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"Future Present, Future Past" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 Three Chief Medical Officer’s Official Log: March 30, 2155 We have concentrated most of the relief effort in the southern hemisphere, where the casualty rate is highest. Most of Palmyra Three’s crop fields and aquafarms have been completely destroyed, but the Vulcans have sent their best biochemical and agricultural engineers to help repair the land. The colonists are a hardy breed; their leader vows to stay and rebuild their lives here. Some of them will have to go back to Earth for medical attention, but they say they will return to Palmyra Three. I am impressed at the speed and cooperation of the Terran, Vulcan and Andorian medical teams. Perhaps there will be a time that such fast response will be the norm. I can only hope it will be soon... Malcolm Reed’s Personal Log: March 30, 2155 I’ve managed to avoid both Trip Tucker and Hoshi Sato for the past three days. Trip’s been concerned with sector security, while Hoshi has been in conference with the captains of the other ships. T’Pol’s shuttling supplies and patients to and from the planet, so I haven’t seen much of her either. Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel a sense of foreboding. Despite what my outer senses tell me, my inner sense tells me that this is all wrong. I cannot put my finger on just what, but I cannot deny the strong feeling. I only hope that I’m the one who is wrong, but prior experience has taught me that will not be the case... Malcolm knelt next to a young woman as she lay on a stretcher. He blew out a sigh of relief; she didn’t have any internal injuries, which was fortunate. She and three others had been trapped in their hydro-hauler for days. They’d survived on sea kelp and recycled water until they’d been rescued. He shivered; being trapped underwater was one of his worst nightmares. “Thank you, Doctor,” she whispered, her voice a thin thread. He smiled down at her and squeezed her shoulder. “You’re welcome, Rachel. You’re extraordinarily brave, you know.” She managed a smile. “We’re survivors, sir. We make do.” It was a familiar refrain. He patted her shoulder and called for the other orderlies to take her to more comfortable quarters. Then he checked the other colonists. One of them had broken his wrist, another had torn a quadriceps muscle, but Doctor Rosie Arroyo had set their injuries with a firm but gentle touch. He couldn’t have done it better himself. “Doctor Reed?” He glanced up at Doctor Arroyo’s voice. Columbia's chief medical officer was the physical opposite of him: much shorter and muscular, with blonde hair and a brassy Hispanic-accented lilt. “What is it, Rosie?” “Over here, Malcolm.” Rosie Arroyo waved him over to her side. She was examining the body of the hydro-hauler chief, who’d been on an open-topped boat during the attack. “Look at this. It’s the same pattern as the others.” Malcolm knelt next to her and scanned the burns on the man’s body with a trained eye. Yes, there was a definite pattern to the burns, a pattern that couldn’t be done by a laser bombardment from space. “From a phase pistol?” “Some kind of laser weapon,” Arroyo confirmed, gazing at the scanner in her hand. “Some molecular disruption right here, and here. Any more and it wouldn’t have left a body.” Malcolm bit his lip as a cold chill came over him. “His face is untouched.” “Do you think he was left as a warning?” Her voice was steady, but her large dark eyes reminded Malcolm of Hoshi Sato. “I don’t know, but this is the fifth person so far who’s died of similar injuries.. Have we ID’ed this man?” Rosie found the identification tag tied around the man’s wrist. “Master Abram Jenner, owner of Terra-Centauri Aquafarms Incorporated. Probably some kind of contractor hired by the Palmyra colonists.” Malcolm grunted. “I think we’d better tell Lieutenant Commander Tucker and Major Kemper about this.” “Yes. If the invaders actually came here, why aren’t any of the survivors talking about it?” He scowled. “Either they don’t want to talk...or they can’t.” Major Nathan Kemper shook his head in complete astonishment. Although he’d known Trip Tucker for the better part of ten years, it always amazed him how Trip could coax witnesses to talk or suspects to confess. Part of it was Trip’s natural charm, and part of it was a refusal to take no as an answer. That was what made Tucker such a skilled investigator. Kemper wished he had half of the man’s ability. Richard Mastraland had seen one of the attackers appear out of the fields like magic, mowing down anyone and anything that moved. Kemper didn’t blame Mastraland for not being willing to relive the memory. He opened up reluctantly to Trip’s gentle prodding, then suddenly, the story poured out of him like a waterfall. “...Had two arms, two legs, a head...but that’s all I can tell you,” Mastraland said. “They were all suited up in black armor lined with scarlet, with helmets. Couldn’t see their faces, but they moved like some sorta army. And you know the scariest part?