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"Future Present, Future Past" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 Lots going on in this chapter...Trip and Talas end up in a battle to the death...sort of. (The ushaan-tor ritual fight was seen in ENT "United", when Archer and Shran fought). And what about Hayes? Thanks, Pesterfield for the edit:) Eleven Commander J.T. Daniels hovered over Lieutenant Hawkins’s shoulder and listened to the battle reports. Enterprise had narrowly missed a deadly on-board detonation. Not only had the enemy outfitted Doctor Reed with an explosive, but Captain Sato and her crew had discovered that some of the soldiers wore incendiary devices within their own armor. She had managed to warn Daniels just before communications had been cut off by Hayes and his incursion team. The enemy reinforcements were coming closer, and Starfleet’s cavalry was still six hours away. The two enemy ships played a game of hide-and-seek, using their cloaking devices to mask their movements. Hawkins and the other Tactical Officers on board the Andorian and Tellarite ships suspected that more cloaked ships had joined the party, but exactly how many was the question. It was a daring plan...disabling the warp drive to prevent them from escaping, then stalling until the reinforcements arrived. Daniels didn’t even want to think of the carnage to come, if they didn’t get out of here in time. And it says something that our ‘allies’ haven’t abandoned us to save their own skins. I guess there’s something resembling honor in the universe. The thought gave Daniels some grim comfort. “Commander, look at this.” Hawkins said, as he brought up Columbia’s deck plans. “This is the route they’ve taken so far—“ he highlighted the route, “—and they’ve disabled our warp drive and gotten some of our secondary systems, but they’ve left some of our critical functions untouched.” “Environmental controls, armory—“ Hawkins chuckled. “The captain’s an Armory man, Commander. He’s still pretty protective of ‘his’ space.” “You think the captain’s still somewhat in control of his actions?” Daniels dared himself to hope for the first time since they’d gotten into this mess of interstellar proportions. “I can’t think of any other reason why he’s leading ‘em around in circles. Kemper’s doing a good job of nipping at their heels, but I think Captain Hayes is still with us.” A hurried comm message from Major Kemper echoed on the Bridge. “Commander, Captain Hayes and the incursion group are heading toward the bridge.” “Acknowledged, Major. We’ve got emergency measures in place, but we’ll make a stand here if it comes to that. How many of them left?” “Hayes and six of them. I think we got the ones not wearing any explosives, but—“ Kemper left the sentence unfinished; Daniels closed his eyes and nodded to himself. “All right, Major. We will not allow Columbia to fall into enemy hands. Am I clear?” “Aye, sir.” Daniels opened his eyes and regarded his—Captain Hayes’s—Bridge crew, and saw the same look of fierce determination all around. As long as there was a fighting chance, as long as there was a way to get their captain back... “All right, then. We’ll stop them here. Lieutenant Hawkins, distribute phase pistols to the Bridge Crew.” “Sir,” said Hawkins. He unlatched a panel, revealing a set of eight phase pistols and chargers. Daniels thanked the paranoid minds of Major Kemper and Lieutenant Hawkins...and Captain Hayes’s foresight. Unfortunately, the enemy had used Hayes’s tactical knowledge against his own ship. “Commander, your phase pistol, sir!” Hawkins shouted as he threw it underhanded at Daniels. Daniels caught it easily and checked the charge, just as the grinding servos of an overridden emergency bulkhead rumbled over the Bridge. “Take cover,” Daniels ordered, just as the wall panel located forward of the helm station began to crack open. “Don’t let the sight of the captain distract you, and watch where you shoot...we have to take them out without detonating anything they’re carrying. Understand?” There was a murmur of agreement around the bridge as the panel was shoved aside. Daniels’s finger tightened on the trigger as he saw the reflection of a black-and-red helmet...coming up over his shoulder. Daniels immediately dropped to the floor and fired behind him. The panel exploded outward and the enemy soldiers poured out. Halloway, the helmsman, physically tackled the lead man as phase pistol fire erupted on the bridge. Two of the soldiers went down; Daniels saw one of them reach for a patch on the chestplate of his armor. Halloway grabbed the soldier’s wrist and twisted it, then reached over and yanked the patch off the man’s body. Which one is the captain? It was difficult to tell, for they all looked alike in their armor. Then a hand grabbed him by the throat and lifted him to his feet. Somehow, Daniels managed to hold on to his phase pistol in the struggle for the weapon. Then the phase pistol went off—Daniels never knew which one of them had fired it--and the shot slammed into the center of the soldier’s chest at point-blank range. Daniels hit the floor with enough force to knock the wind out of him, the phase pistol thrown out of sight by the impact. He struggled to his knees and crawled to the prone body of the fallen