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"Purgatory" - Chapter 6 By Blackn’blue
Rating: PG Chapter 6 Trip forced his diaphragm to expand. He could swear he felt his rib cage moving, but there didn't seem to be any air entering. The rope across his chest was cutting a notch into his breast bone. His groping heels and out flung arms finally caught some traction, enough to ease the pressure a little. Millimeter by millimeter, Trip worked his way up the slope. He managed to hook one arm over the rock stub that had caught his fall and paused to breathe. “I hate this planet.” he thought with vicious sincerity. Once the spots started to clear from his vision, Trip continued the process of working his way uphill until he could straddle the stub like a saddle. He coughed out a tub full of dust and pulled the coil of Marnik rope off his shoulder. Above him, the disgruntled Le’Matya continued pacing and growling. Trip figured it was probably cussing him out. He muttered back at it, while untying the knot that secured his rope coil and unrolling it. “Yeah, right, you gator-weasel. If you think I am coming back up there you can just kiss my hairy Human ass. Go find one of those Vulcans that are hunting me if you want some early breakfast.” At the sound of his voice, the Le’Matya hissed. Then the predator threw back its head and vented a whistling scream of territorial challenge. Trip ignored it, instead concentrating on looping his rope around the rock stub and dropping the length of it down into the depths of the crevice. He had more gripping things to deal with than a miffed Le’Matya at present. By the time he worked his way, hand over blistered hand, to the bottom of the cut Trip was ready for period of hibernation in some secure den. Since there was no den, he settled for yanking the rope down and coiling it up before he surveyed his options. Uphill the crevice narrowed rapidly, providing a darker and cooler place to lurk. Which therefore meant that it would be more popular as a local hangout. Downgrade the crevice gradually widened out. Within half a kilometer the slopes were flat enough that Trip could scramble up them on all fours if he absolutely had to. He headed downhill, aiming for a pair of big rocks that looked just about the right distance apart. Having learned from bitter experience, Trip carefully stretched the emergency blanket aver the top of the rocks this time. He stretched it out taut and weighed the edges down with heavy stones. When he finished Trip had a serviceable imitation of an awning that was just big wnough for him to sit under, and open at each end to let the breeze flow through freely along the floor of his mini-canyon. A vast improvement over his last effort. Blessing T’Pol for insisting that the blanket be camo colored to match the rocky terrain, he crawled in and collapsed like a burlap sack full of oysters. “I can NOT believe I am doing this,” Hoshi thought. She stepped into the turbolift and headed for the bridge, feeling like she was wrapped in a numbing cotton blanket. “This is insane. We are going to get caught. We are going to spend the next thirty years in prison.” While her mind ranted and gibbered at her to stop the madness, her body calmly continued on its planned path. The bridge door opened to reveal the beta shift, just as she expected. In orbit around a friendly world as they were, the total bridge crew consisted of Ensign Parker in the center seat. He looked surprised and stood up, offering her the captain’s chair. “Lieutenant. I wasn’t expecting anyone this evening.” She shook her head and walked past him toward the Engineering console. “I am just dropping in to check something,” she told him with a pleasant smile. “I have been noticing some signal bleed over in the microwave band lately, and I wanted to use the Engineering console to send a few test pulses to make sure my board isn’t causing the problem. In fact, you could help me if you are not too busy?” “Too busy?” he asked her incredulously. “Ma’am, you are the answer to a prayer. I was fighting to stay awake and seriously considered starting a fire, just so I could have something to do putting it out.” “I came just in time then,” Hoshi laughed, “I doubt the captain would approve of scorch marks on his seat covers. Come over here to my station.” She led the way and ran through the sequence of putting the Communications console into diagnostic mode. “Now, what I am going to do is send a series of signals over from the Engineering console. I need you to watch the board and tell me which of these indicators light up, what color they show, and whether they blink or hold steady. Got it?” “Yes, ma’am,” Parker told her with a smile. He watched in admiration as Hoshi swayed across the bridge. Regulations were clear enough, but she wasn’t in his chain of command. Not really... “All right,” Hoshi broke into his daydreaming. “Ready?” Parker obligingly bent over the board, which took