"Several have lost their feet and will not regain them."
Ensign Sato shook her head in frustration—that couldn't be right, could it?—and successfully resisted the urge to smack the comm panel with her fist. When she'd first heard the faint, distorted message Hoshi had thought it might be some obscure Klingon dialect, but the cadence was wrong. Klingon had a guttural, brusque sound to it, and though this language possessed a similar throaty quality and much of the clipped abruptness of Klingon there was an almost musical trilling, chirping sound to much of it. When she'd played a bit of the message for the subcommander to see if the language sounded familiar to her, both of T'Pol's eyebrows had shot upward in obvious surprise and what Hoshi thought looked almost like a nanosecond of alarm. The Vulcan had consulted the computer for a few seconds before suggesting that Hoshi try accessing the G'l Benai language samples in the Vulcan Database.
Hoshi thought it had been a match until this most recent segment, toward the end of the transmission, had finally yielded to the translator. She tried to eliminate more of the interference before running that section through the translator again, and got the same result: "Several have lost their feet and will not regain them." Going back to the beginning of the message, Hoshi cleaned it up as much as she could and ran the whole thing through the translator, hoping that something there would give meaning to the strange statement. She had to run it once more before the entire message was successfully converted into English.
With a relieved sigh Sato at last met the expectant gaze of her captain. "Sir, I've got a translation of the whole message. It's a distress call." At a nod from the captain she began the playback.
A deep, surprisingly calm growling male voice filled the bridge, sounds of small explosions and circuits sizzling audible in the background. "This is civilian transport Koshneer. We have come under attack within the perimeter, by Human vessel designated Cobalt. Shielding has failed, weapons offline. Engines inoperative. Life support failure is imminent. Several have lost their feet and will not regain them. Immediate assistance requested. Advise the Council of Generals that a threat to the people exists—the Humans may remain within the perimeter. Possibility of invasion exists." There was another explosion, far louder than the others, and a woman's howling scream, then silence.
"Open a channel," Archer ordered. Hoshi nodded and the captain addressed the G'l Benai. "Koshneer, this is Captain Jonathan Archer of the starship Enterprise. We are trying to pinpoint your location so we can assist you. Please respond."
After a brief silence a woman's voice came through. "Scout vessel VekCha'a to Koshneer. Assistance unavailable. Status update."
"Koshneer to VekCha'a." Much of the calmness was gone now, replaced by tense, barely contained fury. Circuitry continued frying in the background. "Life support has failed—less than ten minutes atmosphere remaining. Helm control gone. Propulsion gone. Primary shields offline. Secondary shields restored. Torpedoes restored, manual launch only. Two remain to provide cover fire for escape vehicles. " His voice leveled, taking on an air of reverence. "Three crew and four passengers have gone to dwell with the Ancestors so far. Probable that we shall soon join them. Avenge us."
"Hoshi—all channels," Archer demanded urgently. "This is Enterprise—we are available to assist you."
"Captain," Lieutenant Reed interrupted, "I believe I've found them. At top speed we can be there in about an hour."
Archer turned to Ensign Sato, his voice urgent. "Hoshi…anything?"
She shook her head. "As far as I can tell they are receiving us, sir. They're just not responding."
With a frustrated sigh he demanded, "Try again. This is Enterprise calling civilian transport Koshneer. We have received your distress signal and are en route to assist you."
A few seconds later they heard the woman's voice again. "VekCha'a to Koshneer. Message from Council as follows: Assistance unavailable. Defensive protocols enacted. We grieve with you and mourn your loss. Live with honor, die on your feet. Know that your deaths shall be avenged and your kinsmen shall feast on your attackers."
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"The G'l Benai are a felinoid, militaristic, warrior species." T'Pol brought up a computer-generated image on the forward viewscreen showing a sleek muscular humanoid with distinctly leonine characteristics, with short tawny fur and thick black mane, clad in high-collared body armor and holding a large sword with a sickle-like curve at the last third of the blade. "Their average height is two-point-one to two-point-three meters," the Vulcan informed them. "There are variations in their markings, with some G'l Benai having spots and others stripes, as well as those whose fur is solidly colored. They possess claws three to five centimeters long as well as fangs that are seven to ten centimeters in length. Their weaponry includes swords, daggers, and plasma rifles carried in holsters on their backs. There are unconfirmed reports of some G'l Benai soldiers making use of spears and bows and arrows. Our information indicates that in most cases they prefer either hand-to-hand combat or their more primitive weapons."
