Immune - Chapter 5

Immune

by Trinneergirl

Disclaimers in Chapter 1

Chapter Five

*Acting Captain's Log. Commander Charles Tucker III. November 18, 2154.

It's ten hours until the Vort Cloud and the crew is dropping like flies. Our compliment of eighty three is down to forty six and falling fast. I'm here in the Ready Room again after spending some quality time in my quarters, in the arms of Morpheous. He let me go after the usual six hours, probably the last time I'll get to sleep that long for a while now.

Thank heaven for Malcolm. Our Armoury Officer is the only member of the senior staff left. Hoshi and Mayweather both fell within minutes of each other, four hours ago. Lieutenant Hess along with nineteen of my engineering compliment are already in stasis modules. I must commend Crewman Cutler who is handling Sickbay brilliantly since Doctor Phlox fell unconscious. Phlox told me that his system would go into hibernation as soon as he fell ill, so one positive thing would be that when he wakes, he'll have had his full hibernation cycle. Only our Doctor could find the positives in this situation.

Most everything that can be shut down, has been. Anyone working is in pairs, everyone off duty is in the Mess. The drug Phlox made has to be injected as soon as possible, so we can't take the chance that anyone will fall alone. As a result all the crew quarters are sealed off. The stasis units are filling two cargo bays and Sickbay, plus two here on the Bridge. They are putting a strain on the life support systems but we're doing okay. Power is being rerouted all the time and the life support to the lower decks is at minimum. The whole ship will eventually go to minimum since it won't take that much to support just me. Since the communications and sensors will be useless in the Vort Cloud, I'll be able to take them off-line as soon as we're in.

End Log*

Trip sat, working through scenarios in his mind, wondering if he should have done anything differently. Samples of Dryalian soil had been brought aboard when they'd visited the planet and one of the sterile containers had inadvertently broken in the Science Lab. The procedures had been followed to the letter yet, somehow, the infection had entered the air circulation of the ship. Even the filtration systems hadn't dealt with the virus. Trip had been integral in designing the decontamination systems of Enterprise. How had something so damned important been screwed up? It didn't auger well for his ability to keep the ship going if he couldn't get a sterile air filter right. He shook off his despondency. When this was over he'd damn well design an upgrade for the filters. This would never happen again.

The practicalities of daily life were dealt with. There were a number of meals prepared for him in the Mess Hall. All he had to do was nip in and heat them up. A truckle bed was prepared in Engineering and another on the Bridge for him to sleep. He was going to be needed on one or other spot all the time. Truth to tell, he was going to be needed in both spots all the time and there was only one of him. Sure, the engineering controls could be transferred to the Bridge, it was the actual components that needed supervision. Still, he'd coped on the biosphere when he was alone and he'd had no warning, or time to prepare. On the other hand the biosphere didn't need twenty people in three shifts a day to look after it. And if he'd failed to keep the integrity of the biosphere it was only his life on the line.

Trip sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Time to go back to the Bridge. Trip was torn. Half of him wanted to spend as much time as he could in the company of others before the solitude overtook him. The other half ached with the thought that he might not be enough to save them and wanted to avoid being in their eyesight in case they realised he was leading them into death. He shook himself mentally and stood. Come what may he was a Starfleet Commander and everyone here needed him to project the right image. With the Captain and T'Pol gone he was the leader now. After all he'd taken his command exams because he knew he was ready for the rank. He pulled his uniform straight, set his shoulders, and left the Ready Room.

The door slid open and he entered the Bridge. Malcolm Reed looked up and frowned, seeing a Trip Tucker who in the space of a few hours seemed to have become a different man. The stark difficulty of the situation had driven the warm, light-hearted engineer away and replaced him with this serious, almost cold individual. Trip moved to the Captain's chair and sat. He checked systems on the screen on his console and then looked at Malcolm.

"How are we doing, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Not good, sir," Reed responded. "We're down to thirty seven. The crew are becoming nervous." Trip looked up, the question in his eyes.