his eyes off Hoshi long enough for her to slip the data cartridge out of her sleeve. She palmed the tiny piece of plastic and said, “This should cause the incoming message light to blink green. Does it?” “Sure does,” her eager helper replied. Hoshi continued the process, sending an increasingly complicated series of signals over to Parker and keeping his attention fixed on the Communications board. He paid no attention at all when she slid the data cartridge into the Engineering board and pressed five keys in quick sequence. “Looks like everything checks out,” Hoshi announced. “Thanks, Ensign.” She gifted him with a dazzling smile, which made the whole shift worthwhile as far as Parker was concerned. Hoshi managed to hang onto the smile all the way to the turbolift. But as soon as the doors closed she sagged against the wall and let her head fall back against the bulkhead with a dull thump. “I was not cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff,” she thought irately. “I love the code breaking. I really enjoy the puzzle of deciphering a message, or a working out a new encryption key. But field work is emphatically not my cup of cocoa. Malcolm can have it, and welcome to it.” She nodded as politely as she could manage to the crewmen that she passed on the way to her quarters. It wasn’t until her door finally slid shut behind her, and she pressed the locking button, that Hoshi started to relax for the first time since breakfast. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Then she turned around and bumped into George’s chest. Hoshi shrieked and jumped backward a full meter from a standing start. Her right foot flashed out in a kick to the outside of George’s left knee, while her right hand made a simultaneous chop for the side of his throat. He managed to get a hand up in time to block the chop, but his leg wasn’t so fortunate. “Ow! Crap, Woman! Are you trying to cripple me?” Her uninvited visitor hobbled painfully over to the bunk and eased himself down, rubbing his leg and scowling. Hoshi stood in place, concentrating on breathing and trying to keep her heart from exploding out of her chest. She closed her eyes and demanded, “Will You - Stop - Doing That.” “Most definitely, Madam, I assure you,” George swore fervently. “Some people don’t appreciate being snuck up on,” Hoshi told him. “I gathered that,” George replied. “I sincerely and humbly apologize, and beg forgiveness. Please don’t hurt me anymore, Ma’am.” Hoshi locked her teeth together and glared at him for a moment. Then she pulled out the data cartridge and tossed it to him. George caught it with a delighted grin. “Wonderful. Phase One completed already? I trust everything went smoothly?” “Reasonably smooth,” Hoshi sighed. “Assuming that I don’t burst a blood vessel before this is over with.” “I have complete faith in you, Lieutenant,” George told her, standing up with some difficulty. “After all, I have the advantage of hindsight. I know exactly what you are capable of accomplishing.” He gave her an impish smirk, which came very close to earning him another smack on general principles. “Grandmother is taking care of Phase Two as we speak. Get some rest so you can be ready tomorrow morning for Phase Three.” He manipulated a control on his belt and blinked out of existence. “I doubt that I will be ready to brush my teeth tomorrow morning,” Hoshi muttered bitterly, heading for the shower. T’Pol stepped through the doorway and immediately moved to one side, remaining near the opening while she surveyed the area. Her two personal bodyguards were already in place, both of them having taken positions that would allow clear fields of fire as well as easy routes for retreat. The rest of her assigned escort was continuing to move into position around the perimeter of the establishment. In 3.7 minutes she saw Centurion T’Volj emerge from the shadows at the far side of the main room and give the all clear sign. T’Pol’s senior bodyguard, Sarel, looked at her and tilted his head - indicating that she was cleared to advance at her own will. T’Pol re-ran the most basic of the preliminary Kohlinor disciplines once more. She had not entered this particular establishment in many years. Not since she had changed her career path to enter the diplomatic service. In her previous life this type of operation would have been entirely routine. But she was discovering that more things than merely her physical reflexes had atrophied during the intervening decades. She reminded herself that the personnel accompanying her were of the highest caliber. The Eldest Mother had been most explicit in her instructions to Ganlas. {“Son of my Clan,”} she had told him seriously in formal High Vulcan, {“I must ask of thee a boon. Be warned. What I ask goes beyond what might be considered the ordinary duty of a Son to his Clan.”} {Do not concern thyself with that, Eldest,”} Ganlas had answered phlegmatically. {“Ask. If it lies within my power I shall do it.”