93: T'Pol
Her caution had paid off.
When she announced her intent to exit warp several hours earlier than
initially planned and then enter the target system at impulse, Trip
had accused her of being slightly paranoid. At first, T’Pol had
perceived this comment as an indictment of her recently uncovered
past and spent several minutes defending the decision – the comm-buoy
that should have been at the periphery of this system was
non-responsive, after all, and some of the sensor readings she’d
detected were quite troubling if a bit garbled – before finally
realizing he was attempting to be humorous. It was gratifying to
realize he was not looking at her differently following her
revelations and even more satisfying that he did not inexplicably
begin treating her as if she suddenly possessed the capabilities of
an infant. Her mother had a terrible tendency to do that sort of
thing and it aggravated T’Pol rather significantly.
Which, in retrospect, may have been why T’Les did it in the first
place. What better way to teach a young Vulcan how to suppress their
emotions by provoking an emotional response? She filed that
observation away for further reflection at a later time.
At T’Pol’s direction, the T’Muna-Doth slowed to impulse just
inside the D’Var Boundary – Trip referred to it by its human name:
the Oort Cloud – which placed them approximately nine-tenths of a
light year from the local star. To further reduce their own sensor
signature, Trip deactivated all but the most essential systems – life
support, impulse, and because he did not trust taking it offline, the
warp reactor. The latter he was able to safely place in stand-by
mode, but he steadfastly refused to take it offline.
“With the damage she’s sustained,” her k’diwa said tersely,
“I’m afraid we might not be able to bring it back online if we shut
it down all the way.”
They crept forward, relying entirely upon the powerful optical
imaging telescope embedded within the heart of the T’Muna-Doth
to identify any threats. In the event they encountered trouble,
their options were quite limited – the starship’s hull polarization
arrays nominally functioned, but Trip had little faith in their
capability to withstand anything larger than a mining laser, and the
electronic countermeasures barely functioned at all. This particular
vessel predated the use of shields apart from the standard deflector
array. Evasion was also difficult given the exceedingly low level of
deuterium still remaining – exactly as Trip had feared, they had
nearly expended all of their fuel reserves and any combat maneuvers
would likely result in the T’Muna-Doth simply drifting.
Thus, identifying any threats and avoiding them entirely was the most
logical course of action.
And so, when her board chimed an alert, T’Pol did not try to suppress
the triumphant look she gave Trip.
“What do we have?” he asked as he leaned over her, bracing himself
against her chair so he could look over her shoulder. It should have
annoyed her – there were times when it did, actually – but at the
moment, she simply enjoyed the extra warmth he provided. The command
deck currently felt rather cool to her, though she was unsure if it
was due to Trip’s adjustment of the life support settings or if this
was yet another indication her Pa’nar was emerging from remission.
She hoped it was the former.
By way of response, T’Pol tapped a series of buttons that transferred
the images being received by the imaging telescopes to the main
viewscreen that curved around the command deck. At this distance, the
vessels were little more than dark smudges silhouetted against the
bright planet. The T’Muna-Doth’s computers struggled to make
sense of what they were observing and, long minutes later, four
tentative ship identifications popped up on the screen.
Klingons.
The quartet appeared to be the standard bird of prey class, which
meant they would have easily outgunned the T’Muna-Doth even
if the type four deep-space exploratory vessel had not been obsolete
for well over three decades. With four of them, she and Trip would
not even stand a chance. Fortunately …
“Are they fighting with each other?” Trip asked suddenly, voicing her
thought, and indeed, the four Klingons did appear engaged in a space
battle with one another. There did not appear to be sides in this
engagement – their fire was indiscriminate, although at a glance,
T’Pol thought three of the vessels were using standard predator
tactics: isolate the weakest member and eliminate it. The vessel in
question was, according to the T’Muna-Doth’s computers,
heavily damaged, with a wavering reactor signature indicative of a
massive breach. It was unlikely that even Klingons could long survive
a radiation leak of that size and indeed, the vessel’s evasive
maneuvers ceased altogether, allowing the remaining ships to pound
away with their disruptors.
The destruction of the Klingon ship was rather anticlimactic: no
explosion tore it apart ... which, T’Pol supposed, was to be expected
if the captains of the other vessels intended to strip it of
valuables or spare parts. Instead, it simply continued coasting in
the same direction it had previously been traveling, slowly rolling
along its horizontal axis as it tumbled powerless through space. With
that vessel no longer a threat, the remaining three promptly oriented
upon each other.
