Despite the dense haze clouding his mind Malcolm could hear the doctor's faint, muffled voice. He fought against the darkness, trying to use Phlox's indecipherable, somber chatter as a beacon to home in on, and felt himself failing as the voice grew fainter still. He found this failure wholly unacceptable—how was he supposed to find out what was going on if he kept on like this? He had to keep trying, keep fighting against the murkiness at least long enough to find out what had happened and whether Trip and the captain were safe. Not to mention the uneasy feeling he'd had the entire time they'd been pursuing the invaders down the corridor: would the alien ship return to resume the assault and reclaim those left behind?
He remembered much of what had happened, though it played through his mind like some sort of surreal dream: the attack, the pursuit down the corridor, the false surrender, and the grenade drifting as if in slow motion toward him. No, that wasn't right—it was drifting toward them, for Trip and Captain Archer had been behind him until just before the grenade had been lobbed. The silly Yanks had followed him as he'd approached the cornered alien and one of them had, he vaguely recalled, tried twice to step around him, the second attempt coming at just the wrong time. It hadn't registered which man it was but he felt sure it had to have been Archer simply because walking blithely into a hazardous situation was precisely the sort of thing the captain would do. Hell, it was one of the things the man did best. How anyone that possessed such a generous amount of carelessness, naiveté, and/or blissful ignorance (seemingly combined with the apparent—though misbegotten—notion that he was bulletproof) had lived so long remained a mystery. 'Damned stupid Yank.'
Everything that had happened after the grenade left the alien's gloved hand was still hiding in the dark fog presently occupying his brain. That he had been injured was all too obvious, for why else would Phlox not only be in proximity but also be so subdued in his tone? (Though he couldn't understand what the man was saying Reed was certainly familiar enough with the doctor to know that for him to sound so serious, circumstances must indeed be dire.) He hoped against hope that whatever else had happened in that corridor, he'd at least been able to protect the captain from himself and maybe the grenade as well. If the captain and commander had remained unscathed, it was well worth whatever cost he'd incurred.
He was regaining just enough physical sensation to feel the agony begin, and tried to focus on that in hopes of regaining his senses. The sooner he came to the sooner he'd know if Trip, the captain, and the ship were safe. Had he succeeded in protecting them, or had he failed them all? The pain flared mercilessly and he moaned loudly. Or it could have been a couple of shrieked names; he wasn't coherent enough to be certain. Regardless of which it was the doctor seemed to have other ideas about him coming to, and Malcolm felt the dreaded, familiar sensation of a hypospray at his neck. The injection quickly rendered the haze victor over Malcolm's mind and he grudgingly sank back into oblivion.
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Once the drugs took effect and the lieutenant was again unconscious Phlox slid into the chair next to the bed and marveled at his patient. No normal person should have been fighting off the anesthetic so soon after surgery. This man, especially, should not have possessed the strength to do so...not this time, at any rate.
The two of them had grown accustomed to the strange routine that had become normal for them: the lieutenant would get injured or take ill, the doctor would treat him, and the two would do a little dance of wills, with the Human grousing about his treatment either being too uncomfortable or taking too long and the ever-patient, paternal Denobulan, in various and (usually) subtle, good-natured ways, telling him to quit being such a crybaby and stop whining about it. This time, though, had been terrifyingly different.
He knew when he got the call how serious it was even before the captain had said there'd been an explosion. It was easy enough to figure out simply because even when the captain's calls to Sickbay were urgent he didn't scream out the request. Oh, he'd shout upon occasion...that was only natural during a high-stress situation. This, though, had been so much more than a shout, more primal and panicked than Archer had ever sounded; combined with Commander Tucker's equally frightened voice in the background alternately pleading with and swearing at Mr. Reed, Phlox hadn't needed to see his patient to know that this was no mere spike through the leg.
It amazed the doctor that the young man had survived the blast to begin with; that he was still alive when they got him to Sickbay bordered on miraculous. The two times his heart had stopped during surgery almost taxed Phlox's talents beyond their limits, but somehow the Tactical Officer's heart allowed itself to be coaxed back to life. Perhaps part of it had been the doctor's own stubborn refusal to give up; the shrapnel's invasion of his patient's body infuriated him, and he had channeled that fury into his work. But a good deal of the credit for his survival went directly to the resilient lieutenant and his unwillingness to stay dead. Mr. Reed's famed stubborn streak was oft-times annoying but Phlox also found it oddly endearing—the man's tenacity was what made him both a maddening and an excellent patient. Oh, he'd grouse about the discomfort and inconvenience of being treated, but his tenacity drove him to do what he needed to despite the discomfort or inconvenience if only to escape Sickbay and prove the doctor wrong. Some part of the doctor believed it was that same stubbornness that had allowed Malcolm to survive this latest crisis, and he viewed that survival as simply amazing.
