Chapter 21: Reed

When I entered his room, Phlox was sitting up in bed, looking surprisingly well. He was studying a PADD that he put down to greet me.

"Ah, Mr. Reed!" he exclaimed cheerfully, but his face went from delight to dismay in an instant. "What have you done to yourself now!"

I remembered that Emily had said something very similar when she had seen my face.

"I didn't exactly do it to myself, Doctor," I reminded him gently.

"Of course not, please forgive me," he allowed when I bent down so he could examine the cuts. "You were lucky your eye wasn't damaged. When it is healed, we can see about removing the scars, hmm?"

The bandage on his shoulder had been peeled back a bit, and sitting right on top of the surgical scar, looking rather fat and comfortable there, was an old friend of mine.

"My osmotic eel," Phlox said fondly, tickling one purple tentacle with the fingers of his left hand. "I believe you and he are well acquainted. Dr. Nerek was so kind as to fetch him for me, although he required some convincing. He also brought me my little Nausicaan friend here." He indicated the translator box that was sitting on his bedside table. "Of course, the Tellarite translators are far more sophisticated, but this little fellow is proving to be quite diverting during my confinement. I am teaching it Denobulan."

He reached over to turn it on and then told it, "Say good day to Mr. Reed, little one," after which he fed it a sentence of carefully pronounced Denobulan.

The little box sat and thought for a moment and then sang out excitedly, "Roll over, Fatty, let me squeeze thy…"

"Oh dear," Phlox said, turning it off. "I'm afraid Denobulan is a rather complex language. We are still working out the nuances. Have a look at this instead…"

He showed me the PADD he had been reading, which displayed some kind of scan of his shoulder joint.

"I am quite pleased with Dr. Nerek's work," he said happily. "The way he rebuilt the fibrocartilage around the glenoid cavity is really very ingenious. See here?" He pointed at a place in the image, and I nodded dutifully, having no bloody idea what I was looking at.

I lifted the package I had brought onto Phlox's lap and helped him remove the wrapping. His eyes widened in surprise.

"My frock!" he exclaimed. "Mr. Reed, you are a magician! Where did you find it?"

I admitted that the credit wasn't mine, and told him who was responsible for retrieving it instead.

"I must remember to thank the gentlemen," he said, "this is a very unexpected reunion. What an adventure it's had." He was smiling to himself, stroking the fabric lovingly with his left hand and looking so pleased that I felt a surge of warmth assaulting my cynical old heart.

He inquired after Emily and 'Mr. Bruff', and I updated him on the events. He was very relieved to hear that the first batch of medicine was running into young Tellarite veins as we spoke.

"It would appear that we have succeeded after all, despite all the difficulties we've had. It never does to give up optimism, hmm, Mr. Reed?"

I wasn't about to remind him that optimism wasn't a Reed family trait. But then, he probably already knew that.

Instead, I asked him to explain to me just what exactly had transpired in the lab, just prior to the shite hitting the ventilation system. There were still a few pieces of the puzzle I hadn't put together, most importantly why exactly a Tellarite medical assistant would want to destroy the osmium refinement process.

Phlox looked at me shrewdly. "Hmm...are you as well versed in chemistry as you are in newt wrangling?"

I laughed out loud at this. Someday, maybe over a pint or two, I might tell the good doctor about Cadet Reed's valiant last stand in the academy chemistry lab. But not today.

"I will try to explain it in laymen's terms then," Phlox said. "The refinement process turns the osmium into a chemical compound that attaches to certain receptors on the surface of nerve cells. This makes it impossible for the virus to bind to those receptors and enter the cells, which it must do in order to replicate. In other words, it renders the virus harmless, allowing the patient's immune system to quickly overwhelm and destroy it."

"I see. What was the stuff in that bloke's flask then?"

"A substance that corrupts the protective compound, thereby making the medication quite useless."

"…but why would he…?

"Because, at the same time, it does not affect the osmium's ability to react with oxygen to form osmium tetroxide."

"Ah. So you can still get high on it."

Phlox nodded. "If you are a Nausicaan, yes."

It was all falling into place now. "Is that what happened the first time they tried to refine it?"

"I believe so," Phlox said grimly. "Our friend most likely corrupted the first batch in a similar manner as he tried to do ours – only that there had been no vigilant tactical officer present who caught him in the act."

