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They were small and plain enough not to arouse any suspicion if they were ever found. Malcolm looked at the two pips in the cup of his hand, and pursed his lips. Two – like the two people who had been his family over the past three months. Valuable to him though valued little – like this woman and child who had risked so much to help a perfect stranger. Difficult to part from – yes, it was as difficult to part from these two pips, which signified so much to him, as from Reeba and Zen. But in all likelihood he would not need the former any more, nor see the latter.

Malcolm crouched silently near Zen's mat and let the two pips slide off his hand onto a low stool that acted as a bedside table. He let his eyes linger a moment on the boy's face, peaceful in sleep, feeling guilt eat at him for sneaking away without saying good-bye. But he knew he probably wouldn't be able to look into Zen's eyes and say the words. Or Reeba's eyes. Pain stabbed his heart and he clenched his jaw against it. He hoped this child and his mother would understand and forgive him, and accept the small gift of his pips as something to remember him by.

Glancing up towards the window, Malcolm pushed to his feet and straightened his shoulders. It was very early morning and still dark outside, just what he needed to get away from the house without being detected.

With the stealth born of his training he opened the window and climbed out, letting himself drop to the ground. He landed in a crouch with a soft thump that didn't carry far. The jump had only been some one and a half meters, but he had to pause a moment to let the dizziness pass, hands on the ground to stabilize himself.

He was travelling light: he had taken nothing with him other than his – albeit unserviceable – communicator, a blanket and a kitchen knife. Well, what else would he need? He had no illusions to last long out in the open on this planet – survival training notwithstanding. Lighting a fire would be out of the question: too risky. But it wouldn't be the cold to kill him, temperatures were pretty mild; no… Without a fire he would have to survive on the few berries and wild fruits Zen had taught him to recognise, and he doubted there would be enough nourishment in those to keep him alive for long.

Chasing these grim thoughts aside, Malcolm slowly rose to his feet. Time to leave and face his fate. Quietly skirting the side of the house, he rounded the corner, crossed the back yard, and disappeared into the wood, without turning to cast that last, difficult glance at the place that had begun to feel like home.

He wasn't aimless: he had wandered this wood several times, because it was the only outdoor place where he had felt truly safe. It was thick, with a lot of underbrush, and deserted; he had used it as a hiding place when the Elk had come for their inspections, but also taken a few walks in it, alone and with Zen. During those outings he had made a point of noticing a few things, in case he ever had to leave his haven. Well, now that time had come.

There was a brook a few miles to the west; he should trace it back and up the foot of the mountain. With a bit of luck there might be caves a little higher up. Malcolm focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on negotiating the rough terrain; he told himself that that needed his full concentration, but the truth was he wanted to keep his mind off other things. He had a penchant for seeing the glass half empty, and now it seemed as dry as a desert; although he doubted even Trip would find cause for optimism in his position.

Trip and Enterprise were all that filled his thoughts, when that night he stretched out under the stars, having found no cave to protect him. He had long pushed the starship to the back of his mind, to dull the pain of knowing that he would not see it again. When was the last time he had actually, actively thought of it, and seen the crew's faces so vividly? Malcolm pulled the blanket up to his chin, more for comfort than for necessity.

He gazed at the unfamiliar constellations, still such a beautiful sight even under the circumstances. Where was Enterprise now, in that black sea above him? Why had they not found him? The energy discharges that had hit his pod had been no joke: they should have seen them, damn it! And hadn't they seen the planet suddenly de-cloak? Hadn't they tracked his descent vector and landing coordinates?

Malcolm turned abruptly onto his side, and brought his knees closer to his chest. Enough of searching the skies; enough of asking himself pointless questions. He had already been through that so many times, and what had he gained? Only that he had felt something die within him, a little more every time. Why torture himself?

Well, he knew why. He wasn't afraid to die, but he was bloody well furious that it should happen just when he had found his place in life. He missed Enterprise; missed the Armoury with its men and women, his men and women. He missed his friends, his Captain; missed T'Pol's Vulcan ways. Hell, he even missed Phlox. Most of all he missed the Southern drawl of a certain Engineer who had refused to be discouraged by his introvert nature, and had dragged him along on the path of gregariousness. He still had to go a long way on it; still needed guidance.

Bloody hell, Trip, where are you?

A week later

"There is a cluster of white dwarves, some half a light year away." T'Pol touched a slender finger to the image on the display of the situation room's table; then looked up.

Her eyes appeared expectant; possibly – for her – also a little troubled, but Archer ignored that, nodding. "Set a course, Travis," he said, feigning an interest he did not feel.

"Captain, those white dwarves are not liable to be any different from the ones Enterprise already encountered in the past," a mildly cautious voice objected.

