A.N.: Thank you all for the reviews! Much appreciated!

CHAPTER 2

Enterprise's grapplers latched onto the old ship and reeled it into the launch bay. Once the bay was repressurized, Doctor Phlox was the first to enter the ship, but only after sufficient ventilation allowed the depleted oxygen content to be replaced. T'Pol and Trip waited in respectful silence in the launch bay as the body of the pilot was carried out on a stretcher. Phlox would perform an autopsy as a matter of routine. Between that and any information the ship's logs might divulge, they should be able to discover how he had come to die in an uncharted sector of space.

T'Pol was the next to enter the craft so that she could download any flight logs or recorded data. With assistance from Trip and the power from a portable generator, she managed to coax the old equipment into transferring its information onto a data disk more compatible with current technology.

When T'Pol went to Enterprise's bridge to use the science station to review the data, Trip stayed behind to make a leisurely inspection of the small craft. The hull was badly scratched and dented, but it was nothing that the right tools and a little elbow grease wouldn't fix, he mused. The engine, as he'd noted on his first visit, was a compact Warp 2 model. Common in its day, it had had a reputation of being reliable. He'd already surmised that engine failure hadn't been the cause of this particular tragedy. There were a number of deep impact marks near the exhaust manifolds. He was willing to bet that the ship had been hit by something which had damaged the propulsion system and had forced the pilot to shut down the engine.

He spent some time in the engineering compartment where he ran his hands lovingly over the old machinery as he admired it. From what he could tell, it had been well maintained. It was possible it would still work, once the problem that had caused it to be shut down was fixed. Trip smiled to himself. He might just have a project to keep himself occupied while they charted this area of space. Mapping unknown space was all well and good for someone like T'Pol, he thought wryly, but when there was no contact with other species or even the opportunity to take an excursion on a hospitable planet, there wasn't much for the rest of the crew to do.

He moved into the next compartment and halted just across the threshold. Poking around the engine room had been one thing; snooping around in here was another. The living quarters were not absolutely essential to the operation of the ship, and was a more private setting. Trip felt like an intruder. But it was the only way to get to the main controls in the cockpit. With a silent apology to the person who had lived and died on the ship, he made his way to the hatch on the far side of the compartment without investigating the cabin.

He grasped the hatch wheel firmly and gave it a twist. It spun without making a sound. Despite having been unused in years, the mechanism was well lubricated and turned easily. That only reinforced his belief that the ship had been well maintained. Shifting his grip, he pulled on the wheel to open the hatch.

For a brief moment, just as the hatch seal released and he began to pull the door open, Trip could have sworn he sensed something. He paused, trying to pin down what it was. It had been like a gentle breeze coming from the cockpit, brushing across his forehead and ruffling his hair. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as he suddenly felt cold. He quickly looked over his shoulder at the living area. Nothing there seemed to be disturbed.

He shivered at the residual coldness, and then scolded himself for his foolishness. This would be a perfect setting for one of Travis' ghost stories. Who wouldn't be spooked in an atmosphere like this?

Still, the cockpit had been opened the first time they'd set foot on this ship, and any difference in air pressure between the compartments should have equalized then. Maybe there was some equipment still operating that they'd overlooked or had accidentally been turned on that accounted for the air current. He'd find out when he started poking around at the controls.

"It is the Wayfarer's Rest."

The irony of derelict ship's name, stated matter-of-factly by T'Pol, was not lost on the other officers gathered around the situation table at the back of the bridge. Hoshi made a soft sound of commiseration before T'Pol continued her report.

"The body is that of Robert Watson, the owner of the ship. According to the data we were able to retrieve, he was returning from Earth after a visit to recruit additional colonists for Vega colony, which was established only three years before."

"Vega colony was abandoned about fifty years ago, wasn't it?" Jon asked.

T'Pol nodded. "Yes. It was a private colonization effort, but the logistics of setting up the colony, in particular obtaining necessary supplies, proved to be too much. The colonists returned to Earth." T'Pol resumed her report after a glance at the information on the screen of the situation table. "Watson's original purpose in visiting Earth was to lead several other ships back to Vega. He cut short his visit to Earth and set out to return on his own, however, when he received a message that his wife and small child at the colony were seriously ill."

