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9

"Fan-vel uzh?"

"Fam nash'asal, kwes namtorer."

Concentrated on her readings, T'Pol absentmindedly registered the unfamiliar sound of Vulcan spoken on Enterprise's bridge. Ensign Sato's accent, almost perfect in the first place, was now indistinguishable from that of a native Vulcan; an admirable accomplishment on the young Ensign's part. Only few humans mastered the complex phonetics of spoken High Vulcan.

Lieutenant Mevak and Sub-commander Halan, in return, seemed to welcome the fact that there was a human aboard who was able to converse in their native tongue. In the three days they had been aboard, they had kept mostly to themselves, retiring to their quarters when they weren't assisting T'Pol on the bridge. It was only in Ensign Sato's presence that they seemed less guarded, and T'Pol thought that she understood. In her first few weeks on Enterprise, her human crewmates'... intense presence had often overwhelmed her, and she had needed the quiet sanctuary of her quarters as a retreat whenever the emotions around her began to compromise her own control.

She would meditate on this later on. Satisfied that her readings showed the expected results, T'Pol rose from her station and went over to the situation room, where the Captain, Ensign Sato and their two guests were gathered around the console in the center. Captain Archer must have joined the group only now; out of courtesy to their hosts, Mevak and Halan never spoke Vulcan unless they were conversing with Ensign Sato.

The Captain acknowledged her with a nod. "T'Pol."

She knew that he had come to get a report on their proceedings, after spending the morning in conversation with Admirals Gardner and Forrest. T'Pol, Mevak and Halan had been on the bridge since the previous evening, ignoring the two shift changes that had taken place in the meantime. The two young men had been visibly surprised that the humans left their stations every eight hours and returned only after an extended period of resting. On a Vulcan ship, the crew stayed at their posts for no less than fourteen, often twenty Terran hours.

Captain Archer raised his eyebrows at her, obviously expecting her to begin, but T'Pol decided that it would be logical to have Mevak deliver the report. The Lieutenant worked hard, yet so far, he had hardly talked to anyone except to her and Ensign Sato, leaving it to the less reserved Halan to speak for them both.

She inclined her head in his direction. "Lieutenant Mevak, if you would report our findings to the Captain."

Mevak's dark eyes flickered nervously, but he quickly mastered the emotion. "The anomaly re-establishes itself every 4.24 Terran hours, and remains in existence for approximately 26.45 minutes before it again disappears. The shape of the anomaly never changes, and it is logical to assume that it always opens to the selfsame spatial continuum."

Archer nodded. "So it's really a doorway. The question is, where does it lead?"

"We have tried aligning your scanners to probe the immediate surroundings on the other side of the... doorway." It was obvious that Mevak hadn't come across the term before. "Our science officer has done the same action on the Vuhnaya but she was not successful, and neither were we. The interferences inside the anomaly are too strong. We concluded that it is necessary to construct a probe for finding out what is on the other side."

"Can't we modify one of the probes we've got?" the Captain wanted to know.

"It wouldn't work, sir," Ensign Sato replied. "The standard probes aren't designed to withstand this kind of environment. The electromagnetic charges inside the anomaly would make any data transfer impossible and kill the circuitry within a few seconds."

Archer frowned. "Is there any way to neutralize the interferences?"

T'Pol joined the conversation. "Lieutenant Halan suggested we use bulom-tukh to reinforce the outer hull of the probe. A metallic element that is found on one of Vulcan's sister planets," she added for the two humans' benefit. "Ensign Sato is confident she can calibrate the transmission frequency so that the electromagnetic charges won't scatter the signal."

"How long will it take to build the probe?" the Captain asked.

Halan pressed a combination of buttons on the console. A three-dimensional schematic appeared on the display between them, slowly revolving around itself. "I have analyzed both your probes and those we have back on the Vuhnaya," he said. "It is my suggestion that we combine your technology with ours in the creation of the new probe. Logic dictates that your signal boosters and our conducting processors will allow the probe to function in spite of the electromagnetic interferences. It will take approximately five days until the probe is ready to be launched."

