Set Fire...: For Whom the Bell Tolls (IV)
Time was growing immaterial for the Denobulan physician.
Another emergency, another prolonged burst of frenetic energy, another battle against death itself, they all seemed to blur together, as if reaching back into the mists of yonder year; it wore on him in ways that he could not show, could not reveal, for the crew depended on him for an emotional backbone, for his optimism, his ebullience, his ever-present smile and generous counsel.
But he craved the chance to simply speak, to share his thoughts, to express his weariness, with another mind.
For the first time, he found himself questioning his decision; the decision, the choice to follow the captain into the Expanse. At the time—so many months ago—he had not debated it; it seemed so obvious, so evident, beyond doubt that he would continue on with the Enterprise crew. After all, they would need him more than ever; and even though it wasn't his own planet, or his own people, under the specter of the gun, these comrades had become a new family for him.
And somehow, these humans inspired a sense of loyalty that he had never experienced before.
The moment of desperate medicine subsiding, he sat upon a simple stool, sitting vigil over the unconscious body of Charles Tucker the Third. Under an induced coma, the commander was shrunken under a maze of tubes, sluicing intoxicated blood out of his system, purifying it, and pumping it back in; it would take hours to clean the life-essential fluid of the toxins, but in the meantime, the doctor could at least ensure that Trip was resting comfortably, feeling no pain and experiencing no regret.
No regret. For the doctor had plenty, and they stalked his mind, blaming him for everything that was transpiring in his medical ward. Time and again, he had seen the signs; he had tried to intervene, sought to give warning, but his words fell upon deaf ears obsessed only with the mission. And here…around him, laying in so many beds, were the victims of the monomania, the remnants of a single-minded pursuit of vengeance and salvation.
It wasn't his planet, after all. No one would've thought any less if he had stayed behind, transferring off the Enterprise prior to their departure; and for what he was accomplishing…any semi-competent physician could patch up the wounded. No, he had come for more; he had come to tend to his comrades, to care for them, to keep them from themselves.
For the dangers were profound, and he had seen them all; but with his best efforts, he was still failing.
Trip's chest rose and fell, slow, shallow, assisted by a breathing tube beneath his nose. His head rolled back, his eyes closed, he was lost in the world of the dreamless; for once, no nightmares plagued him, as he dwelt in the simplicity of vague being, his thoughts and memories drained and deadened. Seeming almost peaceful, he was resting for the first time, the ashes of his misery temporarily swept away.
And so it goes, Travis reflected, finding himself in command of the bridge once more; he and Hoshi, the remaining senior officers above decks, were doing their best to keep the stricken starship steady as the crew faltered around them, one by one, the casualties of their mission becoming clear.
T'Pol, Trip, Malcolm, and a dozen others, they all lay in sickbay, in various degrees of injury and disrepair; the walking wounded had already been dispatched back to their stations, the Enterprise in desperate need of warm bodies, the crew working frantically to forestall the cascading failures that threatened impending doom for the once-proud flagship. Barely spaceworthy, intact only in part, they were battling entropy itself, with little but determination left to drive them onward.
And that, Travis thought, clenching his jaw tight, we will never yield. For in the midst of the darkness, in the spiraling pursuit of death, the captain had lit a flame—a promise, a potential, a glimmer of a different world, a world worth living for. It was a vision still in utero, a dream yet to take shape, and the Enterprise's own crew was struggling to embrace it; but Travis saw it, in his mind's eye, a future unlike anything the past had ever harbored.
And it starts here, he knew. Here and now, when the people who have sworn preemptive vengeance on us. For every time that humanity lashed out in fear, it created a new enemy; every time that it lashed out in anger, it created a new foe. It was a story as old as history, proven over and time again.
Hope. It was a powerful emotion, perhaps the most potent of all, able to overcome even the deepest roots of fear. It came to him as if from the recesses of his soul, from the fundamental aspects of his being—not blind to the challenges that lay ahead, but firm and patient, the reassurance of a story foretold.
Reclining, ever so slightly, in the captain's chair, he surveyed the broken bridge around him, taking note of the officers standing strong amid the wreckage and debris of battle. These people were the best of Starfleet, and Starfleet was the best of humanity; and, damnit, he believed in them, even as they faltered, even as they landed in critical care, the victims of self-inflicted wounds. Somehow, they would find a way; somewhere, they would find the strength and determination to prevail. Not just for the survival of Earth, in some reduced, truncated form, but for the thriving of the human race, the potential of a brave new future, the dream of their generations of ancestors.
The klaxons screamed in warning a split second before the deck shuddered beneath him, the Enterprise letting out a sickening groan as metal stretched and stem bolts popped from unwanted strain. "A spatial disruption is emerging!" Ensign Dumitru shouted out, the young woman projecting her voice above the din of a dying starship in the throes of misery.
"Can you identify?" Travis stared ahead, not turning his head, as the image appeared on the main viewscreen; covered in static, it nonetheless manifested, revealing a distortion opening in the fabric of space.
"It's a Xindi subspace conduit!" Ştefania yelled back. "There's a ship emerging!"
Travis sat up straight, stiffening in alarm. A Xindi ship, yes, he recognized. But whose?
Barely thirty seconds later, Jonathan Archer burst from the lift, moving at nearly a sprint, summoned by the screaming wail of the shipwide alarms. His feet hitting the deck, the doors barely closing behind him, his head was already turning about as he took note of the activity around him; grim faces monitored every station, worry lines evident, but there was no sense of panic amid the makeshift bridge officers. Standing firmly, feet spread wide as the deck plates shook beneath them, they were focused on their tasks; eyes oriented to scrolling readouts, fingers flying across consoles, they were rising to their duty yet again. Yet again, he thought, nonetheless recognizing the signs of strain among the officers, the indications of exhaustion and breakdown plaguing them all.
"Captain!" As if sensing Archer's presence, Travis vacated the command chair, but did not step far aside. Instead, the two men met in the center of the bridge, side-by-side as the captain came to a halt, turning to face the main viewer. "It's a Xindi subspace conduit," Mayweather reported, and indeed, the image showed the growing spiral formation of light and radiation indicating the opening of the terminus. "No reading yet on what's coming through, sir."
Archer took a slow breath, steadying his pulse, as the long moment of wait stretched into eternity; a hazy form, indistinct, began to emerge, blurry and ill-defined. As it glided forward, the lines began to firm up, showcasing a design not so different from an Earth stingray; a rough diamond-shaped body trailed by twin, long tails, with a developing tone of tan and purple coloring, the single vessel took shape.
