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Part 3: Truth is Stranger than Fiction, in Theory

T'Pol could not ever remember seeing Hoshi in a state quite like this. The young ensign looked as though she had been working non-stop since Malcolm disappeared: her eyes were bleary, her skin was pale, her hair was even askew from its usual tidy state. She rubbed her eyes and looked up as the Vulcan approached her workstation and T'Pol saw concern and frustration rooted deep with them.

"Have you had any luck, Ensign?" she asked, stepping behind Hoshi to look over her efforts.

"No, Commander. Nothing since the first transmission."

"Have you been able to determine Malcolm's location when he sent it?"

"Not really," Hoshi said, then added quickly, "I know the general area it must have come from." She tapped a nearby screen, drawing up a map of the Pelak Ocean district. "It doesn't make sense, though."

"How so?" T'Pol leaned over to view the data and saw immediately what Hoshi meant. "Ensign, there must be an error. This location is hundreds of miles west of the research vessel. It is not possible that Lt. Reed could have traveled so far in such a short—"

"I know!" the ensign fairly wailed. T'Pol jerked up and took a step back. Thanks to Trip she was getting used to human emotional outbursts (he certainly displayed his fair share), but they still caught her off guard. Humans seemed to have them at the most illogical times! This was one of those tricky situations that so often arose when working with humans. Hoshi was clearly upset and T'Pol knew that human etiquette demanded a sympathetic response, but T'Pol needed her to think clearly and professionally. Hoshi was taking this quite hard and the Vulcan could not help but wonder if the comm officer had developed a temporary infatuation for Malcolm…what had Trip called it? Ah, yes. A "crush." With this in mind, she decided a delicate touch was in order.

"Hoshi, I realize you are under a great deal of strain," T'Pol began. "I am sure we will find Lt. Ree—Malcolm."

Hoshi nodded and rubbed her eyes again. "I know. I apologize Commander." She turned back to the display and pointed to the calculations running along the lower portion of the screen. "It's impossible, but there's no error in the data. This is where that signal came from. How Malcolm got there, I don't know, but that's where he made his transmission. I matched the locational data to Travis's aerial survey data and the Onaran topographic maps: there's nothing there."

T'Pol scrutinized the data carefully and could find no obvious flaws. "I will speak with the Onarans and review the project data once more. Perhaps we will find a plausible explanation that fits the evidence." She tried to sound encouraging but Hoshi did not look enthusiastic. "Ensign," she suggested, "Hoshi…why don't you get some rest?"

Hoshi shook her head adamantly. "Not just yet. My shift ends in an hour and a half."

"How long have you been on duty?"

"I don't know…" the young woman flushed guiltily.

"I can easily check the shift roster, ensign," T'Pol reminded her sternly. "How long have you been here?"

"At least 18 hours, by my count," said a voice behind them. Captain Archer had emerged from his ready room just in time to witness this debate. He gave Hoshi a small smile. "But I think you were here for a few hours before that. Go get some sleep, Hoshi. We'll notify you if we find anything."

Unable to refuse this quasi-order, the comm officer left the bridge Archer watched her go, then turned his attention to his science officer. "Anything yet?"

"Ensign Sato made an interesting discovery," she told him, briefing him on Hoshi's calculations.

"That's nowhere near the science vessel!" Archer pointed out. "It makes no sense."

"There seem to be a number of things that do not make sense here," T'Pol agreed. "Commander Tucker and I are particularly concerned with some of the inconsistencies the Onarans have displayed as we have searched for Malcolm." She told him of she and Trip's conclusions regarding the Onarans withholding information, unsure how he would view these suspicions. He listened in silence as she spoke, perched on the edge of his command chair. By the time she finished his brow was knit and T'Pol feared he did not agree with his subordinates' deductions.

Finally, he rose and began to pace the length of the bridge. "I hate to say it, but I'm inclined to agree with you. I've been in contact with various officials in the Onaran government for the last three hours, trying to get some cooperation. Oh, in most ways they are—they express their sympathy readily enough, but there's still some strange withholding of information. Oula had mentioned that this area was thoroughly mapped and surveyed about 20 years ago," he explained, "she said, "it's lucky we found that data, it cut three months of intensive survey work off our timeline." I've been trying to get hold of those records, but apparently either Dr. BenCour made them up or that information is missing. I can't get anyone who knows about that survey—and I can't find Dr. BenCour anywhere."