"Get all the help from Engineering that you need." Archer smiled. "Good work, ladies and gentlemen."

Mevak and Halan didn't seem sure how to react to the praise, and simply inclined their heads in silence. Ensign Sato smiled in response. "We'll have Trip and Malcolm back in no time, sir."

It would have been logical to point out that she was being overly optimistic, but T'Pol refrained from doing so. She knew that humans exchanged such comments not necessarily because they believed they were true, but to express a shared hope and thus strengthen their emotional relationships. The two Vulcan men raised their eyebrows at the Ensign, but refrained from commenting.

They are wiser than I was, T'Pol thought. She could have avoided a lot of friction between herself and her crewmates by keeping her silence when things turned to cultural issues.

Archer smiled back at the Ensign. "I hope so, Hoshi."

T'Pol wasn't surprised at the strange undertone in his voice. She knew the Captain was in emotional distress, had been ever since Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker had disappeared. He controlled it fairly well for a human, yet whenever another crewmember expressed their concern for the two men, their feelings would reflect on the Captain's face. They are his friends, T'Pol reminded herself. Commander Tucker is his best friend. In fact, although she wouldn't use the term herself, the two men were her friends, as well. And she was... concerned. In the privacy of her own mind, she could admit it without shaming anyone. It was another issue she would approach in her meditations.

"I'd ask you to join me for lunch, but I've got a few more calls to make," the Captain said. "I'll be in my ready-room if you need me."

"Aye, sir." T'Pol watched him leave. His tense shoulders suggested that he wasn't looking forward to those calls, and she wondered if he was about to contact the families of the two missing officers. For his sake, she hoped there would be no emotional displays involving unjust blames. Even Vulcan parents had been known to react irrationally when their children were concerned.

She turned back to the rest of the group, about to suggest that they go to the science lab when Ensign Sato spoke up.

"I'm meeting Travis, Ensign Mayweather, for lunch. I'd be happy if you'd like to join us. You too, Sub-commander."

"We appreciate the offer, but we should proceed to the science laboratory," Halan replied.

Ensign Sato wasn't defeated so easily, as T'Pol very well knew. "Sanoi," she said. "Gu-vam kohminu kasu're namtorak nufau yem-tukh eh di'kizh be'hai'la'u'na."

It was clever to mention human hospitality, T'Pol realized. Mevak and Halan couldn't decline the courtesy of their hosts, and so they had no choice but to join Ensign Sato in the messhall, even if they would have preferred not to go.

"Yi'muhl," Halan agreed, and as usual, Mevak followed suit.

"Haltore'si."

Hoshi was smiling as she led the small group to the door.

Malcolm was sitting on the floor on the far side of the cell, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. In the pale starlight coming in from the barred window, he could see the outlines of his cellmates, curled up on the floor and fast asleep. Occasionally, one of them coughed or whimpered in their sleep, and in one of the adjoining cells someone was snoring quietly, stopping every few minutes only to pick up again with a soft keening sound.

Malcolm was tired, but he knew there would be no sleep for him tonight. He wished the Healer had allowed him to stay with Trip. What if the... operation didn't go according to plan? It could happen when a person's metabolism was weakened and wasn't able to handle the anesthesia. He stopped the next thought before it could fully form in his head. There would be anesthesia; he refused to believe otherwise. T'Lys didn't strike him as the kind of person who took pleasure in unnecessary cruelty. Silak, yes, but not the Healer. And she would be the one in charge of the surgery.

Images crowded in his mind, but he quickly pushed them away. Trip was going to live, that was the important thing. He was going to live, and they were going to find a way to get the hell away from here. Before... Malcolm closed his hand into a fist. The way Silak had looked at him, as if he were no more than a... a dog. Krintu. He'd rather let them beat him to a bloody pulp before he would accept that name. But, of course, it wouldn't come to that. He would wait until Trip was better, and they would find a way out of here.

Suddenly the optimist, eh, Reed? Not at all like you.

