RED FOR STOP, GREEN FOR GO


Cap'n. She's waking up.

Trip studied T'Pol's exsanguinated face, seeing the twitch in her eyelids come again, and leaned forward in his chair, knowing he could not force further confirmation. The captain had fired the shot, but subtracting that slight weight from his own shoulders hardly made a dent. Whatever else she had been, she had also been vulnerable. The trick to lull him from his defenses might have been a lie—but only, he felt secretly, on the surface. Although he had not known the captain was there, and had not planned to deceive her in return, the result had been the same.

Archer came over to the biobed and peered over Trip's shoulder, and Trip forced his face blank hastily. Archer intoned, softly so as not to startle the waking Vulcan.

Phlox left his scans and ambled over, sweeping his scanner in a light arc over her as she stirred. She appears to be unharmed, Captain, other than the nanobots and chemical compounds in her bloodstream.

Archer reached out past Trip and rested the back of his hand against her cheek. Then he removed it and shook his fingers, the frown deepening. They warned us, he said, almost to himself. It was barely audible enough for Trip to pick up, and he suspected that it was lost entirely on Phlox. Then Archer raised his head and said over Trip's, in a much louder voice: They warned us that these nanobots were incompatible with Vulcan blood. Are they going to be harmful to her long-term?

I would not imagine so, but there is really no way to tell until she wakes up. These . . . parasites . . . have caused inebriation but there is no evidence that it will have a lasting effect.

Trip glanced up at Archer and Phlox, registering buried information he was not a party to. Why would the Vulcans react differently than humans? he asked. He had been briefed about much of the original away mission at Devoli V, but the details of the discussion down there escaped him. Somewhere he had missed a page.

Phlox pressed his robust chin into his neck, as he did when preparing to give a lengthy discourse. You said it yourself not half an hour ago, Commander.

I did? Trip shrugged. I must be brighter than I thought.

Archer chuckled and Phlox grinned, but the indignant Trip refrained from joining in. Perhaps you should refresh our memory, Archer invited.

It was Commander Tucker's suggestion that our Vulcan casualty appeared less green' than is customary. Tell me, Captain, did these . . . individuals . . . mention copper at all?

They did, now that you mention it.

From what I can ascertain, not only is the copper in the subcommander causing her adverse reaction, but it may explain why she contracted the nanobots and the commander did not.

Red for stop, green for go, Trip muttered.

Phlox gave Trip a look he didn't like. Of course, Lieutenant Reed was injected directly, but I suspect these nanobots are designed to be attracted to copper, especially in an oxygenated environment such as Vulcan blood.

Archer drew back from the huddle around T'Pol's biobed, and began to pace behind Trip. T'Pol's initial stirrings had subsided again for the moment, and although her breathing was even and the color seeped back into her cheeks she hadn't moved again. So . . . Archer began, . . . if they're attracted to copper, is there any way the same thing could be used to draw these nanobots back out of T'Pol and Malcolm?

Phlox considered. I believe so, Captain.

Get on it.

Archer was about to leave when T'Pol's eyes opened, the lids shooting up as if she had been doused in cold water. Trip shunted aside to make room for him at the bedside, trying not to show his relief.

Archer prompted, softly.

She turned her head to them, taking in Trip and Archer in one blessedly lucid glance.

Can I get ya some coffee? Trip teased, gently. She glared at him.

How are you feeling? Archer continued, shooting Trip a second warning glance.

T'Pol lifted her head a little from the biobed and flexed her shoulders, working back life into stiff muscle. Her face was as bland as Trip had come to expect from her, and her gaze when it alighted on him contained no trace of animosity. He offered a grin, faintly encouraged; perhaps whatever had caused her odd behavior had also erased it from her memory, and the awkward moments in the sweet spot could be left in the past, stranded from history as existing only in Trip's own memory. Then she pointedly rubbed her elbows, and with divine precision rolled one long, tight sleeve back to examine the offending area.

Both arms were severely bruised.

Kym tuol es suore, she replied, and blinked in surprise.

Excuse me? Trip inquired. Phlox swiftly ran another scan.

Ellui govadre, she attempted for a second time. Her dark eyes widened.

Phlox broke in, cautiously studying the scanner. Has Lieutenant Reed manifested any difficulties in speaking recently? Any transposed words, any unidentifiable terms?

Now that you ask, Archer returned. Yes. He choked when he tried to tell me something earlier tonight. I sent him to get some rest, I thought it was probably stress.

These new scans show that Subcommander T'Pol's motor cortex is failing to process signals to and from her brain. Auditory input appears to be functioning and is being correctly received, but the Vulcan equivalent of your Wernicke's area—the linguistic part of the brain—is severely compromised. Quite bluntly, Captain, she's talking nonsense.

Doesn't she always? Trip shot back. He just couldn't resist.

