18 Hadrian
He desperately tried to hold on to his stiff upper lip as his life came crashing down around him. Swaying slightly like a willow tree in a stiff breeze he absentmindedly listened to the explanation of healer Lorat. It was infuriatingly calm, clinical and void of emotion.
"I don't believe you," he growled, beside himself in grief and rage. "There she is, completely uninjured except for the bump on the head when she slumped over. If this is some skulduggery here, rest assured, I'll hunt you, I'll find you, I'll make your life so miserable, you'll be only too relieved to end it yourself. So get on with it, do something!"
Malcolm knew that accusing the Vulcan of deliberate wrong-doing was not entirely fair, but there was the detail that T'Pol had collapsed during their shower after a Suus Mahna training they had engaged in to take their minds off the fact that at the same time their loved ones were engaged in a deadly battle. Vulcans had a bit of a history of reacting irrationally if they were scandalized about one of their own. And T'Pol had scandalized her fellow Vulcans more than once. Taking a shower with a human or generally anyone who wasn't her mate certainly qualified.
"Threats of physical violence serve no purpose, Captain Reed," the Vulcan replied and calmly loaded a hypospray injector with a new vial. The Brit eyed him suspiciously. "Captain T'Pol suffers from a severed tel. Her medical record states quite clearly that you are informed about it."
"So she'll just die and you stand by doing nothing?" he replied angrily.
"There is nothing I can do, Captain. In most cases a Vulcan, who loses a tel falls into a healing trance. Captain T'Pol, however, has had previous neurological injuries. She must have tried to hold on to her life quite hard as evidenced by her hyper-stimulated neurological paths."
"She fights for her life. What's so unusual about that?" Malcolm snorted sarcastically, not taking his eyes off the hypospray.
"The hyper-stimulated neuro-paths are located in the pre-frontal cortex, not in the primary telepathic gyrus as would be expected. She did not fight to re-establish the tel, she fought with her intellect."
"And that kills her?"
"Having failed in her fight – to use one of your metaphors – she has lost the will to live."
"And there is nothing you can do?" Malcolm asked again, but anger gave way to despair. "Maybe we can give her a chance to fight again? I know for a fact that her intellect is not exactly weak."
"She has at most two days to live," the Doctor replied and a nauseating wave of agony washed through his mind. "If another Vulcan was to attempt a healing meld to share his or her life's energy, her life might be prolonged – a week, perhaps two – but I do not see which purpose that would serve."
It was over. The truth hit him and it hit him hard. Five years to build up a friendship so wonderful, he failed to comprehend how he had stood his life before. But now he found himself thrust back into that former life as his two friends died or were dying. There was a glimmer of hope that Hoshi had survived, but realistically, if the ship was damaged badly enough for the captain to die, how were the odds that someone else on the bridge survived? Maybe there wasn't even a ship anymore. The swaying returned as he hovered on the brink of consciousness, consumed by agony about the loss of his friends. Out of the corner of his eyes, before they closed, he saw the enemy approach him with a hypospray injector...
Precious is down... I must bring her home... I'm alone... I have to finish this mission on my own... The enemy... The drug...
His eyes flew open, every fiber in his body ready to mount a defensive attack. The assailant stopped, stunned into freezing by his piercing glance, emitted by a pair of lifeless, threatening gray eyes. Emotions securely locked, he pivoted and left sickbay in a purposeful stride as he started to plan his next step.
Hadrian was back!
=/\=
She wanted nothing more than abandon her post, run back down to the devastated battle bridge and dig him out with her bare hands, but her rank made that impossible. Lieutenant-Commander Hoshi Sato-Reed stood on the barely finished main bridge, overseeing their return to Salem One.
The engineering section under the ship's belly, home of Anna Hess's domain, and the battle bridge had been hit the hardest and no less than fifteen engineers had lost their life, but Trip's design had done its job. Engine and nacelles had survived the blast and Molotok was screaming back towards Coalition space at warp seven, overflowing with critically injured humans, Vulcans and Andorians from other ships. Every single one of them fought for his or her life and she wasn't going to lose this race.
