STAR TREK: Enterprise - What Price Honor?

by Dave Stern

  With those words, everyone began suiting up. Reed put on his helmet and activated the seal. Oxygen began flowing, and he wrinkled his nose. There was something about the smell of recycled air from a tank ... he’d never been able to get Trip to satisfactorily explain to him why Enterprise’s air didn’t smell the same way.

  He shuddered, and caught a glimpse of Alana as she sealed her helmet. She was making the same face.

  He smiled.

  “I don’t know that I’ll ever get used to that smell,” he said.

  “Yes, sir,” she said, her face gone suddenly blank.

  She followed Trip out of the shuttle.

  So much for small talk, Reed thought.

  The planetoid’s surface was as barren as Earth’s moon—rocky and inhospitable. From orbit, it had a reddish orange color, but down this close, those shades all faded into a continuum of brown. There was a fine haze of dust swirling through the air.

  It took Trip and Reed less than five minutes to reach the first of the smaller buildings. Except that as they got closer, Reed realized that they weren’t buildings at all.

  “These were ships,” he said. “Fusion engines, minimal crew compartment—”

  “Yeah.” Trip, out in front, was the first to reach one. He stood next to it and looked up. “Reminds me of the old lunar modules, you know? The ones the Apollo astronauts used?”

  Reed nodded. Module was a good word for what they were looking at. The structure resembled nothing so much as a cube, perhaps twenty feet tall and just as wide around, with appendages of various lengths and thicknesses sticking out of it. The appendages looked functional; Reed guessed they had served various communications and sensory purposes at one point.

  “They flew them down, set ’em in place, and left ’em. Not too long ago, either.” Trip ran a hand along the side of the module. “Look at the pitting on the surface here. I’d say a year.”

  “Not even that,” Reed said. “Six months, at the most.”

  He pulled out his tricorder and took readings.

  “Standard duranium/titanium composition, fairly recent construction.”

  “Malcolm.” Reed turned and saw Trip standing by the next closest module, motioning to him. “Over here.”

  Reed put away his tricorder and approached the module. As he got closer, he saw something lying on the ground at Trip’s feet. At first he thought it was one of the metal appendages from the module.

  Three meters away, he realized it was a body.

  Humanoid, but that was about all you could tell by looking at it. Whoever it was—had been—was not wearing an environmental suit. The body lay crumpled against the base of the module, buried up to its waist by the planetoid’s drifting sand.

  “What a mess,” Trip said.

  Reed bent down next to it, his tricorder still on.

  “Not human,” he said, studying the readings. “Thinner bones, slightly different skeletal structure—”

  Trip shook his head. “I wonder what made him decide to take a walk without a spacesuit.”

  “Maybe he didn’t.” Reed adjusted the controls on the tricorder and frowned. “Look where the body struck the base. See that?”

  “Yeah,” Trip said. There was a slight discoloration there. “Blood, you think?”

  “I do. And the skull is caved in at the back of the head as well.”

  “He fell?”

  “No. The fracture is too severe to have been caused by a fall. I think he was thrown.”

  “By what?”

  Reed stood up then, and looked around the outpost.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Trip stood and looked around too. “Hey, hold on a minute. This whole thing—the modules in a circle—could have been a containment field here.”

  “Some kind of pressurized atmosphere?” Reed nodded. “That makes sense. It’s the simplest explanation for why our spacesuited friend was walking around without a suit.”

  “Explosive decompression on that scale ...” Trip bent down next to the module, and dug away at the base. “These things are in pretty deep—that’s why they stayed put,” he said a few seconds later, “but anything else—”

  “Went flying,” Reed finished. He looked around at the other modules, arranged in a circle, and nodded. “It could be. Some sort of field generator—”

  “Or a field generator holding a layer of monofilament in place.”

  “Like a big tent,” Reed said.

  “Balloon is the image you’re looking for,” Trip said. “And somebody popped it.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Let’s look around a little more, see if we can find out,” Trip said.

  They made a circle around the larger building, checking out two more of the modules. Along the way they found another body, in much the same condition as the first. Again, not wearing a spacesuit of any kind.

  Trip also found, sticking up out of the ground like a spear, one of the metal appendages from a module. Attached to it was a thin sheet of transparent material.

  “Monofilament,” Trip said, rubbing it between his gloved fingers. It crumpled and flew away like the strands of a spider’s web. “There was some kind of atmospheric containment field working here.”

  He reached up and flicked on his com switch.

  “Tucker to Captain Archer.”

  “Archer here. Go ahead.”

  “Found something interesting, Captain.” Trip proceeded to tell him about the bodies and the containment field.

  Archer was silent a moment.

  “Sir?” Trip prompted.

  “We found bodies too,” the captain said finally. “Four of them. Shot with some kind of particle weapon. Two in the back.”

  Everyone was silent a moment.

  “Dead how long?” Reed asked, switching on his own com.

  Bishop spoke up. “Best guess two days, sir.” He described the dead aliens.

  “Sounds like they belong to the same race as the ones we found,” Trip said. “So I think we can take it as a given this place was attacked.”

