Thank you all for reviewing! It's nice to know I'm not just blowing smoke into the wind (wow, that was a very Trip expression) and that someone's reading this. I am trying to clear it up a little, so it isn't so confusing; let me know if I don't succeed.
Thanks! Enjoy!
Catspaw
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The crew moved about the bridge in silence that night. No scan was
forgotten in the search for Malcolm Reed. Every piece of rubble was sorted
and picked at until even Archer was forced to admit that there was nothing
to find. He sat in the captain's chair, for once not noticing how
uncomfortable it was, and thought silently as his crew went about their
duties.
"T'Pol," he said finally, "have you found anything?"
She replied, calmly, "Nothing."
"We've been around this planet two or three times and haven't found a thing," said Archer heavily.
"The logical conclusion would be that there is nothing to find," said T'Pol.
He noticed the activity around them had slowed. Everyone's ears were pricked up, waiting for his next words.
"We will hold a memorial service for Lieutenant Reed at 1700 hours," he said, directing his words to all the listening crewmembers. "As soon as that is concluded, we will leave this planet."
"Sir!" said Trip sharply, then covered his mouth and whirled back to his station.
"I know, Trip," replied Archer. "But we've done everything we can."
"Permission to keep looking for him, sir?" asked the commander. Archer looked closely at his friend and saw the man's eyes were rimmed with red.
"Until 1700 hours." He turned to Mayweather at the helm. "I see from the Vulcan star charts that there's a nebula nearby. Set in a course for that, Ensign." Mayweather nodded.
The bridge fell silent again, and stayed that way until Archer got up to make the dreaded call to Malcolm's parents. He hated doing it, even more after he actually spoke with the Reeds. At least, he comforted himself, Malcolm had friends aboard Enterprise. Someone would mourn for him.
But he could not help hoping, as Trip did, that they would find him, or at least some clue as to what had happened to him.
* * * * * * * * *
Henri nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the stranger's voice. "Hello, is anyone there?" asked the man weakly. Henri got up quickly and went over the cot.
"Good morning, Mr. Reed," he said cheerfully. "How are you feeling?"
"Where am...oh...Cadis. Yes."
"Good, you remembered this time," said Henri. "Would you like some water?"
"Yes, please." Reed sipped thirstily at the cup Henri brought him. "Thank you." He carefully pushed himself up from the cot, running a hand over his chest.
"Now, I realize I haven't been all that coherent," Reed said slowly, "but I could have sworn the last time I woke up my chest hurt like hell. How long have I been asleep?"
Henri raised an eyebrow. "Well, T'Miya did fix your broken ribs," he said. "They shouldn't hurt anymore." Reed checked himself over with disbelief.
"One more thing the Vulcans didn't share," he said wonderingly. Henri rolled
his eyes. That bump on the stranger's head obviously hadn't quite healed yet.
"Dad," he called through the tent door, "he's awake again." Reed blinked in
the sunlight as Jean-Luc came through the flap.
"Thank you, Henri. I need to speak to our mysterious stranger alone, please," said Jean-Luc. He smiled warmly at his son and patted his shoulder as he went by.
"Is he your son, then?" asked Reed, standing and stretching.
"Yes, he is," replied Picard. "Henri is his name."
"I'm afraid I can't quite remember yours," admitted Reed. "I know I woke up a few times last night but everything's a bit hazy."
"Jean-Luc Picard." He held out his hand and Reed shook it warmly. The old man would not meet his eyes.
"I have a rather odd question to ask you, Mr. Reed," said Picard. "What year is it?"
Reed touched his head again, feeling the slight tenderness where his skull had met with a piece of falling rubble. "It's 2152," he said. "I really think I'm all right now, thank you. I'm not even dizzy."
"Oh, I don't doubt that," said Picard. "T'Miya is a very capable medic, and she has pronounced you healthy. No, the reason I am asking, Lieutenant Reed, is that the year is not 2152 at all. It is 2374, and everyone aboard Enterprise has been dead for two hundred and twenty-two years."
Reed sat down again quickly, nearly toppling over the cot. "What kind of trick is this?" he said harshly. "Where's Captain Archer?"
"Like I said, he is dead," said Picard simply. "Along with your science officer T'Pol, your linguist Hoshi Sato, your entomologist Elizabeth Cutler, your engineer Charles Tucker..."
"Trip. We called him Trip," said Reed hoarsely. "How?"
Picard sat on the edge of the cot next to Reed and handed him a padd.
"One week after your disappearance from Cadis, the Enterprise encountered a Suliban vessel while exploring the Betreka Nebula. They were unprepared for the attack and caught off their guard. The Suliban ship obliterated them. The last transmission from the Enterprise was from Captain Archer..."
Reed read it out loud, his face pale. " 'We are under attack by the Suliban. Our weapons are off-line. Our life support is failing. Many of my crew are dead and many more are in need of medical aid. If anyone can hear this please respond.' I take it," he said hoarsely, "I take it no one did."
"A Vulcan ship got there two days later after they recieved the transmission. There was nothing left but rubble," said Picard.
Reed set the padd down and put his head in his hands. "All dead. Two hundred bloody years," he whispered. "I might have been able to save them, Jean-Luc. And now there's no way I can go back?"
Picard saw the temporal resequencer sitting on the floor nearby. Without Reed seeing it, he pushed it under the cot and then turned to the distraught man.
"No. There's no way to go back."
* * * * * * * * *
Archer had to admit, looking at the nebula from his window, that there were worse ways to spend an evening. It had taken them a week to arrive, but the view alone was worth it. T'Pol was having a wonderful time (though she'd be the last to admit it) collecting data on the rare hydrogen formations present within the sparkling pink and orange cloud.
Suddenly, a jolt shook the ship and knocked Archer off his feet.
"What the hell is going on?" he yelled, punching the comm as further tremors shook the decks below his feet.
"Sir!" came Mayweather's frantic reply. "Sir, we're under attack!!!"
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More to come, soon I promise!