T'Pol glared even harder.

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Hoshi scrambled through the hatch after Reed, and he tugged impatiently at the restraints still binding his hand to hers, urging her inside faster. Get in, and hurry up about it if you really insist on coming, he snapped, each syllable a clipped, stabbing sound making a series of disconnected words. He sounded so angry that Hoshi was afraid his heat might burn her should she come too close. I'd say we've only got a few minutes before the whole ship knows what we're up to.

Hoshi took her place behind him obediently, knowing firsthand the futility of arguing with Malcolm Reed when his blood was up. His fingers flew over the helm, the manacled wrist pulling her towards him in frustration as he ran out of give. Hoshi let him urge her one way and the other, holding her tongue as the hatch glided closed behind her. He had ordered her to remove the cuffs—but she refused, adamant those cuffs would come off only when they were clear of the Enterprise.

Didn't you override the doors to the launch bay? she asked, watching his frantic initiation of takeoff procedure with a little perplexity. His security codes had been accepted, and the launch bay was unguarded . . . how was anyone to know what they did until it was too late?

Of course I did. That's how I got in. But whether the alarms go off or not, it's only a matter of time before they miss us. I get the impression the captain wants to keep an eye on me' for the time being. He graced her with a glance which barely took her in, but which exuded satire from it. Hoshi subsided, and leaned resignedly into his movements as the impulse engines began to purr like a cat growling low in its throat, sending rocketing little vibrations through the deck beneath her feet.

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Sickbay's com whistled, snapping four heads towards the sound in unison.

came Travis' voice, sounding tense even over the channel, our sensors just detected a vessel heading away from us. It's Shuttlepod One, sir, but our internal sensors show no signs of intruders in the launch bay and there's no response to our hails.

Hail them again, Archer ordered. The shrill opening crackle punctuated his last order, but it ushered in only more silence. Trip, Phlox, and T'Pol watched him intently.

Nothing, sir, came Travis' reply.

Open a channel. Punch it through to sickbay, Ensign. Archer raised his head subconsciously, as he would when addressing the viewscreen on the bridge, and said: Shuttlepod One, do you read? There was no answer. Shuttlepod One, respond.

I don't think they wanna talk, Cap'n, Trip observed dryly.

Archer waved him quiet with one raised hand. Mr. Reed, we've got the grappler locked on you, he invented smoothly. Respond or I'll be forced to use it.

A whine sounded as the shuttlepod's com system opened a channel, and the impatient tones of Lieutenant Reed came over loud and clear. How did you know it was me, sir?

Who else would take one of my shuttlepods against direct orders? Return to the ship, Lieutenant.

I'm afraid I can't do that, Captain.

I'm afraid you don't have a choice, Malcolm.

Around him, Trip, Phlox, and T'Pol all listened and waited like statues. The only slight movement was Trip gnawing on his knuckles in an effort to contain a frown.

I'm sorry, sir. It isn't my decision.

He cut the communication.

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Hoshi fidgeted in her seat, plucking absently at the collar of her crumpled uniform as Reed closed the channel. The cuffs lie discarded on the bench at the back wall. From where she sat only a sliver of his face was visible, his back turned to her and partly obscured by the seat—but his posture, neck straight and shoulders rigid as ever, told her enough as he continued to key in co-ordinates to their destination, no sign of concern apparent in his whole silent demeanor.

Where are we going? she asked, nervously. It hadn't occurred to her to ask, not before—the only thing she had needed to know was that he intended to leave, alone, possibly into danger because of what he carried in his blood. Something that could not be cut from him nor disabled in him, but which would draw enemies to him like pins to a magnet.

Back to the institute, he replied coldly, not sparing a glance or a turn her way. The fake one, I mean. I want to know who those impostors were and I don't intend to leave until they've taken these . . . these things . . . out of me.

Hoshi nodded, seeing no point in either agreeing or contesting the decision, and forgetting that her body language would be out of his visual range where she sat behind him. But his body language was more than available to her to study; clearly, from his unbending stance, he had made up his mind. He tolerated her presence under sufferance, and no more. Her input would not be appreciated.

The com beeped at the helm, and Reed stabbed it off, aggressively. Ignore it, he ordered.

But what if . . .

I said . . . He sighed, and she wordlessly witnessed the effort it cost him to breathe through such a rigid torso, and force his temper back down before it exploded. . . . ignore it.

The com beeped again, and a small red light flashed on the helm board like a beacon calling ships to shore . . . or warning them away.

Red for stop, she thought, arbitrarily. Only he did not stop.

Reed punched the button with sudden, unexpected viciousness. The com channel opened and Hoshi heard the captain's voice, a reassurance in this tempest she had unwittingly plunged herself into, and she saw Reed's back straighten defensively.

Archer said over the com, is Hoshi with you?