"Doesn't seem like a bow and arrow or a dagger would be much of a match against a phase pistol, or any other energy weapons for that matter," Archer observed, leaning forward in his chair as he stared intently at the screen.
"They are not," T'Pol agreed. "However, the G'l Benai are known not only for their strength but also for speed and stealth. An energy weapon is of little use if one does not have the opportunity to use it. From what we know of them, the G'l Benai view the use of archaic weaponry to be a display of battle prowess, with plasma rifles being used either for long-range battles or against foes they deem to be unworthy of what they believe to be an honorable death."
Lt. Reed smirked. "They must get along famously with the Klingons."
"As a matter of fact, they do not," the subcommander corrected him, either missing or ignoring the attempted jest. "A number of years ago the Klingons attempted to annex a small section of G'l Benai space. The G'l Benai successfully drove them out and have considered the Klingons to be mortal enemies ever since. There is also a fierce and longstanding enmity toward Orions and Nausicans, and several skirmishes between the G'l Benai and Andorians have been reported.
"Vulcans have had only one direct encounter with them. Several years ago one of our survey ships entered their territory and was disabled and boarded in a matter of minutes—the G'l Benai possess transporter technology and were able to beam their soldiers to critical areas of the ship simultaneously, leaving little opportunity for successful resistance. I've accessed the visual file of the incident from the Vulcan Database." T'Pol paused to punch a command into the computer and the viewscreen sprang to life, showing the bridge crew of the Vulcan ship being set upon by G'l Benai soldiers.
The sound was deafening, the felinoid soldiers' roaring almost—but not quite—drowning out the shouts of the Vulcans. Although the soldiers carried rifles in holsters on their backs none used them, opting instead to fight hand-to-hand. When the Vulcan helmsman tried to aid his captain one of the younger soldiers leapt upon him. The helmsman got in several solid blows, actually seeming to gain ground for a moment before the staggered G'l Benai regained his balance. In an instant he lunged forward with a snarl and snapped his jaws together right next to the Vulcan's head, leaving a gaping, bloody hole where the helmsman's ear had been.
The G'l Benai soldiers soon towered victoriously over the bridge crew, roaring triumphantly. Their leader, who looked almost identical to the image T'Pol had used earlier, silenced the cacophony with a single shout before seizing the kneeling, bloodied captain by the throat and lifting him effortlessly from the floor. An expression of ecstasy came over the G'l Benai's face as he licked the blood from the Vulcan's lacerated temple, growling low.
T'Pol paused the playback before speaking. "As you can see, the G'l Benai possess exceptional strength, speed, and agility. And they are apparently as…harsh…with their own people as they are with outsiders," she told them before resuming the playback:
"First Tactical," the G'l Benai captain barked, tossing the Vulcan captain into the nearest chair, "Report." He spared a moment to warn the Vulcan, "Move from there and your crew dies."
A voice crackled over the communications headset their leader was wearing. "My captain, no other intruder vessels visible in the area."
The captain nodded, satisfied, before shouting again. "Second Tactical!" The young G'l Benai who had bitten off the helmsman's ear stepped forward, bowing low before snapping to attention in front of his leader. The captain surveyed with approval the green blood staining the man's reddish-brown muzzle before continuing. "Appraisal?"
"There could still be another vessel—it could be camouflaged, awaiting an opening to attack."
"Would they stand and do nothing while we lay waste to this vessel?"
"It is possible, my captain. If this vessel is merely a decoy, they could consider it disposable. Indeed, it may even be their intention to sacrifice this vessel in order to gain an advantage. Without knowing more about these…creatures…and their motives for invading our territory, it is impossible to know for certain."
Mulling over the possibilities, the captain came to a decision. "Second Tactical, access their computer and transmit data to First Tactical—I want to know everything about these creatures and the reason for their incursion."
Second Tactical vaulted to the computer console and set to work, retrieving a scanner from his belt and checking the console. A frustrated sigh escaped from him a moment later.
His captain frowned. "Is there a problem, Second Tactical?"
"Slight difficulty comprehending the controls, my captain. A few moments—" An ominous click interrupted him, and Second Tactical looked up to see that his captain had drawn his rifle from its holster.