} {“I am sending T’Pol on a mission for the good of the Clan,”} T’Para had told him, truthfully if not completely. {”She will be entering unusual danger and will require guards who possess qualifications over and above the standard Security Operative training.”} Ganlas shot T’Pol a penetrating look. He held her eyes and asked, {Please specify.”} T’Pol took it upon herself to answer him directly. {“I will need Intelligence Operatives.”} {”Now see thou, Ganlas,”} T’Para continued, {“Why I did hesitate to ask this of thee. The task that I have set for T’Pol is of critical importance, not only for the Clan but also for all of Vulcan. And indeed, for Earth as well. But I can offer no proof of this, I can only ask for thy trust.”} {“Thou hast it, Eldest,”} Ganlas told her, bowing low. {“Thou has always had it. I will make arrangements to obtain as many agents as possible as soon as I can. I presume that it is thy wish to use Clan members exclusively?”} {“Yes, most definitely,”} T’Para said. {“Let none but our own be trusted for this task.”} T’Pol moved forward into the tavern. The Cloud of Dreams (which made a mockery of its own name in ways that few other taverns could ever hope to achieve) was constructed on three levels. The central level contained the bar and a rather nasty smelling kitchenette, along with some unstable looking stools. This saucer shaped central platform was supported and suspended in midair by flaring arches that sprang out around the perimeter, both rising and falling, connecting it to the upper and lower levels that surrounded the central platform in two rings. T’Pol scanned the tables around the upper ring but saw no sign of her prey. Not surprising. Her contact was a wary veteran who had survived 157 years in the underworld of interstellar machinations. He was not likely to show up first and plant himself in the open where he could be easily found. She settled at a nondescript table in a dim corner, which happened to be nearest one of her operatives. Her two personal bodyguards moved up and quietly assumed positions at tables nearby. Everyone settled in for the wait. T’Pol anticipated a fairly brief meeting the first time. Just enough to explain what she had to offer and what she wanted. These kinds of negotiations tended to be protracted. And of course, the customer always wanted some evidence of good faith. There was movement on the lower level. A faint vibration against the bone behind her ear told her that her escort had gone on alert. Only on alert however, not on battle ready. Her contact had arrived with his own escort. He came up the steps looking much as he had during their last meeting, so many years ago. The deeply hooded robe still bore a blue stripe along the edge, although she doubted that it was the same garment. Wryly, T’Pol realized that her own garment was still a dull gray-brown, just as it always had been during these assignments. Habit was a powerful force indeed. A potentially dangerous one, she reflected, if one became too predictable. Her appointment made a slight gesture and his bodyguard stopped at the top of the staircase. He continued forward, with only the slightest movement of his hood to indicate that he noticed her guards. As always, his face was completely hidden in darkness within the hood. “Kartoum,” he stopped at the far side of the table and bowed slightly. “As lovely as ever I see,” he jibed. “Larai,” she replied. “Please, be seated.” While he pulled out the chair it occurred to her that neither of them had ever seen the other’s face, and both of them always used voice distorting equipment. How then had each managed to deduce the gender of the other? “I had thought you dead long ago, Kartoum,” Larai told her. “Where have you been hiding yourself and who are you hiding from?” “Do you really expect me to tell you?” T’Pol asked flatly. Larai broke into soft laughter. His hood moved slightly, indicating that he was shaking his head. “Of course not,” he admitted, still chuckling. “Still, it would be engrossing to know. I wonder how much your head would be worth to the right people.” “Considerably more than yours would be,” T’Pol told him in a chilly tone, “after my associates had finished with you.” “No doubt,” Larai waved his hand in a disarming gesture. “Since you are back here, you have obviously taken care of the matter, whatever it was. So now we have new business to take care of?” “Yes.” T’Pol drew a small instrument from beneath her robe and placed it on the table. She waited. Larai folded his hands and stared at it for 23.5 seconds. Then he turned and snapped a brief phrase to his guards in Orion trade lingo. He turned back toward the table and gestured assent. T’Pol activated the dampening field, isolating their table from all monitoring devices. “I have been informed that one of your clients is the Tellarite Hegemony. Is this correct?” She waited. He scratched the table idly with one finger. “I will