Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek, Enterprise, its characters, or settings. These things are the property of Paramount/CBS, and are not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.
This is part 2 of the Clarion series. Need you read Part 1 first? Not really...? I mean, you likely won'e get the full context, but if you feel like you could roll with that, then you probably could.
Other notes: It is a different type of story to the first part, purposefully less suspenseful, a little darker. It isn't nice. Damaged people act like damaged people. You may find this out of character at times. It also takes certain liberties with a Canon Season 3 episode. If all that is not your thing, then this may not be your thing.
September 2155
Although he had already checked, and checked again, Jonathan Archer once more lined up the reports. "Malcolm's, Travis's, Medical, Operations, Comms..." He juggled the PADDs into alphabetical order by name, then by department, and then by date, holding them between his fingers. He even lined up the edges against his desk, this last procrastination being especially pointless; the reports would, of course, be sent to Kreetassa via subspace.
As all involved, Jon included, had fatalistically expected, diplomatic relations with Kreetassa, from the start strained and diaphanous, had corroded dramatically in the wake of the Treleishkah affair. All the Coalition worlds were on edge, as a consequence of the beacon technology every subspace transmission carried the threat of death, of the loss of self. However, Treleishkah overshadowed Kreetassa more so perhaps than even Earth. Seven of the nine lives lost - lost to a glorified ham radio and unlucky stars - had been theirs.
And so, the rounds of reports, the threatened inquests, the cold diplomatic rage. And so, the PADDs Jon held in his hands.
And these reports were, he thought grimly, the thing he was doing to avoid doing the OTHER thing. And anything was better than thinking about the goddamn Romulan Star Empire.
"It's the tedium, that's what they don't tell you about," Jon said to the sound of the opening door. "You think it's going to be all heroic adventuring, but what is it? Faster than light paperwork..." He'd been expecting T'Pol, but he saw it was Trip, which caused him to add. "... and to think. All of this could have been yours as well."
Trip smiled, "You can't put it off any longer, Jon."
"... and instead they gave her to that pompous, bloviating, arrogant..."
"And failing to make the announcement won't change that. Reality does not bend to your will, mighty flagship Captain though you are..."
"...but I don't WANT to." Jon finished, his sense of irony finally catching up to his petulance.
Trip clapped him on the back. "Come on, you can do it. Up you get."
Jon sighed straightened his shoulders and stalked out onto the bridge. Irritated as he was, he made a special point of making sure his expression was friendly before addressing Hoshi. "Open channels for a ship-wide announcement, please, Lieutenant."
Hoshi nodded back blandly, failing, as was now habitual to quite miss his eyes. She made a few adjustments to her board and then indicated he should speak.
Grimacing, Jon began. "Attention all hands, this is Captain Archer. It is my duty to announce that the NX-03 Resolute was launched today under the Captain Raymond Dorphin. Their first mission will be a diplomatic mission to the Tellarites regarding the new trade accord currently under negotiation. I am sure you will join me in acknowledging that this is a… thing which has happened... Archer out."
A junior crewmember clapped uncertainly a few times, then stopped. Somebody, probably Malcolm, snorted quietly.
"Very good, Jon. Great job!" Trip said, his expression hidden by his hands.
Scowling, choosing to scowl, because a scowl is more dynamic than despair, Jon marched back into his ready room.
Phlox stared quizzically at the breakfast with which Liz Cutler had presented him; It was her custom to do this when apologising for something. The something was usually a small matter to which he himself had given little thought, however he could typically at least identify what the something had been. This time he was flummoxed.
"And to what do I owe this lovely gesture?" he asked her. The pancakes were less geometric than the ones which chef and his staff prepared and in truth he did not particularly enjoy the flavour. It was a family recipe of hers, he knew, and she tended to add rather a lot of sodium bicarbonate, for texture, he understood. She was unaware of the effect which this had on the Denobulan palate. But he found he always wished to eat them in any case.
"It's a celebration" she said face lit with a smile. "Ta-da!"
The odd vocalisation was accompanied by the production of a PADD, and presumably referred in some way to its contents. He took it.
"Oh, my paper has been published," Phlox remarked pleased, if surprised. One was normally informed of final acceptance.
"Our paper," Liz said happily. "And before you complain to the journal, I intercepted the acceptance notification. For the surprise factor."
"A success, then, because I am indeed surprised," Phlox replied graciously.
"I've got entomology publications, of course, but this is my first medical one and I am delighted. Even if I am only second author."