The captain thumbed a switch on the butt of the rifle and the weapon hummed to life. "You have thirty seconds to resolve the difficulty before I have to start looking for a new Second Tactical," he warned. Second Tactical merely nodded then turned his full attention to his work.
"Twenty seconds," the captain said, casually flicking off the safety. His officer seemed not to hear him, but several of the warriors nearest Second Tactical fearfully moved away. Ignoring them the young man continued working, fingers gracefully flying over the console.
"Ten seconds," the captain growled in annoyance. Moving toward his officer, he pressed the thick barrel of the energy weapon into the center of Second Tactical's forehead, nudging the man's head back several centimeters. Without looking up the lieutenant slowly curled the fingers of his left hand around the barrel of the rifle and moved it, repositioning the barrel so that the muzzle rested on the bridge of his nose squarely between his eyes.
Baring his teeth the captain wrapped his finger around the trigger. "Five."
Another two seconds passed before Second Tactical spoke. "Transmitting, sir," he reported, his voice almost tranquil.
Although he moved his finger away from the trigger the captain kept the weapon trained on the young man's face. "Explain your reason for handling my weapon," he demanded, voice low and ominous.
Second Tactical cautiously raised his head and gazed at his commanding officer. His voice was soft but unwavering as he answered. "My captain, given the known recoil of the weapon, the possibility existed that the position was inadequate to insure a clean kill. If that occurred, it would have called into question the excellent marksmanship of my captain, which would have been unacceptable." The captain pondered this a moment before nodding and chuckling with satisfaction, lowering the rifle.
The G'l Benai captain's communicator crackled again. "First Tactical reporting, my captain. Information we are receiving seems to be predominantly scientific in nature," he reported, 'scientific' being said with undisguised disgust. "Minimal tactical or military information. Their species is apparently called 'Vahl-khan'."
"That is correct," the Vulcan captain said. "We are—"
The G'l Benai captain seized the Vulcan's throat in his massive left hand and easily lifted the strangling man from the chair.
"You were not granted permission to speak, Vahl-khan," the G'l Benai captain snarled. "Since you are obviously an uneducated species, I will overlook such a breach—but only once. If there is another such display of insolence," he threatened, raising the rifle still clutched in his right hand, "you will die on your knees." With that he let go, dropping the Vulcan unceremoniously back into the chair. Aiming the rifle at the empty chair in front of the helm he squeezed off a single shot, smiling as the bolt of energy explosively shattered the chair into dust. "Do you comprehend?" he snarled. The Vulcan captain nodded wordlessly, and the G'l Benai powered down the rifle. Second Tactical's scanner chirped.
"Second Tactical reporting, my captain. Transfer complete."
"Good. Step forward, Second Tactical." After securing the scanner to his belt the lieutenant leapt over the console, landing almost silently in front of his captain and coming to stiff attention. "Explain to me, Second Tactical, the delay in accessing their computer."
"My captain, I had some small difficulty due to the console's unfamiliar configuration and language."
And do you deem the delay to have been acceptable?"
"No, my captain," the young man replied without hesitation.
"Clarify—why was it unacceptable?"
"Sir, if there had been a second vessel laying in ambush, the delay would have given them ample opportunity to launch a counterattack, endangering the lives of my captain and his crew. My delay was contrary to the demands of my duty to protect my captain and his crew."
"You have held your new rank and position for only a few days, so I hesitate to bring disciplinary action." The captain paused, weighing his options.
After a short silence Second Tactical spoke. "Apologies my captain, but…I would speak." The captain nodded wordlessly so Second Tactical continued. "Discipline must be maintained. My failure endangered all of you. The number of days that I have held my rank and position is irrelevant—leniency breeds dishonor."
Apparently satisfied with this reply the captain nodded before swinging the butt of his rifle around. It connected full-force against the left side of Second Tactical's head, sending the young man sailing across the bridge. Dazed and bleeding he struggled to his feet, only realizing his mistake when he was knocked backward by a savage blow delivered full in the face. The rifle still holstered on his own back slammed painfully into his spine as he landed, knocking the air out of his lungs. He lay perfectly still, gasping for breath.
Finally the captain spoke. "Now you may get up. And do not forget to retrieve that," he added, pointing to a bloody incisor on the deck. As Second Tactical struggled uneasily to his feet, the captain holstered his rifle as he turned his attention back to the Vulcans. Snarling, he delivered an ultimatum: "You will return to where you came from, or we will send you where you belong."
