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Chapter 11: A Starship on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown

They say that pets and their owners begin to look alike after a while. Archer wasn't sure that he and Porthos looked much alike, but he and the ship were certainly beginning to think alike. That is, they were currently both going insane.

"The comm. system is back up sir!" Hoshi chirped from her station. "Oh wait…" she bent her head as the console in front of her blinked erratically. "No, they're back down." The console stopped blinking and went dead. "Definitely back down, sir."

"Sensors are reading five—no six!—ships off the port nacelle!" Malcolm announced. "Wait—no…they're off the starboard side…" His voice trailed away.

"Lieutenant?" Archer snapped.

Malcolm shook his head. "The readings keep changing. Sensors just told me that three ships fired on the bridge, but obviously they haven't. These readings are totally unreliable!"

Archer paced the bridge, his mind buzzing. The saboteur was obviously hard at work here on this ship—his ship. But why? He or she must be desperate to keep the Enterprise crew from prying further into what happened at the mining facility. Only Strel and her husband had been informed of the autopsy and that components from the surface had been beamed aboard the ship. There was no telling which other members of the team they had informed, though. Or maybe the saboteur couldn't stop him or herself—maybe it was a compulsion to destroy, a madness—

Archer's brief contemplation was cut short by another jolt through the hull plating.

"The navigation system is offline, sir!" Travis called. "The computer won't let me take over manual control, though!"

"What's our speed?" Archer asked.

"Still at half-impulse, sir."

Well, at least they weren't speeding halfway across the galaxy. Yet. Who knew when the engines would develop a mind of their own?

The door to the bridge was tugged open with a loud grunt and a bedraggled Trip, T'Pol, and Kovar stumbled into view.

"Why aren't you in engineering?" demanded Archer. T'Pol heard the tension in his voice and was proud when Trip responded calmly. Maybe emotions didn't always cause illogical behavior. Sometimes they even seemed to spur rational thinking. Her human was a complex being, certainly.

"Just on my way now, captain. Had something to drop off here first." He turned and Kovar stepped forward.

"How did you get—never mind. Whatever you've done to this ship—"

"Captain," T'Pol interrupted, "I am not entirely sure Kovar is the cause of our current predicament."

"Any idea who—or what—is?" Archer had long ago learned to trust T'Pol's judgment. He would give her a little leeway here.

"Not yet, " the Vulcan told him. Trip shot her a look but she ignored it.

"Sir! Malcolm called. "The computer is trying to activate the alert system! It wants to arm our forward torpedoes!"

"Let's give our saboteur less to work with. Shut it down," Archer said firmly. "Shut it all down. Shut down all systems except for life support and lock out command control from everywhere but the bridge. Can we still do that?"

T'Pol had crossed to her station and was attempting to make sense of the flashing computer before her. "I believe so."

"Do it."

Everyone held their breath as the ship continued to shake and jolt, the computers beeping mercilessly.

Suddenly…everything stopped. The whole bridge went silent and dark. Three seconds later the emergency floodlights came on, clicking loudly in the silence.

"We're adrift, sir. It worked," Mayweather told the captain. The young boomer knew the ship and space travel so well that the subtle sway in the artificial gravity told him all he needed to know. The ensign rested his hands gently on the inactive helm.

Archer exhaled sharply. "I never thought I'd be glad to hear you say that, Travis." He looked at Trip and T'Pol. "You two—get to engineering and find out what the hell is happening to my ship!" He swiveled to face Malcolm. "Account for everyone else from the SMP. Bring them to my ready room. I want them all in one place, where they can be constantly monitored."

Malcolm was halfway across the bridge before the captain had finished the order, hot on the heels of the commanders.

"Why did you tell him that?" Trip wanted to know as soon as Malcolm went his separated way and they were safely out of earshot.

"Tell who what, Commander?" T'Pol was running scans as they made their way through the darkened corridors, the soft glow of the emergency lighting punctuated by the beams of their flashlights.

Trip found the whole scenario creepy. No ship was meant to be this quiet—not being able to feel the engines purring beneath his feet set his teeth on edge. Not to mention that he still wasn't wearing any shoes. Mental note, he told himself, always put on appropriate footwear when leaving quarters.

"Why didn't you tell the captain who did it?" he clarified.

"Because I do not know." She seemed genuinely surprised at his question.

"But you were about to tell me in the white room!"

"Additional factors have been introduced which must be considered."

"Oh." Trip glanced around the darkened passageway. "Right. Who were you going to say did it?"

T'Pol turned abruptly at a junction in the corridor. Trip scrambled to keep up. "I was going to suggest that Medec was the killer andone of the humansthe saboteur."

