She had been thorough.
The only thing in the room that the lieutenant had felt adequate for the job was the table, which was bolted to the floor – like most articles of furniture in the ship, to avoid sudden and hazardous displacement should it be necessary for Enterprise to perform some particularly abrupt change of direction. He sat with his back to it, and she tied his arms to the table-legs. His own legs were bound together, and he shifted position so that they could be anchored to one of the table-legs too; it would be uncomfortable for him, but safer for her.
Now she sat down in front of him, and thought that it was just as well that Captain Archer had little real concept of what this 'de-programming' would involve. Certainly it was extremely unlikely that he would imagine that his tactical officer would put up such violent resistance that he would have to be restrained.
"I ask you once again, Lieutenant, before we begin: Do you give your consent?"
He'd been completely silent as she bound him. His head drooped forward, hiding his face, but at this he lifted it.
She thought she had never seen such despair.
"I consent."
More words stood on her tongue, but she swallowed them. He already knew that it was going to be one of the worst experiences of his entire existence.
She leaned forward. Her fingers came to rest lightly on his psi points. "My mind to your mind…"
A shudder ran through him.
"My thoughts to your thoughts…"
Resistance. Desperate, fearful. It had been bad last time. This time was worse. Now he knew how strong she was, how hard she could push. Knew how far she intended to go.
"Our minds are merging…"
Our minds are one would have been farcical, unless one was used in the term of one single vortex of conflict. During her kahs-wan T'Pol had witnessed a fight between two male sehlats competing for territory; there had been moments when it had been utterly impossible to distinguish one animal from the other, so closely were they locked in a battle that must end in the death of one of them.
Suddenly, Reed began to struggle; wildly, blindly, trying to throw off her hand, trying to push away her thoughts. But he was too late, the castle wall was already breached, and she was mustering her forces to assault the keep itself.
"No!" He thrashed and kicked against his bonds, straining backwards so desperately it hardly seemed possible that his spine could survive intact. She followed him over perforce, their bodies pressed together so that she could feel the frantic thudding of his heart inside the chest that jerked spasmodically with every indrawn breath.
"Reed… Lieut… Re…Re….Jagu… No, no, NO!" He loosed off a tirade of filth. There was foam at the edge of his mouth. "Reed. Lieutenant. Malcolm. Reed. Lieutenant. Malcolm. Jaguar. Lieutenant. Malcolm. Fuck you. Reed. Lieutenant. Jaguar. Re … Ree…. Fuck you, get out of my head, bitch. Maguar, Mag, one hundred, ninety nine, Alfred the Great, Ethelred the Unready, Charles–" Abruptly his voice changed, became almost a wail: "Pard, help me!"
T'Pol too was almost gasping for breath. She was as much lying on him as against him by this time, and perspiration was running down her face. It was like carving a way through an iceberg, and every shard that shattered away cut into her flesh. The pain behind his cry lanced through her, momentarily making her pause; and in that moment the ice began reforming, and threatened to close on her like a thousand freezing knives.
But there was something there – something, entombed in the very heart of this hideous fortress. And she had to find it.
She cut deeper. Now he was beyond speech. Even his movements had become unstrung; he jerked in her grip as though transfixed by an intermittent electrical current. His head was up, but he no longer looked at her: his eyes were fixed wide open, staring into hell.
Our minds are one.
The cage.
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