The Destroyer

Chapter 4

The shriek of alarms roused her to consciousness.

Ignoring the dull pain that stabbed through her left leg, Subcommander T'Pol climbed to her feet, even as Shuttlepod One shuddered and shook. Her memory was hazy as to how she got on the floor; the last thing she clearly recalled was Commander Tucker asking her to check the emission output of the sensor mask they were testing.

The commander was strapped into the pilot's seat, and T'Pol suppressed a wince at the livid bruise that covered the left side of his face. Blood was trickling from his ears and his nose, but his attention was focused entirely upon the controls. He gave her a glance, before quickly returning his eyes to the sensor feed in front of him.

"Port thrusters are out," he declared as she dropped into the seat before the engineering station. "And we're venting O2."

"What happened?" T'Pol asked. She began cycling through the damage report as rapidly as she could. It was distressingly bleak.

"No idea," Tucker replied. Already, the exterior of the 'pod was beginning to heat up as the commander sent the small craft diving planetside. With Enterprise at the periphery of the star system and thus out of range, the pre-warp planet was their best option for the moment. "Dammit," Tucker snarled in the half-second before the 'pod abruptly slewed hard to the left. T'Pol felt her breath catch slightly, as she realized that the primary impulse drive had failed. They were now little more than a fast-moving, oddly-shaped rock.

"Two minutes to impact," T'Pol announced before raising an eyebrow at Tucker's rapid unhooking of his seat restraints. She recognized his intent instantly, and slid into the seat the moment he vacated it.

A quick glance over the flight computer revealed that the starboard jets were still functional. The docking thrusters also worked, and T'Pol activated them at once; against the planetary gravity, they would be of negligible use, but she estimated that they might slow their rate of descent slightly. An alarm began sounding as Commander Tucker opened the access hatch to the impulse drive, but T'Pol ignored it as she strained against the flight controls. Through the viewport, she could see a mountain range looming closer. Seconds flashed by.

With a whine, the impulse drive suddenly came online, and T'Pol fired the braking thrusters while raising the nose of the 'pod. A sharp crack echoed through the small craft as the sudden change in momentum ripped the port winglet free and sent it spinning away. Warning lights flashed and audio alarms shrieked as the shuttlepod struggled against the implacable pull of the planet's gravity. T'Pol could taste blood, and realized abruptly that she was biting down hard on her lips. She could hear Tucker muttering something, but didn't try to comprehend what he was saying.

The impact of the shuttlepod against the ground seemed almost anti-climatic, and T'Pol heaved a discreet sigh of relief at Commander Tucker's quick repairs. She glanced back at him, noting without surprise that he was already examining the small craft's primary drive system with a scowl on his face. As if he sensed her eyes, he glanced up.

"Nice flyin'," he complimented as he studied his hand scanner. T'Pol quirked an eyebrow in response, before turning her attention back the flight station. She frowned slightly at the nonfunctional communications equipment and fought to restrain a sigh at their lack of sensor capability; they had no idea if their approach had been detected or not. Although the natives of this planet hadn't yet reached warp capability, they were well into the atomic age and could have possibly tracked the shuttlepod's descent on radar or some other form of primitive scanners if the sensor mask they had been testing had failed.

The mask had been a joint effort between T'Pol and Commander Tucker, although the engineer had really done most of the work despite having given her the majority of the credit. In the days after their encounter with the Romulan mine, Mister Tucker had spent nearly all of his free time studying the captured Suliban cell ship currently aboardEnterprise. To T'Pol's disappointment, the commander had significantly curtailed his attendance at the captain's mess, often claiming that he was simply too busy. Captain Archer seemed to understand, but T'Pol found herself slightly frustrated at the loss of her more interesting dinner companion. The captain was a capable conversationalist, but his deep-rooted animosity toward her species (admittedly less intense now than when she had first joined Enterprise) and their lack of mutual interests inevitably made the dinners less ... enjoyable.

"The sensor mask is fried," Tucker said after a few silent moments. As was his custom in recent weeks, he didn't make eye contact with her as he spoke, and T'Pol wondered if he was angry at her for some reason. If she didn't know better, she'd almost say that he had been avoiding her. She frowned slightly when she realized that he also seemed to be avoiding the captain as well. Perhaps that had been the reason Captain Archer had sent the two of them on this mission alone.

