—Chapter 07—
"We will be dropping out of warp in three minutes, Captain," said Herzel, the Invincible's Helm officer.
"Understood," said Malcolm. "Verify your coordinates."
Helm did so, and said, "Verified, Captain. We will be on point, outside Xindi sensor range."
Helm could make that claim with every confidence, for the other Xindi races had shared the limits of Reptilian and Insectoid technology, and even if that were not so, enough Xindi wreckage had been salvaged and examined to come to the same determination. Malcolm looked at Trip, and the man nodded back at Malcolm.
"Colonel Hayes," said Malcolm, "any last minute instructions for you men?"
"No, sir," said Hayes. "They're good to go."
Hayes' men were riding beneath the belly of the Invincible in a hollowed out asteroid. It had taken a search party of three squadrons two days to find the perfect asteroid, large enough to temporarily house ten men and their equipment, and also endowed with a high enough count of osmium to defy just about any sensor scan. Too large to bring aboard a ship, it took a dozen engineers four days to make a series of modifications to the asteroid, beginning with cutting the stone in half and then bringing the two pieces aboard the Columbia, hollowing the asteroid out, adding a small oxygen scrubber, adding a gyroscopically controlled stabilizing system which would insure that these ten men would have a comfortable ride no matter how the asteroid moved or rotated, and lastly added some magnetic seals, and put the whole thing back together again, once the men had climbed inside, for now, that asteroid, filled by ten MACOs and their equipment, currently rode beneath the Invincible, held securely in the Invincible's tractor beam.
Minutes later, the Tactical officer said, "Dropping out of warp now, Captain."
"Computer has the ball, sir," said the Helm officer.
Given the precision required to allow the stony projectile to reach its intended target area, the entire launch operation was handled by a computer subroutine written by Malcolm earlier. The Invincible immediately adopted a speed of 1/100th of full impulse, Helm automatically adopted a course of X-102B, Y-8802, Z-731, consulted the position of the stars with the tight parameters programmed into the subroutine, and when satisfied, the computer terminated the tractor beam, allowing the asteroid to continue on its way to the target, while the Invincible warped out of the system, all in a matter of 5.2 seconds.
"Ten minutes until we reach the given coordinates, Captain," said Commander Jemez, looking at T'Pol.
T'Pol nodded, looked at her Comm officer, and said, "This ship is built quite outside of StarFleet's normal parameters. The fleet will have us on their sensors, but hail them anyway, and confirm our arrival. I would rather not get blown to bits this day, being mistaken for a Xindi."
"Aye, Captain," said the Comm officer.
Ten minutes later the Athena dropped out warp to find herself close to some fifty StarFleet ships and ten or so Andorian battlecruisers stacked in four layers though with plenty of space between them, but T'Pol only had eyes for one particular ship, and there it was. The Columbia! She looked almost like the former Enterprise, save that Captain Tucker had also added two nacelles to the already existing two nacelles, but on the Columbia the top nacelles were offset, and one-third of the top nacelles hung over the bottom nacelles. It was aesthetically pleasing, preserving the lean, aerodynamic form of the original NX class, over the current Enterprises' more muscular build.
"Hail the Columbia," said T'Pol, and her breaths quickened.
"Yes, Captain," said Lt. Salno.
A moment later, a man with the insignia of a Commander flashed on screen, and said, "Welcome to the Border Fleet, Captain T'Pol. We are honored to have you here, and pleased to see that you have recovered."
"Thank you…" said T'Pol.
"Owens, sir. I'm the Columbia's XO."
"A pleasure, Commander Owens," said T'Pol, "but I believe StarFleet protocol dictates that I report to Captain Tucker, if he can spare a moment for me."
"He is absent from the fleet, Captain," said Owens.
"I see," said T'Pol.
"That's quite a ship you have, sir," said Owens. "Would it be possible to see her specs? I'd like to get a leg up on figuring how she'll fit into our missions."
T'Pol looked at Commander Jemez, and the man held up his hand with two fingers extended and mouthed, "Two minutes."
"You'll have them in two minutes, Commander Owens," said T'Pol.
"Thank you, Captain," said Owens. "I wonder if you'd be willing to attend a small mixer on the Columbia."
"We have time for that sort of thing, Commander?" said T'Pol.
"Ships come and go on their appointed duties, Captain," said Commander Owens, "but these social functions help us work more effectively, and there are people here that would like to meet you."
"Very well, Commander. When?"
"Four hours from now, Captain," said Owens.