"Commander Tucker has not been able to reach her either. What about the interference?" T'Pol asked.

"No one wants to talk about that," he said flatly. "Any luck in filtering it?"

"Some," the Vulcan informed him. "I believe I will be able to cycle it out of the comm systems within a few hours."

"Well, at least that's something. Now if you'll excuse me," he turned grimly back to his ready room, "I have a call to make to the Second Consul to the Ministry of Transport."

------------------------------

"Ow!" he whispered as he walked into the doorframe for the second time.

"Be careful," T'Pol instructed in a low voice, moving deftly through the door and into the darkened room beyond.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, squinting in the inky darkness.

"No," she responded matter-of-factly, "but we have little choice." She flicked on her scanner and began analyzing the contents of the room as quickly and quietly as possible. "Over here," she indicated. Barely illuminated by the dim light of her scanner, she motioned toward one corner of the room. "Behind this panel there is a maintenance shaft."

Trip threw away his last vestige of rationality and grabbed hold of the section of wall plating she indicated, pulling it loose. Boy, he hoped no one wandered in here right now…how did he get himself into these messes, anyway?

The day had started off so well…as well as a day that includes searching for your missing best friend on an oceanic planet inhabited by people who don't seem to want to help you can start, anyway.

Trip had awakened from his nap with renewed enthusiasm, ready to search the Onaran science vessel from which Malcolm had made his transmission. He felt certain that soon they would find Malcolm, he just felt that they were close. He and T'Pol had made their way down to the surface via Travis' shuttlepod and set out, determined to uncover something of use.

This hope was soon dashed as it became clear that the Onarans weren't about to let either he or T'Pol anywhere near the small craft. What's more, they were informed that it was going to be sent to an Onaran forensic facility for examination within the hour. If they wanted to get any readings off that boat, it was going to be done quickly and in, for lack of a better term, an unconventional manner. This was why he was currently shimmying down a maintenance duct with a Vulcan above him and a datapad clutched firmly between his teeth. T'Pol's scans of the building indicated that this tube ran behind the storage dock that currently housed the science vessel. If this was correct then they would be able to run at least a preliminary analysis on the boat. It wasn't great, but it was better than nothing.

"There," T'Pol called softly when he reached a junction that opened into an intersecting shaft. Trip stopped and she squeezed down the ladder next to him. "The vessel is beyond this wall," she breathed. "I am also reading three bio-signs."

"Guards," the engineer said. T'Pol looked at him strangely and he realized he was still holding the datapad in his teeth. He removed it and repeated his statement.

"So it would seem." She tapped the datapad lightly. "Why didn't you put this in your pocket?" she asked before turning to the wall and searching for a vent or opening through which she might take scans.

Trip started to reply but noticed slight teeth marks on the datapad and thought better of it. Instead he set to work as well, moving in the opposite direction from T'Pol.

Hmm, he thought. Pretty solid over here. Wonder if T'Pol's having any luc—OW! He dropped his datapad as he felt an unmistakable mental jolt as the Vulcan signaled him through their bond.

"Could you turn down the volume on that?" he whispered as he approached her. She was squatting on one knee near a section of paneling obscured by wires.

"I apologize." She looked up. "I did not mean to cause you discomfort, but I believe we can remove this panel and take more accurate readings from the vessel."

Trip grinned. "Let's get to it, then." He pulled the paneling away as quietly as he could and tried to peer through the opening as T'Pol took her scans. "Looks like they're getting ready to move her now," he commented, watching two Onarans connect the ship to a towline. "We got here just in time. Although," he couldn't help but ask, "do you really think we'll get useful data from this far away? What can it really tell us about Malcolm?"

"Nothing," T'Pol told him suddenly, examining her scanner closely.

"Huh?"

"We must get back to Enterprise." T'Pol closed her scanner abruptly and turned to head back to the ladder. "That craft will not tell us anything about Lt. Reed's whereabouts because Lt. Reed was never on it. The Onarans have been lying to us."

