Disclaimer: I make no money writing this. The story is mine; Star Trek and the characters belong to Paramount.

Not Good Enough

Chapter 3

"No. Absolutely not."

"Come now, Lieutenant." Phlox said cheerfully, waving the small container full of writhing slugs in the air.

"They're revolting." Reed protested.

"They're useful." Phlox countered. Reed gave an exasperated sigh.

"Just what are they supposed to do anyway?"

"Tricassian slugs are able to help regenerate damaged nerve tissue. They burrow into the wound and secrete a..."

"Burrow in!" Reed's voice rose in disbelief. He looked entreatingly at Cordell who had just finished taking the bandages off Reed's arm.

"Don't look at me." Cordell said. "I'm just a medic. Besides I think they're kind of cute."

"Cute? You must be joking."

"Okay, so they're not very appealing," Cordell said more seriously "but you sustained some severe injuries." He pointed at several wounds on Reed's fingers where the strange projectiles had cut deep into the bone. "Without proper treatment you could end up with some loss of feeling and mobility in those fingers. This is your dominant hand, isn't it?" Trapped between Phlox's enthusiasm and Cordell's logic, Reed knew he was fighting a loosing battle.

"Fine, then. Go ahead." He tried hard not to sound petulant and failed.

He watched in distaste as Phlox placed one of the tiny repulsive slugs on his hand. Immediately, it oozed its way into one of the wounds, leaving behind a thin trail of slime. A faint high-pitched humming sound filled the air and Reed's hand began to tingle rather unpleasantly.

"Why is it doing that?" he asked nervously

Phlox gave him a wide inhuman grin. "I think it likes you, Lieutenant."

Reed rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. Look, doctor, when can I get out of here?"

"I see no reason why you can't leave in the morning, but only if you promise to come back for daily treatment."

XOXOX

The first thing he did upon returning to his quarters was take a shower. The hot water felt so good that he stayed there until the timer beeped its shut off warning. He toweled himself dry, a task made awkward by his crippled hand and aching side. As he started to shave, he paused to stare at his reflection in the foggy mirror. His face was pale and drawn with dark smudges under the eyes. "You look like hell." He said to his blurry image. "Feel like it too." He added with a small humorless laugh.

Getting dressed was a frustrating ordeal that left him tired and sore. The boots were the worst. It took several long minutes of struggling with the laces to get them correctly tied. He supposed the slippers would have been easier but he found wearing them strangely humiliating. He was a Starfleet officer, not some kind of pathetic invalid.

Feeling slightly guilty, he left his quarters and made his way down to the firing range. Dr. Phlox had admonished him to take it easy and rest, but there would be time for rest later. Right now he needed to assess what had gone wrong and what he could have done to avoid it.

Once again the range was empty. The half-assembled pistol was still on the table, an uncomfortable reminder of Archer's anger. Reed picked it up and finished putting it together, forcing his weak uncoordinated right hand to do some of the work. After he placed the pistol back in the weapons locker, he went to the computer and pulled up his simulation results. They were utter rubbish of course. He'd gone about it all wrong. He erased the results, and then set the computer to run new trials based on his most recent practice scores. While the computer worked he walked slowly around the range checking to see that everything was properly cleaned and stowed. He prided himself on running a well-organized department. He was inspecting the last target pistol when the door opened and two of his ensigns, Elena Covington and Nathan Briggs, walked in. They looked startled to see him there.

"I didn't know you were back on duty, sir." Covington said.

"I'm not."

"Oh." She said obviously at a loss for words. Briggs was a little bolder than his counterpart.

"Uh, shouldn't you be resting sir?" he asked hesitantly.

"I'm fine, ensign. Thank you for your concern." The coolness in Reed's voice made the ensign fidget a little, but didn't put him off entirely.

"Is there anything we can get for you?"

"No, thank you." Reed responded with a distant politeness that made it clear that he wanted to be left alone.

Covington, at least, seemed to recognize the hint and she tugged on Briggs' arm. "Well, then, we'll just come back later." She said a little too cheerfully as she dragged her partner out the door. "Just let us know if there's anything we can help you with, sir." Reed watched them go with some amusement. He was both irritated and touched by their concern, but he had work to do.

