ACT THREE
The rumble of the engines concealed T'Pol's sudden flash of distress.
For a moment, it felt as if an icy hand had gripped her heart, paralyzing her in place. Her breath came in ragged gasps and the suppressed pain from her injuries returned with such force that, had she not already been seated, her legs would have buckled. Grasping the edge of the SCI board with a crushing grip, she struggled against the emotion that flooded through her, recognizing it at once.
Fear.
Logically, she knew that her distress originated from the effects of the previous day; but acknowledging that did not make any her less angry at her slip. The second encounter with Tolaris had badly shaken her resolve and, though he was now dead (and unmourned), she remained unnerved by the incident. There had been no time to meditate, no opportunity to lock the undesired emotions away and, given her damaged neural pathways, it was entirely possible that such an attempt would fail. Phlox had already urged her to seek trauma counseling; as this was the fourth time that someone had violated her mind, the doctor was understandably concerned about her psychological well-being. Soval had backed her refusal to schedule such an appointment, however, despite the doctor's disapproval; her old mentor knew that she didn't need counseling.
She needed her mate.
Time alone with Trip would ease the pain and allow her to heal. She ached to wrap herself around him, to draw his katra around hers like a warm blanket, to let him soothe the hurt away and restore her to normalcy with his mere presence. It was, she realized in retrospect, how she had recovered so quickly from Rajiin's assault; even then, long before she had consciously acknowledged her growing affection for him, she had derived comfort from Trip's presence. Phlox could not understand that only her mate could help.
It was the Vulcan way.
Sensing her distress but not knowing the reason for it, Trip gave her a soft smile. Immediately a wave of calm flowed over her, washing away the fear and giving her the opportunity to regain her equilibrium. Though she sensed no recrimination from him for the flash of anxiety, T'Pol chastised herself for the momentary loss of control. Right now, with the fate of Endeavour's crew at stake, Trip needed no unnecessary distractions. Once more in command of her faculties, she returned her attention to her duties.
"Time on target?" Trip asked, his voice calm and professional. Visibly, he presented no clues as to how he felt, gave no hint of the emotions that bubbled within him, and she felt a surge of amused pride at his control. This cool and composed officer was a far cry from the explosively emotional man who had first offered her his hand, and had been known to shout at her on the bridge of Enterprise so long ago.
"Two minutes," Lieutenant Commander Eisler replied, his own voice tinged with a hint of eagerness.
"Inform Hayes," her mate ordered, giving her another fleeting glance, primarily to assure himself that she was 'back to normal,' she assumed. In the back of her mind, she could feel his concern.
He was always there - a warm knot of affection and desire and protectiveness - and T'Pol had long since become accustomed to the force of his emotions; occasionally, she was a little surprised at how quickly she had adapted to his chaotic presence in her mind. In the worst of times, Trip could be a difficult man to live with, with his undisciplined emotions buffeting her like gale force winds, but the undercurrent of his strong feelings for her was always there. Even now, as he presented the appearance of total calm in the face of the coming battle, she could sense his muted fear that she would be injured or worse. You're all I think about, Sim had told her many years ago, and Trip had later revealed that the mimetic symbiot had indeed been speaking his own thoughts.
It was difficult for her, as a Vulcan, to admit that she now reciprocated those very thoughts.
"Bad Omen signals ready," Lieutenant Devereux announced.
Her eyes glued to her sensor feed, T'Pol felt a flicker of satisfaction that her suggestion regarding the gunboat appeared to be effective. Even to her own scans, the small Orion craft appeared as little more than a sensor error, a reflection of Endeavour's own mass shadow caused by the enormous gravimetric distortions from the distant nebula. Ensign Hayes' touch at the helm of the gunboat was unprecedented for a Security officer, however; even at full impulse, he was able to maintain his dangerous proximity to the Starfleet vessel without apparent difficulty. Mentally, she flagged the discrepancy for further review at a later date.
"On my mark," Trip said softly, his voice steady, "break and attack." To everyone save her, he was a picture of composure, a rock standing firm before a torrential storm. Affection and amusement arose within her as she easily saw through his facade; fear and anxiety warred within him but he kept it contained, concealed from his crew. It was something that Trip had admitted to her in the privacy of their quarters many times: he hated commanding a warship and missed being just an engineer.
For that matter, she missed him being just an engineer.
"Weapons range in ... twenty seconds," Commander Eisler announced from the TAC board and T'Pol refocused her full attention on her station's sensor feed, pushing all extraneous thoughts away. The Romulans had broken off into two distinct groups of three with the seventh ship lurking several thousand kilometers distant; at first, she assumed that the seventh bird of prey was the one damaged by the proximity mine, but a second sweep revealed that was not so. She frowned.
"Mark!" Trip ordered and Endeavour lunged hard to starboard. At the TAC board, Eisler was reacting, triggering a volley of torpedoes and phase cannon fire that lashed out with deadly accuracy. Even as the tactical officer was firing weapons, T'Pol's fingers danced across her SCI board, washing incoming torpedoes with microwave bursts, neutrino pulses or wideband x-ray lasers to disrupt their internal targeting sensors. The Romulan retaliatory burst of disruptor fire slammed into the energy shielding that surrounded Endeavour, rocking the larger ship.
