Thank you to those of you who have read chapter 1, and cookies to my reviewers!
§ 2 §
The docking clamp grabbed the Shuttlepod with a familiar thump and guided it gently home. Trip powered down the vessel and stood from the pilot's seat. He knew without looking that Malcolm was already at the hatch; the man was charged with such tension that it radiated from him like energy from one of his EM emitters. He could sympathise.
On their flight back they'd discussed what had happened planet-side and... Well, he wouldn't go as far as saying they had argued, but certainly their tones had been fraught with feeling. What it boiled down to was the fact that they both felt a measure of guilt.
Ah, they couldn't really reproach themselves with much – Trip repeated to himself. Travis hadn't been a kid on an outing, requiring adult supervision. But the weight on his heart didn't budge. He couldn't disregard the fact that he had been the higher-ranking officer out of the three; responsible, at least to some extent, for his crewmates.
For the past ten-fifteen minutes, since they had spotted the Enterprise hanging in space through the pod's windscreen, silence had replaced their tense discussion. This didn't change as Trip joined Malcolm at the hatch and exchanged a fleeting glance with him. The green light finally came on and Malcolm raised his hand to the release, but it hovered there, hesitating.
"When you give your report to the Captain," he said, eyes to the deck-plating. "Your duty is to tell him exactly how things went; I understand that."
And without giving Trip the time to open his mouth – or without deferring to rank, which was quite telling – he opened the hatch and made his escape up the stairs that lead to the elevated platform.
What the hell was that supposed to mean? He had no time for subtle messages, what with his frayed nerves and all. Trip repressed the instinct to grab Malcolm by an arm and pull him back down; he'd glimpsed T'Pol waiting at the top of the stairs, hands latched behind her back, and explanations would have to wait. Besides, he knew full well what Malcolm had meant: that he – Trip – should report to the Captain that he – Malcolm – had been delinquent in his duty. Typical.
"The Doctor has arrived safely on the planet," their SIC said, falling in stride as they made for the decon chamber.
"Has he said anything about Travis's condition?" Trip enquired. They had been forced to take off right after contacting the ship, before Phlox had beamed down.
"Not yet."
T'Pol stopped in front of the decon chamber and turned to face them. There was unusual depth in her dark eyes; as close to emotion as you could see in a Vulcan gaze.
"As soon as you are finished here, the Captain awaits you in his ready room. He's trying to speak to the Governor."
In the decon chamber the soothing blue lights were already on, casting them as weird, angular creatures. Trip passed a hand through his hair. He couldn't cancel the image of their battered friend; and each time his mind's eye unavoidably zoomed in on Travis's hand, which had looked suspiciously stained with something that could well be alien blood. He wished they'd been allowed to speak to the man alone, before being booted off the planet as if they'd had the plague. And talking about speaking to people...
"By the way," he said, turning abruptly to Malcolm, who was pacing pensively behind him, "In case you haven't noticed, it is my habit to give the Capt'n accurate reports. Always."
Malcolm looked back belligerently. "What I meant to say-"
"I know perfectly well what you meant to say, dammit," Trip cut him off. "But even if I were inclined to cover up for a friend – which I am not – I wouldn't need to. For heaven's sake, Malcolm, you were just talking a walk while off duty."
"I'm the Security Officer," Malcolm said, deep in his chest. He grimaced, shaking his head. "I wasn't particularly keen on spending the night in town. If I'd wanted to be off duty I would've returned to the ship with the Captain and the rest of the away party."
Trip blinked. "You mean to tell me you stayed behind just to watch over us?"
"Commander, Lieutenant, you're free to go," a voice said through the intercom. "You didn't carry back anything untoward."
"Thank God for that," Trip muttered. "Come on." And he preceded Malcolm out of the door.
A bright green blur hovered around him. Something was attached to his wrist; obviously a band with sensors, because a regular rhythm started registering somewhere, distorted as everything his senses perceived, yet still easily recognisable as a heartbeat.
