Disclaimer: Star Trek Enterprise belongs to Paramount, not me.
Chapter 13
Divergence II
The door to the Brig opened to admit Captain Archer. He strode in and opened Lieutenant's Reed cell.
"We are above Qu'Vat. Thanks to our Klingon friend, we know that this is where they have taken Phlox." He announced tersely. "I am going to beam down there with him. I need one other person to come with me to cover us. I don't want to endanger anyone else on board. Are you in?"
Reed could read between the lines well. He mentally translated – I care about everyone on board. Less about you, traitor. Yet, I am giving you a choice to redeem yourself.
"Yes, sir. Whatever it takes to get our doctor back."
The underground laboratory shook under the orbital bombardment.
Reed was covering the corridor, closely monitoring the conversation behind him. There was always a chance of the situation escalating beyond the veneer of civility it had now. And he could not afford any more mistakes. The doctor and Captain came first. This was his last chance to gain at least tolerance, if not forgiveness from his commanding officer. His ears pricked suddenly.
"I could finish the antivirus in less time if I had a human host to replicate enough antibodies," the Denobulan was informing Captain Archer in a strained voice.
"And you have him, doctor." Malcolm stepped in their conversation quickly, before his Captain with his self-sacrificing streak could stand up and offer himself as the test tribble.
"Lieutenant, I would have to expose you to the plague. I cannot predict what it might do to you," came the frantic warning.
"Would it give you the cure?" Captain Archer asked the Denobulan doctor.
"Unquestionably."
"Then you are wasting time, doctor. Lieutenant Reed volunteered." The harsh voice of their commanding officer allowed no argument. "Get what you need. I will prepare Lieutenant."
Archer indicated the Klingon diagnostic chair with a twitch of his head, already heading towards it.
Malcolm eyed the contraption doubtfully, but after an impatient glare from his commanding officer stepped up and sat in it gingerly.
The cold restraints encircled his wrists and ankles, pinning him in place with a sense of finality.
"Captain, I just wanted…" The bound man started carefully, wanting to express his sorrow over their circumstances and to apologize.
"Don't. You volunteered. Whatever is coming, you volunteered, remember?" Malcolm was harshly interrupted by the Enterprise's captain.
A dejected "Yes, sir," was the only answer he felt he could give in that moment.
"In addition to the virus, I am injecting you with a metabolic catalyst to accelerate your immune response. It will not be pleasant Lieutenant." The doctor warned him one more time, holding the hypospray ready.
He tightly nodded in assent, starting to feel a bit light-headed and offered his neck to the Denobulan.
Very soon after the concoction had been injected into his system, he could feel the first symptoms.
The slight sensation of pins and needles in extremities started to quickly morph into an acute pain there, spreading to his torso and reaching his head, incessantly pounding.
He started to sweat profusely, jerking the next minute spasmodically against the restraints.
The muscle spasms were morphing into full-blown convulsions little by little.
He could feel himself starting to wheeze, fighting for each following intake of breath.
He tipped over the edge into an abyss of pain, being cut off from his reason, starting to lose senses one by one.
He was dimly aware of strong, calloused hands holding him down, a hypospray at his neck again, drawing burning blood from him.
No relief.
His focus started to narrow down.
The breathing was getting harder by the second, every intake of breath like liquid fire and the sweetest water at the same time, scorching and satisfying.
He was dimly aware of an exclamation somewhere behind him, something about having the cure.
He knew that his body was producing the antibodies against the plague at a quickened rate, but there was still the plague in his body, replicating and eating him from inside out.
He realized with surprising clarity that this was it – that's where his life was going to end. He knew it with a visceral certainty that was so simple in its understanding.
He betrayed his captain.
And his captain decided that this was how he goes – in pain, and reduced to a lab tribble, deserving of every ounce of pain the plague could give him and then some. Beyond even the dignity of a painkiller to ease the way.
Phlox exhaled loudly, leaning his hands on the lab table in front of him.
The Klingon Admiral had called off the attack, they were free to go up to the Enterprise and start producing the anti-viral in bulk quantities for the afflicted population.
He turned from the table, noticed that Captain Archer was to the side of the room, intently talking to a communicator – no doubt planning their extraction.
His gaze fell to Lieutenant Reed, momentarily forgotten on the examination chair, still bound, ashen face slick with sweat and relaxed in unconsciousness.
Phlox crossed the room, intent on releasing the man from his restraints at least.
The Denobulan crouched down, carefully releasing the leg bindings and then the arm cuffs. The unresponsive body tilted forward onto him.
He slowly pushed it backward, gently slapping the Lieutenant's face with his hand.
"Wake up, Lieutenant."
There was no reaction whatsoever to the slap.
Phlox frowned.
That was unusual – unless the Lieutenant went into deeper unconsciousness than anticipated.
His sense of smell suddenly alerted him to the stink of human urine.
Phlox's heart and the elated smile froze at the same moment.
He quickly moved his hand to search for a pulse at one of the bruised wrists, and the other hand tilted Lieutenant's face to the light, opening one of his eyes to check on his pupils.
Bloodshot sclera.
No pupil reaction to light.
No pulse to be found.
"Captain! Emergency transport to Enterprise, now!" Phlox suddenly shouted in an urgent tone.
Archer whirled around, mentally ready to deal with the Klingons attacking his doctor, hand with a phase pistol going up to aim.
He froze when his eyes took in the sight in front of him.
Phlox was manhandling an unresponsive Malcolm from the chair, laying him down on the floor and tilting his head back. He started to administer the CPR.
"Captain, the transporter! Now!"
It was several hours after the anti-viral drug was dispensed among the colony population and negotiating with Krell was over, when Captain Archer wandered into the Sickbay.
He realized that he was worried sick about his Tactical Officer, not able to get the sight of Phlox resuscitating him out of his mind.
The pale, slack face was burned into his memory vividly.
"Doctor. How is Malcolm?"
The look he got from the usually cheerful Denobulan caused the general unease, he felt from the time they beamed aboard, to transfer into something far much uglier.
"Follow me, Captain."
Phlox lead him through the partition between the sickbay and one of the laboratories.
There was a shape beneath a blanket that was vaguely human-like on the examination table. Phlox took the blanket and moved it, showing the slack face of his Armory officer.
"He didn't make it. The plague went on replicating in his system, even though his body was producing the antibodies. The metabolism catalyst I injected him with caused the plague to procreate more aggressively than anticipated."
Phlox pulled the blanket over the slack face again to hide it from view.
"Captain. I heard what you said to him before I injected him with the plague. From what I managed to gather since returning onboard…I never took you for a cruel man, Captain." Phlox said quietly in the following silence.
The quietness of the room turned oppressive.
"I will be in the Sickbay, Captain. There are still patients that need me there."
The partition swished back behind him.
Whatever is coming, you volunteered, remember? His own words rose unbidden in his mind, replaying with a clarity he did not want to face. Archer squeezed his eyes shut, biting on the knuckles of his fist desperately not to start sobbing in horror at what he did. You motherfucker. You just told him that he deserved to die for what he did, no quarter granted, Archer strangled the ashamed moan before it had time to emerge fully.
His mind replayed the stiff face of his Chief Medical Officer. I never took you for a cruel man, Captain. Tears leaked from under scrunched eyelids, making their way down. He realized with anguish, that he might have saved the doctor and even the day, but in doing so, he invariably lost something much more valuable.
Author's note: Thanks to all those, who keep reading this. Remember - reviews are keeping the Muse going!
