The Destroyer

Chapter 15

The tension in the conference room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

From where she sat at the far end of the long, narrow table, Lieutenant Hoshi Sato was able to easily see the faces of Enterprise’s command staff with the notable exception of Travis who was seated directly to her right. With little to offer during these early morning status briefings once her initial report had been given, she instead turned her attention to watching the usual personality conflict play out. Months ago, before Ekos and the tragedy that had taken place there, she had actually enjoyed these moments as they always seemed to result in good-natured disputes between Commander Tucker and Subcommander T’Pol over whatever happened to be on the docket that day. More often than not, Captain Archer would let their lively arguments continue longer than was entirely necessary, a glint in his eyes always revealing that he took great pleasure in refereeing the debates.

Today, however, the captain was certainly not enjoying himself.

“The Alvera trees that surround the Hall of Diplomacy are considered sacred to the Kreetassans,” Ambassador Soval was saying, his words and his unblinking gaze directed at Archer. “It is essential that you do not get closer than two meters to these trees.”

“Why would they consider trees sacred?” Commander Hernandez asked, curiosity written upon her face. She was seated next to the Vulcan ambassador, directly across from Malcolm and to the left of Captain Archer. As was normal for her since her assignment to Enterprise, the commander avoided making eye contact with either the captain or Lieutenant Commander Reed, though Hoshi had long since deduced it was for different reasons. To someone trained in deciphering body language, it was obvious that Hernandez and the captain had a history, one that made both of them uncomfortable which meant it had to be s****l in nature. With Malcolm, however, it was something else, a sense of jealousy or discomfort that Hoshi believed to be rooted in the new first officer’s annoyance that Archer persistently turned to the armoury officer for advice rather than Hernandez, or that Reed’s suggestions were correct more often than not.

“The tradition dates back to First Contact between the Kreetassans and the Tellarite Consortium,” Soval answered, automatically lapsing into a lecturing tone that prompted Hoshi to tune out what he actually said. She wasn’t missing anything – unlike Hernandez who was still learning the ropes of her new job, Sato had plenty of spare time at her disposal when she was off duty, so she’d already committed to memory the pertinent facts about the Kreetassans that directly affected her department.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hoshi could see Captain Archer grimace and look down at the PADD in front of him so he could focus on something other than the Vulcan ambassador. The antipathy between the two men was almost always present, but they made a calculated effort to rein it in while around other members of the crew. Hoshi wasn’t sure if their mutual dislike of the situation they found themselves in had resulted in that unspoken pact, or if it was something else entirely, but in the fourteen days since Enterprise left Earth, Archer and Soval had somehow developed a way to interact that bordered on professional.

It still didn’t mean they liked each other, though.

Uninterested in the history lesson regarding the Kreetassans, Hoshi left her eyes drift around the table so she could study her fellow officers. Only Hernandez, Doctor Phlox and Ensign Ling actually seemed interested in the ambassador’s explanation, though the other four – Archer, Reed, Lieutenant Commander Kelby, and Travis – were at least making the effort to appear like they were listening. Reed was the hardest to read, with only the tightness of his lips revealing his utter disinterest in the subject matter, but Kelby appeared openly bored. Or maybe that was tired – he was still settling in as the chief engineer and Hoshi doubted he’d had a full night’s rest in three weeks.

“We have interacted with them before, Ambassador,” the captain said, interrupting Soval.

“And had it not been for Lieutenant Mayweather’s quick thinking,” the Vulcan retorted, “you might have caused a diplomatic incident because of your lack of proper preparation.” Travis squirmed slightly at the compliment, and Hoshi shot him a quick smirk. For reasons that continued to elude understanding, the Boomer had been constantly singled out for praise by Soval – in his Vulcany way, of course, which was more often than not veiled within sarcastic jibes directed at the captain. Not to be outdone, Archer had started taking Mayweather under his wing, giving him more important responsibilities and duties.

Needless to say, the sudden attention was driving Travis up the wall.

“It’s like I’m some sort of damned trophy for their pissing match,” he had grumbled to her after one particularly frustrating day that had begun with Soval cornering Mayweather to quiz him about his life as a Boomer and ended with the captain calling Travis into his ready room to inquire about the lieutenant’s career goals. “Why me?” he had moaned.

