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"I can assure you, Governess, my officer did not mean what he said," Archer repeated once again, trying hard to keep calm and act gentlemanly.
To avoid a dangerous confrontation they had agreed to return aboard Enterprise and this conversation was taking place through a comm link.
Malcolm and Trip had been dragged off to prison and the fact that Reed had opposed no resistance, laughing as if it had been all a big joke, had Archer very concerned.
"He is your Armoury Officer, is he not?" Tara III angrily countered, glaring from the screen, "He threatened to blow up our cities and kill all our female population. I have a responsibility to take his words very seriously, Captain. You should be grateful that you were not all arrested."
T'Pol saw Archer fume and anticipated his reply. "Governess, we have reason to believe that Lieutenant Reed has been intoxicated by something on your planet which is having an adverse effect on him. We understand your concern, but kindly ask you to hold off your judgement until our physician has examined our officer. We are quite certain Doctor Phlox can produce evidence proving that Mr. Reed is not himself."
Tara III's eyes flashed with suppressed anger. She was silent for a few moments; then heaved a deep sigh and relented, "Fine. I will send a shuttle to pick up your doctor. He shall conduct his examination and all his tests here in Fan'her. In the meantime, speaking of evidence, I suggest you view the security tape of the incident, which I have sent you, Captain."
Before T'Pol or Archer could reply the link was cut.
"What a charming lady," Archer growled, "She didn't even say goodbye!" And he stormed out of the bridge into his ready room ordering Hoshi, "Get me that tape!"
Trip heard a soft moan and stopped pacing, turning to cast a worried look at Malcolm. When the guards had dragged them off to prison, Reed had kept giggling and cracking jokes all the way, confirming Trip's dark suspicion that something was having a very disturbing effect on the armoury officer.
Once alone in their cell, Malcolm had staggered to the cot which stood against a wall, collapsing onto it and promptly falling asleep. At least a couple of hours had passed since then, and his friend had hardly stirred.
Trip gently put Malcolm's arm on the man's stomach to make some room on the bed, and sat on its edge, feeling his friend's forehead: it was a bit warm, he realised with concern.
He saw Reed stir under his touch and crack one eye open. Then both his blue-grey eyes gradually widened and slowly focused on his own. Thankfully they looked normal again.
"I'm not sure you want to wake up," the engineer stated with a grim smile.
"I'm quite certain I don't," Malcolm groaned, closing his eyes tight again and turning on his side, "Bloody hell, my head is killing me! How many bottles did I down?" he asked softly.
"I hate to tell you this, but your headache has nothing to do with getting drunk."
"Lovely," Malcolm grunted, "That means I must've got myself another concussion." Then, with his eyes still closed, he slurred, "How did I get it this time? Nothing embarrassing, I hope, like standing up abruptly inside some crawl space."
"No concussion either, I'm afraid," Trip sombrely replied.
That definitely got Malcolm's attention. His eyes flew open and the expression in them was one of puzzlement mixed with concern. He took in the unfamiliar surroundings and quickly tried to get up, only to fall back on the bed with a cry, holding his head in pain.
"Easy, Lieutenant," Trip cautioned, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder, "Something is – or hopefully was – very wrong with you."
"What?" Malcolm wailed, cracking his eyes open again, "Where on earth are we?"
"We're not on Earth, unfortunately," Trip commented wryly. Then he heaved a deep sigh and gently probed, "Remember Herion, the new planet we came across?"
There was a pause as Reed knitted his brow in concentration. Trip silently prayed that he would start remembering things on his own; he wasn't looking forward to describing the crazy circumstances that had led them to their present predicament.
"Matriarchal society… Tara III…" Trip hinted, raising his eyebrows.
Malcolm blinked in blissful ignorance, then his eyes shifted from Trip's face to the far side of the room and widened in horror. He asked, cringing, "Those are not what they look like, are they?"
Trip turned and immediately realised what Mal was referring to.
"As a matter of fact, they are: prison bars."
"Oh, hell!" Reed cursed, "What in the sodding universe happened?"
He held out his right arm and let Trip pull him up to a sitting position. Immediately the room began to spin and he fell forward, moaning and cradling his head again.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Trip enquired with concern. Although Malcolm seemed to be his old self again, he was quite worried about his friend's evident pain.