"Was it functional when we entered the atmosphere?" T'Pol asked, and the engineer shrugged.

"I have no idea," he replied. A sour look crossed his face as he continued. "It's gonna take me at least an hour to figure out what's wrong with this thing," Tucker grumbled while pointing toward the engine.

"We may not have an hour," she pointed out. "We should focus on repairing the communications array and report our status to Enterprise." He grimaced at that before nodding.

"Yeah." The engineer began rooting through his tool box. "Wouldn't want the cap'n to send a rescue party for ya until we know where we stand." T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the hint of bitterness in the commander's words.

"It would be illogical for him to risk detection for two officers," she reminded him. The tragedy with the Paraagan colony had gone a long way in convincing Captain Archer about the importance of discretion; as this was the first planetary system that Enterprise had encountered since the Paraagan incident, it was also understandable that the captain was hesitant about acting without further intelligence.

Within minutes, Tucker had managed to get the communication system functioning, and, once more, T'Pol found herself marveling at his talents. Her initial estimate had been that the comm system was beyond salvage, but the engineer surprised her yet again with his creative repairs.

"Bottom line it for me, Trip," Captain Archer ordered once they made contact and reported their situation. The tension in the captain's voice was thick, and for good reason; Enterprise's long-range scanners had detected several large radio telescopes on the planet that were more than capable of detecting the Starfleet vessel if it emerged from behind the planet's largest moon.

"Right now," Commander Tucker replied grimly, "I don't have a clue, sir." He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek without thinking. "I need at least an hour, probably more, to find out what happened."

"Is there any indication that our presence has been detected?" T'Pol asked.

"Not that we can see," the captain said in response. "Hoshi is monitoring their radio chatter, but I don't think they saw you crash." Archer was silent for a moment. "We'll remain where we are for now and keep an eye on the situation. Let me know once you figure out what happened."

"Aye, sir," Tucker responded, before turning back toward the barely functional engine.

"Stay out trouble, you two," the captain finished. "Enterprise out." The comm line went dead.

"How may I be of assistance?" T'Pol asked her colleague. He gave her a quick glance, before sighing and gesturing toward the impulse drive.

"I've got this handled for now," he stated while returning his full attention to the impulse manifold, prompting her to quirk an eyebrow. "If we're gonna get this thing off the ground, though, we're gonna need to track down the O2 leak and repair it."

For the briefest of moments, T'Pol considered asking him if he was angry at her for some reason. Patching the oxygen lines was utterly illogical if they were going to be forced to abandon the shuttle entirely, and she could only theorize that Commander Tucker did not want to work alongside her as they had in the past. That thought left her unexpectedly sad. She had thought that they were friends.

"I will attend to it at once," she responded as she turned away. There would be time later to discern how she had evidently upset the commander.

Charles Tucker was furious.

As he stared at the exposed innards of the shuttlepod's impulse drive, Trip seriously considered using the expensive tool in his hand as a hammer, so as to vent his frustrations on the inanimate object. It wasn't the engine's fault, of course, but the urge to lash out was quite intense. Closing his eyes, he tried to reign in his anger and focus on the job in front of him. Getting the 'pod operational again so they could return to Enterprise was only thing that mattered.

That way, he could go back to avoiding Jon and T'Pol.

Glowering at the uncooperative impulse drive, Tucker began to disassemble the manifold with practiced motions. It was monkey work, something he'd normally have a new crewman do, and gave him far too much time to think. He didn't want to think, didn't want to reflect on the piss poor state of life right now, and certainly didn't want to think about the Vulcan woman currently patching the shuttlepod's oxygen lines.

The realization that he was falling for her had come out of nowhere and hit him hard right before the Vahklas departed. At almost the same time, however, T'Pol seemed constantly in the captain's presence, so much so that the rumor mill on Enterprise had begun theorizing that the two were romantically involved. Recalling Archer's past history with Erika Hernandez, Trip had discounted those rumors as absolute nonsense.

Until he saw Jon entering T'Pol's cabin the night after the subcommander swayed the Vulcans against canceling the NX program.