The screen went black. Archer had trouble finding his voice at first; when he finally spoke his voice was almost too soft to be heard. "How many fatalities on the Vulcan ship?"
"Amazingly, none, though several dozen were critically injured. It is believed that the attack was merely a warning against future incursions into G'l Benai space." She aimed a meaningful look at the captain. "We have respected their wishes and stay clear of their territory."
"They get that helmsman's ear reattached okay?" Trip asked.
T'Pol shook her head. "There was nothing to reattach. Apparently, it was…ingested. Several others throughout the ship suffered similar injuries—one other ear, some fingers, one hand which, though not entirely ingested was too badly damaged to be repaired, and, if I recall correctly, a nose."
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He bloody well didn't like it. In light of what T'Pol had shown them going after these G'l Benai was damned near suicidal but Captain Archer, who had already made up his mind to help these people, had oh-so-politely dismissed his concerns about the potential hazards. Even T'Pol pointing out that the people they were rushing to help would view them as invaders hadn't shaken the captain's resolve. Malcolm had nevertheless given his staff a briefing preparing them for the possibility of a dust-up with the G'l Benai and letting them know that he expected them to be ready for trouble. He didn't even want to think about what 'defensive protocols' entailed, and that bit about 'your kinsmen shall feast on your attackers' had sounded far more like a promise than a threat.
Reviewing information at his bridge station, the lieutenant shook his head ever so slightly. For all they knew, the distress call was a ruse to draw in fresh victims. After all, if the Koshneer was in such dire straits why had they totally ignored Captain Archer's repeated attempts to communicate? Hoshi had double-and triple checked her readings, and there had been little doubt in her mind that the messages had been heard. It seemed more than a little suspicious that they would disregard offers of help after claiming to need assistance.
And if it wasn't a trap? That meant there was something even meaner and more dangerous than the G'l Benai lingering around out there somewhere, probably looking for someone else to pounce on. The Cobalt was a freighter, hardly a match for any vessel that a warrior race would be likely to have. It didn't make sense for them to have launched an attack against anyone, and it made even less sense that they would have not only attacked but handily trounced a shipload of well-trained soldiers. Judging from the footage T'pol had shown them these people made Klingons look like pacifists, so how could a freighter crew have so easily defeated them? The whole situation smelled like month-old fish.
Malcolm scowled as he checked long-range scans again, one corner of his mouth giving an involuntary twitch. The Koshneer captain had identified their attackers as Humans; that all but guaranteed that any G'l Benai encountered along the way would be looking for payback and weren't bloody likely going to care that Enterprise was there to help. They'd be out for blood—specifically, Human blood—and he was quite certain that any Human blood would do. They had tossed those Vulcans around like rag dolls, so what kind of chance would a Human stand in hand-to-hand combat? And the sword from the Database image, similar to an ancient Egyptian khopesh, was not something that he'd be eager to encounter in a fight. Nor for that matter was he too keen on the possibility of getting an archery demonstration from one of these G'l Benai.
Malcolm was startled out of his ponderings as T'pol's deceptively serene voice broke the tense silence. "Captain, we have visual contact with the Koshneer."
The image of a drifting vessel came on the view screen, debris and what looked like cargo containers floating gracefully nearby. Sleeker than one would expect of a mere civilian transport, it was only slightly smaller that Enterprise's saucer section.
"Bring us in closer, Travis," Archer said before asking T'Pol, "Anything on sensors?"
The Science Officer shook her head. "Except for gravity and emergency lighting all systems appear to be down, and there are no biosigns. However, our scanners are having difficulty penetrating the lower decks of the craft. It is possible that there is some sort of dampening field in place."
Archer looked to Malcolm. "Any other ships in the area?"
Lips pursed in concentration as he studied the readouts, Reed finally shook his head. "No sir…we seem to have the place to ourselves," he said, satisfied that they were, at least for the moment, safe. "Captain, some of the debris appears to be from the G'l Benai ship, but there are also fragments that look to be hull material from an Earth ship. And I'm not finding anything that looks like a docking port."
The captain nodded. "Let's get a line on her, Malcolm. Don't want her drifting too far away."
Reed expertly fired the grappler. "Got it," he reported, feeling a too-familiar sense of unease creeping over him.
"Let's get a closer look," Captain Archer said, thumbing the comm button on his chair. "Archer to Engineering. Trip, I want you to go to the Koshneer with Malcolm and Hoshi to assess the damage and see if you can find any sort of log entries in their computer. Suit up and get to the transporter."