The captain's nerves tingled with chill as he recognized it, but the deadly pronouncement came from Ensign Rostami, breathing cold air across the bridge. "It's reptilian," the tactical officer reported, needing to say no more.
With a glance, Archer asked the pertinent question of Mayweather; and the young navigator shook his head, confirming the worst news. "Our weapons are still offline," Travis whispered, barely audible, his voice masked by the dozen klaxons. "Degra's ship is only lightly armed, and that's a reptilian destroyer out there."
Needing to assert command—and quickly—the captain turned towards tactical, making a slashing gesture across his throat, giving the unspoken command to kill the overhead noise. A small gesture, it nonetheless projected sense of decisiveness and action on his part; and Archer could not, dare not, let the others see the despair that was settling in upon him, the fear that was threatening to override his judgment.
At that moment, as the bridge quieted beneath the captain's commands, a new voice joined in, coming from the lift doors. "How in the Five Hells did they find us?"
Turning his head at the exclamation of surprise, Archer's eyes were greeted by the sight of Degra slowly staggering inward; nearly tripping, the primate came to a stop by the science console, looking down at the sensor readouts. "We left no trail!" Degra added, his astonishment clear. "We were untraceable!"
Letting his eyes sag closed for a brief second, the captain felt the futility of seeking to understand the unknowable, but he could not afford much time. "However they did it, they're here," he retorted roughly, seeking to snap the Xindi scientist from his puzzlement. "Degra, I need options here! What can you give me?"
Degra rotated his head, the expression still unclear to the human captain. "This is out of my hands," he answered unwillingly, his voice granting only a hint of the worry he felt; for he, too, understood just how overmatched the Starfleet vessel truly was in the face of the reptilian destroyer. "I'm afraid that this is up to Berezi and Jannar now. Either they speak for us…or they hand us over."
His hooded eyelids drooping low, Degra's eyes took on dark shadows in the flashing lights. "I hope that we have been persuasive enough."
Ship's Commander Đurađ of the Sławomir growled with soft anticipation as his destroyer edged its way from the threshold of the conduit, the starfield beyond resolving itself into familiar space. He, like so many others of his brethren, was on the hunt, searching for the missing human starship, the foe that had for so long danced in the shadows and echoes of nether regions; and then, at the moment of capture, had evaded its defeat thanks to the perfidy of primate and arboreal weakness.
He had not expected to find it mere lightyears away from Åamir, in the heart of Xindi territory, so close to the Council Chamber itself; but then again, as he saw the twin ships, coupled together by their docking clamps, the depths of Degra's scheming explained just how the humans had penetrated so deeply into the patrolled depths of his people's space.
For there it was: the proof that was needed, the proof that was sufficient, the proof that would seal the scientist's fate and ensure reptilian supremacy in the Xindi Union. Degra's own corsair, joined together with the humans, granting relief and succor to their deadliest enemy.
And here Đurađ was, to claim both as spoils of war.
"Hail the Rüstəm," he ordered, referencing the primate ship; the command came leisurely as he slowly rose, lifting his bulk to its full, towering height. Even among the reptilians, he was a large specimen; and Đurađ knew just how to project his might across the communications channels, to impress his power upon the other beings of the Union. Stepping forward, until his heft filled the camera, he waited a lengthy moment while the viewscreen flickered, the Rüstəm answering his demanding summons.
Đurađ did not show a trace of the surprise he felt as two unexpected faces materialized before him, but the presence of the two councilors greatly changed the dynamics; he would have to tread far more carefully, cautiously, almost diplomatically until he could ascertain whether they, too, were harboring the enemy.
"Identify yourself, Ship's Commander." Berezi spoke first, nearly barking out the demand. Jannar stood a half-pace behind, the tentative arboreal shadowing behind the primate.
"I am Đurađ of the destroyer Sławomir," the reptilian replied smoothly. Ire underlay his voice, but he kept it at bay. "I congratulate both of you on locating the Enterprise, councilors." Nodding, as if in contemplative thought, he continued. "You have done the Xindi Union a great service. But I realize that your ship lacks the firepower to properly secure the human vessel. Rest assured, my friends, that the Sławomir can secure their crew and starship for you."
A quick glance passed between the two councilors before Berezi spoke again. "That won't be necessary, Commander Đurađ," he answered, squaring his shoulders as he projected his best air of strength. "Councilor Jannar and I are engaged in delicate negotiations with the humans. Your presence here," he added, as if in afterthought, "is very disruptive. I am ordering you to depart immediately, and erase any record of this encounter."
Đurađ growled again, the sound erupting audibly. "My orders come from Councilor Đolim, and only he can countermand them," the reptilian replied, his voice laced with threat. "Undock your ship and stand aside, Councilors, and let me complete my duty; or stand in the way, and I will go through you."
With a brief flicker, the glaring eyes of the reptile disappeared from the Rüstəm's viewer, replaced with the menacing form of the destroyer slowly shifting its position as it neared the twin-docked vessels; without haste, it was moving forward, a predator certain that its prey could not escape.
"He will destroy the Enterprise," Berezi pronounced, an eerie note of calm in his voice; for it was, perhaps, the solution he was seeking, the end to his quandary. Let Đurađ kill the humans, he could reason, and then I will hear no more of this nonsense from Degra.
"He will not," Jannar replied quietly, "and you know it, my friend. He will seize their ship; he will take their crew captive; and he will torture and interrogate them until they pray to the Furies for such a simple death." Lifting his heavy brow, the hair dangling over his eyes, he spoke directly to his fellow councilor with the weight of conviction. "Jonathan Archer and his crew have done us no wrong to deserve such a fate."
"How can you say that?" Berezi's voice rose with astonishment. "They have threatened our entire race! We are in a war here, my friend, or have you forgotten?"
"I have forgotten nothing," Jannar answered. "But have you heard nothing of what they've said? Seen nothing of what they've presented?" Bracing his arms across his chest, he went on. "You accuse the humans of threatening all Xindi, but in fact, it is we who have a doomsday weapon currently ready to strike them. I cannot ignore that paradigm."
"It is a pre-emptive strike!" Berezi bellowed. With fury, he slammed the palm of his hand against a console, earning himself a wince of pain. "We are defending ourselves, Jannar!"
"Defending ourselves from what, Berezi?" Jannar pressed back, finding new strength as he spoke. "Has our benefactor offered a shred of evidence? A single piece of proof?" Stepping back slightly, his voice did not yield. "Well, the humans have!"
