Chapter Eight: You Stop; You Die
"You don't have to do this," Archer said, sitting tiredly on the floor of his cell. He had awoken to find his cell locked with an energy field and what appeared to be final preparations for war well under way. An experimental tap of the field produced a hum and a mild shock, like touching a light switch with a wet finger, but he was unable to push his hand through to the other side.
Eeshon didn't even turn around. "I appreciate your concern, Captain, but I believe I have exhausted all other options."
"There has to be another option besides war," Archer insisted. "Enterprise is never going to give you what you want. And without that technology, there's no way you can win. You're completely outnumbered and outgunned. You'd be better off giving yourself up."
That got Eeshon's attention. He turned away from the table where he and his five top lieutenants huddled, studying plans, and laughed bitterly. "And be executed on the spot?"
"Avdev has no death penalty," Archer pointed out.
"All right, then spending the rest of my life in a prison cell would accomplish what?" Eeshon looked politely interested but skeptical.
Archer fought to stay focused. "Some of the greatest, most influential revolutionaries in the history of my planet have changed the world from behind prison walls. King, Mandela, Gandhi – you don't know these names, but every school child on Earth does and considers each one a hero."
"I have no desire to be a hero," Eeshon replied.
"And I have no desire to be the cause of a civil war," Archer snapped back. "You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. Turn yourself in. Starfleet can send mediators to negotiate."
"You said Starfleet will not involve itself."
"No," Archer answered, "I said Starfleet won't negotiate with terrorists. Come to the table as a peaceful political group with a grievance, instead of a violent anarchist mob. You could even ask the Vulcans to intercede for you."
"You have more faith in government than I do," Eeshon said simply. "I am not a monster, Captain, despite what you may think. Neither am I a terrorist. I am a patriot and I am willing to use any tool at my disposal to achieve equality for my people. Even you." He began to turn, and then paused and said in a low voice, "If it is customary for your people to prepare themselves for death, I suggest you begin now."
"You're not even going to give me a chance to save myself," Archer accused.
"No," Eeshon agreed, "I am not. That course of action will not benefit my cause."
Archer eyed the door to the cell. "Can I have drink of water, at least," he asked finally.
"Certainly," Eeshon replied. He strode toward the cell bearing a small metal cup, the type Archer might have taken camping back on Earth. He disengaged the energy field that made the cell door impassable, then held out the cup with a courteous smile. Archer reached for it over the threshold, his face neutral. Eeshon hesitated, but did not release the cup. The Avdevi studied the captain's face, then slid his eyes toward the door and back to the prisoner.
Archer waited, body tense. Eeshon's smile faded a little, and then grew wider as he pried the cup out of the captain's hand. "Ah, Captain," he forced a laugh, "I, too, know the laws of physics. It is not -- quite -- time for you to die." He turned a little and reached for the locking mechanism.
Archer sprang forward, willing his aching body to obey. The phase pistol was right there; his fingers wrapped themselves around the handle and he yanked upward.
Perhaps if he had been at full strength, he might have succeeded in freeing the pistol from the holster. Maybe if he had had use of his right hand, his dominant hand, the weapon would have come completely free and he could have ended this, right here, right now. But the path of the gun was abruptly stopped as Eeshon grabbed Archer's wrist tightly and held it implacably until the captain sank to his knees. It took no more effort for the Avdevi than if the captain had been a child. Not even a drop of water spilled. He pushed Archer backward, and stood, towering over him, his face like a thundercloud.
It was many seconds before the Avdevi could gain sufficient control of himself to speak. Archer wondered briefly if he had finally found the outer limit of Avdevi courtesy. From the expressions on the faces of Eeshon's lieutenants, who crowded the cell behind their leader, weapons drawn, he guessed he had. The pistol, which Eeshon now held, came to rest in the hollow at the base of Archer's throat.
So much for avoiding that intergalactic incident, Archer thought ruefully. Too bad; I really studied hard for this test.