"Somebody has to be second," Phlox replied, tactfully. In truth, his contribution was far more worthy of first authorship.
"We could have gone alphabetically..."
"But whose alphabet?" Phlox replied, finding with some satisfaction that the tables and figures had all been formatted correctly.
"I guess," Liz replied, stealing a blueberry garnishing his pancakes. She then glanced to the door. "Commander T'Pol's here. I'll leave you to it, shall I?"
"Thank you for the pancakes, Elizabeth. I will attempt to return to them before they chill."
Liz nodded to the Commander T'Pol as she passed, raising her eyebrows when she was not acknowledged, but continuing her departure regardless.
"You wanted to see me, Doctor?" T'Pol asked at the sound of the closing door.
Phlox indicated that she should sit, taking the time to rally his professional demeanour around himself. He was no stranger to giving bad news, not even to giving bad news to this woman, but it was not the sort of thing that one truly grew used to. More than that, T'Pol's Vulcan emotional armour and been sorely dented by the barrages of her recent past.
And, worse, that dented, delicate shell was being recast brittly anew by her reforming religion and her poorly negotiated liaison with the Chief Engineer. To Phlox's mind they were inadequate to the task, this new faith and new entanglement, and he was about to make things no easier for her.
"The discomfort is lesser than it was yesterday," T'Pol replied in response to his first enquiry and a short silence followed.
Phlox watched her closely, trying to judge if she was ready, but, faced only with her faultless mask, he pressed on, regardless. "The scans suggest the pain is originating from your nervous system. While the scans suggest that your peripheral nerves have healed well, in the meantime, your central nervous system has become unusually sensitised. Noxious stimulae now HURT more than they should and sensations which should not hurt now do."
T'Pol nodded. "Go on, Doctor. Please"
"The situation has, of course, likely arisen following your injuries on Treleishkah. This sort of response is a known side effect from such severe injuries. Damaged peripheral nerves stimulate the spinal cord and brain with abnormal signals over a long period of time and long term changes occur in the brain as a result. Knowing this, we instituted a treatment plan, one which is normally very effective, to stop this from happening. Unfortunately, your brain did not respond to this treatment."
The mask did not falter. "Because of the Trellium-D?" she asked flatly.
"Maybe. I can't be certain." Phlox said quickly.
"But that is your suspicion?"
Phlox shifted unhappily. "We may never be certain. I don't think it matters. The point is that there are treatments, things we can try, to solve this problem and to make you more comfortable in the meantime."
"But these treatments may also be ineffective?"
"We won't give up. I won't give up." Phlox said firmly.
Slowly, T'Pol nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. I am sure that you won't."
As the meeting seemed to have reached its conclusion, she rose as if to go. Then abruptly, she sat down again. If this was from turmoil, regret, or grief, she gave no outward sign, but as the seconds of silence ticked on, neither did she move nor invent a pretext for her stillness.
Phlox rose in concern, moved by how alone she suddenly appeared, asked if he could get her anything. If he could call anybody.
"No, thank you, doctor. I only need a moment."
He thought this might be a lie. It wasn't a moment that she needed.
"Any progress?"
"Crivens, Malcolm! Why d'ye insist on sneaking up on people?" Alice exclaimed while coughing and mopped up the spill from her poorly timed sip of coffee. "I dinnae...Walk louder or somethin', will'ye?"
"Nobody else finds it a problem," he replied mildly. "It's just you. And did you just say 'crivens'? Should I expect woad and tartan next?"
Alice punctuated her glare by throwing coffee soaked tissues into the waste recycler, one at a time. "Any progress, you ask? Progress, presumably, on the thing I have been telling you, for four months, is impossible. What you are in fact asking, is if it suddenly has become possible? Since the last time you asked me? Which was, oh, about sixteen hours ago?' "
On a mission, Malcolm held his expression steady. "Well, has it?"
"I don't know what you expect from me, I don't!" She threw up her hands, then folded her arms across her chest.
Defensive, Malcolm thought. Then he realised he was doing the same himself.
"Alice, nine people died, including two of our own, and we were not very far away from losing the ship. A collective shrug from the medical department is not an acceptable answer. We need some sort of way to know if people have been infected. Before it happens again. I shouldn't need to tell you how important this is… I mean, you were there."
Alice sighed. "Malcolm, your tenacious, if somewhat caustic, rhetoric on the topic has more than convinced me that it's incredibly important. What I am not willing to concede is that it is possible. You do understand the difference? Shall I prepare a Venn Diagram?"