Not a single one of them had left the carnage uninjured. Tholos was barely able to hold on to his console. His left antenna had to be amputated after it had been shredded by flying debris. Hoshi shivered as she remembered the agonized screams of the Andorian as he had the procedure done without anesthesia in a bid to remain at his post.
Travis was aboard Challenger being treated after his left arm had been severed by a falling ceiling panel. It had pained her to leave him behind, but the cynicism of war demanded that he make space for a critical case. At least he would live.
She could barely look out of her eyes as the pain in her abdomen threatened to incapacitate her. Some organ had packed up but she didn't care. Her left side of the head was wet with blood, her long hair soaked in the red liquid, but she stubbornly clung to the armrests of the captains chair.
Trip... The picture of her fallen friend haunted her. It had taken seven Vulcan males to lift the heavy support beam that had crushed him. Nausea hit her as she remembered the awkwardly twisted body of Trip, blood dripping out of nose, mouth and ears. And there was no word yet on the chances of his survival.
Not that Phlox would have time to send a status report...
Silently consciousness abandoned her and she slid off the chair shrouded in darkness.
=/\=
Soval helped the groaning matriarch into an armchair. He could plainly see that even the advanced Koh'linar techniques almost failed to reestablish her equilibrium. As a pivotal node in a complex web of clan-wide parental bonds and tels the Eldest had been impacted with the full force of the disturbance in the clan. Dozens of mates and parents were now grieving for one of theirs.
We interrupt our program for breaking news...
Soval noticed that the human broadcast was still showing and upon the sign of the Eldest he raised the sound volume slightly.
The press office of the United Coalition of Planets has confirmed that the United Coalition heavy cruiser Molotok under command of acting Captain Lieutenant-Commander Hoshi Sato-Reed has reported the successful conclusion of operation "Warrior's Prayer", the complete destruction of all Romulan warship building capacities.
Asked for details about the fate of mission commander Fleet Captain Charles Anthony Tucker III the office declined to provide details describing his condition as 'extremely critical'. Information about the number of casualties are not yet available. We will keep you up-to-date as news come in.
"Charles," he heard the Eldest whisper and Soval shivered slightly at the pain in her voice.
"Shall I summon a healer?" he asked trying to lend her some of his relative calm, even though he was greatly worried about T'Pol.
"Call T'Pau-kan," the matriarch ordered, still visibly trying to regain her composure."At this time she must be at the home of Charles's parents."
=/\=
T'Para's eyebrow twitched ever so slightly when the connection was established. T'Pau's eyes were discolored, surrounded by bizarre dark green rings. The fresh wipe marks all over her face made it obvious that she had been crying. There was not much positive to say about the current situation, but the fact that the young one had allowed herself to grieve in a way that befit her young age was a glimmer of hope during very dark times.
"T'Pol is dying," T'Pau said with a pained voice and without addressing the clan's matriarch as would be befitting her position. The Eldest ignored this violation of protocol and only nodded gravely.
"T'Pol is unusual and the humans have not yet reported his death. There are discrepancies in the facts provided. Seek permission to meld with T'Pol. Find out what happened in her last conscious moments. Pay attention to how and when the tel is severed."
"You believe him to be alive?" she heard the young one ask with hope in her voice.
"It is not impossible. A tel can be severed through other means than death. Find out, T'Pau-kan, time is of essence.
=/\=
He navigated the corridor, scanning each and every potential hiding place with a trained eye. But all he could see were pitiful crying crew members, who jumped out of his way if they were unfortunate enough to meet his glance. A group of people approached, being on the ship without permission, but he didn't care. They were just the people he needed for the next step in his plan.
Forcefully and without a word of explanation he grabbed the Vulcan by her arm and manhandled her along the way – away from her companions and towards sickbay.
"Meld!" he ordered and pointed at T'Pol's lifeless body after they had arrived in the infirmary. He saw the terror in her eyes. He was in control.
Before he could repeat his order he was spun around and his instinctive backhanded punch only narrowly missed one of the Vulcan's earlier companions – the old human woman.
"I don't care that you're Trip's friend," Charles growled in his face. "If you touch that girl one more time, you won't like the answer. What the hell is wrong with you? Get a grip boy or get out."
