A.N.: Thanks for the reviews. I didn't realize so many people liked ghost stories.
CHAPTER FOUR
Crew members were trickling into the mess hall for breakfast the next morning when Trip ran into Travis outside the entrance. The younger man looked much too bright and chipper for this time of the day, at least for Trip before he'd had a cup of coffee.
"Morning, Travis," he said amiably enough. "You ready to start working on our little project?"
Travis grinned exuberantly. "I can hardly wait. My schedule is cleared so I can help all day."
Trip laughed as he opened the door to the mess hall. "You're going to have to wait until after breakfast. I don't function well on an empty stomach." He glanced around the mess hall as they stepped in. A good number of alpha shift crew members were already there, including Malcolm and Hoshi seated with Phlox at a table by one of the windows. Trip turned to Travis and said, "I'm supposed to have breakfast with the captain today, so I'll see you in the launch bay after that."
Travis nodded and headed off at a brisk pace toward the serving line. Trip strolled across the mess hall and entered the captain's private dining room. The steward hadn't started serving, Trip noticed as he took his place between the captain and T'Pol at the table. T'Pol was her usual serene self, but Jon appeared tired.
"Anything wrong, Cap'n?" Trip asked. "You look a little peaked."
The steward entered with a thermos of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice. Jon indicated his coffee cup, and the steward poured some of the steaming beverage for him before moving to fill Trip's cup. T'Pol declined both beverages with a polite shake of her head.
As the steward placed both containers on the table and left, Jon took a cautious sip of his hot coffee and looked over at Trip. "Porthos had a nightmare last night and woke me up. I didn't sleep well after that."
"Porthos has bad dreams?" Trip asked.
Jon shrugged. "So it would seem. He was growling at something, but of course nothing was there. He wound up on my bed for the rest of the night, but I don't think he ever went back to sleep."
"How is he now?" Trip asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"See for yourself," Jon said.
Trip followed Jon's gaze to see Porthos curled up sound asleep next to Jon's feet under the table. Trip could hear faint snoring coming from the dog. "Poor little guy," Trip said sympathetically.
T'Pol rolled her eyes. She'd been aware of the dog all along, Trip knew, because of her heightened sense of smell. No wonder she'd turned down both the coffee and orange juice. Smell could often affect a person's stomach -- a more delicate person, Trip thought wryly as the steward returned with two covered platters. He could smell bacon the moment the steward had walked in.
As T'Pol wrinkled her nose, Jon removed the lids from the serving trays. Along with the bacon was a mound of scrambled eggs. The captain looked to T'Pol, who said, "Please, start without me."
Jon began scooping some eggs onto his plate. In the meantime, T'Pol pushed a data PADD across the table to Trip.
"What's that?" the engineer asked as he transferred several slices of bacon to his plate.
"A request to have diagnostics run on the environmental systems connected to crew quarters on B deck," she answered. She paused as the steward returned one more time and set a plate of sliced fruit in front of her. When the man had left, she explained, "A minor malfunction interrupted my meditation last night."
"What kind of malfunction?" Trip asked as Jon passed him the platter of eggs.
"As you know, normal ship temperature is...somewhat uncomfortable...for me. I keep the temperature and ventilation in my cabin at different settings than the rest of the ship."
"That's why you don't get much company," Trip said with a grin. "It's like a desert in there."
T'Pol fixed him with her gaze, and he expected a scathing retort. When she'd first been assigned to Enterprise, most of their disagreements had turned into acrimonious exchanges. His sarcastic remarks to her had been driven by mistrust and resentment, and he had come to realize that her condescending comments were the result of a sense of isolationism on a ship run by humans. After having been through so much together, however, their disagreements now were often playful, a give and take between colleagues who respected and trusted each other. He liked to think that they sometimes deliberately baited each other simply because they both enjoyed the verbal sparring. He seriously doubted they'd ever be a couple the way he would have hoped at one time, but he liked to think that they'd become friends.
"It was not like a desert last night," she said. "The temperature dropped considerably, although only for a brief period. I also detected an air current after I had closed the main ventilation to my cabin. It, too, was of brief duration."