  “Captain,” Reed said. “I’d like to suggest that you, Commander Tucker, and Hoshi return to the ship. Let me bring down a full security team and reconnoiter before we do any further exploration.”

  “Whoever attacked the outpost seems to be gone,” Archer said. “We’re not picking up any life signs. And we are closing in on the source of the distress signal. If there are survivors, they could be in need of our help.”

  “Sir—”

  “Your concern is noted, Lieutenant. And appreciated. Keep me posted on what you find, Commander.”

  “And you do the same,” Trip replied. “Tucker out.” He switched off his com.

  “Commander,” Reed said, allowing a touch of irritation to creep into his voice. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea for the captain to put himself into this kind of situation.”

  “I’ve had that conversation with him too, Malcolm. And I lost, same as you did.”

  “It’s not prudent.”

  “Prudent, hell. It’s dangerous. But he’s the captain.” Trip smiled. “End of story. You can bring it up again when we get back to the ship, if you want. For all the good it’ll do you. But for now ...” Trip looked down at his tricorder, then back up again. “I’ve got a fix on those energy readings you picked up from the shuttle.” He pointed at the large building in the center of the complex. “There. Come on.”

  They set off again. As they walked, Reed deliberately fell back, and switched on his com again, this time to a private channel.

  “Ensign Hart, do you read me?” he said quietly.

  “Right here, sir.”

  “Mister Bishop’s on point?”

  “Yes, sir. I’m trailing.”

  “Good,” Reed said. “I’m going to ask you to turn your tricorder on to maximum sensitivity, and keep a close eye on it.”

  “What am I looking for, sir? Other life signs?”

  “No, Bishop will have his instruments set
to read those things. I want you to be watching for any signs of increased radiation or structural flaws in the modules. This whole place has just gone through a series of very devastating events.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m setting the tricorder now.”

  “Anything you pick up—anything out of the ordinary—you call me. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Reed heard irritation in her voice.

  “I’m not baby-sitting you, Ensign.”

  “No, sir.”

  The irritation was still there.

  “Alana, I have no doubt you can do your job. It’s just that keeping charge of the captain is something I take rather personally on these missions.”

  “Yes, sir.” She still didn’t sound mollified.

  Reed didn’t have time to try and explain himself further.

  “I’ll check in with you again shortly. Out.”

  He caught up with Trip just in time to examine the next module. They found nothing new there, no clues as to what might have happened to the containment field, or who attacked the outpost. Nor did they find anything at the remaining three modules that formed the perimeter.

  As they approached the larger building at the center of the complex, though, Reed noticed a number of shallow depressions in the ground off to his left—rectangular-shaped, perhaps two dozen feet on one side, half again on the other.

  He stopped in his tracks. They reminded him, suddenly, of something—though for the life of him he couldn’t remember what.

  “Hold on, Commander,” he called, taking out his tricorder. “What do you make of those?”

  Trip turned around, and looked where he was pointing. “Man-made, for sure. Or alien-made, if you want to be a stickler about it.”

  “Tricorder says they go down about ten feet—to a level surface.” Reed shook his head. “So what are they?”

  “Somethin’ we’ll figure out later,” Trip said. He started walking again. “Come on, Malcolm. The sooner we do this, the sooner we get the captain back to the ship safe and sound.”

  “All right,” Reed said. But he stayed behind a moment longer, racking his brain for the memory that was eluding him. Finally, with a last shake of his head, he gave up and joined Trip again.

  As they approached the building at the center of the complex, Reed could see that what he had earlier mistaken for a single, monolithic structure was in fact composed of two pieces—a rectangle on top, with a square base supporting it. Only it wasn’t exactly a rectangle, nor exactly a square. The proportions were off—distorted.

  Very strange. Very alien. And more than anything else, he thought, very, very old.

  “Damn.” Trip had his tricorder out and was shaking his head. “It’s like a hundred-foot hole in the sensor readings. I’m not picking it up at all.”

  “It’s the same alloy,” Reed said absently, more focused on the building before him than what Trip was saying. The lieutenant was next to the base now; it extended about a dozen feet off the ground, and was composed of a single, polished surface. Metal, or stone—he still couldn’t really tell. He couldn’t see a crack in it, or a sign of stress anywhere. He raised a glove to touch it—

  And jumped back in surprise.

  “There’s some kind of energy field around it.”

  “Low-level magnetic field,” Trip said, walking up next to him and running his hand next to the base. “I feel it too.”

  The com crackled in his ear.

  “Archer to Tucker.”

  “Go ahead, sir,” Trip said.

  “We found the transmitter. A communications device in one of the smaller modules, set to continuous broadcast. No sign of any survivors. We have found something else, though. A passageway, leading down. We’re going to check it out.”

  Reed didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Sir—”

  “I understand your concern, Lieutenant. Ensign Hart has suggested we leave a channel open so you can monitor what we’re doing.”

  “Good suggestion,” Trip said.

  It was at that, Reed had to admit.

  “Where are you, Trip?” the captain asked.