"I will be there," said T'Pol.
Sure enough, right on the dot, the Athena's shuttle docked with the Columbia's Access Hatch then departed to make way for another, and a fresh faced Lieutenant escorted T'Pol to the Mess Hall on Deck E. Given that the Columbia was virtually identical to the former Enterprise, memory of which was fresh for T'Pol, the Vulcan could have found her way to the Mess Hall blindfolded, but the guide was not just a practical aid, but a matter of protocol, a matter of respect. Once there she met quite a number of the other captains, spoke with them of the capabilities of the Athena for there was a great deal of curiosity over the ship, and generally spent a pleasant enough three hours making professional connections, and then the bottom fell out, and the world went to hell.
"Well, well, well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty, come to life," said an oh too familiar voice, accompanied by a slow clap, and T'Pol winced mentally, though her surface poise was unaffected.
She turned to find Shran looking at her with a smile on his face, his antennas pointing directly at her, his face radiating that perfect blend of arrogance, belligerence, amused mastery and over-abundant chauvinism which the Andorian had chosen to make his trademark.
"Commander Shran," said T'Pol, "I would like to say that it is a pleasure to see you. Perhaps one day I will be able to do so, but that day is not today."
"Don't be like that, T'Pol," said Shran. "I know that you find me irresistible, and I feel the same about you, scandalous as that might seem to less adventurous minds."
"Umm, hmmm," said T'Pol, looking skeptically at Shran. "So, other than our mutual attraction, what else is on your mind, Commander Shran?"
"I'm glad to have you back, T'Pol," said Shran with a smile. "These humans are grim enough that you seem like a bright ray of emotional sunshine. How are you adjusting to the changes?"
"Well enough, I suppose," said T'Pol. "I hope this Xindi problem can be resolved satisfactorily."
"The only satisfactory resolution is the extinction of the Reptilians and Insectoids," said Shran, "or at least these clans."
"These clans?"
"When the Reptilians and Insectoids split from the other Xindi," said Shran, "they split in roughly two factions. Half took their chances in open space, looking for new beginnings, while the other half wanted vengeance on the Humans. What they planned for afterwards, I have no clue."
"I see," said T'Pol. "And you feel no compunctions over the mass murder of thousands of sentient beings?"
"Would you," said Shran, "if they'd done to Vulcan what they did to Earth?"
T'Pol said nothing, for Shran's words had hit the mark. Vulcans would be just as ruthless in that case, though they would call it Logic, rather than Revenge.
"Since you are here for a party, it is clear that you have become a social butterfly, Commander Shran," said T'Pol finally, "which means you have sources of information. Tell me then—"
"Let me guess," said Shran with a smile. "You'd like to know the whereabouts of Captain Tucker?"
T'Pol's cheeks colored slightly, though she was not aware of it, which only made Shran laugh out loud.
"It is logical to ask the whereabouts of the man in charge of this fleet," said T'Pol.
"True," said Shran, letting T'Pol off the hook. "He, Captain Reed, two squadrons of ships, and ten MACOs are hunting for information."
"Information?"
"Yeah," said Shran. "We're hunting for the Xindi homeworld, so we've been ambushing Reptilian scouts and interrogating the living, but no luck so far. The Reptilians are split into castes and the ones we've scooped up so far are the equivalent of cannon fodder. They've been pushed to the front lines for the duration of the war, and apparently most have not been told the location of their new home world. If they ever want to see it, they have to win the war. But sooner or later we're bound to get our hands on one of the Reptilian big wigs, and then the game changes."
"All right," said T'Pol. "What about the Insectoids?"
Shran scoffed openly at T'Pol, and said, "Forget it. Their language is a nightmare even with computer analysis, and though they're weaker than the Reptilians, they're fanatical. They fight to the death, and the ones we've caught so far have resisted interrogation."
"What about telepaths?" said T'Pol.
"What about them?" said Shran. "In this Human fleet we have some eighteen thousand men. Out of these men, I understand we have five very strong telepaths, some forty mid-level telepaths, and a couple of thousands of low-level telepaths. None of these mid and low level lesser telepaths have been able to link with an Insectoid yet. Now it's up to the big boys."
"And so…" said T'Pol.
"And so, Captain Tucker found a nest of Insectoids," said Shran, "so he's going to scoop some of them up, and try his hand at interrogating them."
"T'Pol! Captain T'Pol!"
T'Pol turned to see Dr. Phlox practically mowing people down on his way to her, a good natured smile on his face.