Malcolm refrained from sighing aloud but couldn't help thinking, 'Oh, this is going to be grand.'
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The three EV-suited forms materialized at the front of the Koshneer's dimly lit bridge, which was a good bit smaller and more elliptical than its counterpart on Enterprise. A large viewscreen filled the curved front wall of the room. Each side wall of the bridge had two small control panels, with larger stations not unlike those on Enterprise set a meter or so away from the walls. A control panel curved gracefully along the contour of much of the back wall, with large doors on either side of it. There were no steps—rather, the floor sloped subtly upward from the viewscreen toward the back wall.
After looking around the room Hoshi broke the silence. "There aren't any chairs. Where do they sit?" The emergency lighting flickered ominously, threatening to go out altogether before settling back to their previous steady dimness.
"Maybe they don't," Trip replied casually, approaching a smashed control panel in the wall while Malcolm checked the shattered, burned-out station in front of it. "Or maybe they just kinda squat down on their haunches. I mean, they're catlike, right?"
"Oh, right...of course," Malcolm said dubiously, humor leaking into his voice. "Quite like Earth cats…except for the part about them being seven feet tall and able to overpower a shipful of Vulcans without breaking a sweat. I'm sure if we look around here long enough we're certain to find a room with massive scratching posts and the galaxy's largest ball of yarn." All three chuckled.
"Don't forget the catnip," Trip added. "Prob'ly a cargo bay full of catnip. Y'know," he said with a sigh, scanning the panel, "we're gonna have to get some power to these before we can really figure out what any of 'em do. Looks like what little bit's still running is on emergency power now, an' it looks like that's fading."
"Don't suppose this one does much of anything any more," Reed said, motioning to the ruined station in front of him. "It's been totally blown apart. Glad I wasn't near it when it went."
"Somebody was," Trip told him as he lightly brushed his fingers over the wall before him. "Got blood and alotta white hair embedded in what's left of this control panel. Looks like the explosion tossed them right into it."
"'Launched' would probably be more accurate," Malcolm corrected him, moving to the next station where a brief, faint flicker from one of the charred displays had caught his attention. "Looks like this one's still got a little life left in it." Scanning the flickering console, he double-checked his readings before declaring, "I think this is their tactical station—or what's left of it. I think it might be at least partially operational with a little bit of work."
"I wonder if the rest of the ship is this bad," Hoshi pondered from the other side of the bridge, where she'd been surveying the damage to the remaining two stations.
"I'd say that's a safe bet, Ensign," Trip drawled. "Once we're through here we'll have a look around. Can you make out any of the writing on the controls?"
She shook her head. "It's a very pretty, elaborate script, but with nothing to use as a reference point it's going to take a while to work it out." Scanning the stations for a minute she came to a decision. "I think that one is engineering, and this one," she motioned to the one toward the back of the bridge, "is for communications."
"If Malcolm's right about that one being their tactical station," Trip said with a nod toward the console in front of the lieutenant, "then maybe this one's the helm?" He shuddered to think of Travis being caught in an explosion similar to the one that had taken out the helm on this ship.
They moved to the doors at the rear of the room, expecting to find some sort of lift or perhaps a briefing room. After forcing the doors open, however, they found no briefing room but rather multiple ladders lining the darkened shafts that led down through the ship.
Hoshi gazed down one of the shafts then looked to her companions. "They don't sit, and they climb through their ships on ladders…"
"You know," Malcolm offered as he scanned the starboard shaft, "it looks as if there is a lift down here…just seems to be stuck about halfway down." Moving to the other shaft and scanning it, he continued. "There's wreckage down this one—lift must have come loose altogether. None of these ladders look too promising, either. Looks like this lift failed and dropped to the bottom, and took out some of the ladders on the way down."
Trip and Hoshi moved away from the door as Trip tapped his comm button. "Tucker to Enterprise. Captain, we're gonna need an extra set of hands over here, and some power cells from Engineering."
"T'pol will be there shortly," came Archer's reply. "How bad is it, Trip?"
"Pretty bad, sir...looks like they really got their teeth kicked in," Trip answered.
"Sir, a few work lights would help, too," Malcolm suggested, still peering down the black vertical tunnel. "Their emergency lighting is sketchy at best. I'd also like a word with Crewman Saunders—he should be in the Armory."
