They stopped their descent about twenty feet from the bottom, surveying the bodies and wreckage below them. Malcolm realized that the eyes he thought he'd seen earlier were just that: the unseeing emerald green eyes of a young G'l Benai woman stared up at them as they hung in midair over her.
She'd landed flat on her back amidst the wreckage of the lift, left arm tightly clutching to her chest a blanket-wrapped bundle less than a meter in length. Fragments of bloodstained ladder and lift supports jutted out from her body and the blanket, massive amounts of blood staining her uniform, the bundle, and the thick snow-white fur covering her body. On the floor her blood had mingled with that of three other G'l Benai whose shattered bodies lay around her. Blood had poured from her half-open mouth, staining her throat and sides of her leonine muzzle, forming a gruesome halo around her head as it had pooled on the floor.
Her battered right hand had flailed out beside her, and had obviously clawed through the gore and wreckage after she'd landed. The other bodies also showed signs of movement after their fall; their deaths had been neither quick nor painless. Malcolm's best guess was that, rather than being in the lift, they'd been climbing down the ladders sometime after the lift had dropped. Obviously the ladders hadn't held any better than the lift had.
The lieutenant heard Saunders stifle a retch and turned to the young man dangling next to him. "Saunders," he said sharply, "Are you alright?"
There was a pause before the crewman's shaky voice came back over the comm. "I think so, sir."
"Well trust me, one thing you don't want to do is throw up in an EV suit. If you can't pull yourself together you'd best start back up now."
"No sir…I'm fine, sir," Saunders assured him, his voice stronger now. "I'm O.K."
"Good lad. I don't fancy going it alone down here, you know." They finished their descent in silence, Saunders wondering how the lieutenant could be so totally unaffected by the gruesome sight below them and Reed silently forcing the bile back down his throat.
They finally touched down; carefully avoiding contact with the bodies, they detached themselves from the ropes and pulled out their scanners. Malcolm cautiously crouched near the woman's body to study the bundle then squeezed his eyes shut as he slowly straightened, turning away from the small white-furred face and frightened sapphire-blue eyes staring blindly back at him.
"How's it going, Malcolm?" Captain Archer's voice came over the commlink. "Have you found anything?"
Holstering the scanner, Reed tapped the comm button on his EV suit as he and Saunders exited the shaft. "Nothing but corpses and wreckage so far, sir. Five bodies at the bottom of the turbolift shaft…looks like the ladders gave way while they were trying to evacuate."
"Do you think those are the warriors mentioned in their last transmission?"
Reed shook his head grimly as he looked back at the bodies. "I doubt it, sir. Two of them do appear to be wearing uniforms, but the other two are much older and are wearing what looks like civilian clothing. The fifth is a young child." He and Saunders gave a start at the same time as they heard a faint, rhythmic sound coming from somewhere down the long dark corridor. Weapons and scanners drawn, they cautiously advanced toward the sound, maneuvering around large chunks of wreckage.
"Stand by, Captain," Malcolm said, his voice low and husky with caution. "We may have found something."
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"False alarm, sir," Reed reported with a mix of annoyance and relief a few minutes later, shaking his head as he holstered his phase pistol. "It's just a malfunctioning door." He watched the tall, wide doors slide open, hesitate for a second, slide shut, then open again. What he could see of the shadowy room beyond hinted at either a cargo hold or launch bay. "No emergency lighting in there, but it still seems to be functional out here...for the time being, at any rate," he added as he put away his scanner. Casting a look around the dimly lit debris-strew corridor he spotted a suitable piece of beam near the crewman and motioned to it. "Saunders, bring that here. We can use it to block these doors open so we don't have to listen to them opening and closing all day." David nodded, retrieving the long piece of metal.
As the men jammed the beam into place, Archer's puzzled voice came over the link. "Hoshi, did you get the comm system working over there?"
Hoshi, still on the alien bridge, seemed equally puzzled as she responded. "No sir. Why?"
"Because we're receiving visual images over here. Malcolm…we can see you."
A moment later Trip's voice came over the comm. "Viewscreen on their bridge just lit up, too. Take a quarter-turn to yer left, Malcolm."
The lieutenant complied wordlessly, gazing around the corridor until he spotted a faint green light in the high ceiling. "That light wasn't there before," he said as he warily approached it, Saunders close behind.
"Yer lookin' right at the camera, fellas," Trip told them. "Musta triggered some sorta surveillance system or something."
"If that's the case," Saunders pondered aloud, "why is it transmitting to Enterprise? Shouldn't it just be transmitting to somewhere within this ship?"
Reed nodded thoughtfully, studying the shallow box protruding from the ceiling. "That would make a lot more sense…unless the system was damaged in the attack. I wonder if it's a ship-wide system or—" He was interrupted by a wailing tone that started low, quickly rose in pitch, then dropped back down.
As the klaxon sounded Archer's urgent voice broke in. "Reed, Saunders, get out of there! You're being sealed in!"
David and Malcolm looked back the way they had come to see a huge door sliding rapidly across the corridor about thirty feet away from them. As they raced for the door an automated female G'l Benai voice joined the siren, repeating the same message over and over. "Deploying blast doors. Battledeck. Grey Section."
They reached the door a few seconds too late, only a few meters from freedom when the thick obstruction slammed into place with awful finality. In frustration Malcolm pounded the palms of his hands against the unyielding metal, the clicks and hisses of locks and seals being activated driving home the severity of their predicament. Throughout the corridor they could hear the muted sounds of additional distant doors closing and locking. The alarm and automated warnings at last fell silent.
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Despite a thorough search of the walls along either side of the door the men found no sign of control or access panels of any kind. Having to vent his frustration, Reed at last broke the tense silence. "Who the hell puts in a door with no bloody way to open it?" he bellowed, glaring at the door before turning back toward the camera, tapping his comm button. "Reed to Enterprise—we haven't found a way to override this door. Can you get a lock on us with the transporter?" No response. "Reed to Enterprise—Captain, do you read me?" Silence. "Commander Tucker?" His call was met by more dead air. "Subcommander? Hoshi? Anyone there?" He cast a worried look to David. "Saunders, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear, sir," the crewman replied with a nod, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice.