"Get me off the merry-go-round and I promise I won't throw up," was the choked reply.
Tucker chuckled, a little relieved. Mal couldn't be all that ill if he was joking.
"I'm dizzy and nauseous. And my throat tickles," Reed then added more seriously, coughing slightly.
There was a pause. Suddenly Malcolm sprang back up from his bent over position, recollection dawning in his eyes. He began to shake his head slowly.
"Matriarchal society… Tara III… oh, no, no, no, it cannot be! This is a nightmare, right? It has to be a bleeding night…" His voice trailed off as his mind obviously found some more pieces of the puzzle.
"I didn't actually…" he queried, a wavering of hope still in his voice.
Trip bit his lower lip and scratched his neck. "Sorry, Mal" he muttered.
"I did?" Malcolm cried out in anguish, "Sing? -- That?"
"Look, somethin' definitely affected you," Trip tried to comfort him, "I'm sure the Capt'n will forgive you, once we find out what it was."
"I'm not sure I'll want to see the Captain ever again," Reed moaned, "This is worse than Risa, for heaven's sake! Much worse! At least there nobody saw us!"
"Well, I'll admit, you gave a stunnin' performance, Lieutenant," Trip chuckled. "And there I thought I was the expert in diplomatic incidents!"
Malcolm didn't seem to find that amusing. "I hope the method of execution on this planet is swift and painless," he commented in a resigned voice. "It might be preferable than a life sentence in a Starfleet prison."
Trip was about to reply when they heard steps approaching. He immediately tensed up and stood, looking at his friend with apprehension. But the figure that appeared with a guard on the other side of the bars was quite familiar, and relief washed over him.
"Ah, Commander, how are you feeling?" The ever cheerful voice of Doctor Phlox enquired. "Or, I should say, how is Lieutenant Reed? Is he still acting in an odd way?"
Archer pushed a button and the screen in his ready room went blank. He pinched his nose and shook his head. These people might not have warp-capable vessels but they sure had more than enough technology to make a high definition recording. Malcolm's little stunt had been captured in all its embarrassing details, as had Trip's supporting role. But if he was honest with himself, his own behaviour had left much to be desired. He had looked like a drooling teenager with the first crush.
Those changing eyes were really mesmerising, he repeated to himself; but he got little comfort from the idea. Of course it didn't help that he was still more than a little worried about Malcolm. The man singing on the screen was most definitely not the normal version of his Armoury Officer, and he really hoped Doctor Phlox could prove that something was wrong with him or he'd have to find a way to break him and Trip out of prison.
There was a 'beep' from the comm link, and he sat forward in his chair to answer.
"Archer."
"Captain," Hoshi's voice said. "They are hailing us from the surface."
"Thank you, Ensign. Put it through," Archer replied, mentally bracing against more bad news.
He switched on the monitor and held his breath. A jovial alien face appeared on it. "Doctor, what news do you have?" the Captain asked without wasting time.
"Captain, it's what I thought, I'm glad to report," Phlox answered with glee. "Lieutenant Reed suffered a psychotropic reaction to the pollen of the blossoming trees lining the avenue."
"Are you able to prove it?" The Captain immediately enquired.
"Of course! Everything has been clarified with Governess Tara III. Your officers are being released from prison as we are speaking."
Phlox cleared his throat. "Ah, Captain, there is one more thing…"
"Go ahead, Doctor," Archer prompted him, for he seemed to have lost his tongue.
"It appears that, according to Fan'herian law, males are strictly forbidden to sing in the presence of the Governess, unless previously authorised; so the Commander and Lieutenant will have to… uhm, atone, so to speak." Phlox explained, without actually explaining anything.
"Atone? What do you mean? Can't you be a little more specific?" Archer insisted, beginning to lose his patience.
"They'll have to – ah – spend the next couple of days in the service of the Governess and her aides."
"What?" Archer burst out in disdain, "We are talking of Starfleet officers here! She can't treat them like her damn… minions!"
"Uhm, Captain, may I suggest that you make use of your fine diplomatic skills and – what do humans say in these cases, I believe it's – 'turn a blind eye'? We don't want the Governess to get angrier than she already is, now, do we?" Phlox hinted meaningfully. His disconcertingly blue eyes stared at him from the screen. "She has formally promised me that in two days' time Enterprise will be able to leave with all her officers duly accounted for."
