Fur and Feathers

Chapter 6

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Sub-commander T'Pol moved into the lush undergrowth with the appropriate care, studying the readings on her scanner with interest. Some of these plant forms were truly fascinating, and would make valuable contributions to the ship’s exobiology database. She began recording her findings conscientiously, but did not forget to glance up repeatedly to where the two men were making a cautious way towards the water in the middle of the gully.

Although in the usual course of things she would not have approved of a detour for no more vital reasons than the need for a wash, there was no doubt that her two fellow crewmen were sorely in need of it. For some reason the memory of Commander Tucker’s face powdered with yellow pollen struck her as being humorous. She dismissed the thought firmly and concentrated on the scanner readings; at least until voices told her that the men had reached the water. She just happened to be looking in that direction again when the commander stripped down the top half of his coveralls, and she saw the broad muscular shoulders under the blue vest. The unwelcome thought slid into her mind that it was rather unlikely that Koss would have such a powerfully built upper body. She banished that with speed. It was wholly irrelevant. Naturally, he would be healthy – Vulcans took care of their bodies, unlike so many Humans who systematically abused their digestive systems by regularly consuming animal flesh. His disciplined and highly developed brain was far more important than his body, she pursued. There could be no doubt who was the superior in that respect. He was intelligent and highly-respected. Had their betrothal not been ended by his parents on what to T'Pol seemed inadequate grounds-she would have, after all, eventually returned to Vulcan to marry after her time on Enterprise was ended, but without the occurrence of ponfarr there was no need for haste- her eventual marriage to him would have been no more than logical. To be sure, they hardly knew one another, but she had no doubt that in due course they would have established a relationship of mutual regard.

Having established all this in her mind as indisputable fact, it was with surprising difficulty that she drew her gaze away from the breadth of Commander Tucker’s shoulders and returned it to the scanner. It was at this point, however, that her acute hearing picked up the sound of hooves. She looked up again quickly. Now even the Humans had caught it; she saw Ensign McKenna’s head turn quickly, and Commander Tucker straightened up.

Seconds later it became apparent that the newcomers were other denizens of the planet, and that they had seen the Humans out on the watercourse. This was a most unwelcome development. Tucker was a chief engineer whose talents in that respect she had come to acknowledge (if only to herself) as remarkable, but as a diplomat he was singularly wanting. She was unacquainted with Ensign McKenna’s diplomatic skills, but it was unlikely that Lieutenant Reed had selected him for his ability to conduct sensitive inter-species negotiations with any particular ease. At least she had noticed that morning that the Commander had had the forethought to bring the translator. It should be possible to conduct a conversation – although given the fact that Shiránnor had warned them yesterday about the width of the gulf between their civilisations, and she herself shared the Captain’s determination to avoid contaminating pre-warp cultures, it would certainly be best for the encounter to be kept as brief as could be contrived.

She saw the small group of new arrivals split up. The fact that seven of them were heavily armored could not be considered significant in itself on a world ruled by brutality and superstition, but nevertheless, as five of the soldiers advanced on the two men T'Pol watched with growing concern. At least Commander Tucker had the wisdom to reach quickly for the translator. They might not be Starfleet’s best diplomats, but they were amply intelligent enough to weigh up their chances against five mounted men: neither fight nor flight was an option. At least, she noted, the new arrivals included women. Given the Commander’s reprehensible tendency to seduce almost any female he came across, what he sometimes referred to as his ‘Southern charm’ might yet prove an extremely valuable asset for once.

The attack was so swift that she hardly saw what happened. For a moment she wondered why Ensign McKenna doubled up so strangely, and then as the sunlight splintered off the stained blade she understood. She saw Commander Tucker react with shock and fury, and heard his bellow of defiance ring around the gully. The phase pistol was in her hand as though it had leaped into it of its own volition; her mind was suddenly flooded with an icy rage that neither her upbringing nor her heritage could control. It did not affect her ability to think clearly: she never for a moment lost sight of the ramifications of intervention with a phase pistol. But the prospect of standing idle while the chief engineer was struck down in the same cruel manner was quite simply unthinkable. It would not require her to kill – there were a number of available options for scaring away people who had never encountered an energy blast before.

