The weasel’s guards fired back, but the MACOs’ insistent barrage forced their retreat; meantime, the foreman himself dashed into the shadows.
The Captain wasted no time; neither did Trip Tucker. They instinctively worked together, taking advantage of the surprise attack to tackle the guard nearest them to the metal floor. Archer took his rifle, and barely had time to heft it before a different alien guard came charging at him, ready to shoot.
But Archer fired first, intentionally hitting the alien in the shoulder—enough to take him out of the fray, not enough to kill. Trip rushed to the fallen guard at once and snagged his weapon; together, the two of them moved through the murk toward the battle.
Archer’s breath and pulse quickened; he experienced, as he often did during combat, a sense of time slowing. Although several events happened simultaneously in an instant, Archer saw each one in full detail.
In the midst of the fight, Kessick dropped to his belly and began crawling for cover.
At the same time, one of the MACOs moved confidently through the haze, golden-bright fire streaming from the barrel of his weapon. Abruptly, a stray energy pulse struck his thigh; the silvery fabric of his jumpsuit dissolved, blackened; the young man grunted, teeth clenched, as the pulse seared a hole into his flesh. The force of the blow propelled him backwards, spine curving in a “C,” but his training made him keep his grip on his weapon.
Meantime, two alien guards had chosen to abandon their less-than-trustworthy leader, and were running away down the dark, mist-filled tunnel…only to encounter two MACOs, one of whom Archer recognized instantly as Major Hayes. The aliens raised their weapons to fire—a split second too late. The MACOs blasted them out of the way.
Yet another MACO made his way cautiously through the gloom. Out of the haze, an alien guard appeared behind him, and brought down the butt of his rifle with skull-crushing force.
Astoundingly, the MACO stayed on his feet—but dropped his weapon. Once again, the guard hefted his rifle above his head, intending to bring it down again, this time with a killing blow…But the MACO whirled away from him, seized a baton from his belt, and aimed it; it emitted a crackling beam that deflected the blow. In less than a second, the MACO moved in again, again unleashing a series of beams from the baton that brought the guard to the ground.
During all this, Trip had managed to shield himself behind a corroded, trellium-encrusted piece of mining equipment, and now took careful shots at the guards. As he crouched, there came a blinding explosion, a spray of shrapnel; by the time Trip opened his eyes, he found himself exposed and vulnerable, the equipment in shambles around him.
And the head guard stood a short distance away, taking aim directly at Trip’s head.
But before the alien could fire, a MACO stepped up behind him, and in a skilled, graceful move, applied the butt of his rifle to the back of the alien’s skull, bringing the head guard down.
Trip nodded his thanks; the MACO replied curtly with the same gesture.
All these events occurred in the time it took Archer to rush to the first downed MACO, swing the wounded man’s arm over his, Archer’s, shoulder, and help him to his feet.
A sudden flash lit up the dark chamber as if they all stood in full daylight; a rattling boom pained the Captain’s ears, caused the metal flooring beneath his feet to shudder. Debris fell from the stairwell, followed by the sound of rapid footfall.
Along with Trip and the unengaged MACOs, Archer turned with his burden to face the stairs, and lifted the weapon in his free hand, ready to fire.
But the fresh contingent of alien guards he expected never materialized; instead, Reed and two more MACOs came dashing down the stairs.
His voice bright with triumph, Reed called down to the Captain. “It took a little doing, sir, but we’ve ‘unlocked’ the outer hatch!”
Archer lowered the rifle and deflated with a sigh, then nodded to other MACOs and Trip. Gratefully, the Captain made his way along with the wounded soldier to the stairs.
Just as he reached the landing, Kessick stepped from the shadows to join them.
Archer spoke, face, voice, and eyes like flint. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
The Xindi had the gall to sound indignant. “You promised to take me away from here!”
“That was before your little performance back there!” Trip’s eyes were narrowed, his expression taut with a disgust that verged on hatred.
Kessick held out both hands to Archer. “Please!” The exclamation hovered somewhere between a demand and a prayer. “You have to help me!”