"Try hailing the ship," Reed ordered as he began scanning the door and corridor walls.
David's attempts were met by silence. "No good, Lieutenant," he reported. "I don't know if they're not reading us or we're not reading them, but either way we're cut off."
"Not entirely, I think," Reed replied, turning his attention back to the green light in the ceiling. "That light hasn't gone out, so presumably the surveillance system is still transmitting. If so, we might be able to tap into it and re-establish two-way communication. Provided, of course, we can find some tools to work with."
"Find anything with the scanner, sir?" Saunders asked hopefully.
Reed shook his head as he walked down the corridor, stopping beneath the surveillance device. "Not really. I'm not sure if it's the construction material or if there's some sort of shielding. Maybe a dampening field. Whatever the case, I can't get any sensible readings." He knew Saunders was nervous but didn't realize how severe the situation was until he looked over at the young man.
The crewman had gone totally white. Sweating profusely, eyes squeezed tightly shut, he seemed to be struggling for breath as he leaned a hand against the bulkhead. He was trembling visibly, and Malcolm could barely make out his voice whispering what sounded like 'not now' over and over.
"Saunders? Are you alright?" Malcolm asked worriedly. When he got no reply he quickly walked to the stricken man, planting his hands firmly on the crewman's shoulders and shaking him once. "David!"
Saunders' pale blue eyes snapped open at the lieutenant's shout, meeting his worried superior's gaze. "I…I'm sorry, sir," he stammered faintly, obviously fighting to regain his composure. "I'm alright. I…I just…" A mortified sigh escaped from him. "I'm so sorry, sir. I've let you down."
"Tell me what's wrong," Reed demanded gently, hands still on the crewman's shoulders.
David looked away but another small shake from Malcolm brought his eyes back to Reed's. He took a deep breath before answering, unable to mask the shame in his voice. "You'll think it's idiotic, but I'm…I'm a little…claustrophobic."
Malcolm blinked, digesting this bit of information as his hands dropped from David's shoulders. "Claustrophobic…" he finally said. Saunders merely nodded. "Crewman, you work on a starship. It doesn't get much more claustrophobic than that." Another nod. "This doesn't make any sense—I know that you are more than capable of working in tight spaces. Hell, I had you in and out of the bloody torpedo tubes just last week. How in blazes can you be claustrophobic?"
Saunders swallowed hard, a touch of Irish lilt creeping into his voice. "I knew you'd think it was idiotic," he said as he looked back at the blast door. "It's not small spaces so much as…not being able to get out of them. Being trapped. The imaging chamber in Sickbay just about sends me 'round the bend, once the door slides shut." Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath then looked back at his CO. "I'm okay, sir. It just takes a couple seconds to…rein it in. I'd hoped to pull myself together before you noticed. And yes," he added bitterly, certain that Reed must now think him an irredeemable coward, "I know how stupid it is. Believe me, my father never misses an opportunity to let me know exactly how weak-kneed I am."
Malcolm stared into the younger man's angry eyes a long moment before speaking, his voice soft and reassuring. "Being afraid doesn't make you 'weak-kneed', Mr. Saunders. It simply makes you human. We all have our fears to deal with."
"You don't," Saunders replied without hesitating. "You're not afraid of anything."
Eyes twinkling, Reed laughed aloud. "You don't know me as well as you think," he said. "The trick is learning to control the fear instead of being controlled by it."
David nodded, though doubting that anything really frightened his CO, and stared at the doors they'd wedged open earlier. A faint smile flickered across his face. "Well, at least those are still open. Makes it feel a little less…confining. Any idea what's in there, sir?"
The lieutenant gave a shrug. "What I could make out looked like a launch bay, or maybe a cargo hold. Hopefully we can find some tools in there to use on that surveillance system and try to contact Enterprise. Maybe they've got some ideas about getting us out of here."
Saunders looked up at the high ceiling as the men approached the doors. "Think we'll be able to find a ladder, sir?"
"I wouldn't get my hopes up too much, but I suppose it's possible. Must think happy endings, Crewman."
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A brief investigation revealed the room to be a sizeable launch bay. One huge shuttlepod-like vehicle remained; the crew had apparently been in the midst of repairs or maintenance on it when they'd been attacked. While Reed checked a tool case magnetically fastened to the floor near the shuttle Saunders checked several storage containers tethered to the wall until he found a large, trunk-like one that he deemed promising. "Think I've got our ladder, sir. Or as close as we're gonna get to one," he reported, cautiously unfastening the tethers and opening the container. After a stunned silence he called to Reed, his voice slow and higher than usual. "Lieutenant…you miiight want to take a look at this." Seizing several tools from the tool case Malcolm approached the crewman's find, watching intently as Saunders struggled to lift an object from the trunk. Saunders finally managed to hoist the energy rifle from its home, cradling it in both arms but looking as if he expected it to bite him. Reed gave a low whistle, placing the tools on the floor and squatting next to his shipmate.
Saunders offered the weapon to the lieutenant. "Watch it, sir—thing weighs a ton," he warned. "Container's full of them."
Malcolm took the weapon, straining to hold the weight of it as he stood up. "If the weight is any indication, this brute must pack quite a wallop." He studied it carefully, turning it over admiringly before gently placing it on the floor next to the container. Motioning to it he said, "I think this will provide enough height. Let's get it emptied out so we can move it." As they worked Malcolm kept glancing at David. Although there was no visible sign of the earlier panic the man did hesitate several times to glance around the dark launch bay.
Catching Malcolm checking him, David smiled awkwardly. "I really am all right, sir," he tried to reassure his superior. "There's just something unnatural about an empty ship. Probably a real beauty before this happened. And now…"
"Mmm," Malcolm agreed, nodding. "From active vessel to lifeless derelict in the space of a few hours. However, in light of this," he added, hoisting the last of the rifles from the trunk, "I've got strong doubts about this being a civilian transport. There are identical containers over there," he pointed out, tilting his head toward a stack of crates tethered to the far wall, "plus that warning message referring to this as a 'battledeck'. Civilian vessels don't have battledecks. Or massive caches of weapons." He laid the rifle with the others.