Having decided on the most effective course of action, she stepped forward, raised her hand and took careful aim. In the same instant, out of the corner of her eye she saw what looked like a small patch of bark on a nearby tree detach itself and jump at her leg. In the next second it was hanging on to the fabric of her uniform and an agonising pain in her thigh told her that she had been bitten. That in itself was bad enough, but the bite was obviously venomous: a powerful toxin began to circulate through her body, spreading upwards from the injury site on a wave of numbness. Her head began to spin. Her legs buckled. She dropped the phase pistol, unable to focus or fire it, and slowly she toppled to the ground.

Time became dreamlike. As she stared upwards, the trees seemed to revolve against the sky in some strange dance. She could hear voices, even though there was nobody there, but they were talking nonsense. Something was dreadfully wrong. Somebody needed her. Somebody she – cared for – somebody – danger – blood –

A second pain, worse than the first, lanced through her and she cried aloud. But as though this somehow counteracted the toxin, the confusion started to ebb, and as reality began to come back she slowly regained the mental disciplines that would help her to deal with the situation. After a couple of minutes she was able to sit up – just in time to see a superbly camouflaged creature that resembled some kind of flying squirrel slither back onto the tree from which it had ambushed her. Its fur was so perfectly patterned that once it became still again she could hardly see it, even though she knew exactly where it was. With difficulty she slithered backwards in case it attacked her again. Then she took stock of her injuries. Her leg clearly showed the large puncture where the creature had bitten her first. It was still oozing blood, but was not life threatening. More worrying by far was the second injury: the torn fabric of her uniform showed where there was an incision slightly lower on her thigh that had been made with surgical precision, and her lightly exploring fingers found a lump underneath it.

Other issues came back to her in a series of random realisations as she staggered back to her feet. Enterprise. Ensign McKenna. Commander Tucker. She lifted her head and stared out across the river. The bird-people had gone, and so had their prisoner. Only a motionless splash of royal-blue fabric out in the middle of the watercourse remained.

She picked up her scanner and the phase pistol and began walking as quickly as her unsteady legs would carry her towards where the men had reached the watercourse. Navigating the treacherous footing seemed to take years, but soon she was stooping over Ensign McKenna. To her surprise, and relief, although he was unconscious there was still a faint pulse under his jaw; it was feeble and irregular, and his skin was the color of paper. If it was not already too late to save him, it very shortly would be.

Her hand dropped to the pocket where she kept her communicator, but there was nothing there. After a moment’s confusion she remembered exchanging it for the phase pistol. The Commander had taken charge of it and he was gone. McKenna had not brought one with him. As she stared around in something like very unVulcan despair, a stray shaft of sunlight breaking through the heavy dark clouds now once more building up ominously in the sky gleamed on a small object in a pool a short distance away that reflected its brilliance with a hard metallic luster.

The translator. She picked it up and found with relief that it was undamaged. Luckily its circuits had been built to resist immersion in water and its built-in communications device could be reprogrammed to contact the ship, but first the unconscious Human needed to be removed from the water: its constant flow over his body would drain his body heat and combine with the blood loss to send him into shock, if it hadn’t done so already. She braced her feet in the most secure footholds she could find, squatted down, and gathered the unconscious armory officer in her arms. In ordinary circumstances she would have lifted and carried him with little effort, but the pain from her leg meant that she needed to concentrate desperately hard to carry him safely to the bank, where she laid him down among the ferns as being the most sheltered place available. Frowning in an effort to clear the last stubborn shreds of uncertainty from her mind, she opened the translator and began working on it. A series of simple commands that would ordinarily have taken her seconds became unbelievably complex operations to her fog-shrouded brain. Away in the west the low rumble of thunder added its menacing note as she struggled.

At last the reprogramming was complete. She thumbed the call button. “T’Pol to ... to Enterprise.”

“Archer here.” He sounded relieved. “What took you so long, Sub-commander? We thought you’d decided to dig that hyrellanium out with your fingernails.”

“Captain. There has been a...” she fought to imagine the right word. “A development. Ensign McKenna is seriously injured. He should be beamed up immediately for Doctor Phlox to treat him.”

“A ‘development’?” She could picture him rising in dismay from the command chair, the cheerful expression wiped off his face. “What sort of ‘development’?”

“It would take too long to explain, Captain. Please arrange for the transport. The ensign’s wounds are life threatening.” She heard him rap out the orders, and then Lieutenant Reed’s interruption.

