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"Dough Boys" by A. Rhea King
Rating: PG CHAPTER 2 “All hands report to stations! We are under attack!” The message blared across the communications, jolting Malcolm out of a dead sleep. And then Enterprise rocked from a phase canon hit. “All hands report to stations. We are under attack!” the message repeated. “Senior staff report to the bridge! Repeat we are under attack.” Malcolm jumped out of bed, reaching for his uniform. The ship rocked, throwing him against the bed. Malcolm snatched up his uniform, pulling it on without worrying about underwear or a shirt. “I’ll meet-- MALCOLM!” Sista yelled. Malcolm turned. One of the green-eyed aliens he’d seen on the space dock aimed a phaser pistol at him, the end only inches from Malcolm’s face “Malcolm,” Sista said. The alien’s aim moved to Sista. Malcolm smacked the alien’s hand up and the blast blew a hole in the ceiling. The alien grabbed Malcolm by the throat, saying something, and the two were transported off Enterprise. Sista stared where her husband had been standing. # “Get that fire out, Ensign!” Trip yelled to a woman below him. All around him crew were racing to put out fires and keep the warp core online. “COMMANDER BEHIND YOU!” someone yelled. Trip looked down at the person. An arm snapped around Trip’s neck, pinning it back in a stranglehold. Something pressed against his neck and his vision began to grow fuzzy as he was transported off the ship. # Archer ran onto the bridge, looking at the view monitor. He grabbed the railing behind his chair when a chain of coughing racked his lungs and stole his breath away. Archer looked up when it was over, panting a little. “Who are they?” Archer asked before coughing again. “There are two Vulcan warships, a Cardassian war ship and a Klingon Bird of Prey,” T’Pol reported, “I doubt that the occupants of the ships are any of those races.” The ship rocked. “Returning fire,” Ryce said. Archer looked at him. “Did you and Malcolm get the disrupter bursts working, Ryce?” “No, sir.” “CAPTAIN!” T’Pol yelled. Someone grabbed Archer from behind in a strangle hold, pressing something against his neck. Archer heard what sounded like a gorilla roar and then he and whoever had him were thrown to the floor. The world around Archer started blurring and he felt as if his body was dead weight. Archer rolled his head to the side, seeing Ryce had an alien pinned to the floor with his hands wrapped around the alien’s throat. The alien’s black, scaly hands were trying to pull Ryce’s hands off. ‘Don’t kill him, Ryce,’ was Archer’s last thought as his eyes closed. # “Captain.” Archer opened his eyes, focusing on the center light of the bridge. His eyes focused on Ryce on his left and finally on Doctor Phlox. The doctor smiled. “Get up slowly. The narcotic he injected you with is some sort of paralyzing sedative. You’re bound to feel the effects of it.” Archer let Doctor Phlox and Ryce help him to his feet and into his chair. Archer closed his eyes; feeling like his world was floating. Archer looked up at the view monitor, seeing Enterprise was changing course to port, the direction Archer felt like he was floating. Archer closed his eyes to resist the urge to vomit. “Straighten out soon, Travis,” Archer said. He coughed, setting off his headache again. “Aye, sir,” Travis said “What happened?” Archer asked and then coughed hard until he was breathless. Archer sank back against the chair, muttering, “Well, we know whatever he gave me doesn’t do much for the flu.” “The aliens broke their attack as soon as the one on the bridge transported away. They kidnapped Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker, however,” T’Pol answered. “And have masked their warp signatures so we cannot pursue them.” Archer swallowed. “Where are we going?” “Back to Rakix,” T’Pol replied. “You had mentioned that you had seen these aliens on the space dock. It stands to reason that others may be there or that someone may know about them and their motives.” “That stands to reason.” Archer opened his eyes and quickly shut them when the stars flying past on view monitor made his stomach turn. He coughed a couple more times. “You should lie down, Captain,” Doctor Phlox said. Archer nodded, but didn’t move. He felt a hand on his arm and looked up at Doctor Phlox. “I will alert you if we have any more trouble or reach Rakix, Captain,” T’Pol promised. Archer stood and swayed. He felt Doctor Phlox’s hand take his arm and Ryce gently held onto his other arm. Archer let them walk him to the lift and leaned back against the wall. His stomach threatened to rebel when the lift began its descend. “Almost there,” Doctor Phlox said. The lift stopped and Archer felt the two leading him down the hall. Archer looked at Ryce. “You didn’t kill him, did you, Ryce?” Archer asked. “You ordered me not to, sir, ” Ryce said, looking up at Archer. Archer stared at Ryce. “What?” “You said, ‘Don’t kill him, Ryce.’ I obeyed.” “I said that?” “You did, sir.” “I thought...” “I did not kill him as you requested, sir,” Ryce said. “But when we were taking him to the Brig he was transported off the ship, he escaped.” “Enter your code, Captain,” Doctor Phlox said. Archer looked at his door and entered his code. Ryce waited at the door while Phlox guided Archer to his bed. Archer was asleep before Doctor Phlox’s hand let go of his arm. # The transport ship’s impulse engine wound down as the vessel landed. Inside a door at the front of the transporter’s hold opened and lights came on as three aliens with light green eyes, black scaly skin and hooded cloaks walked in. Along both sides of the hold were six stasis chambers. The tallest of the three aliens walked to the first stasis chamber nearest her. She pulled the PADD off the wall beside the stasis chamber and scanned the contents. She looked at the Klingon inside the stasis chamber, handing it to the man that had followed her. “There is another Klingon on the other transport. Take them directly to the lines. They will fight without programming if threatened.” “There are four more on an incoming vessel,” the man informed her. “Do the same with them.” She turned and walked around to the second stasis chamber, taking the PADD. She looked down at the man laying in it, noticing the spots that ran from his temple, down his neck and disappeared under the sheet. She looked at the PADD in her hand. “He has a symbiont. Remove it and destroy it. Send him to camp 4J,” she told the man, handing him the PADD. “How many Trills?” “Doctor, removing the symbionts has been killing them.” “Tarti,” she turned, facing the man, “We only sell sound, fully reprogrammed, soldiers and personnel. Those damned symbionts have cost us a lot of money because they’ve made their hosts remember their lives. How many Trills?” “Six.” “Do the same to them.” “Yes, Doctor,” Tarti replied. The Doctor turned and walked around to the third stasis chamber. She stared at Trip’s face. “We have Varlikons?” Tarti looked at the PADD in his hand. “None have been reported, Doctor.” She pulled the PADD off the wall, reading the contents more carefully. “An unknown species. Interesting.” She changed screen. “Profile looks promising. He has military training. Ahh, he has a compassionate streak. We’ll use that to get to him. Requisition two droids and model them to look like his species. I think, with this psyche profile, we’ll use a wife and child to help with the programming. If his kind is anything like the Varlikon then we’ll have to put him through re-programming two or three times before it takes.” She changed screens. “High logical tests. Says he was an engineer on some ship.” She handed Tarti the PADD. “Send him to hospital five. I’ll watch this one personally in case we get more later.” “There is one more over here, Doctor.” Tarti motioned to a stasis chamber across the hold. She walked over to the stasis chamber Malcolm was in, taking the PADD off the wall. She read through the information, nodding a couple times. “This one attacked two of the guards during interrogation and secured a weapon before they subdued him, but he is a weapons specialist. Send him to a training camp and put him through programming. I hope he takes. He’ll sell for a good price.” “Should we exceed normal programming attempts with him?” “No. I’ll decide what to do with him if he doesn’t take.” She turned, looking at the stasis chamber next to Trip. “Andorians? How many of those did our stupid scouts get?” “Six.” “Send them to the lines with the Klingons.” She walked over to a stasis chamber, staring down at the Vulcan. “How many Vulcans?” “The rest are Vulcan and Andorians?” “One Ferengi and Cardassian,” Tarti replied. “Send the Cardassian to the lines. Destroy the Vulcans immediately and if the Ferengi doesn’t take after the first attempt, destroy him too,” the Doctor walked toward the exit. “The next transporter should be here.” She turned and left the hold with Tarti trailing behind her. # “Wake up, soldier!” a voice yelled. He sat up, hitting his head on the bunk above him. He sank back a few centimeters, staring at the man standing next to the bunks. The man had his fists pressed against his hips and his green eyes glared at him. He looked around the barracks filled with other soldiers standing at the foot of their bunks at attention. He had no idea where he was. “GET OUT OF BED, PRIVATE