Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [60]
A yellow-white beam streaked out from the business end of the pistol and struck the wall, crackling loudly for an instant before dissipating.
At the same instant, Trip gave a small yelp and dropped the phaser.
Reed stood and nodded skeptically while the commander rubbed his offended hand. “Insulated, eh?”
Trip scowled at him. “I said the pliers were insulated.” He glared down at the dropped pistol. “The trigger should be, too. I just need to…” He trailed off.
At the entry to the launch bay, Wanderer shimmered into being; the sight caused a hush to fall over those seated in the high-ceilinged bay.
The image of the dead Oanis, seated patiently in the medical center, flashed in Archer’s consciousness. Despite his weariness, the sight of the creature filled him with rage. It thinks it can just herd us here and pick us off, one by one. He set Porthos aside and rose. “Hungry? Come on. Take me.” He moved toward the creature, even as Hoshi followed and tugged at his arm. “Captain! No…!”
Archer firmly pushed her aside to safety.
“Step back, Captain!” Trip shouted. In one swift move, he crouched down, scooped up the dropped pistol, and fired it at Wanderer.
The effects—on both Tucker and the creature—were immediate. A bright bolt struck the entity, for an instant emblazoning its center with yellow sparks that turned swiftly green. Wanderer jerked upward in an eye-dazzling display of spinning cobalt blue and emerald—away from the crowd and Trip, who yelped again and dropped the pistol, flailing his hand.
The creature sailed straight to the ceiling, writhed there for a moment in a spasming pyrotechnic display, then vanished.
Archer ran to Trip, who was still flicking the wrist of the injured hand. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Trip allowed, looking for an instant up at the ceiling, where the creature had disappeared. “Just a burn. But I dare say Wanderer’ll think twice before it comes back.”
Malcolm Reed appeared alongside the two men and picked up the dropped weapon. “Next time, Commander, all you need to do is take the cuff of your uniform…” He pulled his hand inside his sleeve, then tucked the fabric between the trigger and his finger. “See? It’s very simple. It provides insulation. You needn’t have shocked yourself.”
Tucker graced him with a sour expression. “Yeah? Well, let’s see how fast you think of insulation next time that creature comes back.”
His last few words were almost entirely drowned out by Hoshi’s exultant shout. “Captain! I’ve managed to get an open comm channel. We’ve received a message from Starfleet…. They’ve routed a Vulcan ship in our direction.”
Archer felt a renewed surge of hope. “What’s the ETA?”
“They didn’t say, sir.”
“Acknowledge receipt of the message, Ensign.”
“Aye, sir.”
Archer smiled at Trip and Reed. “Well, thanks to you two, all we have to do is wait until the cavalry gets here.”
It was not, unfortunately, to prove that simple.
Hours later, in the vastness of the launch bay, T’Pol sat, cross-legged, her spine straight, eyes lightly closed. She was permitting herself to enter the first stages of meditation, though her mind would remain alert to all that was occurring around her.
It was evening again by the Enterprise’ s Earth-based chronometers, and all about, the majority of crew members either leaned against the walls, lightly dozing, or curled up directly on the deck. Silence had fallen over the chamber, given that most of the personnel were exhausted. Even Captain Archer, who sat nearby in the company of Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed, their backs all supported by the nearest bulkhead, had fallen asleep, his chin dropped against his chest. In his lap, Porthos the beagle lay snoring, occasionally twitching as he dreamed.
T’Pol was aware that she had been spared a difficult decision concerning Wanderer: whether or not to help bring about