Chapter Twelve
Zero Hour

When First Officer Jonathan Archer summoned Charles Tucker to the Hanger Deck, the Chief Engineer was outwardly calm, openly casual, and carefully hid his deep suspicion. Since his 'conference' with Forrest, he'd been waiting for the other shoe to fall. True, he had worked off a small measure of tension with Mary Sherman, but that had been just a minor relief, a distraction, having no real effect upon the situation any more than the act had meant anything to him. Thus, he was more than normally suspicious, particularly of anyone above him in the Chain of Command, and cautious that he shouldn't wind up with a dagger between his ribs.

When Tucker entered the Hanger Deck that housed the two short range Fighter Pods, he wasn't surprised to find the First Officer flanked by two MACOs; the dark female Corporal Drana and that tall male Corporal Anopoli. Both, he knew, were utterly owned by and fiercely loyal to Archer. Tucker thought how nice it would be to have personal armed guards at his back. At this moment, he devoutly wished he had some.

When the First Officer glanced at him as the doors slid shut, and activated several controls on the panels before him, Tucker was considerably less at ease. The control sequence, he knew very well, activated a Level One diagnostic of all the systems in the room, including the internal monitoring sensors. Those sensors now no longer recorded anything that was said or done in the bay. They would be off line for about twenty minutes.

Looking at the three, particularly at the very powerful rifles in the hands of Archer's personal bodyguards, Tucker remembered Maximilian Forrest's words. 'There are people who are indebted to people; and people who are liked by people. I'm sure you're familiar with this, as not everyone involved in these tangled webs is actually on board this ship. Injudicious actions have a way of coming back on one.'

x

But then he reconsidered. Archer wasn't going to kill him. If he were, he would have died the instant he entered the bay. And why cut off the sensors? An execution is a matter of record, a warning for others, therefore, he wasn't going to die. Instead, it's clear Archer wants to say something to him; something that he didn't want recorded. Thus, Tucker's apprehension transmuted to interest.

"Commander." Archer's expression was hard, his perpetual frown dug furrows between his eyes and looked as through they had been chiseled into his granite face. The First Officer addressed him in a voice that was just as hard, despite his quiet tones. In fact, the very quietness of his voice infused it with a deadly quality Tucker had never cared for; this time least of all. "I hope you appreciate that while I'm approaching you, I'm doing so with the most minimal risk possible. My sources tell me you can be trusted. If they're wrong, they'll watch you die before they do."

Looking into the First Officer's granite eyes, Tucker had no doubt of the truth of this. He also had no doubt that any assurances of trustworthiness and loyalty would fall upon deaf ears, so he didn't waste his breath.

"Forrest is weak," Archer said in that deceptively quiet voice. "He puts on a good show, but I know him. He has a conscience, and that's a fatal infection. It breeds disease, the diseases of morality and compassion! He's getting weaker, he actually cares about the slaves, and sees our downfall, and the Empire's, in them. This ship needs new leadership, strong leadership. I suspect you feel the same way."

"There's no love between me and Forrest." Tucker noted neither of them used the man's rank.

"I didn't think there was. I want you to know that the day is coming when there's going to be a change in Command on this ship. I won't say when, but when it happens there'll be quite a few people who'll benefit from it."

"What sort of benefit?" Tucker asked carefully. He couldn't afford to seem too interested, but he knew that if he didn't seem interested enough the MACOs had orders to fire. That was part of Archer's minimization of risk. There could always be some reason dredged up for executing a fellow officer, and Tucker had no doubt that Archer had already selected a number of them.

Then again, Tucker could show a measure of interest tinged with caution; this wouldn't be out of order. He was already the Chief Engineer. While the thought of getting rid of Forrest had a deep appeal – especially if he could do the deed with his own hands – he was already Chief. There was no place for him to rise within his own department.

x

"I'll need a good First Officer, one who knows the ship, one I can trust." There it was; that word again. And again Tucker didn't waste his breath. "If the future goes as I'd like to think it will, and very careful plans are being made to make certain that it does; then loyal officers will be at a premium and will be duly rewarded."

"Well, there's loyalty and there's loyalty. Ultimately, there's loyalty to the Empire."

"The Empire needs strength. It doesn't need a weak battleship Captain."

"I agree. Strength is what is most needed in Command."

"Forrest is a philosopher. He looks to history for his lessons, but it's the histories of the losers trying to explain why they lost. We should look to the strong."

"And you, of course, are strong." There was a gentle irony in the words; irony which Archer completely missed in the compliment.

"And you'll find there are other benefits as well to being First."

"Such as?"

"Forrest knows about your … passions; what appeals to you. He doesn't approve of your pleasures. I, on the other hand, don't give a damn."