Even now the man was still amazing his physician, not only fighting to regain consciousness so soon after surgery but coming so close to succeeding, even managing to speak a few words and names. Still, Mr. Reed wasn't the only one who could wage battle, and the doctor hadn't fought this particular battle this far only to have the lieutenant open his wounds, stress his vital systems to their limit—again—and risk another encounter with death. Oh no. The two of them had come too close to losing the war against shrapnel, shock, and blood loss for Phlox to simply surrender now. There was already too great a chance that they might still lose. As helpful as Malcolm's tenacity had been in the past and could still be in the future, the doctor knew it had to be restrained for the time being.
Sliding his chair closer to the bed Phlox gently gripped his patient's hand. Boarding party or not, he would not concede this battle just yet. He'd grown too fond of this young man to let him go without a fight. Besides, how would he ever discover the meaning of those few faint words Reed had uttered if he let him die? "You're not the only one who can be stubborn, you know," he whispered.
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They stared mutely at the lieutenant's pale, still form wondering why Phlox had summoned them when Malcolm was still unconscious. Though he looked far better than he had the last time they'd seen him all those hours ago, Reed still looked horrible; IV tubes snaking under the blankets, torso swaddled with bandages, left arm strapped to his body to immobilize his dislocated shoulder, bruised, nicked-up facial features totally slack and almost lifeless, his pasty complexion revealing the extent of his blood loss...granted no one looked good in a hospital bed, but neither man could recall ever seeing Malcolm this ashen and sickly-looking. Even having the head of the bed partially elevated didn't help make him look any healthier.
The presence of their guests did nothing to improve the atmosphere. Two of them stood flanking the doors to Sickbay seemingly appraising their surroundings; then again, it was hard to know where they were looking since they were wearing helmets that matched their dark bronze-colored military uniforms. Both of Malcolm's visitors made a concerted effort to ignore the aliens.
'Prob'ly just as well he's not awake,' Trip thought as he stared at his friend. Regardless of their motives, no way was Malcolm going to be happy when he found out about this new batch of aliens coming onboard—hell, they'd be lucky if he didn't have a full-blown stroke when he saw them—so the longer he was oblivious to their presence the better. Even when Phlox returned from his office and bustled over to check Malcolm's vital signs and hang another unit of blood Trip's gaze remained fixed on his friend, searching for any sign of him rousing.
Captain Archer, however, turned his full attention to the Denobulan. "Phlox," he said quietly as the doctor stepped away from Reed's bedside, "I'm not sure why you called us down here when Malcolm hasn't come to yet."
"I apologize, Captain," the doctor replied with all sincerity. "I should have briefed you sooner, but I was a bit distracted by our visitors. I felt it might be better to have you here when he woke rather than waiting for him to regain full consciousness to summon you. He started to rouse shortly after surgery—not long after I notified you that he was out of surgery, in fact—but given his condition at the time it was too dangerous for him to wake, so I sedated him. During that brief period of semi-consciousness he became agitated, attempting to speak and then calling out your names. It seemed obvious that he was concerned about your well-being, so I felt that the first people he should see upon waking are you and Commander Tucker. Additionally," he added with a faint trace of a smile, "having you come in a bit earlier gives me the opportunity to further check the two of you for injuries from the blast, since I didn't really get the chance to do so before. The sedative should be wearing off in the next five or ten minutes...of course you could come back later if you'd rather..." His smile widened as he casually drew his scanner from his pocket and began going over the two men.
The doctor's display of humor—the first they'd witnessed since Phlox had first arrived in the corridor to help Malcolm—helped ease some of their fears. When Phlox was jovial around a patient it was his way of showing that recovery was well underway; his jest that they come back later was his way of letting them know that despite how horrible the lieutenant looked on that bed his chances of survival were, finally, all but assured. Trip relaxed enough to pull up a chair and sit next to the bed, ignoring Phlox's effort to scan him and laying a tender, reassuring hand on his unconscious friend's exposed forearm.
There was an audible gasp from one of the aliens, followed at once by a dressing-down by the second. The voice sounded as if it was being broadcast via a computerized synthesizer; despite the artificial-sounding voice, there was a tone of extreme annoyance in it. "You were warned of the potential behavior of these people. Your reaction is unacceptable. Leave now." The first alien made a noise as if to object but was interrupted immediately. "Your conduct is unprofessional. If you leave now no official report will be made. If you linger I will inform the captain of your breach of etiquette. Another has been summoned to replace you." With a respectful (or perhaps defeated) bow of its head the alien guard slipped out the door.
