Ghost Ship
by Ancastar
Chapter 3
As there was no damage to the Br'Teyn's docking port, Malcolm, Trip and T'Pol were able to travel to the ship via shuttlepod as opposed to transporter, which made Lieutenant Reed one very happy man indeed. True, they had by now tested the transporter innumerable times on both cargo and humans. But Malcolm still couldn't entirely get past the notion that once his molecules became separated, there was no guarantee they would ever actually be drawn back together again.
The trio was standing just outside the ship's docking station and making their way slowly down a hushed hallway, scanners out and searching for data, their investigation having just begun. T'Pol, of course, had scanned the ship as best she could before they had ever left Enterprise's launch bay, her findings matching those of the J'Hardinne Resettlement Committee. The ship had suffered no discernable exterior damage, nor did the craft's systems appear to be in any way compromised. Yet, despite these seeming signs of normalcy, the sub-commander had detected no life signs onboard.
"Archer to Reed."
Malcolm flipped open his communicator. "Reed here, sir."
"I trust you had no surprises waiting for you when you came aboard."
"None whatsoever," Malcolm assured his commanding officer. "We're just starting down the passage linking the docking port with the central corridor. I'll report back as soon as we've had a chance to nose around a bit."
"I want regular check-ins, Malcolm," Jon instructed, his tone offering little room for discussion. "Even if it's just to say that you haven't found anything yet. If you or another member of the party fails to contact Enterprise at quarter hour intervals, I've directed Ensign Metai to beam you all out of there immediately. Is that understood?"
"Perfectly, sir," Malcolm said, suppressing a shudder. His captain would never know just what an incentive such a simple directive could be.
"Excellent. Good luck. Talk to you soon. Archer out."
"Sounds like the captain is keeping us on a pretty tight rein," Trip observed, throwing a look over his shoulder at his British friend.
"As well he should," T'Pol argued, looking up only briefly from her scanner. "We do not know what happened to the people aboard this ship. It would be unwise for us to lower our guard until we better understand what occurred here."
Malcolm walked just slightly behind his two superior officers, weapon drawn and ready, allowing the engineer and scientist to jointly lead their tiny expedition. Having studied schematics of the Br'Teyn prior to leaving Enterprise, the threesome had noted the ship's cylindrical shape was bisected by a central corridor on all three of its decks. The bridge and communal spaces such as the mess hall and infirmary were on the top deck. The middle deck contained most of the vessel's sleeping quarters, with the remainder of the ship's accommodations being found on the lowest deck along with a number of various storage compartments and Engineering. All three levels were linked by three turbolifts located at the fore, aft and midway points on each deck. They were currently making their way carefully through the uppermost level. The main hallway lay before them, eerie in its emptiness.
"Well, I guess the good news is we didn't come onboard only to find the place littered with bodies," Trip ventured after a minute or two of silence. "'Course, we've got a lot more ship to look over."
Despite the macabre nature of Trip's musings, Malcolm was thankful for the noise. It didn't seem right that a craft the size of the Br'Teyn would have no soundtrack save for the gentle humming of its systems.
The armory officer did his best to shake off the heebie-jeebies. "And yet, at the same time, we know the J'Hardinne didn't leave voluntarily. Their life pods are all still attached to the outside hull."
Trip shrugged. "They could have been taken somewhere."
"By whom?" Malcolm queried. "And to what purpose? There's no sign of a firefight or struggle. I find it difficult to believe 100 people would just up and leave one ship to go to another without some reason, and a very good one at that."
"Such a reason is what we are here to ascertain," T'Pol reminded them, her soft voice carrying just a hint of rebuke. "Commander, have you detected any unusual readings in this ship's EPS grid?"
"Nope," Trip said, shaking his head. "But I won't really know for sure if anything unusual has happened in the last 48 hours until I get down to Engineering, take a look at their logs and run a few diagnostics."
"We will work our way down there eventually," T'Pol replied, her calm, steady gaze now focused on her two crewmates. "Together. In the meantime, we will stay close and continue our analysis. There will undoubtedly be much to learn on the ship's bridge."
Yet they didn't hurry to the ship's command center; they first visited each of the departments they encountered along the way.
Sick Bay…
"Look at that," Trip murmured, laying his hand on Malcolm's forearm.
"I don't see anything," Malcolm admitted, gazing in the same direction as his friend. Sick Bay, like the rest of the ship, stood empty, its monitors on but thus far not transmitting anything of use.