"Nervous, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Yes, sir." Malcolm's dark brows rose ruefully, aware he was putting yet another problem on the acting Captain. "There have been one or two incidents of panic in the Mess Hall," he elucidated. Trip stood.

"I'll see what I can do," he replied. "You know the drill, Malcolm. If you're down to three here and one of you falls, call me. At once."

"Aye sir." Reed noted, not for the first time, how calm Trip was, outwardly at least. And as the door closed on the turbolift, Malcolm was aware of a feeling of confidence in Trip's command above that of what he'd expected to feel.

But there was no hiding the facts. Whichever way the Armoury Officer cut it, what they were asking Trip to do was impossible. To single-handedly run a starship of this complexity? Alone? It couldn't be done. And the horrors of the Vort Cloud. Lord knew it was a severe trial for them, all together, before. Nothing to see, no communications. It had felt trapped in there. Two weeks of it alone was what Trip faced now. Phlox had stated that Trip would probably suffer psychological stress, depression, hallucinations, paranoia, and a host of other problems due to loneliness, sleep deprivation, and pressure. When Malcolm had asked Phlox point blank if he thought Trip could cope the Doctor had hedged.

"Commander Tucker has a very strong-minded and independent personality," he replied evasively. The way the Denobulan Doctor averted his eyes told Malcolm everything.

"Doctor, in your considered medical opinion, is there any way anyone could cope with this?" he asked directly. There was a long pause.

"No, Lieutenant," Phlox admitted finally. "I really don't think so." Malcolm's jaw had set in grief at the news.

Starfleet had confirmed the recommendation. With a heavy heart Malcolm had told Trip. He'd expected a show of defiance from the Commander, or a throw-away joke. Trip had read the reports on the data PADD, nodded his understanding and handed the PADD back with a calm dismissal. Malcolm had found himself outside the door to the Ready Room, surprised at the command in that dismissal and worried that Trip had given up.

In point of fact, Trip had read similar reports about his biosphere experience. That he 'couldn't' have made it psychologically unscathed. Nor had he. There were many things that had changed as a result of his time trapped on the seabed. His attitude to life had altered. Being good looking, strong, and intelligent, he'd sailed blithely through life. He'd always worked hard because it was in his nature to do so, but by-and-large he did stuff through fate or serendipity. After the time trapped undersea, he'd sought out challenges to maximise the potential of his life. When the chance to join Starfleet came along he jumped at it, knowing that man's greatest adventure could also be his own. If by some miracle he got the Enterprise and her crew through this, Trip knew everything that he went through would be worth it. He'd just have to deal with the aftermath if and when it came. Speculating was surely a waste of time, and time was a premium here. Back then they'd had nineteen hours to the Vort Cloud.

Now it was nine and a half hours to go. Just as Commander Tucker entered the Mess Hall another person fell. Waiting crewman gave the drug and the unconscious form was hauled away. Clearly the rest of the crew were worried, scared even. Everywhere there were pale, drawn faces. Trip moved around, talking to people. He made no speeches, stood on no pedestals, just took the time to chat with the crew. By the time he'd left three more crewmen and women had fallen. There was no panic now, they were still scared, but Trip's steadying calm had eased their fears. Trip dropped in to Sickbay and Engineering and then returned to the Bridge. He sat, mainly in silence as the cloud neared. It was thinner through here because of a vortex further over, a dead sun, pulsar, it was even in the realms of possibility, a black hole was capturing the dust and swirling it round. Where the Enterprise went through was like carded wool being spun or like an hourglass pinched to a wasp waist by outside forces But only in two dimensions. It left a thin area of cloud, just 25 light years wide to cross but 129 light years high.

T'Pol had called the effect a vortex gravitational residual cloud. Trip had shortened it to Vort Cloud and the name had stuck. The cerulean eyes stared at the cloud that was too impossibly big to come nearer in the viewscreen in real time. Over the last twenty-four hours it had inched up and downwards to fill the screen. A dull brown in the brilliance of the hot, young stars around it, bulging like the billows of an oil-fire smoke cloud caught in stillness. It was beautiful, it was horrible. It was where they were going.

