Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [62]
Phlox’s expression, equally concerned, was also doubtful. “He’s in shock. He needs pain medication badly, and antiseptic treatment for those burns. If I could get him to sickbay—or at least get him some medication…”
In reply, Archer himself went to the bay’s double doors; they opened onto a darkened, airless corridor. He returned to Phlox’s side and said, looking down at the still-groaning Tucker, “We’re trapped. Wanderer’s made sure we’re not going anywhere.”
“Dammit…all…to hell…” the commander swore between gritted teeth. “It killed…our device….”
T’Pol wished, quite uselessly, that she could teach Commander Tucker the pain rules; however, it had taken her years of study to master them herself. She could hardly demonstrate to him how to relieve his own pain in a matter of minutes.
“The shuttlepod,” Phlox said suddenly. “It has an emergency medical kit on board.” He hurried toward the craft.
Archer looked over at Lieutenant Reed, who was kneeling nearby with an expression of nauseated empathy. “Lieutenant. Do you think you could raid the shuttlepod for enough equipment to make another device?”
Reed looked uncertain, but he replied, “I can try, sir.”
“Do it,” Archer said. To Hoshi and T’Pol he said, “And in the meantime, let’s raid it for water and rations. Wanderer’s not the only one with an appetite around here.”
Fortunately, Dr. Phlox was able to find pain medication for Commander Trip, and Ensign Sato took advantage of Wanderer’s helplessness to once again open all communication channels. A message from a Vulcan vessel, the Satar, had been received stating that they anticipated arriving in eight-point-five hours; Sato replied in a recorded message, explaining Wanderer’s nature and sensitivity to simple electricity.
In the interim, the Enterprise crew ate and drank, then once again fell into silence, waiting.
T’Pol could only postulate Wanderer’s recovery time; however, she suspected that the type of electricity supplied by Commander Tucker’s weapon was not the sort needed by the creature to survive. By this time, Wanderer would be hungry—excessively so, if its previous feeding habits were any indication—and as soon as it was able, it would appear again, and pursue its prey aggressively.
She thought of the crowd of deceased Oani people who had been sitting cross-legged in the medical-facility waiting room. Perhaps they, too, had been herded there by Wanderer; perhaps they had awaited their death there patiently, unwilling to use any form of violence against the creature they had first thought their benefactor.
And once again, the image of Gandhi surfaced in her consciousness. Intrigued by its reappearance, T’Pol rose from her seated position and walked to where Lieutenant Reed sat leaning against a bulkhead. He worked with pliers and some pieces of circuitry pulled from the shuttlepod, but from the scowl on his face, she suspected he was making no progress on generating an electrical field. She sat back on her haunches beside him, and said, in a voice too low to wake those who slept nearby, “Lieutenant.”
He glanced up at once, started to see that she was so close, then relaxed.
“Sub-Commander,” he said, clearly surprised. “What can I do for you?”
“I hope I am not interrupting you at a critical time.”
Reed let go a disgusted sigh as he gazed at the equipment in his hands. “It’s critical, all right. The fact is, what I need to make this work is over in engineering. Only I’ll suffocate before I can get there; but if I don’t try, Wanderer will kill us anyway….” He looked up again, realized that she was still waiting, then added, “No, no. You’re not interrupting me. Please. What did you need?”
The awkwardness of what she was about to do did not escape T’Pol; there was no other way to describe it except the human term, making small talk. Nor could she deny that what drove her to do so was suspiciously akin to intuition. “Lieutenant,” she repeated. “You come