Ghost Ship
By Ancasta
Chapter 4
Sorry it's taken me awhile to update. Real life got a bit too real these past couple of weeks. Thanks to all of you who are following along, especially those who have taken time to rec. This new author really appreciates it.
T'Pol stepped off the turbolift onto Br'Teyn's C deck, frowning as she listened to Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker continue their ongoing discussion behind her.
"Good Lord, are you listening to yourself, Commander? The next thing we know you'll be suggesting holding a bloody séance."
"I'm not suggesting any such thing, Lieutenant. I'm only saying what T'Pol has been saying all along—we don't know what's happened here. It seems to me we shouldn't discount anything, no matter how outrageous the explanation might first appear to be."
While T'Pol appreciated Commander Tucker's open-mindedness—not to mention his apparent attention to her words—she couldn't help but side with Lieutenant Reed on this particular issue. The Enterprise's chief engineer was allowing himself to be influenced by the ambiance aboard the abandoned ship rather than by the facts.
No, they did not know where the Br'Teyn's crew and passengers were. Yes, there had been a brief power dampening when they had been in the Mess Hall. And yes, they had discovered an inanimate object that had been, for some as yet undetermined reason, moving. Still, while some things remained admittedly unexplained, T'Pol was certain the oddities' cause was far from supernatural. Reasonable explanations could and would be uncovered.
Unfortunately, Commander Tucker had thus far not found her hypotheses compelling.
"A problem with the grav plating?" he had cried in disbelief when she had shared her theory regarding the overturned tricycle and its rotating wheel.
She had nodded. "It is entirely possible the bicycle had been affected by a momentary loss of gravity. That could account for it being found on its side with the front wheel turning. An abrupt flip would have set the tire in motion."
"A momentary loss of gravity," he had echoed incredulously, exasperation painted vividly across his features. "And you're saying you think it only affected that one short stretch of hallway?"
"Isolated incidents of this kind have been reported before on ships not unlike this one. Typically the cause is some kind of minor engineering malfunction."
"Yeah? Well I got news for you—I'm an engineer and so far my scans have shown nothing that would lead me to believe any portion of this ship's gravitational systems has been in any way compromised."
"We have not yet completed our analysis," T'Pol had reminded him, unwavering in the face of the commander's obvious skepticism. "As you have mentioned more than once, you will not have had access to all the Br'Teyn's information until you have the opportunity to examine the engineering logs."
Trip had struggled for a moment, clearly wanting to say more, yet apparently not certain his desire had merit. Finally he had said with a heartfelt sigh. "Then let's get the hell down there, all right? I'm not convinced we should stay on this ship any longer than is absolutely necessary."
Now, as the threesome made their way along yet another silent, empty passage, T'Pol couldn't help but share her human friend's sense of urgency. Although she had done her best to hide it from her two male crewmates, T'Pol had felt a certain unease ever since arriving aboard the Br'Teyn. She had chalked up the sensation to her own innate wariness, a fight or flight instinct that was only natural given the situation. Yet presently, deep within the bowels of the ship, that insistence had grown, making her skin tingle and her heart accelerate its pace. Without fully understanding the cause, T'Pol was aware of a vague menace in the air, a threat without apparent form or substance.
When they returned to Enterprise, she was never going to allow the commander to drag her to another of those wretched films. It would appear they had somehow adversely influenced her.
"Might as well start here," Malcolm said, interrupting her reverie.
They stood outside a pair of large sliding doors. A matching pair was found opposite. A quick check of the UT told T'Pol these were two of the ship's main storage compartments.
"My scanner shows no bio signs," Malcolm continued, pocketing the handheld in question and pulling his phase pistol from his belt. "Still, it doesn't hurt to be careful. Judging by the specs, there could be a lot of places to hide inside. Let's proceed cautiously."
Trip and T'Pol followed Malcolm's lead, putting aside their diagnostic equipment and arming themselves instead. Checking first to make certain his crewmates were ready, Malcolm hit the door controls.
When the double panels slid open, the cavernous room revealed resembled nothing so much as Enterprise's own cargo bay. The ceiling was high, the walls bare of ornamentation.
The space, however, was far from empty.
Pausing at the room's threshold, Malcolm chuckled. "I suppose I must amend my earlier comment about there being nothing aboard this ship to steal."
"And yet," Trip murmured in reply, "I'd say this proves beyond a shadow of a doubt robbery wasn't the motive for whatever happened here."
T'Pol was forced to agree with them both. The hold was packed with containers—canisters and boxes and some loose items besides. It appeared the colonists had set off well prepared.
"We should still have a look around," Malcolm said, his eyes roaming over the various passageways and cubbies as if on the lookout for unseen enemies.
"Agreed," T'Pol said, her pistol still clutched in her hand.