"Shut up," Malcolm whispered. The coward was back, telling him all the things he already knew; that they couldn't escape when Trip was injured, that the place was guarded like a bloody fortress, that he'd be caught immediately if he tried to steal a weapon... that, even if they escaped, there was no place for them to go. Enterprise was... somewhere else, and how would they leave the planet if they couldn't contact the ship? Unless they stole a ship somewhere. The aircrafts parked outside the building weren't spaceworthy, but a colony of this size had to have space vessels of their own.

There's just the teeny-weeny problem of breaking out of jail with a seriously injured man in tow, making your way through the city undetected, getting hold of a vessel and leaving orbit without being blasted to smithereens. Doesn't sound too difficult, does it?

Silencing the voice, Malcolm pulled his knees closer to his chest. He was hungry. He hadn't had anything to eat since the lukewarm chicken curry back on the beach, and the water he'd drunk from the bucket hadn't helped much. His and Trip's food rations had been long gone when he was brought back to the cell. Malcolm hadn't expected any different; it was foolish to believe that anyone would save food in this place.

"Hey."

He glanced up. The voice, an almost inaudible whisper, had come from somewhere to his right, and for a moment he believed that someone had spoken in his sleep. Then he saw a shadow crouched behind the bars that separated his cell from the next. It was Yonsavas, the man who'd gone hungry the previous evening. In the semidarkness, all Malcolm could make out were thick, black brows and hooded eyes.

Slowly, so as not to draw the attention of the guards, he got up. In the corner next to the bars stood the foul-smelling toilet bucket, and Malcolm pretended to take care of his business before he sat down again, facing Yonsavas. He could see the man's haggard face more clearly now, and noticed a scar running down from his nose, parting the soft flesh of the upper lip and curling the man's mouth into a constant snarl.

"Where's your friend?" Yonsavas asked quietly, and Malcolm noticed that the translator under his ear remained silent.

"He's still with the Healer," he answered in an equally low tone. "She said she was going to keep him overnight."

Yonsavas nodded. "What's your name?"

Malcolm didn't hesitate. "Malcolm Reed."

Yonsavas smiled, or rather bared his teeth, the scar distorting the expression. "The guard called you a different name when he brought you back. Krintu."

"That's not my name." Malcolm tried to sound neutral as he said it.

The man surprised him by sticking a hand through the bars. Malcolm took it. The hand was heavy and so callused that the skin had assumed the texture of leather.

"I'm Jackson," said the other man. "The bats call me Yonsavas."

"Bats?" Malcolm asked before he could stop himself.

Jackson stared at him. "Yes, the bats. Pointy-eared bloodsuckers, remember? Can see in the dark, jump you at night? Don't tell me you've never heard that one before."

Malcolm shook his head. He knew he was giving away potential blackmail material if he asked more, but Jackson didn't seem like the type to turn on his fellow prisoners. The hate in his eyes when he mentioned the "bats" testified to that.

"I didn't. In fact, I don't have the faintest idea what's going on here. Is this some sort of... of prison camp? Why are they keeping us here?"

Jackson stared. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," Malcolm said. "We didn't even know anyone lived here when we entered orbit. Our scanners didn't pick up any bio signs on the surface."

The man's eyes had grown wider as Malcolm talked. "Your scanners? So you managed to steal a ship?"

"No, we..." Malcolm hesitated. Mentioning Enterprise was a risk, he was well aware of that. "We're explorers. Our ship was waiting in orbit while we did a sweep of the atmosphere. Then, out of the blue our engines went down and we had to make an emergency landing near the coast. We haven't heard from our ship since."

"Explorers?" Jackson said the word as if he'd never come across a stranger term before.

Malcolm nodded. "Starfleet. You've heard of Starfleet?"

Jackson shook his head. "No. I don't know why you're telling me this. There are no human explorers."

Something hard settled in Malcolm's stomach. "What?"

Jackson frowned at him. "What's wrong with you? They give you drugs or something?"

"No. I don't have any idea what's going on here, but-"

"Those clothes you had on before they took you away," Jackson interrupted him. "Where did you get them?"

