TITLE: Into the Mind's Eye
AUTHOR: plumtuckered
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CHAPTER FOUR
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"Sir?"
Travis turned in his chair and looked at the science station. "What is it, Crewman?" he asked. He watched Richard Smithson's fingers fly over T'Pol's console.
"I'm picking up a strange reading, sir."
"What sort of reading?"
Smithson looked up, but his eyes were focused beyond Travis. The helmsman turned around to see a being standing in front him.
"Travis?" said Hoshi nervously.
"I see it."
The being changed, morphing before Travis's eyes into human form. She looked around the bridge, an air of authority in her posture. Travis cursed his lack of a sidearm as he watched her with apprehension.
"I am Taj-Mel of Gonar Prime," announced the woman.
Travis met the woman's dark eyes, but remained silent.
"You are puzzled as to my purpose here," Taj-Mel guessed.
"More puzzled at how you got here, actually," replied Travis.
The woman smiled. "Gonarians are non-corporeal, Ensign," she explained. "We do not require technology to move throughout our space."
"Non-corporeal?" repeated Hoshi.
Taj-Mel looked at the young communications officer kindly. "I have taken human form as a favor to your species. You are seeing what your mind expects to see. You seem to need to see, instead of feel in order to believe in our presence; hence the armada currently surrounding your vessel."
"Then your ships aren't real?" asked Travis.
"Our power is very real, Ensign."
"What are you doing here?" asked Hoshi suspiciously.
"My curiosity," replied Taj-Mel simply. "Gonarians have never had contact with your species before."
"So you're curious about us," stated Travis. He couldn't help the sudden wave of irritation he felt. "Excuse us if we don't give you a tour of the ship, ma'am."
Taj-Mel didn't flinch at the helmsman's retort. "How is the rebinding process proceeding?" she asked.
"At this point, all we can do is wait."
"I would like to see what is happening, see if there is progress."
"So you can decide whether or not to destroy us?"
"Yes," replied the Gonarian. "The Umbra must not escape."
"What exactly is this---Umbra?"
"I will explain all if you take me to the location of the rebinding."
Travis hesitated then nodded. "All right," he replied. He looked at Hoshi. "You have the bridge."
Hoshi nodded, her eyes never leaving the alien woman in their presence.
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Malcolm watched Trip's hand tighten convulsively over Archer's arm. "Doctor?"
Phlox looked at the monitors above the commander's bed. "His heart rate is elevated as is his rate of respiration," he replied with worry. "And his body temperature is rising."
"What's happening to him?"
Before Phlox could respond, the sickbay doors opened.
"Your commander is experiencing the Umbra," replied the human woman entering with Travis.
"Lieutenant, Doctor, this is Taj-Mel," introduced the helmsman.
"I was unaware you transported someone aboard, Ensign," said Malcolm.
Travis cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I didn't. She just appeared on the bridge a few minutes ago, sir."
Malcolm tipped his head to one side and regarded the woman through narrowed eyes. "Indeed," he replied. "You said Commander Tucker is experiencing this---Umbra."
Taj-Mel moved to the foot of Archer's bed. "The Umbra is with him, causing him to see things that are untrue. If he would just feel and not see, he could free himself. Your commander would not be in danger."
"I don't understand."
"I believe I spoke clearly."
"What is happening to Commander Tucker?" interrupted Phlox tersely.
Taj-Mel's eyes fell on the engineer. "He must remember that the pain he is experiencing is only in his mind."
"Pain?" inquired Travis.
"Yes."
"We've got to stop this process," said Malcolm decisively.
"To do that would be folly, Lieutenant," said Taj-Mel calmly.
"We've got to do something to help them."
The Gonarian met Malcolm's eyes. "You must not interfere," she stated pointedly. "All will be lost if you do." Then her dark eyes warmed. "Your concern for your friends is admirable."
Malcolm snorted. "Admirable," he repeated. He crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the woman with mild contempt.
Trip gasped suddenly.
"Doctor," said Travis as he stepped forward.
Phlox shook his head. "There's nothing I can do," he replied. "If he were cut and bleeding, I could treat him, but this----." He lifted his hands helplessly. "I don't know how to help him."
"You must wait," said Taj-Mel.
"How exactly did this happen?" asked Malcolm with irritation. "And while you're at it, what the bloody hell is it?"
"The Umbra used to have a name. He was called Dre-Jal. Gonarians have, to put it simplistically, a good side and an evil side. Dre-Jal allowed his evil side to control him until his good side ceased to exist. This does not happen often since we are a peaceful, curious species, but there have been other instances in our history; hence, the Binders."
"Those who bind themselves to the Umbras," stated Phlox.
"Yes, Doctor," said Taj-Mel. She smiled. "They are very special. Binders ask for nothing, but the honor of protecting Gonarians."
"So S'ele bound himself to the Umbra a long time ago?" asked Travis.
"Yes. But when the binding process occurred, the bond was fragile---very fragile. Your captain broke that bond."
"You said he desecrated the Vin'Tal," said Malcolm.
Taj-Mel nodded. "That is correct," she replied. She looked at the lieutenant oddly and Malcolm felt a strange tickle in his mind. "The Vin'Tal is somewhat similar to your Earth cemeteries---a resting place, but it is also similar to your prisons," the Gonarian continued.
Malcolm started in surprise then felt his face flush with anger. "You have no right----," he began.
"Lieutenant," warned Phlox quietly.
"I apologize," said Taj-Mel. "You are unaccustomed to our ways. My intent was not to be intrusive, Lieutenant." She looked at Archer then at Trip. "The rebinding has not yet begun. You have two and one half hours then I will have no choice, but to end this."
