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"Warrior Souls"
Rating: PG-13 Thank you for all the reviews so far. Keep 'em coming! I really do appreciate the feedback. Ten Malcolm sat back as he tried to understand what Daniels was telling him. The teacup stood empty for the third or fourth time. He moved to refill it, but Daniels took the pot and expertly poured another cup. He nodded his thanks, sipped at it in silence, as his mind raced over the information. “You said you didn’t bring us back. Then who did?” Daniels sighed again. “Ever since the Temporal Cold War began, we’ve identified several disruptions in the continuum. One of them occurred when your captain was presumed dead after the Xindi Sphere exploded, but you corrected that. This is another one.” “And you didn’t warn us?” Malcolm felt his temper rise. Hoshi, T’Pol. Captain Archer and Trip were still there!. “The time distortion grew without warning and pulled you and your crew in before any of us had time to inform you. The Universe tries to keep itself in balance, Commander, and this is one way it achieves it.” Daniels sipped from his own cup. “Dom’ni the Weaponsmaster was supposed to die long before you did. By surviving long enough to warn Hu’fase and the others, you helped change Aronian history.” Malcolm shook his head. “Then why are the others still trapped there?” “Because the story isn’t over yet. At this moment, both sides are aiming their missile platforms at each other, and at nightfall, they will launch their weapons and destroy each other. Thus, history still has the potential to repeat itself.” “There’s got to be something we can do—“ A calm voice interrupted him. “There is, Commander, but we must act in concert with Hoshi, Commander Tucker and the Captain. There is no time to lose...if you gentlemen will excuse the expression.” Malcolm almost dropped his tea cup, but Daniels dove and saved it from becoming tiny pieces on the floor. “T’Pol!” he shouted as he got to his feet. His heart tightened with fear at the sight of her. “If you’re here, then...Hoshi’s unprotected!” “Her life was in danger, Malcolm. I gave her the strength to survive.” The Vulcan raised her eyebrows at Daniels. “My part in the story is also ended.” “What do we do now?” Daniels exchanged nods with T’Pol. Then he said, “The three of us must return to the Aronia of your timeline and seal the vortex of the disturbance. That way, the Shadows can’t tamper with the continuum from that particular point ever again. And if we do that...we’ll put a foot up Future Guy’s bloody arse, to borrow your vernacular, Commander.” “Future Guy?” A smile played on T’Pol’s lips as she replied, “Mister Daniels’ colorful name for the head of the Shadows. He is the one who recruited the Suliban.” Malcolm groaned. “You’re as bad as Trip.” Daniels chuckled and said, “So the sub-commander tells me. Well, are you both ready? We have an appointment, and we can’t be late for this one.” An eyeblink later, Malcolm and T’Pol found themselves on the surface of Aronia, in front of the archaeologists’ tent. The wind whipped it to and fro, the ropes creaking as they fought to keep it upright. T’Pol ducked into the tent, but came out just as fast. “No one is there. Doctor Yumisa must have evacuated everyone to the ship.” She grabbed her communicator on her belt. “T’Pol to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise.” Malcolm thought he heard Travis Mayweather’s voice over the static, but it was quickly overwhelmed. He shook his head. “Too much interference.” Daniels stood several meters away from them, scanning the area with his equipment. Malcolm noticed his hair remained in place, in spite of the wind. “I found it!” Daniels shouted. “It’s this way!” They took off at a run, fighting against the wind and debris as it whipped past them. Malcolm realized that they were headed for Hu’fase’s tomb. The prospect of being in the water again made him nauseous, but to his shock, the steps leading underground were bone dry and the walls were intact. There was no sign of the destruction caused by the flooding river. At the burial chamber, Malcolm stopped suddenly at the sight of the walls. He clearly recalled the piles of weaponry that surrounded the general’s body, the murals the depicted Hu’fase’s great victory over the Shadows. Instead of weaponry were marble chests edged with gold, pots sealed with wax, stone tablets and sculpted figurines. There wasn’t a spear or poisoned needle in sight. He found his hand automatically rubbing his side, at the point where Dom’ni had been hit. He pressed his lips together and forced himself to drop his hand. “The distortion’s getting stronger,” Daniels said. “I can’t get a clear fix on it, though. The frequency keeps changing. I’ll have to recalibrate my sensor.” “Daniels! Commander! Over here!” T’Pol called. Malcolm went over to where she was standing, a scanner in hand. “This open doorway leads to a maze of tunnels and rooms. It seems to extend for hundreds of kilometers.” “We don’t have the time to hunt through hundreds of kilometers of tunnels, Sub-Commander.” Daniels appeared at his side and ran his sensor up and down the opening. “We won’t have to, Malcolm. I’m getting the signal loud and clear. This way.” They entered the tunnel in single file: Daniels with his sensor, then T’Pol, and Malcolm took up the rear. He knew that circumstances were changing around him as fast as he could think. When he and Trip were first at Hu’fase’s tomb, the entrance to this maze hadn’t existed. Or more precisely, it hadn’t been accessible. The air within the tunnel crackled with electricity and the walls shimmered and glowed as he watched. It seemed the elegant Aronian characters were shifting, fading, from one minute to the next. The murals, bright and fresh as the day they were painted, reshaped and reformed themselves. He forced himself to gaze at the back of T’Pol’s head, for the movement was making him dizzy. Eyes forward, chap! Now’s not the time to get motion sickness! Hoshi’s depending on you! They passed an open room, and Malcolm paused at its entrance. He traced the stylized characters on the lintel of the doorway with his finger. His knowledge of the Aronian ancient language was fading, but he remembered enough to read the two names entwined there. Dom’ni. Leen’da. Forever joined, never separated. A heavy weight rolled off his heart. They were buried together. She wasn’t with Hu’fase. Immediately underneath the two names was a third, Dom’se’nar. Warrior of Peace, Soul-Brother of Surak. “What?” he stammered aloud. “It’s not possible...our—their—son, a friend of Surak of Vulcan?” “Commander?” T’Pol’s voice startled him and he whirled around. “What did you say?” He only pointed at the inscription. Her look of complete astonishment shattered any fiction of Vulcans not possessing any emotions. She stared dumbly at him, then back at the writing. Suddenly, she gasped and said, “The inscription is vanishing!” Like the other characters on the walls, it seemed to shudder and curl upon itself, then fading before strengthening again. “Come on, Sub-Commander. We have to hurry or this won’t happen.” They both hurried to catch up with Daniels. |
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