At the captain’s side, Commander Reed raised a hand to conceal the smirk threatening to spill across his face, and Hoshi caught his gaze. The armoury officer rolled his eyes briefly before turning his attention back to the latest escalation of the Archer-Soval conflict. Since Ekos, Reed had become closer to the captain, stepping in to assume Commander Tucker’s role as sounding board for Archer. Neither man seemed fully comfortable with one another, though they certainly made the effort. It was as if they were trying – too hard, in Hoshi’s opinion – to be to one another what Trip had been to them in the late commander’s memory.

“Once Enterprise enters orbit,” Soval continued, as if the captain had not spoken at all, “we are expected to synchronize our schedules with that of the planetary capital.”

“Makes sense,” Commander Hernandez admitted. “I’d sure hate for visitors to knock on my door at three in the morning just to say hi.”

“Everything we have on the Kreetassans has been published on the shipwide web,” the captain said, his tone hinting at his eagerness to get onto other matters. “Make sure your departments have studied it. We can’t afford any mistakes.” Soval grunted slightly at the comment, though whether it was in agreement or disapproval of Archer’s statement, Hoshi couldn’t quite tell. From the captain’s quick, sidelong glance in the direction of the ambassador, he wasn’t sure either, and the frown that had been on his face for months – since Ekos, actually – deepened. “Commander Kelby,” he said, his attention shifting to the new chief engineer. Seated to Hoshi’s immediate left, the lieutenant commander still looked uncomfortable, made more so by Enterprise’s always temperamental engines. When Kelby simply looked at his commanding officer for an extended heartbeat, Archer sighed and voiced the question he’d clearly thought to be implied. “What’s the status of engineering?”

“We’re still having a problem with the port nacelle,” Kelby said, his words causing Travis to tense. Ever since Anna Hess was reassigned, Mayweather had been insistent that Enterprise was still upset over Trip’s death. Kelby was cursed, according to Travis, doomed to fight a never-ending battle against a starship still grieving over her lost engineer. For that matter, Columbia had a dark destiny ahead of her too, since Kelby transferred from the partially complete NX-02 to serve under Captain Archer. Even the man’s close friendship with Tucker and his personal involvement with the construction of Enterprise would not help him. According to Boomer lore as told by Mayweather, one did not change chief engineers without there being terrible, life-threatening consequences, especially if the starship in question wasn’t fully constructed. To Hoshi, it sounded like superstitious nonsense.

And she still wasn’t sure if Travis actually believed it or was just playing a practical joke on her.

“It shouldn’t affect our capabilities, Captain,” the engineer continued, “but I would like to take the nacelle offline while we’re in Kreetassan orbit to find out what’s wrong with it.” Archer opened his mouth to answer but hesitated. A moment later, he looked directly at Soval.

“Will that offend their sensibilities, Ambassador?” he asked.

“Probably,” Travis muttered under his breath. Soval raised an eyebrow, shot a quick glance in Mayweather’s direction, and pursed his lips.

“I would advise against doing so while in orbit over their homeworld,” he replied. “The Kreetassans have a reputation for being …”

“Prats?” Malcolm offered helpfully. Hoshi snorted lightly as Travis and Kelby snickered. Phlox’s ever-present smile widened though whether he understood the meaning of the word was questionable, and even the stern Commander Hernandez nearly cracked a smile. Only the captain and Soval seemed unamused.

“Difficult,” the ambassador corrected.

“Then we wait to take the nacelle offline until this mission is over,” Archer decided. “Anything else?” he asked, his eyes quickly darting from officer to officer.

“Yes, Captain,” Phlox said. “We have several members of the crew whose annual physicals are outstanding,” the doctor continued at Archer’s nod. “I am having difficulty convincing these recalcitrant individuals of the importance of a medical screening.”

“Give me their names,” the captain said with a sigh, “and I’ll order them to Sickbay.” Phlox glanced down at the PADD in front of him, making such a great show of examining the data device that Hoshi knew it was an act.

“Ah, here we are,” the Denobulan said. “The names are … Archer, Jonathan and Soval of Vulcan.” Phlox looked up, his smile widening to inhuman proportions. “Is ten hundred hours good for the two of you?” The disgruntled expressions the two men gave the doctor were utterly identical, and forced Hoshi to do the one thing she knew she shouldn’t.

She laughed.

 Despite their best efforts to be stealthy, the floorboards creaked under their weight.

Biting back a curse, Trip Tucker froze in place, his eyes wide, and he could feel T’Pol do the same behind him. Laden down with their duffel bags and rucksacks, anyone happening upon them would immediately recognize what their intentions were, especially with only two of the three planetary moons in the sky and Ekos’ sister planet yet lurking below the horizon. By Trip’s reckoning, there were still another three hours until dawn, and at least twice that before their hosts would be up and about. There was plenty of time to make a discreet escape, providing their luck held out.