Trip took up the report. "Small, one-man vessels from that era had certain vulnerabilities. They had to rely on automated systems when the pilot needed to sleep, for one thing. Turns out the proximity alarm on Watson's ship had failed, and he didn't know it until he was tossed out of his bunk by the impact of several small asteroids. They hit the area around the plasma exhaust manifolds." He pointed to a section of the ship's schematic, highlighted in red, displayed on the table. "The propulsion system was compromised, and he had to shut down the engine."

"Couldn't he repair--?" Travis started to ask, but stopped. It was obvious to all of them that the pilot of the Wayfarer's Rest hadn't been able to fix his ship. Enterprise wouldn't have found it drifting in space if he had. Travis rephrased his question. "Why couldn't he repair it?"

Malcolm gazed at the damaged portions of the ship on the display. "The damage was extensive. I don't know if one person alone could have fixed it."

When there were no further comments, T'Pol took up the story again. "Watson had no choice but to shut down the engine. If it continued to operate, the build-up of plasma exhaust would have eventually led to an explosion. He determined the best course of action would be to send a distress signal and wait for help to arrive."

"But it didn't," Hoshi said quietly.

Trip nodded, his eyes somber. "Watson didn't know when he shut down the engine that his communications array on the outer hull had also been torn away by the impact. He had no way to call for help. And there's a failsafe built into that particular engine. Once shut down, it can't be restarted until the problem that led to the shutdown is fixed."

T'Pol finished the report. "Certain systems on the Wayfarer's Rest, including the air recyclers, could operate for a time on battery power, but that eventually was exhausted. The autopsy conducted by Doctor Phlox indicates Watson died from lack of breathable air after the recyclers no longer had sufficient power to operate."

"How long did he have before...?" Travis asked. The helmsman looked uncomfortable, unable to finish the question despite his curiosity.

T'Pol answered in her usual non-emotional tone, although her voice was pitched low as if she too was affected by the sad circumstances of the pilot's death. "Watson's last log entry was seventeen days after he shut down the engine. In that log, he mentions that he was beginning to feel the effects of oxygen deprivation."

There was silence around the table as those present absorbed the tragic misfortune of Watson's last few days. There were always dangers inherent in space travel, but over the years, improvements in technology had made it less dangerous. Those first people to travel any great distance from Earth had possessed a special kind of courage and determination. Sometimes, however, as was the case with Watson, that wasn't enough.

Jon turned to Hoshi and said quietly, "Contact the proper authorities on Earth. See if there are any living relatives of Robert Watson, and if so, what their wishes are concerning his remains." She nodded, and Jon let his gaze travel across the rest of his officers. "Dismissed."

As the others began to move away, Trip remained behind. "Cap'n? Would you mind if I did some tinkering with that ship?"

"Don't tell me you're bored, too," Jon said.

"You have to admit," Trip said, "that mapping a relatively empty region of space isn't one of the more exciting things we get to do. And I think I can get it running again."

Jon hesitated. If Robert Watson did have relatives, they might want to claim the little craft. There was the issue of property ownership to consider, although Starfleet could claim rights to it under salvage laws.

"Tell you what," he said at last. "You go ahead and tinker to your heart's delight, but it may be that we wind up turning it over to Watson's family."

Trip bounced on the balls of his feet. "If they don't want it, it would make a fine addition to Starfleet's historical museum," he said. "Thanks, Cap'n."

Trip turned for the turbolift, his thoughts already on what he should fix first on the little ship.

Malcolm, data PADD in hand, entered the launch bay. He could tell that Trip was already hard at work. Power lines snaked across the deck and through the open outer hatch of the Wayfarer's Rest. From around the other side of the little craft came the sound of dull clanking.

He carefully stepped over the lines and made his way around the hull to find Trip perched on a ladder. The engineer, wearing a welding helmet with the visor up, was putting down a hammer and reaching for a cutting torch when Malcolm came into view.

"I thought you were going to fix it -- not tear it apart," Malcolm said sardonically.

Trip shifted on the ladder to look down at Malcolm. "Shows how much you know. A couple of these hull plates are gonna have to be replaced." He put a hand up to pull the protective visor into place but paused. "Is there a reason you came by to see me?"

Malcolm held up the PADD. "This. I did some digging and found the original specs for this class of ship."

A grin split Trip's face as he set the torch aside and clambered down the ladder. He took the PADD from Malcolm and said, "You old dog! You want to help with this."

"You're not the only one going bonkers with nothing to do." Malcolm sighed heavily. "Much as it pains me to say it, there are only so many times I can bring myself to realign the targeting scanners or recalibrate the torpedoes when I know they don't need it."