"Well," Saunders considered as he closed the crate, "maybe—since they're a warrior race—this is as 'civilian' as they get." Reed placed the tools on top of the trunk then the men seized the handles and carried it toward the doors.
"I suppose it's possible," Malcolm conceded, obviously unconvinced. Toting the empty trunk from the launch bay neither man noticed the large, dark, humanoid form hiding in the rafters, observing their every move. It waited until the men were well out of the room before stealthily creeping along the rafters toward the doors.
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He had not known until now how much self-control he possessed. While rummaging through the tools, the one called 'Loo-ten-ant' had been directly beneath him. It would have been such an easy thing to drop down on him, an effortless kill. The impulse to do so had been almost overwhelming—a drawback of the stimulant he'd used earlier—but in the end he'd been able to stifle the desire. Instead of killing 'Loo-ten-ant', he had merely observed the intruders from his vantage point atop the rafters, moving only once to blend more readily into the shadows when he'd noticed 'Crew-man' repeatedly looking around the launch bay as if suspecting his presence. However, neither creature seemed to possess enough instinct to fully sense that they were being stalked.
He wanted to take them in the corridor. Setting the inner launch bay doors to repeatedly open and close had been meant to draw his prey far enough down the corridor to trigger the blast doors as well as far enough from the blast doors to prevent the invaders' escape. That they possessed enough intellect to jam the doors open had been unexpected, as had been their decision to enter the darkened bay. He'd had to scramble for a hiding place, hunting and survival instincts and his warrior training driving him to the highest spot he could reach. Heart fluttering madly in his chest as he climbed, he fought to slow his breathing. Another drawback of the stimulants was their tendency to make the user's body consume additional oxygen, and he knew his reserves would run out soon. Still, it should be enough time to dispatch them and their ship before The Ancestors called him to dwell with Them.
Watching them struggle with the rifles had provided some entertainment and he felt his racing heart slow to a more tolerable pace. Judging from the tiny weapons they had with them as well as how they had handled the rifles, they were unaccustomed to handling real weapons and apparently lacked the physical strength to wield them even when given access to them. At least they had displayed a small amount of proper respect for the rifles—even though the weapons had been left on the floor, the humans had at least placed them there with appropriate reverence and caution. If he lived long enough after killing these creatures he'd have to remember to return the guns to their case. It wasn't proper to leave fine weapons for long upon the ground, after all.
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Still in their EV suits, helmets in hand, T'Pol, Hoshi, and Trip stood on the bridge of the Enterprise as Jon reacted to Trip's news that the blast doors on Koshneer were impenetrable.
"I won't accept that, Commander," Captain Archer snapped at Trip angrily. "There has got to be a way to get them out of there!"
"And I wish I could tell ya how to do it Cap'n," Trip replied, equally frustrated. "Only other option I can come up with is to plant explosives an' try ta blow the door. Problem is, our explosives expert is on the wrong side of the door, an' if he were here I'm pretty sure he'd say the amount of explosives we'd need to take out that door would kill everything on the other side." As T'Pol moved to the Science Station Archer and Tucker turned their attention back to the view screen, watching as Reed and Saunders carried a trunk-like container into the corridor and toward the camera. The voices of the trapped men, unintelligible while they were in the launch bay, were once again crystal-clear.
"Captain, if you're still receiving this, we're going to attempt to access their surveillance system," Reed explained to the camera. "With any luck we'll be able to tap into the audio components so we can reestablish two-way communication. I hope Trip and Hoshi won't take this the wrong way," he added as he and David slid the trunk beneath the camera, "but I almost wish they were here with us—they might have better luck figuring this out. Give us a hand up, Saunders," he said, and the crewman helped him boost himself onto the trunk. The men disappeared from the screen, the camera unable to lock onto them while they were directly beneath it. Saunders reappeared a moment later as he eased back toward the doorway of the launch bay.
"Oh, and Captain," Reed said, "tell Commander Tucker that if he's considering explosives, forget it. I suspect the only thing we've got potent enough to do the job would be a torpedo. Plasma torches might do the trick, but I imagine it would take quite a while." Archer and Trip exchanged disheartened looks: the plasma torches had been thwarted by some sort of shielding protecting the surface of the doors. That the trapped men had heard none of the racket—or expletives—the failed attempt had produced filled their would-be rescuers with despair.
For a few minutes the only sound coming over the comm was that of Reed trying to gain access to the surveillance system's circuitry. "Saunders made an interesting discovery in their launch bay, by the way," Malcolm continued. "They have a large cache of weapons in there." He grunted as he tugged at the stubborn ceiling access panel just behind the camera box. It yielded after several forceful yanks and Reed handed the cover down to Saunders, who had returned from peering through the doors.
"I have strong doubts about this being a civilian ship, Captain," the lieutenant continued. "In case you missed the warning message that accompanied the doors sealing shut, we're currently on what they call a 'battledeck'."
"You mentioned torpedoes, sir. What about aiming one at their outer launch bay doors?" Saunders asked as he set the cover aside. "Lowest yield, of course. If we close these inside doors the bay should contain most of the damage. It would probably still be unpleasant in here, but if we went far enough down the corridor we'd be away from the worst of it. Might even be able to jimmy the doors to one of the rooms further down, take shelter there. I know decompression would be a problem, but not an insurmountable one."
The bridge crew on Enterprise could almost hear Malcolm thinking the suggestion through in the long silence that followed the crewman's idea. "That plan," Reed finally admitted, "has merit, Mr. Saunders. Think we should hold off on it for a bit," he added loudly, for the benefit of those who he hoped were listening from the Bridge. "Once we contact the ship we'd be better able to coordinate exactly what we'd be doing. So fingers off the trigger for the moment if you don't mind, Captain."
