'better safe than sorry' very seriously.
Malcolm left, leaving his seat in the same condition as Hoshi's. The wings were now vacant. Archer vaguely registered himself being oddly discomposed. He attempted to ease back into his chair, but found his back unwilling to cooperate. It remained straight and unyielding, bracing instinctively against the assault of an invisible foe. But there was nothing here. The starscape in front of him was empty. Nothing.
'Better safe than sorry'. The phrase stewed in the muddy waters of his subconscious, it bubbled and simmered against the necessity for further action.
"Bridge to Sickbay." He felt T'Pol's logical eyes on him. His tongue was thick with indecision.
"Phlox here. What can I do for you, Captain?"
The beat of his heart was slow and steady. Eye of the storm, he mused.
Silence was deceptive there.
Archer rose to his feet, standing over the half-empty bridge. He allowed himself a small smile before replying.
"Ensign Sato might be injured, please report to her quarters," he paused, and heard himself speak again, "Lieutenant Reed is on his way."
Morning came without the appearance of proper celestial bodies, but the slight buzzing of shuffling feet and rustling uniforms announced the arrival of another day. The personnel of the alpha shift took their positions throughout the ship, some absentmindedly touching the components of their stations as if to announce their return to the inanimate objects. Whatever it was, when the rituals of exchange were complete, the crew and the ship would settle back into a contented hum of a new day.
Events were proceeding somewhat differently on the bridge. Captain Archer sat perched on his command chair, periodically glancing over at the empty comm station. He didn't know how much time passed before he heard T'Pol.
"Captain, Ensign Sato is not responding to her comm."
He frowned, feeling the lines of his face congregate. He didn't bother to ask her why she tried to contact Hoshi. Vulcans do not worry. Vulcans, however, do get concerned. And Hoshi was thirty minutes late. That, he gathered, was the reason for concern.
Since Hoshi had not been recruited through the proper Starfleet channels, she'd been extra careful to follow protocol--breaking it, Archer thought in bemusement, only when she knew he would give in, as he'd done several times. 'But surely not when it counted,' he reasoned with chagrin.
For a rather quick two seconds, he thought about what he'd say if Hoshi walked off the bridge lift right then. Admonishment? But she would almost certainly feel it in herself. A soft reproach? Yes, that was the good way to go about it. Then it hit him. A captain's intuition? He wasn't sure, but he knew as he rubbed his thumb into the small dent on the arm of his chair.
Something about this was different.
The ambient lights around him glowed with shuttered menace.
Archer turned to his armory officer. The man was spit, shined, and polished as always, but his head snapped up at a rather startling velocity as Archer's gaze settled on him. Was Malcolm worried too? That did not bode well.
Nodding, Archer spoke nary a word, but Malcolm was already halfway up his seat, a phase pistol in hand. A bit severe maybe, for something that could turn out to be just a tardy officer, but Archer had long ago learned Malcolm took the words 'better safe than sorry' very seriously.
Malcolm left, leaving his seat in the same condition as Hoshi's. The wings were now vacant. Archer vaguely registered himself being oddly discomposed. He attempted to ease back into his chair, but found his back unwilling to cooperate. It remained straight and unyielding, bracing instinctively against the assault of an invisible foe. But there was nothing here. The starscape in front of him was empty. Nothing.
'Better safe than sorry'. The phrase stewed in the muddy waters of his subconscious, it bubbled and simmered against the necessity for further action.
"Bridge to Sickbay." He felt T'Pol's logical eyes on him. His tongue was thick with indecision.
"Phlox here. What can I do for you, Captain?"
The beat of his heart was slow and steady. Eye of the storm, he mused.
Silence was deceptive there.
Archer rose to his feet, standing over the half-empty bridge. He allowed himself a small smile before replying.
"Ensign Sato might be injured, please report to her quarters," he paused, and heard himself speak again, "Lieutenant Reed is on his way."