Every fiber in his body urged him to halt the verbal attack by grabbing the man's throat to silence him forever, but something in him, a nagging doubt that could cost him in a tight situation, stopped him. It was infuriating that he was going soft with age. 'Caesar' would have been appalled to see him so indecisive.
"Be quiet and let her meld!" Hadrian said and stared them into oblivion, ignoring the fact that he had made the woman cry. At least it gave her man something to do and distracted him from further intervention.
He watched the Vulcan go about her job and gasp loudly twice in the process. Good – whatever it was, she had found something.
"I must confer with the Eldest Mother," he heard the Vulcan report and she was looking appropriately fearful at him. He knew the look. It was the look of a being that had resigned itself to its fate. It was difficult to bring a Vulcan to that point. He would feel satisfied, but feelings were not in his creed.
"Go to your quarters, talk to her and report back within the hour," he ordered curtly and watched the Vulcan leave hurriedly.
"Now, just a moment, here," the annoying old man started.
"You should retire to your quarters as well," Hadrian interrupted him. "And if you prefer to remain unharmed, you would do well to stay there."
At least they saw reason and left... rather hurriedly.
=/\=
"You appear disturbed, child," the Eldest stated the obvious as T'Pau's face appeared on the screen.
"Her bond faded as you suspected. Without fluctuation it faded over a time of approximately seven point three-five seconds."
"It is then as I thought," the Eldest said gravely. "His mind is damaged, but alive. There is but one solution. We must bring T'Pol and myself to him. Only if I can connect the children even if only shortly, she can be saved from the darkness."
"What else upsets you, child?" the Eldest asked, while flicking a finger, which set Soval in motion to arrange transport.
"It's Malcolm," T'Pau admitted. "I sense a complete absence of empathy. His look, it is dead..."
The image of T'Pau disappeared and the Eldest sat back ever so slightly as the image of Malcolm appeared on her screen.
"That will quite be enough," she heard him say in a lifeless voice, staring at her with dead eyes. "We will arrive in seventy-two hours. You could spare yourself quite some inconvenience if you made yourself available. Do not bring more than one companion, who attends to your needs."
His image went as fast as it had intruded. For the first time in one hundred and seventy-nine years, her hands shook.
"Tehvar mugl'au..." she muttered in shock. "Dangerous darkness hath befallen thee."
"I need to speak with Solan," she ordered as Soval returned. "He is on their station."
=/\=
"I told you captain, I cannot allow you to go on a wild goose chase," Gardner said irritated, not quite understanding what Reed had in mind or why he was looking as if he was drugged. "And who the hell is 'Precious'?"
"She is down and if you don't get her back to the base, I will take her there."
"Captain or 'Hadrian' or whatever you like to call yourself," Gardner said and pressed a button under the table. "I don't know what you took or who you are. I have alerted Starfleet Security and you will surrender yourself to them at once."
"You have made your bed, lie down in it. Hadrian out."
The view screen went silent.
=/\=
"I have a working theory and we shall be in no danger from him," Solan addressed the little group. "But we must leave him in the belief that he is in complete control. Only the Eldest can save him."
The little group was huddled together in a recycling depot, one of the very few places on Jupiter station without surveillance cameras.
"We don't even know what he needs savin' from," Charles Tucker snorted. "For all we know, he went bat-shit crazy."
"Captain Reed appears to be suffering from something called 'dangerous darkness'," the Vulcan professor explained and T'Pau gasped audibly, before hiding her mouth in shame about her lapse. "It appears Captain Reed is a victim of one of the most unspeakable crimes imaginable. He is a former operative for an organization that itself is shrouded in mystery is he not?"
He saw T'Pau nod. As the former First Minister she had some information not available widely. "Even the V'Shar has less than complete knowledge of them. They name themselves 'Section 31'."
"The old V'Las administration was suspected to induce the dangerous darkness to condition operatives. It appears that this organization has acquired this technique."
"He has been brainwashed?" Feezal asked and Solan saw a look of genuine concern for her captain in the alien female's face.
"Brainwashing does not begin to describe the unspeakable atrocity that has been done to Captain Reed."
"So what does it mean?" the human woman asked.
"He was given a second katra, a satanic soul, as humans would say. It is triggered by certain conditions and void of emotion."
