Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [45]
T’Pol’s upswept brows lifted slightly at the sight of the now-conscious ensign. “Ensign Sato,” she said. “I assume Wanderer attacked you when you learned something…inconvenient.”
Hoshi nodded. “It was so sad…The Oanis were so peace-loving that they wouldn’t kill even a microbe. They accepted what Wanderer said without question, and died without investigating the cause of their deaths any further.” She shook her head. “Can you imagine…being willing to die rather than kill a virus? To let your whole civilization die?”
T’Pol considered this in silence.
“Even more horrible…Wanderer is using the body of the female Oani we brought aboard. She—it—the corpse appeared in the lab before I collapsed, and was entering commands into the main computer.”
T’Pol was again silent a time; then she asked, quite bluntly, “Are you sure it was not a hallucination, Ensign?”
Hoshi scowled. “Of course I’m sure!”
“All right,” Archer interrupted. “I don’t mean to cut you off, Hoshi. The story of the Oanis is a tragic one, and I mean to see that we don’t repeat it ourselves. Here’s the situation: Since Wanderer doesn’t like engineering, I want to get as many of our people down here as we can before it decides to feed again. The problem is, communications systems are down. I can’t raise anyone on this ship. I assume Wanderer has figured things out and is causing the problem.”
“I’m feeling better,” Hoshi said, unconvincingly. She struggled into a sitting position. “I can try to see if there’s a way around the communications problem….”
“Lie back down,” Archer snapped, with such vehemence that she complied at once. “So T’Pol, if it’s true that Wanderer won’t harm you, I want you to go alert everyone aboard the ship.” He paused. “Frankly, I’m concerned. If Wanderer knows that we know it’s a killer, there’s nothing to keep it from suddenly attacking everyone.”
“I would not be so certain of that,” T’Pol said. “It could easily have attacked everyone when it came on board, without our being aware of it. But Lieutenant Reed and Doctor Phlox and Ensign Sato all collapsed at different times.”
“And the medical logs indicated the Oanis didn’t all die at once, either,” Hoshi chimed in. “Maybe it’s not capable of attacking more than one person at a time.”
Several yards away, Trip Tucker at last rose from his crouching position beside the warp engine and looked up from his scanner at the captain. “Like I said: Maybe it’s full. Maybe it can only digest so much at one sitting.”
“I think you’re on to something,” Archer said. “I also think T’Pol and I need to get going: someone’s got to warn the rest of the crew, and get them headed this way—the sooner, the better.”
“They can’t all fit in here, Captain,” Tucker advised him.
“I know,” Archer said. “But we can protect at least half of them, maybe more.” He turned to the Vulcan. “Let’s go.”
Eight
FIFTEEN MINUTES before the morning shift was to begin, Ensign Travis Mayweather stepped from the turbolift onto the Enterprise bridge…and got an unsettling surprise.
Mayweather always reported for duty fifteen minutes early…and he had never, ever arrived on the bridge without seeing Captain Archer already seated in his command chair, and Sub-Commander T’Pol standing nearby at the science station.
Today, the captain’s chair stood empty, and the science station was deserted. In fact, the bridge was empty save for a skeleton crew: Ensign Katerina Borovsky at the helm, and Ensign Ahmed al Saed at communications. No one stood at tactical to replace the fallen Lieutenant Reed.
“Mayweather!” Borovsky said, pronouncing the w almost, but not quite like, a v. Her expression went from anxious to relieved—clearly, she was glad to see a familiar face. She was auburn-haired, with what Mayweather considered traditionally Russian coloring—light brown eyes, and pale skin with a pinkish cast, that flushed easily. It flushed now, at the sight of Mayweather, who knew he was considered an old salt among the less space-traveled crew.
“Where’s the captain?” Mayweather asked, with a nod at the empty