"Ҏrѹkleұi, Jannar!" Clenching his eyes shut, Berezi rolled his head upward, seeking to hold back the building explosion within. "Don't you think I know that?" Looking back down, his eyes blazing with ire, he continued. "But what would you have me do here? The Enterprise cannot defend itself, and it cannot run! Đurađ will capture it! And if you or I seek to get in the way—do you genuinely believe that he will defer to our authority?" His anger washing over, the primate took in a deep breath. "I'm sorry, my friend. We have the evidence that Archer provided—we can still follow it, still investigate. But the humans cannot escape from this one."
The arboreal stubbornly stood strong. "I never took you for a coward, Berezi," he replied, speaking softly.
Berezi snorted. "And I never took you for a fool, Jannar," he replied bitterly. "These humans have fought persistently, and fought well; but this is the end of their mission. There is nothing that you or I can do now to save them."
"We're being hailed, Captain!" Hoshi announced. Focusing intently on the signal, her brow tightened and eyes peering tightly at the readouts, she was trying to discern the sounds against the static of malfunctioning equipment. "It's the councilors, on Degra's ship," she reported a moment later, fingers moving across her console as she isolated the bandwidth. "Onscreen in a second, Captain."
"Acknowledged, Ensign," Archer replied grimly, recognizing that the possibilities were rapidly dwindling as the reptilian ship continued its lazy approach, settling into point-blank range. Staring down the mouth of the destroyer's cannons, unable to run, unable to fight back, his only hope left was the two Xindi councilors; but they did not seem inclined to intervene.
Standing straight—for he refused to show any doubt, even now—Archer pulled down the front of his dirt-stained coveralls as the viewscreen shifted, revealing the faces of Jannar and Berezi. "Councilors," he greeted them, forcing his breath to remain steady and composed. "Have you reached an understanding with the reptilian vessel?"
Leaning into the screen, Berezi's eyes searched the Enterprise bridge before landing on the primate scientist at the rear. "Degra!" he called out, his voice bypassing the human captain with urgency. "Return to our ship at once. We are departing!"
At the words, Archer felt his knees buckle slightly, his fears crystallizing into reality as a frozen chill ran through his body; thoughts blurred under the onslaught of objections, each one fighting for prominence, giving way to the simplest exclamation of them all. "No!"
With a tilt of his head, Berezi shifted his eyes. "What did you say, Captain?"
Clenching his jaw tight, Archer sucked in a deep breath of air through his nose as he desperately sought to regain his balance. "We have a chance to accomplish something here, Councilor," he replied, speaking through tightened lips. "To do something real, something meaningful, something unprecedented: to bring a lasting peace between our peoples. I ask you—I beg you—don't throw this opportunity away."
Raising his hands, he began to gesture with his words. "This is our chance, our moment, Councilor. If we don't do this now, then untold millions will die—and both of our races will become locked in a cycle of vengeance and wrath. But the Enterprise doesn't stand a chance on our own, not in the shape we're in. We need your help—the future needs your help."
"And what would you have us do?" Berezi snarled in angry response. "That commander out there intends to seize your vessel, regardless of what I say!"
Now, Archer felt the firm presence of Travis stepping up beside him; and the young man spoke, his words soft but strong. "When words fail, actions must be taken, Councilor. You are the Xindi law out here; you must make your authority clear."
Berezi's eyelids opened wide, expressing his astonishment. "Are you asking me to fire on a Xindi vessel?"
Travis smiled, his opening ready. "Haven't they already threatened to fire on you?"
The primate's eyes pierced back. "Those are my brethren out there, human," he hissed. "For all their flaws…they are my own kind. Even if I had the weaponry to overpower them, I could not give that order."
Travis' heart thudded hard, the sound repeating in his ears, as the Rüstəm decoupled from the Enterprise, the airlock bridge receding from one ship to the other. The connection severed, its thrusters firing, the corsair began to pull away, the growing distance short but profound.
Around him, Mayweather could feel the stale silence of the bridge as every eye was focused on Degra's vessel; there was little left that the stricken Starfleet flagship could do, no fight they could bring, no escape they could wield. There were simply the seconds: the time ticking down as they watched, wondering, if this was how it would finally end.
"Hutchinson." Travis spoke softly to the helmsman, but the time had come: he had one last weapon left, one last effort to make. "Plot a collision course with the destroyer, all possible speed." They wouldn't survive; but death at their own bidding, one final explosive effort, was better than the lifetime of torture and agony promised by Đurađ.
"The Rüstəm as nearly reached the Sławomir," Rostami reported, narrating as the movements unfolded on the viewscreen before them; Travis could see, with the skilled eye of a pilot, as Degra's ship came about, easing itself into position for docking. It would be less than a minute now.
As the small corsair swung about, coming in slightly under the starboard wing of the larger destroyer, twin spurts of yellow lightning shot out, striking the Sławomir; and the Rüstəm veered away sharply as the reptilian ship staggered to the port, lights flickering across the hull.
"He got inside their defenses," Travis whispered, the words earning a nod from the captain. "Degra must know their weakest points." The corsair, faster and nimble, was now dancing in and out, spitting out blasts of pinpoint energy, laying its hits upon the destroyer; and the Sławomir, slow to turn, unable to draw a straight shot on the small vessel, was firing into space with abandon.
"They're doing it, sir!" Rostami called out, watching the readouts on his console. "The destroyer's main power is down!"
"Captain!" Travis' voice rose in alarm as he saw the continued movement: the Rüstəm was not veering off; it was coming about, its weapons ports locked on, ready to fire.
Archer's eyes darted to Mayweather, then back to the viewscreen, in time to see the final bursts of deadly energy erupt from the corsair; striking the destroyer, setting off ripples of explosions that ran the breadth of the ray's wings, one more blast poured in.
And the destroyer exploded outward, propelled by a burning fireball of superheated energy, snuffed out seconds later by the vacuum of space.
Travis let out his breath, uncertain if he was feeling relief or regret, before Hoshi broke the silence on the bridge. "Captain, Berezi's hailing us," she reported.
Beside the navigator, Archer paused for a second, his own eyes riveted on the debris, before giving the command. "On screen, Ensign," he said, his voice giving hints of his own weariness.
Berezi's face appeared, materializing in pieces, before them. "We aren't done talking, Captain," the primate stated, speaking strongly, before Archer could find his voice. "For the sake of my people, I had no choice." Grinding his teeth, he continued, expressing a degree of fury wrestling with exhaustion. "Believe me, I grow tired of death. But I cannot stand by and witness murder."