"Thirty five minutes to the Vort Cloud, sir," Malcolm Reed said. "I've finished the other task you set me. A communications buoy is being fed from the computers. On your order or in the event of a catastrophic failure, the buoy will launch. We're down to five, sir, including yourself." Trip got to his feet at the news.

"You have the Bridge, Lieutenant," he ordered. Moving swiftly he left and made his way to the Mess Hall. He made it just in time.

Of the two crewmen left one was just injecting the other. She smiled in relief to Commander Tucker, then the smile wavered and she fell. Trip took the hypospray and injected her. He got both the bodies into stasis units and set the life-support controls. He'd just completed the task when the communication panel in the Mess came to life.

"Reed to Tucker," Trip moved over, his dread increasing. There was only one reason for Malcolm to make this call.

"Tucker here," he responded.

"Crewman Nkona has been taken by the illness, sir. I've injected him and Petranova and I have placed him in a stasis module."

"On my way. Tucker out." Trip closed his eyes for one, painful moment, then he ran back to the Bridge.

As the turbolift doors opened Ensign Petranova swayed at her station and collapsed. Malcolm helped Trip get the woman injected and into one of the three stasis units on the Bridge. Just as Trip sealed the unit, Malcolm felt the dizziness start to overtake him. He grabbed Trip's arm. Trip looked up in shock and saw the dullness in his friend's eyes.

"Sorry, sir," Malcolm apologised. "So sorry.... to leave you… alone." Trip lifted Reed into the final stasis module. The Commander stared into the fading light in the eyes of his friend.

"You'll all make it, Malcolm. I promise," he vowed. "Even if I don't, you will." Through the splintering pain Malcolm heard that.

He clutched at Trip, trying to hold on to his friend, to beg him not to let go, but the clutch was feeble and no words would come out. Trip got out the hypospray and injected the Armoury Officer as he slipped under into unconsciousness. Then the life-support systems were engaged and the stasis module lid was closed.

Trip stood alone. He walked to the Science Station and reduced life support to a minimum. He was the only functioning, feeling, reactive person left on this starship and would be for some while. He was billions of miles away from any help and soon wouldn't even be able to communicate, not that Starfleet or anyone else could say anything other than a tactful goodbye. He moved from station to station, closing down what he could and transferring what was left to the Captain's chair. By the time he'd finished, Enterprise was more shut down than at any time since before her launch. Each reduction in power took down the ambient sound levels that Trip was so used to, he barely heard them. He moved to sit in the Captain's chair, perched on the edge, his sensitive, long-fingered hands clasped in front of him as he stared at the coming cloud. Suddenly there was nothing but the dark grey dust. The communications beeped a warning. Trip closed off the circuits. There was nobody to talk to out there and even if there had been, the dust sucked in all communications like a blanket of dead silence.

Trip's blond head bowed forward, his shoulders and his eyes closed. His heart felt like lead. His ears stretched out into the silence, longing for the systems he'd closed, the murmur of voices, sounds that were no longer there. The silence was deafening. This ship, which at times seemed so small, was now a vast space to contemplate having to handle alone. Empty corridors and quarters, room after room without life. Only in two cargo bays, Sickbay, and here on the Bridge was there anyone else. Trip's eighty-two colleagues, locked into frozen stillness to save their mortal illness from taking them completely. There were four stasis units in the mess, he reminded himself. Both they and the three here needed to join the others in cargo bay two. Well, no time like the present. Trip stood and moved to the turbolift. He reached the door and turned, his dark blue eyes fixing onto one of the stasis units. A small, sad smile touched his lips.

"The Bridge is yours, Malcolm," he whispered. He stepped into the turbolift as the door opened and it closed behind him leaving the deserted Bridge in almost total silence.

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