REEEEED!” the man yelled. Malcolm jumped out of bed and quickly took his place at the end of the bunk beside another soldier. There was a vague sense of familiarity about what was happening, like he’d done it before but a long, long time ago. That’s where the familiarity ended. The dozen emotionless faces that surround him were as alien in familiarity as they were in appearance. The yelling man walked around to stand in front of Malcolm. “Problem with wake up call, Private?” the man snarled at him. “No, sir,” he replied. Malcolm looked straight ahead so he wouldn’t have to stare into those hateful green eyes in front of him. “You like sleeping do you?” “No, sir.” “Good. Because you’re going to spend the next forty-eight hours cleaning the latrine!” “Yes, sir.” “On the exercise field in five minutes, ladies!” the man yelled, storming toward the door. The door slammed shut and the man next to Malcolm turned to him. He had blue skin and eyes with a bone ridge that ran from his chin over the top of his head. “You never sleep through wake up,” he said. Malcolm looked at the man, trying to remember the face next to him. “I...” “Are you okay?” He was shaking his head before he answered. “I can’t remember...who was that?” “Stop it, Malcolm. Get dressed and hurry or you’re going to get front patrol next.” “Front patrol?” Malcolm looked down. Was he supposed to know that term? His name felt familiar. The jargon being thrown around had an odd sense of familiarity and yet it sounded wrong--like he’d learned another definition for the words, or different words for the definitions? His mind whirled, trying hard to remember something, anything, beyond his name. The soldier appeared again. “Hurry up.” Malcolm turned to him. “I can’t remember anything. I don’t know you.” “Malcolm...we left port together. We passed exams together. You know me.” “I don’t...no...I can’t remember anything.” Malcolm closed his eyes, feeling a spike of pain race across his forehead. He remembered a face but he couldn’t remember it enough to put a name to it. It was a woman with short black hair and green eyes that sparkled with her angelic smile. He remembered her confessing her love to him and he knew that he loved that face in return. She was someone he could trust even if her name was far away right now. A knife of pain suddenly stabbed into Malcolm’s temples. Malcolm felt dizzy and grabbed the bunk bed for support. His knees buckled, sending him to the floor. Malcolm saw the soldier kneel down beside him and his mouth moving, and then the world went black. # “Private Charles Tucker,” a voice said. He opened his eyes, finding the world was blurry around him. He closed his eyes, wondering why he felt so cold. “Daddy?” a voice said. Trip felt a hand on his arm. “Let him wake up, honey,” a woman said. Trip turned his head, opening his eyes again. A tall blonde woman was standing by his bed with her arms hugging back a brown-haired boy. Both were smiling at him. “Daddy?” the boy said. “Daddy?” Trip said, closing his eyes. “I’m...” Trip looked up at the ceiling. “Private Tucker,” a voice said and another woman came into his line of sight. “Hello. I’m Doctor Utori. How are you feeling?” “Where am I?” Trip stared at the doctor. She looked nothing like the woman and child. She had green eyes and black, scaly skin. She wore a hooded cloak. Something in Trip warned him to be wary of the woman. “Frideron Base hospital. Do you remember what happened?” Trip shook his head. “No.” Trip glanced at the woman and boy. “This is your wife and son. Do you remember them?” “No.” “Mr. Tucker?” Trip looked at Doctor Utori. “My name...” Trip looked away, trying to remember what he was about to say. “Your name?” Doctor Utori asked. “Do you remember your name?” “Trip. It’s Trip.” “It’s Charles, honey,” the blond woman said. Trip looked at her. “My friends call me Trip.” “Well, we’ll sort it all out,” Doctor Utori said reassuringly, more toward the woman. “What happened? How’d I get here? Why can’t I remember anything?” Trip looked at Doctor Utori. “My name...I remember that. I can’t remember anything else. Even my...” Trip looked at the woman and boy. “You were on the front and a plasma grenade hit your position,” Doctor Utori explained, “You were thrown nearly twenty meters and cracked your armor helmet. You suffered a substantial head injury.” Trip looked up at her. “My head doesn’t hurt.” “No. You were in a coma for about two months,” Doctor Utori explained. Trip looked at the woman and child. Each time he looked at them he felt a little more certain that they weren’t his family. “You should probably get some rest,” Doctor Utori said. Trip looked at her. “I can’t remember anything, Doc.” “You’ll