“Thanks for noticing,” Archer said wryly.
The Vulcan rose, apparently taken aback by Meir’s sudden disappearance. “If Wanderer fears our informing the rest of the crew about its inability to tolerate electricity ... why did it not kill us?”
“Obviously, it has a soft spot for Vulcans,” Archer said. “But I don’t understand why it didn’t kill me.” He paused. “It’s planning something. The question is, what?”
Ten
IN ENGINEERING, Archer sat at one of the computer consoles while Dr. Phlox stood back (which, given the crowded conditions, was only a step or two) and studied the captains left shoulder.
“T’Pol is correct on both counts, I would say,” the doctor said genially. “You do have a dislocated shoulder—to use the vernacular—and you do have a concussion. We’re fortunate on both counts. The concussion is very mild—a good thing, since I have no way of treating it without returning you to sickbay.”
“How is the shoulder fortunate?” Archer groaned. Now that he, T’Pol, and the unconscious crewman were out of immediate danger, the pain in that quadrant of his body was reaching unbearable proportions.
[189] Porthos, now back in Hoshi’s arms, wriggled as close as possible to his master and licked Archer’s face, covering it with spittle and warm dog breath. Not exactly medicine, but it would have to do.
Archers faint smile came out a grimace. “Thanks, Porthos. Not now, buddy.”
Phlox replied to Archers question. “It’s fortunate in that both Denobulans and humans are very similar in terms of skeletal structure. I actually can solve the problem of your shoulder with a simple physical manipulation. ...” He leaned down over the captain, put one hand on the affected scapula and one hand on Archers chest, and gave a swift, violent push.
Archer screamed.
Porthos snarled, teeth bared, and very nearly lunged out of Hoshi’s arms at the doctor. Hoshi caught the beagle by the hind legs just in time and gathered him back into her arms, before he could take a piece out of Phlox’s hands.
“I’m sorry, Porthos,” Phlox told the dog. “But I dare say your master will be feeling much better now.”
Archer sat straight, flexed the wounded shoulder—gingerly at first, then more firmly—and tested his arm by raising it. “It’s true,” he said, looking up at Phlox in amazement. “It’s just a little tender. Thank you, Doctor. Now I have another reason to be glad you’re back with us.”
[190] The Denobulan stood back and beamed. “Sometimes the best medicine is the simplest.” He paused. “Sorry I can’t help you with that headache yet. Or the slight burns on your skin.”
“We’ve got better things to worry about right now,” Archer said. Hoshi could no longer hold Porthos back; Archer took the dog from her, and let him burrow against the hollow of his chest.
Trip Tucker took a step forward to address the captain now that the medical procedure was finished. “Captain, Hoshi was able to get through to Starfleet, though all channels are on the fritz again now. But at least they know, and maybe someone’ll even send help. We figure you were able to somehow discombobulate—”
“—the creature, yes,” Archer finished for him. “Trip, you’re not going to believe how simple it all is. It’s a matter of—”
“Electricity,” Trip said. “Simple electricity. Malcolm and I are putting together a device that generates an electrical field. We figure we can either zap Wanderer with it or somehow use it to contain the creature.”
Archer stared at him. He was unsure whether to be glad or annoyed that Trip had figured things out before he, Archer, had a chance to save the day with his pronouncement.
Trip read his expression. “Well, it wasn’t really our idea to begin with,” he hedged. “Doctor Phlox was the one who suggested Wanderer [191] might be feeding off the subtle electromagnetic fields we generate. That’s why engineering flummoxes the creature. I didn’t realize, but the warp engines generate a mild electromagnetic field, somewhat stronger than your average human body.”
Archer nodded. “Good work. That’s what incapacitated Wanderer, all right—probably at the very time Hoshi was able to get a clear channel. Now we just need to do it again—indefinitely, until we can figure out what to do with the creature. How long before the device is completed?”
