Summary: When Enterprise encounters a strange phenomenon, the crew learns there is more to a person then how well they do their job.
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to Paramount, not me. This is just for fun, not for profit.
The light, when it came, was blindingly intense. For an instant the world seemed to become translucent in an explosion of whiteness. The light invaded every corner of the ship, leaving nothing untouched by its brilliance. And then, as quickly as it had come, it was gone.
"What was that?" Commander Charles Tucker, currently the Acting Captain on Enterprise stood up from the command chair. He lifted one hand to rake through his hair, as he tried to figure out what had just happened. The bridge crew simply stared at him, equally startled by the light that had invaded the ship. They all looked as confused as he was, but everyone seemed calm.
"Is everyone okay?" he asked, not knowing what else to say. There was no indication that anything unusual had happened at all, and if not for the slightly stunned expressions everyone wore, he wouldn't have known that anything had occurred at all.
"There are no reports of any injuries or damage coming in, sir, but several departments have asked what the light was," Malcolm reported from tactical.
Trip shook his head, and then turned to face the viewscreen. "What do the... the Actuarians are gone! Where did they go?"
Again, the bridge crew had no answers for him. The ship they had been talking to was simply gone.
Still shaking his head Trip returned to the command seat. "Maybe that light was an effect when they go into warp or something. I'd sure like to get a look at the engines that produce it. T'Pol and the captain are never gonna believe it. The sensors recorded it though, didn't they?"
There was no reply from tactical.
"Malcolm? The sensors record that light?"
"Ummm... I'm checking, Commander," Malcolm sounded unusually tentative. Trip turned to look at him, concerned, but the armory officer looked fine. His head was bent over his console as he concentrated. Finally he looked up. "Yes, the sensors recorded it," he reported, but to Trip he sounded unsure.
"Anything else you can tell me about that light?" Trip asked. The ship and crew seemed intact, but the light had been so overwhelming, so powerful, that he felt there must be something they were missing. And everyone was suddenly so quiet. He paced the bridge uneasily.
"Not at the moment, Commander," Malcolm said, and this time the hesitancy was pronounced. "I'll need a little time to look at it."
Trip continued his pacing, thinking hard. There was nothing else to be done. They could examine the readings, but there was no urgency. His curiosity piqued, Trip couldn't resist joining Malcolm at the tactical station to look at the readings.
Malcolm had the readings displayed as he studied them. Over the armory officer's shoulder Trip could see the numbers.
"That-- there-- that would seem to indicate..." Malcolm paused again. He blinked hard, and shook his head. "I can't determine a specific source. I can't even say for certain that it came from the Actuarian ship, although it did seem to come from the same coordinates, but... well, I just can't say for sure, Commander."
"Maybe T'Pol will have seen something like this."
"When are she and the captain due back?" Malcolm asked.
"Later today. 'Bout three hours. Presuming they don't run into any problems in the negotiations." Trip grinned. "Why? You getting tired of the way I run the ship?"
Malcolm gave him a half-smile. "Well, now that you mention it-- this might be an opportune time to install some security routines I've been working on... as a surprise for the captain."
Trip snorted. "You mean sneak 'em in while he's away. Has he even seen them?"
"He's seen some of them," Malcolm hedged.
"Hell, Malcolm, I don't care. If you want to waste your time installing routines the captain is gonna make you take out again, have at it."
Malcolm smiled. "Permission to leave the bridge, sir."
Archer stood, arms crossed, glaring at the alien. "Doctor, when do you think you'll be letting us out of here? Did you find something?" Archer glanced over at T'Pol who, with typical Vulcan calm, was standing patiently beside him.
"I'm sorry, Captain. There seems to be a slight... difficulty... with my scans. I'm running them again."
"What is the nature of the difficulty, Doctor?" T'Pol asked.
"The readings seem rather confusing." Phlox brow wrinkled as he stared at the readings with intense concentration. "I am not seeing anything specifically wrong, but..."
"Problem, Doctor?" Elizabeth Cutler walked over to the decon window. She had been inventorying supplies, and the amount of time the doctor was taking to release the captain and T'Pol from decon had caught her attention.
"No-o-o. I don't think so," Phlox replied slowly. Cutler looked at the readings.
"Everything seems fine to me, Doctor. No indication of any bacteria, fungi, spores, or toxics." She looked at him questioningly. "Am I missing something?"
"I guess you're right." Not seeming happy about it, the doctor hit the door release, freeing the captain. Archer immediately walked out and studied the Denobulan.
"Are you okay, Doctor?"
"I'm not entirely sure, Captain. I seemed to draw a blank all of a sudden. I can't explain it. Perhaps I'll have Crewman Cutler run a few scans on me, just to be certain."
"Be sure to let me know the results," Archer told him. "I'm going to my quarters for a little while, and then I'll be on the bridge." He exited, giving one last glance over his shoulder. T'Pol quietly followed.
"Captain!" Trip greeted Archer enthusiastically as he entered the bridge. "How did the negotiations go?"
"Long." Archer rubbed his neck wearily. "Very long. But they agreed to allow us limited trade for some supplies. We can begin making contact with various suppliers in the morning. How did things go here?"
Trip stood up so Archer could take the command chair, but the captain eschewed it, in favor of making a circuit around the bridge, checking monitors, greeting the crewmembers working the stations. Most of the alpha shift was off-duty, and more junior officers were filling the positions. They were oddly quiet, bent over their consoles with unusual focus. In fact, there was an air of tension that Archer couldn't quite explain. The only one on the bridge who seemed relaxed was Trip.
"Well, we had a kinda odd thing happen, Captain."