"How can you know all that?" the female's mate asked.
"Mr. Tucker, Vulcans are a long-lived species. Before I became an engineer I had a long career with the V'Shar until I resigned in disgust about their methods that were developed under the V'Las administration."
"Can you cure him?"
"I do not know, but I am willing to try if it becomes necessary."
=/\=
Hadrian walked up and down the line of people, who had surrendered to him instead of obeying his command to abandon ship, like the rest of the crew. Normally such insubordination would call for drastic measures that none of the people before him were prepared for, but on second thought they were useful. He could have flown the ship by himself, automating most of the functions, but having the option to offload some tasks gave him space to man the tactical console should fighting become necessary.
The Vulcans Solan and T'Len and the old father of Tucker could man engineering, although he would have to keep a close eye on them. He pointed at them and sent them on their way with the stern warning that the Andorian would die should they have any ideas of sabotaging the mission.
The Andorian, Trok, well not that he could run. His leg was in a cast and the other Vulcan, T'Pau had carried him here. Normally he wouldn't employ the services of a cripple, but he could pilot the ship, so it was a task he wouldn't have to do himself. The Vulcan sat him down in the seat and Hadrian could see that the Andorian didn't dare touch anything without being ordered to do so.
"I've heard Vulcans can meld and share their energy?" he asked the young Vulcan. She nodded silently.
"Then do so." Looking at the Denobulan, he added: "And you mix something up that keeps us awake. The Vulcans manage three days with out sleep. The rest of us needs help. And make sure it doesn't have any unfortunate side-effects. It will be tested on the Andorian and the old woman first."
The Denobulan nodded and left with the Vulcan. The young pointy-eared one did have quite a shaggable bottom. Maybe she could make herself useful once Precious was back home on base. It was an option to keep in mind. It had been a while...
"And you, I believe know where the galley is," he addressed Tucker's mother. "This lot needs to be kept fed. Get on with it."
He watched her leave before sitting down in the big chair.
"Take us out Andorian, two-four-five mark eight. Once we've shot our way past the defensive perimeter, set course for Vulcan, warp five-five."
=/\=
"He's good, isn't he?" Harris said, looking at the surveillance console as the stolen ship neared the defensive perimeter near Pluto. "Only Hadrian would snuff out the only weak link in the thing."
"You've destroyed him," Falkner said in disgust and pondered just stabbing the prick through his shabby leather jacket. "Malcolm was the best pupil I ever had. He would have been the best we had even without letting that slimeball Tarok scramble his brain. You made him schizophrenic, you fucking made him sick!"
"He was a liability with his aquaphobia, you know that. He would have botched the mission on Cardassia with his fear of water."
Falkner moved quickly and lifted Harris out of his char, holding him to the wall by the collar, his feet a meter off the ground.
"Regretting that you let Soong do a number on my strength, Harris?" he taunted the helpless man. "I've met Malcolm a couple of times lately. He is married. That's the furthest any of the men you let Tarok mind-rape ever recovered. All others died completely wrecked or just offed themselves."
"You will regret that," Harris said once he was back in his chair, but Falkner just laughed.
"Harris, what do you want to do? Send one of your new-recruit limp-dicks to kill me? I was only ever beaten by one man – Malcolm. And that was before you let Tarok have his way with him. And that scumbag can't help you now. I vaguely remember that the asshole had a bit of an accident with a Meth'let."
"The handle of which was in your hand," Harris added sarcastically.
"Really tragic, this. Now, put the Pluto satellites in maintenance mode," Falkner demanded, pointing the business end of a disruptor at Harris.
"Why should I do that?"
"Because that decides how you die. Be a nice asshole and take the satellites down and you may choose a nice painless method of suicide. The alternative is, that I poke you with this disruptor and I've killed people with it before. It made a Gorn weep in agony and those things make a Klingon look like a pussy."
He watched as Harris put the satellites in routine maintenance mode, deactivating them for the next hour.
"Now about this disagreement," the pitiful jerk asked, but Falkner just pulled the trigger, watching Harris dissolve into vapor, screaming at the top of his lungs as the deadly fire ate him from the inside out in slow agony.
