Just a note about this chapter title; I first called this chapter What Price, Friendship?' last year, long before Dave Stern's paperback What Price, Honor?' was even rumoured. It's a coincidence!

WHAT PRICE, FRIENDSHIP?

The ship was in chaos. Only Enterprise's night crew were yet able to respond to the klaxon-wail shrieking over her head like an animal in its death throes, but all about her as she ran crewmen and women were stirring, coming yawning to their doors in varying states of undress to confirm that this was a false alarm.

But Hoshi knew that this was no false alarm. That crumpled, empty bed had told her that. The boots beside it, one standing to attention while the other listed drunkenly on its side, had told her that. He was gone, unattended and asleep, and it was her fault. She had dozed at her post, the so-far-failed decrypting task assigned to her forgotten in her need for sleep. As Hoshi's burning legs raced her onward towards engineering the alert siren seemed to scream her failure to the entire ship.

She knew it had been foolish of her, agreeing to his request for secrecy. He hadn't ordered her as he might have done, and the decision to heed his hazy plan or take it upon herself to tell the captain had been hers—she had opted to honor his request, seeing the urgency behind it. She had allowed her sentimentality to get the better of her, and this was the result.

She had known since the Enterprise launched that one day, she would mess up. At first she hadn't even been able to shoot a phase pistol straight. But she had always imagined that her mistake would be in mistranslating some new, exotic language—not in guarding a man whose job it was to protect the Enterprise from harming the ship himself.

People had begun to gather in the corridors like bewildered sheep. Hoshi, although technically the ranking officer present, did not have time to play shepherd. She ran.

The corridor to engineering was shrouded in smoke as she dived inside, the air quivering with chemical pollutants like the wake of a Bunsen flame. Smells thick as tar and tinged with charcoal fumes filled her nose and burrowed into her head, driving needles into her brain that made her tired eyes water. She blundered forward in the noxious fumes, seeing the black shapes of crewmen dashing past her in their haste to repair the damage. From the sounds, Hoshi concluded that the casualty was the warp reactor itself.



She spun to the voice, recognizing Commander Tucker's expressive lilt even over the nerve-frying monotone of the tactical alert. He was barreling down the corridor towards her at a breakneck speed.

It's Lieutenant Reed! she yelled back. The relief, the release of responsibility from her shoulders at Trip's arrival, overrode any last, dying remnants of sentimentality she felt towards the need for secrecy, and the confession flooded from her mouth like the smoke flooding from engineering.

Trip bellowed, still meters from her even at his fastest sprint. Hoshi, the doors are closing!

Hoshi swiveled to the doors beside her, her brain freezing at the sight of them soundlessly gliding closed, cutting off that smoke and that acrid smell. Trip was too far away, he would never make it through . . . but she could. She had only an instant to decide. She took a deep breath, braced herself, and leapt through the narrowing gap.



She turned back just in time to see Trip toss something through the final few inches of space. She caught it, startled, and studied the thing in her hands stupidly.

It was a phase pistol.

The doors clanged shut behind her.

---------------------------------

Hoshi squinted through the smoke, her lungs dragging in the foul cocktail of fumes and that popping sherbet undertaste that had been present in her quarters and soldered into her robe—that scent that had been coming so powerfully from Lieutenant Reed. So he was here somewhere, beneath the fog of smoke and fizzing chemicals. And whatever was happening to him was getting stronger.

The temperature had risen in the heart of engineering, and her tired lungs found little oxygen in the contaminated air. Her head swam woozily and the siren's song of the alert sang like circling vultures in the far recesses of her mind, making her sensitive ears tingle.

She stumbled forward, faint and dizzy, her throat parched from the chemicals into a scratched, sandpaper knot. She choked it back, feeling with her hands for support to either side.

Keep your head, Hoshi, she commanded herself, firmly. You can do this. You have to do this.
she called, her tongue a swollen, nerveless stone in her mouth. She grasped the phase pistol in both sweaty, death grip hands, every admonition he had ever given her to relax spinning through her dazed head like a white-knuckle ride.