Trip made a point of ignoring them, remaining focused upon his friend as though simply staring at him long enough would have a curative effect. Archer, however, silently watched the exchange with interest. From their dealings with them thus far, he knew that communications between members of the boarding party could easily be carried out without being overheard. That this dressing-down had been heard was obviously intentional—for whatever reasons the senior officer apparently felt it necessary to make the scolding as public as possible. It might have been intended to shame the guard into doing better the next time, or perhaps it was an attempt to put them at ease by allowing them to be privy to it. Deciding he didn't much care, Archer joined Phlox at Reed's bedside.
"When will he wake?" the ranking alien asked abruptly as he approached the bed. "My captain requires an update. I must also confirm the proper form of address."
Phlox turned to face their visitor, a slight but sincere smile on his face. "As I explained to you and your captain when you first came to Sickbay several hours ago, it is vital to the lieutenant's recovery that he be allowed to awaken naturally. However, it shouldn't be much longer. Perhaps another ten minutes before he begins to show signs of consciousness, but he will doubtless be at least mildly disoriented for another few minutes after that. And you may introduce him to your captain," Phlox added politely, "as Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. He is the ship's Chief Tactical Officer." Seemingly satisfied with the answer the alien nodded acknowledgement then returned to his place near the door.
Phlox watched him resume his vigil, silently enjoying the moment. When they'd first come onboard the aliens had desperately wanted him to rouse his patient, all but ordering him to wake the lieutenant. Enraged at the demand he'd refused quite adamantly, ending his refusal with the firm assurance that the only way they would wake Mr. Reed prematurely was 'over my cold, dead Denobulan body.' As a conscious tribute to his patient he'd added, 'And if you don't like it you may bloody well go straight to hell.' His wrathful countenance and forceful refusal had yielded the desired effect, with the visitors meekly, politely requesting to be notified when the lieutenant awoke before withdrawing from Sickbay. Only later, once the Denobulan had calmed down, had this same visitor ventured back to Sickbay for a more friendly discussion of Mr. Reed's condition. It had turned into an educational and mostly pleasant conversation, so much so that Phlox almost regretted his earlier outburst. Almost. He never regretted standing his ground when it came to a patient's welfare.
The Denobulan's estimate wasn't too far off, though it was closer to fifteen minutes before Malcolm stirred. Eyelids twitching faintly, he gave a soft moan and shifted slightly in the bed. When the movement caused him to gasp and wince in pain Phlox drew a hypospray from his pocket and dosed him. Eyes still closed, Reed sighed. "Doctor...how am I ever going to wake up," he asked with a tired, slurred voice, "if you keep knocking me out?"
Phlox chuckled. "Have no fear, Mr. Reed. That was merely a mild analgesic. You'll probably still feel a little sleepy for a few minutes due to the previous injection...best to just lie still until you feel a little more clear-headed."
"Capital idea," his patient agreed groggily, feeling not only sore as hell but also more than a little hung over. What the hell did that man put in those hyposprays? As the pain rapidly receded he decided that whatever was in the medication was well worth the hangover.
He recalled feeling an urgency in waking the last time he'd begun to rouse but was having trouble recalling why it had seemed so important to wake up. Sleeping seemed a much better idea. It took a few seconds for him to even remember how he'd landed in Sickbay to begin with; the memory of the grenade—including what he'd done with it—suddenly slipped into place and his eyes snapped open. "The captain...Commander Tucker...are they all right?" he asked as he tried to sit up. Despite the hypospray, the sudden movement sent pain screaming through him and Malcolm's breath caught sharply.
Quickly standing, Trip intercepted him. "Whoa there, Lootenant," he said softly as he pushed Malcolm back down. "Some part of 'just lie still' yer havin' trouble understandin'?"
Momentarily bewildered, Reed gaped at the commander. "Commander...were you injured? Is the captain safe? And the ship—how much damage did the grenade do? Did the attackers return?"
Archer stepped closer so Reed could see him. "We're both fine, Malcolm, thanks to you. And," he added, uncomfortable at the memory of it, "the grenade didn't do much damage to the corridor." Unbidden, the image of the unconscious lieutenant, the bloodstained floor, and the fragmented alien copse leapt to mind. No, damage to the corridor hadn't been the main goal of the invader. He shoved the memory aside as much as he could. "Seems it was an antipersonnel device, not meant to do structural damage."
"Antipersonnel," Reed pondered. "That usually means a lot of shrapnel."
"Indeed it did," Phlox frowned. "And you collected far more than your fair share. You're quite fortunate that you weren't much closer to the blast."
Malcolm considered that for a moment. "The alien...is he...?"
