"Captain, are you with me?"
Malcolm pressed a cloth on Archer's shoulder. He had regained consciousness a few minutes before with a monumental headache, and Archer lying unconscious and bloodied near him. They were locked in a room, the only things there being a makeshift couch and a basin of water with a cloth swimming in it. After a moment of dizziness, Malcolm had wrung the cloth out and was now using it to staunch the bleeding of Archer's wound, praying that he would not cause a life-threatening infection instead. Brilliant.
Malcolm allowed himself a foul word, careless of the fact that his C.O. might come to and hear it. Blast the Captain's underestimation of danger; and blast these cursed visions! What a royal cockup.
A moan made him refocus on the present. Archer was shifting; he cracked his eyes open and blinked. "Easy, Captain," Malcolm urged, when the man tried to sit up and fell back with a grunt. "Your wound is not life threatening but I suggest you keep still, at least until the bleeding has stopped."
"What happened?" Archer croaked out. "Where are we?"
Malcolm did not have the chance to reply, for he heard the lock in the only door being turned and jumped to his feet, wincing against the throbbing in his temples.
The door was thrown open and the two Shinxes of the negotiations appeared. They cast a glance at Archer. "What's his condition?" one of them asked Malcolm none too kindly, taking a step inside.
"He needs a doctor," Malcolm replied in the same harsh tone, "it doesn't take a genius to see that." The Shinx immediately rushed at him and with a hard punch sent him crashing against the wall. Just what he needed. Malcolm clenched his teeth against the stabs of pain that pierced his skull.
"I thought you were his bodyguard," the alien who had attacked him mocked, with a toothy smile, as he cradled his fist in his other hand.
Seething, because the insult had hit too close to the mark, Malcolm regained his balance. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What do you want?" he asked darkly. "If you think that the negotiations-" A loud, humourless laughter cut him off.
"The negotiations!" the second alien roared. "To hell with them!"
A grunt made Malcolm turn. Archer was laboriously scrambling to a standing position, and he rushed to give him a hand.
"Answer my Lieutenant," Archer demanded, breathing heavily as he leaned on Malcolm. "What do you want?"
The Shinx who had punched Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes," he said in a spiteful voice, "this is about negotiations. Just different ones: your lives against a few demands."
Malcolm felt Archer shift on his feet. "Captain, you should sit down," he said, trying to steer him towards the couch that stood against one of the walls. Archer resisted. "What demands?" he growled. "You should know that Starfleet does not negotiate with terrorists."
"Oh a few minor things," the alien replied with a venomous smile. "Nothing compared to the lives of a Captain and a valiant officer. We'll be in touch with your ship." He turned to Malcolm and threw him some bandages. "Take care of his wound."
A moment later the two aliens had left.
As soon as the door had closed, Archer allowed himself to be taken to the couch, on which he dropped with a grunt. "Nice people," he muttered.
Malcolm rubbed a hand over the painful bump on the back of his head. He felt like punching the wall, but he supposed that would only give him bloodied knuckles. "Lovely," he said, albeit in a voice that betrayed the anger he felt. He began tending to Archer's shoulder.
"You had another vision, didn't you? When I saw you stand up with your phase pistol…"
"Yes, I saw it all happen. Only, I blew it because-" Malcolm cut himself off before his frustration made him say things he might regret. Archer had underrated the dangers of this mission and insisted on having him hide his weapon. If he wasn't allowed to do his job properly, he might as well leave him on board, for heaven's sake! But actually, he was angry with himself. He couldn't deny the fact that he himself had botched it. Under the influence of that bloody vision, he had acted like the rookie and spoilt the element of surprise.
Archer did not press him, and he worked in silence for a while, bandaging the wound and helping the Captain into his uniform sleeve again. "I apologise, Sir," he forced out in the end, "I should've done better. And I don't mean bandaging your shoulder."
"Now's not the time to feel sorry, Lieutenant," Archer came back, with a wince of pain. "We need to get back on Enterprise."
Malcolm tightened his lips. "Except for the UTs, they stripped us clean, of course," he said. "But I might have a couple of aces up my sleeve, or rather…" He bent down, a grunt escaping him. "… in my boot." Letting out a slow breath, Malcolm straightened up again, rubbing his head.
"Headache?" Archer enquired. "That blow you received was a nasty one."
Malcolm winced. "Don't worry, Sir," he said, showing the microcharges in his palm, "my head's pretty hard, as you can see."
The Captain lifted his eyebrows. "I suppose not packing too light had its advantages," he conceded.
Trip glared at the alien on the viewscreen. "What happened to the other delegates?"
"They were killed," the Shinx admitted without flinching.
Trip's heart skipped a beat. "And how do I know that our crewmen are still alive?"
"You'll have to trust us," the Shinx replied.
The turbolift door opened and out came a sick-looking T'Pol, supported by Phlox. Trip spared her a glance as she was led to sit at her station, before returning his attention to the viewscreen. He took a step forward. If the man had been physically in front of him, he'd have gone for his throat. "Trust a snake?" he said through clenched teeth. So much for diplomacy, but he was an Engineer, after all, not a diplomat.