Although given the experiences of the last couple of months, Trip was starting to suspect that the only luck they had was bad.

“Go,” T’Pol ordered softly. She was carrying the lion’s share of the weight and was holding onto his shoulder with her right hand so he could lead her through the darkness. Using even a candle might reveal that they were on the move, so Trip’s superior night vision would have to do.

With a nod, Tucker continued to inch down the stairs, T’Pol a bare half step behind him. He winced with each step that he took, his keyed up senses screaming that they were making too much noise no matter how quiet they might have actually been. Any second now, he expected Aron or Daveed to appear at the doors leading to their respective rooms, some sort of weapon in hand and shouting for aid. Trip’s heart pounded loudly in his ears like distant thunder, and even his breathing sounded impossibly loud.

But no one appeared.

They paused at the back door of the house, and Trip slowly opened it, grimacing at the wash of cold air that greeted him and the slight shudder he felt run through T’Pol. Newly oiled hinges barely made a sound, and they silently exited the Zeon home, shutting the door behind them just as carefully as they opened it. Snow was still on the ground outside, but gradually warming temperatures over the last week had melted much of it. The air was still crisp and sharp, though, with a biting taste that never smelled quite right to him.

Though the distance between the house and the barn couldn’t be more than four meters, it seemed to stretch on into infinity, and by the time they reached the door leading into the large structure, Trip was fighting the urge to jump at every shadow or noise that he saw or heard. Only T’Pol’s hand on his shoulder and her poised, unhurried breathing kept him from over-reacting at unexpected sounds like the distant baying of what sounded like a wolf (or rather, the Ekosi equivalent, whatever that might be), or the soft clang of metal upon metal as the wind knocked oddly-shaped horseshoes hanging from the barn’s roof together. Why do they have horseshoes, Tucker wondered abruptly, but no horses? He suspected T’Pol had already noticed the inconsistency. She seemed to see everything, no matter how minor, and he wondered if it was her super spy training or just a Vulcan thing.

Whatever it was, he was glad for it.

Relief flooded through him when the barn door opened with barely a squeak – he had spent the last two days covertly greasing its hinges in preparation for this moment, and had been desperately afraid another cold snap would freeze the cooking oil he’d used. The ATV sat exactly where they had left it earlier, in the very middle of the open barn with the protective tarp secured over it. Trip spent several long moments double-checking everything, T’Pol a silent, watchful shadow at his back, to make sure nothing had been tampered with or added, before finally grunting in satisfaction. The Vulcan offered no comment as they unsecured the tarp and quickly lashed their gear into place. Reflexively, Trip’s eyes sought out the fuel cans – the full fuel cans – and he shivered slightly.

There had been no explanation offered by the Zeon family as to where the fuel had come from – one day, the cans had been empty, and the next they weren’t – but T’Pol immediately pushed forward their time table as a result. In the last week, her level of paranoia (even if she wouldn’t admit it was paranoia) had skyrocketed, and Trip found himself almost wishing she hadn’t shared her concerns with him. The unanswered questions piling up had reached, in her opinion, critical mass. Where had the fuel come from? How did it get here without any of the family members seeming to make a trip? If the Zeons acquired it from somewhere else, did they explain why it was necessary? To who? Even if the family wasn’t working with local authorities, did she and Trip dare wait any longer to make their escape?

“I’m ready,” T’Pol murmured. She was at the aft of the trike, awaiting Trip to slide into the driver’s seat and disengage the parking brake so she could begin to push the vehicle clear of the barn. A part of Tucker – the part that labored in caveman chauvinism under the guise of being a southern gentleman – wanted to revolt against the notion of her doing the heavy lifting while he steered, but another part, the logical part that his Vulcan companion had been training him to utilize more frequently, admitted it was necessary. She was significantly stronger than he was, and he could see better in the dark so he could guide them around any obstructions until they reached a safe distance to engage the engine. Logic demanded the best people for the correct jobs, and who was he to argue with that?

“Right,” Trip replied, equally soft. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”

Snow crunched under the ATV’s wheels as T’Pol pushed it from the barn, and Trip forced himself to focus entirely on steering instead of the sound. Using the levers that reminded him so much of his great-uncle’s heavy tractor, Tucker angled them in a general southwesterly direction. Chosen mostly for its slight downward slope, this particular route also carried them closer to a major highway that would carry them to their ultimate destination, the Priipan Desert some twenty-eight hundred kilometers away. Once on that main thoroughfare, T’Pol had mapped out a meandering route intended to throw off any pursuit while keeping a maximum amount of cover from aerial observation.

