by Dave Stern
He was babbling. Archer saw a useless, babbling coward.
Reluctantly, the captain holstered his pistol.
“Tie him to the chair. Tightly,” he told Duel and Carstairs.
The two men, both ensigns aboard the Enterprise, did as he’d ordered, handling Gastornis none too gently in the process. Archer smiled thinly at the man’s discomfort.
They were all in Rava One’s com center, a small room at the top of the prison’s administrative tower. They’d brought Gastornis here after breaking into his office and removing the man from where he’d been cowering behind his desk, the last act in the day-long rebellion that had now left Archer in command of the prison. The first act in his struggle to find and regain control of his ship.
“If he tries anything,” Archer said to Ensign Duel, “hurt him. If he suddenly doesn’t feel well. If he apologizes for what he did. If he complains about—”
“I won’t say a word,” Gastornis said hurriedly. “I promise.”
Archer ignored him and looked to Duel. The ensign, normally the picture of the dispassionate scientist, looked every bit as angry as Archer felt.
The young man nodded. “I understand, sir. I may hurt him anyway, if that’s all right.”
“You have my permission,” the captain said. He knew Duel was just talking. Gastornis didn’t. The colonel went an even paler shade.
Archer turned to Carstairs.
“You have an ETA on that vessel yet?”
The ensign had resumed his seat in front of the com center’s sole console. The sensor display was on his immediate left.
The young com officer, normally Hoshi’s second when they were aboard Enterprise, shook his head. “No, sir. Nothing yet.”
“Keep me posted,” Archer said. The vessel in question—the military ship that had responded to Gastornis’s fake SOS—had said they would proceed at top speed to the prison. Top speed in the asteroid belt, however—where Archer had learned Rava was located—was dependent on a number of factors. His ETA was approximately two hours. Gastornis had also assured them the ship had warp drive. Fast enough, the captain had to assume, to get them to wherever Enterprise had been taken, once they had control of her. Archer doubted taking command of a military ship would be as easy a task as commandeering this prison, but he also had little doubt of the end result.
They would capture the Denari ship. They would find Enterprise, and then…
He would discuss the consequences of an unprovoked attack with Denari’s military commanders.
The captain left Duel and Carstairs in the com center and made his way through Rava’s tunnels to the infirmary.
The beds were filled with Enterprise crew members. A great many of the crew—Archer included himself in the number—had been taken sick since arriving at Rava One. A reaction to something in the food the Denari were giving them, Phlox had told the captain. Certain people were more sensitive to that something than others. Dwight, for example, who’d been the point man on their escape earlier in the day, had been violently ill on more than one occasion.
Right now the young ensign was sprawled on one of the infirmary beds—asleep or unconscious, Archer couldn’t tell which—looking pale, thin, and worn.
The captain stood over him a moment, feeling guilty—he’d known Dwight was on the edge of collapse when he’d assigned him a prominent part in the escape, but he felt the needs of the crew—the need for escape—had to outweigh any other considerations. He hoped the young man wasn’t now paying too harsh a price for his part in the day’s earlier events.
Archer went in search of Phlox to find out.
He found the Denobulan—the other nonhuman aboard Enterprise—in the intensive care section of the prison’s infirmary—a separate room with two beds. T’Pol was sitting up in one of them. Phlox stood over her, reading something off a medical sensor.
“Captain,” T’Pol said, “I gather from your appearance here that the colonel did as you asked.”
“That’s right. A military transport answered the SOS. They’re on their way.” He studied his science officer a moment, doing his best not to let his eyes dwell on the burns along her right arm. “How are you feeling?”
“I am fine,” she said immediately, in a tone of voice that implied there was no reason for her to be anything but. “Anxious to return to duty.”
Archer looked to Phlox and raised a questioning eyebrow. The doctor shrugged.
“Vulcans,” Phlox said, “have a remarkable ability to compartmentalize pain. Had you or I been subjected to this sort of treatment”—he nodded to the burns on her arm—“we would undoubtedly need to remain hospitalized for several days, hooked up to an IV of very strong pain-killing medication. However…” He shrugged. “Provided Sub-Commander T’Pol feels capable, I can see no reason for her to remain in the infirmary.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” T’Pol said.
“With the understanding, however,” Phlox continued, “that she will check in with me periodically—every six hours, let’s say—to make sure the burns are healing properly and that no infection has set in.”
T’Pol frowned. “I am capable of monitoring my own condition, Doctor. And you are quite busy here.”
Phlox shook his head. “Every six hours,” he said firmly.
“T’Pol,” Archer said, “let’s do as the doctor suggests. All right?”
“Yes,” she said. “As you wish, sir.”
He could see she wasn’t happy. But he knew she would do what he asked.
“Good. Then you’re cleared to return to duty.”
“Thank you.” She swung her legs out of the bed, stood, and—
Took a very, very deep breath.
Archer reached out a hand to steady her. She held up one of her own to forestall him.
“I am fine, sir.” She exhaled slowly. “I doubt I will be capable of taking part in any tasks requiring extensive physical activity for some time. But my desire to return to duty is mainly prompted by—”
“There’s no need to rush this,” the captain interrupted.