Jon laid a hand on Reed's shoulder. "He died in the explosion. And the one you stunned is in the Brig." He almost smiled as he watched Malcolm close his eyes and visibly relax; then he remembered their guest standing at the door. 'Time to bite the bullet.' "Malcolm, there's something else you need to know. After you were injured..."
Opening his eyes again, Malcolm studied the captain—it was out of character for the man to be so nervous. Looking at Trip he saw that his friend, too, seemed uneasy.
"After you were injured," Archer repeated, "another ship approached us. They..."
Reed's gaze shifted between the two men until Trip's eyes drifted to the doors. He followed his friend's gaze and spotted the helmeted alien standing there. He almost jumped out of the bed, the last vestiges of grogginess washed away by adrenaline. "Bloody hell! Sir...we've been boarded?!"
"Easy does it, Mal," Trip tried to calm him as all three men tried to keep him in the bed. "It's okay—they had us worried at first, too, but they're the good guys. Honest, Malcolm, they came ta help us."
Easing back onto the bed the lieutenant looked disbelievingly at them. Trip nodded first, then Archer and finally Phlox, and Malcolm decided that the world might well have gone mad during his absence. He had a hard enough time trusting people to begin with, but trusting people who so thoroughly hid themselves was almost more than he could bring himself to do. So much could be read in a person's facial features, their body language, and especially their eyes. Had he been able to see the eyes of the one with the grenade he might have realized the danger sooner. But the careful way they seemed to carry themselves, giving away little or nothing in the way of body language, combined with those damned helmets and face shields...these people might as well be made of granite for all he could read of them. Hell, it wasn't even possible to discern their genders—provided they had such a thing—let alone their intentions. They shot up and invaded his ship and tried to blow up two senior officers, not to mention damned near succeeding in blowing him up, and now he was expected to throw caution to the wind and blindly believe that they were here to help?
"It's true, Malcolm," Archer assured him. "They showed up about the time you came out of surgery. At first we thought they were working with the ones who attacked us, but it turns out they've been looking for that other ship. They sent a boarding party here to help with any repairs while their ship went on ahead to catch our attackers." He motioned toward their visitor. "This is Dr. Cam, chief medical officer of the Ka'ar ship Heeba. He came in case we needed help treating casualties. Their captain came aboard, too, and will be here shortly for what they consider a proper introduction."
Deciding that their discussion of him warranted closer scrutiny as well as his input, the alien approached the bed. "Your captain is correct. My captain is presently tending to other duties but wishes to more properly offer our apologies and gratitude." His artificial-sounding voice did little to help sway Reed, and he seemed to realize it. "Regrettably, we did not arrive in time to prevent either the attack or the injuries you sustained. Additionally, it seems that when we first contacted your captain we were considered...brusque...in our manner, which caused unintended and regrettable apprehension in your people. Time was of the essence, however, as the raiders we have been searching for were using the time to escape. It was more expedient to simply not allow the opportunity for discussion and to instead announce our intention to board. Once we were on board your ship, the Heeba could resume the pursuit and we would have more time to explain our purpose." The helmeted head turned toward Phlox. "Fortunately there was one among you who is familiar with our species."
"Well, I've had a few brief encounters at medical conventions," Phlox clarified modestly, "but I'd never seen one of their ships, so I had no idea we were dealing with the Ka'ar until I met this boarding party." He didn't mention having seen the corpse in the corridor; the blast had done enough damage to make a visual identification of the species impossible and the severity of the lieutenant's injuries hadn't allowed time for a detailed analysis of the alien's body. "Even then I wasn't entirely sure, since at the conventions they wore civilian garb rather than military uniforms."
"Civilian garb?" Malcolm asked. "So...you know what their faces look like?"
"Oh heavens, no," Phlox beamed. "The Ka'ar are an extremely private species and don't believe in openly displaying themselves even to one another, except in rare circumstances or to one's lovers or spouses. Not even their hands or faces are ever publicly exposed. The Ka'ar I encountered wore lovely robes and what I was told were ceremonial masks, since the conventions were deemed to be special occasions. As I recall, their everyday garments consist either of a gown similar to a garment once worn on Earth that I think was called a burka, or plainer robes and masks. Which one they wear is purely a matter of personal preference."
"We do realize, however," the Ka'ar doctor said, "that it is common for many species to display at least some their flesh publicly, and sometimes to even come into direct contact with one another's flesh."
"Wait a minute," Trip interrupted. "You mean you don't touch each other either?"
"Skin-on-skin contact is...not done publicly," Cam tried to clarify, turning to face Trip. "Viewing of another's skin and direct physical contact, except in instances of medical necessity, are considered to be erotic, sensual experiences...things to be enjoyed privately. However, we recognize that not all beings believe as we do, and we endeavor to not pass judgment upon them for what is to them normal public behavior. I apologize for the guard's unseemly reaction to your earlier display. His conduct was unprofessional and so I dismissed him at once. I hope you were not offended by his outburst."