I'm here, captain, she replied. Reed twisted abruptly to glare at her, and she fell silent, slumping back in her seat and away from the static rage that streamed from his every pore.

She's perfectly safe, captain, Reed returned smoothly. His abrupt accent had never sounded so proper. For the moment.

Hoshi's head snapped round to stare at the back of his head, eyes widening. All of a sudden, she was far from sure this was a routine manifestation of his flash flood temper. What if, for some reason, the influence that had puppeted his body to do things he didn't want to do was controlling him now? An echo returned that had no place in the here and now, and yet did, and refused to be banished:

(Do you think he'd be too strong for you if he were under pressure?)

(You've got it in one, Ensign.)
Is that a threat, Lieutenant? Captain Archer's voice demanded, with a calmness Hoshi knew was entirely invented. As, no doubt, his threat of the grappler had been invented. There just hadn't been time to arrange for that kind of cover on the shuttlepod.

Let me go and you won't have to find out, Reed bit. The vocal cords producing the words sounded tight, a slight vibration to his voice that made it quiver with rage, and made Hoshi quiver with sudden fear. It barely sounded like him.

Where was it you were thinking of going to, Malcolm?

You know, Captain. Hoshi's in no danger if you comply, and stand down that grappler. I'm confident you won't use it.

There was a weighty silence. Hoshi could hear herself breathe, could feel its pull and tug in her ribs . . . but from Reed, though his chest heaved, she heard nothing. The com remained obstinately mute.

Malcolm . . . she began, cautiously.

Quiet, Ensign! he snapped. She shut up. He returned his attention to the captain.

Well, Captain? What's your answer?

Bring Hoshi back, Lieutenant, and I'll let you take the shuttlepod anyplace you want, Archer replied, finally. But don't drag her into this.

She's already been dragged into this, Captain. She involved herself. He shot her a sideways glance, only the second he had graced her with, and Hoshi squirmed in her seat, trying to shy away from that cold glare. If you were so concerned about her, why did you let her sit up with me in my quarters this morning? Why not send Trip, or a member of my security team? Why not do it yourself?

I asked him, Hoshi said listlessly. The captain didn't think it was a good idea.

Well, you were right, Captain. It wasn't. But now that she's here, Hoshi comes with me. Try to stop me and she might find the ride a little unpleasant.

Hoshi was already finding this ride somewhat unpleasant, wishing with all her might that she hadn't pushed so hard to come along . . . but she said nothing. The last time, something in him had responded to her, made him fight the influence in engineering, made him wake up. She may be able to work that magic again. But only if she stayed.

Archer tried again, I wasn't going to tell you this, because I didn't want to make you nervous . . . but I was warned that these nanobots may cause hallucinations. That you might experience unusual side effects. Malcolm, whatever you think is going on . . . it's not real. It never was.

Hoshi did not dare breathe in the silence that followed. She watched as Reed's head tilted a little, sagging from his attentive pose until his face was turned into the helm, and he lowered his forehead against the metal, breathing hard. She could hear him now, even above herself, and it was far from normal. She could do nothing but wait, not knowing what to believe, not knowing if Archer or Reed was in the right . . . but knowing that she mustn't let Reed know that.

At last Reed raised his head, composing himself, and took a deep breath that shuddered through his trim frame like a gale. I'm sorry, Captain, he said, weakly, but you don't know what it's like. It's real. It has to be real. See you later, sir.

He cut the transmission, and slumped back in his chair in defeat. It was then that Hoshi noticed what was wrong, what had been wrong the whole time.

There was not even the slightest scent of lemonade in the entire shuttle.

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Archer turned to the others, six owlish eyes blinking expectantly at him, awaiting orders. What are ya doin' Cap'n? Trip asked, echoing each of their stares in one question.

Giving him a green light, he said.

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Malcolm swung his seat in a lazy 180, bringing his entire face to bear for the first time since they boarded. Every one of his taut muscles seemed to have turned to jelly, and he had sunk into a boneless huddle. He gave a watery smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

I didn't plan that, Hoshi, he murmured. But this is important.

Hoshi felt that familiar sensation of strings being cut, the loosed puppet once more, and collapsed in her own seat with a gasp. He had been pretending.

The whole time, he had been pretending.

You lied to the captain, she managed, faintly.

No, Hoshi. I didn't. I only wish I were. He looked down at his hands, briefly, and sighed. If I don't go, now, then the entire ship will be in danger. He smiled again, sadly. Including you, Ensign. I saw it—remember? I can't forget it, like it never . . . He huffed, a sound like a laugh, but not. . . . happened. I mean like it's not going to happen.

So . . . we're going to Devoli V?

His smile broadened, and the blue eyes on her were suddenly gentle, anxious, and unexpectedly kind. If you don't mind, he said.