"I need you to do better." He did. He had hit a dead end himself. They were still hopelessly exposed.
"Just out of curiosity, how regularly do you give Phlox these speeches? Because, I think he got them quite this regularly, I would spend more of my time hearing him complain about you."
"Not as often, it's true," Malcolm shrugged and sat down, allowing himself a small smile. "Believe it or not, you are the cooperative one."
"Well, obviously that needs to change immediately."
He chuckled, but it was mirthless. For show. These days, feeling at ease was like a half-remembered dream. He wondered how anyone managed it. "You must have some ideas..."
Alice sighed heavily. "Well, that movie from the other night did set me thinking. We don't have a body of water to throw suspected witches into. But, maybe we COULD build a big set of scales? Then, all we need is to get a duck from somewhere..."
"Why won't you take this seriously?" Malcolm snapped, although he almost immediately lifting a hand in a small apology.
Alice set down her coffee. "I AM taking it seriously. I answered you seriously the first four hundred times. The problem is that you aren't taking me seriously, when I tell you that it can't be done."
"Why not?"
"Out of the only two people you could tell me were definitely affected, one was dead, and the other had a concussion, and several recent seizures, and a brain scarred by COMPLETELY UNRELATED mind-control parasites. So that left you, and a few other traumatised and injured people. Maybe. We just didn't get enough data."
Malcolm was too tired to be quite fair. "Well, why didn't you collect more?"
"Are you being serious right now?" Alice replied incredulously. "Why didn't I? Because, at the time, I had, a stabbing patient- the Captain of the bleeding ship no less-, a crush injury patient- the first officer-, the aforementioned concussion, a traumatic blinding, Travis's injured hand, Trip's collar bone, two human autopsies, seven Kreetassan autopsies, I had an infection myself, and, oh, IT WAS MY FIRST WEEK."
"It was your second week by then."
"Malcolm, I swear to god…"
"If you need more data, maybe try doing some more tests now? I think I am probably willing to conclude that Travis and Captain Archer were affected after all."
"More tests?" Alice asked raising her eyebrows. "Like what?"
Malcolm shrugged. "Well, I don't know; that's your department. A brain biopsy?"
"A brain biopsy? Great idea! You first, though. Any part of your brain you aren't particularly attached to?"
"I did only mean a small biopsy."
"You're still going first."
"There must be something." Malcolm rubbed his face with his hands and then found it difficult to raise his head again.
Alice's voice was gentle. "We have the subspace filtering algorithm. It's been rolled out to all our allies, and there haven't been any further incidents. Maybe, the filter works. Threat neutralised."
Malcolm shook his head. "Why would the Romulans bother with a technology which can be countered so easily? What would be the point?"
"You said it yourself, months ago. The fear. Half the damn quadrant is terrified of this thing. Also, it's jammed up communications, because every transmission gets pored over before anyone listens to it. And last, but not least, it's gotten a full four months of Ahab-ing out of you. That's four months you could have spent on your EM barrier."
Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "You love that thing, don't you?"
"Yes!" Alice replied, beaming. "I want a million of them. Sterile fields, safer patient restraint, quarantine applications, less traumatic tissue retraction..."
"Indeed. There may even be one or two non-medical applications."
"Aye, probably. But I don't care so much about those."
"I take it, Jonathan, from your announcement earlier, that you are not fond of Captain Dorphin?" Phlox asked between forkfuls of linguine. For the past few months Jon had been consistently inviting fourth wheels to his dining room and Phlox was the most reliable at accepting.
"You could say that," Trip interjected, flippantly.
"No, I'm not" Archer confirmed, then shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It wasn't THAT obvious, though, was it?"
Even T'Pol refused to meet his eyes.
"Indeed it was," Phlox replied cheerfully. "Your announcement this morning was most peculiar. May I ask what prompted such faint praise?"
T'Pol cleared her throat. "Actually Captain, I was curious myself."
Jon sighed, looking at Trip for help, "Well..."
"He's an ass," Trip said helpfully. T'Pol arched an eyebrow.
"It's true," Jon said. "He is, in fact, an ass. Raymond Dorphin is... not a good leader of men."
T'Pol's lips pursed slightly. "Or of women, presumably?"
At this, Trip laughed into his beer glass. "Oh, he's an even WORSE leader of women."