The realization that the rumors were evidently correct had been like a gut punch, and Trip had retreated to the gym to work out his frustrations; the next day, his muscles felt like so much rubber, but it at least gave him a reason to hide out deep in the bowels of Enterprisefor the entire day. From that point on, he had started to make himself scarce whenever possible. When the captain invited him to dinner, Tucker made excuses about his workload in engineering. When T'Pol sent a work order to engineering, or requested some assistance with repairs of some sort, Trip sent his second instead of going himself. And when he received a request from Starfleet Command to consider a transfer to the unfinished Columbia, Tucker didn't automatically discard the request.

Instead, he seriously considered it.

A part of him knew that he was being juvenile, and acting like a stupid teenager, but that didn't stop the frustration that Trip felt whenever he saw T'Pol with the captain. He knew that Malcolm suspected something – the armoury officer had made a couple of leading comments during their ridiculous escapade on Risa – but, to Trip's relief, the lieutenant hadn't pressed him about his sudden antisocial behavior.

The drive manifold came loose, and Trip bit back a curse at what he saw. Where there should have been functional moving parts was now a fused slab of metal and plastic. Without a complete engine replacement, the 'pod wasn't leaving this small valley any time soon.

"Commander." T'Pol's voice caught him by surprise, and Trip jumped slightly before shooting her a frustrated glare. She was studying the mess he was sitting in front of with an upraised eyebrow.

"It's screwed," Trip reported, as he turned his attention back to the fused junk before him so he wouldn't focus on how gorgeous the Vulcan was, especially with that smudge of dirt on her nose. He swallowed the annoyance that bubbled up within his stomach, and gestured to the ruined engine. "It looks like the coolant system failed, which led to the magnetic containment of the plasma collapsin'." Silently, Trip began composing the scathing report he intended to write on the shuttlepod repair crew; there were only a limited number of people who could be responsible for the sort of sloppiness that led to this.

"We should inform the captain," T'Pol decided. She turned away, and Tucker snuck a quick glance at her retreating form, before returning his full attention to the ruined engine. Eyes front, Trip, he told himself bitterly. If there was one thing that Tucker had learned about Jon, it was that he really didn't like his friends checking out the women that Archer was dating.

"So it's not going anywhere?" the captain asked once he had been filled in. He sounded nearly as angry as Trip was over the shuttlepod's current situation.

"No, sir," Tucker replied sourly.

"Hess has already started installing the sensor mask on the other shuttlepod," Archer relayed after a moment of silence. "But that'll take at least two days. Maybe three."

"Why don't you beam T'Pol out of here?" Trip asked abruptly. Instantly, he grimaced at the words that tumbled out of his mouth. His mother had often accused him of suffering from 'single synapse syndrome' due to his tendency to speak before thinking, and, as T'Pol shot him a Vulcan glare, Trip silently acknowledged that his mom had probably been right. From thought to action in a single bound was how his mother had lamented. "I can handle things here until the other 'pod arrives," he pressed on.

"That is illogical," T'Pol nearly snapped. If she hadn't been Vulcan, her expression could have been called annoyed. "Starfleet regulations require landing parties to be comprised of at least two personnel."

"And I'm not going to put Enterprise into orbit unless there's no other option," Archer stated. "This planet is on the verge of a global atomic war," he continued, "And I don't want to think about what would happen if we suddenly showed up."

"All the more reason to get her out of here," Tucker muttered. He returned the Vulcan's cold stare with a frown of his own.

"This moon's orbit is taking us out of direct communication for at least six hours," the captain declared, clearly ignoring Trip's suggestion, "So, stay safe, you two. Enterprise out."

"Your concern about my safety is appreciated, Mister Tucker, but misplaced," T'Pol pointed out the instant the comm line went dead, and Trip fought to keep the glower from his face. He was mostly successful.

"'Cause that's the cap'n's job," he muttered, eliciting a raised eyebrow from her. "We should start packin' the gear for the evac," Tucker said before she could comment.

For nearly three hours, they worked in virtual silence. Trip knew the subcommander well enough to recognize that she wanted to ask him about his foul mood, but didn't know how to broach the subject. Not too long ago, he would have taken pity on her social awkwardness and given her an opportunity to ask her questions; it had become how they learned to be friends, with him watching her for signs of confusion or discomfort before stepping in to explain some quirk of human behavior. Now, however, he didn't even make eye contact with her in the event that she might see it as an opportunity to query him about his behavior. It was childish and immature, but according to the Vulcan biographical file on him (which he wasn't supposed to have read in the first place), he excelled at being immature.