He picked up the target pistol, enjoying the weight and feel of it in his hand. He almost put it away, but then decided to run a few real time simulations while the computer ran its trials. It would give him something to do.

XOXOX

Reed barely managed to pull off his boots before he fell onto his bunk. He hoped his state of exhaustion would give him sleep without dreams. Certainly none of his simulation results had given him peace of mind. They had only increased his sense of failure and inadequacy. Still not good enough. There had to be a way around it. He would find it eventually. He had to.

Fatigue overtook his racing mind and he was just starting to doze off when the com panel beeped. With a groan he rolled off the bed and padded over to it. "Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed, I believe we had an appointment scheduled for this afternoon. It's not like you to be late. Is everything all right?" Phlox sounded suspicious.

"Fine." Reed said quickly. "Forgive me, Doctor, I, ah, fell asleep. I'll be right there."

"Very good, Lieutenant." Phlox signed off.

Reed stared down at his boots in dismay. "Couldn't have called before I took the bloody things off, could he?" He muttered.

XOXOX

With a sharp cry, Reed wrenched himself out of yet another blood-filled dream and back into awareness. He sat in the dark and pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes, trying to blot out the gruesome images. "Bloody hell, get a grip." He whispered angrily to himself. "It was just a dream. They're fine." He lay back down and tried to calm his racing heart.

After a while he gave up. He untangled himself from the bed sheets and dressed. He stuck his feet into the hated slippers and exited his quarters with a strange sense of urgency.

"You're being a fool." He told himself as he stood outside Sickbay. "They're fine." But he knew that he had to see for himself, so he went in. Dr. Phlox looked up from his task of feeding one of his creatures.

"Is everything okay, Lieutenant?" He asked quietly.

Reed felt himself flush with embarrassment. "Fine." He replied "I just..." He gave a weak wave in the direction of his friends. Phlox gave him a sharp look, but said nothing for which Reed was grateful.

Reed made his way over to the chair. Tucker and Sato were both asleep. "Don't die." He told them softly, knowing it was absurd. Tucker gave a loud snore in reply. The sound was oddly reassuring. Tucker was obviously alive.

Reed reached out and gently took hold of Sato's wrist. Her pulse was strong and steady. A few minutes passed before he realized that ventilator had been removed and she was breathing on her own. He had failed, but they were still alive. For the moment it was enough.

XOXOX

Reed pounded his fist against the console in frustration. It still wasn't good enough. Nothing he had tried so far had made a significant difference in the outcome. Increasing the firepower involved certainly hadn't worked. It wouldn't have mattered what he'd been armed with. He ran his hand through his hair and stared down at the damning results. There wasn't much left to try. He wracked his brain for possible solutions.

Perhaps the problem was in the simulation itself? He had programmed it based on his memory of events so it was bound to have distortions. It might help if he could refine the program; improve its precision. There had to be a security recording of the incident somewhere. He could check the details of the simulation against it.

It took a few minutes to locate the recording. Reed pulled it up and let it run on the small screen. Half way through he shut it off with an unsteady hand. He had seen enough to know that his simulation was wrong, horribly and terrifyingly wrong. It was too easy. He sank down on the floor next to the console and hugged his knees hard to his chest. His partially healed wounds ached in protest and dread coiled like a poisonous snake in his empty stomach. He wanted to erase the recording; pretend he had never seen it. But he had.

Reluctantly, he pulled himself up off the floor and hit the play button. He watched the recording over and over, until the shock of it wore off and he could view it as a tactician. He had been wrong about so many things. Only three of the Tinglari had even been armed. It frightened him that he hadn't noticed it at the time. It was his job to discern and react to threat. He needed to know why he had failed so badly this time.

He took his time in creating the new simulation, checking and double-checking it against the recording. When it was done he set it to run trials with his practice scores. He hadn't expected much, but the results were even more appalling than he had anticipated. He tried again, using only his personal best score, creating results that were only marginally less dreadful. In desperation, he retrieved a target pistol and ran the simulation real time. He knew it was a pointless exercise, but something compelled him to try it again and again until the muscles in his hand seized and cramped in protest. When he left the firing range, it was with the merciless knowledge that none of them should have come out of that docking bay alive.