"Really?" Archer turned. Trip didn't seem overly concerned, so Archer remained unworried.
"Yeh. We had visitors. This ship just happened to cross our path. They called themselves 'Actuarians'. Or something like that. They were just passing by on the trade route, so we just chatted a little. They were real pleasant. But then, when they left... Captain, their warp cores emitted this flash of light-- it was the most intense light I've ever seen."
Archer felt a stirring in the back of his brain. "And?"
"And nothing. That was it. That light didn't damage Enterprise, didn't hurt anyone, nothing. It was just really weird."
"Did you have Malcolm analzye it?"
"Well, he started, but I'm not sure he finished. He was having a little trouble figuring it out. Me too, for that matter. I'm sure he'll get to it when he's done--" Trip broke off his sentence as he realized what he was saying.
"He's installing those new security routines, isn't he?" Archer asked wearily.
Trip averted his eyes, not wanting to meet the captain's gaze. "Yup. I guess I said he could."
Archer sighed. "Well, I didn't tell him he couldn't. I was going to look at them a little more closely-- I don't want Enterprise to become a battle ship." Suddenly Archer grinned. "I guess I knew, in the back of my mind, that they'd be installed by the time I got back. If I'd really not wanted him to, I'd have said something specific." Archer went to his chair and pulled up the console to allow him to view the routines. He frowned.
"Trip, there's nothing here. Nothing new, at any rate."
"Really? He should have had plenty of time to get it done. Maybe he changed his mind, decided to wait for you to get back."
Archer looked skeptical at that possibility. "This is Malcolm we're talking about." He shook his head again. "But there's nothing here. Maybe I'll stop down by the armory."
Trip looked at his captain, observing carefully. "You look tired, Captain. Why don't you grab a bite, and then try to catch a catnap. I'll see what Malcolm is up to."
Archer considered disagreeing-- he had been away for three days, after all, and he really should catch up on what was going on with his ship-- but he was hungry, and tired. The negotiations had been tense, and he wanted nothing so much as to relax for a few moments with some good food.
The moment Archer entered the messhall he knew something was wrong. The place had less people in it then he'd expected, for one thing, and the few people that were there all looked unhappy. He could overhear grumbling complaints from the crewmen around him. Spotting Malcolm and Travis across the room, he ignored the murmured complaints and joined his armory officer and helmsman, a little surprised to find Malcolm here.
Malcolm jumped to his feet as the captain approached, and Travis followed his lead, albeit more slowly.
"Captain," Malcolm greeted him formally.
"As you were gentlemen." Archer sat as they did. "What's going on in here? I've never seen this place so quiet."
Malcolm gestured at his plate. "I think Chef is a little distracted today. This-- whatever it is-- isn't exactly edible. I thought I'd just made a bad selection at first, but there isn't anything more appealing available."
Travis nodded to add emphasis to Malcolm's statement. "I didn't think Chef could mess up spaghetti, but the noodles are overdone, the meatballs are burned, and I've no idea what he put in the sauce."
"The salad seems to be made up solely of lettuce leaves with a few croutons added to it," Malcolm added.
Archer stared at them for a moment. He knew that on a long mission, a good cook was critical to crew morale. He had taken a long time interviewing cooks, so he knew, without a doubt, that Chef was a superlative cook. This meal was uncharacteristic.
"Frankly, sir, I think I'd rather eat a ration pack. Perhaps for breakfast I'll do that," Malcolm said.
"Oh, I'm sure he's just having an off day, Malcolm. Breakfast will be better."
Malcolm and Travis gazed at him, their lack of faith in that statement evident. "I don't know, sir," Travis ventured. "Lunch was just as bad."
Archer's brow furrowed. "Perhaps I should talk to him. See if something is on his mind." He rose, heading toward the kitchen, sparing an occasional glance at the unhappy crewmembers picking at their meals.
"Chef?" he called, poking his head through the door. He had long ago learned not to barge into kitchens unless you were willing to risk a sudden encounter with something hot, or liquid, or both.
"Here, sir." The hidden voice was despondent. Archer followed it to the back of the kitchen, and found Chef sitting on a crate of produce, staring at the bowl of soup he held in his hands.
"Chef? What's wrong?"
The crewman looked at him sadly. "I can't cook."
"Don't be silly. You're one of the best cooks I've ever met."
"You don't understand, sir. I can't cook. I mean, I really can't cook. I could yesterday. I could at breakfast. But since then I can't seem to remember what to do. Or how long to do it. I mean, I know that to cook spaghetti you put it in boiling water. But for how long? And how should it be when it comes out? I just don't know. I can't remember. But I know this is no good," he said, picking a piece of spaghetti out of a pot, and dropping it into the sink, studying it unhappily. "I can't cook!"
Archer watched him, and then put a hand on his shoulder, trying to provide reassurance. "Is there something else bothering you, distracting you maybe? That could explain all this."
"No, sir. Nothing at all. And certainly nothing since this morning. Besides, it's not like that. I don't feel distracted, or like I've made a mistake. It's... well, say I go to make soup. I know I know how to make soup. But when I start to do it, I have no idea how to go about it. I only have a vague recollection. So I try to remember, and do what I can remember, but it doesn't come out right!"
A memory was stirring, but Archer couldn't quite place it. For a moment he tried to place it, and then put it aside. "Chef, I want you to take the rest of the day off. Tomorrow, too. I'll ask Hoshi to fill in for you. She should enjoy that. In the meantime, stop by and see Dr. Phlox."
Chef nodded, still despondent. With one last pat on the distraught crewman's shoulder, Archer headed back to the bridge. He could stop by his quarters for a ration pack, he decided. He'd seen the spaghetti.
TBC