Trip, who had activated the PADD and was scrolling through the information on the screen, looked up and said, "You know you're more than welcome to help, but there isn't any weaponry on this ship."

"I don't care," Malcolm said. "That's how bored I am."

Trip laughed and clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. The engineer turned back to the ladder and started climbing up. "All right, then. I'll get that section of the hull loose and hand it down to you."

Travis and Hoshi were seated at a table in the mess hall eating dinner. The two junior officers, like many of the crew, were enjoying a leisurely meal without the pressure of a looming crisis hanging over their heads. Their current mission to map this uncharted section of space was responsible for that. While Hoshi appreciated the chance to go about her day-to-day activities without any extra anxiety, she knew some of the others were becoming restless.

"Look who finally showed up," Travis said, pointing with his fork toward the mess hall entrance. "I haven't seen them since the briefing this morning."

Hoshi, in the middle of taking a sip of her lemonade, shifted her eyes to see Trip and Malcolm heading for the serving cabinets. She swallowed and said, "They've got a new toy to keep them busy."

"I wouldn't call that ship a toy," Travis said, "but I know what you're saying. Lucky guys."

There was an envious note in Travis' voice. Hoshi knew he was just as restless as everyone else, despite the extra recreational activities scheduled lately. The lure of a long-lost ship had to be vastly more appealing to Travis than tonight's trivia contest, considering his penchant for unsolved space mysteries. "Why don't you ask if you can help them?" she suggested.

Travis returned his attention to his meal. "I don't want to horn in."

"Yes, you do," Hoshi contradicted him with a smile. "Ask them. I'm sure they won't mind another set of hands helping out."

Before Travis could respond, Trip and Malcolm joined them at their table. Hoshi gave Travis an encouraging nod as the two officers took their seats. She saw the helmsman take a deep breath, but before he could say anything, Trip said, "We were wonderin', Travis... Would you like to help with the Wayfarer's Rest?"

Travis' face lit up. "I'd really like that, sir. It's like a piece of living history to get to see something like that, much less work on it." He dug into his lasagna vigorously, garnering chuckles from the others at the table at his enthusiasm.

"Slow down, Travis, before you choke," Malcolm cautioned. "We're finished for today, but if you can get the captain's permission to be away from your post, we'll be in the launch bay at the beginning of alpha shift tomorrow."

Travis, his mouth full, grinned sheepishly.

Trip began cutting into the steak on his plate. "How about you, Hoshi? You want to help?" He popped a piece of steak into his mouth and chewed as he waited while she considered the offer.

She knew Trip was only been being polite by asking if she wanted to help. Hoshi let her gaze roam around the table. Travis was excited about the prospect of working on the little ship, Malcolm was absorbed in his meal although she knew he was listening to the conversation, and Trip was patiently waiting for her answer. But she really had no interest in renovating an old ship. "If you need some help with its communications system, let me know, but otherwise, I think not. Working on a ship where the last occupant was a dead body doesn't appeal to me."

"Afraid there's a ghost?" Travis teased.

"That's not why I don't want to help," Hoshi protested, bracing herself for the good-natured teasing that was sure to follow Travis' comment.

Trip cleared his throat. "Speakin' of ghosts... Something weird happened this morning when I was on that ship." When no one said anything, he looked up from his dinner to see three pairs of eyes on him.

"What happened?" Travis asked.

Trip told them about the draft of cold air, and that his inspection of the cockpit had revealed nothing that could have caused it. "But what was really strange was, right after I felt cold, I was sure someone was behind me in the living quarters."

"There wasn't, of course," Malcolm said. Narrowing his eyes, he asked suspiciously, "You're not making this up, are you?"

As Trip shook his head, Travis said, "Cold spots are an indication of ghostly activity. In cases of paranormal events, there are often areas that are cold for no reason. It's one of the first things anybody who goes ghost hunting should do -- check for cold spots. And changes in EM fields."

"That ship is not haunted," Malcolm said. "It was a figment of the commander's imagination."

Trip shook his head again. "I felt that breeze, Malcolm. And the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I'm not sayin' there was a ghost, but something caused me to feel that."

"You were chilled and got goosebumps," Malcolm said reasonably, although there was a stubborn edge to his voice.

Hoshi knew that the discussion would soon deteriorate into a debate. She pushed back from the table. "Have fun with the ship, boys."

They barely noticed her departure as they began arguing about whether there were such things as ghosts.