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"May the Wind Be at Our Backs" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 The Vulcans are different from the canon universe. They have their own agenda. Action comes fast and furious in this chapter. T’Marui makes her move. And certain members of the crew seem connected in some way. Fifteen T’Pol had a pounding headache. No amount of self-healing seemed to help it; she’d resorted to an analgesic from the shuttle’s medkit. Even then, she ruefully admitted to herself that only time would heal it. When T’Marui had asked her, she said that it was a minor setback. “We are approaching Vulcan,” T’Pol announced. “Shall I contact Space Control? They should have us on their scanners by now.” “Yes, please hail them.” T’Marui brought herself up to her full height. After T’Pol put in the call, T’Marui announced, “This is the Hu’herikah, requesting a direct link to High Minister V”Lar of the High Command. I bring news of Ensign T’Pol’s status.” T’Pol raised her eyebrow. Hu’herikah. Old High Vulcan for “revenge”. If V’Lar didn’t understand the significance of the name...the image of the High Minister appeared on the screen. V’Lar’s mouth pressed together as she saw T’Marui, then her eyes shifted to T’Pol. “Child, are you well?” V’Lar asked. T’Pol noticed that she had dispensed with any formal protocol, which heightened her own suspicions. T’Pol only nodded in answer and replied, “I am well, High Minister. I volunteered to accompany Doctor T’Marui back to Vulcan.” Well, that wasn’t exactly the truth, but it would have to suffice for now. V’Lar raised her eyebrow so high it was lost in the fringe of silver hair covering her forehead. “Volunteered?” “Yes, High Minister. I beseech thee to welcome our presence. Thou shalt knowest all then.” T’Pol had switched to formal mode, as befitted a subordinate addressing the High Minister of Vulcan. She hadn’t used the formal mode with V’Lar for decades; V’Lar would understand that appearances were not all they seemed. As she hoped, V’Lar gazed straight at her and replied, “I will acknowledge thee, goddaughter, for thy worth and thine alone. Thy mother grieves for thee; she will be relieved at thy safety.” T’Pol ruthlessly shoved down a stab of anguish. Her face was impassive as she coolly said, “I am gratified for her concern, but it is...unnecessary.” V’Lar’s own face was devoid of all expression. “Thou wilt receive further instructions regarding thy arrival, goddaughter. Fare thee well.” The High Minister reached forward and cut the transmission without bothering to show the Vulcan salute, as was proper. “I suppose she is happy to see you, T’Pol,” said T’Marui. “Yes,” she answered. “We are receiving landing instructions from the High Command.” “Very well. I will be in preparation for our meeting, T’Pol.” The scientist retreated into the back cabin of the shuttle. T’Pol programmed the coordinates into the helm computer, then nudged the stick forward. Her hands danced over the controls, touching a comm button in the process. Then she steeled herself for the confrontation ahead. Malcolm Reed remembered the worst hangover he’d ever had, at a party celebrating England’s victory in the 2152 World Cup. He and a few other British transplants had commandeered the only pub in Shi’Kahr and celebrated until the wee hours of the morning. He’d counted himself lucky he hadn’t needed to do his early morning rounds the next day. His head had ached abominably after too many pints. This headache beat that hangover by a bloody mile. A bright light shone in his face and he pressed an arm over his eyes. “For God’s sake, turn that sodding thing off!” he muttered. “That hurts like hell!” “Well, he’s alive,” drawled a familiar voice. Lieutenant Commander Tucker. He would have had a snarky comeback at hand if it hadn’t hurt so much to think of one. Malcolm groaned as he felt a hypospray hiss against his neck and nausea eased. He tried to sit up, but gentle hands forced him to lie back down. “Easy, Doctor. You look like someone ran you over with a moon digger, then dropped whatever was left of you in a trench.” “So grateful for that mental image, Mister Tucker,” he rasped, managing to sound sarcastic. He opened his eyes to see Trip standing at the foot of the biobed, with Liz Cutler and Hoshi Sato on one side, and T’Nu and Jon Archer on the other. Hoshi still looked absolutely furious and T’Nu still looked sick to her stomach. “What happened?” he asked, rubbing his temples. “How long have I been out?” “Four hours,” Hoshi replied. “T’Niura launched a psychic attack on you. T’Nu managed to shield you long enough for Sepol to get you out, but it was by the slimmest of margins. You stopped breathing, Malcolm. We nearly lost you.” “I owe you my life, then, T’Nu,” he said slowly. It hadn’t been Hoshi? I would have sworn I felt her presence in the link, though it should have been impossible... T’Nu nodded. “Sepol said he had no other choice. T’Niura will not be a threat to anyone ever again, Doctor Reed. We made sure of that.” Her emotionless tone sent shivers down Malcolm’s back. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, the sheet-draped body on the biobed. He felt Hoshi’s hand on his shoulder, the imperceptible trembling of her fingers. “T’Nu’s already told us what she saw,” Jon Archer said, “but she was only an impassive observer. What did you see, Doctor Reed?” Malcolm closed his eyes and described what he had seen and felt in T’Niura’s memories. The clinical part of him left out no detail. When he was finished, he opened his eyes, and to his surprise, he felt much better. Talking about his experience was like excising a malignant tumor from his body. Hoshi’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “We have to contact High Minister V’Lar—“ The echo of the chime interrupted her. Trip gave her a sympathetic look and moved to the wall intercom. “Tucker.” “We’ve reached Vulcan,” Phlox reported, “and Security Minister T’Pau wants to speak with you, Captain.” “On my way, Commander Phlox. Sato, out.” She nodded at Trip to cut the connection, then turned to Malcolm. “Get some rest, Malcolm. That’s an order.” He gave her a distracted nod, then Hoshi, Jon and Trip left Sickbay. Before Liz Cutler could administer another hypospray, the doors opened again to admit Travis, Ellen Varianis and T’Lyse. Malcolm straightened at the expression on Travis’s face. “Doctor Reed, we have a problem.” T’Pol waited in the gardens outside the Science Academy. The soft bubbling fountain was a soothing distraction; she ran through some calming exercises, matching her breaths to the gentle gurgle of the water. “Welcome home, my daughter.” She opened her eyes to see T’Les standing at the entrance to the garden. The white in her mother’s hair shocked her into speechlessness. T’Pol had no idea that her disappearance would have had such an effect on T’Les. Suddenly, a jangle of conflicted emotions resonated within T’Pol’s mind, like a harsh chord. Anger, relief, disappointment. T’Pol crossed her arms at the wrist and extended her palms outward, in the traditional greeting between family members. “Mother, it is good to see you.” “And you. V’Lar is waiting for us at the Science Academy, but I wanted to see you first.” T’Les quickly closed the gap between them and copied the gesture. She pressed her palms against T’Pol’s. The contact was the catalyst T’Pol needed. She sent her mind outward, as she had been trained as a touch telepath. The firm, but insistent mental push took T’Les by surprise, but by the time T’Les tried to raise her shields, it was too late. Daughter, you have allied yourself with a traitor! T’Les’s mental cry held the anguish she didn’t say aloud. I saw you piloting her ship, not as a prisoner. I cannot believe— Mother, I am no traitor. T’Pol searched and found what she was looking for: in her mind’s eye, it looked like a yellow cloud, its long tentacles attached to her mother’s psyche. It pulsed with malevolence as it formed thoughts to T’Les. She is a threat to us. You must destroy her! She wishes to spread the lies—T’Les’s hands moved upward on their own volition, aiming for T’Pol’s throat, intending to use tal’shaya, the ritual breaking of the neck. T’Pol’s own hands whipped around with reflexes honed in the Vulcan Security Ministry and caught T’Les’s before they wrapped around her throat. Mother! Fight it! T’Pol knew she had to act. With all the rage and despair that welled within her, she struck out at the invader in T’Les’s mind. It shrieked at the assault, withdrawing within itself. Then T’Pol felt a second presence, vibrating with rage at the mental intruder. What did you make me do? And T’Les, anchoring herself to her daughter’s presence, recoiled and struck out, screaming the question over and over. The thing wailed as T’Les pounded it again and again, forcing it to shrink under the savage onslaught. T’Les gave it the full force of her anger, and with a sharp twist, sent her fury through the creature, through its tentacles, and into the mental connection it had with its maker. And on the Enterprise, agony exploded into Malcolm Reed’s mind. He