“On the contrary.” T’Pol shook her head. “As I was saying, my desire to return to duty is prompted by a need to finish a series of observations I began while in Colonel Gastornis’s custody.”
“Observations?” Archer frowned. All he’d known about the time T’Pol spent after she’d been taken from them was that Gastornis had held her in isolation, had tortured her in a vain attempt to force her to betray secrets relating to Vulcan technology. This was the first he was hearing about any observations.
“Yes, sir. Observations. I feigned cooperation with the colonel over the last few days, in order to be allowed access to the prison’s auxiliary sensor systems. During that time, however, I found…”
She paused, and took another deep breath. “I found some anomalies which I am at a loss to explain at the present time. That is why it is imperative I continue these observations.”
“Astronomical observations.” Archer shook his head. He was tempted to ask Phlox if the stress T’Pol had clearly been subjected to could have affected her judgment.
“Captain,” she said, her voice taking on a sudden edge, “I cannot stress enough how critical these observations may turn out to be. It will take me approximately eight hours to complete them. At that point—”
“All right,” the captain conceded. “Go. But T’Pol—every six hours. Sooner, if you feel weak.”
She looked from the captain to Phlox. “Every six hours. Yes, sir. Ensign Duel—”
“He’s with Carstairs in the com center.”
“Can I request his assistance in my work?”
“By all means. Have Lee”—Archer was talking about Chief John Lee, security’s second-in-command—“pick someone to take his place.”
T’Pol nodded. “I will.”
Archer and Phlox watched her leave the room.
“You think she’ll be all right?” the captain asked.
“As I said, you or I, under the
same circumstances—we would be in agony. T’Pol’s system is certainly stressed at this moment, but it appears to be nothing she can’t handle.”
“All right.” The captain gestured to the main ward. “I saw Dwight out there. How’s he doing?”
“As well as can be expected. Weak, but in no immediate danger.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve had any time to—”
“Find out more about what’s causing all this?” Phlox shook his head. “Unfortunately, the equipment here”—the doctor spread his arms to take in all of the infirmary—“it’s simply inadequate to perform the kind of analysis necessary. All I can do is mitigate the allergic symptoms—though one of the medicines itself seems to have caused a reaction. In Lieutenant Bellars.”
“The medicine caused a reaction?”
“Yes. I’ve never heard of such a thing happening. The entire situation is most puzzling.”
O’Neill—Lieutenant Donna O’Neill, the ship’s third-shift commander—chose that moment to poke her head inside the isolation ward.
“Carstairs just checked in, Captain. ETA on that ship is forty-eight minutes.”
“All right,” Archer said. “I’ll be back to you soon, Doctor. D.O., let’s get moving.”
Three-quarters of an hour later, they were standing in the cargo hold. Four of them, all dressed in the black uniforms they’d taken from the prison guards, all armed to the teeth—Archer and O’Neill, Crewmen Scott and O’Bannon. All had their communicators as well, courtesy of the recently unlocked prison armory.
The captain’s beeped just as they assumed position in front of the main airlock. Taking their place as the prison’s welcoming committee.
“Archer.”
“Carstairs here, sir. Got a visual on that ship now—it’s exactly like the ones that attacked Enterprise.”
“How many on board?”
“Fourteen, I think, but I can’t be a hundred percent certain. These sensors aren’t precise enough. Gastornis tried to weasel a number out of their commander—a Lieutenant Covay—but backed off fast when the lieutenant started asking questions.”
Dammit. Archer rubbed his brow. He’d warned the colonel to avoid saying anything at all that might raise suspicions aboard the incoming vessel. And now…
“He didn’t give it away, did he? Gastornis?”
“No, sir. I don’t think so.”
“All right.” The captain was silent a moment. He hated being in this position, having to depend on someone like Gastornis for anything at all, much less something as important as this. Not that he had much choice in the matter.
It wasn’t only Gastornis he was worried about. Being honest with himself, Archer had to admit he disliked having to depend on junior officers. In situations like this, he preferred senior staff—Trip and T’Pol, Travis and Hoshi. And above all, Malcolm—Lieutenant Reed, his armory officer/security chief—who lived for and excelled in these moments.
The lieutenant, though, was among the missing.
Reed had been spirited away at the same time as T’Pol. But unlike the Vulcan, whom they’d found in solitary confinement, Malcolm hadn’t turned up anywhere on Rava. And no one—not Colonel Gastornis, not the com officer, not even the guards who had escorted Reed to the military vessel that had borne him away—knew where the security chief had been taken. Archer had teams searching through the base’s records for clues to Malcolm’s whereabouts—so far, though, they’d had no success in finding any. No clues as to where Travis or Hess and Ryan from engineering had been taken either.
First Trip and Hoshi, who had vanished during the attack on Enterprise two weeks ago. And now Reed and Travis. Four of his senior staff missing.
Archer was going to have to make do with what—and who—he had.
“They’re docking now, sir,” Carstairs said over the communicator. “No indication of weapons activity.”
“All right. You know what to do. On my signal—”
“Yes, sir.”
Archer put the communicator in his pocket, leaving the channel open so Carstairs could hear his cue.