“You had your chance,” Archer said coldly. In fact, he was still desperate to get the coordinates of the Xindi’s planet, but there was no need for Kessick to know that. The alien had already shown he could not be trusted; he would only share the truth if he were frightened into it.
Kessick’s tone revealed only pure desperation now. “The coordinates of my homeworld…if you want them, you’ll have to take me with you!”
“You’re lying.” Archer began to turn away.
“No…” Kessick’s face contorted; he was near weeping. “I promise you…”
Archer hesitated. A part of him wanted to leave the Xindi behind; Kessick would only continue to lie, and if he found out the truth of Enterprise’s mission, there was a good chance he would attempt to contact his people and endanger the ship. Besides, his behavior had certainly not earned him freedom.
At the same time, the coordinates of the Xindi homeworld were vital to the mission. Archer made a decision: He would get the information from Kessick immediately upon return to the Enterprise, then unceremoniously dump the alien in the brig.
He directed a reluctant nod at the Xindi, who didn’t even have the good graces to thank him.
Chapter 15
Minutes later, the group was trudging their way, heads down, into the stinging wind and corrosive toxic fog on the planet surface. Archer had already pushed his body far past its limits, but the burden of the wounded MACO was one he was glad to bear, and the realization that they had made their escape gave him renewed strength. Just behind him, Major Hayes was helping another wounded soldier across the forbidding terrain. The Captain was more grateful than ever for the presence of the MACOs on his ship; as far as he was concerned, they’d already earned their keep.
For the first time since they’d entered the Expanse, Archer felt an overwhelming surge of optimism. Whatever it took, he’d get the information from Kessick, and learn all that he could about the Xindi as a people. The mission was actually going to succeed, and it would not be all that long before Enterprise returned home, triumphant.
The wind roared past the Captain’s ears, combining with the rumble of the mining machinery; even so, Archer could hear Reed, just ahead of him, screaming into his communicator.
“Reed to Mayweather!”
“Go ahead.”
“We’ve got them!” Reed shouted. “Lock onto my location and set down!”
“Understood.”
Reed snapped his communicator shut just as Trip made it to Shuttlepod One and opened the hatch. Archer and Hayes began to help the two wounded MACOs inside; the others squinted vainly up through the opaque clouds for Shuttlepod Two.
Abruptly, a blazing pulse hit the powdery cobalt sand by Archer’s foot; he crouched slightly, shifting the wounded MACO in his grasp toward the shuttlepod hatch, then shielding him with his body. Another energy pulse struck the smooth, shiny surface of the pod, reflecting dazzlingly; soon, a barrage fell from above like deadly rain.
Archer looked above, but it was impossible to see who was firing at them—like trying to look out from the inside of a tornado. Even so, he had no doubt as to who was responsible: the greedy little weasel, still eager to get his hands on a hundred fresh workers.
The MACOs immediately took up positions around ’Pod One, and readied their rifles.
Another series of pulses zinged around them; Archer heard a sudden shrill cry, and glanced up
to see Kessick lying against the ground, limbs writhing, his body encased by crackling bolts of energy.
No, the Captain thought fiercely. It couldn’t happen; the Xindi couldn’t die, not now, when they were so close to getting the location of his home….
Across the open hatch from Archer, Hayes settled his wounded man carefully against the shuttlepod, then lifted his weapon and tapped a control near the trigger. Archer watched in amazement as a sleek targeting scope automatically emerged from the barrel of the weapon and locked into place near the Major’s eye.
Deliberately, Hayes took aim, then adjusted a control on the scope. He paused.
Impossible, Archer thought. There’s no possible way he can see through this mess…
More energy pulses zinged around the Captain’s feet, but he said nothing, merely kept his gaze focused on Hayes, who took his time with admirable coolness.
And then, releasing a slow, even breath, Hayes squeezed the trigger and fired a single shot…then lowered his rifle, a look of satisfaction on his face.
No further shots came. Archer did not need to ask what he already instinctively knew: The weasel was down, for good.