---------------------------

"…and there was rhubarb pie everywhere. Needless to say, my mother wasn't pleased, but I was only five years old so she wasn't too hard on me. My father, however, took one look at the mess and almost had a heart attack." Malcolm laid back, contemplating the blue sky above. If he sat like this he could almost forget the looming ocean that surrounded him. He hit the comm link again. "So that was the last time until I was nearly ten that I was allowed to use the replicator on my own," he finished. "Now let's see, what's next? Ah, yes. My first judo class. I was six and my father had wanted me to take boxing lessons but Mother wouldn't allow it…"

He had no idea how long he'd been talking into the communications equipment but was reluctant to stop. It helped with his nerves and frankly, there wasn't much else to do. At least this way if someone chanced upon his signal they'd be talking to a live Malcolm Reed rather than an automated message. He'd already given his family's background history: his father's naval career, how his parents met, where they lived before Malcolm was born. Now he was getting into the really gripping stuff.

"…and Andy McPherson punched me in the nose but I kept my calm. Well, I lost two teeth and nearly blacked out, but I was as calm as can be expected!" He'd sit here and recite his whole life story twice if he had to, he decided stubbornly. Surely someone would hear this!

He paused. What next? Oh yes, those dreadful botany courses his mother made him take. He still hated gardening. He grunted and hit the link again.

-------------------------

"What do you mean, he was never on that ship?" Archer was vacillating between incredulity and anger…and anger was winning out. "I have the report right here, it says…" he paused and held up the report, reading, "DNA readings confirm the presence of a human. Genetic match via data from Starfleet records: Lt. Malcolm Reed." He lowered the report. "Are you sure about this, T'Pol?"

"Positive," the Vulcan replied in a tone that broached no argument. "Lt. Reed was never on that ship. There were no traces of his DNA, no human DNA whatsoever."

"Could they have cleaned it?" asked Archer, trying to cover all his bases. He didn't want to hurl accusations quite yet.

"If they did why would they send it off for forensic examination?" Trip asked. "Makes no sense."

"Not much of this does, I'm beginning to see."

"There is more, sir," T'Pol continued. "The traces of saline and organic matter found on the craft do not entirely match those for this area. They match the water composition approximately 700 kilometers to the south of here."

Archer raised his eyebrows. "700 kilometers? That's a long way for a little boat."

"Too long," Trip agreed. "Our projections show that ship should have been found within a 100 kilometer radius of the Tubat's position at the time of the incident. We didn't catch it when the ship was first located, but even a preliminary scan of the vessel would expose these findings."

"It's clear the Onarans know more than they're letting on and that they're staging some kind of cover-up. We only have 20 hours until the project goes on as planned, so I sugge—"

"Sir!" Hoshi called out excitedly from her post. "Sir, I've got something!"

"What is it?" Archer crossed the bridge rapidly, Trip and T'Pol on his heels.

"I think…I think it's Lt. Reed!"

"Are you sure?" Archer wanted to know. It seemed too much to hope for.

"He's talking about…" she listened for a moment and smiled, "he's talking about his mother forcing him to take dancing lessons when he was 14. It's definitely him, and it's a live signal."

"Can you signal him back?" Archer asked. She nodded. "Do it." She nodded again, indicating to the captain that the channel was open.

"Lt. Reed, can you hear me?"

There was silence; everyone on the bridge held their breath.

"Lt. Reed," Archer tried again, "are you there? This is Captain Archer."

Another moment of silence passed, then a voice crackled to life across the room. "Sir, am I glad to hear your voice!" Malcolm exclaimed. "I was beginning to think I was going to have to talk about going to my first school dance!"

Archer shot Trip and T'Pol a confused look but grinned anyway. "It's good to hear you too, Lieutenant. Can you give us a fix on your location?"

There was a pause and a scrambling sound as Malcolm checked his navigational gear again. "No sir, my equipment is having trouble reading that information. For some reason it won't give me accurate readings, though I can't find any malfunctions."

"We're having the same problems," Trip informed him. "There's electromagnetic interference affecting many of our systems. We're working on getting it filtered."

"Your vest did not malfunction?" asked T'Pol. "Your communicator and locational sensors are working?"

"My vest?" Malcolm sounded surprised. "Oh…well, it worked, but no, my communicator and everything else was lost in the water. I would probably be in bad shape if I hadn't found that boat."

"Boat?" Trip asked, stunned. He looked at T'Pol, confused, but she shook her head, as bewildered as he was. "Malcolm, we found the boat…there's no indication you were on it."

"No offense, but if you found the boat then you're doing a bloody poor job of finding me. I'm sitting here looking at it and Enterprise is nowhere in sight."