Seeing confusion on the engineer's face Phlox elaborated. "I believe the doctor is referring to the display of concern you showed to the lieutenant, when you placed your hand on his arm." Dr. Cam nodded before returning to his place near the door.
Malcolm let himself relax slightly as he mentally replayed images of the intruders and tallied them against the alien before him. Though the helmets were indeed similar to the ones these people wore, upon further consideration they'd been mismatched and far more battered and ill-kept. This man's bronze helmet and matching face shield were both polished to a high sheen and bore what he assumed were rank insignia. The garb of their attackers had been disheveled and almost careless, as if they's simply thrown on whatever hand-me-down slacks and jackets had been at hand; the crisply kept and meticulous clothes the doctor wore was obviously a uniform, even matching the color of the helmet. And the first boarding party had certainly not had any interest in explaining their actions, whereas this lot seemed eager to have their side of things known. And hadn't this fellow said something about apologies? It seemed unlikely that hostiles would bother with apologies.
Okay...maybe it was possible these were 'the good guys'...but still, dealing with people so thoroughly faceless and unreadable was damned disquieting. He tensed as a second alien entered and took up a position on the opposite side of the doorway from Dr. Cam. Why would 'the good guys' feel the need to post a guard in Sickbay? Studying them, he thought it seemed that they were talking to one another. His best guess was that the helmets contained a communications system that allowed them to chat with one another without being overheard. After a minute or so the new arrival stood at attention next to the door while the Ka'ar doctor once again approached them.
"The replacement honor guard has arrived, and our captain is ready to enter," he told Phlox politely. "Unless that is unacceptable. If your patient requires further rest the captain has agreed to wait."
Smiling amiably, Phlox gave a slight nod. "I have no objections, but I believe the decision should be Mr. Reed's." He faced Malcolm. "Lieutenant...do you feel up to having another visitor?" Seeing the uncertainty on his patient's face he quietly added, "Their captain has been requesting an audience with you since they first arrived."
'Requesting an audience? With me? And the one at the door is an honor guard?' Malcolm was certainly familiar with being summoned to a superior's office, but this sounded as if they thought he was some sort of dignitary or person of importance. Well, alien or not, it felt wrong to make a captain wait needlessly. He stole quick glances at Trip and Captain Archer, who had remained standing on either side of the head of his bed. "I, uh...I suppose so." Suddenly feeling decidedly under-dressed he tugged at the blanket with his good hand, trying to cover at least some of his chest; Phlox dutifully reached down and helped drape it over him diagonally, leaving his good arm exposed. With a satisfied nod the doctor stepped away.
The guard at the door snapped to attention, facing straight ahead, with the Ka'ar doctor facing the door and coming to attention at the foot of Malcolm's bed. Within a few seconds the doors opened and a third Ka'ar entered. This one stood over half a head taller than the others, wearing a uniform and helmet the color of newly polished brass rather than the bronze color of the others. Pausing next to the guard, the alien captain offered a faint nod to the crewman. "Wait outside. See to it that we are not disturbed." Returning the gesture the guard exited Sickbay. Striding up to the Ka'ar doctor the captain again nodded; the gesture was returned, and the doctor turned to face Malcolm.
"May I present Captain Vendar of the Ka'ar Defense Corp vessel Heeba." Turning back to Vendar, he continued the introduction. "Captain, this is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Chief Tactical Officer of the Enterprise." Introductions completed, he stepped away from the foot of the bed and took up a position two steps behind his captain.
"Lt. Reed," Vendar began, with the same synthetic-sounding voice as Cam. "I have been told that during the attack on this vessel, you were the one manning the weapons systems and returning fire. Is this accurate?"
Malcolm stiffened, unsure what direction this conversation was going to take. "Yes," he replied neutrally.
The alien stepped to the side of the bed. "I have also been told that, when one of the raiders threw an explosive toward you and your senior officers, you picked up the explosive and threw it back without hesitation or concern for your own safety, protecting your officers at great risk to yourself. This is also accurate?"
"Yes."
Shoulders sagging, Captain Vendar gave a long sigh then fell silent for several moments, head bowed. "I offer you my most heartfelt apologies, Lt. Reed," the Ka'ar officer finally continued, straightening up and again looking at Malcolm. "Unfortunately, not all Ka'ar are law-abiding people. Those who attacked this ship are one of several groups of raiders who make their living by preying upon other vessels, showing no regard for their victims. We have been charged with the task of pursuing and capturing the most dangerous of them, but they have been far more elusive than we had anticipated. Whenever we thought we were coming close to catching them they would make good their escape, often by causing greater damage and injuries to their targets. They know we are obligated to assist their victims and while we try to help those they have attacked, they flee.
