Disclaimer: I make no money writing this. The story is mine; Star Trek and the characters belong to Paramount.
Not Good Enough
Chapter 2
Archer practically threw himself onto the bridge as the lift doors opened.
"Captain, I have done as you asked. The hull plating is polarized and the weapons are online." T'Pol said calmly as she vacated the command chair and moved to her usual station. "The Tinglari have contacted us. They are demanding an explanation for our actions."
"On screen." Archer said angrily, pacing in front of his chair.
"Captain! You do us great insult and offence by awakening your weapons. Are we to conclude that you are not as peaceful as you present yourselves?" The Ship Leader's complexion had taken on a bilious green cast.
"That's what I'd like to ask you!" Archer snarled back. "Why did your people open fire on mine?"
"An impossibility. We do not engage in such dishonorable contrivance."
"An impossibility?" Archer shouted in disbelief. "An impossibility that resulted in three of my officers being rushed to sickbay! I don't even know if they're still alive!"
"Negassti! Your senses are in disarray. Unwarranted violence is uncivilized. Such a reaction on our part could only be rooted in a most grievous provocation on yours."
"Provocation? Your people just opened fire! There was no provocation!"
"An impossibility." The Ship Leader repeated stubbornly.
"Captain," T'Pol interrupted "they are powering up their weapons."
For a second, Archer almost wished that the Tinglari would open fire. He wanted an excuse to obliterate them, to make them pay. With difficulty he brought himself back under control. "Fine. Ensign Baird, please send the Ship Leader our recording of the events in docking bay three. Ship Leader Serris, will you watch it and tell us when this provocation occurred?"
Ship Leader Serris made a harsh chuffing sound. "Very well. This I will do."
"Recording sent, sir." Baird confirmed softly.
Time ticked by in silence. The Ship Leader's green tinge drained away as it watched the recording, leaving its skin a sickly white. "This is truth?" It demanded in a strained voice.
"Yes." Archer said simply.
"This is truth and yet you have stayed your hand from violence against this ship? Why is this Captain? Few we have met would do so."
"Because we don't engage in unnecessary violence. Because I would rather have an explanation than a war between our people."
"I fear I have no explanation to give you, Captain. Never before have I witnessed such profane behavior. It is unfit and unforgivable. If you would permit us to transport the bodies of our people back to our ship, we will attempt to track the source of this conduct and seek to enlighten."
"Bodies?" Archer shook his head. "Ship Leader, your people aren't dead, only stunned. They should recover in an hour or so."
Iridescence washed over the Ship Leader's skin as it bowed deeply, palms held outward. "You are as we, peaceful explorers that seek explanation over revenge. Let us arrange for the expedient transport of my people; then you and I, Captain, will enter into blood debt negotiations over this shameful injury to your ship community."
XOXOX
Conscious thought surfaced slowly. He knew something wasn't right. Someone nearby was singing about coalmines and blackbirds in a soft off-key voice. His mind couldn't make sense of it really. More sounds - the clink of metal against metal, a soft rustling, and a sudden piercing screech. That last sound he knew all too well - Phlox's blasted bat. Sickbay. With great effort he pried open his eyes, squinting in the brilliant light. A small inarticulate groan escaped from his throat. The singing stopped.
"Lieutenant Reed?"
"Bright..." Reed mumbled. He started to raise a hand to shield his eyes but stopped when he felt a tangle of IV tubing against his arm.
"How are you feeling?" Reed turned his head and looked at the medic sitting beside him. The man was calmly going over the gory mess of his right arm and hand with a medical scanner.
"The others?" Reed asked hoarsely. "The Captain?"
"Captain Archer's on the bridge. Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato are in surgery with Drs. Phlox and Santos." It took Reed a long moment to process the information. Why were his thoughts so slow and stupid? He tried to remember exactly what had happened.
"The aliens...?" He struggled to raise himself up on his good arm.
"Easy." The medic pressed a hand firmly against Reed's shoulder. "The ship is secure."
"What happened? Why did they attack us?"
"I don't know. I'm sure the Captain is working on it. Lieutenant, you've lost a lot of blood. You need to lie still."