The alien just shrugged. He seemed to have no feelings other than a deep-set determination. "You don't have much choice in the matter."
"We shall have to contact Starfleet Command," T'Pol said. Her voice was not very steady, and she looked green, even for a Vulcan.
Trip reinforced the message. "Admiral Forrest is not going to like this."
"Contact him quickly. You have twenty-four hours."
"And then?" Trip replied.
"And then we kill the first of the hostages."
The viewscreen went black.
Trip turned to his left, to a Science Officer who was holding on with both hands to her console. "How're you feeling?" he asked tautly, afraid to hear her answer.
"Incapacitated," T'Pol replied, blinking, "but I will endeavour to be of assistance."
Trip scanned the ashen faces of the Bridge crew and straightened his shoulders. He had a responsibility towards them and the rest of the crew. "Hoshi, can you find our men's lifesigns?" he enquired, approaching the comm. station.
The Communication Officer shook her head lightly. "I've been trying to, Commander, but so far I haven't had any luck. In fact, I can't read any lifesigns at all."
"They must have raised a shield over the compound," T'Pol commented.
Mayweather swivelled in his chair, looking troubled. "Sir, I'm reading a number of vessels approaching. Both Shinx and Ravaja."
"Great." Trip hardened his expression. "ETA?"
"No less than eight hours. They are not moving very fast."
"Commander, they are likely to be military vessels. A negotiation does not appear possible now. We must try and get Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed back on Enterprise before fighting begins on the planet," T'Pol suggested in an unsteady voice. She touched her forehead with a trembling hand.
Phlox hurried to her side. "You must rest, Subcommander," he said, in a voice that did not leave her any other option.
"Alright," Trip said, "I'll transport Ensign Müller down to the planet. I should be able to do that without him being detected." He nodded to T'Pol. "You go and rest, I'll keep you informed."
"Get me Admiral Forrest," he glumly instructed Hoshi. Straightening his shoulders, he headed for the ready room, wondering what the Admiral could even do from lightyears away. Ultimately, Trip knew that it was up to him to get their Captain and Security Officer safely back.
Forrest's smile died on his lips when, instead of Archer, he saw Trip's face on the screen. "Commander?" he asked in surprise.
"I'm afraid we have a problem, Admiral."
Forrest was a fine officer and a good person. He was also Archer's friend. Trip saw him subtly but visibly react to his words. The man leaned forward. "What kind of a problem, Commander?"
"A problem with the negotiations." Trip forced himself to hold the Admiral's gaze as he went on, "Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed were captured by terrorists."
"Lieutenant Reed?" Forrest wondered with a frown. "The last I knew Lieutenant Reed was not well and T'Pol was to accompany Archer in this mission."
Trip rubbed his neck, which was stiff with tension. He did not know how much Forrest had been told about Malcolm's little problem. Better play it safe. "She was, Sir, but then the Subcommander got sick, and couldn't go," he said. "Nothing serious according to Phlox, but enough that she couldn't go down there."
"Who are these terrorists? What do they want?"
"As it turns out, the two Shinxes weren't diplomats at all," Trip said, trying to keep his anger at bay. He heaved a deep breath before continuing, "They kidnapped the Captain and Reed and will only release them if we give them weapons and technology. They want to use it as an advantage over the Ravajas."
Forrest clenched his jaw. His face showed deep concern. "We can't give in to the demands of terrorists!" he spat out.
"I was afraid you'd say that, Sir." Trip admitted, finding it hard to hold the Admiral's gaze. Indeed, he had never doubted it for one moment. "They've threatened to kill the hostages. We have twenty-four hours…" He glanced at the clock on the corner of his screen and smirked. "Minus fifteen minutes..."
"I don't want to involve our friends the Vulcans in a rescue mission, after how they handled themselves in the Coridan capital city that time," Forrest said, after a moment of thought. He narrowed his gaze. "Because I'm afraid we are talking about a rescue mission, Commander Tucker. That's our only option."
"Yes, Admiral, I realise that. And I will be sending Lieutenant Reed's second in command to try and find our people."
"Who is Reed's second?" Forrest enquired.
"Ensign Müller, a fine junior officer." Trip bit his lower lip. "I'd better sign off, then, and get to work." He wanted to add Wish me luck, but he supposed luck wasn't what Forrest would want a rescue mission to be based on.
As it happened, it was the Admiral who said, "Good luck, Commander. Keep me informed."
A moment later Trip was staring at the Starfleet logo. He reached for the Comm. link and paged the Armoury.
"Müller, here," a slightly accented voice replied.
Trip refocused on the picture of a tall ship, an Enterprise of bygone days, hanging on the wall. As he spoke, a part of his mind wondered what crew had manned her, what adventures she had had. "Ensign, we have a situation," he said. "Please report to the Captain's ready room on the double."
"Aye, Sir."
The curt reply had been spoken with self-confidence. Trip supposed he had to count his blessings.
T.B.C.
When I wrote this story I never imagined we would face a war and talk of diplomatic negotiations in the real world. I pray that the Powers That Be find a peaceful solution to the crisis we are facing, for war is only admitted in the imaginary world of fanfiction...
Thank you to anyone who will want to leave a comment.