When she began studying the darkening sky with the Vulcan equivalent of a frown, however, Trip was forced to take notice. Glancing in the direction that she was studying, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. The tension in the subcommander's body was unmistakable, though, and Tucker found himself growing nervous.

"Commander," the Vulcan said abruptly. "Human night vision is considered superior to Vulcan," she stated, and Trip blinked at the unexpected revelation. She continued before he could give it serious thought. "Our hearing, however, is significantly better." T'Pol pointed. "I can hear what sounds to be primitive engines in that direction, but I cannot see a vehicle."

Trip squinted as he examined the horizon in the direction that she indicated, and, for a long moment, saw nothing. He was about to tell her that when the fading sunlight glinted off of something. His eyes widened.

"Attack planes!" he exclaimed sharply before diving toward the communication array on the 'pod. An angry red light morbidly informed him that Enterprise was still out of contact range; lurking behind the largest moon, it was likely on the other side of the planet and, even if Trip did send a message, it would take at least five or ten minutes to reach the Starfleet ship. That was time they didn't have.

To his surprise, T'Pol hadn't moved, and was still looking in the direction of the approaching aircraft, clearly in an effort to make it out herself. At his incredulous look, she gave him a disbelieving look.

"Are you sure?" she asked. Trip didn't bother to reply as he pushed one of the shuttlepod's survival packs into her hands.

"We need to move now!" he snapped, as he risked another look in the direction of the aircraft. There were three of them now, and, at any other time, Trip would have loved to examine them. Of a swept-wing design, the twin propellers that provided each of the craft thrust were at the aft of the bombers instead of the fore. Aggressive-looking pods were slung under the wings, and Trip didn't want to know if they were bombs or rockets. He sprinted away from the wrecked 'pod, slightly surprised at how easily T'Pol seemed to outpace him. The whines of the primitive internal combustion engines that drove the three aerocraft echoed around them.

Thirty seconds later, the entire valley exploded in fire.

The comm from the bridge caught Jon Archer in the shower.

Since assuming command of Enterprise, he had quickly learned that the captain was never off-duty, no matter what the duty roster said. He couldn't count the number of times that he had been interrupted during a shower, or while napping, or, embarrasingly enough, while sitting on the toilet. It had become such a regular occurrence, that he was convinced either the bridge staff was doing it on purpose or the universe had an amazingly morbid sense of humor.

Without stopping the shower, he leaned toward the nearby comm panel and depressed the TRNSMT button.

"This is Archer," he said loudly.

"Sir, we're picking up some odd readings on the planet," Lieutenant Reed declared. Even through the commline, Jon could hear the armoury officer's discomfort at relaying the information; it nearly caused Archer to smile since Reed had been the one who urged the captain to get some rest while Enterprise was out of direct contact with the downed shuttlepod.

"What kind of readings?" Archer asked.

"We don't know, sir."

"All right," Jon replied. "I'll be there in a couple of minutes. Archer out."

As he killed the stream of water and reached for a towel, Jon let his thoughts drift toward the two officers currently stranded planetside. Unconsciously, he frowned. He had hoped that this little mission would let his two senior-most officers to deal with whatever it was that was bothering them. Almost at once, though, he recognized that Trip would likely cut off his own hand before admitting that there was something wrong; for someone who was always ready to listen to someone's problems, Tucker had a frustrating tendency to internalize his own issues.

Stepping out of the shower, Archer let his mind wander as he toweled off. It hadn't escaped his notice that Trip had started steering clear of Subcommander T'Pol, and Jon had a pretty good idea why his old friend was doing so. Based on a couple of offhand comments that Tucker had made, it seemed obvious that the engineer thought that there was something going on between the captain and T'Pol, something above and beyond their jobs as commanding and first officers. At first, Jon had been amused at such a ridiculous notion, but he hadn't yet corrected Trip's misconceptions in the hopes that he could first figure out what to do. Anyone with eyes could see that Tucker was infatuated with the subcommander, and, though she was a more difficult person to read, Archer was pretty sure that the Vulcan was attracted to the engineer. A relationship between the two almost seemed inevitable, but the chain-of-command issues that would crop up in such an event made Jon's head hurt.