"Too bad for you that I'm a lying prick, but you always liked us that way" Falkner said, disdain dripping from his voice. He sniffed the air after nothing more than a faint burn mark on the ground was left of Harris.
"Mh, smells like chicken."
=/\=
They arrived in orbit around Vulcan and for some reason none of their ships made any move to intercept them. It was time to increase his attention to detail. Things had gone way too smoothly for comfort. First the Pluto satellites shut down in just the right moment and now the Vulcans were unexpectedly reluctant to repel an unauthorized intruder.
He had learned how to smell a fish.
The Pluto satellites could only be Harris's work. The idiot and his obsession with favors and repaying them were all too easy to exploit. Although he didn't know which favor it was that had be repaid. He had done him so many...
Hadrian shook his head. This was not the time to dwell on details. He pushed up the transporter controls. Two figures materialized on the pad, so that meant the old bat had kept to the two person restriction. Silently the blade retracted back into it's sheath in his sleeve, well hidden behind the transporter console.
The companion was none other than the Vulcan head honcho Soval himself. Well that explained the inactivity of the Vulcan fleet. Getting the Vulcan First Minister as a hostage was just too good to be true and Hadrian's senses went on high alert.
"Peace and long live, captain..."
"Hadrian, call me Hadrian."
=/\=
It happened in a fraction of a second. As soon as Soval had raised his arm, a blade had appeared from the humans sleeve and slashed across Soval's abdomen. The Eldest Mother rued her advanced age as she could not even move fast enough to catch Soval after, under grave pain he had managed to incapacitate the human with a nerve pinch.
Fortuitously the human – his real katra consumed by the dangerous darkness had fallen for Soval's ruse that she take over providing energy for T'Pol. They were near sickbay and a verbal call for help summoned a Denobulan female, who managed to stabilize Soval.
T'Para had often admonished Soval for his tardiness in keeping his aging body in better shape, but this time his portly build, otherwise a reason for criticism, had saved vital organs. No doubt Soval would welcome this as a reason to ward off further advice on the matter.
Slowly she helped the Denobulan direct the barely conscious Soval onto a biobed, while the unconscious body of the captain was brought in effortlessly by Solan, for whom this presented no challenge, even though he was only forty years her junior. Unlike Soval however, the second oldest male in the clan kept up a strict – brutal as some younger krei claimed – regular training regime. In a battle of strength he would surely prevail over many younger males in the clan.
=/\=
T'Para entered the dark cave, slowly and steadily. In her mind she was not hindered by the frailty of her over two centuries old body. Her katra was unaffected by the many years of her existence.
He sat near a fire, his lifeless, dead gray eyes taxing her with seemingly little interest. He slowly sharpened his blade and showed no sign of feeling threatened by her arrival. Her keen eye however registered the minuscule flinching of his face muscles. He was presenting a facade.
She inspected her surroundings, who seemed specifically designed to induce fear. The ground was littered with skulls of various species. Humans, Vulcans, Gorn, Klingons – that were just the ones she could identify without any further inspection. Some of them had most certainly not endured a merciful death, seeing as their hides in various stages of destruction were hanging on the wall.
"As you can see, it is not the smartest idea to cross me," she heard him say and looked into the direction the tip of his blade was pointed. It indicated a particularly gruesomely mangled pile of remains.
"The last Vulcan, who tried what you came here for," he continued to explain. His voice was void of emotions. He spoke unsympathetically as if he was referring to a minuscule change in the weather patterns outside. "You should not have come here, old woman. Precious will not be best pleased by what I'll have to do to you. As you Vulcans don't seem to get the hint, I'll have to make my statement a mite less subtle than with Lokar."
Again he pointed at the unspeakably mangled Vulcan remains, but she was unaffected by his posturing.
"You consume what is not yours to possess," she stated firmly and weighed the lirpa in her hands, ready to strike.
He slowly stood, his long blade held firmly in his right arms. Slowly they started circling the fire, taxing each other.
"I did not consume anything," he said evenly. "I made use of what would otherwise be wasted. This body was given to a pitiful wimp, who amuses himself ogling a perfect Vulcan arse instead of shagging the daylights out of it."