The significance of Saunders' suggestion to close the doors was not lost on Malcolm. He knew that those open doors were helping the crewman contend with feelings of claustrophobia that had been almost overwhelming. He had taken the man's gazing through them as being an attempt to fend off another panic attack; that the man had evidently been gauging the ability of the doors to withstand a torpedo blast was, to Malcolm's mind, a marvelous show of strength. God knew if the potential solution to their predicament had been to flood the corridor with water, he didn't think he'd have been able to suggest it.
"Lieutenant, does it seem brighter in here?" David asked.
"Our eyes have adjusted to the lighting—makes it seem brighter. Come up here and help me figure out these circuits." Saunders quickly complied, leaving Captain Archer and the bridge crew with nothing to see but the vacant corridor.
As the two stranded men quietly debated which circuits did what, Archer turned to his Chief Engineer. "Transport back over there. I don't care what you have to do, Trip—take every plasma torch you've got, rip out one of the phase cannons and take that if you need to, but Get. Them. Out of there. We'll work on Saunders' idea about a torpedo from here and hope we don't have to go through with it."
"Aye sir," Trip nodded, heading for the turbo lift.
T'Pol's voice stopped him as he reached the lift. "Captain, I've analyzed the images we've been receiving, and Crewman Saunders is correct. Illumination at their location has increased."
Trip stepped toward the subcommander and gave her a puzzled look. "That's not possible. The whole ship's dead, 'cept for gravity. I figure gravity must be tied into a separate generator or somethin'. The consoles on the Bridge flickered for a while but went dead not too long after that one Malcolm was workin' on exploded. The only lighting on their bridge besides what we took with us was really weak emergency lighting."
"Indeed," T'Pol agreed, "and that failed shortly after Lieutenant Reed and Crewman Saunders began their descent. Nevertheless, there is functional lighting at their present location, and it has increased."
"How does that help us?" Archer asked, getting a silently raised eyebrow from T'Pol.
Trip shrugged. "It doesn't, really. We can see them a little better," the engineer offered. "An' they can see their surroundings." As he pondered the possibilities Trip mentally kicked himself. "Power. That's the only section of the ship with any real power…for the surveillance, the doors, the lights, gravity…there must be an independent power source."
T'Pol nodded. "Which may be why they are now trapped. Their presence in that section must have activated a defense system linked to that power source."
"Any idea what kind of automated defense mechanisms their ships have?" Archer asked her.
"No. I was unable to retrieve any information from their computer while we were there. It is possible, however, that the console that blew up when the lieutenant tried to access it was sabotaged to prevent tampering."
Trip looked like he was about to throw his helmet across the bridge in frustration. "So, even if we could find a control panel to open those doors, messin' around with it could trigger some sort of boobytrap. That's. Just. Great."
"And if they find controls for the door," T'Pol continued the line of thinking with a glance at the viewscreen, "they could also set off a 'boobytrap'. And we have no way to warn them of the potential danger."
Saunders' voice interrupted any further discussion on board Enterprise. "Lieutenant…do you see that?"
"See what?"
"Over by the blast door, sir. I thought I saw something."
"There's nothing by the door, Crewman. I need you to concentrate on the task at hand, if you don't mind."
"Along the ceiling," Saunders persisted, "near the door. There was a reflection. I only noticed it once I was up here. Look."
"Saunders," Malcolm snapped in annoyance, "I really need you to pull yourself together. There is nothing—" Turning his head toward the blast door he was brought up short as his own helmet lamp reflected light from a small, slender spot in the ceiling near the door. One of the small panels close to the wall was a few millimeters shy of flush with the ceiling. He climbed down from the trunk and strode purposefully to the door until he was standing, he believed, directly beneath where the reflection had been. He looked first at the ceiling then at Saunders. "Still there?" he asked.
Saunders slowly moved his head from side to side: at first Reed thought he was shaking his head 'no' but then saw a broad smile spread across the younger man's face. "Aye, sir. Guess my trolley hasn't entirely left the tracks just yet. If you reached straight up you'd be touching it. Well," he corrected himself, "if you were over eight feet tall and reached straight up you'd be touching it."
Incredulous, Reed shook his head. "Here's another one to add to the list, Hoshi," he chuckled, still staring up at the ceiling. "They don't sit, they climb through their ships on ladders, and the wily S.O.B.'s seem to have put the door controls in the bloody ceilings. My apologies, Mr. Saunders." He turned to the crewman, who was still standing atop the trunk. "Crewman…we need to move your ladder." He started back down the corridor as Saunders climbed down from the trunk.
Both men as well as the bridge crew on Enterprise jumped as the Koshneer's comm system crackled loudly. A deep angry voice growled loudly over the system. "Murderers. Honorless cowards. Ancestorless heathens. Defilers of elders and children. You think we are defeated. If you knew my people you would realize that as long as a single G'l Benai warrior remains, we have not been vanquished. You come to claim my captain's ship, but I vow before The Ancestors that it shall be very costly for you.
"You have shown your cunning in battle against elders and children," the voice accused with a sarcastic sneer. "It shall be interesting to see how you fare against one whose teeth have not been dulled by age. I look forward to seeing you die on your knees."
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Simultaneously drawing their phase pistols, the men exchanged glances. With his left hand Reed pulled his scanner from his belt and began taking readings in the direction of the blast doors, staying close to the wall; Saunders followed suit, scanning the corridor behind him as Reed slowly approached him.
"Saunders," Reed called in an urgent whisper, "are you reading anything?"
The crewman flattened himself against the bulkhead as he neared the launch bay doors, scanning the dark room before answering softly. "Not getting anything here, sir. Anything there?"
Malcolm shook his head as he scanned a closed door midway down the hall on the opposite wall from the launch bay. "I'm not getting any readings past this bloody door," he hissed in frustration. "I'd love to know what the hell this ship's made of."
"Sir? According to the last message they sent, a couple people stayed behind, right?"
Reed shook his head. "There's no way they'd have survived this long without life support. Besides, if through some miracle they had, we'd be picking up their biosigns."
"Yes sir, but maybe they thought their attackers would be boarding the ship and recorded that message before they died. Could have thought it would intimidate a boarding party."