They crested the slight hill, and a moment later, T’Pol slid into the passenger seat, her breath coming much faster than normal. Recognizing his cue, Trip started the engine and mashed the accelerator to the floor. Dirt and snow churned up behind them as the tires sought purchase, but the ATV sprang forward rapidly and raced down the incline. Out of the corner of his eye, Tucker saw his Vulcan companion clutch the rollbars tightly, a grimace briefly flickering across her face.

He tried not to grin.

“Should you not engage the lights?” she demanded, her eyes as wide as they could be.

“Not yet!” Trip replied quickly as he aimed the ATV toward a cluster of bushes drooping with ice. If memory served from last night’s walkabout, there was a sharp drop just beyond the shrubs, and two or three meters beyond that was the road. A heartbeat later, the vehicle went airborne, and Trip knew that he didn’t imagine the startled gasp from his left. They hit the ground seconds later, an explosion of dirty snow erupting around them, but the wheels of the trike found enough traction to keep them moving forward. A distinctive squeal sounded – rubber against icy pavement – and the ATV darted forward once more as they hit the road, fishtailing only slightly before he regained control.

They drove in relative silence for nearly half an hour, the engine growling at the speed Trip was demanding of it, and he noticed T’Pol shooting him uncomfortable looks every few minutes as he kept the headlights off. He knew she didn’t like being in the dark – though Tucker really didn’t consider this dark since there were two moons out, for Pete’s sake – but Trip wanted to cling to any advantage they might have at the moment, especially if they had any pursuers. Back when they had first crashed on this rock, the Vulcan had theorized that the natives likely had poor night vision due to the presence of three moons, not to mention the sister planet that had started appearing in the night sky three weeks earlier. So far, they hadn’t been able to determine if she had been right, but in the year plus he’d served alongside her, Trip had quickly learned that, excepting engineering-based problems, T’Pol was always right.

When he finally turned on the headlights and reduced his speed to something potentially less life-threatening – the road was still covered in snow and ice, after all – Trip could sense rather than see her relaxation. He couldn’t have explained if he tried how he knew she was no longer freaking out in her Vulcan way, but somehow, someway, he did know. Shrugging, he kept his eyes on the road. Three months alone – God, was it really that long? – with her had clearly provided some insight into her moods, and he’d long since given up trying to explain the weirdness that was his life. Just roll with it had become the mantra he clung to in order so as to stay relatively sane.

The sun slowly crept into view some hours later, brightening the sky with splashes of crimson and gold that stretched out across the blue-white ocean of air. A carpet of rough-looking clouds, fat and bloated with precipitation waiting to fall, crowded the horizon, blocking out most of the local star’s life-giving illumination. Even the brightness of the two moons, now dropping behind the mountains far to the west, had waned so they were little more than distant specks. If they had been anywhere else but here, anywhere but on a planet where a mere whisper of their true origins would lead to potential imprisonment or painful death by dissection, Trip would have said the view was breathtaking.

“I recommend we continue along this highway for another two hours,” T’Pol said, her voice muffled from the scarf she had wrapped around her face to protect it from the bracing air, “before deviating our course.” Trip nodded.

“You’re the boss,” he replied. To his surprise, she turned her attention away from the scanner in her hands and focused on him.

“Charles,” she said, and once again, the thrill of the personal address coursed through him. He doubted it would ever get old … though he did wish she would call him Trip instead. “It is not accurate to continue referring to me as your superior officer,” T’Pol continued. “You have an equal say in our course of action. We are … what is the human phrase? … in this together.”

“I know,” Trip murmured. He knew she would hear him with her keen Vulcan ears, so he didn’t bother raising his voice beyond a whisper. “Right now, though,” he admitted, “I really need you to be in charge, to tell me what to do.” There was no visible change in her appearance – the concealing scarf hid her features from view – but somehow, he knew she had raised an eyebrow. “I’m an engineer, T’Pol,” he said, “and I was trained to fix things, not spend a life on the run.” Trip risked a look in her direction. “I don’t know what to do,” he revealed.

For a long moment, T’Pol was silent. Finally, she nodded.

“Then I shall teach you,” she said calmly, “everything I know.” The Vulcan returned her attention to the scanner. “We will survive this, Charles,” she said, her voice so casually confident that Trip couldn’t help but to feel positive about their chances. “You may not know what to do now,” T’Pol continued, casting him a sidelong glance as she did, “but you will.”