Overhead, nearby engines roared. Archer turned and saw, with gratitude, the landing lights of Shuttlepod Two glowing through the thick haze. The crackling energy field around Kessick had disappeared; the Xindi still lay motionless, but Archer could see he still breathed. He had survived….
Only then did the Captain allow himself to realize how badly he ached, how vile he smelled; he longed suddenly for the simple comforts of a bath, and a bed prewarmed by a dog.
Aboard Enterprise, T’Pol sat in the captain’s chair, keenly aware of the approaching “cargo vessels” and the long silence that had ensued after Reed had reported the rescue was a success. Quite possibly, the team had encountered further resistance.
The others on the bridge were aware of it, too: Hoshi Sato’s brow was lined with tension, though her expression was otherwise composed; at the helm, Ensign Leila Birani occasionally forgot herself and nervously twirled a dark lock of hair.
T’Pol, of course, remained emotionless—but found the current situation less than agreeable. If the so-called freighters arrived before the shuttlepods did, T’Pol would be forced to take the logical course: leave the area. Her first responsibility lay with the remaining eighty crew members aboard Enterprise; she was bound to protect them, and the ship, at all costs. It was the decision Captain Archer would want her to make.
After all, it would be of little help to the shuttlepods to arrive at Enterprise’s coordinates only to find dust, scorched debris (T’Pol had no intention of letting the ship be boarded, and its crew captured), and three warships awaiting them. In either scenario—whether Enterprise left or stayed—the shuttlepods would be destroyed.
It was not, however, a choice T’Pol wanted to make.
She glanced over at Ensign Sato’s station as the companel beeped. Hoshi leaned forward, eager, and listened to the incoming message. She turned to T’Pol, her brow suddenly slack with relief. “Both shuttlepods have left the surface.”
“Is everybody aboard?” T’Pol asked at once.
Hoshi checked her board, then glanced up again, her expression frankly puzzled. “Everybody plus one.”
T’Pol tilted her head, curious. She had heard, from both Doctor Phlox and Captain Archer, about the severed finger that contained humanoidlike epithelial cells, yet possessed DNA strikingly similar to that of the possibly Xindi reptilian scales. Had the Captain managed to bring the finger’s original owner? If so, that would aid their mission tremendously.
In the meantime, there were other concerns to be dealt with. “The warships?” she asked Sato.
“Still at warp four,” the Ensign reported. “ETA…” She paused to check her console, then looked up at T’Pol again. “Approximately seven minutes.”
It would be enough time, the Vulcan knew, if no time was wasted. “Tell the pods to dock simultaneously,” she ordered Sato, then addressed herself to Ensign Birani at the helm. “Prepare to go to maximum warp.”
It appeared T’Pol would not have to make the undesirable decision to abandon the shuttlepods; were she human, she might have admitted feeling something suspiciously akin to gratitude.
Inside Shuttlepod One, Archer watched as Enterprise loomed large on the screen; a slight shudder passed through the pod as the starship’s docking arms firmly latched onto the pod.
Shuttlepod Two was visible directly alongside as it, too, was being pulled smoothly into the launch bay.
They’d made it. Archer could scarcely believe it now—though he’d doggedly forced himself to cling to hope during the experience, to increase his chances of survival. If this kind of experience was standard operating procedure for the Expanse, then they were damned lucky to have the MACOs on board.
Actually, Archer added wryly to himself, in this case, we were just damned lucky, period. If the MACOs had arrived only a few seconds later, he and Trip—
He deliberately stopped the train of thought. At least they were back on Enterprise, with a good chance of outrunning the warships the weasel had sent to capture them. That alone was reason to be cheerful.
But he was less optimistic about Kessick. The Xindi had remained unconscious through the ride back to the starship; once they’d passed through the turbulent planetary atmosphere, the MACOs had administered first aid to their wounded, while Hayes himself had examined Kessick. The Major had shaken his head. “A lot of internal damage. Doesn’t look good.”