soldier. With an effort, he pushed the man’s visor up. “God.” Daniels struck the comm button on the captain’s chair. “Medical to the bridge!” Captain Matthew Hayes stared up at him, his eyes wide and unseeing. Trip Tucker calmly held the ushaan-tor, the Andorian ritual weapon of vengeance. It reminded him of an ice-miner’s tool. Strange, that he, a Human, was avenging a group of Tellarites, and fighting an Andorian. It was cultural blending to the maximum. He thought, Too bad it couldn’t have been peaceful. The thought sparked an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. Then he looked across the cargo bay to Talas, who wore her own ushaan-tor and he felt the anger flare anew. Concentrate on what matters. Don’t let her distract you. “Are you ready, Charles?” Talas asked. Trip couldn’t see her expression, but the scorn in her tone was noticeable. “Whenever you are, darlin’,” he replied with a smirk. They circled each other, appraising each other’s strengths and weaknesses, waiting for the other to crack first and make the opening strike. Thick silence fell over the cargo bay; all held their breath in anticipation. They grudgingly admired the Human’s resilience and sense of honor, but they shook their heads at the Human’s folly. Why was he assuming the revenge of their sworn enemies, the pig-headed Tellarites? He was brave, but he was also foolish. They would never understand these pinkskins. Their commander’s brother had adopted a pinkskin into his family, and this one... Trip refused to be mesmerized by those amethyst-colored eyes; he watched her feet, her hands, the tension of her body. When she finally attacked, he was ready for her. He blocked her punch with his forearm, then twisted his body out of the way, trying to make her stumble on her own feet. She was agile as a cat and she recovered quickly. He swung his gauntlet toward her lower back, but she also avoided the blow. “Pretty good,” he complimented her. She raised an eyebrow and nodded. Then she launched herself into a flurry of offensive moves that kept him weaving from side to side like a snake. Talas was good, and she was fast, her blue skin and snow-white hair a blur. She kept him occupied enough that he couldn’t mount an effective counteroffensive. Okay, enough of this. He crouched low and swept his foot to the left, catching her by the ankle and she went down. She swung her blade, catching a glancing blow against his left thigh. Trip felt the sting of the metal; the pain smashed through his control and opened a floodgate of rage. He whipped around in a roundhouse kick that impacted Talas’s shoulder. She grunted in pain and rolled away from him. “You want to kill me?” she snarled. “Come and get me!” He didn’t answer with words, but pressed his advantage by not giving her a chance to strike back. Channel your emotion into action. Make your mind clear of all barriers. Waste no movement. He heard Soval’s voice in his mind, recalled the practice sessions in the Vulcan Consulate gardens, felt the bruises that drove the ambassador’s point home. Yet the anger threatened to overwhelm the memory; it gave him strength, but only for a limited time, and once he became tired... He had to end this quickly before that happened. Trip came up with a slash, catching Talas with a glancing blow on her right cheek. A stir went through the Andorians as her blood dripped onto the pristine deck. She wiped her cheek with her free hand. “If I did not know better, I would have thought you wanted to propose a bonding,” she goaded him as she flexed her fingers. “Bad enough that my brother has adopted the captain of the Columbia and his Human mate. I would not want more...variety in our genetic pool.” His mouth quirked upwards. “Shran couldn’t have picked a better ‘brother’ and ‘sister’, Talas. Maybe you oughta get to know ‘em better. Open your mind, be more...universal. If the Vulcans can do it, you can too.” Talas laughed harshly. “They are weak-minded, Tucker. Too bad your soul is so much like theirs.” She launched himself at him, slamming him to the deck, knocking the wind out of him. One flick of her wrist opened a cut at his temple, another flick gave him a cut on the back of his free hand. He was breathing hard now; it was worse than fighting off an enraged she-bear, for Talas planned every move to drain him. Desperately, he lashed out with his open hand and caught Talas on the jaw. As she reeled back, his thrust with his blade, its serrated edge cutting into her left antenna. Talas shrieked and collapsed on the floor, stunned. Her Andorian crew gasped in horror, their hands going for the weapons on their belts. Triumph raced through his veins. She’s defenseless! Kill her! He grabbed Talas by the throat as his blood streamed down his hand and raised his blade. Even if the Andorians shot him now, it wouldn’t save their captain...Talas looked up at him, her face stoic and prepared for the killing blow. “My death will be on your conscience forever, Tucker,” she spat. “And I will haunt you until the day you die and beyond.” “See you on the other side, then,” he snarled, but for some reason, his hand hesitated for a moment longer than necessary. That moment was enough. There was a familiar hum that echoed through the cargo bay. Trip felt himself dematerialize, fade