"Look at the biobed there next to the desk," Trip instructed. "The one with the blanket folded back."
Malcolm saw the bed in question. It stood at the end of a row of similar beds. But he still didn't understand what had caught his friend's eye. "All right. I see the bed. Now what?"
"Look at the pillow," Trip said softly, almost as if he were trying to keep T'Pol from overhearing. The sub-commander was seated at what looked to be the infirmary's main computer terminal, her focus on the screen. Yet Malcolm judged by the delicate lift of her brow that she just might be monitoring her crewmates' conversation.
"See the indentation there," Trip continued as he edged cautiously towards the bed, his hand indicating the area in question. "What does that look like to you?"
Malcolm pursed his lips, at last realizing what had commanded the engineer's interest. "Like not so long ago someone had laid their head there."
Trip nodded and, reaching out, brushed his fingertips against the spot, the action hesitant as if he feared perhaps poking an invisible man in the eye.
"I would not let your imaginations get the best of you."
The two men both startled at the voice of their Vulcan counterpart. Turning to face her, they found her expression ever so slightly amused. "Such bedding often holds it shape long after a person has arisen."
"You don't think it's odd the bed would remain unmade like that?" Trip questioned, taking a step towards T'Pol, covering what Malcolm knew must be embarrassment with a touch of bluster. "Especially given the state of the rest of this place? It's practically immaculate."
"I do not," T'Pol replied. "We do not know the timing of events aboard this ship. Perhaps whatever happened occurred not long after a patient had been discharged."
"Or perhaps this imaginary patient was snatched right out of his or her bed," Trip countered, hands on his hips.
"It would appear, Commander Tucker, you have been watching far too many of those horror films you so enjoy," T'Pol said, her tone light, yet pointed.
Doing his best to conceal a smile, Malcolm headed for the door. He really didn't want to hear Trip's response.
Mess Hall…
"Man, more and more this reminds me of that ship…you know the one, Malcolm. They discovered it floating off the coast of Gibraltar, totally seaworthy, but its crew missing."
"The Mary Celeste," Malcolm replied, answering Trip's unspoken query. He had to admit—his friend's comparison was apt. The mess hall stood as vacant as the rest of the ship. Yet there were small reminders that passengers had once traveled aboard the Br'Teyn.
Two of the tables had plates of half eaten food on them. A toppled chair lay on its side nearby one such display.
T'Pol stepped closer to one of the abandoned meals, her scanner in her hand. "According to these readings, this food appears to have been at room temperature for anywhere from 48 to 60 hours."
"Fits in with everything else," Trip said with a shrug and a shake of his head. "Looks like whoever was eating here got pulled away at approximately the same time as everyone else."
"And with some degree of haste," Malcolm said, righting the fallen chair.
"You probably should have left that where it was," T'Pol said, turning to observe Malcolm's actions. "This ship is in many ways a crime scene. We should not disturb evidence."
"Hard to prove a crime has been committed when there aren't any bodies," Malcolm replied, feeling a bit foolish nonetheless for making so obvious a mistake.
"Still two more decks to go," Trip reminded him, the engineer's arms crossed.
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, stopping just shy of complete darkness.
Bewildered and more than a little unnerved, Malcolm looked around for a cause. "What in the—"
But before he could even finish his sentence, the room was as bright as before, all lighting back to full strength.
"What the hell was that?" Trip asked, seemingly as unsettled as Malcolm.
T'Pol answered, her voice calm and firm. "No doubt a simple energy surge. We have them from time to time aboard Enterprise. I see no reason to believe the Br'Teyn might not be similarly afflicted.
"An energy surge?" Trip echoed, apparently not at all convinced.
T'Pol arched her brow. "Unless you have another explanation, Commander?"
For a moment, Trip looked as if he might challenge her assumption, his lips thinned while he considered his reply. In the end, he conceded with a sigh. "Not just yet."
"Very well," T'Pol said with a regal dip of her head. "If that's settled, let us proceed to the bridge."
The Bridge…
"Huh. This is even smaller than ours."
It certainly was. Unlike the Enterprise with its various stations and ready room, the Br'Teyn's bridge contained places only for the helmsman, the captain, and what looked to be a station that combined sensors and the ship's limited weaponry. The square footage was less than half of what the Starfleet officers typically enjoyed.
"I would imagine their captain, like Captain Archer, must have kept some sort of log," T'Pol said, crossing to the captain's chair. "We will need to figure out how to access that data."
