"Wasn't this vessel supposed to go for forensic testing?" Trip asked, staring at the small science vessel before them.
"Yes," Oula answered casually.
He grinned. "I suppose it can go later."
"That was my thought as well," she smiled back.
He threw his gear from the private docking platform onto the boat, and helped Captain Archer and T'Pol with several crates of equipment before heading belowdeck. Hoshi was already there, setting up her communications array to look for Malcolm's signal.
"Any luck yet?" he asked as he stowed his bag in a compartment in the floor.
"Not yet," she answered shortly.
"You'll get him back," he assured her.
"The interference is a lot stronger here."
Trip looked up at her. She was concentrating very hard on the receiver, her forehead creased with worry. Poor Hoshi, he thought. He knew she had a soft spot for Malcolm and that she had been keeping an almost constant vigil with him since they'd made contact. He wondered how much sleep she'd had over the past couple of days but refrained from suggesting she try to take a nap. Right now everyone's adrenaline was far too high and Hoshi, he remembered, knew judo. Or was it tae kwon do? Whatever it was, she'd once broken someone's arm using it and he didn't want to be bachelor number two.
Instead he put a hand on her shoulder. "You've done an amazing job, Hoshi. We're lucky you were around…Malcolm's lucky you were around. You'll find him again."
She did not look up but put a hand over his, grateful for his support. "Thank you Commander."
"And it's Trip," he told her as he climbed back up on deck. T'Pol looked at him curiously as he emerged in the open air. "Never mind," he told her. "So how are we doing?"
"We are two hundred kilometers from the area we believe Lt. Reed is located," the Vulcan informed him. "The journey should give us time to set up the subharmonic equipment."
"We'll be as ready as we'll ever be." Archer came up beside Trip. "Oula says we're on track, let's get started."
---------------------------------
The weather was definitely changing—T'Pol's could feel the drop in barometric pressure even before the humans did, though it was obvious to all once the wind began to blow cooler that the seas were becoming rougher.
Black clouds were forming all along the horizon, moving in to converge directly on their position. They raced across the sky, turning sunlight into darkness and throwing spidery bursts of lightning across the sky. T'Pol looked up at the shrinking circle of perfectly blue sky above her and took a deep breath, remembering her meditation techniques for remaining calm. Working with Trip had proven very beneficial—the water was not the mysterious, unknown variable it had been only hours before—but the next few hours were going to be very difficult.
She felt a hand on her elbow and turned to find Commander Tucker handing her a deluxe model of the Onaran life vest. This one covered her upper arms and though quite flexible, fit snugly against her hips. As Trip tightened at across her back she could feel it already begin to work warming her core and keeping her dry. Droplets of rain, sparse at first and then more intense, blew against her skin, carried by the cold mounting wind.
"We should get below!" he told her, his voice flying away in the gale. "Oula says we've only got about fifteen minutes before the storm is here." He pointed to the black clouds, which looked far closer to T'Pol than fifteen minutes away. She nodded and let him guide her to the hatch.
"How do things look up there?" the captain asked as they lowered themselves through.
"The winds are rapidly increasing and there is a great deal of electrical disturbance. I believe there will also be cyclonic activity," T'Pol answered him.
Oula looked up from the computer panel from which she was monitoring the storm. "That sounds about right. I recommend that no one goes up on deck until absolutely necessary. We're going to start seeing intense wave activity and the chances that this ship will roll are pretty good." On seeing the look of worry that crossed several of the faces turned toward her she quickly added, "But it shouldn't affect us much. This ship is equipped with an gyroscopic sensor and attitude corrector. If we capsize or roll the ship will right itself automatically. We'll be tossed around a bit, but the cabin will always remain right side up."
"I guess that's comforting," Trip muttered, looking less than convinced. He shot T'Pol a look and dropped his voice as she moved to check sensor calibrations. "How are you doing?"
"Fine, Commander." She used the tone that said, "this is work, not personal" so he simply nodded and began to move away. She placed a hand on his arm and said in almost a whisper, "Thank you."
