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§ 3 §
T'Pol watched the sensor readings scroll on her screen. This was the third time she was scanning the planet, something that went against all reason. But while she waited for the ship's geologists to give her an analysis of the dust they had collected from Lieutenant Reed's uniform, she supposed she could try one more time, in case Archer's biosigns, much like their owner, didn't follow logic and had unexpectedly reappeared. They hadn't, she saw. The reasonable conclusion was that the Captain was either somewhere down there but sensors could not read him, or no longer on the planet. Of course there was also a third possibility, that he might have been disintegrated by whatever force had thrown Lieutenant Reed to the ground; but she chose to disregard it, for the time being.
From what the sensors told her, there was no life on the planet, aside from micro-organisms and Commander Tucker's team. There was, on the other hand, an artefact that kept giving out an automated signal, and which, according to Lieutenant Reed, had given out a high-pitched sound just before the displacement field had hit them.
T'Pol lifted her eyes from her instruments and turned to Sato. The young linguist sat with her eyes closed and both hands over her ears, compellingly focussed on the work at hand.
"Ensign," T'Pol said, loud enough to break her concentration. The almond eyes opened. "Have you made any progress in deciphering the automated signal?"
Sato reached a control button on her panel, her mouth twitching unhappily. "This is like no language I've ever come across. It's the strangest thing: I'm not even entirely sure whether the same message is repeating or not," she said in frustration. "I think there are changes in the sounds, but they are so subtle that unless you're totally focussed it's easy to miss them. And, irrelevant change after irrelevant change, soon I'm going to end up with a message that is no longer what it was when I first started listening to it." Another smirk of displeasure crossed her features. "There definitely are repeating patterns. At least I think so..." The linguist bit her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Subcommander."
"You do not need to apologise, Ensign," T'Pol commented. Humans, in her experience, tended to spend too much energy 'feeling sorry', either for themselves or other people. "Feeling sorry will not help you," she added. She had meant it as a useful suggestion but, to her surprise, Sato's face turned almost resentful.
"I cannot help it," she said tersely. "Captain Archer's life might hang on my ability to decipher that signal."
Before T'Pol could say anything to that, a light on Sato's console started flashing.
"Commander Tucker is hailing from the planet's surface," the Linguist said. Without delay she established a link.
"Report, Commander," T'Pol ordered.
"T'Pol, there's nothin' here, other than that weird obelisk and dust."
Trip's voice was dispirited.
"Proceed to take samples of the ground, for traces of DNA."
T'Pol noticed her fellow crewmen react to the words. Ensign Mayweather turned abruptly to her, worry clear in his eyes. Sato lowered her gaze and frowned slightly. Across the bridge, Ensign Müller, Reed's Second, stopped what he was doing and shot her a look. Commander Tucker's silence was also quite telling.
The intensity of the Bridge crew's emotions crashed against her like a tidal wave.
"Alright," the Engineer answered grimly after a beat. "I'll have a few small containers ready to be beamed up in a moment."
Müller was out of his chair almost before T'Pol could raise a finger to indicate he should proceed to the transporter room.
"And after, I'm gonna see if I can scan that thing," Tucker's voice continued.
"Understood."
From Enterprise they had not been able to penetrate the obelisk, and it would indeed be useful to collect some information on the reason for their present predicament. The Commander, however, was an impetuous individual, and T'Pol found herself warning, with enough urgency to carry through the comm. link, "Do keep at a safe distance at all times, Commander."
"Care to tell me just what a safe distance might be?"
T'Pol had to admit that the objection was quite valid. "Indeed I have no parameters for determining it, but–"
"Are you sayin' I oughtta use my gut feelin'?"
"Merely that you should exercise caution," T'Pol said, ignoring the sarcastic tone. "We know the Captain triggered that displacement field when he was right beside the obelisk."
"Yeah, well, don't worry," the disembodied voice came back. "I don't wanna end up knocked on my butt. Or worse. Tucker out."
T'Pol heaved a deep, steadying, breath. Worry was not something she would experience, but for some reason her stomach muscles had contracted.
Forty minutes on the planet had been more time that he would ever care to spend on such a God-forsaken place. Trip closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the wall of the decon chamber. He and the two security men who had accompanied him had been sitting there in silence for the past few minutes.
Hell, he could feel that red dust even up his nose. And though breathable, the air on the surface was not rich in oxygen, which had made it a tiring away mission. It had also been a rather fruitless trip.
"You're free to go," Phlox's voice finally said. "No unwanted surprises."
Trip's eyes flashed open and he pushed to his feet. He needed to report to T'Pol, and craved for a long shower that would restore him to his original colour of skin; but since he was near sickbay he might as well see how Malcolm was. Maybe he had remembered something else in the meantime.
