For I have known them all already, known them all: -

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

-- T.S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"

Chapter Five – Bumper Cars

It all happened so fast. Armed with a phase pistol and a plasma rifle, Archer found himself crouched behind a support outside Engineering, ready to guard Enterprise's life center.

They heard the sounds of battle long before it reached them, the MACO's barked orders, the distinctive whine of phaser beams slicing through air. There was a low boom, and a concussion of heat; Archer smiled grimly to himself. The flash-bangs were by far the MACOs' favorite toys.

Hayes came flying around the corner, flashing four fingers and then gesturing toward the right. Archer nodded and stood. Four intruders, dead ahead. Hayes was using himself as bait, drawing the Askarinoc into an ambush. Lightning flashed down the corridor, and a ball of energy sizzled past the major, missing his head by mere centimeters. It embedded itself into the bulkhead, flared briefly, then died, leaving an impressive scorch mark. Hayes stared at the burn for a second, then shook it off and sighted his weapon.

There was a certain poetry in Hayes' movements, Archer noted, distracted. The sure-handed way he swung the giant rifle up to rest against his shoulder. The almost casual smile, in profile, as he located his target in the half-lit gloom. The major's finger squeezed the trigger gently, once, twice, and the captain could tell by the tiny flicker of satisfaction that both targets were neutralized. This is a man who loves his job, Archer thought, as the world began to spin dizzily. There was a disorienting buzz as the Devastators' implanted homing device transported their bodies back to their ship.

The answering blast snapped him out of his daze. Hayes threw himself backward, out of range, and Archer brought his own weapon up to cover. The creature that came around the corner, firing bursts of orange light, was every devil ever imagined by a human. Immense, faceless, covered head to toe in some metallic black clothing that seemed to absorb what little light there was, it loomed over him all at once. He knew that most of his rounds were hitting its target, as were his companions', but the creature didn't seem to notice. He saw Hayes reach toward his belt for a grenade, only to be sent flying abruptly backwards, a gaping hole in his chest.

A carefully aimed phaser shot went awry as the ship lurched under their feet. Archer landed hard against the bulkhead with his shoulder, but the momentary pain was eclipsed by the realization that Enterprise was being beaten badly. In the next second, he heard the tell-tale hiss in the conduits above his head, and knew that there was a hull breach nearby. Any second now, T'Pol would order emergency bulkheads down, and God help them if they were on the wrong side.

More phaser fire sang past his ear, and the intruder stopped in its tracks, its face melting. It dropped to the deck and lay still. Hayes stepped through the disintegrating green light as the intruder disappeared. Archer shook his head violently. I just saw you die.

"Sir?" Hayes said urgently, grabbing the captain's arm.

Archer peered down the corridor. "It's not there," he said.

"Homing device, sir," Hayes replied, in a you-know-this-already voice. "They transport back automatically when they die."

"Right," Archer said, not remembering that at all.

He paused a moment to get his bearings. If they could get closer to Engineering, they stood a better chance of not being sucked out into space. He chose a direction based on sound alone, and pushed Hayes in front of him. Glancing behind, he saw a flash of metal – and he couldn't tell whether their pursuers were friendlies or not. He fished his communicator out of his sleeve pocket and flipped it open.

"T'Pol, status!"

"Captain, I suggest you brace yourself immediately," T'Pol said, in exactly the same tone she might use to recommend a good book on solar eclipses. Before Archer could respond, he found himself flying sideways, something which should never occur on a starship. He felt, rather than heard, the ship's distress as Enterprise came about tightly and sharply accelerated. It was, perhaps, for the best that he was, both literally and figuratively, in the dark.

"T'Pol!" he shouted, cursing himself for leaving the Bridge at all. There was just dead air, no calm response, no static. He opened his mouth and glanced at Hayes before the world shattered and the two of them were sucked abruptly out into space, their lungs exploding in the unforgiving vacuum.