He nodded again, this time with a smile. "And what about you, Mal? How's island life?"
"So far so good," Malcolm crackled over the airwaves. "There are a few clouds on the horizon but nothing like what you're seeing."
"That'll change soon enough," Oula commented wryly. "We're going to initiate the first subharmonic pulse now—our frequency should reverse the one being sent out by the resonance emitters, but it's going to bring the storm into your timeframe."
"And hopefully me into yours," Malcolm said stiffly. "I'm ready when you are, Doctor."
Oula's fingers flew over her console. "Initiating reverse pulse…now."
"Good luck, Malcolm," Hoshi said softly.
"Now what?" Archer asked, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
"Starting the process was the easy part," Oula told him. "Now the hard part: riding out the storm and hoping it worked."
---------------------------------
Malcolm watched the skies with growing dismay. He knew this had to be done but the process that had been described to him was in no way appealing.
"At least I know it's working," he told himself as clouds began to bubble into existence in the sky. It was as though the storm were simply appearing out of nothing. Along its edges blue sky peeked happily until it was eaten away by the growing darkness. He took a deep breath and checked the communications array one last time just as the rain began to fall. His wet fingers fumbled on the controls and he decided to leave well enough alone.
When he looked up again the sky was filled with angry, swirling clouds and lightening. It had moved in so fast it took his breath away. He saw a greenish cloud dip down toward the ocean off in the distance—a cyclone. Beneath it the sea rolled and heaved as huge waves formed and toppled over one another.
Terrified, he looked down at the communications array once again…but it was gone. So, he saw, was the grass…and most of the island! It was now just a tiny, rocky crag of land almost obscured by the roiling waters around him. It wasn't being flooded by the sea, he realized, it was rising from it! It was working—he was being pulled into his timeline again, over 450 years in the future when his tiny island chain was being uncovered by the Onaran land reclamation project!
A wave sloshed angrily over his perch, submerging him almost to the waist. Raising a hand to the storm, he tried to make out something—anything—in the murky darkness that surrounded him. Where were they, his colleagues? Were they out there? He peered fervently into the storm, searching.
-----------------------------"Sir!" T'Pol yelled, motioning to the sea.
He squinted and what T'Pol was indicating. There, rising slowly from the frothing oceans, was land. Waves pounded against it relentlessly as though trying to push it back under the water. It disappeared and reappeared several times, each time emerging more prominently. There seemed to be a strange formation to one side of the tiny island…
"It's Malcolm!" Trip shouted. Sure enough, the formation stretched and moved, floundering against the heavy winds. Archer blinked several times, trying to assess his tactical officer's situation more accurately. He appeared to be moving and uninjured—
"He's gone!" Archer shouted into his subdermal comm link. Sure enough, as clearly as Malcolm had been there one moment, the next he was simply gone. The islet was empty but for the raging sea. Archer was sure he hadn't fallen into the water, so where had he gone? "What happened!"
"I don't know!" Oula sounded frantic. "The gyroscopic sensors may be disrupting our pulse!"
"Then turn them off!" the captain instructed.
"Hold on to something up there," Oula warned as she disengaged the sensors. "It's about to get rough."
"About to!" asked Trip. No sooner had he said it than the whole ship bucked and sent him flying across the deck.
T'Pol lashed out, grabbing his ankle as it skidded past. "Commander, we must tie ourselves to the deck or we'll go over," she told him as she pulled him upright.
Working quickly, all three of them were soon lashed to one another and science vessel's railings. The storm howled miserably around them and waves pounded ruthlessly against the hull of the ship. Watching with a nervous eye, Trip worried that the force might actually buckle their little craft. He tried to put the thought out of his mind as he worked; as T'Pol would have told him, such thoughts served no purpose here.
Instead, he and the others concentrated on the tiny spit of land that bobbed in and out of sight before them. The three of them leaned against the railing, trying to make out any signs of life. The rain drove into their eyes and ran underneath their vests and the ocean sent up thick sprays of water. The powerful lights from their craft seemed weak against the darkness of the storm, which threw out its own frightening explosions of illumination in the form of lightning bursts.