Trip nodded, turning his attention to the corridor. He stopped suddenly, squatting to get a better look at something along one of the walls. "T'Pol, look at this." He pointed and she shone her light on the metal paneling—or what was left of it. The fabric of the wall had corroded through to the wires and pipes underneath. "Some kind of acid, maybe?" he asked.

"Not according to these readings."

"What, then?"

"The scans read it as normal structural distress."

"What? That thing must not be working right. Let me see."

"I assure you, Commander, it is functioning correctly." She tilted the screen so he could see. "The scans read the damage as normal accumulated distress."

"It rusted away?" Trip was incredulous. "It would take over 70 years for this ship to rust like that! And only without any kind of maintenance whatsoever."

"It is…curious," T'Pol agreed.

Trip was looking at the wall, laying his hands on it. "Do you know where we are?"

"I think I have a good idea, yes," she told him tartly.

He flashed her a quick grin and grabbed her hand, pulling her around the nearest corner. "I love it when you get sarcastic. No, behind here…this is…" he stopped, almost skidding to a halt.

Before them, their flashlight beams could only highlight the uncontrollable mess that spread out before them. Wires, floors, panels—all looked as though they had been pulled apart and then melted. It was barely recognizable for what it was supposed to be.

"…the transporter," Trip finished.

"What could have done this?" T'Pol wanted to know. "How did someone do this and cause all the other damage on the ship so quickly?"

Trip stepped forward, wading into the mess. T'Pol still held his hand and tightened her grip reflexively. "Trip."

He smiled. "I'm fine," he squeezed her hand before dropping it. He turned away before he could see a glimmer of panic cross the Vulcan's normally serene countenance. T'Pol took a deep breath and reminded herself that her human was very capable and competent…and that if he got himself hurt she would strangle him.

She was still entertaining this thought when Trip called to her from somewhere in the vicinity of what had once been the transporter pad. It was now a softly undulating mass of metal and polymer, melted and reformed in an eccentric caricature of its previous self.

"T'Pol, compare readings from here with the ones we took in the corridor," he asked her.

She did so. "The two incidents do not appear to be related," she told Trip, looking up at him quizzically.

He bit his lip. "Uh-huh." The engineer tromped around a bit on the transporter pad before putting his hands on his hips and staring off into space. T'Pol knew he was thinking, trying to fit together several pieces of a puzzle that didn't seem to be making the same picture.

"What about the readings down here," he waved at another passageway, "towards engineering?"

T'Pol focused her scanner and started walking in the indicated direction. "I detect further structural integrity problems…" she refocused the range of the sensor, "of four varieties. None are related to one another, or to the transporter room."

Trip drummed his hands on his hips. "Which part of the ship was damaged first?"

The science officer bent her head over her scanner, trying to decipher its readings. "It is difficult to establish, however…I believe the transporter was the first to be affected. It appears to be the epicenter."

"Epicenter…" Trip was turning, surveying the mutilated room. "Like an earthquake and shockwaves…"

"Do you think this is part of a process or program someone initiated?" T'Pol asked. This possibility had never occurred to her before.

"What was the last thing we transported?" Trip asked.

"The mining equipment," T'Pol told him. "I believe that last piece was the device used to screen out the impurities of the carillium." She tilted her head. To screen out impurities…in carillium…a natural structural enhancer…

"Trip," she said sharply. He looked up at her. "I believe we can cover more ground separately."

"I'm not sure we should split up." Trip didn't like this idea at all.

"I need to scan the machinery we brought aboard. It's in Cargo Bay 2." T'Pol gave him no room for argument. "I will join you there once I am done."

Reluctantly Trip nodded. She turned to go and he reached out a hand to catch her arm. "You be careful," he told her gravely. The look in his eyes dissipated all thoughts of sharp retorts. She placed a hand over his and nodded, then turned and jogged down the hallway. Trip followed her with his flashlight until she was out of sight.

Sighing, he made his way to engineering.

Everything was dark, as expected. Everything was also quiet, as unexpected. Where was the engineering staff? There should be at least four people on duty right now…

CLUNK.

The commander whipped around at the noise. Just beyond the reach of his flashlights he could hear shuffling.

"Masarro? Hess?"

No one answered. Trip advanced carefully. "Who's there?"

The shuffling increased—someone was panicking, trying to get away. Ha! He had them cornered! He leapt forward and shone his light on…

"Miss Saunders?"

Billie Saunders, cap still firmly entrenched on her head, stared back at him like a frightened deer.

"What are you doing back here?" Trip asked. She did not respond. Trip was fed up with this—someone was going to give him some answers, dammit! "How did you get in here—and where is everyone?" Hetook a stepforwardand she ran, dodging beneath his arm and away into the darkness…almost. Dropping his flashlight, he caught the tail of her sleeve and yanked her back to face him.

He didn't see the heavy power converter she carried until she hit him across the head with it. After that, he didn't see anything at all.