Archer wasted no time; he literally ran to the console and looked down—just as the course heading adjusted to zero-zero-zero-zero, then stayed there.
[158] “Earth,” Mayweather said at last, his tone hushed. “We’re headed back to Earth.”
“Wanderer,” Archer said, with a darkness in his tone the ensign did not understand. “Leave it, Ensign. The three of you report down to engineering. Stay in there until I advise you otherwise. Now!”
Mayweather had no choice but to comply, leaving behind him on the bridge viewscreen a dizzying sweep of stars.
“Lieutenant Meir?” Archer called.
He’d been going through the senior and junior officers’ cabins, routing people to engineering, while T’Pol had agreed to take the noncom personnel, as well as the science department and kitchen. One of the officers had agreed to stop by the captain’s quarters and pick up Porthos. So far, everything had been going a little faster than Archer had hoped—although he had been infuriated by the realization that Wanderer now had control of the helm, and was sending Enterprise back to Earth.
We’re not the Oanis, Archer told himself firmly. We’re not like any other humanoids Wanderer has encountered—we’re going to fight back, and we’re going to win.
Those officers who were off-duty had answered their buzzers almost at once, even those who had supposedly been sleeping—the situation with [159] Wanderer had left everyone on edge, more vigilant than usual. But Meir wasn’t answering—and the fact that Mayweather had mentioned that she hadn’t reported for duty gave Archer the boldness to override the lock on the door without a second thought.
As he had feared, Meir was inside—lying neatly on her bunk, hands folded primly on her chest, long blond hair no longer bound in its usual chignon but spread around her, as if she were a sleeping princess from a fairy tale. Archer went to her at once and bent down to scoop her up into his arms. Once she was in engineering, he hoped, she’d be protected from Wanderer and might even regain consciousness as Hoshi had. ...
But after he slid his arms beneath her shoulders and under the crook of her knees and began to lift her, he paused and studied her more closely. Her head lolled to one side; her features were slack. She looked to be unconscious, but some atavistic instinct told Archer something was wrong. With his free hand, he reached for her neck, and laid his first two fingers where her carotid artery should be.
The flesh there was slightly—only slightly cool.
Archer could feel no pulse. He lifted his fingers and tried again, in a different spot, then another one, then another.
[160] Lieutenant Meir’s heart was no longer beating.
Archer let her go and for an instant—no more—permitted himself to sink the rest of the way to the deck. He gritted his teeth and growled.
“Bastard! You bastard!”
And he thought of the dead man in the Oani hospital, his features contorted with rage.
How could this have happened? None of the other stricken had died. He remembered Trip saying, Maybe it’s still full.
Then he thought of Hoshi coming to; and realized that it no longer had her, or Phlox, or Reed to feed on.
“Bastard,” he whispered, and pushed himself to his feet. He ran on; there were others to warn, to get to engineering. But before he left, he promised Meir silently that he would return.
A woman’s voice, muffled but familiar: He seems to have stabilized, Commander. I think he’s coming to. ...
Malcolm Reed opened his eyes, feeling very much as he had the morning after he’d nicked a bottle of gin from his parents’ liquor cabinet and awakened with his first hangover.
Leering over him was the face of Commander Trip Tucker.
Reed groaned. “I knew it,” he muttered, and put a hand to his forehead. “I’ve died and gone to hell.”
[161] “No such luck, you little devil,” Tucker drawled, in the Southern accent that evoked the image in Reed’s head of vowels and consonants slithering down a slide coated in oil. Tucker was grinning broadly, apparently enormously pleased. It took Reed some time, in his weakened state, to realize that Tucker was actually pleased to see him. “I’m afraid you get to stick around with us a little while longer. And that land in Argentina is still safe and in the family name.”
“I was ...” Reed sat up and rubbed his forehead vigorously, as if trying to stimulate his memory. “I was in sickbay. Giving injections. Did I pass out?”