XOXOX

Reed sat motionlessly on his bunk. He wasn't sure how long he had been there or even how he had made it back to his quarters. Black despair swirled around him like a riptide, threatening to pull him under. The door chime beeped cheerfully. He knew he should get up, open the door, do something, but inertia had him firmly in its grip. It was easier to just sit. The chime rang again. And again. Whoever it was wasn't going away. With difficulty he summoned his voice "Come in."

The door slid open and Tucker limped in leaning heavily on a cane. "Hey, Malcolm. The Doc finally cut me loose from sickbay. Do you want to...?" Tucker broke off suddenly. "Man, you look like hell. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He said. "Just tired. I was sleeping." Tucker looked pointedly at the neatly made bunk.

"Uh huh." He said, clearly skeptical.

"Was there something you wanted, Commander?" Reed asked wearily.

"Me and Travis are going to get together for dinner at 1800 hours. You want to join us?" Before Reed could respond, the com panel beeped. He turned his head to stare at it. It seemed very far away. It beeped again. "You gonna get that?" Tucker asked.

"I suppose I should." Reed replied getting up with an effort. "Reed here."

"Lieutenant Reed, we were expecting you down in sickbay over twenty minutes ago." Cutler sounded rather annoyed. Reed wondered if there was any excuse he could give to get out of going. Probably not.

"My apologies. I'll be right down." As he signed off he saw Tucker looking at him suspiciously. "Excuse me Commander, I shouldn't keep Ensign Cutler waiting any longer. She sounded quite put out."

"All right, Malcolm, what's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what's going on with you. You're never late for anything."

"It simply slipped my mind."

"Slipped yer mind? Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Yes." Reed said stiffly as he walked out the door. Tucker followed. "Really Commander, I'm perfectly fine. I don't need an escort."

"Well, I just thought I'd go along to make sure that Cutler doesn't hurt you. She sounded madder than a wet hen."

When they arrived in sickbay, they found Sato awake and sitting up in her bed. Reed had time to exchange a quick greeting with her before a glaring Cutler descended on him. But seeing Sato alive, if not well, made him feel a little better.

He sat patiently as Cutler inspected the half-healed scars on his hand, arm, and side. "Everything looks like it's healing cleanly. Have you been doing the exercises Phlox gave you?"

"Yes."

"Show me." He obeyed, stretching his hand out flat, then flexing it into a fist that still couldn't quite close all the way. "You've nearly recovered the full range of motion already." Cutler said, obviously pleased with his progress. She placed a flexible ball-like instrument into his hand "Squeeze. He tightened his grip on it as hard as he could, ignoring the twinge of pain. The instrument gave a beep. "Good." she said and he handed it back to her. Cutler put it aside and picked up a scanner. "When did you last eat Lieutenant?" She asked, pursing her lips in disapproval.

"Ah…breakfast, I guess."

"And what did you eat?"

"Tea...and toast." He had eaten a few bites of the toast so he was pretty sure that it counted.

"You need to eat in order to heal, Lieutenant." She sounded a lot like Phlox. "I want your promise that you'll go to the mess hall and have a proper meal when you're done here."

"I was going to have dinner with Commander Tucker and Ensign Mayweather at 1800."

"Good enough." She said. "You can go on and get dressed."

"No slugs today?" He asked in surprise.

"No. No slugs."

"Pity. I was starting to become rather fond of them."

Cutler smiled. "Phlox said that you could finish healing on your own. He wants you back here two days from now for a check up though."

"Fine."

"And Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to be late."

XOXOX

He had arrived in the mess hall with every intention of eating, but now that the food was in front of him his appetite had vanished completely. He played absently with the vegetables, herding them across the plate with his fork, separating the broccoli, carrots and cauliflower into distinct flocks.

"You're supposed to eat it, not torment it." Tucker said disapprovingly.

"Shouldn't we wait for Travis?" Reed tried to stall.

"He'll be here soon. Eat. That's an order." Reed speared a piece of broccoli and reluctantly lifted it to his mouth. He was surprised to find that it tasted rather good. He ate slowly while Tucker rattled on about a letter he had received from his sister.

A few minutes later Mayweather came in and swiftly made his way to their table. "You guys aren't going to believe this." He said excitedly as he took his seat.

"Believe what?" Tucker asked.

"Phlox figured out why the Tinglari attacked us."

"And?" Tucker prompted.

"We smell." Mayweather leaned back in his chair and waited for a reaction from his audience.