"The two raiders left behind on your ship were not left by accident but by design. If the raiders are in the midst of a takeover and discover we are approaching, at least 2 of their crew remain behind to sabotage the ship while the rest of them flee. If you had not succeeded in stopping them, they would likely have attempted to access some critical area of the ship to target...life support and Engineering are two of their favorite targets, but if they cannot successfully attack those areas they will try for a hull breach. If not for the damage you were able to inflict upon their ship during your battle with them, they might have lingered long enough to either successfully take over your ship or do far more damage before they fled. Just before coming to speak with you, I received word from the Heeba that the criminals have been overtaken and captured. Their capture was made possible in large part by the damage done by you to their vessel during the attack on Enterprise. The Ka'ar government conveys its sincerest apologies for the injuries you sustained, and wishes to make restitution to all of you for this regrettable incident."
Vendar turned to face Archer. "My vessel will be returning in several hours...with your permission, we will take custody of the surviving raider at that time so that he can be tried with his fellow pirates. We will also take possession of the remains of the dead one so that we may determine their identity. I am hopeful that while waiting for the Heeba to arrive, you and I can discuss what form of restitution your people would find acceptable. I realize that our manner in dealing with you has been curt at times, and we have doubtless seemed rude and perhaps even antisocial, and for that I apologize. This mission has been most stressful for all of us, as has being away from our ship, and I fear that stress was displayed in our behavior toward all of you. I assure you that we are a generous people. Speaking of generosity, there is also," Vendar added, attention turning back to Malcolm, "the matter of the reward."
"Reward?" Malcolm asked, confused.
"Our government has long offered a reward for aid in the capture of these criminals...since you are the one who disabled their ship, they have deemed you to be the rightful recipient of that reward."
"But...but I was just doing my job," Reed objected. "A reward isn't necessary."
"Necessary or not," Vendar countered, "it has already been authorized. We will be able to turn it over to you once my ship returns, and you can do with it what you wish."
Phlox cleared his throat, cutting off any further discussion of the matter. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I believe we should let Mr. Reed rest now. Perhaps you can return for another visit in a few hours?" He braced himself for objections from Vendar or even Dr. Cam.
Instead the Ka'ar captain nodded slowly. "Of course you are correct. There will be time for another visit before I return to my ship. However, there is a custom among these people that I believe would be best for me to observe. I have discussed it with my doctor, and he believes it would be...acceptable."
Despite the synthetic voice of the aliens, Malcolm was sure he caught a hint of reluctance in the captain's voice. He saw Dr. Cam's head dip slightly before the Ka'ar physician stepped to the foot of the bed, turned his back to them and faced the door. Though impossible to tell for certain, it almost seemed like embarrassment, as if Cam had walked in on someone disrobing. Then Vendar stepped alongside the bed, hand awkwardly extended toward him. Slowly his own hand reached out but he stopped, remembering what Dr. Cam had told them earlier. "One moment, please," he stalled, pulling his hand away from the Ka'ar. "Phlox, could you come here?" He motioned the doctor closer and Phlox obligingly bent close so Malcolm could whisper in his ear.
When Reed finished, Phlox straightened with a smile. "I believe that is an excellent idea. Captain Vendar, if you could wait just one moment, Mr. Reed has made a suggestion that might make this custom easier for you." Bustling to the equipment cart near the exam table, he opened a drawer and pulled something out then returned to Malcolm's side. "Here we are," he chirped, holding up an exam glove. Once he finished helping the lieutenant pull it on he stepped back and politely addressed the Ka'ar captain. "We know how your people feel about direct contact, and he didn't want you to be uncomfortable. You're not the only ones who try to respect the customs and sensitivities of others."
Vendar stood stock-still for a long moment, seemingly staring at Malcolm, then slowly bowed deeply. "Your display of courtesy and understanding is very much appreciated. I also know something of your people's beliefs and customs, and have been told that many of you find it important to be able to see the faces of those you deal with. If I understand it correctly, your people find it unsettling to not be able to see another's eyes. Perhaps this will help." The face shield slid open, revealing a face almost entirely obscured by a cloth mask similar to a ski mask. Large, bright turquoise eyes set in deep burgundy colored skin gazed back at him. "On behalf of my government and my crew, I thank you for your assistance in capturing the raiders," the captain said, again extending a hand toward Reed. "Now that they are in custody we should be able to locate their fellow raiders and put an end to their attacks."
Malcolm realised that the alien's voice, no longer distorted by the helmet's communication system, had a distinctly feminine tenor to it. "You're quite welcome," he replied as he shook her hand, silently admiring her firm grip. He thought he saw something in her eyes akin to the twinkle of an awkward smile but the face shield slid shut before he could appraise it further. Both seemed to realize at the same time that their hands had perhaps been touching for a few seconds too long and they broke contact.