A smile spread over Trip's features. "I knew it!"

T'Pol shot him a look that said gloating was illogical, but it was Archer who pressed Malcolm for details. "What kind of ship is it? And what do you mean, you're looking at it? Are you still on board?"

Malcolm spent the next few minutes describing the ship and the events that had led to his present situation: sitting on a tiny island trying to keep his sanity intact. Archer and the bridge crew listened raptly to the strange account, trying to fit it into the events on their side of the story. When he finished they all stood for a moment, mulling over the implications of Malcolm's predicament.

"Lieutenant," Archer began, "there are no islands in this area, not for hundreds of kilometers. The closest ones are all inhabited."

"What is this, then, a hallucination?" Malcolm sounded understandably irritable.

"Any chance these aren't charted?" Trip asked.

T'Pol shook her head. "The Onarans were trying to uncover land here. None was extant."

"Wait a minute…" Trip held up a hand. "That's right, they were trying to uncover land…"

Archer cocked his head at the engineer. "You have something, Commander?"

Trip stood still, thinking.

"Commander?" Archer asked again. He did not respond.

"Trip!" Malcolm's voice rang out from the comm.

The engineer started. "Um…" he flushed.

"Do you have something more helpful to add?" the tactical officer asked.

"I might," Trip finally said. "Wait here!" Without further ado he sprinted from the bridge, leaving a very confused group of people in his wake.

"Do you know what that's about?" Archer asked T'Pol, looking worried. He had a feeling T'Pol had a better idea of his engineer's state of mind these days.

"No," she told him, "but I believe he has found something of use. He will return," she said confidently.

Archer gave her a bemused look turned and turned back to Hoshi. "Ensign, keep trying to get a lock on Lt. Reed's position. You too, T'Pol," he added. "What else can you tell us about your surroundings, Malcolm?"

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Electromagnetic interference, disappearances, ships turning up hundreds of kilometers off course…oh, he was so stupid! Why hadn't he seen it before? He raced back to his quarters, and barreled through the door.

Now where was it? Not on the desk…not on the nightstand either. He checked under his bed and at his workstation. Now where had he…ah! He located the desired object and pulled it down.

"Go figure," he muttered, "on the bookshelf." Clutching Florida: Myths, Legends, and Facts, he headed back to the bridge.

----------------------------

T'Pol wasn't sure what impressed her more about her human: his genius or his madness. Only a madman would have come up with this connection—it was nonsensical at best—and yet…it fit. Still, it did not seem possible, and there were many unexplained elements at work here. For one thing, she knew for a fact that Earth had no such phenomena as the one he proposed responsible for what had happened here on Onara, yet all his information on said phenomena came from a particular location on his home planet.

"None of the factors you suggest have ever been observed off the coasts of Florida or in the Caribbean," she pointed out as she thumbed through the book he had plunked on the bridge's conference table. "To my knowledge, there is no discernable "triangle" of activity, malevolent or otherwise, near Bermuda. How can a theory which has been proven incorrect help us here?"

"I have to agree with her there, Trip. Those old Bermuda Triangle stories were put to bed decades ago on Earth." Captain Archer looked slightly worried that his chief engineer would suggest such a thing.

Malcolm, still listening over an open channel, was much more frank. "You must be joking."

"I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. This book outlines a proposal made by a scientist named Decker von Braun. He predicted that for those stories to be true, for there to really be a "Devil's Triangle" or temporal vortex, certain conditions would have to be present. Just because those conditions weren't found on Earth doesn't mean they couldn't be found somewhere else."

Archer and T'Pol exchanged looks and Trip tapped the console on the table, bringing the screen at its center to life. "I thought you might think that. Here's the bio for Dr. von Braun, he is a legitimate scientist." He pointed to the screen. "Graduated MIT 2102, taught at CalTech and Berkeley, worked for the Los Alamos National Laboratory."

"He ended the Bermuda Triangle debate by outlining the precise environmental conditions that would have to exist for such a "vortex" to exist and proving that those conditions did not occur anywhere on Earth," T'Pol read. She looked up. "He presented his findings in a symposia at a conference on Theoretical Physics at Harvard University."