Smiling, Hoshi was standing beside Tucker with Porthos in her arms. “You did. Just like Doctor Phlox—his vital signs are improving, he should be back with us pretty soon. And just like I did. But we’re okay now.”
Reed finally found the strength to smile back. “So ... it wasn’t radiation poisoning then, was it? A sickness, then, and you’ve found the cure?”
“Neither,” Trip said, and he and Hoshi shared a dismal, if knowing, glance. “It was Wanderer.”
Reed drew back. “I knew it!”
“It’d have been nice if you’d known it a little sooner,” Trip said. He opened his mouth to say more, but Reed was becoming more aware of his surroundings.
[162] “Good lord,” he interrupted. “What am I doing in engineering?” He looked around him, for the first time taking everything in. Phlox indeed rested only a matter of feet away, still unconscious on a cot, with a portable life-support system propped against the nearby bulkhead. Most perplexingly, though, several officers from different departments were milling about, some seated, others standing, all talking in low tones and seeming restless, as if they didn’t know quite what to do with themselves. The door kept opening and closing as more people entered.
“Seems that Wanderer doesn’t like engineering,” Hoshi offered.
Trip nodded. “That’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Right now, the only protection we’ve got against that creature is staying in here. ... We need to figure out exactly why Wanderer won’t come near here, find a way to amplify it, direct it—”
“—And use it to blow the thing to bits,” Reed finished for him. He rubbed his aching head again. “Let me be the first to volunteer.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor, gingerly.
“Easy.” Trip gripped Reed’s elbow and steadied him as he stood. Reed grimaced; the metal deck was cold against his bare feet.
“Does anyone have my boots?”
The medic standing over Phlox glanced up. [163] “I’m afraid we left them in sickbay, Lieutenant.”
Reed scowled; as he did, T’Pol stepped up beside him, so quietly and quickly that he recoiled and almost lost his balance.
“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” she said, with that flat, neutral tone. “I did not mean to startle you.” She turned at once to Trip. “Commander Tucker, as you can see from the growing crowd here, we are soon to be faced with a dilemma. I have notified the personnel assigned me to report to engineering, and I assume the captain has almost finished notifying his group.”
“I see what you mean,” Trip said. Ever since Reed had come to, the stream of people entering engineering had been constant; if it continued much longer, there would no longer be standing room available.
“Once the room is filled to capacity, perhaps we should ask volunteers to remain outside. Certainly, I can remain outside safely. However, essential personnel—such as you and Mr. Reed, the captain, and Doctor Phlox—should remain inside.”
She looked pointedly at the beagle in Hoshi’s arms.
“Oh no you don’t—sir,” Hoshi said. “I’ll go outside before I let you put Porthos outside.”
Reed sighed. “Ah, to be a dog in these civilized times.”
“I can tell you exactly what’ll happen,” Trip told [164] the Vulcan. “Ask for volunteers, and everyone’ll volunteer.”
T’Pol managed to convey skepticism with a simple millimeters-high lift of her eyebrows.
“We’ll draw straws,” Trip said.
“But that is entirely arbitrary.”
“Precisel
y, Sub-Commander.” Trip looked toward the doorway, and his brow furrowed a bit. “Or we could wait for the captain to make a decision when he gets here. I wonder what’s keeping him. ...”
At that moment, Archer had discovered the last unwarned crew member, a young male ensign, unconscious on his cabin deck. A quick medical check revealed slowed respiration and pulse. Wanderer had been feeding again, and that realization, along with anger over the death of Lieutenant Meir, filled Archer with uncommon energy despite his lack of sleep. With surprisingly little effort, he bent down on one knee, slung the unconscious ensign over his shoulder, then pushed himself to his feet.
“I won’t let you have this one,” Archer said, to an enemy that was no longer there.
He staggered through the doorway into the gray metal corridor. In the simulated daylight, it was now hearteningly empty; the crew had taken their captain’s warning seriously. Archer could only hope that all of them made it safely to [165] engineering, and that T’Pol had had success with her mission.