Fear and anger. Loathing and remorse. The thin ice of a fractured psyche, predicted upon the repression of such feelings, now beset by the emotional tyranny of a toddler's mind, uncontrolled sensations assaulting her from every unknown direction. One moment elated, the next warring with tears, floating high and curled in a ball, she did her best to ride out the cacophony that was threatening to subsume her with each new wave of competing sensation.
T'Pol knew the cause, and it was herself.
For there was, in the end, little privacy in the medical ward; conversations overheard, diagnoses and treatments known to all, the latest emergency had not escaped her notice. It was her colleague, her friend, her erstwhile lover, resting on another bed, hooked to so many tubes that were sluicing the toxins from his body; he had poisoned himself, nearly taking his own life in despair, too many wounds inflicted upon him to sustain for one more day.
Am I to blame? She pondered the question, feeling yes, but arguing no. For she had not set this course of events into action; his responses were his own, and logically, she could accept that. But logic…what is logic, when weighed against guilt? It is simply an excuse to evade responsibility?
They had bonded—as friends, yes, but they had bonded, spending many nights in conversation, sharing of each other, taking strength in each other's resolve and generosity. And, perhaps, she had let it go too far…but I allowed it, she admitted, recognizing that she had been a willing participant in their night of passion, knowing that she, too, had wanted it, despite the warnings resounding clearly in her mind. Her logic, too, had been weakened; there was something about Trip Tucker that drew her in, made her feel safe, gave her a solace and comfort that she had never experienced.
And then…the words I said to him. The words, so cruel in their nature, if not perhaps in their intent; and nothing was the same after that, the friendship broken, the relationship fractured, neither of them able to find a renewed balance.
"Commander?" Phlox's genial face appeared in her vision, hovering over T'Pol's bed, and the Vulcan woman smiled slightly, feeling a sense of relief. "How are you feeling, T'Pol?" he asked softly, not wanting to wake the other patients as the evening drew late.
"It's a difficult question to answer," T'Pol replied slowly, uncertain of just how to respond. "My body is recovering. It feels stronger."
"I'm not surprised." Unseen to the Vulcan, he stepped on a foot lever beneath the bed, and her torso began to rise into a sitting position. "You've been resting and recuperating for several days. In fact…" Phlox paused as he reached out, offering her a hand. "I'm discharging you to crew quarters."
Gingerly, T'Pol grabbed him, her hand still shaky. "Are you sure, Doctor?" she asked, her voice expressing unusual hesitancy as she swung her legs down. Moving too quickly, she felt a wave of dizziness; and for a moment, she clenched her eyes shut, seeking to quash the vertigo. "I'm still…" Unable to find the words, she trailed off, hoping that Phlox could pick up the thought.
"You'll rest better in a proper bed," Phlox answered quietly. "I don't need to keep you under constant monitoring anymore, and I'd rather get you some privacy, Commander. And no," he added, couching the comment carefully. "You're not ready to return to duty. But there's not much more I can do for you in sickbay tonight."
"Are you sure…" Cringing, T'Pol struggled to put her thoughts together. "Are you sure that I'll be safe?"
Phlox graced her with a broad smile. "I took a precaution, T'Pol," he replied, offering the reassurance. "Just in case you have a weak moment…Ensign Mayweather sent our remaining trellium stock out the airlock."
"That should give me comfort," T'Pol admitted. Carefully, her movements still jerky, she slid off the bed, her feet landing the deck. "But somehow, Doctor, it doesn't."
"You've lost a powerful crutch," he acknowledged, steadying the small woman as she swayed. "It's natural to feel fear and trepidation as you confront having to move forward without it, T'Pol. But I will be here with you." With a nudge in her back, encouraging her to take a step, Phlox continued to hold the Vulcan upright. "You won't walk this road alone."
But I must, T'Pol reflected, uncertain if she could voice the words; for who among the alien crew could understand the path a Vulcan must travel? Who could comprehend the depths and strength of the emotional onslaught she was experiencing, the radical twists and turns, the highs and lows, reeling from the sensations unknown and unwanted? Who can begin to empathize, to grant succor and support, as I grapple with the challenge of a lifetime?
Indeed, there was one: and, hesitantly, her eyes turned about the medical ward, unwillingly landing on the comatose form of her colleague. Appearing almost blissful in his slumber, giving no indication of the war fighting within him, his chest rose and fell gently. In so many late nights, the two had bonding, and yes, she admitted, T'Pol had grown to depend on Trip for her own relief and calm. Of all the crew, he was the one who knew her the best, who could see beyond her shields, past the cloaks and shadows of Vulcan repression, to the person who lay beneath.
How can I ever ask him to forgive me? For she had spoken such cruel words to him, and she could not take them back; she had torn their friendship asunder, and perhaps more, out of fear. Fear of what? Of frailty? Of weakness? Of openness? For he pushed her—beyond the logic that her people used as such a device to protect the secrets of their innermost being, encouraging her, threatening her, with the bonding of uttermost honesty.
It was not the Vulcan way, and she had panicked; and now, she thought, it has cost me my closest friend. For what am I to do? How can I repair the damage I have caused?
The person I know the best has gone away.
Death stalks us all, Archer thought grimly, his expression stony, as our time grows short. The Great Bird has smiled upon us once more; but we again find ourselves at the mercy of the Xindi, and not the masters of our own fate. How many more times can we face the breach and stare our mission's end in the face before luck fails us? How many more times can we tempt our hopes before the coldness of reality intrudes? How many more days, hours, minutes, can we afford to wait, engaged with the Xindi, while that damned weapon is out there somewhere, prepared to strike?
Pausing before the doorway of the cartography lab, forcing a smile upon his face, Archer pressed the entrance panel; no longer even cognizant of the clanking sound as the hatchway struggled to open, he stepped in, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.
"Greetings, Captain." Inside, cloaked in the shadows of light streaming in from the corridor, Degra stood to one side; the primate's voice wavered, still clearly flustered by the battle earlier. "It's good to see you."
"Likewise, Degra," Archer replied. As the hatchway clanged shut, the pinpoints of light representing stars came into focus, revealing a starmap hovering in the center of the room. "I don't…" With a deep breath, he searched for the right words, uncertain of just how to properly express his gratitude. "I don't know how to thank you, Degra."
"Thank Berezi," Degra responded roughly. "He gave the order, not me."