"But let me guess," Archer smiled crookedly. "Those conditions do exist…"

"On Onara." Trip nodded. "von Braun proposed that sudden changes in the gravitational mass of a planet caused by erratic pulses of radiation or a shift in the electroweak force could cause a gravitational time dilation. This would disrupt the normal flow of time and space in that area. The effects would be tiny, by the standards of most stellar phenomena."

Malcolm scoffed. "That's relative. Anyway, the Onarans didn't use radiation for their project."

"But they did use subharmonic pulses to direct the flow of the new current," T'Pol supplied. "Is that enough to cause this gravitational time dilation?"

"If the subharmonics operated at the same frequency as the electromagnetic field and caused a change in the gravitational mass at the same time, yes. We'd start to see strange phenomena occurring, like people and ships disappearing."

"So where do these people and ships end up?" Malcolm asked pointedly.

"Well…that's where things start to get a little fuzzy," Trip told him apologetically.

"Start to get a little fuzzy?" the tactical officer asked. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"You see, it really depends on the original gravitational mass of the planet, the specific gravity operating in the area affected, the properties of the electromagnetic field, the frequencies used in the subharm—"

"Have I mentioned that I'm sitting on a tiny island surrounded by ocean?" Malcolm broke in irritably. "A lot of ocean?"

"So there are a lot of factors to take into account," Trip finished. "It'll…take some time to figure all of these things out." He felt T'Pol's eyes on him and avoided her gaze.

"But you can do it?" Malcolm asked, sounding worried.

"Yes, yes, we can do it," Trip assured him.

"Good—get on it," Archer told him, nodding briefly to indicate that this meeting was now over. "Malcolm, Hoshi is going to keep you on that channel—we're still working on getting all the interference filtered out of our systems. Maybe you and she can find some clues as to your location." Archer stopped and shook his head disbelievingly. "It seems you've stumbled into a Bermuda Triangle story, Lieutenant."

"As long as it doesn't turn into a loch ness monster story, sir," Malcolm replied wryly.

-----------------------------

"You are holding something back," T'Pol said bluntly as she ran to catch up with Trip as he headed toward engineering. "There is something you were not willing to tell Malcolm or the captain."

"Oh yeah?" he countered. "Do your superior Vulcan mental powers tell you that?"

"I know you well enough without them." She stopped walking and stood with her arms crossed.

He came to a halt and turned back to face her. A look of defiance crossed his face but he seemed to think better of it and settled instead on resignation. "It's not exactly that I held something back, it's just something I'm not quite sure of."

She gave him a questioning look and he glanced around, as though nervous he would be overheard, then motioned for her to follow him to engineering. T'Pol followed him to his personal workstation, pondering his sudden secretive behavior.

"Please elaborate," she instructed him. "What are your concerns with our rescue operation?"

Trip called up a series of charts and topographical schematics to the computer screen. "What I said about von Braun's theory about Bermuda Triangle type events wasn't quite complete. The god doctor was doing a theoretical experiment in which he came up with an explanation to explain a hypothetical scenario, right? What conditions must occur in order for these events—boats going off course, planes disappearing—to take place?" T'Pol nodded. "Only people didn't just believe those ships and things went off course, they believed they got caught in some kind of time loop. People claimed sighting ships from hundreds of years in the past, hearing the voices of long lost pilots over their radios, being helped by passengers on liners that had vanished decades ago."

"So how did von Braun account for these claims in his theory? What conditions would be necessary for," she pursed her lips slightly, "this "time loop"?"

"Some kind of temporal distortion would have to be introduced into the mix. From what I know of the Onaran project, I don't think it was introduced artificially."

"I concur." T'Pol was studying the computer screen. "Assuming von Braun's theory is correct, the temporal distortion would have to be present naturally."

"To some degree, anyway. And if it is, that mean Malcolm isn't just somewhere else, he's somewhen else." Trip leaned back on the console beside her and crossed his arms. "I'm not sure I even know where to begin to look for Malcolm if that's the case, much less get him back."

"Why didn't you tell this to the captain?" T'Pol wanted to know.

Trip shrugged. "If there is a temporal disturbance of some kind we haven't detected it yet. I'm not even sure Enterprise's scanner's would be able to pick it up. I thought Malcolm was under enough stress already—best not to get him upset about something that might not even be a factor."