Phlox blinked in surprise. "That's...disappointing... in this day and age".
"It's trouble, is what it is..." Jonathan muttered. "...If Resolute can go even six months without some sort of disaster - or scandal - I'll be very surprised."
Trip, suddenly morose, nodded in agreement. "This would never have happened, with Forrest around. He had Dorphin's number. Who's the first officer, by the way..?"
"Well..." Jon hesitated.
"Who?" Trip insisted.
"Kelby."
The only sound was Phlox's fork scraping against his plate. Then T'Pol smoothly enquired if there was any news about the Tellarite trade accord.
"It's slow going, given we don't know why the last one broke down," Jon answered gratefully. "They are still burying Starfleet in paperwork. There's more for us too, actually. Your department, actually, Phlox, although what medical data has to do with trade accords I'll never guess."
Phlox sighed. "Very well. Although I must say we've only just finished with the Treleishkah reporting to the Kreetassans. They had very detailed requirements. It took months."
"Did all that work personally, did you?" Jon asked, lightly.
Phlox frowned. "Not personally no. But while my medical staff are working for the Kreetassans they are not working for me. Sometimes it feels like I'll never get my latest manuscript finished."
Jon smiled sympathetically and waved the steward over and turned to his dining companions.
"So, coffee with dessert?"
The problem was, he was everywhere .
Fabrecia straightened her back and tried not to look. This was not the first time they had broken up, but it would be the last. And she would not look at him.
Unless…
"Hey Bree!"
Damn!
"Good day, sir" she said coolly, staring just past his left ear.
Travis smiled winningly, "Don't be like that. I'm sorry."
"Don't be like WHAT? Professional?"
"Cold. I am sorry. I don't know why I said it. It's not true. I LIKE that you are nothing like her," he said, sounding sincere. Remorseful.
Damn.
"I don't want to talk to you about your ex. You can't break up with me AND talk to me about your ex. You may do a maximum of ONE of those two things," Fabrecia pouted, dismayed she was already relenting.
And he'd noticed. He pushed gently in front of her in the line, ignoring the various grumbling from behind them.
"I don't really want to do either. How about I come around, later? I wrote a song about you, I want to play it for you." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek.
Damn!
"I have my pride, you know," she grumbled, knowing it was useless, she was won over. She knew herself. She may have pride, but she had no stamina for self-deprivation.
"Your place," she insisted, in a final, desperate sap to her dignity. It was a bigger thing to ask than it seemed. They had always used her room.
And, he was, she saw a little nonplussed. She had gained the upper hand, even if it was in an excruciatingly humiliating way. Leveraging his shame about them. About her.
"O…Okay."
She grabbed the nearest plate. It was roast beef, which she loathed, but she was committed now.
"See you then, then" she said firmly and stared until he turned away.
The door slid open and she peered out blearily, matted orange hair framing a distinctly chilly expression.
"Hi," Trip said chirpily.
"Is someone bleeding into their brain...?" Alice asked darkly, eyes flicking between Trip and Jon, who was lurking behind him, avoiding eye-contact.
"No..." Trip answered, still chipper. Jon was letting him handle this.
"Broken neck, then?"
"No, we ran out of booze," Trip answered, smiling winningly.
Jon cringed. The quality of this idea was plunging in his estimation with every moment. Also, the corridor was weirdly bright.
Alice's eyes narrowed. "You ran out of booze?"
"Yeah, thanks," Trip said.
Alice disappeared for a moment and grumbling returned holding out a bottle of scotch. "There. Now, be gone."
"Aren't you being a little insubordinate?" Trip said eyeing the bottle appreciatively. "He's the Captain, you know."
"Insubordinate? It's one in the morning, and you're here mooching scotch!"
"Superior officers mooching scotch"
"Get away from me," Alice said, but returned Trip's smile in spite of herself.
"You mean, 'Get away from me, sir'." Trip took the scotch and immediately handing it to Jon.
"Aye, I do mean that. Goodnight!" The door closed abruptly.
Jon surveyed the bottle of scotch, admiring the rich colour. "This stuff can't be cheap. How much do you think she brought with her?" They started walking back in the direction of Jon's quarters.
"I dunno. Wish I knew how she got it all aboard though," Trip mused. "There must be a pretty flagrant hole in our security somewhere."
This prospect made Jon feel quite a bit less buoyant. Back in his quarters, he hunted down a pair of glasses while Trip flopped lazily in a chair.