The next half hour was spent doing exactly that. T'Pol focused her efforts on the information to be gleaned from the captain's perspective, while Trip and Malcolm took charge of the helm and sensors respectively.
"There don't appear to have been any notable course deviations over the past week," Trip reported awhile later, after having reviewed the navigation logs. "The J'Hardinne weren't too creative with their flight plan. It's a pretty straight shot between their point of origin and their destination. I see some small course corrections noted, but nothing unusual."
"Any ideas on why we found them floating motionless?" Malcolm inquired, looking up from his own research.
Trip shook his head. "I'm guessing it's some kind of failsafe with the navigation. If the helm isn't manned for a period of time, the ship probably drops out of warp and goes into hover mode."
"Better that than flying blind into the side of a planet, I suppose," Malcolm commented with a lift of his brow.
"Most things are," Trip agreed with a wry smile.
"There is nothing unusual to report in the captain's logs either," T'Pol announced from her seat in the command chair. "I have gone over both his personal and official entries and have found only routine accounts."
"So whatever happened, happened quickly," Trip said, turning at the helm to face his two crewmates.
"And without warning," Malcolm added, as perplexed as were his two friends.
"Do not give up hope," T'Pol said, standing. "There is still much of the ship left to investigate. We may yet find a solution to the mystery."
Trip pressed to his feet as well. "Lead on, Sherlock Holmes."
Yet the trio didn't experience any epiphanies as they slowly made their way through the ship's living quarters. The middle deck proved as clear of inhabitants as did the one above. The only difference was their search had shifted from communal areas free of personalization to private spaces full of character, even in so cramped a setting as a starship.
Seeing all the personal belongings, trappings of everyday life, struck a chord with the team, particularly with Trip. These weren't just anonymous nobodies they were looking for. Some missing woman had once worn that dress. A parent had perhaps tossed that ball to their son or daughter. That empty cage had no doubt once housed a family pet.
"Looks like there were a lot more children on board than I'd expected," Trip murmured, his face drawn as they entered yet another set of accommodations with toys tucked into the corners.
"The ship was carrying colonists," T'Pol reminded him, checking the room's storage lockers, while the men studied the information glowing on the compartment's computer screen. It appeared someone had been writing a letter home; the missive was sadly devoid of clues. "We had been warned families were among those making the journey."
"I know that," Trip said, trying to avoid bumping into Malcolm as he continued collecting readings. They hadn't much room to maneuver. "But you've gotta wonder what they were thinking when whatever happened here went down."
"They?" Malcolm queried, choosing to get out of the way by leaning against the door frame.
"The kids," Trip clarified, troubled by the thought. "What kind of trip must this have been for them? Cooped up inside this tin can for god only knows how many months, breathing recycled air and eating resequenced protein."
"Sounds pretty familiar," Malcolm said, seemingly trying to tease his friend out of his funk. "Our daily lives can't be much different from what theirs were."
"I'm a grown man, Malcolm," Trip said, his mouth pinched with annoyance. "So are you. Everyone who serves on Enterprise is an adult. We knew what we were getting ourselves into when we signed on." He picked up a small furry plaything sitting on a table next to a set of bunks. He wasn't sure what kind of creature it mimicked, but it looked to him like a cross between a teddy bear and a cat. "How old must the little boy or girl have been who played with this? Would they have even been in school yet? What happened to them when everyone disappeared? Why did their parents even have them out here in the first place?"
"To offer them a better life," T'Pol said softly, crossing to him and laying her hand on his arm. Her expression was solemn, but Trip thought he saw something like sympathy shining in her dark eyes. "Most of the J'Hardinne come from families who spent entire generations onboard ships not unlike this. Many are without a true home; they have known immense hardship. Such people no doubt believed taking a journey such as this would offer their children more than they themselves had enjoyed. Is that not what any parent wishes for their child?"
Trip dropped his head and closed his eyes. He was behaving like an ass. He knew it. This wasn't the first time he had run across innocents who had unwittingly stepped into the line of fire. Hell, he didn't even know for certain something had happened to the boys and girls who had traveled with their parents on this ship. But seeing scene after scene of domestic life…finding photographs displayed on shelves filled with smiling, hopeful faces, drawings taped on walls, many depicted houses and trees and bright yellow suns…
"I'm sorry," he said, laying his hand atop T'Pol's. Her skin was warm and smooth. Surprised a bit by his own boldness, he was pleased she allowed his touch. "You're right. Of course you're right. I guess I just don't like the idea of kids being put at risk."