T'Pol considered this. It was sometimes difficult to follow human reasoning as it often took into consideration an element lacking from Vulcan logic: emotion. On a Vulcan ship a crewmember would never hold back information of possible relevance to spare the feelings of a colleague. Only a couple of years ago T'Pol herself would have found Trip's actions in this case to be poor judgment at best, negligence at worst. Now she understood why he had chosen this course of action and marveled at the subtlety involved in making judgments concerning emotional well-being.

"I believe you did the right thing," she turned to face the engineer, "for now. We must rule out the possibility that Lt. Reed is not in our own timeline. Once we have confirmed the validity of von Braun's hypothesis we should return to the surface of the planet and collect more data."

Trip nodded. "We should also look for Dr. BenCour. She could probably tell us everything we need to know about Onara and the conditions present when Malcolm went overboard."

"She may also be able to enlighten us as to why the Onaran government is brickwalling us in our attempts to locate Lt. Reed."

Trip looked confused, then smiled. "Stonewalling," he corrected. "Should we tell them we've made contact with him?" he wondered.

"I do not believe so—not until we have more information," T'Pol decided. "If they perceive our investigation as a threat to their project they may not permit us to continue."

"You're probably right," Trip agreed.

T'Pol congratulated herself silently on making a decision that took emotional reaction into account before turning to the computer. Soon she was lost in calculations and the intricacies of an equation dealing with time, space, and lost tactical officers.

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"Are you certain this is the way?" T'Pol asked for the second time.

Trip grunted and turned another corner. "Yes, I'm sure. It's just down here."

"That's what you said two corridors ago," she reminded him. They had been wandering the narrow halls of the Tubat for the past twenty minutes, searching in vain for Oula's assigned quarters. She had always thought it was a myth that human males were incapable of asking for directions. Every myth has its beginning in some kind of truth, she told herself and restrained from asking once more if she could examine the map he carried. Her last such suggestion had been met with a decidedly indignant and territorial "no". She supposed she couldn't be too hard on the engineer: the Onarans had a habit of leaving any kind of identifying markers on their doors. It made navigating difficult and confusing, to say the least.

"A-ha!" Trip announced triumphantly, stopping before a pale metallic door. It looked the same as all the others but Trip was convinced it was the correct entrance. He pressed the signal button and stood back, waiting.

After a moment a shuffling noise could be heard from within and the door was opened by a stocky Onaran woman with sea green hair and dappled skin. "May I help you?" she asked curiously.

T'Pol shot Trip a look that said "I-told-you-so" and turned to the woman. "I apologize. We were looking for Dr. BenCour's quarters. We must have gotten lost."

"You're not too far off course—she's right across the hall," the woman smiled kindly and pointed. "I don't think she's in right now, though. I haven't seen her for a few days, some to think of it."

"Where do you work?" asked Trip hopefully. "Are you a scientist on the reclamation project?" At this point he would take help or information from almost any source.

"I work in the galley," she said apologetically before closing her door. "Sorry."

T'Pol tried Dr. BenCour's door and was unsurprised when no one answered. "We are running out of time," she told Trip unnecessarily as they began to try to extricate themselves from the maze of corridors. "We have less than one hour to report back to the captain."

"You have three hours," Archer had told them sternly before they left Enterprise. "If you can't find Oula or find the information we need to locate Malcolm by then, I'm going to the Teleel and Krevet with what we've got so far." T'Pol knew that asking the Onarans to halt their reclamation project would be both pointless and politically messy but they might have no choice. The electromagnetic interference was cycling high, playing havoc with even their handheld sensor equipment and they had been unsuccessful at locating Dr. BenCour.

By the time they got to the shuttlepod the situation had not improved. "I'm not looking forward to breaking the news to the captain," he commented to T'Pol before turning to Travis. The young helmsman had dropped them off on the ship and taken the opportunity to make another few aerial sweeps before coming back for his superior officers. He stood waiting for them, standing at attention.

Trip narrowed his eyes at the ensign. There was something strange about the look in his eyes, like he could barely contain himself. Travis said nothing, however, and simply opened the shuttle hatch and motioned the commanders inside. Frowning, Trip complied, waiting for T'Pol to situate herself inside before following.

"Any luck, sir?" Travis asked as he activated the shuttle engines.

"None." Trip tossed his datapad on a nearby seat and rubbed his hands over his eyes. "We not only failed to get any useful environmental data from the Tubat, we couldn't find Dr. BenCour either."

"Maybe you won't have to find her," said a voice behind him. "Maybe she'll find you."