Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [49]
“Seems that Wanderer doesn’t like engineering,” Hoshi offered.
Trip nodded. “That’s something I’d like to talk to you about. Right now, the only protection we’ve got against that creature is staying in here.…We need to figure out exactly why Wanderer won’t come near here, find a way to amplify it, direct it—”
“—And use it to blow the thing to bits,” Reed finished for him. He rubbed his aching head again. “Let me be the first to volunteer.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor, gingerly.
“Easy.” Trip gripped Reed’s elbow and steadied him as he stood. Reed grimaced; the metal deck was cold against his bare feet.
“Does anyone have my boots?”
The medic standing over Phlox glanced up. “I’m afraid we left them in sickbay, Lieutenant.”
Reed scowled; as he did, T’Pol stepped up beside him, so quietly and quickly that he recoiled and almost lost his balance.
“Forgive me, Lieutenant,” she said, with that flat, neutral tone. “I did not mean to startle you.” She turned at once to Trip. “Commander Tucker, as you can see from the growing crowd here, we are soon to be faced with a dilemma. I have notified the personnel assigned me to report to engineering, and I assume the captain has almost finished notifying his group.”
“I see what you mean,” Trip said. Ever since Reed had come to, the stream of people entering engineering had been constant; if it continued much longer, there would no longer be standing room available.
“Once the room is filled to capacity, perhaps we should ask volunteers to remain outside. Certainly, I can remain outside safely. However, essential personnel—such as you and Mr. Reed, the captain, and Doctor Phlox—should remain inside.”
She looked pointedly at the beagle in Hoshi’s arms.
“Oh no you don’t—sir,” Hoshi said. “I’ll go outside before I let you put Porthos outside.”
Reed sighed. “Ah, to be a dog in these civilized times.”
“I can tell you exactly what’ll happen,” Trip told the Vulcan. “Ask for volunteers, and everyone’ ll volunteer.”
T’Pol managed to convey skepticism with a simple millimeters-high lift of her eyebrows.
“We’ll draw straws,” Trip said.
“But that is entirely arbitrary.”
“Precisely, Sub-Commander.” Trip looked toward the doorway, and his brow furrowed a bit. “Or we could wait for the captain to make a decision when he gets here. I wonder what’s keeping him….”
At that moment, Archer had discovered the last unwarned crew member, a young male ensign, unconscious on his cabin deck. A quick medical check revealed slowed respiration and pulse. Wanderer had been feeding again, and that realization, along with anger over the death of Lieutenant Meir, filled Archer with uncommon energy despite his lack of sleep. With surprisingly little effort, he bent down on one knee, slung the unconscious ensign over his shoulder, then pushed himself to his feet.
“I won’t let you have this one,” Archer said, to an enemy that was no longer there.
He staggered through the doorway into the gray metal corridor. In the simulated daylight, it was now hearteningly empty; the crew had taken their captain’s warning seriously. Archer could only hope that all of them made it safely to engineering, and that T’Pol had had success with her mission.
He could not help wondering whether his discovery of the unconscious ensign meant that someone else had recovered—Reed or Phlox—which had forced Wanderer to feed again.
Archer gasped beneath the weight of the unconscious crewman; he wanted to run down the corridor, realizing that Wanderer might need to strike again, but he could manage no better than a slow jog. And as soon as he got the ensign to engineering, he intended to go back for Meir’s body unless he was needed to perform a duty critical to destroying Wanderer. It had seemed wrong to leave her in her bunk; he at least wanted to see her body properly stored in sickbay, so that it could be returned to relatives