"Sir," came Hoshi's quiet voice, "we've got incoming."

Archer jerked to attention in his chair, one hand pressed against his chest, measuring the too fast inhale and exhale of whole and healthy lungs. There was a beat, and Archer didn't know if it reckoned seconds or minutes. He glanced around the Bridge. The faces were tense, but not alarmed. No one had noticed his slight detour from reality. "Onscreen."

After days of shadowing Enterprise, the Askarinoc had apparently decided it was time to acquire this new ship and any cargo aboard her. Fearlessly, the pirate ship drew within sensor range, and hung there. Hoshi replayed the single, terse message sent in Standard English: Surrender and prepare to be boarded.

At the Tactical Station, Reed stiffened slightly and threw a grim look toward the captain. "I'm reading twenty-six aboard. They've scanned us, too, very thoroughly," he said quietly. "They probably know the color of our underwear."

Never had the captain been so disappointed to be proved right. He had begun to hope that he was delusional, if that would spare his crew one more battle. But now he watched the menacing ship in the view screen, remembered the videotaped slaughters, and knew that invasion was imminent.

"You've got a plan, Mr. Reed?" he asked, gingerly probing the bruised and tender skin on his forehead.

Reed half-smiled, more of a grimace, really. "Actually, I've got the beginnings of a half-baked scheme, sir, but I'm still working on it."

"Work faster," Archer said. "T'Pol, will conventional weapons work against these beings? Phase pistols, grenades?"

The Science Officer considered. "It would appear so, although I would recommend the kill setting, rather than stun." Hoshi drew a startled breath. The Vulcan did not usually propose using deadly force. "Although our crew outnumber them, their weapons will likely be superior."

"Yeah, except this isn't a ship full of civilians and children," Archer observed tartly. "And we're highly motivated."

"Sir," Reed offered, "perhaps we should take a page out of the Nausicaans' playbook. Code One-Eleven."

Archer glanced over at T'Pol. She tilted her head slightly, rapidly running through the pros and cons in her mind. But she wasn't a tactician, and Archer knew what his response would be before she even spoke. "Do it, Malcolm."

The announcement, so rare as to be almost anecdotal, electrified the crew. Immediately, non-essential systems shut down all over the ship. Corridors emptied as crewmembers locked themselves into their assigned quarters, or reported to duty stations. Hoshi tracked the movements, and reported as each department confirmed the code.

Archer felt the shift in the ship's atmosphere. "Dock or transport, Malcolm?"

"I would bet transport first, then docking, sir." Reed scanned the energy readings emanating from the Askarinoc ship, looking for the tell-tale surge that would signal the advance boarding party's arrival. "What I wouldn't give for a couple cubic centimeters of that tamirite just now."

"Travis, on my mark, change heading ten degrees starboard. Keep us in firing range, though."

"Aye, sir," Mayweather replied, fingers already plotting the course change.

"Should I hail them?" Hoshi asked.

"They had their chance to talk," Archer growled. "Let them eat silence."

The Bridge crew sat in tense anticipation for several minutes. Then, at last, too soon, Reed said, "Picking up a surge, sir."

One, two, three. "Mark, Travis," Archer said, and the silver ship gracefully sidestepped, as if performing a simple step on a dance floor. The carefully calibrated transporter beam skittered across the hull and landed in open space, dispersing the atoms of the six would-be invaders across a wide portion of space.

Archer allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he would regret this latest act of murder when this was all over, but for now, he had other things to think about.

"They're arming torpedoes," Reed said.

"Evasive, prepare to return fire."

The first three torpedoes took out warp capability. No surprise there; the Devastators had obviously been studying Enterprise in great detail over the past several days. They knew just where to hit her, and how hard. And outrunning them had never been an option.

"No hull breaches yet," Hoshi said.