Archer schooled his features. After his evening with Trip in Malcolm's quarters he had brought the ship back to the spot where Malcolm had disappeared and was leading them in circles, and they all knew it. Literally: in wider and wider circles around the place where the pod had vanished. He had asked T'Pol not to stop working at the mystery of that cloaking field, studying the data she had collected; and in the meantime he had ordered Enterprise on a circular course that would take them very slowly and gradually away from the X spot.

He had been buying time; they all knew it. They all knew that he didn't give a damn about today's white dwarves or yesterday's nebula; but today, for the first time, someone was questioning his behaviour, and that someone was T'Pol. He suspected she was beginning to doubt his sanity; or perhaps she had come to the conclusion that there was no way she could pierce that cloaking field and was trying to find a way to tell him that it was finally time they went on their way for good.

"They are… larger than the ones we have already studied," Archer said, his eyes darting briefly to the other officers around the situation table. Trip was leaning with both hands on it, carefully avoiding his gaze; Travis had lifted his eyebrows in mild amusement – bless his sunny disposition; Hoshi was nodding; and Müller… well, the man would be all for exploring something as innocuous as a group of white dwarves: anything, as long as it didn't involve having to make first contact.

T'Pol tilted her head questioningly, cocking a delicate eyebrow.

Before her logic could give another blow to his already deflated hope, though, Archer repeated, "Set a course, Travis," adding for the rest of his senior staff, "I'll be in my ready room."

Deliberately taking the route around the table that would avoid his crossing T'Pol's path, Archer ran up the few steps and pressed the button that would open the doors to his refuge. He quickly walked inside, wondering how much longer he could escape T'Pol's reservations.

"Good morning, Captain."

A man was standing in the middle of the room and Archer froze. But actually, as he recovered from his surprise, his blood began to boil.

"Daniels! If you have something to do with my Armoury Officer's disappearance, I swear to you, I will…"

"I do not, Captain, I assure you," Daniels hurried to say, raising pacifying hands. "In fact, I'm here to help you get him back."

The man smiled that innocent smile of his, and Archer narrowed his eyes dangerously. "Tell me all you know about it," he ordered though gritted teeth, even as the hope that was suddenly being rekindled in him gave him a wild impulse to hug his former steward.

"Lieutenant Reed is on a planet called Elkan'Tfuria."

"A planet? Where is it?"

"Behind the cloaking field."

Archer couldn't keep his jaw from dropping. The field had been a large one, true, but a whole planet…

Daniels tilted his head. "The Elk – Elkan'Tfuria's more numerous, dominant species – are extremely xenophobic," he explained. "They have enslaved the Tfu – the second, more intelligent species – and had them develop a huge cloaking field to keep the planet hidden. Any vessel that inadvertently crosses it is incapacitated by automated bolts of energy which, depending on the vessel's size and shielding, may just knock its systems out or outright destroy it."

Archer felt his spirits drop into his boots. "What about Malcolm's shuttlepod?" he asked tightly.

Daniels grimaced. "The Lieutenant made a rather rough landing."

"Is he...?"

"He's fine," his former steward said, although he rushed to add, "Sort of."

"Dammit, Daniels, stop speaking in riddles!" Archer hissed. He much preferred when the man had just brought him scrambled eggs in the morning.

Daniels's hands came up again. "Captain, Lieutenant Reed was injured, but he recovered. The biggest threat for him at the moment is that his physiology is not exactly thriving on that planet."

Breaking his immobility for the first time, Archer took a step forward. "Why the hell are you telling me this, now?"

To his credit, Daniels looked sympathetic. "It took me a while to convince my superiors that we should help you retrieve the Lieutenant." He sighed. "I can't tell you too much, Captain but… you'll have to… well, in a future that is not too far you'll be much better off with Malcolm Reed beside you as Armoury Officer."

Archer frowned, pausing a moment to mull the mysterious words. "Are you even allowed to change things like that?" he eventually enquired, worry tingeing his voice. "I thought screwing with events as they happen was forbidden." He wanted to bring Malcolm home, but also wanted to make sure that meddling with things wouldn't cause some universal catastrophe.

"Not ordinarily," Daniels admitted a bit hesitantly. Recovering his self-confidence, he added, "But – trust me, Captain – I wouldn't help you if I couldn't. And you'll be grateful that I did: you'll want to have Reed with you when the time comes."

Archer felt a shiver run down his spine, but forced himself to focus on the present. "I want to have Reed with me now," he said, feeling his facial muscles harden. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Daniels smiled disarmingly. "Shall we ask your helmsman to change course?" He made a courteous gesture with his hand. "After you, Captain."

TBC