Reed looked at Saunders with a faint smile. "Are you feeling intimidated, Crewman Saunders?"
Saunders nodded, returning the smile with a brief one of his own. "Damn straight, sir."
"Mmm. Voices from beyond the grave are a bit disconcerting, I suppose. Though I'd like to think I'd find a little better use for my last five minutes of air." He paused a moment, recalling his last few minutes of useful consciousness on the freezing, oxygen-deprived shuttlepod with Trip. Pushing that cheerful memory from his mind he holstered his phase pistol and scanner. "Let's get out of here and let the dead rest, shall we?"
Saunders nodded in silent agreement, stepping away from the wall and waiting for the lieutenant to meet him at the trunk. He thought he heard a faint sound from within the launch bay but dismissed it. Knowing that he'd given the lieutenant enough reason to doubt his competence with his earlier panic attack, he was entirely unwilling to acknowledge an imaginary noise in front of his superior. Still, he gave the launch bay another scan for good measure and again came up empty.
Quickly tucking away his scanner and pistol he joined the lieutenant at the trunk. They lifted in unison and, trunk between them, started down the corridor. Hoping Reed didn't notice, Saunders cast a quick glance over the lieutenant's head as they once again passed the launch baby doors.
A huge black form rocketed out from the darkness, roaring in rage as it struck Malcolm dead center. The force of the impact sent Saunders and the trunk flying and propelled Reed face-first into the wall, with the alien colossus still on him. Malcolm howled as sharp searing pain shot through his back; at the same time his impact with the wall cracked several ribs and slammed his head painfully into the front of his helmet. Before he had a chance to struggle against the attack he felt himself being spun roughly around, his back ramming into the wall as fresh pain tore into his abdomen just beneath his rib cage.
He felt his feet leave the floor as the black-clad behemoth effortlessly lifted him, pressing its massive left forearm against his throat to pin his dangling form against the bulkhead. Gasping for air that wouldn't come, Reed pried reflexively at the increasing pressure against his throat. When that proved useless he reached for his holster, desperately searching for his phase pistol.
The holster was empty.
His attacker's face was hidden behind the black faceplate of its helmet but he could imagine what it looked like as its roaring, enraged voice reverberated in his ears.
"You would not look upon us as you sought to destroy us!" it screamed at him. "Would not even let us look into your eyes as you killed us! But you will look now, murderer—I will make you look!" The alien raised its huge right hand, still clutching the large dagger it had just used on him, and tapped a control on the side of its helmet. Almost instantly the faceplate changed from matte black to crystal clear, giving Malcolm his first up-close look at a G'l Benai.
His adrenaline-fueled imaginings hadn't even come close.
Most of its white fur was streaked and matted with blood, a copious amount seeming to have flowed from a head wound and caked along either side of the wide nose and protruding muzzle. Innumerable scars crisscrossed the alien's bloodied nose and face—many were as fine as pencil-lines but at least two were almost the width of a man's finger. As the enraged creature spoke Malcolm got an all-too-complete view of its lethal, bloodstained teeth.
"Look well, honorless offspring of a Nausican whore!" it howled. "Gaze upon the face of your executioner." Pink foam lined the alien's mouth as it spoke, some spraying onto the inside of its already-spattered faceplate. Its wide tongue slid slowly out of its mouth, tip grazing bleeding nostrils before running along the gory lips to wash away the froth. Malcolm's stomach lurched at the apparent pleasure the creature took in the fluid's flavor. Having to look away from the mouth, Reed's eyes met those of his attacker. There was no discernible color to them except for huge black pupils filled with murderous hatred and rage.
Malcolm tried to speak despite the pressure at his throat. "We're not the ones who attacked you," he told the G'l Benai, his voice a strangled whisper. He tugged futilely at the alien's arm with both hands, trying to not think about where the dagger might be plunged next.
"LIAR! MURDERER! HEATHEN!" the warrior raged, leaning in close enough to strike his helmet against Reed's. His lips were out-of-sync with his words, which the lieutenant surmised was due to a translator built into the alien's helmet. He prayed it would accurately translate his own words into the G'l Benai's language.
"I'm telling you the truth," Reed desperately insisted, straining to force the words through his restricted airway. "We heard your distress call and came to help you. You need medical attention—our doctor can tend your injuries, and then we can try to find the rest of your crew and get them safely home." Taken aback, the alien eased the pressure on Reed's throat. Hopeful that he could reason with the man, Malcolm kept talking. "When we heard the distress call we came as quickly as possible. We can help you. Dr. Phlox can fix you up, and we may even be able to help with repairs to your ship." Reed felt his feet touch the floor as the G'l Benai let him slide down the wall, though it kept him pinned to the bulkhead as it weighed his words.
A drowning man grasping for a lifeline that lie just beyond his fingertips, he gazed down at Malcolm, shoulders slumped with sudden exhaustion. "My captain's ship," he corrected, eerily subdued. "It is my captain's ship, my captain's crew. All are gone now." His pupils shrank slightly, revealing that his left eye was a brilliant, piercing blue while the right was jade green.
Malcolm seized the opening, praying that he wouldn't screw it up. "It might not be too late. We may still be able to help you find them…bring them back. That's the only reason we're here."
An ember of hope flickered in the massive alien eyes as they eagerly searched the lieutenant's face, tremors coursing through his immense body as he struggled to stifle a coughing spasm. A fine spray of blood found its way past his lips and onto his faceplate.
"Please, let us help you," Reed urged quietly, surprised by his sincerity. This was one of the two who had stayed behind to lay down cover fire for their fleeing captain and comrades. The lieutenant could relate to that, no matter how foreign the ways of these people might be.
The heavy arm unexpectedly dropped away from the lieutenant's throat as the warrior staggered backward. Pupils shrinking to mere pinpoints he blinked drunkenly at Reed, swaying a bit before regaining some semblance of equilibrium. "All are gone now," he repeated in an exhausted, grief-filled wheeze.
