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"Warrior Souls"
Rating: PG Reviews and comments needed! Thanks ;) Two “Watch your head there, Commander. It's a tight fit.” Trip Tucker swore as he bumped his head on the stone archway. He rubbed the sore spot and bent lower to enter the tomb. Trip glanced over his shoulder to see Malcolm enter the small room with an eerie grace. Of course, Malcolm didn't have to duck; there were some advantages to having a smaller frame. “Yeah, thanks for the warnin', Malcolm,” Trip said sourly. The dust clung to his wet hair in a sticky film. His unscheduled swim had put him in a foul mood, but he managed a smile. “Thanks, by the way, for getting me out of the water. I knew it wasn't easy for you.” Malcolm shrugged and said, “I was the closest. Besides, I doubt the tarra fish would have appreciated the change in their diet.” “Gee, thanks. I'd probably give them indigestion and they'd spit me out.” He grinned and moved aside for Malcolm to join him. Trip saw an amused smile pass over the armory officer's face at the thought. A man's voice called out from the next chamber. “Commander Tucker? Lieutenant Commander Reed? Over here.” They joined Doctor Harry Llewellyn, Yumisa's assistant. The Welshman's eyes lit up at the sight of Malcolm and Trip. “Gentlemen, take a look at this. This was hidden in a back passage, behind the general's coffin. Seems like he wanted to make sure his soul was doubly protected.” Trip whistled as he glanced at the items stacked neatly in the stone case. He scanned the vials of liquid, the thin strands of metal next to them and the serrated blades around them. “They're all lethal, Doc.” “Needles and poison-tipped blades,” Malcolm added. “Shuriken.” “What?” Llewellyn nodded. “Japanese throwing stars, Trip, used by the ninja during the Age of the Samurai. One shuriken in the right place and you wouldn't even know until it was too late. The Aronians obviously had the same idea. It's strange, though.” “What's strange, Doc?” Llewellyn shrugged. “These are i'hala. Women's weapons. They wouldn't normally be buried with a male general, unless either he really wanted to have all his bases covered, or--” Trip and Malcolm glanced at each other, the meaning clear. “--there's someone else buried here,” Malcolm said. “We scanned this entire area for kilometers around. If there was another tomb, it would've shown up on the scans,” Llewellyn murmured. “Another scan wouldn't hurt, though. Maybe it'll pick up something we missed.” Trip nodded. “I'm on it, Malcolm. I'll ask O'Neill to run another scan from Enterprise.” “We'll take another look around here.” As Trip ducked back under the doorway and made his way up the steep stone steps, he heard Malcolm ask, “Where exactly did you find this, Harry?” Trip reached the tomb entrance and flipped open his communicator. “Tucker to Enterprise.” The response was immediate. “Enterprise, Lieutenant Mayweather.” “Travis, where's Lieutenant O'Neill?” Travis chuckled and replied, “She went down to the Mess Hall for a few minutes. I'm holding down the fort for her till she gets back.” A smile turned his lips. “You ain't sittin' in the captain's chair, are ya?” “Commander!” Travis sounded offended. “I'll have you know that Lieutenant O'Neill's given me explicit orders. She's a stickler for the rules and anyone who's in charge of the Bridge, no matter how brief, must be present in the center of command.” “You're sittin' in the captain's chair.” Trip laughed and shook his head. “I won't tell Malcolm or the captain, I promise. We need another scan of the dig site, extended to about a hundred kilometers past the original borders. Doctor Llewellyn thinks there might be a second tomb hidden somewhere here. We don't want to leave any stone unturned.” “Another one? We'll get on it right away, sir.” Travis sounded excited at the prospect of helping in any way possible. Trip grinned at the enthusiasm in his voice. “Thanks, Travis. Tucker, out.” He snapped the communicator closed and turned to re-enter the tomb, when the sky darkened above him. The wind whipped dust into the air; Trip raised his arm to shield his eyes. Lightning flashed and the ground shook under his feet. He swore as he stumbled, out of balance, and slid down the narrow staircase on his rear, tumbling back towards the tomb. He landed in a deep pool of liquid. Trip spit out salty water as he grabbed the last stone step for balance. He couldn't see inside the small archway. “Malcolm? Harry?” “Here!” Malcolm yelled. “Harry's unconscious, we need to get him topside!” Trip took a deep breath and pushed himself through the entranceway. Malcolm was treading water at the back of the chamber, one hand clinging to a stone outcropping, the other hand keeping Llewellyn's head out of the water. He reached Llewellyn first. “He's got a nasty bruise on his temple. I'll help you get him to the stairs.” “The water's rising! Take him; I'm right behind you.” Malcolm's voice was tightly controlled, but Trip heard the panic within it. He managed to grab Llewellyn's limp