Reed obeyed, knowing from experience that if he didn't cooperate he would be sedated. In any case, he was too tired to argue. He watched the medic work on his mutilated hand and tried desperately to clear the fog from his mind. He couldn't feel his arm at all. It was like watching someone work on a piece of meat. "Why can't I feel that?" He asked.
"I really doubt you'd want to." The medic said. "Gave you a nerve block. Ah, there's another one." He probed the mangled flesh of Reed's hand with forceps. Reed wanted to look away, but couldn't. All he could think about was the spray of blood from Sato's chest. How badly had she been hurt? He swallowed hard.
"How bad?" He forced himself to ask.
"Hmmm," came the distracted reply "almost got it. Ah!" The medic lifted a blood-smeared piece of metal out of the torn flesh. Reed stared at it in fascination. The projectile was small, but its grooved pyramid-shaped surface looked appallingly sharp. It was bright, elegant, and designed to kill.
Reed closed his eyes. That's what they had been shooting. The image of Sato's blood colouring the air flashed through his mind again. And when had Tucker been hit? Reed didn't know and for some reason that made him feel even worse. The medic apparently misinterpreted his expression.
"Don't worry." He said lightly. "You'll be playing the piano again in no time."
"What?" Reed looked up, confused. Piano?
"What I mean is you should have full use of your hand again. I know it looks pretty bad, but the damage isn't irreversible."
"No." Reed struggled to make the man understand "I meant the others. How bad?" The medic shifted uneasily.
"We won't know for a while, but they're in the best of hands. I give you my word on that." The evasive answer was far from reassuring. "Try to rest." The medic said. "I promise to wake you when there's news."
Resting was the last thing Reed felt like doing at the moment. He almost said as much, but taking his frustrations out on the medic would accomplish nothing. "I would appreciate that, Crewman, ah..." He cast about for the man's name, but if he ever knew it he couldn't recall it now.
"Cordell." The man supplied kindly.
Reed nodded and let Cordell finish his work in peace.
XOXOX
Reed looked up from his tea as Sato approached. He stood quickly and pulled out a chair for her. "Hoshi, how are you feeling?" He asked as she took her seat. He could tell by the way she moved that she still hurt.
"Better, but not good enough for active duty yet." she replied with a smile. "Do you want to see?"
"I beg your pardon?"
Her smile remained sweet as she unzipped her uniform. A ragged hole gaped red and wet between her breasts. He stared at her in horror.
"It's okay, Malcolm." She said gently "You were almost fast enough."
He staggered away from the terrible sight, and stumbled over an outstretched arm. He looked down at the blood-soaked bodies littering the mess hall floor. Dead. They were all dead.
"Not good enough." Said a pitying voice. Reed whirled around, reaching for his phase pistol. It wasn't there. The iridescent alien sighed. "Not good enough" it repeated as it pulled the trigger.
XOXOX
He found himself sitting upright on the biobed, awake, shaking; gasping for breath. He fought to clear the unsettling dream from his mind. How long had he slept? Not too long. The nerve block hadn't worn off yet. His heavily bandaged right arm lay across his bare chest in a sling, dead and unresponsive. He glanced around the dimly lit room. The other beds were empty. No Hoshi. No Trip. Were they still in surgery? Were they dead? His mind shied away violently from that thought.
A restlessness bordering on panic gripped him. He needed to leave. Now. He needed to do something - anything - other than wait here in the dim silence. Carefully he slid off the biobed, testing his strength. His legs held, but the intense stab of pain in his side took him by surprise. He pulled the tangled sheet away from his body, revealing more bandages. He only vaguely remembered receiving that injury and wondered how bad it was. He took several experimental steps. The pain was sharp, but manageable.
Moving gingerly, he made his way over to the storage lockers by the decontamination chamber. Dr. Phlox kept clothing on hand for those unfortunate times when away party uniforms ended up in a biohazard bag. Reed quickly found a pair of gray sweatpants. He pulled them on, the effort leaving him feeling sick and lightheaded. He contemplated a t-shirt for a moment but quickly gave up on the idea. It wasn't worth the trouble. Boots were absolutely out of the question. Besides he didn't know where his were. He found a pair of slippers and, after scowling at them for a few seconds, decided that they would have to do.