“Captain. There’s another storm approaching. Not as big as the last one, but it’s producing a lot of molecular disturbance in the atmosphere that could affect the sequencing. If we use the transporter I can’t guarantee that McKenna will survive it.”

“If you do not use it I can absolutely guarantee that he will not survive,” said T'Pol levelly. “He has minutes to live at most if he remains here.”

“Alert the transporter room. Get Phlox and his team there on the double,” snapped Archer. “Half a chance is better than none. Hoshi, can you get a fix on McKenna’s location?”

“Yes, sir.” The Ensign’s voice was clearly audible. “With Sub-commander T'Pol. But – Commander Tucker isn’t with them.”

“T'Pol?” Archer’s suddenly dry throat forced him to swallow before he spoke; she noted the infinitesimal pause. “Was Trip part of this – ‘development’? Why isn’t he with you?”

“Commander Tucker has been captured, sir. When I last saw him he had sustained no serious injury.”

“And were you hurt?”

“I may need Doctor Phlox’s assistance in due course.” She ran a hand gingerly over the lump in her thigh; the flesh around it was swollen and angry. “But for the present I believe that I am able to function almost normally.”

“You say Trip’s been – captured? Captured by whom?”

The faint sound of the transporter beam locking on to Ensign McKenna’s body made her step backwards to be out of its range. The shimmer as the molecules dissolved struck her as being quite remarkably fascinating. She drew her gaze away from it with an effort at the almost panic-stricken sound of the Captain’s voice: “T’Pol?”

“By what I presume were another of this world’s peoples,” she said flatly. “They were humanoid with noticeable avian characteristics. They came upon the ensign and the commander when they were refreshing themselves in a small stream and took them unawares. In the ensuing confrontation the ensign was badly wounded. The commander attempted to evade capture, but he did not succeed.”

“And how were you able to escape?”

“I was not with them at the time, Captain.” Briefly she explained about her decision to explore the flora of the area rather than the refreshing properties of the river water. “I therefore observed everything that happened. I was attempting to intervene when I was attacked by a small animal whose toxin temporarily disabled me. As soon as I recovered I assessed Ensign McKenna’s condition and contacted the ship.”

“We’ve got McKenna up safely. Stand by and we’ll pick you up.”

“With respect, Captain, I refuse. I believe it would be more logical for me to remain here and attempt to rescue Commander Tucker.”

“We’ll get a fix on him too, once we have you on board.”

“Lieutenant Reed will confirm that the storm is worsening rapidly in this area.” All around her the rising wind was whipping the trees, and the first fingers of lightning were clawing at the clouds. “It would be illogical to rescue the commander by killing him with the transporter.”

“She’s got a point, Captain.” Reed’s reluctant concurrence sounded in the background. “They had a bit of a struggle with McKenna apparently.”

Archer paused. “OK. But you take no unnecessary risks. That’s an order, T'Pol!”

“Understood. T'Pol out.” She closed the com-link and stood for a moment considering. Then she removed the scanner from her pocket and replaced it with the translator – unlike Starfleet regulation uniforms, her suit did not have a number of useful, if utilitarian, zipped pockets in various locations. For the first time she found this a disadvantage, since she now had three devices to look after. It took her moments to re-programme the scanner; apart from the occasional moment of dizziness her mental faculties were restoring themselves quickly to full efficiency as the toxin was eliminated from her system. Physically, apart from the throbbing sensation around the lump in her thigh she had no remaining problems that would interfere with her concentration. The discomfort from the large wet area across her torso where she had had to cradle Ensign McKenna while carrying him out of the watercourse was minor enough to ignore completely.

The kidnappers had not gone far. Doubtless they too had noted the onset of the storm and had decided to seek shelter. Unfortunately, it appeared that the ten she had seen had been no more than a fraction of the actual number traveling; a sizeable entourage was encamped further down the watercourse. She studied the readout carefully. It was not difficult to pick up Commander Tucker’s Human bio-signs among the aliens’. The data suggested that some kind of temporary camp was hurriedly being set up, and that could be made to work to her advantage. While it rained they would be more concerned with keeping dry than keeping watch – and by Shiránnor’s account less alert for potential enemies than they would on another world less thoroughly cowed into subjection than this one. She might find her chance in the storm.

TBC