Archer nodded, the movement lost in the dark. "I can't say that I understand his change of heart."
"Perhaps you underestimate us, Captain," Degra replied, speaking softly. "I can't say that I blame you, though. We didn't exactly start off well. But I can assure you: Berezi and Jannar are not looking for war." The primate paused, thinking to himself, before continuing. "To be fair, though, your own initial overtures were those of an enemy."
Behind the holographic starlight, Archer shifted his stance, as if seeking firmer footing. "Fear is among the most powerful of emotions for us humans," he replied, speaking honestly, no artifice masking his words. It was just him and Degra now, two beings, two aliens, trying to find common ground across the distrust and shed blood; together, they would establish the first link between human and Xindi…or fail. "But faith…faith is stronger for my people, Degra. Faith can overcome even the most deeply rooted fear."
"I have my own hopes and dreams for the future, Captain," Degra replied softly. His hooded eyes, opened wide to see in the dark, seemed to twinkle in the reflection of the points of light. "I do not believe that a future of peace and friendship can be established on a framework of fear and war."
Looking around the room, Archer could place no familiar stars, and the realization only reminded him of how far from home he truly was; shivering slightly, he turned his gaze back to the primate, asking the foremost question. "So where does that bring us?" The answer, an unknown, lay before him, the path forward; and he hoped that Degra knew the road ahead.
The scientist remained quiet for a moment as he studied the artificial stars, each one a known point in the depths of space for him. "Jonathan," he said finally, invoking the captain's given name, "it is time for you to speak to the Xindi Council."
Archer raised an eyebrow, the motion unseen in the dark. "Speak to the Council?" he echoed, voicing hesitation. "Do you think they'll be willing to listen?"
"You are a persuasive speaker, Captain," Degra replied firmly. "And with the evidence you've gathered…they'll have no choice but to consider your words."
With one hand, Archer reached up and began to rub his chin; the stubble was several days old, reminding of the last time he had washed. "I have hope of convincing Berezi and Jannar," he acknowledged, doing the mental calculations as he spoke. "But I haven't had any success with the reptilians or the insectoids. Do you really think they'll be open to this?"
Degra glanced away, his voice falling to the side. "I don't believe so, Captain," he admitted, the words coming unwillingly. "But the Council functions by majority decision. If we can sway the amphibian councilor…we'll be able to stop the attack and open peace discussions."
"I don't know the aquatics that well," Archer replied, a wry smile coming to his face. "I hitched a ride on one of their ships, but I was unconscious the whole time."
The primate's chuckle sounded hoarse, but it was definitely a laugh. "That was necessary," Degra replied gruffly, his own smile heard clearly. "The aquatics are often reserved and enigmatic, but they don't make decisions in haste. They're open to reason."
What have I got to lose? The answer was obvious to the captain. My life. All of our lives. Our mission. Our planet. Our people. Could he justify risking all of that on his chances of persuading the amphibian councilor? Can I? If he pursued this course—and failed—there was no backup, no other plan, no other option left open for him.
I don't know, he admitted internally. The stakes might simply be too high to bet it all on this road.
His thoughts at war, Archer spoke again, holding back his struggle. "How do I get to the Council?" he asked, trying to keep Degra thinking about a peaceful resolution. "I don't think the reptilians will allow me to simply walk in."
"No, they won't." Degra's tone was frank and honest. "But I'll have Berezi and Jannar guarantee your safe passage. Those are the rules of the Council." Pointing to a pinprick of light, he went on. "We call this star Åamir. Our chambers are on the fourth planet. I'll have a flotilla meet you outside the system, Captain, and escort the Enterprise in."
Looking askance at the stellar map, wondering just how the stricken starship was to cover the distance, Archer felt his fears rise again as he considered another factor. "Are you sure we have time for this?" he asked, knowing that the hours continued to tick away. "That weapon is out there somewhere, ready to strike my home, Degra. I'm sure you can understand my concern."
"I do," the scientist concurred. "I reassure you, Captain, the weapon will not strike while we are deliberating. It requires the personal codes of all five councilors to unlock the firing mechanisms, and Berezi and Jannar are committed to hearing you out."
Codes can be hacked, Archer realized, knowing the unavoidable danger confronting them. If the reptilians—or instectoids—go rogue, there isn't anything Jannar or Berezi can truly do. And I'll be squandering my time talking to councilors who have no intention of agreeing to anything.
"Very well." His doubts his own, his plans still in flux, the captain extended his right hand to Degra; puzzled, the primate returned the gesture, and Archer clasped Degra's hand in his own. "This is a human thing," he explained, gripping firmly. "It means we have an accord."
Sometimes a little subterfuge is necessary.
Standing in the shadows of computer glow, Travis studied the star charts, calculating distances and vectors in his mind; seeing the map as if in reality, he moved about, flowing freely from point to point, navigating the heavens with natural grace. He was born in the stars, after all, had spent his life in the skies beyond; the task came as much by feel as by math, the native understanding of a being in his element.
Hearing the soft footsteps, Mayweather looked up from the console to see Hoshi approaching; she smiled, wanly, her hair falling out of place, no longer held back neatly after days and weeks without proper care. But seeing her was still a welcome greeting, and Travis nodded, inviting her in; the briefing alcove at the rear of the bridge, currently a chaotic mess of debris, still held room for both young officers.
"So," Hoshi commented, speaking quietly in the ship's night, "how do we get there?"
It earned her a grimace from the helmsman. "Our warp drive is shot," he confirmed, knowing that they had no hope of getting the powerful engines operating yet again. "And the coordinates that Degra provided are over twenty light-years away." Ordinarily, it would be a fatal blow to their mission; stranded at sublight speeds, the Enterprise had no means of reaching the Xindi Council world within the foreseeable future.
Hoshi's eyes, tired though they were, appeared bright in the subdued lighting. "You don't give up that easily, Travis," she replied. Looking down at the console, uncertain of just what it displayed, she continued. "You see something."
"We have an option." Speaking almost excitedly, Travis' voice still warned of hesitation. "We're right here," he said, pointing to a red dot on the screen. Moving his finger slightly, he located a diffused shape of green. "There's a dark nebula within distance."
"I see," Hoshi answered carefully, not quite following along.
"Degra told us that the Xindi established a permanent subspace conduit in the nebula." With another movement, Travis directed her gaze across the monitor. "The other terminus is here—in the outskirts of their system. He described it as—almost as a backdoor exit, of sorts." Not quite certain of his words, Travis gestured again, illustrating an escape route for if the system was attacked. "But we can use it to get in."