As the Romulans were adjusting their own courses to match that of Endeavour, the Orion gunboat darted out from beneath the Starfleet vessel, sliding into a flanking position behind one of the unsuspecting Romulan ships. Disruptor fire lanced out from the much smaller craft, and, at its scorching touch, already damaged hull plating was vaporized. Hayes, she realized with approval, had targeted the bird of prey previously damaged by the mine. As two low-yield torpedoes flashed out and exploded violently against the Romulan's hull, another disruptor beam from the gunboat briefly caressed the enemy nacelle, burning through the protective casing; a stream of warp plasma began trailing from the struggling ship.
"Energize," Trip told Lieutenant Devereux, and the COM officer quickly relayed the order to the officer operating the transporter platform. This was one of Commander Eisler's more creative tactical suggestions: Using the transporting device as a delivery system for armed ordnance, a proximity mine would be beamed aboard the targeted bird of prey.
The result was catastrophic.
Materializing where the Romulan bridge was hypothesized to be, the mine detonated immediately. Durasteel rods exploded outward, punching through bulkheads and control consoles and flesh with equal ease. Like a blister, the outer hull swelled and ruptured under the assault, causing the bird of prey to begin a slow, uncontrolled tumble toward the far distant nebula. Flame blossomed from its hull as the rods smashed through the internal superstructure, and even as the ship began to break apart it exploded in a violent burst of fire and debris. The unexpected explosion of one of their number had an immediate effect on the other Romulan birds of prey, and they twisted into dives or climbs that carried them away from the larger, heavier ship.
"Come to one-eight-seven mark five-three," the captain ordered, his eyes locked on the sensor feed that had been installed in front of the command chair. Through the bond, T'Pol could feel his grim satisfaction at the destruction of the first Romulan ship; she also sensed that contentment warring with his self-loathing that he was satisfied.
Such thoughts were neither logical nor productive. But they were human.
At the captain's direction, Endeavour banked again, dipping into a pursuit position behind the larger group of three birds of prey. Phase cannon fire lanced out and the hollow thrum of the torpedo launchers' activation echoed through the ship; an explosion of fire wreathed one of the Romulan ships, sketching out a partially invisible force screen that surrounded it.
"Their shields are holding," Lieutenant Commander Eisler stated in a low growl. Trip shot him a disgruntled look before glancing quickly in T'Pol's direction. He said nothing - he didn't need to say anything - but, with a nod, she acknowledged his unvoiced request to find a way to bring down their shields shy of brute force.
As Endeavour pursued the trio of Romulan craft, the other two ships dove toward the convoy of fleeing Boomers. Disruptor cannons barking fire, the two birds of prey fell upon the poorly armed transports like wild and hungry sehlats; one human ship broke apart almost immediately, its poorly maintained hull shattering under the sizzling stream of white-hot energy. A second and third followed in short order as the two birds of prey weaved their way through the convoy, weapons spitting burning death; panic set in among the human ships at once and the orderly flight began to dissolve into a mad dash to get clear of the nebula's mass shadow and away from the Romulans.
"Bad Omen requests permission to break from escort," Lieutenant Devereux stated from her board. As T'Pol split her attention between jamming incoming torpedoes and seeking the frequency of the Romulan shields, she could feel her mate's momentary hesitation. Allowing Ensign Hayes to take the gunboat after the two Romulans was tantamount to sending him and Chief Gray to their deaths; the ship was outgunned and outmatched. Against dedicated warships like the birds of prey, it stood no chance.
And yet, the gunboat's mere presence might save a few more Boomer lives...
"Permission granted," Trip declared after less than a second of consideration. His eyes never wavered from the sensor display in front of him. "T'Pol?"
"There is no discernible shield frequency," she informed him calmly, wondering if the Romulans were using a rotating shield modulation; that would explain her difficulty in isolating the frequency. Frustration rolled off of her mate as Endeavour shook under a sudden assault. The trio of Romulans abruptly broke their formation, splitting off into three different directions.
"Three-three-six mark seven-two," Trip ordered. "Keep us oriented on Beta's tail."
"Targets Alpha and Gamma are accelerating toward the convoy," T'Pol announced. At once, she felt a pulse of anger through the bond as Trip immediately comprehended the Romulan strategy: maximum carnage by minimum engagement. Such a tactic fit their modus operandi in the war up to this point.
Upon her display, T'Pol could see the gunboat race toward one of the Romulans, weapons spewing fire that splattered against the bird of prey's protective force screen with little to no effect. Under Hayes' touch, the Orion ship danced around the slow-moving Boomer transports, slewing around incoming retaliatory fire, and evading torpedoes with surprising grace.
There was no way he was just a Security officer.
"Break off," Trip ordered abruptly. He was glaring at the sensor display before him. "Take us back to the convoy. " Anger surged through the bond as he recognized the Romulan attempt to draw Endeavour away from the convoy. "Inform Mayweather that he has a green light."
Underneath her, the deck seemed to tilt as Endeavour turned.