felt his body in free-fall again, heard the cries of both Travis Mayweather and Liz Cutler, and thought, I really must stop falling on my face. This is getting embarrassing. On Enterprise’s Bridge, Trip Tucker’s shout made Hoshi whirl around in shock. The Armory Officer leaned heavily against his console, his blue eyes staring at nothing. On the screen, Security Minister T’Pau stared out at them, her eyes glassy, a moment before she crumpled in her bodyguard’s arms. Chaos erupted on both the Bridge and in the Security Ministry. Jon Archer managed, somehow, to call Sickbay. “We’re sending a crash team to the Bridge,” Liz Cutler shouted. “Something’s happened to Doctor Reed too!” On Earth, Ambassador Soval stumbled on the steps of the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco. He would have fallen, if Skon hadn’t caught him. “Ambassador?” Skon asked. “Are you well? What has happened?” Soval passed a trembling hand over his eyes. “Get me to a communications relay,” he told his new assistant. “I need to contact High Minister V’Lar at once!” And back on Vulcan, T’Marui lay on the stone floor of the Science Academy’s foyer, her body trembling as if in the wake of an electric shock. Her vision doubled, tripled, then snapped back to normal. Weakly, she managed to push herself up to a sitting position. The constant presence in her mind was gone, the support from her followers, her control over the unbelievers. She reached out for T’Niura, and found an aching emptiness where her friend had been. The bleak emptiness welled up in her. No, do not let it overwhelm you. Channel that—control it, do not let it control you. The familiar mantra of the teachings of the V’tosh ka’tur reasserted itself in her mind. T’Marui gritted her teeth as she staggered back to her feet and heaved herself to a communications panel. She tabbed a code, then whispered a harsh command in Old Vulcan. She heard shouts and the sounds of running feet, but she clawed her way through her would-be pursuers, not caring about the damage she caused. Her mind was focused on one goal: reaching V’Lar and T’Les, and exacting her revenge at last. “Captain, I’m reading multiple signals coming from the planet surface!” reported Lieutenant Bryan Trace. Trip’s second-in-command worked his console like a frustrated pianist at his keyboard. “On screen!” Hoshi snapped as she sat in her command chair. Behind her, the lift hissed open as Travis Mayweather arrived on the Bridge. His relief science officer vacated his station and Travis nodded at her in acknowledgment. He assumed his duties with a professional air, with no sign of the worry about Trip’s or Malcolm’s conditions. Hoshi took a deep breath and forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. You can’t help either of them now, she reminded herself, but the safety of your crew takes precedence. You’re a captain...act like one! Hoshi gave herself a mental shake as the viewscreen changed. Four ships appeared as specks on the screen. Trace magnified the images before Hoshi ordered him. “They’re Vulcan transports, Captain,” he said. “Vulcan military vessels are moving to intercept.” “Activate defense fields, Lieutenant Trace, but do not launch weapons unless it’s absolutely necessary. Lieutenant Archer, hail them.” Jon shook his head. “No response, and I can’t get through to the High Command, either—“ he started, then said, “Captain, another ship’s entering the system. It’s Columbia!” Hell of a time for Matt to show up, Hoshi thought. “Inform Captain Hayes of our situation and tell him to hold his fire for the time being. The situation’s critical and I don’t want to light the match that blows the powder keg.” “Understood, Captain.” Jon frowned as another transmission came through his earpiece. “Our old friend Commander V’Krus is telling us to back off again. He’s stressing the fact that this is another internal matter.” Hoshi had several uncharitable thoughts, but decided not to voice them aloud. “Acknowledge the message and tell V’Krus that we will not hesitate to defend ourselves if the need arises.” She turned to Trace. “Distance and speed of the transports?” “They’re set on vectors leading out of the star system, Captain. Two hundred thousand kilometers from us, bearing zero-one-one mark three four at three-quarters impulse. Commander V’Krus is closing in on them at full impulse.” “Steady, everyone. Let’s see what they’ll do.” Despite the situation, Hoshi’s thoughts flashed to T’Pol, and she hoped T’Pol was safe, wherever she was. |
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