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The ship must be destroyed. You will not fail.

The message ran through the man's mind incessantly as he walked towards his destination.

Destroyed. Yes, this time the ship would be destroyed.

His hand closed around a small device. Small and deadly. He must act naturally. And fast.

A moment, and it would be over. No one would feel a thing.

Trip checked the time: twenty-three-fifty. His legs wanted to take him to his quarters and bed, but sleep was out of the question in their current situation.

As he walked towards his destination, he curbed the desire to quicken his pace. He needed the little bit of extra time to think.

He felt totally scrambled, not to mention torn and conflicted. Actually, he felt like a damned betrayer: he hadn't told Archer that it had been Malcolm who had suggested that that specific component of the phase cannon should be checked. The fact could mean only two things: either Malcolm knew nothing about the sabotage and had had a surprising hunch; or something was really wrong with him and he was trying to divert suspicion away from himself by putting them on the right track.

Trip entered the turbo lift and pressed the button to B deck.

He wanted to speak to the man first, and lay things out in the open, even at the risk of a harsh reprimand from Archer. He would ask Malcolm about the component and about his mission; he would force him to open up; he would be the friend he hadn't been up to now.

Trip was so absorbed in his thoughts that he hurried out of the lift without looking, bumping into Hoshi.

"Commander!"

"Sorry, Hoshi," Trip said, helping her regain her balance.

"Is something wrong?" she asked with a frown. "I mean, other than the obvious," she added deadpan.

Body language was still a language, and this was the Communication Officer, Trip realised. "I..." He winced. "I'm worried about a friend," he said.

"Malcolm?" Hoshi asked outright.

He should have imagined she would guess. It wasn't difficult.

"Yeah."

"I just wish the man weren't so uncommunicative," Hoshi said pensively. "I'm concerned about him too. He seems... distant."

"Have you and T'Pol found anything more about that virus?" Trip enquired. Malcolm had the knowledge to hack a computer, if he wanted to.

Hoshi's mouth twitched to the side, making a dimple of worry appear. "We aren't one hundred percent sure yet, but seems very likely it was programmed from the Armoury. T'Pol wants to be certain, though, before going to the Captain."

Trip felt his muscles clench. "Dammit," he mumbled. There was no time to waste. "Keep me posted," he said. Squeezing Hoshi's shoulder, he rushed off without waiting for a reply. The knot in his stomach was so tight that it was beginning to hurt.

Unfortunately it got even tighter when, a couple of minutes later, he found himself standing outside Malcolm's quarters, waiting in vain for the man to answer the door bell.

Leaning with his back against the bulkhead, Trip pinched the bridge of his nose. This was not right. Where could Malcolm be, this late at night? He hastened to the nearest comm. link.

"Tucker to T'Pol."

"Go ahead," the level voice replied without delay.

"Can you check Malcolm's whereabouts for me?"

The few seconds of wait felt like ages. When the answer came, it was in a voice that, even for a Vulcan, sounded somewhat puzzled.

"He appears to be heading for the hatch leading to the upper catwalk in Engineering."

"T'Pol, I don't like this," Trip said tautly. "I'm going to Engineering. Ask Müller to join me. Armed. Tell him to go in through the upper hatch. I'll take the lower one."

"Understood."

The tension in T'Pol's voice had been palpable, and gave Trip a flashback of the days when the stressful events of Terra Prime had brought the Vulcan's feeling closer to the surface. Shoving the thought aside, he rushed to the closest weapons' locker, where he punched in his code and grabbed a phase pistol. Checking its setting, he switched its power cell on and broke into a run towards his department.

By the time he entered Engineering, his heart was beating a fast drum in his chest. This late at night the room was sparsely manned, and his eyes were immediately drawn to Hannah Hess, who was cleaning her hands on a rag, discussing something with a crewman.

"Commander," she said, becoming aware of him. Her brow creased in a frown at the sight of the phase pistol in his hand.

"Have you seen…" Trip started. But his voice died on his lips when movement caught the corner of his eye. Lifting his gaze, he felt his mouth go dry: a figure was crouching on top of the warp engine.

"Malcolm!" he cried out.

Pivoting on his feet, one hand to the ground to balance himself, Malcolm turned and blinked. "The ship must be destroyed," he said like an automaton, raising his other hand, in which was a small device.

"No!" Trip shouted. "Listen to me! Your job is to defend this ship. You are the Armoury Officer!"

Confusion fleetingly crossed Malcolm's features.