“Not long at all. Thirty minutes, tops. We’re just trying to be sure we can aim the darned thing so we don’t electrocute ourselves. Speaking of which ...” He looked pointedly at Archers head; the captain lifted a hand to his hair and realized it still stood on end, then smoothed it as best he could. “Sounds like you had some up-close experience with our theory.”
“Let’s just say I had a personal encounter.” Archer paused, then said, upbeat, “Get back to work, Commander. We need you to finish that thing.”
Nearby, T’Pol listened to the conversation between the captain and Commander Tucker. She gathered that it could not be ascertained how much damage this electrical device might cause Wanderer—whether it would simply entrap the [192] creature, or cause it great distress or damage, or even destroy it entirely.
Though she remained alert and standing, surrounded by other crew members, she permitted her mind to enter a waking meditative state, which she would end the instant required. Her instant of hesitation when Archer had ordered her to fire the pistol set on kill at Wanderer troubled her as much as her swiftness in firing at the Oani man who had attacked Hoshi—a fact she found perplexing, and so she sought to reason it out.
Had the kill setting actually disabled or destroyed Wanderer, then the Enterprise crew—and countless other humanoid races Wanderer might encounter in the future—would no longer be at risk. Was she, by refusing to take action against Wanderer, enabling murder?
The image of herself as a child, distressed over the dead ch’kariya, surfaced in her mind. She had known, even then, that the small, furry creature was no match for her in intelligence; its life was a dim shadow of hers in terms of knowledge and perception. Yet she had no right to deny it such a life.
At the same time, she realized that she fed on the death of plants, considered by Vulcans and all other humanoids to be nonsentient. Yet plants had sensation; they reproduced. They lived. How would she react if another, supposedly superior [193] being called her a murderer because her physiology required her to live on them?
But they have been shown to possess no consciousness. Therein lies the difference.
How could she convince Wanderer that humanoids possessed a consciousness, when the entity could not detect it?
She thought of the Oanis, of the aesthetically pleasing civilization they had created, of their great love of peace—so great that they would harm not even a microbe. Certainly, Vulcan sensitivities did not extend that far; microscopic entities were attributed the same lack of consciousness as plants. The memory of those dead—of the Oani corpses, sitting patiently in the great hall of the medical facility—surfaced, and she considered for a moment what it would be like were the same catastrophe to befall her home, Vulcan. A great culture would be lost, one that was at present the greatest influence for peace on the known galaxy.
Wanderer certainly could not be allowed to take further lives. The question was in weighing the degree of force necessary to restrain the entity.
If the only way to do so was to destroy the creature—this unique, unimaginable being—could T’Pol justify doing so?
The question had particular relevance, since it was clear that someone was soon going to [194] attempt to use the device against Wanderer. And T’Pol, since Wanderer felt ethically bound not to harm her, was the obvious choice. If she refused, she was possibly condemning one of her crew-mates to death; if she agreed, she was possibly condemning to death a creature who had only peaceful intentions toward her.
She had promised herself, after killing the Vulcan-turned-smuggler Jossen, that she would never again be party to the death of another. But she knew she would need to make a choice soon, before the captain called upon her.
/>
With Porthos in his lap, Archer permitted himself the luxury of sitting inside engineering and watching Tucker and Reed argue over exactly how the electrical device should be triggered. The relief from the agony in his shoulder now allowed him to realize the severity of his headache, and his level of physical exhaustion; even so, he was grateful that he and his crew had survived thus far ... with the exception of Lieutenant Meir. He was still perplexed by the fact that she—or rather, Wanderer inhabiting her body—had left, and permitted him and T’Pol access to engineering.
But at the moment, he was too tired to try to understand. It was enough that Trip and Reed had a handle on the problem, and that for a moment he, Archer, got to sit down and pet his dog.
“No, that won’t work,” Trip Tucker was [195] explaining calmly, with that intently focused look in his eye that Archer’s dad used to describe as “the lights are all on and nobody’s home.” Malcolm Reed was listening, nodding, not taking the comment personally; the two were working together, getting it done. Archer smiled internally at the sight.
