Lieutenant Malcolm Reed stomped down the hallway. //Bloody hell!// he
thought to himself. //This damn headache is going to be the death of me.//
He gingerly rubbed his forehead, as if hoping that the touch of his hand would soothe it. The throbbing pain didn't stop; it only seemed to get worse.
//I wonder if I hit myself over the head with a phase pistol, would that be any less pain!// he grumbled, his annoyance reaching a high point.
He was rounding a corner, when one of his feet slammed into something.
"Damn!" he yelled out, leaning on a wall to rub his foot.
Then he noticed it. His foot hadn't connected with something, rather, it was someone.
He quickly knelt down, the pain of his foot forgotten.
"I'm quite sorry-" he started, then stopped when he noticed who it was.
The face of Commander Charles Tucker III looked up at him from the ground.
**********
"You found him in a hallway?"
"Yes sir!" said Malcolm quickly. "I ran into him, literally."
Jon Archer sighed. This was going to be a long night.
He turned to Doctor Phlox. "And?"
The doctor kept looking at the man in the cell. "I have no reason to believe that this man is not Charles Tucker."
The Captain blinked twice. "Ex-Excuse me?"
Phlox turned to face him. "This man is Charles Tucker III. The scans of this man are identical to the Commander Tucker you once knew, down to every last cell."
"Couldn't someone have duplicated that? They could be trying to fool us into believing that this is Trip." argued Archer.
"If that's the case, this is the most advanced cloning that I have ever seen. They have copied Commander Tucker perfectly."
Archer pondered this a moment. "Trip died, doctor. We found his body, buried it. How could this be him?"
Phlox sighed. "Captain, I am a physician, not a psychiatrist. You asked me to tell you if I thought this was the real Charles Tucker. I have given you your answer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to sickbay."
With that, the doctor turned around and left the brig, Malcolm not far behind.
Now he was alone in the room, except for the two guards at the door. He was weighing whether to go in the cell and talk to Trip or not.
He looked at his former friend, as he slept on the small cell's bed.
He would come back in the morning, he decided.
Then he could get some answers.
He gingerly rubbed his forehead, as if hoping that the touch of his hand would soothe it. The throbbing pain didn't stop; it only seemed to get worse.
//I wonder if I hit myself over the head with a phase pistol, would that be any less pain!// he grumbled, his annoyance reaching a high point.
He was rounding a corner, when one of his feet slammed into something.
"Damn!" he yelled out, leaning on a wall to rub his foot.
Then he noticed it. His foot hadn't connected with something, rather, it was someone.
He quickly knelt down, the pain of his foot forgotten.
"I'm quite sorry-" he started, then stopped when he noticed who it was.
The face of Commander Charles Tucker III looked up at him from the ground.
**********
"You found him in a hallway?"
"Yes sir!" said Malcolm quickly. "I ran into him, literally."
Jon Archer sighed. This was going to be a long night.
He turned to Doctor Phlox. "And?"
The doctor kept looking at the man in the cell. "I have no reason to believe that this man is not Charles Tucker."
The Captain blinked twice. "Ex-Excuse me?"
Phlox turned to face him. "This man is Charles Tucker III. The scans of this man are identical to the Commander Tucker you once knew, down to every last cell."
"Couldn't someone have duplicated that? They could be trying to fool us into believing that this is Trip." argued Archer.
"If that's the case, this is the most advanced cloning that I have ever seen. They have copied Commander Tucker perfectly."
Archer pondered this a moment. "Trip died, doctor. We found his body, buried it. How could this be him?"
Phlox sighed. "Captain, I am a physician, not a psychiatrist. You asked me to tell you if I thought this was the real Charles Tucker. I have given you your answer. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to get back to sickbay."
With that, the doctor turned around and left the brig, Malcolm not far behind.
Now he was alone in the room, except for the two guards at the door. He was weighing whether to go in the cell and talk to Trip or not.
He looked at his former friend, as he slept on the small cell's bed.
He would come back in the morning, he decided.
Then he could get some answers.