Mestral’s Legacy: Chapter 30

Jonathan stormed into the house, slamming the screen door behind him. It sprung back defiantly before slowly settling into place. At least he had the presence of mind not to slam the glass door. It surely would have shattered.

What the hell had he been thinking? He should have ignored her when she had come into the hot tub. But he had thought that evening things up would be a better idea. Except that it hadn’t quite worked out that way. He’d forgotten that he was trying to teach her a lesson. He hadn’t expected her to be so . . . he wasn’t sure what it was that he had been expecting, only that it had been quite different.

It was too late now. He looked around the living room. Through the screen door he could see T’Pol was back in the hot tub, her back to him. He felt a fresh surge of anger. She was sitting there like her usual, impenetrable self, like nothing had happened, like he had no effect on her whatsoever–he wished that he could say the same, or at least act like it.

Deciding that he didn’t want to be in the living room when she came in he stomped off to bed, giving the wall in the hallway a punch for good measure. Instead of hitting a solid, his hand travelled right through the wall, catching him up short as his momentum carried the rest of his body forward. Taken aback, he stood there with his hand embedded in the wall. Actually, his forearm was imbedded; his hand was in an open space behind the wall. He flexed his hand experimentally: sore but not broken. He moved his hand around and froze as it grazed something fuzzy. He pulled his arm out, spraying bits of plaster and drywall everywhere. Peering into the hole, it was difficult to see anything: the overhead hallway light was at the wrong angle. Curious now, he found a flashlight and tried again.

There were boards for shelving about half a metre wide and a bit deeper. There was what looked like towels on the bottom shelf. Why would anyone wall off a linen closet? The shelf that was level with the hole he had made was about twice as high as normal, as if a board had been removed. There was a large bundle of what looked like rags on that shelf. He moved the flashlight over the surface of the rags until he found what he was looking for.

* * *

The nation was small enough that, when he phoned to report his finding, he ended up talking directly to the head of the police. It didn’t take long for him to show up, but it seemed like the longest ten minutes of his life, especially since he had to go out and tell T’Pol that they were going to have visitors. The tension between them permeated the room, and he found himself willing the police to hurry up. Rather than wait with him, after a moment T’Pol ducked into her bedroom and came out with a small scanner that he didn’t know that she had brought with her. T’Pol scanned the closet and confirmed that there was actually a body in there. Not that he had really believed that it was some kind of elaborate practical joke.

T’Pol was frowning at the medical scanner when the door chime rang. He didn’t get a chance to ask her what it was about the reading that she found so interesting. The police chief had brought along someone else, he noticed as he opened the door. He was surprised to see on his crew step through the doorway. Noticing his look, the police chief made the introductions.

“Chief Apenimon, and I believe you know our medical examiner,” he said, indicating Alaia.

“Medical examiner, Lieutenant?”

“Doctor, actually. We don’t get a lot of dead bodies around here.” He found the comment vaguely accusatory, but decided that he was oversensitive to that kind of thing these days. He stood back and let them enter the house.

“I was under the impression you were a xenobiologist,” T’Pol said. Jonathan cringed inwardly at T’Pol’s tone but Alaia seemed to take no notice of it.

“I am.” Alaia said. “Not much call for xenobiologists planetside, so down here I’m a doctor. More work that way.” Seeing T’Pol’s skeptical look she added sardonically, “Don’t worry, I have a degree and everything.”

There was a long silence as the conversation lapsed and the two visitors took in Jonathan Archer’s hastily donned jeans and wrinkled StarFleet tank top, and T’Pol’s silk pyjamas. The tension in the room was palpable and Alaia raised an eyebrow at the pair as the police chief cleared his throat.

“You wanna show us where you found this alleged dead body?” Archer supposed that he couldn’t fault the man’s skepticism; he had felt rather ridiculous describing it over the phone. T’Pol fixed the chief with a Vulcan stare and told him that there was nothing ‘alleged’ about the body, indicating her mediscanner.

“Do you mind if I take a look at that?” Alaia asked, helping herself to the scanner as they moved over to the hallway where the hole marred the otherwise pristine wall. The chief peered into the hole and drew in a sharp breath.

“Hey doc, you better take a look at this.” He was still peering in the wall with Jon and T’Pol looking over his shoulder when there was a startled exclamation behind them followed by a few choice words and the clatter of something hitting the floor. They turned to see Alaia craddling her hand and the mediscanner skittering across the tile floor towards their feet.

T’Pol picked it up and promptly let go of it as the heat registered in her fingers. A wisp of smoke drifted leisurely from the mediscanner; the smell of scorched electronics and melted plastic-metal alloy hung in the air as the scanner emitted its last, distorted beep into the still room.

“What happened?” Archer asked automatically before realising that the only person who could answer that question was gone. Running water from the bathroom led them to her. Poking his head in the doorway, he saw Alaia holding her hand under running water but the skin was already turning an unhealthy shade of pink.

“I don’t know,” she said in response to his repeated question. She bit her lip as she pulled her hand out of the water and examined it. A nasty blister was forming in the palm of her hand. A second degree burn at least.

“The power source appears to have malfunctioned.” T’Pol handed him the warm but useless mediscanner. “The circuits have been melted.”

“Well, maybe the data can be salvaged.” T’Pol took the scanner from him and shook it pointedly. There was a distinct rattle as the melted clump of electronics rattled inside the case.

“Unlikely.”

“Everyone alright back here?” Chief Apenimon appeared in the now crowded doorway of the bathroom.

“I’m fine; it’s just a burn.” Apenimon and Alaia hung back as Jonathan and T’Pol returned to the wall. Jonathan looked back and saw Apenimon look at Alaia expectantly. She nodded slightly, then noticed that they were being watched. Shooting the police chief a look, Alaia slipped her good hand into her pocket and extracted her own scanner as they returned to the wall. It took less than a minute to scan the remains. Standing beside T’Pol, Jonathan thought it felt like an eternity.

“Is it?” Apenimon asked.

“Yeah. Baby too,” Alaia said. “Damn,” she added softly.

Jonathan Archer and T’Pol exchanged glances. T’Pol raised an eyebrow, but Jonathan just shrugged.

“What killed her?” Apenimon asked. Alaia was reading the scanner screen intently and didn’t seem to hear him at first.

“Blunt trauma to the skull.”

“Accidental?”

“Hard to tell. Maybe, maybe not.” Alaia sighed and slipped the scanner back into her pocket. “She didn’t accidentally entomb herself in the linen closet though, did she?”
Exasperated at the conversation, Jonathan cleared his throat reminding them pointedly that he and T’Pol were still there.

“Sorry sir,” Alaia said, unconsciously slipping back into StarFleet mode. “We’ll have the body out by the morning, then you should be able to get back to–” she paused uncomfortably, not quite sure what they would be getting back to. Archer ignored her discomfort in favour of asking about the uninvited guest in the linen closet. There was an uncomfortable pause during which the police chief seemed inclined to jump in, but it was Alaia who spoke.

“Lily.”

“Lily?” Archer asked.

“Lily is–was–my sister-in-law. She was eight months pregnant when she disappeared.”

“We thought she moved away,” Apenimon interjected. “Her mother always insisted that something had happened to her, but there was no proof.”

“Except we didn’t hear from either one of them,” Alaia said, glaring at the chief accusingly.

“I don’t mean to be insensitive Lieutenant,” Jon said, glancing at Alaia, “but how did she end up in the linen closet?”

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