(try and keep your shoulders relaxed)

Hoshi bit her lip and wriggled her shoulders a little, loosening the knotted muscles beneath her sweat-drenched uniform. The heat was slowly rising.

(it's hard to aim accurately when you're tense)
She gulped, tasting bitter metal and crackling citrus in her mouth, and slowly, painfully, pried the fingers of her left hand from the raised phase pistol, forcing herself to breathe deeply although the fumes hurt her chest and throat. She was beginning to feel giddy.

Above her, the ship's internal com system crackled. The sound reminded her, for no reason at all, of steak on a barbecue. came Captain Archer's voice. Hoshi, are you all right?

I'm fine, Captain, she replied, not at all sure she was.

Can you see Lieutenant Reed anywhere?

No. Is there anyone else in engineering? Did you check for biosigns? She paled at the thought, not wanting to think what Malcolm may be capable of in his current state.

It's just you and Malcolm, Hoshi. Archer's voice was apologetic, even worried. But she did not need him to say that it was up to her—she had known that from the moment Reed knocked so savagely at her door earlier tonight.

She narrowed her eyes, peering and straining through the dishwater-gloom, searching for a shape in the cloud.

I don't see . . . no . . . wait. Captain, I think I see him.

Go easy, Hoshi. He's obviously not feeling quite himself.

Again, there was that near personal subtext. Perhaps others of this crew would miss the hidden warnings, not knowing the captain well enough to understand the reference—but Hoshi knew. Archer didn't blame the lieutenant for this; the sympathy for and empathy with his crew that made Archer the trustworthy captain he was shone through, reassuring Hoshi that it would be all right. But the captain also suspected, as strongly as she herself did, that the nanobots were at fault—and that the situation was highly volatile.

Hoshi could see Reed clearly, now; he was standing beside a panel, only meters from the warp reactor. Its softly pulsing light radiated outward through the drifting smoke, diffusing into prisms as it touched upon the chemicals in the air. Its comforting hum was muted, still gentle, still steady—but clearly distressed. The complex chain reaction she was so used to hearing did not come.

Lieutenant? Sir? she tried again. Softly.

He stirred, suddenly, twisting his head to follow the new sound. His eyes snapped open, waking abruptly from whatever dream had followed the other—the one she had witnessed, earlier in her quarters. The one she had chosen, in the end, to allow him to suffer for the sake of research.

Foolish. How could she have been so foolish?

You finally messed up, Hoshi, she berated herself. And when you mess up, you really mess up.


It was a mere whisper over the blaring sirens, but in truth, it must have had some strength in it, to be heard at all. She looked up, the phase pistol slipping a little in her reluctant hand, and found Reed's all too comprehending eyes fixed immovably on her. He was startled, uncertain of having wakened from one nightmare to another, but still there was a bitter, resigned understanding to his voice she could not ignore.

Get away from me, he said. Not an order, spoken angrily in his defense, but a request, spoken reasonably for hers.

Archer's voice interrupted over the com, strong still over the sirens. Malcolm, what are you doing? he demanded.

It's not me, Captain, Reed replied, with horrible calm. It's him.

Him? Hoshi wondered, quickly. Who's him'? Aren't the nanobots doing this?

Archer's voice echoed. What are you talking about? Step away from Hoshi and from the reactor, Malcolm.

Reed's eyes left hers, briefly, to touch upon the phase pistol pointed at him in Hoshi's stuttering hand. His own hand, she now saw, was hovered only inches from the panel he stood by. I can't, he said.

I gave you an order, Lieutenant!

Hoshi put in, feeling suddenly sick to the stomach as she realized what she had allowed to happen, he's telling the truth. He can't. The silence from the captain was question enough. He was sleepwalking, earlier tonight. Something's controlling him, it's not his fault.

And you knew about this?

Hoshi's voice disappeared inside her throat, hearing the justifiable anger in the captain's.

Talk to him, Archer ordered.

Sir . . .

Talk to him!