“Good Lord,” Trip muttered. “Is there even a point to this?”
“To you or I?” T’Pol frowned slightly. “Unlikely.”
“They’re acting like …” Trip trailed off as the word he sought eluded
him. T’Pol glanced up at him.
“Barbarians?” she offered. He nodded. “Their continued existence in
the face of such rampant barbarism is the subject of numerous Vulcan
sociological research projects.” Trip grunted, his eyes still locked
on the engagement.
“Any chance of them detecting us?” he asked softly. T’Pol quirked an
eyebrow.
“This engagement transpired approximately six hours ago,” she pointed
out, the corners of her lips curved up in a slight smile of
amusement. The wash of his self-annoyance pulsed across their psychic
connection – belatedly, he realized that he knew they were
effectively looking at past events, but he had become so accustomed
to viewing events in real-time over the years that he’d forgotten. On
the heels of this, however, she experienced a rush of curiosity.
“Wait,” he said slowly. “We’re eight and a half trillion kilometers
from this star.” He blinked and T’Pol experienced a curious
sensation. Their cerebral linkage momentarily felt different, as if
Trip was suddenly a vast distance away instead of standing within
centimeters of her. He was making mental calculations, she realized
with some mild surprise; why would their bond react in this way to
that? “It should take most of a year for the light of that engagement
to reach us,” he continued. “How are we seeing it so quickly?”
Before T’Pol could respond – she fully intended to simply pull up the
schematics of the telescopes and allow Trip to determine the answer
himself; she understood the science but suspected he would more
readily comprehend the answer when couched in engineering terms and
expressions that were still occasionally foreign to her – the
T’Muna-Doth’s computer identified a major aspect change of the
three remaining Klingon ships and chirped a soft warning. T’Pol
lifted one eyebrow slightly as the ‘weakest’ bird of prey abruptly
wheeled away from the planetoid and sprang away at superluminal
speeds. Without hesitation, the other vessels followed suit.
“Huh.” Trip leaned back, robbing her of his much appreciated warmth.
“Should we move now? While they’re off shooting at one another?”
“I think not.” T’Pol tapped a few more buttons and the image changed
to a system overview. “Until we know they did not immediately
return,” she said simply, “it is illogical to move.” She selected one
of the outer gas giants and zoomed into it. “I do recommend
that we relocate to this point,” she said as she highlighted one of
the dozens of moons orbiting the massive blue and green planet. It
was too small to classify as a brown dwarf, but only by a small
fraction. “This will provide us additional cover to monitor the
deuterium colony without detection and our observations should be in
real-time.”
“That’s some pretty nasty radiation it’s spitting out,” Trip mused.
“Which is an added bonus,” T’Pol replied. “Klingon sensors are widely
considered inferior and I consider it improbable they will be able to
identify the T’Muna-Doth against such background noise.”
“Granted.” Trip pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and
T’Pol allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by the unconscious
gesture. “I’m more worried about the hull being able to handle those
stressors,” he said a moment later. “We should probably keep the hull
polarized while we’re there, just in case.” He frowned. “Hopefully,”
he muttered, “the generators can take the load.”
“Agreed.” T’Pol minimized the image of the gas giant but hesitated
before inputting new commands. Trip clearly noticed but said nothing
as she stared at the six hour old data. Finally, she brought up
another window and targeted the derelict Klingon craft. Instantly,
the T’Muna-Doth’s computers began plotting the vessel’s
likely course and comparing it with her planned route to the gas
giant’s moon. Another heartbeat later, the navigation software had
identified the best possible intercept point. Comprehension filtered
through the psychic connection she shared with Trip, followed quickly
by expertly concealed disgust. She glanced up at him, lifting an
eyebrow.
“You want to board that ship,” her mate guessed. “Maybe see if they
have some things we can use.”
“I do.” T’Pol continued to look at him. “You disapprove?”
“I do,” Trip replied in an almost perfect imitation of her previous
tone. He exhaled deeply. “But I don’t see how we have much of a
choice either,” he said. “We need more warp plasma and I doubt this
colony will have any.” Trip shook his head. “It just … it just makes
me feel like a scavenger and I hate that feeling.” T’Pol nodded
slightly.
“I concur with your sentiment, Trip,” she said softly. There were
times when the logical course was not the most ideal one and this was
certainly such an instance. Looting from the dead Klingon vessel was
distasteful.
But T’Pol would do it anyway, if it meant survival for her mate.
So she completed the plot for the intercept course.
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