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “They were all completely silent. No one said a word. It was as if they didn’t need to, as if it was something they’re all used to doing. Like it was business as usual.” Trip glanced at Nate, and Nate returned the concerned look. “Jeebus,” Trip whistled. “That’s freaking scary.” “Yeah. We were terrified. Some of us tried to lose ‘em among the crops, but they found us anyway. Just used some kinda weapon...nothing I’ve seen before, kinda like laser rifles, but a little smaller, and it was a fast thing, I think one of ‘em got off five or six shots in one go.” “How many people did you see?” Trip asked, keeping his tone even. “Gimme a rough guess if you can.” Mastraland thought for a moment, then answered, “I remember seein’ at least four in my section of the field, but there had to be more than that. Eight, maybe, since they moved in pairs. Then they left as quickly as they came...” “No shuttlepods?” Nate asked. “Nah. No transports. I don’t know how they managed it. For all I know, maybe they flew.” “Transporters,” Trip presumed. “That’s the only thing I can think of.” Mastraland snorted and said, “Risky way to attack someone. I wouldn’t want my molecules scrambled up wrong.” Nate gave Trip another look. Yes, using the transporter was a risky proposition, but he believed that it could give them a tactical edge in missions like that...easy in, easy out. Apparently, the invaders had already perfected this strategy. Something to tell Captain Hayes, Nate thought. “They didn’t give any clue to why they attacked you?” Trip persisted. “Nope, like I said they didn’t say a word. No rhyme or reason to it. It was as if they were just making some sort of statement, like ‘we’re here and don’t you forget it’.” Trip nodded and clapped Mastraland on the shoulder gently. “Thanks for helpin’ us big, Richard. Why don’t you lie back and get some rest? If anythin’ else happens to come across your mind, you’ll let me know, okay?” “Sure. I’ll let you know.” Mastraland tried to smile, but couldn’t. Trip clapped him on the shoulder again, then left the medical tent, Nate at his heels. As soon as they were a good distance away, Trip heaved a huge sigh. “Well, that checks out with what the others said, Nate. Black armor with red, packin’ some nasty guns and totally silent. I don’t blame ‘em all for wantin’ to forget.” “That’s what the survivors of Salem One said too,” Nate added in a quiet tone. “A relatively small strike force appeared out of nowhere ahead of a full-scale assault, then they just left.” “I think we got enough to tell Captain Sato and Captain Hayes, but I’m gonna be the first to tell ya that whoever these people are...they’re beginning to scare the hell out of me.” “Yeah, me too.” Nate knew that Trip wouldn’t admit that easily and again, he was thankful that Trip was on his side and not the enemy’s. His communicator went off and he answered the call, “Kemper.” “Doctor Arroyo, Major,” came a woman’s accented voice. “Could you and Lieutenant Commander Tucker come to the main medical tent immediately? Doctor Reed and I may have found a clue to our mysterious ‘friends’.” At Trip’s nod, Nate answered, “On our way, Rosie.” Rosie Arroyo had decided to go by the mess tent and bring back some food for herself and Malcolm. As soon as he was alone, he drew an arm across his tired eyes. Nearly twenty-six hours without rest, and he was feeling it. But he couldn’t afford to rest now, not when they were on the trail of whoever was responsible for this atrocity... “Doctor, you must rest.” His back stiffened at the quiet steel within the voice. “I’m all right.” “I’ll make it an order if I have to.” The speaker’s tone became a bit humorous. “She warned me about how stubborn you can be. Doctor Arroyo can make the report—“ Malcolm glanced over his shoulder at the man standing at the tent flap. He wore the tan outdoor-issue Starfleet uniform, covered with dirt and dust. Dark hair, green eyes, a physique that reminded Malcolm of the MACOs he’d seen. Those green eyes flickered with...something...as they regarded Malcolm. He remembered Travis Mayweather’s words: “He’s got scars, under the uniform.” So this was the man who had saved Trip, Jon