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Chapter 9

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Jon scrambled out of the lift as the ship was hit by another blast. He stumbled but quickly righted himself. Looking to his right, he saw an unconscious Travis propped against the wall. Malcolm was already shoving the Ensign at the tactical post aside.

"Brace yourselves! They're firing again!" Malcolm yelled.

"Hull plating down to 30% Captain," T'Pol said. A loud boom and the bridge shook yet again.

"Mr. Reed!" Jon yelled, grabbing onto his chair for balance.

"Firing torpedoes, sir." The Mr'lar ship shook violently.

"Direct hit."

"Hail them, Ensign," Jon said.

"No response, sir."

Malcolm quickly said, "They're charging weapons again, Captain."

"The hell they are. Blow them out of the water," Jon snarled.

The armory officer fired several more rounds. They watched the Mr'lar ship shudder.

"They are breaking apart," T'Pol said.

The Mr'lar ship exploded, falling piece by piece into oblivion.

Jon swore under his breath. "And there goes our cure," he said. "And I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Starfleet." He looked back at Travis, focusing on the problems at hand.

"Let's get Travis to Sickbay. Malcolm?"

Malcolm and the Captain went to Travis's side. T'Pol was already there, checking his vital signs. At a nod from her, Jon grabbed the Ensign's shoulders and Malcolm took his legs. They lifted him between them and moved to the lift, T'Pol following.

Jon grunted out, "Hayes, you still have the bridge."

"Aye, sir."

As the door closed, Jon tossed out, "Nice job today, Lieutenant." He almost smiled at the pleased look on Hayes's face.

Squashed inside the lift, arms straining from Travis's weight, Jon faced Malcolm again.

"You too, Malcolm."

Malcolm shrugged the comment off. Frowning down at Travis, he said, "It isn't over yet."

~~~~

Malcolm entered Sickbay and dumped the contents of his arms onto the closest table. "That's the last of them," he said, turning to T'Pol and Archer. "My people have gone over that shuttle inch by inch; they didn't leave anything else in there."

Archer nodded and picked up one of the cameras Malcolm had brought in. "As soon as we can figure out a way to reverse the effects, these should come in handy," he said. His bleak face, however, belied his words.

T'Pol, bent over her equipment, didn't raise her head, choosing to focus on her attempts to find a cure for this odd illness.

Malcolm wandered over to the biobeds. Trip, Hoshi, and Travis occupied them; the remaining ill had been left in their quarters until there was something that could be done for them.

Malcolm looked over at Trip. The Commander was too still—but then, so were Hoshi and Travis. Travis was lying exactly as Malcolm and Archer had left him when they carried him in several hours ago. All of them looked fragile, eyes sunk into deep purple sockets, their cheekbones standing out against paled skin.

Probably my three closest friends on this ship, Malcolm thought miserably. The frustration of not being able to help them pounded at him. What good is being an expert in weaponry? I'm completely useless!

"Malcolm!"

His head snapped around. Archer was watching him irritably, and Malcolm suddenly realized he'd been pacing up and down the room.

"Sorry, sir," he said stiffly, forcing himself to stop moving. He settled for compulsively opening and closing his fists at his side.

"That's all right," Jon said, sighing. "We're all a little frustrated." He turned back to T'Pol. "Anything yet?"

He leaned in close, trying to see her progress. Malcolm walked over to join them and peered over her other shoulder.

T'Pol's head came up fast, but her voice was level. "When I do find something, I will notify you both immediately." She stared at Malcolm. He stepped back from her and she looked at Jon. The Captain chose to be oblivious to her irritation.

He leaned in again, ogling her notes. T'Pol stared at his ear. If looks could kill, Malcolm thought, mildly amused despite their situation. Instantly he felt guilty and tamped down on the feeling.

He approached and leaned over the counter as well. If he didn't know better, he would have sworn the Subcommander sighed.

"What are we all looking at?"

The voice from behind caused them all to whirl. Standing there, looking as cheerful as the day he boarded the ship, was Dr. Phlox.

Malcolm said, "Doctor! You're awake!"

"Yes, Lieutenant. I was feeling a bit poorly earlier, but it was nothing that my hibernation cycle couldn't take care of. Now, may I ask what the three of you are doing here and why I have three patients?"

Archer, initially struck speechless by the Doctor's sudden appearance, rushed forward. He grabbed the Doctor's shoulders. With a huge grin, he said, "Doctor, I've never wanted to kiss a Denobulan before…"

"And I see no reason to start now," Phlox said, carefully extracting himself from the Captain's hands. He was trying not to look too horrified at being touched—and failing.

Archer and Malcolm laughed.

Phlox turned T'Pol. "Now, Subcommander. I assume you require assistance?"