He had nearly finished dressing when an obnoxious alarm began sounding. As he turned toward the comm panel, Lieutenant Reed's voice echoed from it.

"Action stations!" the armoury officer shouted. The phrase wasn't immediately familiar to Jon, prompting him to suspect that the lieutenant was falling back on his Royal Navy training. "All hands to general quarters," Reed continued, and Archer did recognize that. "Captain to the bridge at once!"

Jon was out of his quarters and sprinting toward the turbolift even before the armoury officer had finished speaking. In the year plus that he had served with Reed, Captain Archer had gotten to know the man well enough to realize that the lieutenant was nothing if not professional. An emergency summons like that would actually be an emergency.

The tension of the bridge was immediately noticeable as Jon stepped out of the lift. Reed was already at his station, shoulders squared and a grim expression on his face. Ensign Sato was hunched over her board, one hand quickly inputting commands while the other pressed against the earpiece. It was a little odd, seeing someone other than T'Pol at the Science station.

"Report," Archer demanded as he approached his command chair.

"We're detecting multiple explosions on the planet's surface, sir," Lieutenant Reed replied at once. When he looked up, the lieutenant's face was bleak. "Atomic explosions," he continued. Jon's breath caught, but he pushed the worry away and focused on being The Captain.

"Any word from Trip or T'Pol?" he asked, sounding much calmer than he felt.

"No, sir," Hoshi responded. She didn't look up as she continued to work. "I'm trying all frequencies, but we're getting a lot of interference."

"The weapons being used might be causing an electromagnetic pulse," the ensign manning the science board stated.

"Keep trying," Jon instructed, and Hoshi nodded. "How close was the shuttlepod to these detonations?" he asked the science officer.

"They weren't on the same continent, sir," Ensign Ling replied, and Archer exhaled softly in relief as he began to pace, his mind whirring. More than anything, he wanted to order Travis to put Enterprise in orbit over the planet so they could beam Trip and T'Pol out of danger. Doing so could only lead to more trouble though; Jon could only imagine how the warring factions would react to seeing an alien starship suddenly appear in their sky.

"All right," he said, once more trying to sound like he knew what he was doing. "Travis, keep us where we are." The junior officers gave him an incredulous look, even as Reed began nodding in understanding and approval. "Hoshi, I want a status report from Lieutenant Hess. Malcolm, get as much information as you can about the weapons they're using. Doctor Phlox may need it for the decon procedures when we get our people back."

"Yes, sir," the armoury officer said in response. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon saw the ensign manning the science board shift, clearly awaiting orders. For a long moment, Archer remained silent as he tried to remember the young woman's first name; he hoped that it looked like he was coming up with new instructions.

"Keep an eye on things," he told her, deciding to opt for direct eye contact since he couldn't remember her name. She was new to the crew, after all, and usually on the Gamma Shift. "Malcolm, you have the bridge."

The moment that the ready room door closed behind him, Jon let out a worried breath. He should have expected this sort of thing to happen with Trip out there. Trouble seemed to follow the engineer like a stray dog. At least T'Pol was there to keep him out of trouble. Frowning, Archer tried not to think of how many times she had gotten herself into trouble; she was nearly as bad as Trip when it came to these sorts of things.

An hour passed without incident, and Jon found himself staring at the chronometer on his desk systerm, wishing that the time would pass more quickly. In another hour and thirty minutes, they would be able to see the landing zone again. His fingers drummed rapidly along the desk, and he jumped when the door annunciator chirped.

"Enter," he called out as he stood. Hoshi's appearance was something of a surprise, and Jon felt his stomach lurch at her forlorn expression.

"Sir," she began softly as she handed him a PADD, "I've detected something I thought you would want to see." Archer began scrolling through the data, unsure of what he should be looking for. It all looked like gibberish to him.

"What am I looking at?" he asked.

"Intercepts from the two nations at war, sir." Sato's expression grew even more sad as she appeared to struggle with something. Jon was about to ask her to explain when he saw it: no longer listen to your lies about a space vehicle, a vehicle that even now lurks behind one of our satellites awaiting the proper time to rain down fire and death upon my people...

"Oh God," Archer whispered as guilt crushed down upon him. He felt his legs give out and he collapsed into the desk's chair. It was Paraagan all over, only this time, they were to blame.

They had started this war.