Stepping back Vendar bowed slightly. "I look forward to visiting with you again before we leave...but your doctor is quite correct. We should let you rest now." She turned to Archer. "With your permission, Captain Archer, we will return to the guest quarters you have provided for us so that we can rest as well. It has been a stressful time for all of us."
"Yes, it has," Jon agreed. "If you'll contact me when you're ready, we can have that meeting you mentioned. Although I don't think restitution is necessary, I believe we might come to some sort of agreement about an exchange of information. We'd like to learn more about this area as well as your people, if you think that would be acceptable."
"Of course." With another polite bow to all of them Captain Vendar strode toward the exit, Dr. Cam falling into step beside her.
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Grudgingly letting Phlox help him out of his sling and his dress uniform, Malcolm slipped into his pajamas as quickly as his aching body would allow: bad enough that he'd needed help disrobing, but damned if he was going to allow himself to be dressed by another person. He wasn't that far gone. Once he'd finished he gingerly put his left arm back in the sling, opened the privacy curtains, returned to the biobed and slid under the blankets.
"I still don't see why I can't go back to my quarters," he complained. "I'm perfectly capable of resting there."
"Because you're still recovering from having been blown up," Phlox quipped, helping straighten the bedclothes over the man. "There are any number of complications that could still arise, so I need to closely monitor you for at least a couple more days. Of course, if you are intent upon staying in your quarters—"
"I am," Reed insisted.
"—then I can gather a few medical supplies and stay there with you."
Malcolm groaned, partially from his exertions but mostly out of exasperation. "That would rather defeat the purpose of my leaving."
Phlox grinned. "I know." It was good to have things getting back to normal. "Of course, it might speed up your recovery a bit if you'd let me use—"
"No," Reed grimaced. "No eels. No eels, slugs, blood worms, or any of the rest of your creepy-crawlies, thank you very much."
"Very well," the doctor shrugged. Yes, things were definitely getting back to normal. All that was needed now was for him to catch Reed trying to sneak back to his quarters to know that everything was entirely back to rights. "Now then, you've had quite an outing so I want you to get some rest. Do you need anything for the pain? Or something to help you sleep?"
He opened his mouth to refuse but thought better of it: it had been a busy morning, and perhaps he had overdone a bit. "Maybe just a little something for the pain," he admitted; he wasn't entirely convinced that the doctor wouldn't take advantage of a drug-induced nap and start sticking members of his medicinal menagerie on—or in—his slumbering patient. Noting the faint smirk on the doctor's face, Malcolm sighed. "All right, I admit it. I probably should have left the reception early, as you suggested." He flinched as Phlox used the hypospray. Why were those things always so damned cold? "But Captain Archer wanted to give our visitors a proper send-off, and wanted his senior officers there. And I wanted to be there, even if it did mean wearing my dress uniform. After all, their captain was willing to let me look at part of her face despite any discomfort it brought her—how could I turn around and snub her by not attending, or slipping out early just because I'm still a little tender? Besides, she wanted to give me the reward we finally agreed upon, and she seemed keen on doing so publicly. It would have been rude to not attend."
"Mmm...I suppose it might have been at that," Phlox admitted. "And I must say, your handling of the reward situation was rather clever. Settling for a ceremonial mask and requesting that the financial reward be distributed to the raiders' previous victims was quite charitable of you."
There had been a fleeting temptation to say yes to the reward—it had been a staggering amount, after all—but Malcolm had no regrets. "It would have felt unseemly to take a reward for doing my job, and I'm certain Starfleet would have frowned upon it anyhow. Since the Ka'ar were adamant about giving me something, the mask seemed a suitable compromise. It worked out for the best that they miscalculated how fast the Heeba could travel while towing the raider's ship—the delay in their return gave me the chance to convince Vendar to forgo the money in favor of something symbolic."
"Yes, plus it gave the captains a chance to work out details of diplomatic relations and a cultural exchange between their peoples in lieu of the Ka'ar paying financial restitution to the crew, as well as allowed time to have the reception for Captain Vendar and her boarding party." He gave a teasing smirk. "Was she...pretty?"
"Doctor, I'm surprised at you," Reed feigned indignation. "I don't peek and tell."
The doors to Sickbay opened and Trip entered, adjusting the zipper of his duty uniform. "Dang, am I glad to be outta that monkey suit," he said. "An' even though I swung by your quarters to drop off that gorgeous mask of yours, I see I still managed ta beat the captain here."