"I know," Malcolm commiserated, eager to offer hope. "From what we can tell, your people got away. We didn't see any sign of them when we got here, and the only debris out there is from this ship as well as a good bit from the ship that attacked you. You did a good job on them, from the looks of it." Eyes drifting closed, the giant wobbled again. Malcolm resisted the urge to reach out a steadying hand, mindful of the dagger still clutched in the alien's hand and quite certain that any sudden move on his part would yield a very unpleasant reaction from the man. Besides, he was barely keeping himself upright at the moment, leaning his back heavily against the bulkhead as he fought for breath.
The G'l Benai's tongue crept slowly out between his soft felinoid lips briefly enveloping the snotty, blood-coated nose before sliding back into his mouth. A small hissing sigh escaped from the warrior before he broke the nervous silence in a voice almost too quiet to be heard. "Ancestors help me, for my mind is clouded and I am na'oosh tcha'ah. Those I protected are gone now. Nothing left but na'oosh tcha'ah."
The lieutenant wasn't sure why the alien's translator failed on "na'oosh tcha'ah" and wasn't entirely sure it mattered, but it made him uneasy nonetheless. The broad body in front of him swayed again, like a drunk getting up from his favorite barstool, then steadied. Drawing himself up to his full height—which, Reed noted grimly, was a good deal more than T'Pol's estimated seven feet—the G'l Benai murmured to himself. More prayers, Malcolm supposed, but the words were too faint to be heard. In the relative silence the lieutenant could make out a hissing sound coming from somewhere nearby but his pain-addled brain took several precious seconds to determine what it was. One of them had, from the sound of it, a small but steady air leak.
He was certain it wasn't him. Well, fairly certain. The emergency sealant had worked where he'd been stabbed, and if one of his hoses had come off he would surely be unconscious—if not dead—by now. Sparing a glance at Saunders brought relief: though pinned by one leg under the heavy trunk they'd been carrying, the man was conscious and breathing heavily but without great difficulty as he worked to free himself. That left their volatile host, who was still muttering under his breath to whatever spirits or deities his people believed in.
The murmuring abruptly ceased and two soft but audible words passed through the furry lips. "Must…protect." The soldier's eyes opened, pupils so large the color of his eyes was again obscured. His nose wrinkled as his lips curled back, blood and spittle dripping from his teeth. Black eyes glittering with fresh hatred and fury glared down at Reed, and the smaller man felt his body go cold.
'Bollocks.'
"Please listen to me," Malcolm urged. "We can help you. We can get you medical care, help you protect—" The gigantic left hand seized his throat, bashing the back of his helmet into the bulkhead.
"No more!" he raged at the lieutenant. "Your feeble trickery has failed, savage—I will hear no more of your deceptions!" Any shred of reason the alien may have once possessed had fled; the maniacal gleam in those black eyes was testament to that. A sinister smile spread across his feline face that made Phlox's full-face grin look not only normal but downright comforting.
Malcolm struggled uselessly against his attacker's grip then froze as the G'l Benai menacingly scraped the tip of the dagger across his faceplate. Part of his mind screamed at him to keep fighting, at least try to get away, but shock and blood loss had caught up to him. He couldn't fight, couldn't break the beast's hold on him, could barely breathe. Mind and body overloaded, all he could think of was the pain and the curved, brutal blade again making its way noisily across his faceplate, a lethal fingernail scraping on a blackboard. As he felt himself losing consciousness he was briefly able to morbidly ponder whether the alien would stab him yet again or simply slice through his airlines and watch him suffocate. Gleefully tapping a cadence against the side of Malcolm's faceplate with the tip of the blade the soldier paid little heed to the hollow thump from the direction of Crewman Saunders.
An instant later the sound of several phase pistol discharges sent fresh adrenaline coursing through the lieutenant and he renewed his struggles. Despite Saunders' excellent marksmanship, though, the warrior remained standing.
The angry black eyes narrowed to mere slits, nose wrinkling and lips curling in an amused, deadly leer as it hissed at him. "His little toy gun does not seem up to the task, does it?" he gloated an instant before a bright flash enveloped the side of his helmet. Still the phase pistol had no obvious effect. He laughed maliciously as he used the knife to caress Malcolm's air hoses. The sound of metal scraping on metal distracted the G'l Benai and he turned his head toward the launch bay doors. A millisecond later found him staggering backward, having been struck full across the helmet with the length of beam that had been holding those doors open. Crewman Saunders, wielding the beam like an oversized baseball bat, bellowed as he took another swing at the huge head and again connected solidly, sending the stunned alien sprawling face-first down the corridor and into the opposite wall before slumping to the floor. Malcolm, meanwhile, dropped unceremoniously to his knees on the deck, gratefully sucking in air. Saunders stood breathlessly over Reed, leaning heavily on the beam.
Reed wanted to ask Saunders what had taken him so bloody long but the words caught in his throat as he finally got a good look at the crewman. Blood was fairly streaming from the man's nose, his face was ashen, and there were several areas of his EV suit where emergency sealant had closed up gashes in the material. And the lieutenant, horrified, finally realized where the air leak was.
"Saunders, your suit's been compromised—you're losing oxygen!" David stared at the fallen alien then staggered, the beam slipping from his grip as he dropped to his knees and pitched forward next to Reed. Malcolm made a grab for him, fingers latching onto the rappelling harness and pulling the man close. Expertly checking hoses he found the culprit and tightened it back into place. Thankfully the hose hadn't come off entirely: though his oxygen level was low, Saunders' air situation wasn't critical. Yet.
Still gasping, the crewman finally broke the silence, the Irish lilt subtly sneaking in. "He's a right…sturdy little fella…ain't he?"
Reed almost laughed out loud—little fella, indeed!—but his chest hurt too much. He settled for a smile and a nod.
Though still stunned David turned his attention to his wounded CO, pulling out his scanner to check the lieutenant's injuries. "He busted us up pretty good, sir, but if it's a contest I'd say you won. Five broken ribs and two stab wounds. All I've got is a bloody nose and the worst feckin' headache of my life."
"I suspect you've got more than that but I'm not going to quibble. Help me up."
"Probably not the best idea with those ribs floating around in there, sir, but you're the boss."