"Must be something mighty interesting down there, Loo-tenant," Trip teased.
"Not certain, sir," Reed replied quietly, all business and more than a little ill at ease. The helmet lights weren't quite able to penetrate all the way to the bottom and he didn't much like the idea of clambering around in the dark. And although he knew it wasn't possible he could swear that, for just a fraction of a second, he'd seen two glowing eye-like pinpoints of light staring back at him.
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Internal sensors were limited but were functioning enough to let him see that these honorless vermin had boarded his captain's ship. Access to the molecular transport system would be ideal but the system was presently damaged and offline. Still, he allowed himself the small luxury of imagining using it to send their worthless carcasses into deep space where they belonged. He allowed himself another few seconds to consider which would be more satisfying—to scatter their molecules to the stars or allow them to re-materialize. The latter, he decided, so they could linger, drifting, aware of their impending deaths. That was the way it was usually done, after all.
His moment of fantasy over, he set about planning. Squinting at the panel, he studied the image of the Human ship as he coughed, spattering the inside of his helmet's faceplate with blood. He swallowed the mouthful of blood that had come up from his lungs then gripped the sides of his helmet, holding it steady as he licked the inside of it clean with his long, broad tongue. Turning his attention back to internal readings he noted that there were now five of them on Control Deck—a few moments ago there had only been three.
'Brazen, cowardly, honorless, motherless sons of vermin!' he thought to himself. He continued to silently curse the aliens, their ancestors, their ship, and their homeworld. He cursed the shattered ribs driving into his lungs, cursed the zero-atmosphere light armor he'd had to don which, although keeping him alive was also hindering his movements and slowing him down. He wanted to engage the intruders, wanted to feel his teeth sinking into their tender throats, claws tearing through soft flesh seeking out the organs beneath. Mostly he wanted to taste someone else's blood besides his own. What he wouldn't give to be able to retrieve his longbow and personal sword from his quarters—he wanted to watch the arrows impale these animals, wanted to cleave their bodies in two with his own straight-bladed sword rather than the curved blade issued to all warriors. He imagined the heavy blade slicing through the enemies, fantasized about plunging the tip into their weak little bodies and watching it come out their backs. They were such tiny creatures...he thought surely three of them would fit easily on the blade. The thought of it made him lick his chops in anticipation, leaving bloody streaks along both sides of his snow-white muzzle. 'Concentrate,' he told himself, stifling another bloody cough. 'Duty before gratification. Mustn't let the stimulant cloud my thinking.'
Saying a silent prayer to his Ancestors, he flicked a couple controls. The Ancestors were apparently smiling upon him for the monitor on the console in front of him sprang to life, giving him a clear view of the entire Control Deck. The invaders appeared to be attempting to access Control Stations and the Captain's Station. 'Stupid creatures. They will probably kill themselves before I get a chance to do it.' He smiled softly as he thought about the security protocols his captain had activated before leaving Control Deck. Watching these ignorant animals blow themselves up might be almost as entertaining as actually killing them himself if not for the annoying fact that they might wind up blowing him up as well.
He was beginning to feel groggy again, and the pain in his chest competed for superiority against the throbbing in his skull and the burning in his hands and arms. With would-be conquerors scampering around his captain's ship, he knew he couldn't risk losing consciousness again, no matter how briefly. Thanks to his medkit, however, that hazardous annoyance could be avoided. Reaching down to the small box on the utility belt of his protective suit, he extracted a hypospray and weighed his options. It would alleviate much of the discomfort, but more importantly the stimulant would bolster his strength and keep him awake and alert for the next several hours—long enough to help him kill these creatures and destroy their ship. On the other hand, he'd already taken a full-dose just before the rest of the crew had been forced to flee. Another dose this soon could be dangerous, even lethal. And there was always the potential loss of mental control to consider. He could not effectively defend his captain's ship if the drug drove him to madness.
Sparing a glance back at the view screen he laughed out loud. One of the little vermin was trying to access Tactical Station. 'As long as he doesn't wind up destroying my captain's ship, this could be entertaining,' he thought as he used the hypospray, bracing himself for the unpleasant initial effects of the stimulant.
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T'Pol and Hoshi watched as Saunders and Trip helped Malcolm up from the floor, the lieutenant glaring at the now-smoking console as if its explosive demise was a personal insult.