"Run that by me again." said Tucker.

"There's something about the way humans smell that triggers a primitive fear-aggression response in the Tinglari brain."

"You're kidding me." Tucker said.

"Nope. I'm not. Phlox and the Tinglari physician are trying to figure out some way to block it."

"Well, I'll be damned!" Tucker said. "I bet T'Pol wasn't surprised. She's always going on about how bad we smell."

Reed tuned out their voices. His light meal now sat like lead in his belly. How could you guard against incompatible biology? It was a hidden threat he had never considered before. They couldn't very well go around exchanging detailed biological information with every alien species they met. That kind of data would leave them too vulnerable. A small shudder ran through his body at the thought.

"Malcolm? You okay?" Tucker asked. Reed looked up to find both Tucker and Mayweather watching him.

"Fine." He replied "Just tired. I should go." He stood quickly and walked out of the mess hall before either man could stop him. He made it back to his quarters just as his stomach rebelled. He bolted for the bathroom and threw up what little he had managed to eat. He brushed his teeth, then stripped and stepped into the shower. He stood there wishing that the water could wash away the knowledge that nothing he could have done would have made a difference. He had failed in his duty to protect the ship and her crew. He was too unobservant, too slow; too imprecise. They were alive, but only because of sheer dumb luck. And next time luck might not hold.

He didn't even try to sleep. It was pointless. The nightmares took more out of him than the fractured sleep returned. He wandered aimlessly through the corridors, knowing that eventually he'd end up in sickbay, but he needed the time to pull himself together. He didn't want to upset Sato with his problems.

He needn't have worried. She was fast asleep when he arrived.

XOXOX

He didn't know why he was here. He sat in front of the console listlessly turning the target pistol over in his hands. He had manipulated every variable he could think of within the parameters of the simulation, and still hadn't been able to beat it. Hadn't even come close. He simply wasn't good enough. He was trying to work up the energy to go back to his quarters when the door opened. Hastily, he composed his face as Briggs and Covington came in. He saw them exchange quick looks with one another. It would have been funny if it weren't so irritating.

"Excuse us, sir." Covington said. "We didn't know you were here."

"That's okay, Ensign. I was just leaving. Good to see that you're keeping up with your practice."

"Elena's been trying to help me improve my accuracy with the new phase pistols." Briggs said.

"Good, good." Reed murmured distractedly. He was glad to see his people assisting each other, especially in an area that sometimes engendered more competition than cooperation. A little help could sometimes... He straightened suddenly and stared at the two ensigns. "Why didn't I think of it before?" Briggs and Covington looked back at him as if faintly alarmed by his outburst.

"Sir, is everything all right?" Briggs asked warily.

"Everything's fine, Ensign. In fact, I was wondering if you two would help me with a project."

"Uh, sure."

"Good. You can get your target practice in at the same time. I'd like to run through this simulation a few times." He explained as he went to the computer and loaded the program. He waited impatiently as the ensigns armed themselves. "Ready?"

"Yes, sir." The targets appeared down range. Moving with smooth precision, he brought up his own weapon. It was over quickly. He engaged the safety on the pistol and waited until both ensigns had done the same before moving to the computer. He stared at the results. His heart was pounding hard in his chest. Was it just a fluke?

"Very good." He said, striving to keep his voice neutral. "Let's run through it a few more times."

In the end, it took two-dozen trials before he let himself believe it. They had beaten it. He felt a surge of elation. He turned to the ensigns with a genuine smile on his face. "That was some fine shooting. Excellent as always, Covington. And Briggs, I can tell you've been practicing. Your accuracy is up significantly from your last qualifiers. Good work both of you." The ensigns looked happily startled by the effusive praise. "You two go on, I'll take care of these" Reed waved at the target pistols. The ensigns left him cheerfully inspecting the weapons. He had been right. There had been a way around it. No such thing as an impossible tactical situation.

He was placing the pistols in the locker when the ramifications of his victory struck him. His euphoria vanished completely and suddenly, leaving behind a sick hollow feeling. He shut the locker and leaned heavily against the bulkhead. He had been working toward beating the simulation for so long that he had missed the deeper implications of his solution. He hadn't beaten it, not on his own. He still wasn't good enough. And that was the problem.

To be concluded in Chapter 4