"They want the ship intact," Archer replied. He watched as Enterprise's phase cannons did little damage to the other ship. Another volley from the enemy, and the ship shuddered as if she'd been slapped. It took all of Mayweather's skill to control the inertial roll. The lights dimmed further.

"Hayes to Reed. Teams are ready at the docking ports."

"You have downwards from twenty, Major," Reed answered, making a move for the turbo lift. "I'm on my way."

"Armoury'll be there in a minute with the Bridge Box," Hayes added, "so try not to shoot her."

Reed exchanged an amused look with the captain. "I'll pass that along, Major." He locked gazes with the intense-looking young MACO left to defend the command crew, and felt a flicker of pity for the invader who might try to take the Bridge.

With Reed gone, Archer moved to Tactical, running his eye over the console to find his next target. T'Pol transmitted her scans of the Devastators' ship to him, and he noted with satisfaction that they were all on the same wavelength regarding the best possible attack scenario.

The lift door slid open, and the young MACO proved the worth of his training by controlling his trigger finger and not shooting the security officer dead. She stepped down into the command well and popped open the traveling arsenal affectionately known as the Bridge Box.

The Box contained enough hand weapons for the entire command crew, plus grenades and a few heavy pulse rifles that Archer wasn't even rated on. Reed clearly believed in the value of a Last Stand; any intruder who pressed its way as far as the Bridge would likely get no farther.

A dark head appeared at Archer's shoulder; he turned and found the muzzle of a phase pistol uncomfortably close to his temple. "Watch that weapon, Crewman . . ." He craned his head.

"Vaughn, sir," the crewman replied, lowering the pistol and turning it butt forward. Archer felt his heart clench as he took the weapon.

"Amy."

"Yes, sir." She seemed inordinately pleased that her captain would know her first name.

You know, I had a dream about you a couple of nights ago, Amy. I dreamed I bashed your brains in with a metal bar. She flashed him a smile, a little nervous but not horrified, and he guessed that he had not actually said that last bit out loud. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, added insurance to keep the words in. She was still looking at him expectantly. "Stay sharp."

"Yes, sir."

T'Pol looked up. "Captain, a pod has attached itself to Docking Port Two. And the Askarinoc ship is coming about."

"Tell Reed he's got one minute, then he's gotta pull his men back. They're not setting foot on my ship. Not today," Archer muttered, inputting data into the tactical console.

"The lieutenant has acknowledged. They estimate seven intruders," T'Pol reported. "They're engaging. Shots fired. Two injuries. They're falling back." She saw Travis flex his fingers, and read the determined look on Archer's face. In normal circumstances, she might have concluded that there was no way this maneuver would work, but she had learned over the past year that there was no more unpredictable force in the universe than a desperate human.

She grasped the edge of the science console tightly, although she didn't expect even her Vulcan strength to save her from hitting the deck. She hoped the humans would not be too seriously damaged. She heard Ensign Sato say, "All hands, brace for impact," over the shipwide intercom, following whatever protocol might apply in this situation.

"Now, Mr. Mayweather," Archer said, a hint of defiance in his voice.

And Travis, gripping the joystick with both hands, aimed Enterprise directly at the Askarinoc ship, sliding port on thrusters only, using the larger ship to scrape the would-be boarding party's pod off of the saucer section like gum off a shoe.

Only Travis managed to keep his seat, although he let out a groan as his muscles protested. Given the task of controlling a ship that was trying to stop and go simultaneously, the helmsman held on for all of their sakes, teeth gritted and sweat beading on his brow. T'Pol picked herself up immediately, fixing her gaze on the view port to assess the damage.

The enemy ship spun a few times, taken by surprise, perhaps, by the sheer audacity of the maneuver. But within a few seconds, it righted itself, relative to its target, and let loose a series of blasts that took out the primary lighting and half of the hull plating.