A thoughtful look came over Trip's face and he stopped chewing. He swallowed with the help of another sip of his coffee. "You know, that sounds like what happened to me yesterday on the Wayfarer's Rest after you left."
T'Pol paused, her knife and fork hovering over the piece of honeydew melon that she was slicing into bite-sized portions. "I fail to see how there could be any detectable system malfunctions on a ship that has no power."
"Not malfunctions specifically. The coldness and the air current. I could swear I felt a cold breeze. Like you said, there's no power on the ship. There was no explanation for it. Except..."
As Trip's voice trailed off, Jon asked, "Except for what?"
Trip cleared his throat. "Well, I don't mean to sound like our resident ghost storyteller, Travis, but I could have sworn there was somebody there when it happened. But there wasn't anybody there but me."
T'Pol said, "Most likely it was your imagination 'getting the better of you.' It is a common human foible."
Jon's eyes twinkled with amusement. "What's the matter, T'Pol? Don't you believe in ghosts?"
The combined gazes of Jon and Trip on her, T'Pol calmly sliced another portion on her fruit plate. "I have no empirical evidence to support the existence of ghosts. There are no ghosts on Vulcan. From what I understand, research into the topic on your planet is not conclusive. Much of it is based on feelings or emotions evoked in situations conducive to fear and superstition."
"So what you're saying is," Jon said, "the existence of ghosts has neither been proved nor disproved."
Trip snorted and picked up a piece of bacon. "She's saying she has to see it with her own two eyes to believe it."
Phlox perked up considerably when Travis joined the group at his table. He'd already expounded on his experience in the morgue for Malcolm and Hoshi, but neither had seemed impressed. Enterprise's helmsman, on the other hand, was gaining a reputation as an expert storyteller of unexplained mysteries. He'd be a more receptive audience.
Once the usual human pleasantries of greetings and asking if each other had slept well were observed, Phlox broached his topic once more. "Travis, you'll appreciate something that happened to me last night."
"Um?" Travis mumbled around the bite of toast he'd just taken.
While his response was not exactly articulate, Travis did seem interested, Phlox thought happily. He launched into a recitation of his unease while working in sickbay, his subsequent visit to the morgue, and ended with his belief, fleeting though it was, that he had seen the corpse move under the shroud and his reaction to it. "I experienced a very unusual sensation," Phlox concluded. "I believe you have a phrase for it -- 'someone walked over my grave.'"
"It would make a great ghost story," Travis said, "if there was more to it."
Malcolm and Hoshi chuckled even as Phlox's satisifed smile faltered. "I don't understand," the doctor said.
"It has all the elements of a good ghost story," Travis explained. "One person alone at night, a feeling that something's not right, a dead body... Don't get me wrong, Doctor, but there's just not enough to it, other than your creepy feeling." When Phlox frowned, Travis added, "For example, if you had heard an eerie noise and all the lights went out, or if, for some reason, you couldn't get back out of the morgue compartment -- now that would have been a good ghost story."
"Travis," Hoshi said with a laugh as a speculative gleam came into the helmsman's eyes, "I know that look. Next thing we know, you're going to tell us that poor Robert Watson is haunting Enterprise."
Phlox, who'd been disappointed by Travis' response to his experience, perked up again. "I don't believe I've ever had the chance to study -- what is it called? -- paranormal phenomena. Wouldn't it be wonderful to be able to study that firsthand?"
Malcolm groaned. "See what you've started, Travis? I hope all this talk of ghosts isn't going to interfere with your work on the Wayfarer's Rest."
"Speaking of work," Hoshi said, "I have some things to do on the bridge. Not all of us are excused from our duties."
"What do you have to do?" Travis asked curiously.
"I'm still trying to track down any living relatives of Robert Watson," she replied. "I've sent inquiries to Earth, and I'm waiting for responses. In the meantime, I want to review the personnel roster files on the new crewmen. I haven't put all the names with the new faces yet. And if I get really bored, I may try to see if there is any historical information on the Wayfarer's Rest that T'Pol didn't find."
"You said you weren't interested in that ship unless we needed help with communications," Malcolm said.
