I totally agree with STReader's review to Begoogled's Break Travis Month story: she did a geat job to flesh out Travis's character (go read Gargalesis if you haven't, it's grea fun!). Admittedly I didn't manage as much in this - sorry! Malcolm always manages to take my hand!

§ 12 §

Flat against the wall by the lab door, Malcolm got his scanner out again. Maybe inside the house it would be kind enough to work?

Damn.

Either inside walls were also shielded on this planet, or no one was at home. But if no one was in the house, why would there be an open window? No – they must be here.

He put an ear to the door. Again, not a sound. With measured movements, he put away the scanner and reached behind his back for his phase pistol. He took a deep breath and flung the door open.


"Commander?"

That one word alone – Commander – told Trip Jon's state of mind: concern was eating at him. Trip had gone up to the ready room to give Archer a report on their laborious progress. He could just as well have pushed a button and done it through the comm., but he wanted to look his Captain in the eye when he told him they were behind schedule. He was tired and frustrated and felt that for a moment he could use the proximity of a close friend, of someone who'd take a look at him and know how he felt. Besides, he could use a few minutes' break. Clear his mind. Hess and Rostov were more than capable of carrying on without him for a while.

Now that he looked at Archer, though, he felt even worse about breaking the news.

"More slowly than I'd thought, Capt'n," Trip said wearily. He passed a hand over his face; the stubble there was beginning to bother him. "Whatever has screwed the thing up? I want to make sure I know what it is. It can't happen again; not when we have people to bring back."

Archer's eyes bore into him, and Trip could read a whole lot of emotions there; but understanding was prominent, as it always was.

"Hoshi has lost Malcolm's biosigns," the Captain said quietly. "Prep a shuttlepod and keep it ready to leave.

A lesser Captain might have released some tension and vented it on his subordinate; barked to get a move on and be worth the money Starfleet was spending on him. Not this Captain. It was all it took to give Trip back his old resolve.

"I'll fly it myself, if necessary, and fight off whatever they throw at us," he said in a determined voice. An idea struck him. "Capt'n, what if I prepped that Suliban cell ship? Its cloakin' device's come already handy once, on a rescue mission..."

Archer's green eyes narrowed. "Can you fly it without Travis's help?"

Trip let himself go to a smile. "Piece of cake."


Travis was lying face up on a flat surface in the middle of the room. In a fraction of a second Malcolm's mind had registered the fact, but he forced himself to drag his eyes away and focus on the rest. Arms outstretched, phase pistol at the ready, he scanned the place visually as he took one quick step inside and leaned with his back on the wall just beside the door. His heart was racing and he badly wanted to take a better look at his friend; rush to him, check his vital signs; yet his tactical mind was stalling him, analysing the situation, sniffing out dangers.

More or less recognisable pieces of equipment lining the room... Tiles on the floor and walls... A sink... A desk... Green capes hanging on the far wall... No windows... No mad doctors... Only that immobile form in the middle of the room.

Dear God.

In a flash, Malcolm crossed to his friend and placed two fingers at the base of his neck, trying to ignore the stains on the biobed and the blood; and especially the man's eyes, which were not quite closed. Where the hell was that pulse? And then he almost got dizzy with relief: a faint throb – life. He allowed himself a better look at Travis's body – what he could see of it, for the man was covered up to the waist by a light sheet. It was a battlefield. There were signs of incisions, roughly stitched. A thin tube protruded from an arm; it was stopped at the end, but Malcolm could tell that it was filled with blood. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder: his skin felt cold and clammy.

Thoughts teemed in Malcolm's mind. He had to get Travis back on Enterprise as quickly as possible. He'd have to carry him back to the... But wouldn't that aggravate his injuries? There was nothing else he could do. No, wait – he should page the ship right now and have him transported out while he returned to-

"So you've come."

The words had hardly been spoken than Malcolm let himself drop to the floor and rolled, wanting to land back on his feet and blindly discharge his phase pistol in the direction of the voice. He had forgotten about those thorns: white pain erupted in his arm, and his weapon almost fell out of his hand.

Bloody fool! He had let his emotions take over, and turned his back to the door; lowered his guard, like a damn novice!

He never had a chance. Something hit him in the chest and he was sent flying back a distance. A harsh laugh – a laugh fraught with mockery – echoed in the room.