"S'ele said that if I keep Captain Archer sedated, the Umbra can not be freed," said Phlox. "If he remains unconscious----."
"The unconscious mind is powerful, but keeping your captain sedated is only prolonging the inevitable. The Umbra will live in your captain until he stops fighting, then it will not matter if your captain is asleep or not, Doctor." The woman's eyes moved to Malcolm. "Gonarians are not the only species in danger if the Umbra succeeds, Lieutenant. You have two and one half hours."
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Trip clutched at his side and felt the painful movement of broken ribs. "This isn't real," he reminded himself, but the pain was very real.
When he'd crossed the threshold into the storm, Trip had been immediately assaulted by memories he'd shared with Archer. The memories, however, were horribly skewed by the Umbra's influence. Trip had found himself on Zobral's desert world, but instead of the captain protecting and sheltering him, he wasn't even there. He'd seen Archer's footprints in the sand; his friend had abandoned him. But Trip had known the exhaustion and nausea he'd felt from the intense heat wasn't real, so he'd made it across the desert without Archer's help. He'd entered the little broken down building only to find himself at P'Jem.
The engineer stared at the ceiling of the Vulcan monastery. The structure was the same as he remembered it, but instead of having Archer and T'Pol with him, Trip was alone. He'd been beaten by Commander Shran and his cohorts then left bruised and bloodied on the floor of the sanctuary.
"This isn't real," the commander repeated then he gasped. He coughed and tasted blood. "S'ele," he murmured, but he knew there would be no response. "Cap'n, what is that sonofabitch doing to you?"
The engineer pushed up into a sitting position, trying hard to ignore the searing pain in his side. He knew he had to find a way out if he was going to get through to his friend. Trip struggled to his feet then moved unsteadily to the hidden entrance he remembered that led down into the catacombs below the temple. He worked hard to convince himself that the wooziness he felt was all in his head then he snorted at the strange irony of that thought.
He slid open the panel then stepped through, turning to return the panel to its original position. "Just in case the unreal Andorians get any ideas," he whispered to the dark. Trip turned around then stopped. He was no longer in the catacombs, but on the prison transport heading to the penal colony Canamar.
"What are you doing on your feet?" demanded the Nausicaan. He pressed the control button on the device he held and Trip convulsed in pain, the charge running up his arms from the metal bindings on his wrists. The commander sat down hard, the sudden jarring sending more pain from his broken ribs.
"Don't fool yourself into thinking that just because Kuroda needs an engineer, I won't kill you," hissed the giant alien.
Once Trip's body stopped shaking from the shock, he lifted his head to look around. He recognized many of the aliens in the transport, but Archer was not among them. The commander then turned to look beside him on the bench. Zoumas was nowhere to be seen. He wondered briefly if somehow the captain remembered how the talkative young man had nearly driven Trip mad, but that thought quickly vanished when Kuroda appeared from the cockpit of the transport.
"You there," the older man shouted, pointing at Trip. "I need more power from the engines."
The Nausicaan grabbed Trip by the arm and hauled him to his feet. Trip bit his lip against a yelp of pain, then allowed himself to be hauled back to the rear of the little vessel.
"Get busy," sneered the alien as he shoved Trip into the bulkhead.
"I can't exactly work with these things on," retorted the engineer. He lifted his hands to show the Nausicaan the restraints he still wore.
The big man smiled menacingly then pulled out the control device. He pushed a button and the restraints snapped open. "Don't get any ideas," he warned.
Trip removed the bindings and let them drop to the deck with a clatter. He turned to the bulkhead and removed a panel revealing the engine compartment then peered closely at the control console. "You know, I'm not even sure why I'm doing this," he said. "None of this is real."
"Not real?" asked the Nausicaan from behind him.
Trip felt the butt of the alien's rifle strike his lower back and the engineer fell to his knees.
The big man hauled Trip back to his feet and shoved him toward the open compartment. "Get busy!" he barked angrily.
Trip coughed and wiped his mouth, pulling his hand away to see a smear of blood across the back of his fingers. None of this is happening, he told himself over and over again as he began working on the engine.
But the pain was real and the blood was real.
As he worked, Trip tried to focus his mind on Archer. He knew the Umbra's power over the captain was strong because Archer was one of the strongest-willed people Trip had ever met. Somehow, though, the entity had gotten through to his friend.
Trip swallowed hard. "I'm coming, Cap'n," he whispered. "Just hold on a little while longer."
The ship shook violently and Trip slammed into the console on which he'd been working. Smoke billowed and sparks showered down as the little vessel shook again.
"We're under fire!" shouted the Nausicaan. A panel blew behind the big man, the blast throwing him forward. He dropped to the deck without a word. Trip looked down to see a piece of shrapnel protruding from the alien's skull.
Another blast of weapons fire shook the ship and the lights flickered then went out, casting Trip's surroundings in total darkness. Around him, he could hear the shouts from the other prisoners. They were panicking. The ship rocked again, and Trip heard the hiss of venting atmosphere; a hull breach.
A wave of fear hit him and Trip realized there was no way out. Each breath was becoming more and more difficult with the loss of oxygen and Trip felt light-headed. He was dying.
"This isn't real!" the commander shouted to the darkness. "None of this is real!" He put his back to the bulkhead and closed his eyes, willing himself to believe that his lungs weren't on fire for want of air, willing himself to believe that he'd see his friend again. "Cap'n!" he called. "You can stop this!"
Then Trip's world exploded.
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CONTINUED