Archer blinked a couple of times, trying to dispel the grey spots congregating in front of his eyes. He held his left wrist tightly against his hip, bracing what he hoped was a sprain and not a break. As he awkwardly rose from the deck and took his seat again, he heard Travis mutter, with the boomer's characteristic understatement, "I think they're done playing, sir."

Hoshi's console chirped: that would be Trip checking in. "Commander Tucker says he can give you warp in another ten minutes, sir."

If he says ten, he means eight, Archer thought, and we don't have eight more minutes. "Tell him we'll need full weapons for two."

Hoshi nodded. "Aye, sir."

The captain shot a look toward his second-in-command, who radiated calm with her perfectly blank expression. He glanced at Travis, patiently waiting for the word. "Up and over, Travis. Let's end this right now."

While the helmsman made the ship dance in three dimensions, Archer blocked out all sound. His vision telescoped to the tactical array and the shifting, moving cypher representing the Devastators' ship. He hoped the array was properly aligned for once; he didn't trust what little skill and aim he had. William Tell was an archer, he mused before sternly commanding himself to focus. He barely registered firing the phase cannons, fore and aft, fingers stabbing the touch screen, strafing the enemy ship as Enterprise glided above it sail on, silver girl, sail on by, barely noticed the plumes of fire as maybe three shots out of five hit their mark I wonder if Malcolm will yell at me for my poor marksmanship, cared not at all about the unidentifiable organic matter flying out of the stricken ship how can you murder children, felt it like a wound to the heart when Enterprise absorbed one last shot from the dying ship.

Travis completed his last turn, and suddenly the blip was gone from the tactical monitor. Archer's head jerked up toward the view screen; the cold hulk hung limply in space, scorched and dead. "Not so invincible after all," he said.

After a moment, T'Pol asked, "Ensign Sato, casualties?"

Hoshi replied, relief not yet evident in her voice, "Two of the MACOs have been taken to Sickbay. Other minor injuries reported throughout the ship. Sounds like bumps and bruises, mostly." She pressed the earpiece firmly. "No communications from the Askarinoc, although I am reading four bio-signs."

"Resume course for Azati Prime, Travis, best speed." Archer said, and T'Pol looked at him with a close approximation of surprise. He read her face and continued, "Leave them there."

Carefully, T'Pol rose from her seat and crossed the Bridge to the Tactical Station. Even in the dim light, she could see that Archer's complexion was grey, sweat gleaming on his bruised forehead. The lines bracketing his mouth might as well have been chiseled there. His right hand gripped the rail of the station, white-knuckled, and his left wrist was already purple and swollen. "Sir," she said quietly, "you should go to Sickbay. Phlox needs to look at your wrist."

Archer glanced around the Bridge. "Where's Vaughn?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Crewman Vaughn," Archer said. "The crewman who just brought up the Bridge Box."

From the corner of her eye, T'Pol saw Ensign Mayweather stiffen, although he did not turn around. She kept her voice soft and steady. "Captain, the Bridge Box is where it has always been, in the security compartment, there." She gestured behind Archer's left foot.

"But . . . she was --"

"Captain, Crewman Amy Vaughn was killed by a Triannon suicide bomber two months ago. She could not have been on the Bridge just now." She thought she saw him shake a little before he got himself back under control. "Sir, let me escort you to Sickbay."

Reed was reluctantly having a minor burn dressed when the captain and First Officer arrived. If he noticed that the captain seemed not to be listening as he gave a brief status report – two MACOs and one security officer in serious but stable condition, all intruders spaced during Travis' little bumper cars stunt – he didn't let on.

Phlox, who was not a fool, took the opportunity to diagnose a slight concussion and a hairline fracture of the wrist, and to place the captain on bed rest for two days. A sidelong glance at T'Pol confirmed that if Archer didn't comply, his second-in-command would mention the little fact that the captain had been experiencing hallucinations while on the Bridge. Vulcans, it appeared, were not above blackmail. He pressed his lips together in irritation, and gave a curt nod, anything but graceful in defeat.