"You disappoint me, Lieutenant. I thought you'd offer more of a challenge."

Sprawled on the floor, Malcolm fought to keep his mind from folding. Things were a confused jumble; all he knew was that what had hit him on his sternum must be a battering-ram. He didn't know if he could move, or even where he was. But his memory got jolted pretty fast when a face came looming over him. Dvo'we jabbed a syringe into his neck and he was stunned enough that he could do nothing about it.

"I doubt you'll prove very useful for my research," the man said disparagingly, studying him as he would a lab rat. He shrugged. "But you never know."

"Don't count on my collaboration," Malcolm choked out.

Another laugh echoed off the tiles. "That's a good one! Don't worry. I won't need it."

There was a tingling sensation all over Malcom's body; he tried to move and his limbs responded sluggishly.

Standing up again, Dvo'we nudged Malcolm none too kindly with one foot. "Aren't you frozen yet?" he asked impatiently.

Fury rose through Malcolm like hot lava through a volcano. Damn, but he wouldn't fail like this. With a growl he summoned all he had and kicked his legs like a scissor, managing to take the feet from under the Doctor. He was thoroughly pleased to see the cold eyes go wide with surprise as the man crashed to the floor; his next kick was aimed at the Ajfwqa'we's 'centre of balance', that protuberance that looked so much like a nose. Harris would be proud at how he had filed that precious piece of information away.

Even sluggish fingers could manage the little pressure on the trigger it took to fire a phase pistol. A moment later Dvo'we slumped unconscious.

"Go visit whatever hell spat you out, Doctor," Malcolm rasped. And be grateful I am not as unprincipled as you are, or you'd be dead by now – he silently added.

Malcolm fell back and groaned. That beam hadn't quite managed to send him into the world of dreams, but had added a dull pain in his chest to the list of injuries. Reality was a pretty unsteady thing right now, and God only knew what Dvo'we had injected into him. It would be so good to slump on the floor and let himself drift away... Instead, with an effort, he rolled onto his side, clear-headed enough at least to choose the uninjured one this time.

He stayed like that for a long moment, trying to summon the energy for what he knew he must do, expecting any moment to feel the effects of whatever drug was coursing through his bloodstream. What had Dvo'we said? Frozen? He must move, dammit.

With difficulty, he made it to his knees. Things were blurred; he hung his head, closing his eyes – and there was Travis, his worrisome image perfectly clear against the backdrop of his mind. There was no time to waste. His head seemed to weigh a ton right now, but he lifted it back up. The sink was nearby... Come on, Lieutenant. He grabbed its edge, and ignoring the pins and needles in his body pulled himself upright. Things were really swimming now. The few steps to cross to Travis were quite a challege. He swayed like a drunkard and it was a miracle he didn't end up draped on his unconscious friend.

The communicator. Where was the bloody thing? It wasn't as if the trousers the quartermaster had given him to appear like an Ajfwqa'we had so very many pockets; and two of them had been taken by those ridiculous fake hands Trip had... Ah – there.

"Reed to Enterprise." Malcolm cleared his throaty voice and tried again. "Enterprise, respond."

Think, you dumb – the shielding…

Groping about, he staggered to the corridor, and then to the door. He fumbled with the alien opening device, and finally made it to the outside.

"Reed to Enterprise."

"Yes, Lieutenant, we're here," this time someone promptly replied.

Archer. The Captain's firm voice pierced Malcolm's soul like a ray of sunshine, helping him recover some lucidity. He might be in a hole, but he wasn't alone.

"You must transport Travis out, Sir. He needs urgent medical assistance. I'll follow with-"

"Sorry, Malcolm," Archer interrupted. "The transporter is out. We'll have to come and get you the old-fashioned way."

Malcolm grimaced against the onslaught of this new setback. "That's too dangerous, Sir. They'll detect the shuttlepod and intercept it."

"Not if it's cloaked."

"Cloaked?" Malcolm frowned in puzzlement, his mind still foggy. Where had they ever acquired cloaking technology? But Archer gave him no time to think.

"T'Pol has triangulated your position," he went on urgently. "South of the building you're in, about half a kilometre away, is the beach. Can you get Travis out to it without being too conspicuous?"

"Positive, Captain."