remember eventually. It will all come back.” “When?” “I don’t know. Amnesia is strange like that.” Trip sighed, closing his eyes. His mind was trying to put parts of his past back together, but there just weren’t enough pieces. Trip heard the doctor and the woman and child leaving. “I have a friend,” Trip said, opening his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows. “I can’t remember his last name. His first name is Jonathan.” Trip looked at the women The women exchanged looks. The blonde turned and walked back to Trip’s bedside. She smiled sadly, reaching out and stroking his hair back. “Captain Jonathan Archer and you were in the trenches together, Charles. When the grenade hit, he was killed.” Trip lay back down, staring at her. He could see Jonathan’s face in his mind. Trip closed his eyes, feeling her hand slide into his. “I’m sorry. You two were good friends.” Trip shook his head. “No. No.” Trip looked at her, pulling his hand away. “No. This is all wrong. This is wrong!” “Honey, please. Don’t frighten Jacob.” “Don’t frighten Jacob!” Trip looked from the boy to the woman. “He’s not my son! You’re not my wife!” The woman reached for him and he jerked away, scrambling out of bed to get away from her. Trip watched two men walk into the room with the doctor. They also had black scaly skin, green eyes and wore hooded cloaks. There was something vaguely familiar about them and they made him feel even more certain this woman was not his wife, the child was not his son and he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. “You need to calm down, Private Tucker,” Doctor Utori said. Trip watched the men advance toward the bed. Trip vaulted across the bed and bolted for the door. The two men tackled him, wrestling him to the floor until they had him pinned down. Trip screamed in rage, struggling to push them off. He felt something press against his neck, there was a soft whoosh sound and the world started to become blurry and feel far away. “Relax, Charles. I’ll be here when you wake up,” a voice said and he felt a hand on his cheek. “T’Pol,” Trip whispered, falling asleep with her name on his lips. # Archer stopped and looked back down the hall of the docking station. He saw a cloaked figure quickly turn away, pretending not to be watching him. Archer sniffed and coughed a little as he pulled out his communicator and opened it. He lifted the communicator up, keeping an eye on the figure. “I’m being followed,” Archer said into the communicator. Archer lowered the communicator to cough a couple times “Is it one of the aliens?” T’Pol asked. “I can’t tell. He keeps turning away when I look back.” “I have your location. Where shall I meet you?” Archer heard a quiet beep and opened his breast pocket. The timer Doctor Phlox had sent him with was going off. “Great,” Archer said. “What is it?” T’Pol asked. Archer didn’t realize he had his communicator still active. “Drugs almost worn off. We have less than a half hour to get information and get out of here. There’s a bar with some sort of red symbol over the door. Meet me in there.” “Acknowledged,” T’Pol said. Archer walked into the bar and took a seat at the end of the bar so he could watch the door. He kept his eyes on the door, watching for the cloaked figure that was following him. “What can I get you?” Archer turned, finding a Ferengi waiting for his order. “I’m waiting for someone,” Archer said. “You should have a drink. Then she’ll be prettier when she gets here.” Archer smiled, amused by the Ferengi’ humor. He reached into his leg pocket and pulled out a slip of latinum. “What do you have?” Archer said. The Ferengi smiled a toothy grin. “You’re new to this quadrant, aren’t you?” Archer smiled. “Yeah.” “You should try a Black Hole,” the Ferengi suggested. Archer nodded, glancing back. He saw the cloaked figure sitting near the door. The figure turned away, but not before Archer caught a glimpse of his face. Archer had reviewed the video record of the alien attacks in engineering and on the bridge prior to leaving Enterprise. They all looked the same; black, scaly skin; bright green eyes with no pupils; and black hooded cloaks. He had no way of telling if this one was either of the two that had boarded his ship and kidnapped his munitions officer and chief engineer. Archer looked around when he heard a glass clink on the bar, smiling at the Ferengi behind the bar. Archer reached in his pocket and put three more slips of latinum down on the bar, leaning toward the alien. “Tell me everything you know about the guy in the hooded cloak back there by the door. The one with black scales and green eyes.” The alien leaned on the bar. “The Caritek?” The alien