neither confirm nor deny,” Larai finally replied. “Excellent,” T’Pol told him. “In that case, I have a client who wishes to sell the Hegemony an extremely high value item. However, it is imperative that this sale be conducted with absolute discretion.” “And who might your client be?” Larai asked, affecting a note of boredom in his voice. “Earth,” T’Pol replied. Larai froze. Both hands tightened into fists. “You expect me to believe that?” He whispered harshly. “You are insane! What kind of suicidal idiot do you take me for?” He stood up with a jerk, shoving the chair backward and causing five pairs of hands to slap five holsters. “And if I prove it?” T’Pol challenged. “If I merely wanted to kill you, I could have easily made a simpler arrangement.” He stared at her, unmoving. “What game are you playing, Kartoum? Is this the price you were asked to pay before they would let you come back? To get rid of me?” “No, Larai. I left by choice. I was not asked any price to return. Sit back down and I will answer the question you asked me when you first arrived.” She waited tensely. Then she added. “Are you not still curious? Would you not like to know where I have been and what I have been doing all these years?” He slowly pulled the chair back and lowered himself. “We have done business together many times, Kartoum. You have never been less than meticulously truthful. Be warned. If this is treachery, no one will leave this place alive. Not your people, nor mine.” “As I would expect,” she told him. “But I intend no treachery. I am sure you are aware of the negotiations that are underway between Earth and the Andorians for a technology exchange?” “Of course,” Larai snapped impatiently. “And the Vulcans don’t like the idea. Go on.” “Then you can well imagine that Earth is reluctant to complicate the matter further at this time.” She leaned her elbows on the table. “The Humans greatly desire to obtain the Andorian engine upgrades. This is common knowledge, and they make no secret of it. They also wish to maintain good relations with their allies, the Vulcans. This is also common knowledge. Why do you consider it suspicious that they prefer to conduct additional trading in a circumspect manner?” He tapped his finger tip against the table for emphasis. “Because You... Do Not Work... For The Humans.” T’Pol slowly reached up and lifted the edges of her hood, drawing them back just enough to display her face clearly for a moment. She let the hood fall back into place and said softly, “I do now.” The one who called himself Larai stared for an extended period of time. T’Pol did not even bother to monitor it. Then he began to snicker. The snicker became a chuckle, which grew into a full throated guffaw. He fell back against his chair and laughed himself breathless, pounding on the table all the while. His bodyguards watched uncertainly, while T’Pol and her escort waited it out with unflappable aplomb. “Oh, this is choice! This is superlative! This one is worth a round of drinks in any bar in the quadrant!” He finally choked his way back into control. “You! Kartoum! I- You-” He stopped to catch his breath. One hand disappeared into the depths of his hood, presumably to wipe his eyes. “Do you believe me now?” T’Pol asked him. “Are you prepared to accept that I actually do speak as a representative of Human interests?” “Yes,” he said decisively. “Yes, certainly. You are almost a goddess to them now, after what you did in the Expanse. And your own mate is one of them. Of course I believe you. What I can’t believe is that I have been drawn into this. My grandchildren will be certain that I am spinning a fable when I tell this one to them.” He took a deep breath. “All right. Let’s slice this to the bone. I need to get moving. What do the Human’s want from the Hegemony?” “Hulls,” T’Pol told him. “Tellarite metallurgy is superior to Human. Earth wishes to trade for Tellarite ship hulls.” Larai nodded slowly. “I can understand this. It makes sense. Better hulls to go along with the better engines they are trying to buy from the Andorians. No wonder they don’t want the Vulcans finding out about this. And what do they have to offer? The Tellarites already have transporters. Good ones.” “True,” T’Pol acknowledged. “But their weapon systems are not as powerful as some.” Larai held very still. “What exactly are you talking about? Tellarite disruptors are extremely powerful. With their reinforced hulls, they can afford to install oversized reactors. This gives them the capacity to mount disruptors that can split a planetoid.” “But their torpedoes are substandard.” Both of them sat in silence for a few seconds. Larai broke the silence by asking softly, “What kind of torpedoes do the Humans use?” With equally softness, T’Pol replied, “Antimatter warheads.” Larai placed both hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. “Now how did the Humans persuade Vulcan to give them antimatter warheads?” he wanted to