"You okay, Mal?" Trip asked, not believing the silent nod Reed gave as reply. "You took a heck of a jolt. Better lemme take a look." The engineer scanned his friend, concerned that either the electrical charge, explosion, or Malcolm's impact with the wall and floor had damaged the suit's systems. "Everything still looks functional—you sure you're alright?"
"I'm fine," the annoyed Brit fumed, "but I don't understand what happened. It should be working, not…smoldering."
"Try bein' an engineer sometime. First thing ya learn is that there is almost no limit to the number of ways a repair job can mess the bed."
Reed wasn't having any of it. "It should be working," he repeated, angry stare still fixed on the controls. "It wasn't as badly damaged as the other stations. I could understand one or two displays going out, but the whole bloody station blowing up in my face?" He met the questioning gaze of his worried crewman and, features softening, gave the man a nod. "I think the fireworks are over…carry on, Mr. Saunders."
"Aye sir," David replied smartly, returning his attention to the rappelling gear he was setting up in the port turbolift shaft.
"It is possible," T'Pol offered as she returned to the long console at the rear wall of the bridge, "that the G'l Benai sabotaged it before they left. I doubt that they would want to risk others gaining information about their tactical systems."
Malcolm slowly nodded in agreement. "So they sabotage what they think are sensitive systems. Fair enough. But how do we know what else is going to blow up in our faces?"
T'pol raised an eyebrow, slowly lifting her hands away from the console's controls. "An excellent point. It may be prudent to run additional scans before proceeding further."
"Thought you liked blowin' things up, Malcolm," Trip teased.
"Not when I'm standing in front of them, thank you," the lieutenant shot back good-naturedly before turning his attention back to Saunders. "How's it going, Crewman?"
"Good to go, sir," Saunders replied brightly, giving an extra tug on the lines before lifting a harness from his equipment case and holding it out. "Just need to get you harnessed up." Reed nodded then set about putting on the harness. "I ran some additional scans," Saunders offered as he helped the lieutenant fit the harness over the EV suit. "Looks like somebody was on that lift when it gave way—there's a lot of biomatter at the bottom of the shaft.
Reed shook his head. "Damn. Nasty way to go," he murmured without thinking.
"Aye, sir…that it is," the crewman agreed somberly. He paused before asking, "Are we going deck-by-deck, sir?"
"No. We've been able to get fairly decent scans of most of the ship, except for the lowermost decks. They've got some sort of material or shielding that our scanners can't seem to penetrate, so we're going to have a look at what they're hiding."
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'So…the surprise my captain left at Tactical hasn't deterred you. You seek still more? I shall provide a splendid surprise for you.' Pacing, he pondered his options carefully. He was already prepared for the enemy's ship, torpedoes loaded and programmed to unerringly seek out their targets. Smiling as he looked at the targeting display on the wall he stroked the hatch of the nearest torpedo tube lovingly, successfully resisting the urge to open fire now. First he would deal with the intruders.
Koshneer was an older ship but in the days before its conversion to a civilian transport it had carried mighty warriors into glorious battles against, among others, Klingons, Andorians, and Nausicans. True, it had never held the same status as a Saber-class battle cruiser, but this Dagger-class light troop carrier had held its own many times against the enemies of the G'l Benai. And it would again, if only this one last time.
Praise the Ancestors, its Battledeck had been left mostly intact during the conversion to a civilian transport, its armaments deemed too outdated to be transferred to other vessels. This suited him: in many ways he preferred Koshneer's weaponry to the modern automated systems. He did not believe it took as much skill to use targeting scanners as it did to manually target the torpedoes, and the newer systems depended almost exclusively upon scanners. And, in a worst-case scenario, the older torpedoes had a default setting to simply home in on the nearest non-G'l Benai vessel—a feature deemed unnecessary in newer weaponry.
More importantly, the Battledeck was almost entirely self-sufficient. Extra plating and dampening fields made the deck virtually impervious to enemy scans, a back-up control panel enabled him to access several systems throughout the rest of the ship, and the independent auxiliary generator had allowed him to keep at least some of the weapons systems up and running. He was able to scan portions of Koshneer to check on the intruders and had managed to access Surveillance, allowing him to eavesdrop on them. He could even watch them as they wandered around Control Deck. The only thing he lacked was life support but for the time being the armor provided for that. Perhaps after he'd killed these invaders and destroyed their ship he could concentrate on getting at least minimal life support on Battledeck. He'd give half his tail to take off his helmet even for a few minutes.