"There!" Trip finally cried, pointing. "He's there!"
Sure enough, huddled at the center of the small island was their crewmate. Malcolm was too busy holding on for dear life to acknowledge their calls and Trip wondered if he realized where he was yet.
"We see him!" Archer told Oula. "Take us in closer to the island!"
"I'll try," Oula promised.
Archer steadied the handheld grappler and aimed at his stranded officer. The ship surged beneath him and he slid momentarily, quickly regaining his footing and raising the gun-like apparatus once again. "Hold us steady!" he shouted and thought he heard Dr. BenCour swear in response.
"This is as good as it's going to get," the Onaran spat from between clenched teeth. "I can't hold this position."
The captain took a deep breath and aimed as best he could, offering a quick prayer to the patron saint of water-polo, if there was one. He figured it couldn't hurt, anyway, and pulled the trigger.
Suddenly the world dropped from beneath him and the gun was torn from his grasp. He, Trip, and T'Pol all toppled against the railing, where they briefly paused before their momentum sent them plunging into the angry sea. The three of them jerked to a halt mid-plummet, held tenuously to the ship by the lifeline T'Pol had insisted they affix to the railing. They dangled momentarily before continuing their descent. Confused, Archer looked up and realized that the entire ship was leaning precariously. He thought it was going to tip over before he realized…the entire ocean seemed to be leaning—and moving very rapidly in one direction.
"The storm has created a vortex!" T'Pol called over the howling winds. Archer looked back and saw her struggling in the water, Trip holding her arm with a white-knuckled grip. Even now she looked calm, as though treading water in hurricane force weather was nothing out of the ordinary.
"It's a whirlpool!" Trip agreed. "We have to get back on the ship! If it rolls we'll be trapped underneath!"
Archer could hear a crackling in his ear and knew Oula was trying to communicate. "Stand by," he told her, hoping she could make him out better than he could her. He turned to his companions and communicated through a mixture of shouting and hand motions. "I think I can reach the railing if I swing, but it means we all have to swing."
Trip gave a thumbs-up sign and T'Pol followed suit, if a little mechanically. They steadied themselves against the side and started to swing haphazardly back and forth. After a number of false starts their momentum began to build, though greatly hindered by the rocking motion of the boat and their own collisions with the hull. Around them the water was picking up speed—Archer was certain they didn't have much time and desperately worked his exhausted muscles.
"Almost there!" he called encouragingly and hoped it was not a lie. The railing swung into view and he reached for it, missing by several inches. With his next attempt he grabbed hold of it briefly but found it too slick to grip. He slid off and lost most of his momentum. The ship lurched, taking the rest of it, but he doggedly started swinging again. There was the railing again—if he could just reach far enough…he extended his arm to its limit, stretching his fingers…
And felt a hand clutch his own tightly. Surprised, gasped and inhaled a swell of seawater. Coughing, he looked up to see Hoshi, sans vest but with a rope coiled around her midsection, holding onto him for dear life. Bracing herself against the railing, she hauled him up with all her might. Archer pushed up against the side of the ship, trying to help all he could. Within moments he found himself spluttering on the deck of the ship again, Trip and T'Pol struggling over the rails after him.
"Malcolm!" Archer shouted. "We didn't get him!"
Hoshi shook her head furiously. "We have to get below—Dr. BenCour says the ship's going to capsize!"
He nodded and followed her, half crawling, half walking across the violently slanted deck. They made it to the hatch and had just thrown it open when the ship finally gave way to the elements and tumbled into the relentless swirling waters. The four of them crashed inside, Archer last and pulling the door shut behind him.
For a moment all sense of direction and orientation was lost and time stood still and their surroundings shifted beneath them. Up became down which became up again and backwards and forwards switched places. Archer tucked himself into a ball, shielding his head in his hands. beside him he heard Hoshi gasp as something slammed into her head—he reached out and pulled her against him, covering her head as best he could.