"A man who can't take, can't conquer what he wants, isn't a man. And when you come down to it, women are weak, and for all the work they do and their so-called ranks, they have only one real purpose. They may try to deny it, but women need to be conquered more than they need to breathe."

"I'm glad we're in agreement."

"Yes, sir."

"I believe a man has to be strong. Great men are not lax, or weak. Great men are conquerors! They take what they want, and if others don't have the strength to hold it, then they die and make way for the strong."

Tucker thought quickly. He agreed with all this, was buying into it, but in a very real, immediate sense he knew he had no choice. He'd heard Archer's pitch. He could agree, or he could die.

It was as simple as that.

x

"All right, I'm in."

"You won't regret it." Of that, Tucker had no doubt at all. If he didn't follow Archer, or if the First Officer's plan failed, he wouldn't live to regret anything.

"Just, when you move against Forrest, I want to be there."

Archer smiled tightly. "I'll see what I can do."

Tucker blinked and missed it, but suddenly there was a dagger pressing the flesh under his chin. He looked down very cautiously, moving just his eyes. A part of his brain that calmly calculated things realized that if the thrust were to be completed, the blade's point would be lodged deep in his sinuses.

"Just one thing, Commander," Archer said in that quiet, deadly tone, "stay away from Ann Anderson."

"Of course, sir," Tucker said very carefully, his mouth barely moving. "She'd make an excellent Captain's Woman."

"Who said anything about 'Captain's Woman'? She just has some… talents… I don't want to lose."

"I understand perfectly, sir."

"I doubt it. Just be careful." He pressed the needle sharp dagger in just a little bit harder, not quite drawing blood. "I'll know when you're planning to betray me, and I don't give first chances."

Of that, Tucker had absolutely no doubt. "I understand, sir."

"Good." Archer lowered the blade, returning it to the sheath at his hip. "Go. We'll talk again."

x

Charles Tucker turned and left the bay, careful not to look back. As he strode down the corridor, receiving unseen and unacknowledged salutes from subordinates – almost the entire crew – he knew the stakes by which he lived his life had just increased dramatically and not necessarily in his favor. His life had just become far more complicated, and he wondered if it had also become much briefer.

He had signed on to Archer's bold plan. If the man succeeded, Tucker knew his power aboard Enterprise would be vastly increased. If Archer failed, they and the rest of the to-now-unnamed cadre were dead.

But there were other things to worry about as well. Forrest, for all he detested the man, was a known adversary. He knew that if Forrest decided Tucker was no longer useful, or had a sense that Tucker was about to betray him, he would give the order and someone would pull the trigger. He might even be sporting and let Tucker see it coming.

But Archer…. He had never, ever been able to get a handle on the man. He couldn't even decide, after all their time together, if the man was truly stable or was one rivet short on his bulkhead. He had given his support, but he wasn't sure how much faith he had in his future. He wasn't even sure when the man would decide to give his sinuses that thorough scraping out. It might be now, five minutes from now, or a week from Tuesday.

xx

M'Rawl let herself out of the service crawlway on F-Deck, her sharp ears detecting no sound as she very carefully replaced the combing, pushing it back into place. She'd set the last of the bombs in Sensor Control. She'd moved silently behind the bulkhead, the room beyond that wall was a hive of activity that actually covered any sound she might make. The bomb is set to destroy the circuits that controlled the sensors. If possible, it might take out that bulkhead and scatter the melankite corrosive throughout that room, adding to the devastation as essential systems melted and vanished. Either way, Enterprise would be blind and deaf before the Andorian battleship destroyed it.

M'Rawl padded silently down the corridor on her way back to the slave quarters. There was only an hour until the bombs detonated and the Andorian battleship attacked. She had to be in position when that happened.

The Caitian ran her sharp claws along her forearms, rubbing them along her fur to calm her nerves. Or rather, she tried to. There were no more claws to comfort her. They had been removed shortly after her capture and reduction to slavery within the Empire.

She still recalled, with agonizing vividness, that horrible day. Her paws had been clamped down so she couldn't move, and her beautiful sharp claws had been pulled out one by one. The MACOs had used heavy pliers and had gripped her claws, yanking them right out of her paws as she'd shrieked for mercy.

They hadn't cared about her agony; or what her life would be without her lovely claws. They'd just ripped them out of her!

But to a Caitian, claws were far more than methods of protection. They were analogous to human fingers, and were used for gripping and manipulating. It was as if the Imperials had torn the first two knuckles off each of a human's fingers.

It had taken her months to adjust, to learn how to hold things, how to handle objects, how to perform the simplest tasks. There was still some fine work that would be forever beyond her. Even the comforting scratching of her own arms in her nervousness was denied to her.