"Then do it. We're coming to get you. Archer out."

Malcolm leaned with both outstretched arms on the house's wall, head dangling between his shoulders. How much time did he have? If it launched now, a shuttlepod would take about twenty minutes to reach them. He had to get a move on. But his tongue had obviously been disconnected from his brain. The way he felt right now, it would be strenuous carrying his own sorry self around, let alone a hefty man like Travis.

And yet it took but a shadow to enter his peripheral vision for his body to find unexpected vitality. Malcolm dove to the side. The world started spinning and the pain in his shoulder threatened to take him out, but the warmth of phaser beams cracking beside him kept him rolling.

A security guard. He should have known.

The corner of the house. With a last effort, Malcolm rolled behind it; then turned on his belly and did some target practice of his own. The man had been sure too early of his victory, and was in full view. A moment later he had slumped to the ground.

Any more surprises? Malcolm painfully reached for his scanner. It showed no other biosigns than his own, at least on the outside perimeter of the house. He didn't think Dvo'we would have more than one security guard, but he'd keep all senses on the alert – or rather as alert as he currently could.

With a grunt he pushed to his feet; and staggered to the guard. Good thing he always carried around one pair of handcuffs with him. You never knew when they'd come handy – like now.

Dvo'we. The man supposedly would be unconscious for a while longer, but he'd better make sure he too posed no more danger. He stumbled back to the lab and looked around for something to fetter him with. Then his eyes went back to Travis: the man was in restraints.

Well, Doctor. I think I'll let you try some of your own medicine.


"Ga'we!"

The call didn't go very far; Malcolm was out of breath. His head was a beehive and his legs were going to fold at any time; his body didn't want to stop tingling. He didn't know how he had managed to come this far. He swayed, perilously out of balance, and leaned one hand against a tree-trunk – blessedly not one of those thorny ones – to keep himself upright. Where was the bloody Doctor? There was the egg-mobile, in the distance. Couldn't he see him? Travis was deadweight on his shoulder and he was coming to his last drop of fuel.

Twenty – thirty metres more. Clenching his jaw, he pushed off and took another step, sheer will-power giving him energy he was sure he didn't have. Now he could see through the vehicle's darkened glasses. Ga'we seemed to be on the back seat with Echia and...

Malcolm let Travis slip to the ground, too exhausted to shout again; finally Ga'we spied him. He threw one door open and Malcolm caught sight of bare skin, and of Echia being stretched out on the seat.

What the hell was going on? Surely not… The twins where wailing at the top of their lungs. They seemed out of control.

"Doctor, you're needed," Malcolm said harshly over the din. "My friend's condition is critical!"

Ga'we spared him a shocked look; then his eyes shifted to Travis and darkened with worry. Finally he turned back to Echia. "I'll be back," he said. He jumped out of the car and crouched by Travis. In his hand, as if by magic, a medical scanner had appeared. A few seconds, and he was shaking his head. "His vital signs are very faint, he's slipping away," he said tautly.

"He's not going to," Malcolm growled. "You hear me?" He grabbed Ga'we by the shirt, despair and frustration getting the better of him. They were so close... "Do something! There is a shuttlepod on the way, it will be here in minutes!"

Ga'we got up abruptly and ran to the vehicle. A moment later he was back with a Doctor's bag. He rummaged through it and got out a syringe.

"What's that?" Malcolm asked.

A strangled cry came from the car. "Thar!"

Ga'we made to stand up again; but Malcolm pulled him back down. "This man needs you," he said in his most dangerous voice. "For heaven's sake, anything else can wait!"

The Doctor held his gaze, and there was no mistaking the anger that set his features. "My wife is about to give birth," he spat out, jerking his arm away from Malcolm's grip and sending spikes up his limb. He glanced at the car, looking torn; then his gaze bore into Malcolm's eyes. "If you want me to try and save your friend, the least you can do is help my son come into the world."

Malcolm blinked. His mind was in a vortex. He must be dreaming. "Birth?" he croaked out. Echia hadn't looked pregnant. The import of Ga'we's words eventually reached his sluggish brain. "Help her give birth?" he cried out. "I'm no bloody obstetrician!"

"Just do it," Ga'we barked. "I can assure you she'll do most of the job."

TBC

Looking forward to your comments!