Whether it had taken moments or hours he wasn't sure, but it was several seconds before he or anyone else realized it was over. Gradually he became aware that he was no longer moving—at least with such violent force—and that the room had settled itself, miraculously, right side up.
"Everyone okay?" he croaked, completely unsure of the answers he would get.
"Yes, sir," T'Pol said in a shaky voice. She had wedged herself beneath a bench and was crawling out. She busied herself with Trip, who had managed to hit his nose in the upheaval and was bleeding profusely. He was swatting her hand away, telling her in a nasally voice that he was fine, really but Archer could tell from the look on her face that he was fighting a losing battle.
"Dr. BenCour?" he called. He had lost track of her in the commotion.
"I thin I'm okay." She was sitting on the floor behind him, shaking her head as though to clear it. "I had to take the attitude corrector offline when I deactivated the gyroscopic sensors," she explained apologetically.
Archer smiled slightly. "I guessed that. Don't worry about it."
He realized he was still holding Hoshi and looked down at her. She stared back up with dazed eyes. A stream of blood ran from her scalp to her collar; she winced as she felt for the wound in her hairline. Archer examined it for her. "It looks minor, but we'll have Phlox check it out."
She sniffled and winced again. "I think I'm okay."
Trip handed her one of the towel T'Pol had tried to administer to his nose. "Let's see if Malcolm's out there," he suggested, though it sounded more like, "lesseef Mawcomb's oub der."
Archer pulled open the hatch and was hit not by a wave but a burst of sunshine. Amazed, he gazed up and saw a bright blue sky filled with whispery clouds. Unbelievable—it was as though the storm had never happened. The five of them clambered unsteadily to the deck and looked out over the water.
"Whoa!" Trip commented, dropping the towel from his nose. Archer had to agree with his assessment.
Rising from the now-calm water was not a tiny sliver of island, but an entire chain of them. They were small and rocky, but flat and their potential was clear. A series of bridges and some terraforming activity would soon make them habitable. For now though, their wet surfaces gleamed in the light of a sun that hadn't hit them for hundreds of years.
"I am not picking up any bio-signs." T'Pol, of course, had had the presence of mind to bring a scanner with her. The news it brought, however, was not good. "He is not there," she said definitively.
"We failed," Hoshi whispered disbelievingly, her eyes welling with tears of exhaustion and frustration.
"Dr. BenCour?" Archer asked, hoping the Onaran would have some kind of last minute advice on the subject. Perhaps all was not lost? But the doctor did not answer. She seemed preoccupied with something off the bow of the vessel. Fearing the worst in the form of a blue-clad floating body, Archer followed her gaze. What he saw, however…
"What is that?" It was something of an unnecessary question, for even though it was like nothing he'd ever seen, it was clear what it actually was. It was a ship, but such a ship…! It looked like a tree, sailing calmly away from them across the water. Branches knocked askew by the storm waved merrily in the light breeze and the honey colored wood of the hull gleamed in the sunlight. "Is that…?"
"The Molat," Oula told him, awed. The grand ship skimmed past the islands toward the horizon, five heads turning to watch its progress. Then, suddenly…it was gone. It blinked out of existence, leaving little more than a few ruffled waves in its wake.
Archer shook himself back to his senses. "Wait a minute, if the ship was here, then where's Malcolm? He should be here too!"
"I don't know what happened!" Oula practically wailed. "It should have worked! He should be here!"
Archer looked past her to T'Pol, who was still scanning furiously. She caught her captain's eye and shook her head. Nothing—no signs of life.
"Enterprise to Captain Archer."
Archer nearly jumped out of his skin as he heard Travis' voice channeled through his comm link. He'd completely forgotten about it. "Archer here."
"Were you successful, sir?" the young ensign wanted to know.
Archer paused and took a moment to hate this part of being a captain. "No, we weren't. We didn't get Malcolm back."