"And don't you dare forget it," Reed retorted. As both men painfully rose a growl drew their attention back to the G'l Benai, who was also struggling to his feet.
"Aw, shit an' molasses," Saunders muttered, "why couldn't the crazy son of a sea cook stay down fer a couple more minutes?" He handed his pistol to Reed and retrieved the beam. "Just so you know, sir," he warned, "the stun setting wasn't exactly effective on this bloke."
"Noticed that, did you?" Malcolm quipped. "Think you can get those opened back up?" he asked quietly, nodding his head toward the off-kilter doors of the launch bay.
David shrugged. "Won't know 'til I try, sir. What's the plan?"
"Well, if phase pistols won't slow him down maybe one of those half-ton rifles of theirs will," he explained conspiratorially. "And we'll have to see about getting those outer doors open."
Once the warrior regained his feet he raised his head to glare silently at the men, his face almost obscured by the blood coating the inside of his helmet. Facing them now he held his position as he studied them, undisguised hatred burning in his eyes as he struggled for breath. Looking first at Reed then Saunders he took an unsteady step toward them but stopped when Malcolm leveled the pistol at him.
"Stay right where you are," Reed demanded firmly, trying to ignore the knife still clenched in the G'l Benai's hand. "Now...Let's. Try. This. Again. We aren't the ones who attacked you. We. Came. To. Help. You." Unintelligible growls and snarls were spewed at the man through drawn-back lips and bared fangs. 'I'd have an easier time convincing a Klingon to join me for afternoon tea.'
"You've made it rather clear, though," the lieutenant continued, "that you don't want us here. Now, we'd be more than happy to leave if you would be so kind as to open the damned door." A series of loud, panting hisses was the G'l Benai's only reply.
Malcolm sighed in frustration. He thought of the number of times he'd seen Captain Archer attempt to reason with unreasonable aliens and felt a new level of respect for the man. 'How does he do this sort of thing without losing his composure? It's positively maddening.' He forged ahead. "Well, if you're not going to let us leave, we'll just have to find our own way out. Mind you, I don't want to use this," he said, motioning with the phase pistol, "but if you attack us again or try to prevent us from leaving, I will."
The G'l Benai laughed, a blood-soaked grin on his face. "Your toy guns are most terrifying," he mocked.
"It's not set on stun anymore," Malcolm warned, watching with satisfaction as the grin vanished. "Mr. Saunders, kindly get those doors open." As the crewman worked to pry the off-kilter launch bay doors open the G'l Benai raised his hands to the sides of his head, expertly bracing the helmet despite the dagger still in hand. Reed's stomach lurched with revulsion as he realized that the slurping sound suddenly filling his ears was the sound of their attacker licking the thick coating of blood from the helmet's interior. A very long half-minute passed before the sound stopped, the angry feline features once again fully visible. The G'l Benai lowered his arms with agonizing slowness, black unblinking eyes never wavering as they bored into the lieutenant.
The warrior's right arm became a blur at almost the same instant that Malcolm dropped the pistol and screamed in pain, left hand reflexively clutching his right arm as he stumbled backward. Looking down in disbelief, his eyes confirmed what his gloved fingers had already told him: the G'l Benai's dagger was embedded deep into his upper arm, firmly welded into place by emergency sealant. A victorious roar from the knife's owner snapped Malcolm's attention back to his attacker, who was striding rapidly toward him with deadly purpose.
Gritting his teeth against the pain Reed crouched down to retrieve the pistol but his legs buckled. He pitched sideways, sending his injured arm slamming into the bulkhead. Vision blurring, he could just barely make out the image of Saunders striding past him to meet the G'l Benai, beam at the ready. The warrior briefly slowed his pace to size up his new opponent then resumed his charge, still intent upon his original target.
With a step forward Saunders drew back then with the next step swung the beam, bellowing at the top of his lungs. "Stay the bloody blue hell away from him!" He changed the angle of his swing at the last second; the G'l Benai's attempt to block the blow to his head was made useless as the beam plowed into his midriff. A deafening scream of agony filled the air as the soldier pitched backward, fresh sprays of blood appearing inside his faceplate as he coughed and retched uncontrollably. Saunders planted himself between his CO and their attacker, lined up to bat "southpaw" if the alien made another advance.
Though he didn't follow sports the phrase "switch hitter" flitted unbidden through Malcolm's mind as he got his left hand around the pistol and fought to stand. Struggling to steady himself, leaning heavily against the wall as the corridor spun around him, he made a mental note to not let Trip talk him into watching any more baseball games.
It was rapidly getting difficult to breath, he noticed. And not just for him. Saunders was breathing quite heavily, and the G'l Benai...well, Saunders had obviously done a good bit of damage with that last hit because the bastard was still doubled over, hacking and gasping for air. It seemed forever before the wet choking sounds coming from the goliath subsided. Painfully the alien straightened, still fighting to breath, shoulders heaving with the effort. Malcolm hadn't thought it possible for more hate to show on the man's face but by God, now it positively radiated from him. Not good. Not good at all.
"Watch yourself, Saunders," Reed warned. David nodded slowly, eyes never leaving his opponent. A low growl started deep within the beast, building to a deafening level as it shifted to a roaring battle cry. The leviathan charged, all attention now on the crewman who had denied him his prize. David again connected with the massive head and the G'l Benai again staggered backward but stayed upright. Another roar, another charge, another swing from Saunders' makeshift bat, and the two forms moved further down the corridor, away from Reed and toward the blast door. The phase pistol in Malcolm's hand was all but useless since a clear shot was impossible. As he opened his mouth to shout at Saunders to get the hell down the warrior charged the man again, and again the beam connected with the side of the helmet. The G'l Benai's faceplate flew open.