"Don't the Xindi watch the conduit?" Foreseeing danger, Hoshi pressed the question on her mind. "How will we get close to the access point?" It was too good, too promising, to be true, and Hoshi could not take it for granted.
"It's not the Xindi," Travis replied, shaking his head slightly. "This end of the conduit is designed to be hidden, so they don't patrol it."
Staying silent, Hoshi waited, not sure if she wanted to hear the next part.
"Degra explained that a group of alien raiders have taken shelter in the nebula," Travis continued, somewhat unwillingly. "He referred to them as Kovaalans. If we get close—" Touching the controls, he made the image of the nebula larger, until it filled the monitor. "Hell, if we enter, they'll come after us."
"We don't have weapons, Travis," Hoshi answered pointedly. Her voice fell, the implications sinking in as she spoke. "What are we going to do?"
"By the Furies, what the hell were you thinking?" Bellowing the thought, Berezi nearly spit in Degra's face, thick, hot air erupting from the primate councilor with the anger of disbelief. "You gave them the coordinates to Åamir? They could launch an attack against the Council itself!" Nearly apoplectic, his skin burning blue, the councilor spoke with the pure disbelief of shock; for he could not imagine that the scientist, his old friend, could be so reckless, so naïve, so willing to risk the survival of the Xindi races on the good wishes of the human Archer.
Even if there was a chance that the human was sincere, inviting the Enterprise to Åamir's doorstep was not the solution.
Steeling himself, looking upward at the taller primate, Degra shot back. "They don't have any weapons, Berezi!" His eyes open wide and glaring, they spoke of an anger all their own. "What damage could they possibly do?"
"And what of their other ships?" Berezi gestured broadly, as if encompassing the entire fractured region of the Expanse. "Now that they have our location, they can rally their entire fleet to our Council Chamber!"
"Yes, what of their alleged fleet?" Degra ground his teeth, speaking harshly at his superior. "I'm beginning to believe that it was never anything more than a phantasm, designed by the reptilians, to make us afraid." Exasperated, frustrated, ready to explode, he pressed further. "We can't give up on the chance for peace! Not here, not now, not when we're so close!"
"You speak of peace, Degra," Berezi countered fiercely. "But your scheming is moot. You won't be allowed to bring Archer before the Council."
"You know the rules of the Council." Clenching his fists, trying to work off the irate energy, the scientist was doing his best to keep a level voice. "It only takes two of the councilors to grant an audience."
Berezi shook his head in amazement at the audacity. "You haven't convinced me yet, Degra," he snarled. "Yes, I know, I wasn't willing to let that reptilian kravok capture the Enterprise. But what you're asking us to do—it's a step too far, my friend." His voice lowering, he spoke with simple honesty. "And Archer will be killed the moment he steps into the Council Chamber."
"What would you have us do then?" Degra was granting no yield, giving up no terrain. "Archer's allegations are too important to dismiss, Berezi. With the fate of our people hanging on this—we have to listen!"
"I know." Berezi's quiet admission threw the scientist backward. "But listen to me, Degra: the Council will not hear it from the human." Gesturing into the depths of space, indicating a random direction, he continued. "The Enterprise has fought a remarkable fight, and carried their effort farther than anyone could have asked of them. But no," he added, intercepting his comrade's raised hand. "It is time for the humans to return to their own world, and care for their own kind. We have their evidence; we have their proof. Their presence here is unduly provocative; once they leave, we can assemble the case, and try to persuade the other councilors. That, Degra, is the only route forward."
Degra's hooded eyelids raised upward. "Do you believe that they're being truthful?"
Choosing his words carefully, Berezi paused before answering. "In a manner," he admitted at last, speaking slowly. "Archer is not aware of any plot against us. And I can't explain away the evidence that implicates our benefactor. I don't believe we know everything," he allowed. "But this demands further investigation before we commit genocide, my friend."
"I agree with you, Berezi, but only to a point." Stepping forward, Jannar emerged from behind, having listened to the argument. "I have given my support to Degra's proposal. I will grant audience for Captain Archer to speak before the Council."
Berezi's head whirled about, confronting the normally-passive arboreal. "You ignore my central point," he shot back, ire raising again. "The reptilians will destroy the human vessel as soon as it arrives at Åamir!"
"You know the answer," Jannar replied, moving his hands broadly. "We will protect the Enterprise."
"Are you a fool, Jannar?" Berezi's eyes seemed to shrink to slits as he stared at his colleague. "The reptilians have already demonstrated that they will ignore our authority as councilors. What makes you think that they won't simply fire on us?"
"If they do," Degra replied grimly, "they'll be starting a civil war."
The stars somehow seemed darker than usual, lacking their usual glow, as Jonathan Archer looked out the window of the briefing room, the lights reduced behind him. It was as if the universe had dimmed, matching the captain's mood as he contemplated the choices that lay before him; and the course of action unfurling itself cast his mood with stormy clouds, the sun retreating behind the atramentous skies.
The Rüstəm was preparing to depart, the two starships each going their own way until they would meet again; but the captain had one last task to perform, and it brought him here, waiting for the hatchway to announce an arrival. Having summoned his guest, Archer arrived early, needing to collect his thoughts, for the words had to be carefully chosen; there was a relationship to repair, a friendship to forge, a trust to establish.
The door did not chime, but slid open with a screech, and Archer put a smile upon his face as he turned about. "Councilor Jannar," he began, greeting the arrival as the arboreal stepped inward. "It's good to speak with you."
"It is good to see you as well, Captain," Jannar replied. By now accustomed to the condition of the Enterprise, he gave the detritus no heed as he moved around a fallen beam.
Here it goes. Archer took a deep breath, and let the air out as he stood up taller, feeling the aches in his back. "I heard about your—altercation with Commander Tucker." His chest rising slightly, he found the words he had rehearsed. "I'd like to formally apologize for—"
"Don't." The arboreal, normally slow to speak, interjected, cutting the captain off with a commanding firmness.
Archer's eyebrows raised with confusion and alarm. "I'm not sure I understand, Councilor," he replied. Had a fatal faux pas been committed? Have we irrevocably lost Jannar? Shaking slightly with trepidation, Archer did not want to hear the next words.
"I have a feeling that it was well-deserved," Jannar replied, his voice now returning to its usual languidness. "In the end, Captain…your Mr. Tucker was justified. I can't excuse what we have done, and I can't sufficiently apologize to him for what he has lost."