There was silence over the channel for a moment as Travis took in this news. "We can run scans from the ship now, sir. The interference is gone," he finally said.
"Do it. And send down a shuttlecraft." He turned to his beleaguered and beaten crew. They had all put forth so much of themselves—for nothing. Malcolm, his tactical officer and friend, was gone.
------------------------"A slight concussion but nothing to worry about," Phlox assured Hoshi. His usual jovial manner was tempered by the somber news that Lt. Reed had not been recovered. Hoshi's eyes were still watering, most likely from a combination of sadness, pain, and tiredness. "You're free to go, but only if you go back to your quarters and sleep," he instructed the ensign, who assented half-heartedly.
"You did everything you could," Archer told her as he helped her off the biobed.
"And you saved our lives," Trip added from his own bed. Phlox had mended his nose, which was now sporting a bandage and a nasty bruise.
T'Pol, who had watched the procedure with both sentimental and (to Trip's dismay) scientific interest, now turned her attention to the communications officer. "You have no reason to fault yourself," she said softly. Hoshi simply sniffled in response.
"I feel awful about this," Oula said again. She was taking the outcome of events very personally. "If my government had only you what was going on this might never have happe—"
"Mayweather to Captain Archer." Travis' disembodied voice broke into the room.
Archer slapped the nearest comm panel. "Go ahead."
"Sir, Minister Krevet and Teleel are requesting to speak with you."
Archer was in no mood for platitudes or diplomacy right now but he knew they'd be calling until he answered. May as well get it over with now. "Put it through."
"They requested a private comm line," Travis informed his captain.
"How nice for them. Just put them through," Archer said tiredly.
"Yes sir."
There was a brief moment of static and Krevet's deep voice filled sickbay. "Archer? Are you there?"
"Captain Archer, Minister," the captain corrected. "What can I do for you?"
"We just…all of us here on the Molat wanted to apologize for the mix-up, Captain."
"Mix-up?" Archer spat. "Is that what you call this? Concealing information that could have led to the rescue of my crewman or prevented his loss in the first place? Refusing to help us find him? Trying to strong-arm your own people into abandoning their duty? Is that a mix-up?"
There was frantic whispering and muttering at the other end of the comm line. Finally, Teleel spoke. "I'm not sure what…well, I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing, here, Captain. We wanted to apologize for not letting you know sooner—"
"I'd say you owe a damn sight more than an apology!" Archer was furious. How dare they offer feeble apologies when Malcolm was gone forever due, ultimately, to their ineptitude!
"Well, we've apologized to your crewman and he seemed to accept it rather well," Teleel said waspishly.
"I don't care what our crewma—" Archer stopped. "Our…what?"
"Your crewman. Lt. Reed." Krevet said. "We pulled him out of the water about an hour ago when we went to check on the results of the reclamation project. He was right where we lost him, almost the exact coordinates. He wasn't too happy but we warmed him up and fed him, which did wonders for his disposition."
Archer sat down on a one of the beds. "Malcolm is alive?"
"Indeed," Teleel verified. "Again, we apologize for not letting you know sooner, he got a bit lost in ruckus here…and our doctor thinks he's a little delusional from being in the water. He was rambling about a tree-ship and some islands? Even said he was in talking with you?" Teleel sounded highly skeptical and Archer wondered what his colleague the minister thought had really happened. This was neither the time nor the place to bring up that subject, however.
"We'd like to bring him back to Enterprise immediately," he informed Krevet in a tone that said argument was futile.
"Of course," Krevet agreed. "He is ready now."
Archer cut the transmission and turned back to a room that was quite different from the one he had looked at only minutes before. Trip sat on a bed, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him, T'Pol hand placed a hand on his shoulder. Hoshi was still sniffling but was smiling as she did so, and Oula looked immensely relieved. Phlox beamed in his strange, wide Denobulan way as he readied his sickbay for another patient.
Archer hit the comm link again. "Travis," he called, "get a shuttle ready. We're going to pick up Malcolm."