He could not help wondering whether his discovery of the unconscious ensign meant that someone else had recovered—Reed or Phlox—which had forced Wanderer to feed again.
Archer gasped beneath the weight of the unconscious crewman; he wanted to run down the corridor, realizing that Wanderer might need to strike again, but he could manage no better than a slow jog. And as soon as he got the ensign to engineering, he intended to go back for Meir’s body unless he was needed to perform a duty critical to destroying Wanderer. It had seemed wrong to leave her in her bunk; he at least wanted to see her body properly stored in sickbay, so that it could be returned to relatives or given proper space burial.
Archer made it down the corridor toward the turbolift, with the thought of heading up to engineering. ...
But as he neared the lift doors, their color changed from off-white to blue-green. The air in front of them began to swirl and ripple, like the crashing of waves in a turbulent sea. ...
“Wanderer,” Archer said aloud, his tone flinty with hate. “Get out of my way.”
It was a futile command, of course; the creature remained, shimmering, growing larger until [166] it blocked the entire corridor. Archer was left with no way to advance, only retreat.
But anger and determination would not permit him to do so. Gently, he knelt on one knee, then carefully lowered the ensign to the deck.
It was time to discover exactly how truthful Wanderer had been. No one, after all, had touched the creature in order to know what the effect would be. And all of Wanderer’s attacks had apparently occurred without direct contact with its victim. Wanderer had been careful to request right away that no one touch it.
Was it possible that it had to be careful to absorb only so much energy at one time? What would happen if it accidentally was exposed to too much?
Archer rose, drew a deep breath, then rushed the creature.
The instant he entered Wanderer was palpable: The ship around him dissolved, and the world turned blue-green, dazzling, electric. The hair on Archer’s head and body stood straight upright; the skin on his forearms, his back, and the backs of his legs turned to gooseflesh. And then he was blinded—not by darkness, but by light, white brilliance, that shot up from the base of his spine straight up through the top of his skull. He felt caught up by a current—a current of electricity, a current of water, of oceans and tides, that pulled [167] him along and spun him, round and round till he cried out and lost all sense of himself. ...
A clap of thunder. Archer was heaved to the deck, hard, his skull connecting with metal so swift and fast that the pain was no more than a flash, bright and hot, before the darkness came.
Nine
CHARLES “TRIP” TUCKER had a natural tendency to be good-humored, even during crises, or times when he didn’t get much sleep; but the way things were going at the moment, every shred of Tucker’s good nature had long ago vanished. They were stacked like sardines in engineering, and the radiant body heat was making Trip start to sweat; apparently, the environmental computer had failed to compensate for the crowding. A handful of crew members sat outside the closed door in the corridor, waiting their turn to come stand inside the safety of engineering. Given T’Pol’s determination (and obvious lack of concern for the human concept of personal space), she’d managed to get more people than Trip had thought possible into engineering. He had to give her [169] credit; but at the same time, he longed for some room to stretch out so he could think.
It didn’t help matters that the dozens of people surrounding him were all talking to ward off the boredom and anxiety; snippets of conversation drifted down from the overhead deck, as well, where uniformed personnel were practically hanging off the railings. Trip was used to quiet, and the hum of his engines, and all these people in such a small amount of space were starting to drive him crazy. Dr. Phlox was conscious and alert now, on his feet, and speculating about the nature of Wanderer and its effect on Denobulans and humans with an enthusiasm that grated.
Mayweather, standing rather than sitting at the nearest computer console because there simply wasn’t room, turned to T’Pol beside him. The two were a mere arm’s stretch from Tucker and Reed, so it was impossible for Trip to ignore the conversation.
“It just isn’t responding, Sub-Commander. We’re still headed for Earth, no matter what overrides I try. ...”
“Same here,” Hoshi chimed in from a nearby companel. “All communications frequencies are jammed.”
Until Archer returned, T’Pol was in charge, monitoring the ship’s condition and seeing to it that officers in engineering regularly traded places with those sitting out in the corridor.