"I find it difficult to believe," Eeshon remarked finally, "that your people would not bargain for your life." He re-holstered the pistol and stepped through the doorway, activating the energy field. "By the way," he tossed over his shoulder almost casually, "your theory was correct." He hefted the metal cup and flipped it toward the doorway. When it hit the energy field, it sparked and sizzled, suspended by the field itself, absorbing the energy but having no way to conduct it further. After a few seconds, Eeshon knocked it free from the field with the butt of his pistol. The cup fell, charred and smoking, to the floor. More than enough current to kill a human.
Archer swallowed as Eeshon strode to the door, followed by a lieutenant and his second in command. He addressed the three insurgents left behind. "If I am killed or captured, execute the prisoner and send the body to the Prime Minister."
As Eeshon left, Archer tried once more. "You know there's a better way, Eeshon. Just-" The outside door slammed shut as he finished, "just consider it . . ."
Levral steered the Ambassador's transport out of the city limits, toward the area identified by Hoshi and Travis. The Ambassador had insisted they make use of not only his personal transport – which had the value of being allowed to pass through governmental checkpoints without stopping – but also his personal assistant. They had narrowed the GPS signal down to a square kilometer in an uninhabited section hundreds of kilometers from where Dlevec's vehicle had crashed. The government forces were searching for the captain in entirely the wrong region.
As the sedan reached a comfortable altitude, Reed checked his chronometer, acutely conscious that they were rapidly running out of time.
Archer lay on his right side in the corner of the cell. He had lost track of time completely. Had it been five days or six since he had left Enterprise, dressed in borrowed finery and optimism? Longer than that since he'd eaten anything substantial. He wondered if the ship still orbited above him. T'Pol wouldn't give in to Eeshon's demands, he knew, not in a million years. But would she leave him here? Yeah, maybe. No, she wouldn't, he scolded himself. Anyway, Trip wouldn't let her. I'd like to see that fight. Talk about your irresistible force hitting your immovable object. He pressed his face against the wall farthest from the door and moaned loudly. She doesn't like me, but she respects me, at least, and she wouldn't just leave, right? He wet his chapped lips. Of, course, you did just give her your ship, you asshole. He groaned again. After a moment, the Avdevi guard approached cautiously. Archer writhed a little, whispering, "Help me . . ."
The guard dissolved the energy field and stepped into the cell. Loath to touch the human, he carefully sidled closer and leaned over him. Lacking a translating device, the guard could only study the prisoner's clenched face, trying to find some clue to his ailment. He awkwardly bent over Archer's body, which was showing signs of acute discomfort. He leaned over further.
Archer elbowed the guard in the temple, hard, four times in quick succession, hoping that the humanoid's anatomy was sufficiently similar to his own. The guard crumpled to the floor. Archer rose as quickly as he could, relieved the guard of his heavy phase pistol, and departed the cell. In the next room, two Avdevis sat studying maps. He shot them both without a word, wondering belatedly if the phase pistol was set to kill, then deciding that he didn't really care. They both slumped silently in their chairs.
Out in the night air, he paused to catch his breath. Although his limbs felt like leaden fire, he half-stumbled, half-jogged, still barefoot, toward the rain forest. His mind took up the mantra, You stop, you die; you stop, you die.
He had run marathons before, pushing on through searing muscle cramps, hearing his own heartbeat drum in his ears. He had climbed mountains, breathing air so thin and cold that it made men see angels. But now the echo of remembered pain sapped his strength easily, and the determination to keep going came not from a challenge to his athletic pride, but from the stone cold knowledge that he must avoid being recaptured at all costs. Cold sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes as he pushed awkwardly, one-handedly, through the dense growth. He did not know where he was going; he only knew that his death at Eeshon's hands would be only one of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands.
As he pressed into the forest, he heard the sound of a landing craft. He sought cover. He knew he hadn't made it nearly far enough, and he had left tracks a blind man could follow. He gripped the weapon as he tried to lose himself in the deep foliage.