Abruptly, the lighting flickered.
Instinctively, Trip looked upward. “What the ... ?”
The lights flickered again, then the entire room went utterly dark. Even the useless computer console at Archer’s elbow flashed, then dimmed.
Archer sighed and rose, dog in his arms, as the murmuring began. “Everyone stay calm. Please remain silent so that I can direct you.” Exhaustion kept his tone relaxed; inwardly, however, dread began to gnaw at him. In a flash, he understood exactly why Wanderer had chosen to ignore him and T’Pol, why the creature had considered it more important to use human hands and fingers to override more computer circuits. “Let’s not go anywhere until we have to. If Wanderer’s turned off life-support, the less we move and speak, the better.” It occurred to him that perhaps he should put the dog outside, so that there would be more oxygen for his crew; but moving would only use up more oxygen, and the amount Porthos was using was minimal compared with a human.
[196] He didn’t admit to himself that doing so would also break his heart.
His people obeyed. For several moments, the room, which had before been filled with voices, was silent save for the low hum of the warp engines.
“Trip,” he said. “You got any auxiliary lighting? I want you to keep working on that device, if you can.”
“Yes, sir.” Trip paused, and Archer could practically hear the engineers mind working as he oriented himself in the darkness to the portable lamps he sought. The captain listened as Tucker made his way tentatively through the crowd to a cabinet, opened and closed it. An instant later, a dazzling beam from a flashlight cut through the blackness, throwing sharp, eerie shadows.
Archer said nothing as the two men worked in grim silence.
Minutes passed—at which point, the captain could no longer ignore that the room was growing cold and stuffy. Without life-support, the temperature would soon drop to subzero levels, and the oxygen would be used up by all the warm bodies.
“We’re going to have to leave,” Archer reluctantly told his crew. “Trip, Reed, you stay here as long as you can manage; try to get that device finished. The rest of you, follow me. We need to stay together.”
[197] He stepped through the doors of engineering—only to greet more crew members waiting in darkness. The corridor outside was equally chilly, and the air here was thinning as well. “We’re sticking together,” Archer told them. “Wait here.”
He went back into engineering. “No life-support outside, either,” he told Trip. “I can’t risk you two being stuck up here and not having the oxygen to get to us. You’re going to have to come, too.”
Tucker scowled—not at the captain or his orders, Archer knew, but at Wanderer, for interrupting his work.
The captain handed Porthos—who had behaved remarkably well throughout the turmoil, as if sensing he should not add to his master’s difficulties—to Hoshi. Taking Trip’s flashlight, Archer led his people to the only source of light, heat, and air visible: the distant corridor beyond, leading aft to the main launch bays.
Wanderer was leading them down a path—one intended to culminate in their destruction, Archer realized, but at the moment he had no other choice.
In the first of the main-level launch bays, the lights were bright, the air fresh and comfortably warm. Archer stopped as his crew entered behind him, and spread out, filling the area around the shuttlepod. Hoshi moved next to him, in order to [198] keep Porthos calm, and Reed and Trip Tucker came and sat on the deck beside them. Trip still held the electricity-generating device in his hands, and he and Reed bent over it, talking. They had opened up a phase pistol and replaced the internal mechanism with circuitry, to which some wiring was attached; Archer, weary but intrigued, sat down next to them.
Hoshi followed suit, and Porthos immediately went to his master ... but couldn’t help sniffing at the object Reed and Trip were showing such interest in.
“Easy, boy,” Trip said. “You don’t want to be getting a snootful of this.”
Porthos sneezed in reply, then, obviously unimpressed by the mechanical object, went back and settled in Archer’s lap.
“How much of a current does that thing have?”
“Not that much, in human terms,” Reed said.
Trip clicked his tongue in contradiction. “Enough to curl your hair,” he told the lieutenant, who instinctively ran a hand through his short, straight locks. “It won’t kill a human,” he said to Archer, “but it’ll give ’em a jolt. We figure that if Wanderer can only handle a small amount of electromagnetism at a time, this ought to make it sizzle.” He used a small needle-nosed pair of pliers to thread one of the wires to the weapon’s trigger.