"None of us do, Commander," Malcolm assured him.
Trip smiled, gave T'Pol's hand a quick squeeze and joined the armory officer at the door. "I didn't know you even liked children, Malcolm."
The Lieutenant shrugged. "Don't be silly. As long as I can hand them back to their parents when the need arises, I have no problem with them at all."
Trip chuckled and followed his friend into the hall; T'Pol trailed behind. They hadn't taken more than a few steps when he heard something coming from a side corridor up ahead.
"What was that?" Trip whispered, stopping to exchange his scanner for his phase pistol.
"I don't know," Malcolm replied, weapon in his hand as well. Only T'Pol kept her scanner active. "It squeaked, didn't it?"
"Sounded more like a whirling sound to me," Trip countered, moving slowly forward, Malcolm by his side. "Like a machine with a moving part."
"I detect a small fluctuation in temperature coming from the direction of the sound," T'Pol said, half a step behind. "That area has dipped 8.2 degrees in comparison to where we stand. Yet I detect no life signs."
"A cold spot?" Trip queried, his voice yet hushed.
"What could that mean?" Malcolm asked, matching his friend in volume.
Trip shook his head, mouth pressed tight. "I can tell you what it means in the movies."
"What?"
"Ghosts."
"This is not one of your horror films, Commander," Malcolm chided as they reached the corner of the corridor. The sound continued unabated, the noise steady, almost like a hum. Glancing back at his two crewmates, the Lieutenant mouthed the word, "Ready?"
Trip adjusted so that he stood at Malcolm's shoulder, and nodded. T'Pol had finally put her scanner away and was now equally armed. She too inclined her head and stood a step behind Trip, waiting for Malcolm's signal.
'On two,' the Brit pantomimed, his phase pistol held tight against his chest.
Going on a silent count, the threesome rounded the corner. What greeted their eyes froze them in their tracks.
"You sure this isn't one of my movies?" Trip challenged, the words strangled, his weapon hanging useless in his hand.
On its side in the middle of the corridor, lay what looked to be a child's tricycle, the large front wheel turned and pointed towards the ceiling.
"It's moving," Malcolm said, stating the obvious, his weapon also dangling at his side.
"Indeed," T'Pol murmured, seemingly as stunned as her two crewmates.
The wheel turned steadily, oblivious to the stares of the three people watching it, propelled as if by an unseen hand.
Trip looked to first one friend, then the other. "How is that possible?"
Remaining silent, T'Pol brushed past him towards the downed trike.
"T'Pol!" Trip protested, reaching out to grab her arm. The Vulcan eluded his hand.
She stepped towards the spinning wheel carefully, as if she expected the miniature bike to suddenly jump upright and run her down. It remained in position, however; the front tire rotating lazily. Until she laid her palm atop it…
"Sub-Commander," Malcolm warned.
…and the wheel stopped, its fat rubber tire held firm in T'Pol's grasp.
The three officers stood there a moment pondering what they had seen, and perhaps wondering if anything else might unexpectedly choose to animate on its own.
"Okay, would someone please explain to me what the hell just happened here?" Trip implored after a beat.
T'Pol ran her scanner over the fallen bike, her brow creased with concentration.
"Could someone have set the wheel turning and then run away?" Malcolm ventured, running a hand over his hair.
"I don't see how," Trip countered. "T'Pol scanned the area as soon as we heard the sound, but didn't read anyone in the corridor."
"What if they somehow managed to hide in a shielded area?" Malcolm asked, his heart seemingly not in the query.
"Where, Malcolm?" Trip challenged. "We've been over these hallways with every scanner we've got; we've studied the schematics the J'Hardinne gave us. Nothing indicates this ship has any kind of hidden passage or compartments, especially not any with special shielding. Besides—why would anyone want to do that? What could they possibly have to gain?"
"I don't know!" Malcolm confessed, his volume rising with his frustration. "I admit—I don't know what they'd have to gain. There doesn't appear to be much on this ship worth stealing."
"And if someone were planning to rob the settlers who traveled onboard, wouldn't it be smarter for them to take what they want and leave?" Trip said, his voice a soothing counterpart to the temper found in his friend's words. "There'd be no reason for them to stick around and spin bicycle tires."
Malcolm sighed, then nodded. "You're right. I guess I'm just trying to come up with some explanation that doesn't involve space ghosts."
Trip smiled darkly and shook his head. "That's the thing, Malcolm. Maybe there isn't one."
To Be Continued in Chapter 4