away, and as Talas disappeared from his grasp, he howled in frustration, but no one heard his outcry. “We got him!” shouted Transporter Chief Raymer. “He’s hurt!” “Trip? Trip!” The clipped British accent pierced his mental haze. “Stop fighting me! You’re on Enterprise! You’re safe.” “What’s he doing wearing an ushaan-tor?” came Jon Archer’s voice. He felt Jon’s weight on his right arm as Jon and...Bryan Trace?...struggled to unlatch the weapon from his hand. “I had her! Dammit, I had her! I could have gotten her! Why did you take me away? Why?” he screamed. “Let me go! Send me back there! I gotta finish what she started!” Malcolm Reed’s voice was hoarse with worry and tension. “He’s got some kind of compound in his blood. I can counteract it, but we need to get him to Sickbay now!” “He’s struggling worse than a landed fish!” muttered Trace. “Hold his legs still, Grant!” “I’m sitting on his legs, Bryan!” Raymer shot back. “I’m getting kicked in the kidneys here!” Trip felt two gentle hands on his either side of his jaw. They forced him to look directly into his captain’s eyes. Hoshi Sato’s dark brown eyes were calm and cold; her steady gaze touched the uncontrollable anger and grief within him. He tried to grab onto the anchor of sanity that she provided him. “That’s enough, Trip,” she said, her command tone low and firm. “Let it go. Let it go now.” He managed to summon up some kind of control over the fiery dragon within him, and with it, the full implication of what he nearly did hit him. “Oh God,” he whispered. “I—“ “Don’t worry about it, Trip. I’ll talk to Shran; we’ll sort it out. Just rest now.” “I can’t—“ He heard the hiss of the hypospray at his neck, then blessed darkness came over him. Hoshi glanced up at Malcolm, then nodded. “Take care of him, Malcolm.” He motioned for Raymer and Liz Cutler to help him get Trip on a stretcher. Hoshi forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. “Jon, get in touch with Gral and thank him for the sensor data, then thank Shran for the override frequencies.” Jon nodded as he, Hoshi, and Bryan headed back to the Bridge. Phlox’s voice echoed from the speakers. “Phlox to Sato.” “Go ahead, Phlox.” “Impulse engines are back on-line, warp drive will still be inoperative for another two hours. I’ve managed to shore up some of the anti-grav defenses on our starboard side, but that close explosion severely weakened the generators there.” “Do what you can, Phlox. The enemy’s reinforcements will be here in four hours and ours won't arrive for four and a half. We have to hold on.” “Acknowledged. Phlox, out.” Hoshi turned to Bryan. “Did you get anything from Malcolm’s friend?” Trace shook his head. “All he told me is that he’s something called a Suliban and that his people are a slave race of someone called the Romulans. They’re the ones who kidnapped Lieutenant Commander Tucker and Doctor Reed and they’re the ones who’re taking potshots at us.” “Romulans?” Jon repeated. He and Hoshi exchanged glances. She knew what he was thinking. I’Rhiamanau. Romulans. A coincidence? Somehow, Hoshi doubted it, but if it her suspicions were correct...her stomach dropped as she thought, Have the Vulcans known all this time? Trace shrugged; he didn’t notice his superior officers’ expressions. He added, “This Silik’s sittin’ in the brig right now. Ironically enough, it’s the safest place for him.” The ship shuddered around them as if to make Trace’s point. The lifts were still inoperative, so they clambered up the ladders leading to the bridge. It was controlled chaos by the time they arrived. The smell of burnt electrical wiring and insulation hung heavily in the air and screens flickered all over the bridge. Hoshi heard T’Pol murmur something under her breath, then smack her helm console with an open palm. It beeped in annoyance, but whatever she did apparently worked. I wonder if she’s feeling some of Trip’s excess emotion. T’Pol glanced over her shoulder and gave Hoshi an embarrassed (for a Vulcan) look. Hoshi gave T’Pol a reassuring smile, then Hoshi raised her voice. “We’ve retrieved Lieutenant Commander Tucker. He’s in Sickbay, but he should be all right.” Her announcement set off a much needed burst of rejoicing. “Status?” “The enemy’s dropped back,” reported Ensign Martinez. He nodded as Ensign Trace reclaimed his spot at the Tactical station, but Martinez continued his report. “They’ve taken a beating, but it seems like they’re just biding their time until their reinforcements get here.” “I would suggest the wisest course of action is to be absent from this area when they arrive,” T’Pol commented. Her dark amber-brown eyes flashed, although the rest of her face was impassive. Hoshi wondered if she was having difficulty with her own emotional control. Her mother, T’Les, was afraid this might happen. Once this was all over, Hoshi needed to sit down and talk to T’Pol in private. “Commander Phlox says he needs two hours to get the warp drive back on-line. We’ve got to give him time.” She glanced at Jon. “Get me Minister T’Pau. Ensign T’Pol, will you accompany me to my Ready Room—“ “Captain, report from Columbia,” Jon interrupted. He looked over at Hoshi with a controlled expression. “It’s Commander Daniels. They’ve found Captain Hayes.” |
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