"To Dorphin and Kelby and the Resolute!" Trip toasted, laconically, when the both had a glass. Jon sipped his scotch, felt himself warm. It really was good. When he was bored with the silence he decided to needle Trip
"Won't T'Pol be mad? You said at dinner she'd see you later. I don't think she meant THIS late."
"I'm not at her beck and call," Trip grumbled moodily.
"Well, we both know THAT'S not true..."
Trip glared at him. "I'm not, you know. It's not like that. I'm not sure what it is like, but it's not that."
"It's something..." Jon pressed, but felt a little guilty for doing so. Trip was a couple of beers ahead of him, after all. He was not being very sporting.
Trip struggled for words. "It's maddening, is what it is. Outrageous and messy and full of...stuff. She's just... 90% of the time I feel like a complete idiot."
Jon smiled broadly, "Sounds about right".
Trip's eyes narrowed. "If you're going to be like that, I'll go."
"Then go," Jon smirked. "You already got me the scotch, what do I need you for?"
"Optics, of course. If I go, you're just a sad old man, drinking alone."
Jon nodded sagely. "Good point. Have another drink."
Hoshi pulled herself out of bed reluctantly and pulled on some clothes from the floor. She didn't want to go to sickbay, even slightly, but going to work would be impossible today. Sickbay was the only other option. Forcing herself into her small bathroom she splashed water on her face and despairingly inspected her hair. Her hairbrush wasn't where it should be. If she went to sickbay without brushing her hair, then she would be bullied back onto a higher dose of that awful medication. But if she didn't go to sickbay, she would have to go to work. And if she went to work without brushing her hair, then people would tut, and she would be sent to sickbay. And work was impossible today, anyway. She'd known it from the first moment she'd opened her eyes. Today, she could no more work than she could fly.
But her hairbrush was missing. And so she cried. She cried awful, ugly tears and hated herself more with every sob. A pathetic creature, utterly stymied by a lost hairbrush. Hateful.
Furious, she pulled yesterday's hair elastic out from among her matted hair, pulling more than a few strands from her scalp. She smoothed her hair as best she could with her still-wet fingers, ripped the broken hair from the elastic and replaced it. Maybe if she put on a cleaner shirt, the hair would be forgiven. She even had one. One last clean shirt. She had managed laundry earlier in the week.
She walked to sickbay in her last clean shirt, hoping she would not see anyone she knew well. She'd also hoped she'd get the doctor that she hadn't nearly blinded, but alas, it was Phlox who greeted her.
"I can't work today. I have a headache" she said in reply. It wasn't a lie, she did have a headache, but Phlox was not deceived.
"Why can't you work today?" he asked
Hoshi stared at the floor, refused to answer, refused to look at him properly. She couldn't.
Phlox sighed, sat down next to her.
"Hoshi, maybe we should increase your dosage..."
"No."
"But..." Phlox began carefully.
"NO! You said three months and it's been FIVE months."
"Hoshi, what I said was that after three months we could TRY to taper off the dose and see how you coped. I do not believe that it has been a success."
"I'm fine," Hoshi insisted, stubbornly, uselessly, tears stinging her eyes.
"You are not. You need help, and I wish you would allow me to give it to you," Phlox replied patiently.
"Why?" Hoshi demanded. "I nearly killed you. I nearly killed EVERYBODY. I shouldn't be here, anymore."
To Hoshi's great surprise, Phlox gently took her hand. The shock of it drew her eyes to his face and his expression, which was so kind, stabbed at her mercilessly.
"You know, Hoshi. I never really told anyone but I almost left Enterprise when we returned to Earth after the Treleishkah affair."
This was another surprise, Hoshi blinked in shock.
Phlox continued quickly. "It was something the Captain said that made me stay, but I think you are the reason I am most glad I made that decision. Well, one of two anyway. I think, if I had left then, you might have never forgiven yourself. Seeing you struggling now, makes me so glad I didn't, inadvertently, make it worse."
Phlox squeezed her hand, looked at her searchingly. She looked back into his eyes. His surgeon had done masterful work.
"Try increasing the medication again, Hoshi. If you really can't live with the side effects, we can try a different one. A few even, but you need it. You don't deserve to feel like this"
This was old ground. "Fine, if that's what it will take. But I CAN'T go to work today," Hoshi replied.
"Alright," Phlox sounded uncertain, but he did relieve her from duty, and began talking through her options. Hoshi escaped for her quarters as soon as she could.