"They're uniforms." Silak hadn't allowed him to put his overall back on, tossing a bundle of clothes at his feet that must have belonged to another prisoner – loose trousers of an indistinct color, a coarse gray tunic that reached his knees, and a pair of worn sandals. Malcolm wasn't sure he wanted to know what had happened to the previous owner.

"Uniforms?" Jackson repeated, obviously not believing him. "They looked like human clothes."

"They are. They're Starfleet uniforms." Malcolm threw all caution to the wind, desperate for a single scrap of information that confirmed that he wasn't going mad, that this wasn't some sort of strange, concussion-induced nightmare. "We're officers on Enterprise, Earth's first warp five vessel. The Vulcans are our allies."

Jackson gave him a long look. "I knew they'd given you something."

"I'm not-" Malcolm noticed that he'd raised his voice, and continued in a lower tone. "I'm not drugged. Are you telling me you've never heard of the Warp Five Project?"

"There's no such thing, buddy." Jackson's voice was laced with pity now. "Humans don't have projects, and they sure as hell don't have starships."

"Back on Earth-"

"Earth belongs to the bats." Jackson eyed him closely. "What the hell is wrong with you, Malcolm?"

Malcolm gave no answer. His mind was swirling, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together, but the resulting picture wouldn't make any sense, no matter how he looked at it. The Vulcans owned Earth... and, as it seemed, not only the planet but its people as well. How could that be? A race that had forsworn violence millennia ago... that prided itself on its high ethical standards. It wasn't possible.

Not in his universe, at least.

Malcolm took a deep breath. "Jackson... what year do we have?"

"The Po'tevun S'task 3215," Jackson said. Malcolm ignored the disbelief in his face, listening to the translation of the Vulcan phrase. 'The year after S'task 3215.'

"Who's S'task?" It was obviously a Vulcan name, but not one Malcolm had come across before.

Jackson shrugged. "Their great philosopher. Killed his peace-loving teacher, Surak or something, and led all Vulcans to wealth and glory. They've been the terror of the quadrant ever since."
"What... what about Earth?"

"What about it?"

"How..."

Jackson shook his head. "How can you not know these things?"

Malcolm only shrugged, and Jackson must have seen something in his face, for he didn't press the subject and continued. "The bats discovered Earth just after the Eugenic Wars. Almost one third of our larger cities were destroyed, half a billion people dead. We were easy game. Some even went willingly to Vulcan, hoping they'd be able to build a new life there." Jackson smiled his snarl-like smile. "The bats just waltzed in and took over. Oh, there was some resistance, but they took care of it easily enough. A few photon bombs dropped on some minor countries, and that was that."

"How long ago was that?"

"About one hundred and fifty of our years."

Malcolm nodded slowly. It was beginning to make sense; in a crazy, terrible way, but he was beginning to get the picture nonetheless. "And ever since we've been...?"

"Slaves, yeah." Jackson's eyes belied his flippant tone. "To the Vulcans, the Andorians, everyone. The bats make quite a fortune, selling us to every planet in the quadrant."

Malcolm noticed that he was gripping the bars between them, and deliberately opened his fingers. His hands were shaking.

"I..." He wasn't sure what to say, and trailed off. A different universe. How the hell was any of this possible?

Jackson seemed to have noticed the trembling of his hands, reached through the bars and squeezed Malcolm's shoulder. "Go get some sleep, buddy. I'm sure it'll all come back to you once the drugs wear off. I've no idea what they've given you, but it's gotta be good. An Earth vessel..." He smiled, a little sadness tingeing the hard expression. "Sleep well, Malcolm. We'll talk again, okay?"

Nodding mutely, he watched as Jackson moved away and found a place on the floor between two of the other sleepers. For a few seconds, Malcolm sat motionless. Then, he pulled the blankets around his shoulders, leaned against the bars and closed his eyes.

Not a nightmare, no. And not the rabbit hole, either.

Real.

TBC…

Well, you were right with your theory about the parallel universe! Please let me know what you think!