“Doctor Phlox is capable of some pretty amazing things,” Archer had countered. He was sitting next to Trip, who remained strapped in his seat, eyes closed, hands resting on knees. Archer worried how his friend would react if the Xindi died—but at the moment, Trip remained stoic, motionless, apparently unconcerned.
But Archer hadn’t been prepared at that moment to accept that he and Trip had endured everything on that planet, endangered the ship and crew, and caused two MACOs to be wounded, all for nothing. He’d moved to Kessick’s still form and leaned over him.
“Wake up. Talk to me. I need those coordinates…”
When no response came, he’d put his hands on the Xindi’s shoulders and shaken him gently. “Kessick. The coordinates…”
Hayes had stopped him with a look that was firm, but not unkind. “He’s severely wounded and unconscious, sir. He’s going to need your doctor’s help to be able to speak.”
Archer had nodded and turned away, bitter; only then did he catch sight of Trip’s face. The engineer’s eyes had flickered open, briefly, to reveal a gaze that was haunted.
Behind them, the bay doors slid shut, and Enterprise leapt into warp.
Captain’s Starlog, supplemental. The three alien warships followed Enterprise for nearly an hour, but couldn’t keep up with us. I guess they’ll have to look elsewhere for new additions to their “labor force.”
As the door to his ready room chimed, Archer stopped his recording and folded his hands on his desk. “Come in.” There was something very close to a lilt in his voice; he’d had that shower and a good night’s sleep next to a warm dog and was feeling cheerful, despite the circumstances.
Phlox entered. The Captain knew at once from the look on the doctor’s face what he was going to say; he’d warned Archer of the likelihood yesterday evening, when Kessick had arrived in sickbay. “I’m terribly sorry, Captain, but there was nothing I could do.” Phlox’s tone and expression were somber, slightly haggard; Archer knew the doctor’s desire to save the Xindi sprang entirely from his sense of ethics and compassion, and had little to do with Kessick’s usefulness. Phlox would have worked just as hard to save any other patient.
Although Archer had spent a great deal of time trying to prepare himself for this eventuality, it still stung. They had been so close to discovering the location of Kessick’s world, had risked so much…and now they were back to square one. He rubbed a weary hand across his eyes, feeling the morning’s
optimism evaporate, replaced by a wave of futility.
This wasn’t one piece of news he was eager to share with Trip Tucker.
Phlox saw his disappointment, and added, “I realize how important it would’ve been to have a Xindi to help us.”
Archer lifted his head; in a tone filled with irony, he said, “He wasn’t a particularly helpful Xindi, Doctor.” He tried to comfort himself with the notion that, even if Kessick had survived, he probably would have refused to cooperate, would have continued to be a source of aggravation.
Phlox’s expression revealed he thought otherwise. “You’d be surprised,” he said, in a way that made Archer glance sharply at him. The doctor reached into a pocket and produced a padd. “It was extremely difficult and painful for him to speak, but he managed to dictate this to me before he died.”
Archer took the proffered padd, not daring to believe what Phlox was clearly hinting at.
“He said you’d know what it meant,” Phlox continued.
The Captain stared down at the numbers on the padd, and felt a sudden welling up of disbelief mixed with hope and wonder. “I’ll be damned.” He gazed up at the doctor.
“They’re the coordinates.”
He stood, suddenly energized. With the padd in hand, he exited toward the bridge, followed by a curious Denobulan.
That evening, Trip Tucker was in a better humor than he’d been in for some time. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that Enterprise was currently speeding toward the coordinates of the Xindi homeworld; perhaps it had to do with the fact that Trip had finally seen some action, finally worn himself out physically, finally done something that actually mattered. Things were happening.
He actually had felt sorry to hear that Kessick had died—although he didn’t know why. The Xindi had been a pretty miserable creature when alive. But at least, he’d done the right thing on his deathbed.
Trip’s muscles were aching, especially his quadriceps and arms; after all that climbing, he’d felt like he’d scaled a mountain. But he actually found the fatigue pleasant as he strolled along the ship’s corridor accompanied by Malcolm Reed.
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