The Good That Men Do - Andy Mangels [85]
“Can you estimate the ship’s range from our current position?” T’Pol asked, speaking slowly and with exaggerated patience.
“Raise… raise the power levels,” Shran said, now openly weeping. His body was beginning to shake, almost convulsing. “Then I might… might be able to…” His voice trailed off, as though he was in too much pain to continue speaking.
“That could very well damage you permanently, Shran,” Phlox said.
“The loss… of Jhamel… would damage me more, Doctor. Do it, Commander!”
“Very well.” T’Pol leaned across the console and deftly entered another command.
“Commander, I must advise against this,” Phlox said, his tone uncharacteristically prickly.
“Noted,” T’Pol said, choosing to ignore Phlox’s warning as Shran had demanded. “I have increased power levels another ten percent.”
The whine of the apparatus was rising inexorably into a frantic shriek. Alarm lights flashed on the console, and the acrid scent of ozone from the overheating power leads intensified.
“Jhamel!” Shran cried out, his shaking body tensing in the chair as though absorbing a lethal jolt of electrical current.
“Commander!” Phlox shouted, sounding utterly appalled.
T’Pol was about to cut the power back when Shran added, “I can see her!”
T’Pol’s attention was suddenly drawn to yet another alarm that had begun flashing on the console, this one warning of imminent neurological trauma, as well as the impending burnout of several key circuits in the telepresence system.
“He’s killing himself, Commander,” Theras said, his voice taut with fear.
“You have to stop this now, Commander!” Phlox said.
“Tell us Jhamel’s range and direction, Shran,” T’Pol said, working hard to keep her own rising anxiety levels out of her voice.
“Almost have it,” Shran said, his voice weak and strained. “I can… feel it!”
“Shran, I’m going to have to cut power soon.” Although recovering the Aenar captives was a vitally important military objective, T’Pol knew she couldn’t allow Shran to die, or be made a vegetable, in pursuit of it.
“No! Let me—”
Shran’s plea was interrupted by a sudden rush of sparks and flame, erupting simultaneously from both the console and the cables that trailed from Shran’s scalp. The Andorian screamed as T’Pol slammed the abort button with the bottom of her fist, abruptly engaging the breakers that cut the telepresence unit off from the ship’s power. The pyrotechnics instantly ceased, and Shran slumped forward in the chair, restrained from tumbling onto the sickbay deck only by the helmet and its attached cables. His eyes were rolled up into his head, displaying only a disconcerting blue against the more ashen hue his usually cerulean skin had begun to take on.
T’Pol and Phlox quickly unsnapped the helmet’s straps, pulled Shran free of the apparatus, and carefully carried him onto one of Phlox’s diagnostic beds, with some assistance from a very jittery Theras.
“He’s alive,” Theras said from behind T’Pol, his voice sounding very small and fearful. A moment later, the readouts above the bed confirmed Theras’s blind observation while Phlox busied himself injecting various neurological agents into Shran’s neck.
T’Pol was surprised a moment later when Shran’s eyes fluttered open and focused upon her. Amazingly, he now seemed none the worse for wear, other than some prominent singe marks on his clothing and a few white hairs that were curled and scorched.
As Phlox continued working over him, Shran began speaking to T’Pol in a weak voice. “You… shut down the telepresence unit, Commander. Why?”
“She was attempting to save your life,” Phlox said acidly, running a scanner over Shran’s chest. The doctor paused long enough to turn and cast a critical eye in T’Pol’s direction. “Though not quite as quickly as I would have liked.”
“I nearly had Jhamel’s location,” Shran snarled before T’Pol could respond to Phlox