know. “They did not,” T’Pol assured him. “These were the fruits of independent... research... efforts that did not involve Vulcan.” “Meaning they stole them from someone else,” Larai said with amusement. “I neither confirm nor deny,” T’Pol promptly responded. He snorted. “As long as they got them honestly, by their own efforts, I can respect that,” he said. “Begging for charity is despicable. But if they had the courage and resourcefulness to go out and scrounge up the knowledge on their own, accepting all of the risk that goes along with the effort, then they earned it.” Larai paused. “Whose technology did they,” he coughed significantly, “research?” T’Pol considered briefly. “Klingon.” A low whistle emerged from the darkness of Larai’s hood. “Everyone who does business with Humans swears that they are insane. Evidently it is true.” T’Pol stood up. “I trust that you will deliver the message without undue delay.” “Of course,” He replied, standing also. “This has the potential to be the most interesting game I have played in a generation. I look forward to the next move. Until we speak again, Kartoum.” He gave her a formal bow and turned to leave, gesturing to his guards. Heat waves were dancing across the rocks. Trip closed his eyes and took another sip. His whole existence consisted of a steady progression of tiny sips. Take a sip and hold it until it disappeared. Take another sip and hold it until it disappeared. Take another sip... He had made it into first level meditation for a while. But second level was out. He had to stay alert. Alert. Yeah. He felt real alert. Trip turned his head to look out the other end of the shelter. His vision swam. The gravels were still falling. O’ course they were, stupid. They got hot and expanded and fell over. Hot... expand... Basic therm... therbodmamks... He took another sip and closed his eyes. Shit. It was so hot. The sun was up but not high enough to hit the bottom of the crevice yet. It would only hit his shelter for the middle part of the day. But down in this hole there wasn’t much air moving. Wasn’t much air moving through him either. His chest was heaving like he had run a triathalon. But he couldn’t taste anything going in or out. It felt empty. Like when him and Hoshi had that virus. Breathe but nothing happens. Not good. Hard place. Hard planet. Hard people. Hate this planet. Not the people. Good people. Most of them. Not Koss or his uncle... what was that bastard’s name? He couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember... hated him though. “Gonna kill ‘em. Gonna kill ‘em both once I get outta here. Shoulda killed Koss the first time I saw the sonuvabitch. Wanted to. Wanted to real bad. Damn fool I was. Why didn’t I just tell her I loved her?” He put his head down and shook it, trying to force air in. V’Rald. The name crystalized in his mind. Then the face came to him, sneering at him across the table at the Gathering. The feel of the knife in his hand, and the look of fear in Koss’s eyes when he put the edge under the coward’s chin. It had felt so good. Trip hoped that T’Pol never realized just how much he wanted in that moment to go ahead and make the cut. But she probably did. She knew him better than he knew himself. But she still loved him anyway. How crazy was that? Dizziness. Head hurting. Trip took a longer mouthful of water this time. He held it until it disappeared again. Didn’t seem to make any difference what size mouthful he took. They all disappeared instantly. Gravels falling again. Real loud ones this time. And again. More of them this time. And more again. They kept falling. Was the place caving in? Trip raised up on his elbows. When had he laid down? He blinked. Looked out. Wrong end. Turned his head. Something moving. “Shadow. Can’t see. Too bright. Sun high. Too much sun. They found me.” He pulled his knife and somehow got the blade open. Sat looking at it. He could barely close his fingers around the grip. “I’m dead.” There was no fear in the thought. Not even any regret. Just a calm understanding. He was too weak to fight. Too weak to run. Too blinded by the sun to evade any pursuer. He was finished. He might get in one stab. Trip took a deep breath and tried to tighten his fist around the knife. He thought of V’Rald’s face, and Koss. Summoning the anger for strength. The shadow was getting closer. Trip eased backward, sliding out the far end of the shelter and into the sunlight. It hit his back like a phase cannon. He locked his teeth to keep from gasping in pain. “Grandfather. Stop! Please!” The voice froze Trip in place. It couldn’t be. “Please, it’s all right, Grandfather. It’s me. George.” Trip slumped to his knees and stared. George hurried over and knelt beside him. “Are you all right, Grandfather?” Trip blinked and nodded. “Ahm awight Gahge,” he said confidently. Then blinked several times and pitched over. George caught him effortlessly and worked a control on his belt. Suddenly it