He returned to the monitoring console to further observe the trespassers: three were still on Control Deck, monitoring various consoles and stations. Murmuring a short prayer to the Ancestors that these fools wouldn't trigger the autodestruct with their blundering, he turned his attention to the missing two. With the sensors it only took a moment to find them descending into the lift shaft. Surveillance was damaged there so he couldn't actually watch them until they left the shaft, but he could chart their progress with internal sensors.
They were almost halfway down the lift shaft now. Horror filled him as he realized what that meant; in a few minutes these Ancestorless heathens would be upon the bodies of his fellow G'l Benai, his family. Who knew what sort of defilements these honorless vermin were capable of? Rage threatened to overcome him but he fought to push it aside. For the moment he needed to think clearly.
A plan for the intruders solidified in his mind and he began furiously working at the portion of the wall console devoted to communications. First he would have to activate the translator so that these infidels could understand his words when the time came: he wanted them to know what was going to happen to them, wanted there to be no doubt in their minds that they were going to die for their crimes.
Then he had to ensure that the message—the idea of his battle-brother, Troshk—was ready to be played back. Both men had known that a boarding party was a likelihood and had wanted to offer a challenge to their attackers, even if it had seemed unlikely that either man would live long enough to follow through on any threats they made. He had recorded it after their attackers' ship had moved off, certain that the honorless vermin would return to scavenge the wreckage. It was a fitting tribute to his fallen battle-brother that the message would be put to use after all; it would provide a fine diversionary tool. He could use the comm system built into his armor to activate the playback when the time was right.
Next he hurriedly tied the controls for the emergency blast doors into internal sensors—when they had advanced far enough down the corridor the invaders would trigger the doors, cutting themselves off from the rest of the raiding party as well as their ship. He'd already chosen where to stage the actual assault and should have ample time to get into position. But how would he get them into position? Mind racing he at last smiled, bloodstained teeth peeking out from beneath his lips. Curiosity seemed a strong trait in these creatures, judging from the way they studied everything on Control Deck. He could use that curiosity to his advantage—if he tinkered with the nearby launch bay doors he might be able to use them to attract the attention of the Humans. Ancestors knew the doors were certainly loud enough to draw the attention of even the dullest-minded creature.
The lights might be a bit trickier to manage. Lighting systems had automatically switched to emergency conservation mode when life support had been compromised, the extra power used to buy a few more precious minutes of air for the escaping passengers and crew. Giving it a few seconds of thought he realized that he might be able to…'yes, that should work'. With a little creative rerouting he was able to rig the corridor lights to very gradually brighten, tying the controls into those for the blast doors. Once the doors were secure the lights would brighten, though imperceptibly at first. He could see in almost total darkness even without the stimulant heightening his senses, but he'd heard that Humans had very weak vision even in full daylight. And it was vitally important to him that these creatures see their fate.
In a flash of inspiration he returned to the communications controls. 'They should all see, should they not?' It took only a moment to tie Surveillance into the comm system, then a moment more to tie into the internal sensors. When the intruders approached the launch bay doors Surveillance would begin transmitting sound and images. 'Let their comrades see the fate that befalls those who would make an enemy of the G'l Benai.'
He strode purposefully to another console, across which the corpse of his fallen comrade lay face-up. He gazed through the cracked faceplate into the huge, copper eyes of his ebony-furred ally, expending enough oxygen to speak in a deep, rumbling voice to his comrade. "Troshk my friend, my battle-brother…forgive me but I must leave you for a short time. Our captain's ship has been boarded and I must tend to the intruders." Removing his sword belt he reverently laid the sheathed weapon across Troshk's chest for safekeeping. His dagger remained strapped to his thigh, and he let his gloved fingers caress the hilt of the weapon as he moved back to the first console.
Dimming the remaining lights he tapped a control on the side of his helmet, darkening the outside of the faceplate to the same matte black as the rest of the suit. Now he was ready for them. He would watch the monitor long enough to see them reach the bottom of the shaft, then hide himself in the launch bay and wait for them to come. By rights he should just use a rifle to dispatch them—they possessed no honor or souls, after all—but he decided that these heathens would meet their deaths on the blade of his dagger. Though theirs was unworthy blood they deserved to suffer for the crimes they had committed, and the rifle would kill them far too quickly.