"Councilor…" It was an opening, a hope, perhaps a prayer; but Archer could not let it pass. "Are you ready to make peace?"
Rotating his head, Jannar smiled with hairy lips. "I believe the time has come, Captain. I will be by your side, advocating with the Council. For that, you have my word."
Step one, you say we need to talk…
The lights in sickbay were subdued as midnight finally approached, the long day reaching its bitter end. His tasks nearly complete, the patients resting comfortably, Phlox sat back in his desk chair, the unwanted exhaustion settling upon him. He needed a rest; he needed a break; sorely tempted to pull a cot out from a storage closet and collapse, giving way to the depths of meditative hallucination, he forced his mind to stay aware, just one more duty left to perform.
He walks, you say sit down, it's just a talk…
Reclined, his eyes sagging shut, Phlox barely stirred as he heard the main doors clank open; he knew it was, the arrival on schedule, summoned for one last conversation before the long, dark hours set in. The newcomer would announce himself; and he did so, hesitantly, uncertain if he should disturb the physician. "Phlox?" Archer suggested softly, his footfalls silent as he rounded the ward to the doctor's small office. "You wanted to talk?"
He smiles politely back at you…
Jumbled thoughts ran through Phlox's mind, warring for his voice; words of concern, words of umbrage, words of nonchalant emptiness all trying to spill forth, each demanding to be heard. Uncertain of where to start, of what to say, he smiled softly. "Captain," he demurred, and then: "Jonathan."
You stare politely right on through…
The silence settled in, an uncomfortable gulf extending between the two men, for Phlox—the ship's ear, the counsel, the source of sage advice—could not find the way to articulate his tiredness and fatigue that was enveloping him. For he had done his best; but as the casualties mounted, the crew disintegrating under the pressure, he found his words falling upon vacant ears.
Some sort of window to your right…
"Doctor?" At long last, Archer broke the stillness, his voice inquiring gingerly. "How is Commander Tucker?"
Phlox opened his eyes wide, meeting the captain with a baleful stare. "You have some nerve, asking about him," the physician replied, his tone laced with the bitterness of too many deaths. "I told you that you were pressing the crew too hard, Captain. I warned you that something like this would happen, but did you listen?" His anger uncharacteristic, Phlox rocked forward, confronting the human. "No, you didn't. And now—another crewmember, another friend of ours, is laying unconscious in my sickbay."
As he goes left, and you stay right…
"Doctor, I…" Archer started to respond, but his voice trailed off.
"This obsession with our mission," Phlox went on, rising to his feet. "We are sacrificing everything in this pursuit. But humans just aren't designed to endure this level of stress, Captain." Unbidden, feeling his body begin to shake, he channeled the built-up ire into his words. "I told you that they were depending on you to take care of them; but instead, you pushed all the harder."
Between the lines of fear and blame…
Phlox went on stringently. "For nine months now—nine months! I've been down here in sickbay, repairing the wreckage of this pursuit—the bodies, the wounds, the casualties that come through, every hour of every damned day! And I'm tired of it, Captain! I'm tired of the death, I'm tired of the injuries, I'm tired of the—" he gestured angrily. "The mental breakdowns! How many more people are you going to send to me? Are you going to send me the entire crew? How about the crews of the alien ships we encounter? You haven't even bothered to send their wounded down for treatment!"
"I know, Phlox," Archer said softly, and for the first time the doctor saw the pain etched in Archer's face. "I know."
You begin to wonder why you came…
The captain's simple admission took the venom from Phlox's quarrel, leaving the doctor able to summon no more anger; instead, as the two men stood apart, separated by a shortened pace, but distanced by a gulf of incomprehension, the Denobulan found himself searching for the words that would not come. For the first time, he saw the captain as he was; truly human, a person without the answers, a being haunted by doubt and opprobrium for the human detritus left in his wake.
And Phlox sought his voice, the guidance, the care that Jonathan Archer so desperately needed.
Let him know that you know best…
"Jonathan," the doctor said softly, uncertain as he spoke, but knowing that he must press forward. For it had been so many months ago—in orbit of Earth, in conversation with T'Pol, when he had explained why he of all beings must accompany Jonathan Archer into the Devil's Expanse. Knowing that it wasn't his own planet under threat, mystifying so many by his choice to stay onboard on the Enterprise in their headlong mission into the field of death.
Because there would inevitably be this moment, and tired though he was, he would be here.
'Cause after all, you do know best…
"How are you?" Phlox asked, giving voice to the most potent question of all. Simple, direct, honest, it invited all answers; an expression of care, of supportive curiosity, it begged no answer save for the truth.
In response, Archer looked away; his eyes seeming to settle upon one, then another, of the patients resting in the ward, but taking in no details as he remained lost in his own mind. "You know what, Phlox?" he replied absently, his mind unfocused, as if barely aware of the doctor's presence. "I'm not sure how much more I can take. But if I fall…we all fall."
Try to slip past his defense…
Absent, his eyes unfocused, his mind lightyears away, Jonathan spoke with a faintness that strained the doctor's hearing. "When we left Earth, our mission seemed so clear to me, Phlox. Seek and destroy, that was all. Simplistic," he allowed, looking back with distant regard, "but somehow comforting in that clarity. We launched, and came out here, to the Expanse, and…and I was ready, I was willing, to do anything to achieve that goal."
Hesitantly, the captain's gaze came about, focusing on Phlox. "And the Great Bird knows, we crossed some lines out here, right from the start, justifying every action that we took with homilies about preserving humanity."
Without granting innocence…
Seconds of silence ticked away, neither moving, neither speaking, the air itself seeming still, until Phlox prodded. "Something changed," he offered gently.
Archer's mouth turned upwards, ever so slightly, as he let out an audible breath. "I remember a lesson from an old Earth history course in college," he remarked. "Our professor challenged us: take year of human history, Phlox, any year prior to the end of the Final World Wars."
Phlox nodded, following along.
Lay down a list of what is wrong…
"Our professor told us that any year we picked out—any year—and somewhere around the world, we could find a war taking place." Shaking his head softly, Archer showed his continuing chagrin that he could not rise to the professor's challenge of finding a year of absolute peace.
The things you've told him all along…
"I see." Struggling, Phlox could find no adequate words, but needed to keep the captain talking.