But they would pay. In just an hour, they would all pay!

xxx

The normal routine of the Enterprise had reasserted itself with surprising smoothness for anyone who didn't know the minds of its crew. Dartmouth Station was already history. It was completely unmanned, even the corpses had been blown free in evacuating airlocks in the direction of the system's sun, where gravity would in its own due time clean up the last remnants of dissidence. Whether the dissidence had been real or imagined made no difference, and indeed it never had.

Alpha shift was in its last hour, and those on duty were thinking of little more than leaving their posts for rest. It had been a long, uneventful shift, which undoubtedly accounted for the fatigue the crew felt.

Certainly there should be no other reason for it.

xxx

"Four minutes!" M'Rawl hissed, checking the chronometer in the common room carefully. The chamber, the center of a collection of rooms barely large enough to sleep in, was filled by the thirteen slaves. One of their number was absent.

"All right, everybody, just keep your heads and remember the plan." The Andorian Kris reminded them quietly, his antenna shifting to take in each of them in turn, seeing them with far more than his eyes. "When those bombs go off, so will everything else; lights, doors, sensors, weapons, life support, engines, shields, everything. Thirty seconds later our battleship is going to drop out of warp and blast this ship to atoms. They will try not to target the starboard aft of the saucer, but when the lights go out we'll have half a minute to reach the escape pod at the stern and get out of here.

"Everyone have your hand lights? Good. Remember, when the lights go I'll be outside. Vist, Martek, Liram, Volare and Qupek will take care of the MACOs. Leena and M'Rawl, you'll get Tia up and out."

"I can–" The young Auran tried to protest, but Kris waved her off.

"Until that knife wound heals you're not going to be fast enough. We can't give you any of the pain medication, it will only slow you down. Just let them take you."

Tia didn't protest again. Frankly, she didn't believe she'd be able to stand, let alone run, but she hadn't wanted to be treated as an invalid.

Even though she was.

"Where's Cutler?" Leena wanted to know.

"Atmospheric control junction B; armed with a full load of the sedative. I'd wanted her on hand at that station should something go wrong. The extra volume of sedative she's carrying will put out all the Terrans. She has a mask to protect herself and orders to use the gas if the lights hadn't gone out on schedule. She'll rendezvous with us just before we reach the escape hatch."

x

"Now, we all know where we're going and how to get there. We could do it in the dark but we're not going to, hence the hand lights. Volare will activate the manual control on the escape pod. It has its own separate power, but we still have to open the door."

"One minute!" M'Rawl hissed.

"Okay, this is it. Positions all." They adopted their long rehearsed positions near the door or rear of the common room. "Anyone nervous?"

"Yes," most of them responded.

"Good."

"Fifteen seconds!"

x

Five seconds later, Kris stepped up to the door of the slave chambers, which opened automatically for him. The Andorian casually nodded to the two MACOs on duty, each of them suddenly alert again. Qupek, out of sight with the others, held his hand on the door, the safeties preventing it from closing again. The MACOs, surprised by this unexpected exit, were about to order the Andorian to return to the slave quarters when the lights went out.

Kris grabbed both phase rifles, his hands closing tightly on where they had been before blackness enveloped everything, and pulled them over his head with all his strength. It was all he had to do; Vist, Martek, Liram, Volare & Qupek charged through the open door and took care of the rest.

Inside, Leena and M'Rawl pulled Tia off her bunk. "Come on," Leena said as they got her between them, each supporting the taller woman. She was conscious though unable to walk, she could barely move her legs, but between them they got her across the room and into the corridor, lit now only with hand torches.

Qupek and Liram, their respective guard now thoroughly asleep until the end of his stay on this physical plane, took over supporting the Auran as the thirteen slaves hurried down the corridor. Kris and Volare took point, carrying the phase rifles.

"Our ship should be dropping out of warp any second now. They'll open fire immediately, but won't target the aft starboard section of the saucer if they can avoid it." Kris reminded them; though they all knew this thoroughly already. "Move it!"

xx

On the bridge of the Enterprise, there was no light at all. Primary, secondary and tertiary systems were all down.

"Report," Forrest snapped into the blackness. No matter where he looked, he could see nothing, not even stars on the now dead viewport. They were completely enshrouded in the blackness of the tomb.

"Everything is out," T'Pol reported. "Power is down all over the ship. Battery power is off line. Weapons systems are gone. There are no working connections anywhere."

xx

The Andorian warship Krathis dropped out of warp at a carefully calculated point that put them less than a quarter kilometer from the larger Terran battleship. The Enterprise, pride of the Empire, having fallen out of warp in an uncontrolled deceleration, was already starting to drift in the gravitational currents of nearby bodies.

On board the ship, the Andorian Captain quickly inspected the Terran ship. It was dark. Sensors showed there were no shields, no weapons, absolutely no power aboard. The Enterprise was helpless, and now it would die. "All weapons locked," the gunnery officer reported.

Plans had gone perfectly.

"Fire!"