"Look, come down, and we'll sort things out," Trip urged, trying to curb the panic in his voice. "Malcolm, please…"

Malcolm's eyes suddenly hardened again. "I will not fail," he said, his words ringing out clearly in the stunned silence.

Quickly raising his pistol, Trip tensed and aimed. But before he could press the trigger, another beam flashed, and Malcolm crumpled, revealing Müller on the upper catwalk behind him; then the limp body slid off the engine and crashed on top of a console, finally dropping like deadweight to the ground.

Trip watched in horror as it began to convulse.

"Get Phlox," he shouted, as he tore the dirty rag out of Hess's hands and hurried to the fallen man's side.

"Hess to sickbay…"

The woman's frantic voice faded in the background, for another voice was echoing in Trip's mind: Don't you know me? It's as if you were talking to a bloody stranger. As he gently turned Malcolm on his side and slid the cloth under his head, he wondered what had happened to his friend to turn him into this stranger who had wanted to kill them all, and himself in the process.

Why had he waited this long to try and speak to him? Damn it...

"Hold on, Malcolm," he said bitterly, "Help is on its way." He undid a few buttons of the man's black undershirt and put a hand on his shoulder, fighting the urge to withdraw it from the disturbing spasms. He wanted Malcolm to feel his presence, wanted to be there for him, at least now. Hopefully it wasn't too late to be his friend.

Blood was trickling down a cut on Malcolm's forehead, where a bruise was darkening, a consequence of his fall; and his eyes were glassed-over. Trip averted his gaze.

"Sir," a numb voice said.

Müller was a few steps away, looking petrified.

Feeling sorry for the man, Trip croaked out, "You did the right thing, Ensign."

Bernhard shook his head, swallowing hard, and his green gaze shifted from Malcolm to Trip. "There is a charge magnetised to the warp engine, Commander," he said tautly.

"What?" Trip scrunched his eyes shut. "The detonator," he said, flashing them open again. He checked Malcolm's hands, but they were empty. "He must have lost it in the fall."

Dropping on all fours, Müller started searching.

Trip wanted to join him, but Malcolm was still seizing. His eyelids had drifted closed and a soft, pained moan escaped his lips. Trip tightened the grip on his shoulder. "The Doc will be here soon, Malcolm," he said, silently urging the physician to hurry.

"Here it is, Commander!" a voice exclaimed. From under the engine Müller re-emerged, studying a small device in his hands. "Oh, hell," he cursed darkly. "It needs a code to be turned off."

Just then Phlox and his medics burst in, a bit out of breath. The Denobulan took in the scene and rushed to their side.

"What happened?" he asked, kneeling down.

Trip moved out of his way. "Malcolm threatened to blow the ship up; we had to stun him," he explained, surprised that his voice was more or less steady. "Fell from the top of the warp engine and started convulsing."

"How long has it been?" the Doctor calmly enquired as he passed a medical scanner over the shuddering body.

Trip bit his lip, trying to concentrate. "I'm not sure. Two minutes, three… A few seconds before Hess paged you."

With fast and practised movements Phlox put the scanner away and loaded a hypospray. A moment later there was a hiss as it was discharged into Malcolm's bloodstream. The Lieutenant's body, however, refused to still.

"Let's get him to sickbay," Phlox ordered, his voice laced with unusual concern.

The medics carefully transferred Malcolm onto a gurney, and they were gone.

Trip turned to Bernhard. "Is it safe to detach that charge?" he asked, passing his good hand nervously through his hair. "We could transport it out."

"I wouldn't do that, Sir," Müller replied, shaking his head thoughtfully. "Moving it might set it off, and transporting it almost certainly will." With a huff he added, "Even scanning it might be dangerous."

Trip clenched his jaw. "Can you defuse it, then?"

Müller was silent for a long moment, green eyes veiled with concern. "Lieutenant Reed is the expert, but…" He grimaced. "I suppose I'm the next choice, though it's rather more responsibility that I'd like, Commander."

Trip rubbed his chin. "I can't blame you," he commented softly. "Does it pose any immediate danger?"

"No, Sir. But it is a charge sitting on top of a warp engine…"

Trip turned to Hess. "Hannah, contact the helm and have them drop out of warp. We need to take the warp drive offline." To Müller, he said wryly, "Keep an eye on the damn thing."

"Even two, Sir," the Ensign replied darkly.

Trip strode to the nearest comm. link and heaved a steadying breath. "Tucker to Archer," he paged. Jon was not going to like this.

TBC