With that, the trio fanned out, cautiously winding through the vast maze of supplies. After a moment or two, once she had judged the situation stable, T'Pol again switched out her weapon for her universal translator. Pointing it in first one direction, then another, she checked to see what was stored there. Nothing terribly unusual—food stuffs, small household machinery, farming implements…
"Hey! Come here. Take a look at this!"
Trip's excited voice came from halfway across the cargo hold. T'Pol had to zigzag her way through the narrow rows before reaching his position. Malcolm came from another direction but arrived at nearly the exact same time. What they found astonished them.
Trip knelt beside a large device, its sundered packaging spread out around it. T'Pol had never seen anything like it. It was a console, large and gunmetal gray with a tall, thick amber colored cylinder rising up from the center of it and a silver mesh caging the amber. Lines of square multicolored buttons radiated from the cylinder like rays of a sun.
"What is that?" Malcolm asked, voicing the question before T'Pol could.
"I don't know," Trip admitted with a shake of his head. "I found it like this. Someone must have opened the crate."
"Which raises two obvious questions," Malcolm observed with a lift of his brows. "One, why did someone remove it from its crate and two, why didn't anyone put it back?"
"Wouldn't those actually be questions two and three?" Trip queried, glancing over his shoulder at the Englishman. "The first question is still 'What is it?'. Unless one of the two of you has figured it out."
T'Pol shook her head. "I am unfamiliar with any such device." Pulling out her scanner, she continued, "I am reading some sort of energy signature coming from the cylinder."
"Are there any kinds of markings on the packaging?" Malcolm queried, circling around to get a better look at the container.
"None that I could see," Trip replied, his own scanner out and surveying the console now as well. "Which is kind of odd when you think about it. Most everything else in here has some kind of label. It's almost as if someone were trying to disguise whatever this is, slip it by undetected."
"If that were the case, failing to label its container would be a serious error in judgment. Such a lack only calls attention to itself," T'Pol said mildly, her eyes yet trained on her analysis. Intriguing. Several different metals, some known, some not. Power conduits crisscrossed throughout the mechanism, many attached to the various switches spread across the console, the rest to the cylinder itself. Readings seemed to indicate some kind of power source held dormant within the device, but she couldn't get any sense as to its purpose.
Trip chuckled. "Touché, Sub-Commander. I don't suppose that makes a whole lotta sense. We have so many mysteries around here, I guess I'm looking to add a little conspiracy to the mix."
"Trip…"
Hearing a measure of apprehension in the lieutenant's voice, T'Pol lifted her gaze from her scanner. The amber tube was suddenly alight, a faint glow emanating from its core.
"What the hell…" Trip mumbled, looking over at the cylinder before again studying the scanner in his hand.
T'Pol could only imagine he was seeing the same readout as she. The energy she had previously judged inactive was strengthening, its growth subtle yet unmistakable.
"Why is it doing that?" Malcolm queried, clearly disturbed by the development. Weapon yet drawn, he crossed to stand at T'Pol's side and steal a peek at her scanner. "Did you touch something?"
Trip shook his head. "Not a thing. I don't know why it started doing whatever it is it's doing. It's like it switched on all by itself."
T'Pol was baffled as well. "It could have been triggered by any number of factors—motion, heat, bio-molecular energy. Our own scanners might even have set it off."
"Well, I don't like it," Malcolm said, edging nearer to the console. "It could be some kind of weapon."
"And it could also be a sun lamp," Trip said lightly, brow furrowed as he studied the readout on his scanner. "Let's not jump to conclusions here."
"May I remind you that you were the one who felt it wasn't safe for us to be here overlong," Malcolm countered, peering over Trip's shoulder. "When alien contraptions suddenly turn on all by themselves, I rather tend to agree."
"It's a machine, Malcolm," Trip said, tapping keys on the scanner to target specific measurements. "I happen to be pretty good with machines. All I'm saying is give me a minute to try and figure out what we've got here before we start calling for a lift from the transporter."
That was enough to quiet the lieutenant for the time being.
"Commander, what do you make of the mechanism's energy current?" T'Pol asked, glancing up from her own continuing analysis. "It appears highly unstable. The intensity vacillates without maintaining any sort of steady flow."
"I see what you're seeing, but I think there may be a kind of method to the madness," Trip replied, hitting still more buttons on his scanner.
"What do you mean?"
"I've been running an automated analysis on the range of variation. Judging by what the program came up with, I'd say that whatever this is, it isn't malfunctioning. It's basically coming to a mean. It's like the console is trying to find the exact right level of power."
"For what?" Malcolm asked.
Trip shrugged. "Got me. I wish this thing came with an instruction manual."
"Perhaps we should contact the J'Hardinne Resettlement Committee and see if they—", T'Pol began, only to stop short when all at once the console began beeping, the sound high and shrill.
"All right," Trip drawled, sitting back on his heels, his expression wary. "I'm thinking that's not good."
"Really, Commander?" Malcolm said, slowly backing away towards T'Pol. "And what was your first indication?"