Reed didn't have a clear destination in mind when he left sickbay, but he wasn't surprised to eventually find himself standing outside the armory. He hesitated at the door. The armory wouldn't be deserted even at this late hour. If he went in, his well-meaning crew would probably take one look at him and escort him right back to sickbay. He moved past the armory to the firing range. He opened the door and peered inside. It was dark and empty. Perfect. He brought up the lights and let the door close behind him. This was part of his domain, comfortable and familiar. Here the silence was bearable.
He had logged many hours on this range, teaching and practicing. His thoughts strayed to Sato. She had finally started to make some real progress in her marksmanship - for all the good it had done her today. Unwanted images of blood and mangled flesh flitted through his mind. "It's okay, Malcolm. You were almost fast enough."
"Almost" he whispered to himself. "Maybe if...?" It suddenly occurred to him that it wouldn't be difficult to program a basic simulation. He pulled up the schematics for the docking bay on the computer and started to enter data: the position of the Tinglari shuttle; the aliens - how close had they gotten before it all went wrong? How fast had they been moving? He focused on his task, relying on estimates and educated guesses when facts and memory failed.
XOXOX
Archer was exhausted. He had finally managed to persuade Ship Leader Serris to suspend negotiations for a few hours. It hadn't been easy. Archer felt as if he was walking through a cultural and linguistic minefield. Ensign Baird was doing the best he could with the multi-layered Tinglari language, but the man simply didn't have Sato's talent. Hoshi. Archer rubbed a weary hand over his face. He was so tired that he had almost forgotten about his wounded officers for a few seconds. Almost. He went to the com panel.
"Archer to sickbay."
"Phlox here." The doctor sounded almost as tired as he felt.
"How are they, Doctor?"
"I'm pleased to report that both Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato are out of surgery. They are doing well, and I predict that they will recover completely with a little time." Archer permitted himself a small relieved smile.
"And Malcolm?"
"Ah, well, it appears that we have lost Lieutenant Reed."
"W-what?" Archer felt his stomach drop. Malcolm was dead? It wasn't possible. He leaned heavily against the bulkhead shaking his head in mute denial.
"Not to worry, Captain. I'm sure we'll find him soon." For a split second the conversation took on a surreal quality, but then his tired mind reasserted itself.
"Wait a minute. When you said you lost him, you meant...what exactly?"
"It seems that he wandered off while my assistant was engaged in preparing food for my animals."
Archer pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger trying to ward off the beginnings of a pounding headache. He really didn't need this. All he wanted to do was strip out of his bloodstained uniform and fall into bed. He suppressed a sigh of frustration. "I'll be right there, Doctor. Archer out."
XOXOX
Reed's left hand ached as he took up the target pistol again. It was a small discomfort against the monstrous pain that flared along his entire right side. He ignored it. It didn't matter. None of it did. Being good enough was all that mattered now. The targets appeared in the distance. He took quick and careful aim...
Time passed, minutes, hours, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it still wasn't good enough. In fact it was worse - this time they had all died. With single-minded determination he reloaded the simulation.
He wasn't aware of Archer's presence until a hand grabbed his wrist, forcing the target pistol off its mark. "Lieutenant Reed, just what the hell do you think you're doing?" Archer's voice was icy.
"Sir?" Reed's focus shattered, leaving him disoriented. Only the Captain's anger registered clearly in his mind.
"You didn't think target practice could wait until you were released from sickbay?"
"I-I'm sorry, sir. I couldn't wait there. Not there...not with..." He didn't finish. He wasn't making sense and he was sure that Archer didn't want excuses anyway. Pain was rapidly forcing its way back into conscious thought, making it difficult for him to regain his mental footing. Not sure what else to do, Reed took refuge in routine. He thumbed on the pistol's safety and took it over to the small table by the weapons locker. Automatically, he started to strip the pistol down, inspecting each piece as it came off. He was suddenly grateful to his first-year weapons instructor. That hard-bitten old bastard had made his students do this over and over again in every kind of condition, one-handed, in the dark, behind the back...
"Malcolm, did you hear me?" Archer's voice startled him out of his reverie "They're going to be fine. They both came out of surgery with flying colors."
Reed closed his eyes and gave a ragged sigh. His crewmates - his friends - weren't dead. He had failed them, but they weren't dead. His relief was accompanied by a nearly overwhelming wave of dizziness. He fought it off by focusing his attention back on his weapon.