T'pol nodded agreeably, for she'd always felt a sort of kinship with Phlox on a ship of Humans, and said, "A pleasure to see you again, Dr. Phlox."
"Likewise, T'Pol," said Phlox. "Likewise!"
"I'll leave you two to catch up on current events," said Shran, with one eye on the plates of crab cakes, seared rib eye steaks and baked potatoes which the Galley had just put out.
"I am certain that I have you to thank for stabilizing me, and saving my life after Raijiin's attack, Doctor," said T'Pol.
"And I was glad to do so," said Phlox. "You were missed by all, T'Pol, and I'm not just being polite. I don't think you knew how much that crew appreciated your support."
T'Pol mumbled something, for she'd never been able to take a compliment, then she said, "I hear that I slept through a wild ride on the Enterprise."
"You did, T'Pol, you did."
"I even heard that you came across an Enterprise from another timeline. I have a hard time believing that, Doctor."
"And yet it's true, T'Pol. I saw the ship myself."
"Did you see my alternate self?"
"No, T'Pol, but Captain Archer said he saw her, and I believe him."
"Did you see my son?" said T'Pol.
"Yes, T'Pol," said Phlox. "He and Captain Tucker were quite inseparable for the short time they had together."
"I find it difficult to believe that a Vulcan could breed with a Human and produce a child, just like that," said T'Pol. "Why do you believe it to be true?"
"Well, as a matter of fact," said Phlox, "I spoke to my alternate self, and apparently I put a great deal of work into cracking the puzzle, and eventually I found a solution, and the result was your son, Lorian."
"I don't suppose you thought to ask your alternate self for the relevant research," said T'Pol, quite casually. "As a fellow scientist, I would find that information fascinating."
Phlox smiled, for he saw through T'Pol's calculated pose, and said, "As a matter of fact, I did."
"And?"
"Unfortunately, Captain Tucker got to him first, and invoked the ethics of medical privacy to seal those records," said Phlox. "As he was the only one of you in a position to make such a demand, my alternate self honored his request for privacy."
"And you just let it go at that?" said T'Pol, scandalized now, and not hiding it as well as she believed.
Phlox held a hand up, and said, "I'm certain that I could have changed my alternate's mind, given the time, but circumstances denied me the chance to do so. However, I know that my alternate self provided Captain Tucker with a record of his findings."
"Really?" said T'Pol.
"Yes," said Phlox, "although Captain Tucker has been too selfish to share those findings with me. I've toyed with the idea of breaking into his quarters and liberating those records, but he's too clever to leave them lying around, if he truly wants to keep those records private."
"Yes," said T'Pol, thinking along the same lines now, for the sake of science: she was a former V'Shar operative, and she was certain that she could succeed where a doctor might fail.
"Now, T'Pol," said Phlox, "will you join me for a bite to eat? We have much to talk about."
"I would like that very much, Doctor."
Lieutenant Talas came up to Shran, plate of food in hand, and said, "Come, Commander. Let us find someplace to sit and eat, and I will counsel you. You're a deeply troubled man."
Shran fixed T'Pol with an amused look, and said, "What?"
"You've been reduced to seeking social interaction with a Vulcan, Commander," said Talas. "Do you not realize how sad that is?"
"Yes," said Shran, chuckling at Talas now, "you should lecture me about inter-species relations, despite the fact that Captain Reed could most likely describe your body with a 99.9% accuracy rate. Would you like to talk about that, Lieutenant Talas?"
Lieutenant Talas apparently found something interesting in any and every corner of the room, save directly ahead into Shran's eyes, and the Andorian laughed at Talas.
"No? I did not think that you would," said Shran. "Now let's talk of the odds Idrik is giving on tonight's fight card. I have some credits burning a hole in my pocket."
After three days of moving in space sealed up inside an asteroid, eating precooked MRE meals, defecating inside one of three plastic buckets with nine other men watching and laughing, and in addition to spending all that time forcefully pressed against men who began stinking up the place a bit more each day that went without a shower, well, Master Sergeant Daniels was ready to eat his old fashioned .357 Magnum revolver and paint the walls with his brains, so it was a relief when he heard Captain Tucker's voice in his head, odd as that might have sounded not all that long ago.
"Master Sergeant, we're back, and you're one hour away from the most exciting ride of your life."
"Yes, sir," said the Master Sergeant even though there was no need for him to speak aloud his thoughts, and everyone stopped talking, knowing that the Sergeant was in telepathic contact. "We'll be ready."