Trip threw Malcolm a sideways glare, his expression containing little true heat. "All right, all right. I'm convinced, okay? This may be a little beyond me. Let's leave this thing alone and get out of here. We still have one last deck to check out."
"I believe that to be an excellent plan," T'Pol said, taking a step away. "I see nothing further here that needs to be investigated. We should instead—"
"Whoa!" Trip exclaimed suddenly, lurching to his feet.
The console's center cylinder had unexpectedly flared to brilliant glowing life, the column blazing like Sol itself behind its silver cage.
"All right," Malcolm said, armed once more and tense. "Everyone—out. Now."
"Malcolm…"
"Now, Commander."
Following her security officer's directive. T'Pol led the procession in the direction of the exit, her pace brisk. Malcolm and Trip followed at her heels. They had gotten only halfway to the door when the beeping, which had continued steadily since its inception, suddenly spiraled up into an ear piercing screech.
"Aah!" T'pol cried, the sound ripped from her.
Blindsided by pain, the Vulcan clamped her hands over her ears, her sensitive hearing all but crippled by the din, the shriek nearly driving her to her knees. A strong hand hooked around her elbow lending her support. She looked up through blurred vision and saw Malcolm's chiseled face.
"Sub-Commander," she thought the lieutenant might have said as he bent over her. "Are you all right?"
She tried to answer, but couldn't. Her head felt ready to shatter into millions upon millions of jagged shards. There was something about the frequency of the sound. It was scrambling her nervous system, making it difficult for her to think, let alone hear, speak or move.
Apparently recognizing her distress, Malcolm leaned down and lifted her in his arms. T'Pol wanted to protest. Such measures were unnecessary. She was perfectly capable of walking on her own. It was unseemly for an officer of her rank to be carried about like a child. But she couldn't voice her objection. She couldn't talk at all. Her brain was seemingly disconnected from her mouth.
"Hurry," she heard as if through water. She thought the speaker might be Lieutenant Reed. "Let's go."
Cheek pressed against the armory officer's shoulder, her eyes slitted, T'Pol could appreciate his desire for haste. The room was growing brighter, the light bleaching everything around them, reminding her of one of Commander Tucker's overexposed photographs.
As if merely thinking of the commander had the power to conjure him, T'Pol suddenly heard him yell, "Malcolm, run! RUN!"
With that, she felt the Englishman press her still more tightly against him and break into a trot. Even though T'Pol couldn't clearly see the path, memory told her the going was tricky. They had to weave between the various packing containers, while trying their best to take the shortest route possible. The lieutenant, with his wiry build, seemed to struggle under her weight. Several times he stumbled when shifting his balance and direction, coming dangerously close to losing his footing.
"Go! Go!" Trip urged from somewhere behind.
Malcolm did his best to comply. Huffing with strain, he darted around scattered boxes and containers, twisting and turning like a slalom racer. Though she longed to help, to drop to her feet and ease his burden, T'Pol could only hold on.
Muddled as T'Pol was, she sensed something around them was changing. A fierce pressure seemed to be welling inside the room, thickening the air so that it pressed almost painfully against her skin. She didn't know what it meant, but she wanted to escape from the unpleasant sensation. Lieutenant Reed did his best to make that wish a reality.
A few more meters, and she believed they were going to make it. Through hazy vision, she could make out the hold's wide doorway, open and welcoming as a beloved's arms.
Almost there, she thought gratefully, her eyelashes drooping. Almost there.
Then, as if mocking her silent relief, the unthinkable occurred. Rounding a particularly sharp turn, Malcolm's hip clipped a stack of drum containers. They teetered for half an instant before three of them came crashing to the floor.
"Shit!"
T'Pol recognized the cry as belonging to the Commander. Yet she couldn't see him. Malcolm had twisted to look back at the engineer, but not turned all the way around. The lieutenant's shoulder hid the other man from her view. Still, she knew something must be wrong. Malcolm's body went rigid with tension then she heard him scream,
"TRIP!" with every bit of breath he could muster.
"GO!" Trip responded, matching Malcolm in volume. Both men battling against the console's blare to be heard. "Get T'Pol out of here. GO!"
T'Pol wanted to lift her head and see what was happening, but it was simply too heavy. What was going on? Why did they not leave?
Malcolm was hesitating.
The room was growing almost painfully bright around them, the air crackling with some kind of terrible energy.
"Malcolm, please!" she heard again, the words softer this time, but no less urgent.
Saying not a word, the lieutenant did as he was bade.
He ran.
Faster now with their goal in sight.
Chest heaving with exertion, he crossed the threshold and sprinted down the corridor.
Malcolm didn't stop until they reached the farthest end of the ship. He then lowered T'Pol none too gently to the floor, whipped out his communicator and called for emergency transporter evacuation.
Sprawled half-blind against the hallway wall, T'Pol was only coherent enough to notice one thing. Lieutenant Reed and she were alone.
Commander Tucker was nowhere to be seen.
To Be Continued in Chapter 5