Hoshi swallowed back the rise of her own questions, recognizing that rare tone—there was no arguing with the captain on this one. She took a hesitant step forward, allowing the phase pistol to relax a little to her side, and saw Reed's body brace at the approach. She halted, not wanting to alarm him—or whatever it was that controlled him.

she prompted, as soft as her voice could fall before the sirens overpowered it. Malcolm, what happened? I thought when I woke you up last time you were . . . you, again. You're awake now, why can't you step away like last time?

I don't know, Ensign. Maybe the stakes just got a little bit higher. He smiled wanly, a twisted tug at the corner of his mouth. He wants me to burn out the warp reactor.

Trip's indignant twang came loudly over the com. That'll leave us dead in the water. We'd be stuck on impulse engines for weeks!

Reed replied.

Hoshi took in the landscape of his face sadly. What was clear to her in here could not be clear to Trip, to the captain, out there, but she saw it. She had seen it once already tonight. He knew he was losing control. And it frightened him. If he wants you to disable the warp reactor . . . then why hasn't he made you press that button yet?

She watched as a fine bead of sweat broke on his brow and tumbled down the side of his face, tracing through the high sheen already there. When he spoke, he spoke quietly, and only to her. Because I'm fighting him, Hoshi. But I don't know how much longer I can hold him off.

There was that him' again—whatever was happening to the lieutenant, whatever those nanobots were doing to his system, they were causing hallucinations, just as they had been warned. He clearly believed a single entity of some kind was doing this to him.

came Archer's voice again, breaking the moment. Reed did not take his eyes from her, or she from him.

Yes, Captain? she stammered.

That phase pistol set to stun?

Yes, sir.

Be ready,

Hoshi almost yelled the argument, stunned at how easily she had almost forgotten what they were dealing with. Captain, we don't know what even the stun on this thing may do if it reacts with the nanobots. We don't know anything about them. It might disable them, or destroy them . . . or it may make them do something to harm Malcolm. I don't know about you but I wouldn't want to risk that. She saw his sharp eyes flinch as she spoke, a distant spark lighting them for the barest, briefest instant; and what was more, she recognized the cause. It was . . . disbelief.

she tried, one last time. If I come closer, what would he do? Would he make you push that button? Do you think he'd be too strong for you if he were under pressure?

That mournful smile surfaced again, and his outstretched hand shook, violently. You've got it in one, Ensign.

What if . . .

I'm running out of time. He's too strong for me. The last was barely a whisper, but it seemed to swell and echo in her head, beyond the reach of the wailing sirens. He's taunting me, Hoshi. Don't you hear it? Before she could reply, he smiled one last time, tragically, and muttered: No, of course you don't.

Hoshi's fingers curled tighter about the phase pistol at her side. She stopped, closed her eyes a moment, and breathed deeply. The lemonade scent was overpowering.

(it's hard to aim accurately when you're tense)

She relaxed, but it hurt to do it.

When she opened her eyes again, her body quivering from the harsh intake of poisoned air, Reed was still staring unflinchingly at her, determination etched into every fine line, and every deeper one. he mouthed.

Hoshi fought to keep her arm at her side. Friends don't shoot each other.

She had struck a nerve, and she knew it. His stance had never once altered; but his eyes had flinched again, as if she had physically hit him. Whatever that line meant to him, it meant something.

I almost did, he said.

Gulping, Hoshi raised her weapon

(just point straight at the target)

relaxed her shoulders

(and try and keep your shoulders relaxed)

and took a deep breath. He had always had faith in her ability to use one of these. Always encouraged her. Irritable and impatient a teacher as he was, he had coached her at her request, spent his time and effort . . . so that she wouldn't mess up when it came to the crunch.

he said.

Hoshi took aim, and fired. The beam struck him square in the chest. He slumped to the floor, motionless in a fog of fumes and black smoke.

There was one last echo in her head, as she stood in shock over his unmoving body, one last voice from their lessons in phase pistol targeting. She had always doubted, back then, that it could be true.

You'll get the hang of it.