As one, all three men gasped. David and the warrior stepped back from each other at the same time, the alien's mouth wide with shock. That expression gave way to something indefinable as the gore-drenched face turned upward. It was as if he were gazing gratefully into the face of God, Malcolm thought. When the warrior lowered his head, eyes leveled at David, a crazed, feral smile spread across the hairy face. In a single leap he was on the crewman, the force of his impact sending the beam clattering to the floor as he seized the rappelling harness and pinned David to the wall. A muffled snarl of satisfaction escaped from the G'l Benai as his long teeth found their way through the fabric connecting Saunders' helmet to his EV suit, the crewman's screams cut horribly short by the teeth finding their way into the man's throat.
There had been no time for Malcolm to respond to the attack on Saunders but he reacted now, bellowing with rage as he opened fire. Staggering forward he fired again but the beast at first refused to relinquish its hold on its quarry. With painful slowness the enormous head finally lifted away from the crewman's still form, fresh blood staining his teeth as he smiled horribly at Reed. One hand reached up to almost casually snap the faceplate closed, the smile never leaving his face as his tongue slid over those terrible teeth, Saunders' blood mingling with his own as he lapped the gore from his lips. David's limp form slid to the floor as the alien finally loosed his grip.
The black eyes of the warrior shifted from Malcolm to the camera in the ceiling and the creature roared gleefully at it, voice hoarse as he shouted. "These two, at least, were worthy opponents, animals though they may be. But you! What manner of captain are you that you send your men to die in your stead? Coward! You are nothing but a ghallas, hiding safely in your burrow. I only regret that I cannot reach into that burrow of yours, so that I might drag you out by your ears and slay you properly!" He turned his attention back to the lieutenant. "You were warned! I told you that attempting to claim my captain's ship would be a costly undertaking. And the price is not yet fully paid." Seizing the beam from the floor next to Saunders' prone body he strode toward Reed. Two more shots failed to do more than seemingly annoy the hell out of the G'l Benai, though the last did give Malcolm the satisfaction of sending a shower of sparks from the alien EV suit.
Then the phase pistol was gone, knocked painfully away with an almost-playful swing of the beam. Reed was certain the G'l Benai was debating where exactly to put that beam, and the exhausted man knew that none of the options sprinting through that alien mind were going to be pleasant for him. He also knew there wasn't a damned thing he was going to be able to do to prevent it.
One nudge with its mighty hand sent Reed backward into the wall. As he watched the G'l Benai raise the beam overhead all fear and pain drained from him, leaving a most peculiar mix of resignation and anger. Though he'd long ago accepted the possibility and likelihood of dying in the line of duty he would never have believed it possible that he would meet his end at the hands of an overgrown, bipedal, homicidal alley cat. He steeled himself for the coming blow, determined to go to his death unflinching, with eyes open and with no pleading coming from his lips. It was far too late to beg for mercy on Saunders' behalf, and he silently vowed that he would not beg for his own life. He stared unblinking into the soulless eyes, setting his jaw, almost eager for the deathblow. Still the beam hung there.
Malcolm found himself growing impatient. "Come on," he finally snapped, "what're you waiting for? Let's have done with it!"
The beam wavered.
Now the lieutenant was thoroughly pissed off. "I said c'mon! I haven't got all bloody day! If you're expecting me to grovel and beg for my life you should know that you'll have none of that from me, understand?"
The black eyes glittered down at him, a thousand thoughts seeming to dance behind them before the beam flew through the air, clattering loudly first against the bulkhead then the floor, scraping and skittering down the corridor until it crashed into the blast door. The G'l Benai nodded slowly. "Yesss," he muttered, replying to voices unheard by his prey. "Much better. Much more...appropriate." The horrible smile returned as the giant leaned close, his words slow and deliberate. "You said that you wanted to see what we were hiding, did you not? Perhaps you have earned the right to see. So I will show you." He chuckled humorlessly before roughly seizing the lieutenant by the harness and yanked him close.
The sudden, abrupt movement sent fresh waves of pain and nausea coursing through Reed. His vision blurred and his knees started to give way but somehow he stayed upright, struggling weakly against the iron grip.
"One last task before I go to The Ancestors," the G'l Benai cooed, "and you shall assist me. It is...fitting...that you should do this."
"I'll not help you with anything!" Malcolm shouted rebelliously, not caring that he could offer only token resistance as he was hauled to the sealed door across the corridor from the launch bay. He realized the folly of his brief defiance when the G'l Benai spun him about and placed a huge, well-aimed knee deep into his midsection. The alien then simply let go, letting him drop to his knees coughing and gasping for breath. The blow had, Reed was sure, broken more ribs, and from the feel of things his sternum as well. Morbidly curious to know what his executioner was doing Malcolm struggled to lift his head, which had suddenly become inordinately heavy. He tried with minimal success to ignore the blood now gracing the inside of his own faceplate.
The warrior raised one foot and placed it with great care about two feet up the wall alongside the door. Toes braced against the wall and right arm raised to the ceiling he hoisted himself upward, his palm pressing against a small panel in the ceiling similar to the one near the blast door. With a faint click the panel yielded and a PADD-sized section of wall near the ceiling slid downward to expose a keypad.
'Should have noticed that one,' Reed scolded himself: when they'd found the panel near the blast door he should have checked for others. 'Please let them be watching on Enterprise. They won't be able to save either of us, but at least they'll be able to recover our bodies.' Long alien fingers gracefully caressed the symbols until the door hissed open. At almost the same instant Malcolm's helmet was filled with static and fragments of frantic words delivered with a familiar drawl.
"Mal...hang...we're com...jus...nother min...gonna be...ight...don't gi...hear me? Don...dare quit on m...loo-ten…"
Malcolm's eyes closed momentarily as wistful, smile played across his bloodied lips. "Too late, Trip," he whispered. "I'm sorry...so sorry." He hardly felt himself being again lifted by the rappelling harness, but his eyes snapped open in surprise and fresh agony as he was bashed into the doorjamb. His eyes widened as he looked into the room.
"Look well, human. You wanted to see what was here, did you not?"
'Oh shit shit shit can't be can't be have to WARN THEM YOU BLOODY IDIOT WARN THEM!' Somehow he found his voice and began screaming as the G'l Benai threw him into the darkened room. "CAPTAIN YOU HAVE TO POLE—" The door swished shut, cutting off all sound from within the room.