Archer's eyes flared to life as he suddenly focused tightly on the physician. "It's your words that haunt me," he replied. Bitterness, but no accusation, laced his tone. "Not even two weeks ago, Phlox, standing in here, you told me: 'the way we've always done before'."1 As quickly as it had appeared, he seemed to lose the fire. "And now I can't shake that phrase from my mind."
And pray to God he hears you…
"Daniels." The name was solo, coming from Phlox's tongue, but it spoke a volume of understanding.
Archer nodded faintly. "Daniels," he echoed. "And his Federation of Planets."
"It is a compelling dream," Phlox replied cautiously. "A union of alien races, joined together in harmony? Engaged in the peaceful and scientific exploration of the stars? Taking care of the common need and promoting the general welfare of all?" Smiling wistfully, he nodded, granting acknowledgment. "Such visions of utopia aren't exactly new among humanity, Jonathan."
And I pray to God he hears you…
"No, they're not," Archer responded tightly, recognizing the doctor's point. "But…humanity is no longer what we once were, Phlox. We hit rock bottom; we have…we've had a spiritual awakening, if you will." Looking away, as if he could see Earth, the captain continued. "Humans have been united under a common government for nearly a century now, with no warfare or civil strife. That's… unheard of for us. We're finally growing up. Maybe—just maybe—we're finally ready for this."
As he begins to raise his voice…
"If there's a future for humanity, Doc, it's not in the old ways of fear and distrust, of beggaring our neighbors, of fighting over scraps of meager privilege and imagined right. All we've done with this mission is take those old ways and project them onto the Xindi." With emphasis, he spat on the deck plating. "And what has it accomplished for us? Frankly, Phlox, we made it a lot further when we reached out in friendship and honesty. We're on the cusp of actually saving Earth and making an ally of our enemy—and we're doing it with diplomacy, not warfare."
You lower yours and grant him one last choice…
"But everything is riding on this," Phlox answered, seeing the conundrum that fell so heavily upon Jonathan Archer. "If our friendship fails—we have nothing left to fall back on."
"And you saw what we had earlier today," Archer confirmed, speaking harshly. "That reptilian destroyer had no interest in talking to us. And its captain was ready to fire on the councilors to get at us. How can we overcome that sort of intransigence?" He let out a firm gust of air. "How can I overcome that sort of intransigence?"
He will admit to everything…
"Our options are rapidly dwindling," Archer admitted, feeling the pressure collapsing upon himself, the heavy blanket of weight that he could no longer sustain. "Degra wants me to present our evidence and case to the Xindi Council itself—but he's already warned me that the reptilian and insectoid councilors won't be inclined to listen."
"And in the meantime," Phlox joined back in, acknowledging the danger, "the weapon is out there somewhere, ready to strike."
Or he'll say he's just not the same…
"I'm not sure that I can do it, Phlox." The admission, simple, its meaning as yet unclear, was soft and understated, the words spoken with the hint of the deepest regret.
Carefully, not wanting to pry, the doctor sought out Archer's wandering gaze, his eyebrows raised in query; a gentle smile, an encouraging expression, spread across the Denobulan's face, as he sought to expand on the cryptic comment.
And Archer knew it; he owed the doctor an explanation; he owed himself an explanation. Straightening himself, steeling his nerves, knowing the consequences of his words, he spoke again. "I can't risk Earth's survival on my chances of persuading the aquatics, Phlox," he stated. "We can't risk everything on the hope of friendship."
And you'll begin to wonder why you came…
"I see," Phlox whispered, his voice nearly inaudible. Was this, then, the final decision? Was everything else for nothing? Everything that had transpired, everything that was foreseen, was it to be tossed away to ensure simply another day of survival for Earth?
And what of that future? What of that hope? What of that growth, that readiness, that Archer had spoken of? Was it to be thrown away, never again explored, never again challenged, never again given an opportunity to change the moment and ensure the future?
Where did I go wrong?
"I don't know if you can understand, Phlox," Archer went on, his voice trailing. "Not because you're a Denobulan, no, it's not that," he added hastily, granting a small smile. "But…the fate of my planet, the fate of my people, is on the line here, and it's all coming down to my decisions in the upcoming days. No one else can make these choices for me…I have to bear this weight, Phlox, and I have to take the responsibility. And I can't risk everything on hope…hope bereft of proof."
I lost a friend…
Phlox nodded slowly. "But what of the progress we've made, Jonathan?" he asked, pressing home, not willing to surrender so easily. "You've convinced Degra that we're not the enemy; you convinced Jannar, and Berezi is ready to listen. You speak of proof, my friend," he offered, "and it's right in front of you. We were as good as dead at Azati; everything we've accomplished since then—our very survival since then—has been because of our ability to reach out an open hand. Don't dismiss that so easily. I ask you: don't dismiss that."
Somewhere along in the bitterness…
"And can I ask the four billion humans back on Earth to take that risk?" Archer countered. "And even if I could put it to them…no, they're not here to make that choice. I have to make the choice for them." His voice gathering fervency, he spoke strongly, feeling the courage of necessity flowing through him. "Maybe I could take the risk for myself, Phlox. But I have to act to protect all of those people. That's my responsibility. And I'll do what I must in order to save Earth, even if it ends the chance for a permanent peace with the Xindi in the process."
And I would have stayed up with you all night…
"How are your other patients?" Archer asked abruptly. His eyes shifted away, taking in the slumbering bodies, seeing them for the first time.
Phlox stayed silent for a moment, contemplating his response. "They're in various stages of recovery," he answered slowly, keeping it simple. "Ensign Socorro—she's getting worse, Captain. She'll pass in a matter of hours."
With the words, Archer's eyes fell shut, the cost of one more death hitting him. "I don't envy you your job, Doctor," he replied, his head sagging slightly. "And no, nor your commanding officer. I haven't made this mission easy on you."
"I am here to serve, Captain." From somewhere within, Phlox could still find the words of support to offer; he would not give up. "I was planning to sit vigil for Socorro," he commented, watching carefully as Archer's eyes reopened. "It might be good for you to join me."
Archer's mouth turned faintly upward. "I think I will, Phlox," he confirmed. "I—"
"Captain." Travis' voice, projecting loudly, intruded suddenly. "Please report to the bridge."
"Shit." Without moving for a moment, Archer leveled an apologetic look at the physician. "Sorry, Phlox."
"Of course, Captain," Phlox acknowledged; and, watching as the captain turned, jogging out the main doors, he could see the weight of life and death upon Archer's soul.
Had I known how to save a life.2
1 Guns 'n' Roses, "Civil War"
2 The Fray, "How to Save a Life"