“Careful,” Reed said, staring intently at the process. “Don’t want to shock yourself.”
[199] Trip’s upper lip curled slightly. “Now, that would take some talent, considering these pliers are insulated. I know a little bit about electricity, you know. We had some hellacious lightning storms down in the Keys. I knew when to come out of the water.”
“Really?” Reed tried to imagine such a thing. “Do people ever actually get struck?”
“In Florida? You bet. People—tourists, mostly—get killed every year down there; at least, until the doctors revive ’em.” Trip finally completed the circuit, set down his tool, and popped the cover back over the weapon, hiding all but the trigger. “Now all we’ve got to do is test her out.”
“Forgive me if I don’t volunteer,” Archer said dryly. “I’ve had enough shocks for one day.”
“Oh, she’ll generate electricity,” Trip said. “I’m just gonna aim her at the wall and make sure the beam goes where I want it.” He rose and picked his way through the crowd—most of whom were now seated on the deck. A short distance from a bulkhead, he stopped, pointed the pistol, and fired.
A yellow-white beam streaked out from the business end of the pistol and struck the wall, crackling loudly for an instant before dissipating.
At the same instant, Trip gave a small yelp and dropped the phaser.
Reed stood and nodded skeptically while the [200] commander rubbed his offended hand. “Insulated, eh?”
Trip scowled at him. “I said the pliers ware insulated.” He glared down at the dropped pistol. “The trigger should be, too. I just need to ...” He trailed off.
At the entry to the launch bay, Wanderer shimmered into being; the sight caused a hush to fall over those seated in the high-ceilinged bay.
The image of the dead Oanis, seated patiently in the medical center, flashed in Archer’s consciousness. Despite his weariness, the sight of the creature filled him with rage. It thinks it can just herd us here and pick us off, one by one. He set Porthos aside and rose. “Hungry? Come on. Take me.” He moved toward the creature, even as Hoshi followed and tugged at his arm. “Captain! No ... !”
Archer firmly pushed her aside to safety.
“Step back, Captain!” Trip shouted. In one
swift move, he crouched down, scooped up the dropped pistol, and fired it at Wanderer.
The effects—on both Tucker and the creature—were immediate. A bright bolt struck the entity, for an instant emblazoning its center with yellow sparks that turned swiftly green. Wanderer jerked upward in an eye-dazzling display of spinning cobalt blue and emerald—away from the crowd and Trip, who yelped again and dropped the pistol, flailing his hand.
[201] The creature sailed straight to the ceiling, writhed there for a moment in a spasming pyrotechnic display, then vanished.
Archer ran to Trip, who was still flicking the wrist of the injured hand. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Trip allowed, looking for an instant up at the ceiling, where the creature had disappeared. “Just a burn. But I dare say Wanderer’ll think twice before it comes back.”
Malcolm Reed appeared alongside the two men and picked up the dropped weapon. “Next time, Commander, all you need to do is take the cuff of your uniform ...” He pulled his hand inside his sleeve, then tucked the fabric between the trigger and his finger. “See? It’s very simple. It provides insulation. You needn’t have shocked yourself.”
Tucker graced him with a sour expression. “Yeah? Well, let’s see how fast you think of insulation next time that creature comes back.”
His last few words were almost entirely drowned out by Hoshi’s exultant shout. “Captain! I’ve managed to get an open comm channel. We’ve received a message from Starfleet. ... They’ve routed a Vulcan ship in our direction.”
Archer felt a renewed surge of hope. “What’s the ETA?”
“They didn’t say, sir.”
“Acknowledge receipt of the message, Ensign.”
Aye, sir.
[202] Archer smiled at Trip and Reed. “Well, thanks to you two, all we have to do is wait until the cavalry gets here.”
It was not, unfortunately, to prove that simple.
Star Trek: Enterprise - Surak's Soul Page 14