body and they half-dragged, half-floated the archaeologist to the stairs. The water spread quickly to the middle steps; if they didn't leave now, the three of them would drown. “Bloody damn river,” Malcolm growled under his breath. “I hadn't thought the dig site was so close to it. Thought Doctor Yumisa would've been more prudent--” “You saw the same land surveys I did, Malcolm. We weren't that close. I don't understand how the tomb flooded so easily!” Trip paused as the stairs trembled. “What the hell was that?” Malcolm's eyes widened. “It sounds like--” The wall directly next to Trip exploded outward and a rush of water slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. He lost hold of Llewellyn as he tumbled back down. Murky water swirled over his head and threatened to drag him under. Trip's lungs ached for air, but he couldn't tell which was was up or down. Thy'la, no! T'Pol screamed into his mind. His eyes snapped open at his bondmate's voice. T'Pol? Ya all right? Where are ya? His consciousness was starting to dissolve, but he was beyond caring. Trip, to your right! What? His mind was fuzzy, but his body responded. Suddenly, he broke the surface of the water and a blast of cold air hit him in the face. All he could do was let the current take him where it wanted; he had no more strength to fight it. Trip stretched out on his back, floating, his face to the sky. It's different, he thought. The stars shone brightly overhead, twin moons on the horizon. A rainbow of color in the distance, some kind of aurora or nebula. It was beautiful. He closed his eyes and remembered nothing else. It was his worst nightmare come to life. He was going to drown. Malcolm fought his way through the water and managed to reach air. The river's current swept him downstream so fast that the shore passed by in a blur. He glanced around and realized he was alone. “Trip!” Malcolm screamed, but the engineer was nowhere in sight. Again, the swirling water yanked him underneath; he reached out blindly and a tree branch snagged the sleeve of his uniform. Malcolm pushed himself upward and collided with a thick tree trunk. It jutted out from the shore, solid in place, in spite of the rushing current. Malcolm grabbed hold of it, but he couldn't get himself up on the trunk. He tried to push away the panic as long minutes passed and there was no sign of Trip. Malcolm clung to the tree with all his strength, but his fingers were losing their hold. He clenched his hands around the tree branch as random thoughts ran through his brain. He needed to hang on, ride out the storm, soon Captain Archer and Hoshi and T'Pol would realize they were missing and launch a search. But he was so cold and so tired...his eyes started to drift shut, his body becoming a dead weight... Hoshi, my love...His grip slipped, but just before the current swept him away from safety, a gloved hand seized hold of him. He barely registered the shouting and cursing above him, the pounding on his back, a mug of something hot being forced to his lips. His vision swam into focus. “What--?” he whispered. “You'll be all right,” a rough voice said. Malcolm frowned; the words didn't sound right, but he recognized them all the same. “Those charges destroyed the bridge; your handiwork knocked fifteen of them into the river. They're gone...we've stopped their charge cold, thanks to you.” He looked up at the speaker. The man's face was seamed with scars, his long golden-brown hair tied back into a neat ponytail, his eyes bright with triumph and worry. Those eyes caught Malcolm's attention...they were familiar, for some reason, though the face was different. Then he remembered something, long ago, pictures on a funerary tomb... The same eyes. Green. The man's body surrounded by an arsenal of ancient weaponry... “General...” he rasped, unable to believe it. The eyes narrowed in mild reproach. “I'd appreciate it though, if you'd stop trying to throw yourself into harm's way so often. I still need you, whether you believe it or not. If you'd died doing something stupid, your lady wife would kill you again, then set her claws into me. That reminds me...we found our just-as-suicidal Builder downstream. He's worse off than you, but he'll survive. He's tough, but you trained him that way, didn't you?” Malcolm could only nod, his thoughts still in a daze. This had to be some kind of hallucination. That's it, some kind of fevered dream, I have to be in shock... The general nodded back, then got back to his feet. “Take him back to the fortress, tell his lady he needs some special care.” His words brought snickers and catcalls from the men around them. “As for you, Weaponsmaster, I expect to see you bright and early in the morning around the tactician's table. Understand?” Malcolm stared at him as he turned on his heel and walked away. A sickening feeling came over him as he realized this was no fever dream; the general truly believed he was an Aronian Weaponsmaster. What in Heaven's name have I gotten into? |
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