A/N: I hope you enjoyed last chapter and continue to enjoy!


"Archer to Lieutenant Reed." The comm by the head of Malcolm Reed's bed squawked, jolting Malcolm out of a semi-peaceful sleep. He rubbed his eyes with a groan before fumbling blindly for the comm.

"Reed here, sir. Has the alien ship made any aggressive maneuvers?" He asked worriedly, wondering if he really should have taken a rest. He had assumed that if the alien ship hadn't made any aggressive moves for a few hours, and he was so exhausted from recalibrating the spatial torpedoes, that a rest would do him good. But if the captain needed him-

"No, no." Archer laughed. "Hoshi established communications with our little shadow. Their language is remarkably similar to English..." He marveled at the wonders of the universe before catching himself. "Their weapons and engines were damaged in a random hostile alien attack. They're asking for repair help."

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair and pressed the comm button. "Aye, sir. Shall Commander Tucker and I take the shuttlepod? He asked, jamming his stockinged feet into his boots and zipping his jumpsuit up to his chin.

"Actually, no. The aliens are rather...xenophobic, and they only want one of our men on their ship at a time, and their docking station took such heavy damage that the only way onto their ship is by the transporter. Now, normally, I'd be wary about letting my crewmen transport aboard an alien ship alone, but they have assured me that you will be safe. Are you willing to take the leap of faith, Lieutenant?" Archer asked. Malcolm could almost see him leaning confidently into his captain's chair.

"Aye, sir. I'll take any chance I can to use the transporter." He said wryly, rushing to grab his repair kit from the locker in his room.

Archer laughed. "Well, I'm glad. I'll have to transmit the coordinates to you manually. Do you have a writing utensil handy?" He asked. Malcolm scrambled for the closest pencil and piece of paper he could find.

"Ready, sir." Malcolm said, jotting down the coordinates and parroting them back. And slinging the duffel bag over one shoulder. "Wish me luck." He sighed.

There was a chuckle on the other end and Archer replied, "Good luck, Lieutenant. Archer out.

Malcolm hurried out of his room and to the transporter. Suppressing a smile, he punched in the coordinates, set the delayed start, and stepped into the transport beam, relishing the feeling of his subatomic particles being torn apart and then perfectly reconstructed.

Suddenly, he was inside the middle of the alien spaceship. The light was tinted purply-red, shining off reflective structural beams made of some unknown metal. He was about to scan it to discover its composition when he saw the weapons system.

Dozens of phase cannons, torpedoes, and unidentifiable weapons lined the outside of a large, circular room. He whistled to himself. Any ship that could so thoroughly pummel such a well-armed ship could likely annihilate Enterprise without even trying...

He cleared his throat and heaved his duffel bag next to the closest phase cannon. Fishing out his mechanical scanner, her pressed a few buttons. "Now, what's your configuration?" He asked it, pulling the hatch off the top and tracing a finger down its innards. "Well, you're not broken. I don't-"

He was cut off by a sharp object at his throat. Stiffening, his hands shot up in the air. "Lower your weapons." He said calmly, trying to get a glimpse of his captor's face. "My captain said that you needed someone to fix your weapons." He waggled the hand holding the scanner.

"Mak thyunt! Natha maku zepul polut mak leth!" The knife was pressed against his throat, and a set of arms gripped his shoulders, marching him towards and through a set of automatic doors, knife still at his throat.

"English-like language my eye." Malcolm grumbled as he was forced through several corridors, much like the armory, with magenta light and reflective surfaces.

Something in his gut told him that something was wrong. He had to get the knife off his throat, but how? The answer came with a sudden sneeze that racked his body, no doubt a remnant from the virus he caught from the case of plasma coolant. He got an idea and faked a second sneeze. On the third sneeze, he slammed his elbow into his captor's stomach, getting a good look and him for the first time.

...Or her.

A female with green-glowing skin and four arms bursting insect-like from her back stood in front of him, rubbing her stomach. Strange appendices burst from her biceps like a medieval gauntlets, and her face didn't even look human. But Malcolm took the information into stride. "What do you want?" He asked carefully, preparing to take the offensive.

The female stared at him. Before he could react, she had whipped out a phaser. He felt a force slam into his chest and saw no more.


Malcolm groaned slightly. He felt like he was just kicked by a horse. Or worse. Suddenly, he felt himself being hauled to his feet, and a sharp object was shoved against his throat. All at once, his memory flooded back to him, and he glanced around, preparing an escape plan before his eyes fell on Captain Archer.

"Captain? What's going on?" He asked. Had the aliens betrayed them? It wouldn't be the first time.

"We're trying to communicate with the aliens. Hoshi?"

Archer turned to Hoshi, who nodded. "I think I got it sir." She said, turning to the view screen and locking eyes sadly with Malcolm. Archer nodded back and walked slowly towards the viewscreen.

"Why is my tactical officer being held at knifepoint?" He asked, barely concealing his anger and worry.

"He was destroying our weapons. According to the law, he is our prisoner." The four-armed captain said, gliding in front of Malcolm and gesturing in the direction Malcolm assumed was towards the weapons.

"Destroy your weapons?" Malcolm scoffed, glaring at the alien captain, who didn't acknowledge that Malcolm had spoken. Archer's eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"But we are not a war-mongering race." The alien captain said graciously. "We would be willing to trade your "tactical officer" for a generous amount of food and medical supplies."

Malcolm growled. "Don't do it captain-" Malcolm was cut off by a sharp pain in his temple, knocking him sideways. He stumbled into one of the ships' stations and clung to it until his world steadied. He was jerked to his feet, and the knife was jammed against his throat, pressing against his jugular.

"Calm down." Archer said, suppressing the panic in his voice when he saw the knife draw blood. He locked eyes with the alien captain before continuing, "Look, I'm not sure what's going on here, but I hope we can work something out."

The alien captain glanced at Malcolm's captor and nodded. The knife was withdrawn from his neck, and the captor took a few steps back, shifting towards Malcolm's side. They watched each other out of the corner of their eyes. "I'm definitely sure we can work something out." The alien captain said. "Magothi?"

Malcolm caught a whirr of movement out of the corner of his eye and only had enough time to blink before an excrutiating, burning sensation tore through his side. He clapped a hand over the wound and fell uncertainly to his knees, breathing heavily. Pain shot through his side, raced up his spine, and exploded in his brain. He vaguely heard cries of outrage and even a faint English, "I'm so sorry." as his world faded to black and rushed up to meet him.


A/N: Is it nerdy that I actually created a language for these aliens?

"Mak" is their "be" verb. Adding a "u" to it is the conjugation in the singular form. Adding "ut" makes it for plural subjects

"Natha" is their subject. He, she, and you. Adding a "t" makes it plural. We, us.

To make a participle, they add "chunto" to the end of the unconjugated verb,

...explaining everything will take too long, so I'll just translate everything.

"Mak thyunt! Natha maku zepul polut mak leth" - lit. Be silent! You are allowed not to be here.

"Nathat makut leth..." - lit. We are here...

"Magothi leth. Nathat cuzalaut skaki!" - lit. Magothi (name) here. We found scapegoat.

"Leth!" - lit. Here!

"Natha thenchuto akubuch. Zchtoka, natha maku nuthut purizo. Mackthu natha, notho bencho thenchuto polut." - lit. He was destroying weapons. According to our law (phrase=Zchtoka), he is our prisoner. Surrender him, your ship destroyed not.

I'm kind of super proud of that.

Read and review, please? =w=?