I acknowledged the compliment with a nod. "And if the osmium was ruined, they would have disposed of it…"

"…and no doubt the villain would have somehow appropriated the disposed material to sell to his Nausicaan associates."

Just how he had done this last bit was something that no doubt the Tellarite authorities were tickling out of him at this very moment. I was certain that he would receive no mercy. My memory conjured up the image of the sick little girl in Berk's arms – no, Verk's arms; his name was Verk, or maybe it had been the other one, Harv – and I decided that 'no mercy' was just fine with me.

I left Phlox to a well-deserved nap and made my way back through the hospital. As I wandered along the corridors, I passed a bathroom and went inside to relieve my bladder. The round holes in the wall were probably urinals, or at least I hoped that's what they were. Just as I unzipped and pulled out my gear, someone entered and stepped up to the hole next to me. I turned my head to nod a greeting. It was Borav.

I felt his eyes on me as we stood side by side, taking a companionable piss together. Something was odd about the whole thing, though. Borav exuded a brooding aura of malevolence, making my hackles go up.

The attack came so suddenly that I barely had time to move my hands from my zipper. He lunged for me, grabbing me by the jump suit, and although I managed to deliver a kick to his knee cap that made him groan in pain, he soon had me shoved up against the wall by my collar, my feet dangling off the ground.

"You," he growled through his teeth. "Explain!"

"…if you could be a bit more specific…" I croaked.

"What's that thing between you and Toilet Brush?"

"What?" I was genuinely surprised.

"I've seen the way she looks at you. She likes you."

"Oh, that. Well…you know the saying…there's no accounting for taste…"

"Don't give me any shit, Reedy." He shook me like rat. "I want to know what your intentions are towards her!"

"Intentions?" I couldn't help myself. This was priceless. I started to laugh, but it turned into a cough when he tightened his forearm across my throat.

"So you think this is funny, huh? Listen here, you little runt. I know Toilet Brush. She gets her heart broken by guys like you. I've seen it before. If you hurt her, I'll rip off your pitiful little balls and shove them down your throat."

"Fair enough." I strangled my laugh and decided to put an end to this nonsense. "You're a bloody fool, Borav, you know that? Take your paws off me and I'll explain it to you."

He narrowed his eyes at me but complied, letting me slide down the wall until my feet were back on the ground. My zipper was still down to my crotch and my junk was hanging out. Just spectacular. I pushed Borav away from me and took a moment to straighten myself out.

"I'm waiting," he reminded me warningly. "You and Toilet Brush."

I sighed. "You want some advice, Borav? Call her 'Emily'."

"What the hell for?"

"It's her name, you gormless knob!"

He stared at me, and I realized then just how completely clueless he was.

"Look," I told him. "I'm going to be out of her life in a day or two. She might never see me again. But you - she's known you for years. You're her friend. Be a little nice to her, and you might actually stand a chance."

He seemed genuinely taken aback. "I'm always nice to her," he protested.

"You call her 'Toilet Brush', for bollocks' sake!" I shook my head. "You know, compared to Tellarites, Human women may have slightly elevated standards where 'nice' is concerned."

"How so?" he snarled. "Explain!"

I sighed, shaking my head. "They like to be complimented, you know. They like pretty things. I don't know, try buying her a dress, or some flowers, or take her someplace beautiful. Tell her she's pretty…"

"She's not pretty," he pointed out.

"Tell her anyway. If you do it right, she'll believe you. If you get it really right, you'll even believe it yourself."

I could have pinched myself. Was this really Malcolm Reed, relationship arsonist and emotional wrecking-ball, dispensing dating advice in some alien loo to the only bloke in the universe who was even more of a plank in such matters than himself? Reality seemed to have taken a sudden left turn, and for a terrible moment I thought I was going to lose it on the spot and go into hysterics.

Borav was still working things out in his head. "Toilet Brush in a dress?" he mused, his brow furrowed.

"You'd be surprised, mate," I told him.

"Emily," he mumbled to himself, trying it out. "Em-mil-ly. Huh."

Abruptly, he turned and walked away. "Later, runt," he called over his shoulder, leaving me standing there among the urinals, wondering if I should laugh or cry.

What was that old classic TV show Trip liked to watch? Ah yes, of course.

Welcome to the 'Twilight Zone', Loo-tenant.