"You're not the only one who's bored," Hoshi replied dryly. She pushed back from the table and got to her feet. "It's not like there's much else to do. We've been mapping this sector of space for two weeks now, and there's no communications involved since we haven't run into a single other ship. Well, except for the one in our launch bay." She flashed a bright smile at the others at the table "If I find anything about the Wayfarer's Rest, I'll let you know. All of you must be very, very bored."
Phlox realized that Hoshi was absolutely correct in her assessment of their interest in the derelict ship. They were indeed bored. But what better to take your mind off the tedium of the current mission than a little mystery rooted in the past? Add the possibility of ghostly hauntings, and he wouldn't have to prescribe extra recreation as therapy for a bored crew for a few days at least.
Contrary to what Hoshi had told those who had been at her table for breakfast, there wasn't much on the bridge to occupy her. She'd sent the inquiries about Robert Watson to Earth yesterday, but she couldn't do anything else in that regard until replies came in. Considering they were dealing with a death that had happened more than fifty years ago, it might be some time before information could be found, and it might be days or even weeks before they got any answers.
Captain Archer might want her to compose messages to any descendants. But even if he did it himself -- and he just might if he was as bored as the rest of the crew, despite notifying next of kin being an unpleasant task -- she'd still be the one to send them off. That would take a grand total of about five minutes, she thought wryly.
Hoshi ran a routine maintenance check on her communications console. Everything was working properly. She gazed around the bridge and saw most of the crew doing exactly what she'd been doing. They were performing routine maintenance or running diagnostics or anything else that would give the illusion that they were busy. The only things out of the ordinary were that Ensign Tanner was filling in for Travis at the helm, and one of Malcolm's security staff was manning the tactical console. By the time the first hour had passed, she could tell that the novelty of being on the bridge during alpha shift had worn off for the newcomers.
The new faces on the bridge reminded her of the man she'd seen last night on her way to the mess hall. Before she could call up the personnel roster, however, T'Pol entered the bridge from the turbolift and headed straight for her.
"Ensign," T'Pol said, handing several data disks to her. "Please enter this information concerning the Wayfarer's Rest in the ship's database."
Hoshi didn't mind doing as T'Pol had requested, but the Vulcan usually took care of such tasks herself. Her confusion must have shown as she took the disks, for T'Pol said, "The captain requires some..." T'Pol paused, as if seeking the right word. Not meeting Hoshi's eyes, she finally said, "...distraction."
Hoshi managed to keep a straight face. Coming from anyone else, T'Pol's comment would have sounded like the captain was in the mood for a little hanky-panky. But having had her own experience with some other crew members' obsession with the little craft tucked away in the launch bay, she knew better. The captain was just as bored as Trip, Malcolm and Travis.
"I'd love to update the ship's database. It will provide a distraction for me," Hoshi said.
T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "Indeed. If you are in need of more distraction later, you may take my place viewing a water polo match with the captain."
"I don't think I'll ever be that bored," Hoshi said truthfully.
T'Pol nodded, and with a deep breath, moved off towards the captain's ready room. Hoshi waited to smile until T'Pol was off the bridge. Glancing at the identification tags on the data disks, she saw that most of them were logs from the Wayfarer's Rest. There was another with T'Pol's report, and one with Trip's. It wouldn't take long to process them. She might as well look at some of the logs while she was at it. It wasn't like they were classified.
She sorted through the disks and picked the last set of logs. From the date on it, it was made after the accident that had marooned him. She placed it in the reader slot on her console, making sure she put her earpiece in so as not to disturb the others on the bridge, and turned away to load T'Pol's report in another access port off to one side. As she input commands to catalog the report, she heard the log begin. The voice was male, deep and resonant, but tense.
"I've made a serious error in judgment," came the voice through the speaker in her ear. "Now I'm going to have to live -- and most likely die -- with that error."
T'Pol's report had begun downloading, and Hoshi swung back around to the small viewscreen on her console. What she there saw made her jaw drop. She no longer heard what Robert Watson was saying as she watched the close-up of him on the screen. It obviously had been made from the cockpit of his ship, for he was seated in a pilot's chair and she could make out a hatch on the bulkhead directly behind him. But what had her full attention was the man himself. She reached out and paused the recording.
She was looking at the man she'd seen in the corridor last night.