"It's on?" said Trejo.
"It's on," said Daniels. "Get suited up."
The small nameless planet towards which the asteroid was headed was guarded by three Insectoid ships, for on the planet below a crop of hundreds of Insectoid eggs were about to hatch, and a dozen caretakers ensured the safety of the eggs, though they would eat a few dozen of the hatchlings when they cropped up. It was all just part and parcel of the beautiful circle of Insectoid life.
In any case, the crews of the ships were bored, but enjoying the time off. Baby sitting was better than getting vented into space while fighting the demons, and the crews made the most of it by indulging in extended sessions of gorging, and sleeping, only to repeat the cycle on waking, for molting time was coming soon, and each Insectoid needed plenty of nutrients to grow a new, larger shell. No worries though, for the computer systems were always vigilant, so the instant the asteroid entered sensor range, the computer identified the object as an asteroid, calculated the object's trajectory and determined that it represented no danger to the hatchery below, and then returned to its vigilant study of space for signs of the enemy.
"Is it possible that I will kill Captain Tucker?" thought T'Pol, while despondently stirring brown sugar and cinnamon in her bowl of plomeek porridge. "I mean, I know that I hate him now, but can I actually kill him?"
T'Pol wallowed willingly in such hyperbole despite the fact that such emotions were unbecoming of a virtuous Vulcan, but Captain Tucker had always brought out that side of her personality.
"Yes. I can and I will."
The cause of T'Pol's bad mood was, naturally enough, Captain Tucker. As Hoshi would say, 'What the hell?!'
Here the man discovers that she's roused from her coma, and has to nerve to reach out to her at the worst possible moment, though she was willing to grant that it wasn't intentional on the man's part, but then he simulates some telepathic feels, makes a wise crack as a farewell… and then, nothing, when he could now initiate telepathic contact with her as easily as lifting a finger. So, what the hell?!
It was fortunate for Captain Tucker that she was a Vulcan, and not an emotional Human!
"You should be entering the planet's atmosphere about now, Master Sergeant," sent Trip to Daniel's mind.
"We just did, sir," thought Daniels in response, for as long as Captain Tucker maintained telepathic contact, they could communicate both ways.
"I don't want disturb your concentration, Master Sergeant," thought Trip. "When do you want me to reopen contact?"
"One hour, sir," thought Daniels, truly feeling the turbulence now, for the asteroid had entered the planet's atmosphere and thus become a meteor, plunging for the ground at high speed.
Focused intently on his watch, Daniels waited patiently, allowing the meteor to take the brunt of atmospheric heat, and he prayed fervently that the engineering weenies had crunched their numbers correctly, or he and his men would be cooked like oven roasted chickens. As it turned out, he needn't have worried, for the engineers had been quite conservative, and had chosen to cram the MACOs in tight quarters for three days, in the interest of adding another two feet of stone between the heat and the MACOs, though these two feet were not technically needed.
Daniels slipped the mask over his face, and his men did the same without the need for instruction. He checked that the oxygen was flowing properly, then gave the thumbs up sign, which was returned by all the MACOs. Without further foreplay, Daniels nodded, and the magnetic locks holding the meteor together were deactivated, and the meteor split in two at 35,000 feet, and the two pieces continued their plunge to the ground, while the MACOs followed somewhat behind at a slower speed for another two minutes before opening their chutes. With a competence born of frequent practice they then followed Daniels' lead to the ground, for despite the fact that it was night now, each jumper was outfitted with infra-red beacons, which were visible in their specially coated face mask goggles, and shortly after that all were on the ground, having floated the eighty miles required from where the meteor was opened, to a location close to the Xindi camp.
One hour later, Daniels felt Captain Tucker's telepathic contact once more.
"Yes, sir."
"Everything ok?"
"No, sir," thought Daniels. "Trejo landed on a rocky outcropping and broke both his legs. About the only thing he's good for now is—"
Trip gave a mental laugh, and said, "Save that for the ride home, Master Sergeant."
"Aye, sir."
"Can you still complete your mission without Trejo, Master Sergeant Daniels?
"Yes, sir."
"Go then, do what you have to do," thought Trip. "I'll maintain contact with you so that I may know your status, but I'll stay out of your way, I'll remain silent. Our ships stand by to assault the Xindi ships on your mark, Master Sergeant."
"Yes, sir," thought Daniels.