Travis clenched his teeth against the pain that had him at its mercy, assaulting him from all sides, and was quite certain that the horrible grunting sounds he could hear above the rhythmic beat were coming from himself. He wished his vision could clear, and also his mind. Where was he? What had happened? He'd been dancing with that alien girl…
He tried to ask for Commander Tucker, but found his tongue wasn't obeying. The pain was too distracting, taking all of his energy and mental focus.
Phlox had rematerialised in a room that had all the aspects of a doctor's office. There was a desk and a bio-bed; and if he hadn't been concerned about the wellbeing of one of the crew he'd have taken a closer look at the charts hanging on the walls, which showed the skeletal, muscular and lymphatic apparata of the Ajfwqa'wes – or were they called Ajfwec'wqals? Something like that. As he paged the ship to say he had arrived safely, however, he did make it a point to notice the way the second set of shorter arms were joined at waist level to the rest of these people's physiology. Amazing.
"Doctor Phlox?" a voice asked.
He turned to see a tall man in a dark green coat standing in the door frame.
"I am Doctor Ga'we."
"Where are we?" Phlox wasted no time and enquired. "Where is Mister Mayweather?"
"This is one of the city's largest hospitals." Doctor Ga'we swept one of his shorter arms. "This way, please."
Outside the door, the place was bustling with activity. They started down a large corridor.
Green seemed to be the traditional colour of medical garbs here, and there was a preponderance of it, with different shades probably indicating different specialisations, or grades of importance. From what Phlox could tell, stretcher-bearers wore a light shade; nurses emerald green and doctors dark forest green.
"Have you assessed my crewmate's injuries?" Phlox asked, casting the quiet alien a side glance.
"Yes," Ga'we said. "But they warned us of allergic reactions, so we have not given him anything."
"Very wise," Phlox agreed.
The trip through corridors and wards seemed interminable. Phlox wondered at some point if it wasn't a ruse to make him lose sense of direction – but then why?
Finally, they got in front of a door that was guarded by a couple of men in uniform. Doctor Ga'we motioned him to go first. Phlox wasted no time and pushed the door open.
Travis lay on a bed, still clad in his uniform. It didn't appear they had done anything to him other than placing him there. No – there was something attached to his wrist, and a monitor showed his heart rate. As Phlox crossed quickly to the man's side, he took in his bruises, unfocused gaze and the fact that he was obviously in considerable pain. Barely repressed grunts and laboured breathing were a testimony to that. Then his eyes tracked to Travis's left arm, and he immediately knew that it was definitely broken.
"Ensign Mayweather, can you hear me?" he asked, quickly opening his bag and taking out a hypospray and his tricorder. Travis turned his face to him and squinted.
"Who?…" he choked out.
"It's Phlox, Ensign."
Phlox pressed the hypospray to Mayweather's neck and emptied a hefty dose of painkiller into his bloodstream. Seconds later he watched the man's taut features relax and his breathing ease.
"Am I in sickbay?" Travis slurred groggily. His eyes drifted closed.
"I'm afraid not." Phlox passed his medical scanner over his patient's body, frowning at the readings. "You're in hospital, on the planet. Can you remember what happened?"
There was a beat of silence while Travis seemed to process the question.
"I was dancing..."
"And then?" Phlox prompted, pulling one eyelid up to examine the eye.
"I... I don't know," Travis said. "What happened?"
Phlox turned off the light, satisfied that the man had not suffered a concussion. "You have been beaten," he said. He took a blood sample and turned to Doctor Ga'we. "He's strangely confused. Plus he has a broken arm; a couple of cracked ribs and various bruises. I'll need to use your facilities."
"Ribs?" Doctor Ga'we enquired, with a frown.
"I'll show you in a moment."
"Beaten?" Travis breathed out, blinking. "Why?"
Phlox sighed. "Let's leave this for later, Ensign. First I want to treat your injuries."
TBC
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