“I hope you’re right,” he muttered.

“I usually am,” she retorted calmly, “when I have the appropriate data at hand.” Her eyes studied him for a long moment. “Survival in this situation requires intelligence and creativity,” she added, “two traits you have displayed in abundance while aboard Enterprise.” She glanced once at the scanner before returning her young-old gaze to his profile. “For a human, that is,” she added, her eyes were sparkling with the restrained humor he’d grown to love.

“Stop,” Trip told her wryly, smiling as he spoke. “You’ll give me a big head with all this praise.”

“We cannot have that,” the Vulcan deadpanned. Tucker laughed.

And, though he couldn’t see it because of the scarf, Trip thought she just might be smiling too.

By the end of the second day, they were already nearing the end of their fuel.

It didn’t surprise T’Pol – the ATV only had a twenty-eight liter tank, and the two fuel cans they possessed held only nineteen liters apiece – but it was nonetheless discouraging that they had barely covered five hundred kilometers thanks to the treacherous road conditions. According to her companion, they were fortunate to get as far as they had: the primitive fuel delivery system of the ATV was wildly inefficient, and even his repairs left much to be desired.

For the first time all day, Charles was silent. He had been talking since almost the moment T’Pol took over the driving early in the morning, reminiscing about his past and telling her colorful anecdotes about growing up a Tucker. At first, T’Pol had simply let him talk because she hoped it might help him get over the depression that had consumed him for weeks, but by noon, she was fascinated by what he referred to as the adventures of his misspent youth. Tales of his youth quickly segued into discussions about his career with Starfleet, and before she knew it, T’Pol found herself reciprocating. To her surprise, she found herself telling him about her father, her difficult relationship with her mother, and even about several of her missions for the Ministry of Intelligence. Charles was a rapt listener, interjecting only occasionally to seek clarification about Vulcan terms or traditions he did not understand. His expression was incredulous when she described the exact nature of her covert training, and it was those descriptions that resulted in him now looking away and staring at the passing landscape.

“Charles?” T’Pol said when his silence stretched out for too long. It should have concerned her that she had revealed such intimate details about her life, but for reasons she didn’t want to focus on at the moment, it didn’t. “You are very quiet,” she said when Tucker grunted.

“Just thinkin’,” he replied before sighing heavily. “Just thinkin’ about how unprepared I am for this,” Charles expounded a moment later, “and how much I must be slowin’ you down.”

“Stop,” she ordered sharply. He almost jumped at the terseness of her words, and shot her a surprised look, but T’Pol continued. “Do not continue along that line of thought, Charles,” she told him.

“I can’t help it,” Tucker muttered. He gave her a frown. “I mean, I’m just a glorified mechanic, and you’re Jane Bond.” Her confusion must have shown on his face, because he blew out a breath and explained. “A super spy,” he said.

“I was not a spy,” T’Pol retorted, hyper-annunciating the word as she spoke. “You have no reason to feel inadequate, Charles,” she added. “If not for your skills and talents, it is highly probable I would have been killed months ago, perhaps even with the crash.”

“Can’t you call me Trip?” he asked softly, discomfort warring with pleasure on his face at her open compliment. His rapid change of subject did not fool her, and she marveled at his upbringing, that a human so wonderfully talented would think so little of himself.

“No.”

“Why not?” T’Pol gave him a quick look before returning her eyes to the icy road before them. “Bet you called the cap’n Jon,” he grumbled.

“Only once,” she replied calmly, thinking instantly of the Akaali mission. Charles’ eyes widened slightly, and he was silent for several long moments. From the way he kept shooting her furtive, almost hesitant looks, T’Pol suspected that he wanted to ask her something, but did not know how to phrase it. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then tensed abruptly, narrowing his eyes and c*****g his head as if he were listening for something. Charles frowned.

“Pull over,” he said. “There’s something wrong with the engine.” T’Pol quirked an eyebrow, but did not argue his assertion. Instead, she angled the three-wheeled vehicle toward a concealed embankment along the side of the road. The front wheels of the ATV sent a geyser of dirty snow and ice into the air, and T’Pol winced at the momentary loss of control. A second later, she found a relatively flat piece of land to park on – there would be sufficient room for Charles to conduct any repairs, as well as adequate space for them to erect a lean-to from the protective tarp should they need to stay overnight. The moment T’Pol slowed the vehicle to a stop, Charles made a beeline for its engine housing.