and Soval ten years ago at the Vulcan Consulate. He looked every bit the soldier; in fact, Malcolm could see him in a MACO uniform. He blinked the vision away; fatigue was dangerous in his line of work. “With all due respect, Captain,” Malcolm all but snapped, “I would like to stay.” Matthew Hayes still gazed at him with a speculative look. The tension between them stretched out for several more seconds, then Hayes relented. “Very well, but afterwards, you need to get some sleep. Eight hours of rest, minimum, Doctor Reed.” “Four hours.” “Six.” He knew Hayes was right, but there was still something about the man that rankled Malcolm. “Five and a half and that’s final.” Hayes laughed and shook his head. “All right, Doctor, five and a half hours. Remind me not to buy a hovercar from you.” An unwilling smile tugged at Malcolm’s lips. “Are you this stubborn of a bargainer, Captain Hayes?” “Only when the welfare of my crew is concerned.” Hayes crossed his arms and regarded Malcolm with that unreadable expression. “And that extends to Hoshi’s crew as well.” The corner of Malcolm’s mouth went up in a dry smile. “Your concern is noted, sir.” That came out colder than he’d intended, but Hayes’s presence was a strain on his already frayed nerves. Perhaps it was his mention of Hoshi; he clearly remembered Hayes in his dream: “You will never have her. She is mine.” Hayes matched the smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You have it, whether you want it or not, Doctor Reed. She’s concerned about you, whether she admits it or not. Hoshi is a good judge of character and I trust her.” “Yes, she is.” Malcolm inclined his head. “You are a lucky man, sir.” The captain’s expression softened for a brief instant, just an instant, but Malcolm caught it. He suppressed a surge of jealousy; yes, Hayes was lucky to have a woman like Hoshi Sato in his life. “More than you know, Doctor, and she's probably more than I really deserve,” Hayes replied in that quiet voice. Doctor Arroyo returned with sealed containers of food. She blinked at the sight of Hayes. “Ah...Captain, sir, I didn’t know you were dropping by—have you met Doctor Reed?” Hayes nodded, his mask firmly back into place. “We were having a chat while you were away.” “Well, we haven’t eaten in twelve hours, and despite my dedication, my stomach has decided to override my sense of duty.” Arroyo chattered away, completely unaware of the uncomfortable tension between the two men. Malcolm hid his unease as he opened his container. Fish and chips. Good old Rosie. Another jovial voice echoed into the tent, and Malcolm felt his headache grow bigger. “Hey, is that Indian food I’m smellin’?” Arroyo grinned as Trip Tucker came inside, followed closely by Nate Kemper. “Sure is. Want some, Lieutenant Commander?” “Nah, I’ll get some later. Thanks, Rosie.” Trip met Malcolm’s gaze and immediately sobered. His eyes flickered briefly toward Hayes, so quickly that Malcolm almost missed it, but it was there. Malcolm gave him a slight nod. “Cap’n Hayes. Good that you’re here; saves us from havin’ to repeat ourselves. You wanna start, Doc, or should I?” Malcolm nodded and said, “As long as no one minds if I eat while I talk.” At Trip’s shrug of indifference, he told Trip, Hayes and Kemper about what they’d seen on the colonists’ bodies. Arroyo chimed in with her own impressions. Then Trip and Nate related what they’d learned from Richard Mastraland. The hole in the pit of his stomach wasn’t due to the overly greasy fish and chips. The description of the soldiers uncannily matched the ones in his nightmare...had it only been three nights before? Two of the three major players were here in this tent, Hayes and Trip. Only Hoshi was missing. You will never have her. She is mine. Malcolm rubbed his eyes again and shivered, although it was warm in the tent. “Between this and what’s been reported at Space Station Salem One, I think we’ve got enough evidence to convince Starfleet that we’re facing a new enemy,” Hayes said quietly. “Doctor Arroyo, Lieutenant Commander Tucker, can you two get your info compiled together for me and Captain Sato?” “We can get it within the hour, Cap’n,” Trip said and Arroyo nodded in agreement. “Good.” Hayes glanced at Malcolm. “Doctor Reed, get some rest. Now. Five and a half hours, minimum.” “Aye, sir.” Malcolm nodded and stalked past Hayes and out of the tent. He could feel Trip’s surprise and concern, but decided he’d apologize later. Malcolm knew he was being rude to a commanding officer, but Hayes didn’t call him out on it. Perhaps Hayes, on some level, understood his discomfort. |
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