"Come on," Archer said as he leaned over and shut down the computer "let's get you back to sickbay."
"Yes, sir. I just need to finish this." Reed continued with his task until the pistol lay in pieces on the table. He stared at the components blankly for a moment, and then started to reassemble them with meticulous care.
"Malcolm, can't that wait? It's just a target pistol."
"I'm almost done, sir." Target pistol or not, it was his weapon, his responsibility. "I just need to..."
"It doesn't matter. Leave it."
"But..." he started to protest. He wanted Archer to understand. It did matter. It was part of his job.
"Lieutenant!" Archer's voice struck at him like a physical blow. He wanted to flinch but was determined not to show weakness in the face of anger again. He schooled his face into professional blankness.
"Yes, sir." He said flatly as he placed the half-assembled pistol on the table. Ruthlessly shoving pain aside, he pulled his posture ramrod straight and walked out of the room.
XOXOX
The stricken expression passed over Reed's face so quickly that Archer almost missed it. He immediately regretted his irritated outburst. He should be handling this better. He was so tired that he wasn't thinking clearly anymore. Archer watched as Reed gently placed the target pistol on the table and turned toward the door. Damn. He had let himself forget that the man was injured. He stared at the bandages, wondering why his mind hadn't registered them before.
Reed's preoccupation with the target pistol troubled him. Archer strongly suspected that Reed hadn't ended up in the firing range by accident; that his armory officer had been in here punishing himself, using target practice as penance. And here he was bellowing and crashing around like the proverbial bull in a china shop, making everything worse. Great.
He hurried after his wounded officer. Reed was moving like a man whose pride was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Maybe it was. If it had been any other member of his crew, Archer would have offered his shoulder for support. With Reed he didn't know what to do, especially after the scene in the firing range. He shouldn't have let anger and frustration get the better of him. He would talk to Reed. Later. Right now he was too tired. Anything he said now would probably only make things worse. He sighed and kept pace with Reed, ready to give help if necessary but not quite daring to offer it.
XOXOX
Reed almost didn't make it back to sickbay. The corridor walls kept fading away into an unsettling gray mist. Only Archer's unrelentingly angry presence at his side kept him moving. He was glad when they finally walked through the familiar double doors into sickbay, but his relief was short lived.
Tucker and Sato lay pale and motionless on two of the biobeds. Sato was intubated, her face partly obscured by a tangled snarl of medical equipment. Reed could hear the hiss of the respirator as it did the work of breathing for her. They were here because he had failed. He closed his eyes in dismay. "Please don't die." He begged them in a rough whisper.
"Ah, Captain, I see you've found our wayward patient." A hand touched Reed's shoulder. The light contact startled him and he recoiled from it, crashing blindly into a tray of instruments. Pain exploded through his body. He would have fallen, but someone was dragging his uninjured arm across a shoulder. "Oh, no you don't Lieutenant." Phlox's voice said in his ear "You've caused us quite enough trouble for one night. If you're going to pass out do it on the bed, not the floor."
"Sorry. I'm sorry." Everyone was angry with him. He tried his best to comply with Phlox's order, but the mist was eating at his eyesight, disrupting his already precarious sense of balance. For a second, the world spun wildly and then the mist turned black.
XOXOX
He was standing in the mess hall, surrounded by the dead. Blood was everywhere, filling his senses. It was rusting in dark crimson streaks along the walls and furniture. It dripped to the floor with an almost inaudible patter. The air reeked of it so strongly that he could taste its coppery taint in the back of his throat. Even his hands were sticky with it.
"I trusted you." Suddenly Archer stood in front of him, his face and voice cold with fury. Tucker and Sato lay dead at his feet. "I trusted you to protect them!"
"I tried." Reed whispered.
"Well, you didn't try hard enough! Did you?" Reed stared down at his hands, but the blood on them merely reinforced Archer's harsh accusation.
XOXOX
He came awake with a small gasp. Things weren't right. The room was far too hot and someone was looming over him, hands on his shoulders. He nearly struck out at the figure before he recognized her - Ensign Cutler.
"Lieutenant Reed?" she said, briefly touching his forehead with the back of her hand. What was she doing in his quarters? Starfleet had regulations against things like that.
