The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [84]
“Assuming,” Phlox said from a corner of the alcove, “that the device proves safe to operate.”
T’Pol couldn’t help but notice the look of abject hurt that had crossed Theras’s face at her mention of the mind-link between Shran and Jhamel; she could almost have sworn that the albino Aenar had just gone another half-shade paler. It was obvious to her now that Theras had been less than truthful when he had claimed not to be bothered by the fact that Shran, an outsider to the Aenar people, shared a deep and intimate psionic connection with a member of Theras’s marriage-bond group- a connection that Theras obviously had yet to forge with Jhamel, otherwise he would be the one about to be strapped into the chair rather than Shran.
T’Pol could also see that Shran failed to notice- or perhaps didn’t care- about Theras’s discomfiture. His antennae pushing forward aggressively, the Andorian moved toward the chair and raised the helmet from its backrest, picking it up with both hands.
“Let’s stop wasting time and get started,” he said in a deep, almost feral growl.
Very carefully, T’Pol took the helmet from Shran in order to allow him to get into the seat without becoming entangled in the cables. Once he was seated, she set the headpiece onto his cranium, taking care not to restrict his antennae, which appeared to be recoiling instinctively from the edges of the helmet. She set about methodically attaching and tightening the straps that held the headgear in place, then turned to enter a series of commands into the adjacent console.
A faint hum instantly filled the air, which almost immediately carried the faint scent of ozone. T’Pol hoped she hadn’t already routed too much power through the telepresence unit’s relays.
“Please tell me everything you’re sensing, Shran,” T’Pol said.
“Nothing so far,” Shran said. “Perhaps you need to increase the gain.” T’Pol sincerely hoped she wouldn’t have to run much more power through the apparatus than it was already accepting.
“Do you understand,” Phlox said, addressing Shran, “that your nervous system will be at progressively greater risk as the power levels increase?”
“Of course, Doctor,” Shran said, and sounded irritated that Phlox would even ask that question. “But I want Commander T’Pol to use as much power as it takes to find Jhamel.”
Though T’Pol wasn’t prepared to go quite that far, she inputted the command to bring the power levels up higher still. She looked up from the indicators and saw that Theras’s chalk-white face was a study in anxiety, while Shran simply seemed to be growing increasingly impatient. Phlox stood by, observing the proceedings in silence, reminding T’Pol of a vigilant ferravat bird of the Vulcan deserts.
“I’ve increased the power by ten percent,” T’Pol said.
The whine of the telepresence unit ascended a halfstep in pitch, and T’Pol thought she could smell something burning. A lengthy beat elapsed, after which Shran said, “Still noth—”
“Shran?” T’Pol said, moving closer to the Andorian. A combination of trepidation and anticipation swirled behind her brow, though a lifetime of Vulcan training kept it safely invisible.
Phlox had begun running a small medical scanner through the air above Shran’s head. “I’m reading some synaptic instability, Commander. It’s intensifying.”
“Understood, Doctor,” T’Pol said.
“I’m sensing… something,” Shran whispered.
“Jhamel?” T’Pol prompted.
Shran appeared to try to nod his head, but the helmet and the cables attached to it restricted his movements. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Can you tell where Jhamel is?” T’Pol said.
“A ship. Perhaps a cargo hold. So much… fear. Despair….”
“Can you tell us the ship’s location?”
“No. Light-years away from here, at least. No.” Tears of frustration and pain were beginning to roll down Shran’s azure cheeks.
“His synaptic connections are in extreme danger, Commander,” Phlox said tersely as he continued to scan the Andorian. “He can’t sustain much more of this.”
“Acknowledged, Doctor.” T’Pol realized that