"I believe he said he had to tend to Porthos before coming here," Phlox explained. "Once he learned about the Ka'ar beliefs regarding the intimacy of direct physical contact, he felt it best to confine the little fellow to quarters until our guests were gone. No telling how they might have interpreted the relationship between man and dog if they'd seen the captain scratching Porthos behind the ears."
Any observations on that subject were stymied by Archer's arrival. "So Doc, how's the patient?"
"He is grousing about being in Sickbay, tired and aching from overextending himself, and dismissive of alternative methods of treatment," Phlox answered. "In short, he's all but back to normal. I've just given him some pain medication and I'm hoping he'll get some sleep. If you could make your visit brief I would appreciate it." The doctor stepped away to give them some privacy.
"Don't mind him," Reed told them. "He's being a mother hen. I'll admit to being a little sore but I don't need a midmorning nap like some sort of preschooler."
"I dunno, Mal," Trip disagreed. "Ya looked a little wore out by the time Capt'n Vendar and her people left. A nap might not be tha worst thing in the world."
"He might be right, Malcolm," Archer agreed. "Hell, I feel like I could use one myself. The last few days have been more than a little rough...especially for you."
Malcolm pursed his lips thoughtfully, not liking to admit what a close call he'd had. "You'll get no argument there, sir."
"Well then," Jon said, "maybe we should come back later. After all," he added with a smirk, "it's not like you're going anywhere."
"Don't remind me," Malcolm muttered. "Sir," he added reflexively. "Before you go, though, I do have a question." He paused before continuing—would mentioning that breakfast prompt the captain to schedule yet another one? He threw caution to the wind. "At breakfast the other day, before we were...interrupted...you were going to tell me how I could help with the sports program you had in mind. What did you want me to do?"
Exchanging a glance with Trip—who was having a damned hard time keeping a straight face—Jon stepped closer to the bed. "Well, we were thinking about forming...bowling teams," he deadpanned. After a few seconds watching the stunned look on Reed's face, Archer finally let the smile spread across his own. "We know, Malcolm. We know about Strike Force. Trip had some vids of some old tournaments, we got watching them the other night, and, well, you were on some of them."
"Yeah, an' fer someone who 'isn't much into sports', you were damned good, Deadeye," Trip chimed in. "You still got a 259 average?" Both men grinned as Malcolm fidgeted in the bed.
"I'm not sure, sir...it's been a while since I've bowled," he finally answered sheepishly.
"Well," Trip continued, slightly more serious now, "it's a good thing for us that their description of you as a stroker was as accurate as that nickname. Never seen anyone pick up and release anything as smoothly as you did that grenade." Resting his hands on the edge of the bed he leaned in close to Malcolm's face. "An' don't you ever scare me like that again, or I'll smack you upside the head 'til your teeth shake loose." After a moment his smile returned and he stepped away from the bed.
"Tell you what," Archer said. "Once you're out of here we'll reschedule breakfast and see if bowling is something the crew might enjoy, or if some other sort of sports program would be better."
"With all due respect, sir, I wish you wouldn't," Reed replied. He paused to enjoy the confused looks on their faces before continuing. "Judging from how our last two breakfasts have ended, I'm not entirely certain I'd survive a third." After a pause all three men began laughing.
"I think we better get out of here," Jon finally said, "before Phlox thinks he has to chase us out. We'll check in on you later."
"Thank you, sir." Watching the doors close behind them, Malcolm gave a satisfied sigh and let himself relax.
Phlox approached him a minute or so later. "I'm going to be in my office for a while, working on some reports. Do you need anything before I go?"
Reed eyed the doctor thankfully. "I don't believe so...but thank you for asking. And...for everything else. Sorry if I gave you a bit of a scare."
The doctor shook his head. "It's part of the job...one of the more unpleasant parts, I admit. I would appreciate it if in the future you could refrain from cutting it quite so close, though."
"I'll do my best," Malcolm smiled back at him.
"I do have one question for you, though I'm not sure you can answer it. You started regaining consciousness shortly after coming out of surgery, and before calling out for the captain and Commander Tucker, you said something I couldn't make much sense of. What does 'damned stupid Yank' mean?"
Somehow Malcolm maintained an expression of innocence before answering a few seconds later. "I haven't the faintest idea...must've been out of my head."
With a noncommittal shrug Phlox seemed to agree. "Quite possible." Contemplating it another moment he smiled softly. "I'm sure you're right—between the drugs and the pain, you were hardly in a coherent state of mind. Now, if you need anything you be sure to call me."
"Of course." He waited until the doctor was well into his office before heaving a relieved sigh. Bloody hell, had he really said that aloud? Thank god the doctor hadn't asked while Trip and the captain had been here, otherwise the captain might very well have scheduled another breakfast to torture him with right then and there.