Cruelty has a human heart,
And Jealousy a human face;
Terror the human form divine,
And Secrecy the human dress.

The human dress is forged in iron,
The human form a fiery forge;
The human face a furnace sealed,
The human heart a hungry gorge.
William Blake

The indicator monitoring the neural activity of Major Malcolm Reed jumped up from red to green. The previously comatose patient jerked from the pain in his head and abdomen as his consciousness returned from the twilight world. The world was dark around him. First he thought that the explosion had blinded him, but then remembered seeing Archer standing above him.

"I have failed you Captain."

The words made him wince. Why had the Captain not killed him, as he had performed his duty so poorly? The sense of failure had pursued him since T'Pol had been promoted to second in command by the Captain. A Vulcan! Archer had ignored Malcolm's place in the chain of command! And now he had humiliated him further by not killing him.

The thoughts made Malcolm angry and he rose up onto his elbows. A heavy pain in his right side reminded him of where he was: in the sick bay. The room was dark and cold, only a dampened yellowish-blue glow shone down from the patients' medical boards above the beds. Where was Phlox? He was usually up all night, performing his strange experiments on local fauna.

As Malcolm thought this, the air in the room seemed to become still. A flash before his eyes lit up the room it was almost unbearably white, but not so that he shut his eyes. Instead something was before him:

It was Phlox, removing something red from a ship conduit. It looked to be on the Defiant. The sick bay was gone and only the picture of Phlox remained. Then another appeared before him, it was Tucker. He struggled with Phlox, his evil face giving up a grin as the alien fell to the floor. So typically of Trip, thought Malcolm. And then, the "agony booth". Again and again and then… death.

Malcolm blinked at the sight of the dead Denobulan. The room was dark again. Nothing was moving in it. Was he delusional? The thought struck him as ridiculous, as no-one in his family had suffered from delusions. But then, he had hovered above the doorstep to the realm of death for an indefinite period of time…

Steps were heard outside of the door. Malcolm fell down onto his bed again; shutting his eyes enough to make anyone coming into the room believe he was still in a coma. As predicted, a person entered sickbay. The person refrained from turning on the light; instead he set a steady course towards Malcolm's bed.

Serving in the Empire's Military left a person permanently on guard for traitors, as the easiest way to climb ranks was to murder you superior officers. Malcolm had experienced his fair share of these traitors, but had never been so poorly prepared. He didn't even have his knife under the pillow! As the character neared, with cold steel gleaming in his right hand, Malcolm tensed. Every muscle in his body had been trained for battle. A few wounds would not stop him; he could not allow them to! The person was right at his side now, and he could see it was lieutenant Pace. Malcolm had always thought him not to be any great threat. How long had he been away from events to make Pace take such an action?

The unknown wound at his side made him want to twitch, but he remained still… And when the blow finally came, he was ready. The knife came down close, and he could feel the sharp blade scratching his neck. Grabbing Pace by his neck and hand, Malcolm quickly turned the blade upwards. For a moment he reveled in the total look of surprise in Pace's face. Then he pulled him down on his own blade using his bodyweight.

"I am surprised, Pace, but you should have known better!" He hissed.

The blade etched itself between two of Pace's upper ribs, killing him almost instantly. Throwing him off himself, Malcolm sank down on the bed again. He was sweating from this simple effort! That did not bode well, as it suggested he had been "out" for a long time. Summoning his inner powers he rose again, this time sitting up straight. The bandage around his abdomen was tight, but there were traces of blood. It was difficult to say why, as he had no recollection of any surgery, or of what wounds he actually had.

And Phlox? Why had he seen him? Was it his aching mind that hallucinated after all the painkillers? It did not feel like it. He would not be surprised if the crew had "forgot" to give him any. He usually had that effect on people. Sneering at his own thoughts he turned to the screen. As his "hallucinations" did not have any direct effect on his current situation he disregarded them, turning his attention to his personal medical file.

It had been started by Phlox, documenting his leg, arm torso and head injuries. From what he could read out from the medical file it had been quite bad, leaving him only a fifty percent chance to survive. The fact startled him as he realized he had been lucky. Very lucky. Checking the date, he saw that he had been comatose for over eighteen days. No wonder he felt so exhausted. And hungry, he realized.