The operation went as well as it could have, barring Trejo's broken legs. The MACOs moved in with stunner rifles and made short work of the hatchery's care takers, while squadrons 3 and 7, led by Captain Reed, made short work of the Insectoid ships, and even managed to transport three Insectoids from their dying ships, to the Human ships, to add these prisoners to the dozen Insectoids captured on the planet below, after which the Invincible eradicated the Hatchery with a nuclear strike from orbit.
And so it was that Trip found himself in one of Invincible's Cargo Bays which had been converted into a Xindi jail, while the captured Xindi Insectoids were lined against the wall in small, individual jail cells, four feet by four feet. They were quite agitated, clicking their mandibles relentlessly, rustling their wings, striking their chitinous legs against the bars of their cells as they looked at the demon in their midst, as they watched him kneel and close his eyes.
Trip reached out, trying to make contact with any of the Insectoid minds, and was surprised when he was unable to do so. He'd had no trouble doing so with the Xindi Reptilians, for the Reptilian mind was much like a man's mind, a power hungry, vicious, always hungry for power man, a man willing to do anything to come out on top, a black void of a mind that could never be satisfied by having less than everything. But the Insectoids were something very different…
He tried touching the Insectoid mind and found resistance. He applied force, but the very strangeness of the alien mind was a bigger obstacle than the Xindi's resistance. He kept at it for an hour, fruitlessly, then tried another Insectoid. This one offered no resistance, but proceeded to slam his head over and over again, against the iron bars, presumably in an attempt to kill himself, so Trip raised his rifle and stunned the Xindi, while the others watched.
The Xindi understood the message. There would be no escape from these demons.
Trip tried another Xindi and pressed it until it died, then moved on to another, and pressed this one until it started leaking some sickly looking yellow pus from its eyes, yet still no luck.
Finally, on a lark, he tried making contact once again with the now unconscious Insectoid, and managed to touch its consciousness. The other Xindi started screeching, and jerking at the bars in agitation, trying to disrupt his concentration, for Trip felt them all now mentally, and within them, one of them, all of them, he found his answer in a fraction of a second, for the Insectoids were linked into something of a hive mind, and what one knew, all knew, though it seemed to be limited by distance for although he now touched the thoughts of every Insectoid here, he could not feel the rest of the species. But he had what he wanted: the location of the Xindi homeworld.
Out of curiosity he delved deeper into the Xindi mind and found something unexpected: love. A fierce love for the Insectoid race, and the Xindi species as a whole, and a desire to save them all from the Humans, for the Insectoids still fervently believed in the Guardians and their warning.
Trip was surprised by his finding, but unaffected by it, for Xindi love had still killed fifteen billion people with the Madness Season, his parents among them, just as the Xindi had killed his sister before that with their first attack on Earth.
"I go now," he thought to them as he stood, and the Insectoids heard his thought, "to set your world on fire. Your kind will join the Xindi Avians."
The Insectoids went berserk, and he knew from his contact with their minds that they could keep that up for days, driven by the intensity of their fear, and of their pain.
He stepped outside the Cargo Bay, and the two guards stationed there stood at attention, surprised by the inhuman ruckus coming from the Cargo Bay now.
"Step on those bugs tomorrow morning," said Trip with a grim smile, for he knew that the intervening hours of pain would seem an eternity to the Insectoid mind, "but let them screech the night away."
It had been a restless five days for T'Pol, though the Athena had run a number of scouting missions, where the ship's stealth and superior sensor array came in quite handy, yet each time she returned to the fleet, she learned that Captain Tucker had not yet returned. If she were not a Vulcan she would have been anxious by now, for he'd been gone a long time, as she saw things, and he was the leader of this fleet. What if he was hurt somewhere, and in need of aid? Or perhaps captured by the Xindi! He would need rescue! Such were her thoughts just now. Still no sign of Captain Tucker! And still no communication from him this entire time. The nerve of that man!
To ease her mind, T'Pol showered and then decided to hit the Mess Hall for some coffee, when movement in space drew her attention, and looking out a porthole T'Pol saw two squadrons warp in with either reckless disregard for safety, or complete self-assurance, though one trait often indicated the other. She headed for the Bridge.
"Contact the Columbia," said T'Pol, looking at Salno.
"Yes, sir," said Salno, and a moment later Owens' image came on the Bridge monitor.
"Yes, Captain," said Owens.
"I noticed that two squadrons warped in just now," said T'Pol.
"Squadrons 3 and 7, sir," said Owens. "Captain Tucker has returned."