"You shouldn't be here." He muttered.
She frowned and pointed a scanner at him. "You were having a nightmare." Oh. Nightmares explained a lot. "And you've developed quite a high fever." She added. Reed didn't answer. He was trying to figure out why she was in his nightmare. She wasn't particularly scary. In fact, she was rather pretty despite her frown. Why was she scowling anyway? Maybe she was mad at him too? Before he could come up with a plausible explanation, a hypospray hissed against his neck and he spiraled back down into oblivion.
XOXOX
The next time he woke he was still feverish but far more rational. Shifts had changed while he slept and Cordell was back on duty.
"How are they?" he asked the medic anxiously.
"They're both doing well. The Commander was awake not long ago. He asked after you. Here." Cordell handed him a cup of broth. Reed drank it quickly, trying not to gag as his stomach heaved in protest. The broth was too salty and reminded him of the taste of blood. He suppressed a shudder and gave the empty cup back to Cordell.
"What happened with the Tinglari? Do you know?" Reed hated the fact that he was stuck here, away from the bridge.
"From what I've heard, the Tinglari captain was really upset by what happened. Everyone's trying to figure out what went wrong."
"They're still here?"
"Yeah. They're still out there." Reed frowned in response. That worried him. What if everything went to hell again? "The Tinglari physician seems to think that there may have been some kind of medical or physiological reason for the attack. That's why Phlox hasn't been here much. He's been helping them with their research."
"He's not over on that ship, is he?" Reed asked in alarm.
"Of course not. He's been spending most of his time in the lab. They've been transporting samples over here. Trust me, Lieutenant, no one wants to go visiting until we know exactly what happened." Cordell picked up a hyposray and adjusted the dosage. Reed eyed it suspiciously. "It's just an analgesic." Cordell said as he pressed it against Reed's neck. "But it might make you drowsy."
"Of course, don't they all." Reed said sourly as he leaned back onto the pillows. "Crewman Cordell?" he added more politely as the medic started to turn away.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry if I caused you trouble by...ah, liberating myself earlier."
"Nah." The medic said with a lopsided grin. "Happens all the time."
"I'm not surprised." Reed said as he stifled a yawn. He really was tired. "If you want to keep people in here you need better security. Way too lax. Need to secure your prisoner, your perimeter and your resources." His eyes closed of their own volition and he could hear his voice starting to slur. "Should lock up the clothing. Harder to escape when you're naked."
Cordell laughed. "Go to sleep, Lieutenant."
XOXOX
Reed was tired of sickbay and he was sure that everyone here was just as weary of him. He had managed to browbeat Cutler into giving him some proper clothing but she had retaliated by making him promise to stay within the confines of sickbay. He had given his pledge grudgingly, but he had given it. It was an effective deterrent.
At least now he was free of the biobed, so he sat in a chair between Sato and Tucker watching them sleep. It made him uncomfortable. He should have been able to protect them. "Don't die Hoshi." He said quietly to her still form. The soft whisper of the respirator was the only reply. "You're not to die either, Commander."
"Geez, Mal, have I ever told you that you're a pessimistic son of a bitch?" The beginnings of a small smile tugged at Reed's lips.
"Once or twice, Commander. And don't call me Mal."
"Only if you stop calling me Commander. We're not on duty y'know." Reed's smile evaporated.
"Yes, I know."
"So what's going on?" Tucker asked as he sat up carefully.
"I doubt I know much more than you do." Reed said, but he proceeded to tell Tucker what little he had discovered.
"Medical reason? What kind of medical reason?" Tucker asked.
"I don't know." Reed said bitterly. "Maybe our color scheme drove them insane. Too much gray. We're not exactly in the loop here, Trip. All the information I've got is third hand at best."
Tucker seemed taken aback by Reed's tone. "The Capt'n hasn't been down here yet?" he asked.
"No, I haven't seen him since..." Reed's voice trailed off. A cold leaden feeling settled in his stomach. I trusted you to protect them. Was the captain that angry with him?
"Malcolm?" Tucker was looking at him with concern. Reed shook his head slightly.
"I'm fine." he lied. "Sorry. I just hate being stuck here and not knowing what's going on."
To be continued in Chapter 3