The moment he crossed the threshold, the man in question started pushing up in bed to a straighter position, grey eyes boring into him.
Trip jerked his head towards the occupied biobed. "Do you mind, Doc?"
Phlox heaved a resigned breath. "Go ahead."
"Any news?" Malcolm asked while Trip was still approaching.
He looked a lot better than when Trip had last seen him, though his eyes were darkly rimmed and a large bandage covered part of the back of his head, while a bruise had appeared on his temple.
"Not really," Trip admitted. "We scanned the surface and got samples of the ground." The expression that fleeted across Malcolm's face confirmed that he didn't need to explain why. "No news, good news," he added, digging deep to find a bit of his famous optimism.
Malcolm pursed his lips. "I'd prefer some news, if only because we might be ordered to take the ship lightyears away from here."
"So you've heard about that," Trip commented despondently. He watched something dark flit across the other man's eyes.
"Actually, no. I was hoping it was just my pessimism speaking." Malcolm licked his lips. "How long have we got?"
"Must be down to twenty hours, by now."
"What? That's ridiculously little time," Malcolm exclaimed in outrage. His eyes roamed over Trip. "What have you found on the planet?"
Trip snorted in bitter sarcasm. "What does it look like?" He raked a hand through his hair. "Dust. There's nothing else there. I tried to get some readings off that damn obelisk but it's no use: our scanners can't penetrate it, whatever it is. All I can tell is that it's made of some kind of metal. And it doesn't look like a type of ore that is found on the planet."
"If that artefact isn't from the planet then its signal might very well be a distress call," Malcolm reasoned, more animatedly. He warily eyed Phlox, who had shot a look in their direction, and continued, in a lower voice, "If we can prove it's a distress call, Enterprise will be allowed to stay in orbit. It will buy us time."
"I'm sure Hoshi's givin' it all she has. But that signal might be anythin'," Trip countered. "And from what happened to you and the Capt'n, I'd say that thing is more like a defense mechanism."
Malcolm frowned. "I've got to get out of here," he muttered resolutely, already moving.
"Easy, Malcolm." Trip caught his wrist as he was about to throw his sheet back. "Not too long ago you were virtually incoherent."
"Well, now I'm fine," Malcolm insisted. "We have precious little time and you need my help," he added, almost confrontationally.
Malcolm's stubbornness was well-known, as was his loyalty to the Captain and crew. But Trip knew there was something else making the man so eager to get into action.
"It wasn't your fault," he said quietly. Malcolm broke free from his grip and averted his gaze.
Before either of them could speak, Phlox was there.
"Is there a problem?" he asked.
Malcolm turned abruptly and zoned in on him. "Yes, there is a problem," he said in that low voice of his, where vocal chords hardly seemed to vibrate. "The Captain cannot be found, and we have twenty hours to discover what has happened to him, before the ship will be ordered to break orbit." Under Phlox's disapproving gaze, he threw his sheet back and his legs over the edge of the bed. "As I am sure you understand, Doctor, under the circumstances I cannot waste any more time in sickbay."
Phlox cast a quick glance at Trip, who raised his hands in a defensive gesture. "Don't look at me like that, Doc: I didn't do anythin', I swear."
A second later a medical scanner was buzzing over Malcolm. Phlox checked the readings in silence. Finally he spoke. "In light of the current emergency, I will let you return to light duty," he said, stressing the adjective. "Remember, Mister Reed: nothing physical, and nothing strenuous, of any sort. I expect you to take frequent breaks, and to come to sickbay immediately should you experience any symptoms, especially disorientation, nausea, or headache."
"Understood. Thank you, Doctor." Malcolm gingerly let himself slip off the biobed, readily stretching his neck to receive whatever shot Phlox had ready for him.
His movements were a bit too cautious for someone who claimed to be fine, but Trip remembered that Phlox had mentioned bruises; indeed the man was lucky to be still in one piece, from what Trip had seen of the sensors' recording of that explosion. And deep in his heart he was glad that they could count on one more bright mind to help them unravel the mystery. For he would consider this a mystery until he could still hold a thread of hope; he would refuse to acknowledge the fear that Archer, his friend and Captain, might be gone forever.
"I'll take a quick shower and then I'll be on the Bridge," Trip told Malcolm as they walked along the corridor. The man had been in silence since they had left Sickby. Trip turned to look at him. "Will you be ok?" he asked, noticing his corrugated expression.
"Have we got a recording of the incident?" Malcolm enquired in turn, oblivious to Trip's words.
"Yeah, though not a visual one. And that dust partially blocks readings, so don't expect high definition."
"I'll be in the Armoury, checking it out," Malcolm said.
They separated without further words, each following his heavy train of thoughts.
TBC