“Stay sharp, everyone,” the captain said. “Here we go.”
The airlock door was ten meters away. A light above it flashed, and then the door slid open.
Two Denari soldiers—dressed exactly like Archer and his team, in black uniforms with gold piping—stepped through, weapons drawn.
Archer didn’t think that was standard procedure. Something Gastornis had said put the ship on alert.
The soldiers pointed their weapons directly at the four men before them.
“Stay where you are. Hands over your heads.”
Archer had the only UT among them. He raised his arms. The others followed suit.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
The soldiers didn’t respond. Didn’t move a muscle.
A moment later, two more Denari stepped through the airlock. One of them had rank insignia.
Archer straightened. “Sir.”
The officer stepped forward. “Where is Colonel Gastornis?”
“Trapped in the com center, sir.”
“Trapped?” The man—Lieutenant Covay, the captain assumed—frowned. “Who are you?”
“Chief Archer. Block D. These are my guards.” The captain gestured toward the three standing alongside him.
Covay nodded. “Well, Chief Archer, what—exactly—is the emergency?”
“Computer system is failing, sir. Repeated malfunctions.”
Archer enunciated the last words as clearly as he could. Carstairs had a UT too, but the captain wasn’t taking any chances.
“Computer malfunctions?” Covay shook his head. “That hardly seems worthy of an SOS. Or our presence. I’ll have a repair ship—”
The airlock door slid suddenly shut with a loud clang.
Covay spun around. “What—”
“It’s our computer again.” Archer tried to look annoyed. “Same thing happened to the colonel. We’ve been on high alert for the last twelve hours. If the cell block doors malfunction…”
“I see.” Covay nodded. “Well. As long as we’re here, I suppose we may as well try and help. Mister Lake?”
One of the soldiers knelt down next to the airlock and examined it. A few seconds later, he looked up.
“Definitely a software glitch, sir,” he said to the lieutenant. “It could spill over, systemwide, depending on exactly what the problem is.”
“What do you recommend doing?”
“Well…system reset would be the obvious answer.”
“First thing we tried, too,” Archer lied.
Covay frowned.
Something beeped. His communicator. The lieutenant answered it.
“Kedlee here, sir. Is everything all right?”
“Everything is not all right, Kedlee,” Covay said. “The computer system here is failing. It’s locked us out of the ship.”
“What should we do, Lieutenant?”
“Stand by.” Covay looked down at the soldier by the airlock. “Try the manual release.”
The soldier nodded. A few seconds passed.
“Something wrong with it,” the man said, shaking his head.
Archer knew that for a fact. They’d disabled it half an hour ago.
The captain caught O’Neill’s eye. Be ready.
Next to him, Scott tensed. He’d caught the signal as well. The change in his body language was obvious. Luckily, Covay’s soldiers didn’t notice.
“Mister Lake, we can take you to the computer center,” Archer offered. “You might be able to figure out what’s happening.”
Lake looked to his commander. “Sir?”
Covay hesitated only a second. “Go.”
Archer nodded to O’Bannon. He stepped forward.
“I’ll show you the way.” Lake followed him across the cargo hold and out through a nearby door.
One down, Archer thought. Three to go.
Covay took out his communicator again. “Kedlee
.”
“Here, sir.”
“Lake has gone to Rava’s computer center. We’re going to talk to Gastornis. Contact you again shortly. Out.” He closed his communicator and turned to Archer. “Take me to the colonel.”
The captain nodded. “Right this way.”
Covay took two steps—and stopped.
Archer followed his eyes. He was looking at Crewman Scott, who still looked ill at ease. Nervous.
Covay’s hand moved to his belt again.
“I have another idea,” he said calmly. “Kedlee may be able to—”
He knows, Archer realized. Somehow, he knows.
The captain went for his weapon.
Covay got to his first, and fired.
The blast caught Archer square in the chest, knocking him backwards. He was vaguely aware of the ground slamming into him, the air leaving his chest in a whoosh.
He lay on his back a moment, stunned. He heard voices—shouts. The sound of another laser blast.
I drew first, the captain thought. I had him dead to rights. What happened?
His vision swam. O’Neill came into view above him.
“Sir? You all right? Sir?”
Archer sat up.
O’Bannon had the drop on the other two Denari. Covay lay on the ground, motionless.
“Let me help you,” O’Neill said. Archer waved her off.
“I’m fine,” he said, feeling anything but. Getting punched by a laser pistol felt exactly like getting punched in a fight—left you feeling weak, woozy, and vaguely nauseous.
The captain gathered himself and got to his feet.
“What happened?” he asked, nodding at Lieutenant Covay, who lay on the ground two meters away, hand still holding his weapon.
“When he got you, I got him,” O’Neill said. “He’s just stunned.”
The captain nodded. He turned to the other two Denari.
“Sorry about this,” he said. “Don’t worry, though. Your lieutenant’s fine. So is Crewman Lake. We don’t intend you any harm.”
“So you say,” one of them spit out. “Why should we believe you?”
“Believe what you want,” Archer said. “All we want is our ship back. To get it, unfortunately”—he managed a smile at the two men—“we need yours.”