  “Right at the source of those energy readings. One of the big buildings. But I don’t see any way in to find out what’s generating all this power.”

  “Well ... find out what you can, and head back to the shuttle. We’ll meet you there shortly.”

  “Aye, sir. Tucker out.” He looked at Reed. I’m gonna go check around the other side of the building.”

  “All right. Stay alert.” Reed opened his own com. “Ensign Hart?”

  “Right here, sir,” Alana replied.

  “I’ll be on the channel we used previously.”

  “Yes, sir. Switching to monitor—now.”

  Reed listened. He heard breathing. Walking. Steps down a hard-floored passageway.

  “Tell me what you’re seeing, Ensign,” he said.

  “Not much. No ambient light. The passageway is about half as wide as the corridors aboard ship—roughly the same height. Composed of ...” She paused. “Tricorder says mostly silicon.”

  Reed tried to remember what he knew about silicon. Lightweight. A very efficient energy conductor. He had never heard of it being vised as a construction material.

  “We’re headed in your direction,” Hart said. “The passageway appears to end—” The signal crackled. “—hundred feet.”

  “I missed part of that,” Reed said. “You’re breaking up.”

  “We’re getting interference. I think from—” The crackle came again. “—near you.”

  “Boost your signal, Ensign.”

  “Aye, sir.” Her voice suddenly came in much louder. “Better?”

  “Much. Repeat that last part of your message.”

  “The interference is coming from the power source near you.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “No, sir. Heading in your direction, the interference is likely to get worse.”

  As if on cue, the com crackled again.

  Reed thought about telling Hart to ask the captain to turn back. He suspected he knew what kind of response she’d get.

  “Malcolm!”

  That was Trip, cutting in on the com. Reed turned and saw him waving.

  “On the other side of the building—there’s an opening. A door.”

  Reed waved back. “All right, Ensign,” he said to Hart over the com. “I’ll continue to monitor you. Out.”

  Reed came around the building. Trip stood next to the base, where a portion of the wall was simply missing. Or at least it looked that way at first.

  Then Reed looked closer, and saw that part of the base was actually a door that had slid open to one side. Or been forced—the base next to it was blackened in spots, though otherwise undamaged.

  “I went in about ten feet,” Trip said. “There are steps, leading down. Into a passageway that sounds a lot like what the captain found.”

  “There may be a whole network of tunnels here, connecting the buildings. That would make sense.”

  Trip flipped on his com. “Tucker to Archer.”

  “Right here, Trip.”

  There was a lot of static on that channel too.

  “You’re breaking up, sir,” Trip said. “Let’s try another channel.”

  “Won’t do any good,” Reed cut in. “That’s interference from the power source we picked up.” He was also listening to the channel Ensign Hart had left open—now that was filled with static as well, though he could still hear sounds of the captain’s party, moving forward.

  Trip nodded. “Captain, looks like we’ve found the same kind of passage you did. Leading down.”

  “Well, we’re headed in your general direction. Maybe we’ll hook up.”

  “Maybe we will. Tucker out.”

  Each environmental suit had two lights, one on either side of the helmet. Trip switched on his now. “You up for a little exploring?” he asked.

  “On one condition.” Reed
snapped his tricorder shut, and slid it back in his pocket. Then he switched on his helmet lights. “I go first.” Reed drew his phase pistol, and stepped forward into the tunnel opening.

  Thirteen

  LIEUTENANT REED’S QUARTERS

  1/17/2151 0708 HOURS

  THE COM SOUNDED, or Reed felt sure he might have fallen asleep on his feet in the shower, with the water still pounding on his back.

  “Bridge to Lieutenant Reed.”

  He stepped out of the stall, and the water automatically shut off. He grabbed for a towel and the com at the same time.

  “This is Reed. Go ahead.”

  “Good morning, Lieutenant. The captain requests your presence in the situation room immediately.”

  That was Travis—Ensign Mayweather. Reed checked the time on his monitor and saw that there was still almost two hours before his shift started.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Don’t know. But he got me up early to cover for O’Neil. She’s going to be there. All the senior officers as well.”

  O’Neil was Lieutenant Donna O’Neil. D.O., everyone called her. She was the duty officer on third shift—night watch on the bridge. Her presence there told Reed that whatever the meeting was about, it had something to do with events that had taken place during her shift.

  “Huh,” Reed said, wondering what that something was. “Thanks, Travis.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “So you’re the duty officer now? Alone on the bridge?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Stay out of the chair.”

  “Very funny. Bridge out.”

  Reed smiled. He’d caught Travis in the captain’s chair once, early on in their mission, and had never let him forget about it. Tweaked him every chance he could. Mayweather took it well—no surprise there. He was a good kid—had the makings of a fine officer. A little excitable, perhaps, but then what young ensign wasn’t?

  Alana, he thought. She wasn’t.

  Reed finished getting dressed and reported to the situation room—which was really not a room at all, but a separate area at the rear of the bridge. Archer, Trip, Hoshi, and O’Neil were already there.

  “Malcolm,” the captain said, greeting him. Then Archer turned to O’Neil. “T’Pol’s coming?”