said. “Excuse me?” “That’s the race. They’re something of bounty hunters. Seems that one has his eye on you.” “Seems that way.” Archer sipped the drink and resisted making a face of disgust. He swallowed the strong liquor. “Now why would he be interested in me?” The Ferengi shrugged, turning away to leave. Archer played his game, setting another slip of latinum on the bar. The bartender leaned on the bar, smiling a grin that was filled with razor sharp teeth. “How many of these do you have?” Archer returned the smile, “Now why would he be interested in me?” “They’re bounty hunters for everything. Money, women...lately they’ve been collecting soldiers for some war.” “Really? So which would you say he’s more interested in? My money, my women, or just me?” The Ferengi and Archer chuckled together. Archer watched the Ferengi look up and a hungry grin covered his face. T’Pol sat down on the stool next to Archer. “Hello, darling. Everything go well?” Archer asked T’Pol. T’Pol nodded once, saying nothing when Archer slid his arm around her waist. “Maybe your woman,” the Ferengi said with a look of pleasure as his eyes undressed T’Pol. Archer faked a laugh when the Ferengi laughed. “Probably. Tell me about this war. Sounds profitable.” Archer forced down another sip of his drink. “Profitable!” the bartender scoffed. “If it were profitable, every Ferengi in the galaxy would be jumping on it.” “Running guns can be profitable.” “And dangerous. We don’t believe of a mixing death and profit. Rule of Acquisition number one hundred and twenty-five; you can’t make a deal if you’re dead. You can’t take profit with you when you’re dead, and your wives and children fight over it for generations!” Archer nodded, sipping the drink. “They can be that way.” He swallowed the sip, starting to feel a little lightheaded as the alcohol and drug in his system began to mix. He had to get this over fast. “Still...I have some arms I need to get rid of. A war would be a good place to sell ‘em. Soon-to-be-dead buyers don’t ask stupid questions.” “Why not talk to him?” The Ferengi nodded toward the Caritek. Archer smiled at the Ferengi. “You just thought he was after my woman. What if it’s my money?” “Or your life.” The Ferengi leaned on the bar again. “Shame to lose all three at once, but I don’t know anything.” Archer placed two more slips on the bar. “For the lady?” the Ferengi asked. Archer nodded once, watching the Ferengi pocket the slips. The bartender retrieved a Black Hole for T’Pol and sat it down in front of her. She sipped it, holding her composition well despite the awful tasting drink. “A Vulcan that likes a Black Hole!” The Ferengi laughed, and then added, “The war’s in the Darak system, about ninety light years from here. Some revolution that’s been going on for a couple hundred years and they’re running short of bodies to put in front of plasma grenades and behind phasers. The Caritek are the ones supplying both sides with soldiers so long as both sides keep paying. They would be your best bet for a sale. Just watch they don’t try taking your ship, or your woman, or your latinum.” “Thanks for the tip,” Archer sat another slip of latinum on the bar. “Best keep this conversation between us.” “Just don’t come looking for me if you end up with only your life.” Archer lifted his glass to the Ferengi, watching him walk away. “Let’s get out of here,” Archer said to T’Pol. The two got up, Archer sliding his arm around T’Pol’s shoulders to steady himself as they walked to the launch pad. Archer dropped into a back seat, putting his head in his hands. “You’d better get us back, T’Pol,” Archer told her. T’Pol closed the hatch and sat down in the pilot’s seat, preparing the shuttle pod for launch. “I never want another Black Hole in my life,” Archer growled. T’Pol looked at him. “You appeared to be enjoying it.” Archer shot T’Pol a look of daggers. “About as much as you enjoyed my arm around your waist, I’m sure.” T’Pol raised an eyebrow. “I assumed you were passing us off as a couple to the Ferengi.” “No. To the Caritek. Why would I care about the Ferengi?” Archer asked, looking up as they cleared the atmosphere. “He had a loose enough jaw as long as I kept passing him latinum.” “In the manner you were discussing financial matters with him I assumed you must have familiarized yourself with the Ferengi culture, and were therefore attempting to make him feel more comfortable with my presence.” Archer coughed a couple times, laying his forehead in his hands. Archer shook his head. “Funny. I’ve met humans that are like that Ferengi.” T’Pol raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in return. |
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