"This is why I shall not have to fight you for long," T'Para announced, spinning the lirpa in a provocative gesture of fearlessness. It was a deliberate opening in her defenses that he – as she predicted – failed to use for a decisive first strike. "You are already defeated – by him."
"Look around you, old bat," he snorted derisively, showing a first glimpse of emotion. "Ask that Nausicaan or the Cardassian fellow over there how much of a chance they got to fight me. And you are seriously trying to tell me I'll be beaten by a limp-dick, who can't even hand out punishment to a chap, who ogles his naked wife while 'playing cards'? You must be joking!"
"You were made of his weaknesses," the Eldest replied evenly. "I've seen both your katras. The Malcolm of the past had no use for women other than sate his carnal desires. He was jealous, unable to make sense of his emotions and unable to form long-lasting relationships with other people. He was lonely, just as you."
Her opponent merely snorted.
"He has overcome these weaknesses. He has most loyal friends and his strength is preventing you from having your wish. You think you are in control, but he keeps you from going through with your most atrocious plans."
"Well, fuck me sideways. Enough of the talk, Vulcan, fight!" he swung his blade at her, but it was a desperate lunge and she easily parried it. Instead of hitting her, he hissed, having burned his arm in the fire.
"I am fighting you Hadrian, and I might add, I seem to be winning. Precious is still alive, yet unable to mount a defense. Why did you not 'shag' her derrière? Instead you risk your life to bring her back to her fallen husband? Is it the absence of humiliation? Is it because she cannot beg for mercy as you abuse her body? Or is it, because you can't overcome the respect and, yes, maybe even affection, Malcolm has developed for the wife of his friend?"
The control over his emotions was gone from her opponent. The katra of Malcolm had joined the fight. Hadrian was battling two opponents now. He lunged forward again with little control and only managed to burn himself once again instead of hitting her.
"Why did you not stay where you were told to stay and let the injuries end the life of the man who enjoyed the beauty of your wife's physique during recreational activities? Are you by any chance unable to overcome the trust Malcolm has in his chosen? Are you perhaps overcome by the friendship between the males and the inherent trust they have in each other not to overstep the boundaries of propriety?"
"F-fight you annoying old witch," he growled, unsteady on his feat, overcome by rage at his own ineffective fight.
"You concentrate on the intimate details Hadrian, but you miss the largest wound in your dark mind," she taunted him in a calm, measured voice. "The intimate details are a mere side-effect of the spear in your dark heart. Malcolm has overcome his loneliness, the very fabric of your existence, which made it increasingly harder for you to possess his mind. You are defeated. The Malcolm you once took possession of no longer exists and he is overcoming your influence ."
"FIGHT, you pointy-eared gob shite," her opponent screamed, but suddenly he started to sway.
She looked on as the representation of the battered dark katra was pushed from behind and fell screaming into the fire.
"Bugger off, you bloody tosser," Malcolm swore taking the lirpa from her. "You might want to retire now, madam. I have a hunch your sense of smell will be a serious inconvenience very soon."
With an accepting nod, she retracted from his mind. The last thing she saw was a large cloud of pitch-black smoke as Malcolm used the lirpa to hold down the representation of the katra named 'Hadrian' as it was ablaze and burned to death amid screams of agony.
=/\=
Feezal didn't know where to start. The barely conscious Vulcan woman had fallen backwards after the mind-meld, while the still unconscious body of the captain spasmed wildly on the biobed.
"We have the smallest crew in the galaxy," the Denobulan groaned, her trademark smile having gone into recession. "But somehow half my biobeds are occupied."
"Do not sedate him, under any circumstances!" she heard the other Vulcan's warning as she was loading up a hypospray injector.
Looking around she watched how he put the old woman down on a biobed, but her attention was drawn away when the body of the captain went limp and stopped moving. The silence in the room was deafening as only the occasional beep from Soval's monitoring equipment pierced the complete absence of any sounds in the room.
"Not bad for a bloody old pointy-eared bat."
T'Para's dry assessment, delivered in a perfect imitation of the captain's accent took everyone by surprise and Feezal couldn't hold back her laughter anymore when a completely politically incorrect, amused snort sounded from behind the privacy screen around Minister Soval's biobed.