was cool. Trip stiffened and gasped, then started shivering. “It will be ok in a minute, Grandfather,” George assured him. Trip felt something on his neck, a hypo hissed, and soothing relief began flowing through his body. He licked his lips, realizing to his astonishment that he could lick his lips again. George let him down gently to rest on the sand and began scanning him. "Lay there and rest a moment, Grandfather,” he instructed. “Let me check you over.” “Sure thing, Kid,” Trip whispered hoarsely. “Yer a sight for sore eyes. When did you get into town?” “I have been here for a while now,” George admitted. “But I have been keeping my head down. You understand.” “Sure,” Trip nodded. “Visited your Granny yet?” He grinned weakly. George grinned and chuckled. “We’ve spoken, yes. She’s worried about you. I told her you could handle yourself, but you know how fretful women are.” “It’s part of their charm, Son,” Trip closed his eyes and luxuriated. “This feels nice. Reeeel nice. I’m gonna hate to go back out there.” “Rest a while, Grandfather. No hurry. And this field has a cloaking aspect, so nothing can see or hear us. You can take a nap if you like. It’s quite safe in here.” George seemed distracted. Between frequent glances at his scanner, he constantly checked the horizon as well as looking at something on his belt. “What about the goons that V’Rald sent?” Trip asked sleepily. He yawned. He really was feeling whipped, now that he was finally in a place where he could relax. “Not a problem,” George assured him. “They can’t find us. If they find your shelter, they will just watch it until sundown and then assume that you left it there as a decoy. At which point they will probably head for the next water stop.” “’k,” Trip murmured. His next sound was a snore. George breathed out in relief. At least Trip was all right. Things had not gone completely to hell. Yet. He tried again. No response from Daniel’s ship transponder. S.O.P. for loss of contact with field HQ required immediate contact with Central Command. But George wasn’t about to initiate any such thing on his own authority. Him? The most junior operative in place in this time slot? And on temporary status at that? No way. He wasn’t strictly supposed to contact anyone else on Vulcan unless it was life or death, but then... George keyed the decryptor and offered it the tediously long and complex series of identification protocols that it demanded. He input the necessary code and waited. It would be a while. In a worst case scenario, his contact could always note the time, then send him a pre-dated response message. But that wasn’t likely to happen except in case of temporal war. For something like this he would just wait it out. One hour and twenty-three minutes later, the light blinked. George jumped on the button. “ID G-35t6y7ud03jk1fg3bh confirmation requested.” “ID S-9j68r9d4vv5g2d98klg665gb4 confirmation response.” “Confirmed,” George replied. Confirmed.” “Reporting loss of contact with field HQ. Requesting direction.” “Confirm general loss of contact with field HQ. Also report general loss of contact with Central Command. All units report confirmed.” “Holy Shit!” George stared at the communicator. Then it kicked him between the eyes. “No! Linda... B’Liea... Jerry.... NO!” The silence stretched until the other end said sharply, “Operative G-35t6y7ud03jk1fg3bh. Respond. Are you still functional?” “Leave me alone.” George turned away and leaned against the rock face behind him. “George.” The voice suddenly sounded like a person. “Surrender is not an option. We have all been documenting our activities. We will analyze what we have done and find the incursion. Then we will correct it. Despair will not help your family.” “How many children do you have, S’lask?” George demanded bitterly. “None yet, as you well know. But I intend to have several. And I expect you and V’Lianna to bring your brood to the wedding. Now tell me your status.” George sighed and said, “In the Forge. After losing contact with field HQ I decided to tighten down on my primary subject. I made contact with Tucker, provided basic first aid. Moderate dehydration and contusions, nothing life threatening. I am giving him a chance to rest up under cover, since he is already temporally informed. His memoirs do not describe the period between the the upright stones and the second water stop. The interval is completely blank for some reason.” “And now we know the reason,” the voice sounded not displeased. “This might also explain how he was in such good enough condition once he got there, if you were able to boost him back up to optimum. Once he makes it to a reasonably safe area, report to the emergency conference point in Shi’Kahr at precisely 3 days, 5 hours, 23 minutes, 11 seconds from... mark.” “Got it,” George said, coding the necessary temporal data. “Good. I will see you there.” The light went out. TBC |
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