[170] “Keep trying,” T’Pol ordered them both.
As she did, Malcolm Reed looked glumly down at the handheld scanner in his grasp, then back up at Tucker. “Energy fluctuations and fairy dust—that’s what Wanderer’s made of. It doesn’t make sense that engineering would bother it. The engines are sealed tightly enough so they don’t irradiate us—why they should bother something made of radiation ...” He clicked his tongue.
“Quit stating the obvious,” Trip snapped, with such force that Reed drew back in mild surprise, eyebrows lifted.
“It’s not my fault, Commander.”
“I know,” Trip growled. “It’s just that there’s got to be something more to Wanderer than our systems are capable of detecting.”
T’Pol had overheard the exchange—why shouldn’t she, with those ears? Trip thought—and turned toward the two men. “I assure you, I accurately recalled the entire range of readings our scanners detected when we first encountered Wanderer.”
The computers—and that information—were of course unavailable now, given the fact that Wanderer had figured out enough about the ship to render the computers, helm, and communications inaccessible. Thank goodness it doesn’t like the warp drive, or we’d be dead in the water. ... But T’Pol had listed in detail what the sensors had picked up on Wanderers physical composition: [171] various types of radiation, mostly harmless, others from which Wanderer was actually shielding Enterprise; and different types of energy fluxes, most notably electromagnetic pulses.
“I believe you, Sub-Commander,” Trip replied, very seriously. “But I have a suggestion.”
The Vulcan dropped her chin and waited expectantly.
“We’re trying to create a new device that will disrupt Wanderer’s physical form. My question is: Why reinvent the wheel? Why not get a good old-fashioned phase pistol, set it on kill, and take a shot at the creature?” He did not suggest a stun blast, since that was designed to emit a frequency that induced unconsciousness in humanoids. Logically, it would probably do nothing at all to the entity.
“No,” T’Pol replied, with finality.
Trip persisted. “Why not?”
“A phase pistol is designed to disrupt living cells. I fail to see how it would affect radiation.”
“But it might displace an electromagnetic pulse—which might disrupt
Wanderer enough to cause a problem. At least slow it down, if it doesn’t kill it. It’s worth a try.”
“No, Commander. I thought I made it quite clear that you and Lieutenant Reed were to design a device that would protect us against Wanderer, not destroy it.”
“Look, I’m not asking you to hurt it. I’m [172] volunteering to go do the dirty work. We both know a phased blast probably won’t be enough to kill the thing. Besides—the captain hasn’t come back yet. You and I both know he’s been gone too long. Someone is going to have to go look for him.”
“The issue of the captain is a separate one,” T’Pol said. “I am the logical choice to look for him, since Wanderer will not harm me. And I believe that there is a more peaceable solution than attempting to kill Wanderer with a phased blast.” She paused. “Continue your work with Lieutenant Reed, Commander. I will go and find the captain.” And without further comment, she exited engineering.
Trip and Reed watched her go.
“A brave woman,” Reed said admiringly.
“Ah,” Trip countered scornfully, “the thing’s got a crush on her because she’s more ‘intelligent’ than we are. It won’t hurt her.” He only wished, of course, that he could be as certain of that as he sounded. He looked sourly down at the scanner in Reed’s hands. “So what do we try scanning for next? The engines don’t emit any radiation to speak of, or vibration, or—”
“Pardon me,” Doctor Phlox said jovially—too jovially, Trip felt, for the situation, which the Denobulan seemed to regard as more of an adventure than a life-threatening event. “I’ve been speculating on how Wanderer feeds ...”
“So I’ve heard.”
[173] “... and I have a theory: electricity.”
“Electricity?” Trip blinked at the unexpected. Electricity seemed so primitive, so basic ... and his engines certainly weren’t emitting enough electricity to startle a mouse, much less something as vast and powerful as Wanderer.
Star Trek: Enterprise - Surak's Soul Page 12