Archer clenched his jaw. He was furious but, if truth be told, more at the thought that once again a first contact had gone awry than at the Governess's request. His officers had broken Fan'herian law, after all, and it was just fitting that they should 'atone'. In any case their punishment didn't sound very harsh.
"Alright, you can tell the Governess that we agree to her terms," he finally ground out.
"Excellent! I will do so right away."
"And tell her also that if anything bad happens to either one of my officers I will personally 'burn all the cities and destroy all the ladies' of the damn are-o," Archer added, for no other reason than to let off a bit of steam.
Phlox looked quite perplexed, so Archer sighed and apologised, "Sorry Doc. Forget about that. Just venting some irritation."
After a pause he asked, "By the way, how's Malcolm feeling?"
"He has the symptoms of a hangover, but they will disappear soon enough. He'll be fine, don't worry. Mainly, he feels awfully embarrassed about what happened."
"Better believe it," Archer chuckled, smiling for the first time in what seemed like ages.
"Captain, I also found another interesting phenomenon, which you… uhm, might like to know about. Apparently the Herionites' peculiar eyes are known to have hypnotising effects on some species. I believe you understand what I am getting at?"
Archer blinked. "You mean I was also not myself down there?"
"Precisely," Phlox stated with delight.
Relief was almost overwhelming. "Thank you, Doctor," the Captain replied, feeling suddenly very tired. "I'll see you soon. Archer out."
Travis Mayweather tried to concentrate on piloting the shuttle back to Enterprise, but his eyes wouldn't keep focused straight ahead and kept shifting, instead, to the corners, in the effort to look surreptitiously at the back of the small vessel, where Tucker and Reed sat in silence. They didn't seem in the right mood for conversation, so the helmsman kept quiet.
The two men sure looked wiped. Travis hadn't learnt much of what had happened down on the planet, and his curiosity was piqued. Sooner or later I'll get Hoshi to tell me what she knows. I have my ways, Travis mused.
"Gawd, I'm glad we're going home!" Trip sighed. "Another 'yes ma'm' and I would've gone nuts," he told Malcolm, making sure his voice didn't carry to the helmsman.
"I'd share your feelings, if it weren't for the fact that going back means I'll have to look Captain Archer in the eye," Malcolm replied grimly. "As for the rest, I think this experience has forever ruined my appreciation of the female universe."
"Oh, come on, Mal! Serving the Governess was no fun, I'll grant you that, but I saw the way you were lookin' at that red-head – what was her name? – who changed office and made us do all the movin'," Trip commented playfully.
"Right. If looks could kill she'd be a pile of colourful dust now," Malcolm replied sourly. "I've never seen an office cluttered with so much rubbish."
Fifteen minutes later the Shuttlepod was safe inside Enterprise.
The previous day Archer had sent T'Pol to meet his officers in the launch bay. He had told himself that he wanted to give Malcolm a little bit more time to recover before seeing him. He certainly couldn't blame the lieutenant for having had a reaction to pollen and felt bad for the man, knowing how strict he was with himself. But in fact he was also a bit embarrassed to face Tucker and Reed, after watching himself on tape.
Archer had got up quite early that morning to avoid any chance of meeting the two officers in the corridors or the mess hall. He preferred to invite them to his ready room. Having downed the last bit of his coffee, he triggered the doors of his private dining room open and marched out of it, almost running smack into Reed who, apparently, had had the same idea.
"Captain," Reed managed to utter, snapping to attention. Archer saw a sickly colour slowly creep up his cheeks.
"Lieutenant, uhm, at ease," Archer replied hoarsely. "Feeling any better?" he then enquired with an encouraging smile.
"Yes, Sir, much better, thank you," Malcolm answered tautly, ignoring the order to relax his stance. He cringed at the idea of looking the Captain in the eye and standing at attention made it easier to avoid that.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then Archer saw Reed swallow hard and could not hold back a soft chuckle. The man's eyes shifted briefly from the far wall to his face, an alarmed look in them.
Hell, I may feel a bit nervous myself but if I don't lighten the mood Malcolm will end up in sickbay with a breakdown!
"So tell me, Lieutenant, is 'burning cities' really considered 'medieval'?" the Captain questioned with another chuckle.
"Captain, I…" Reed began, fumbling for words.
"Relax, Malcolm, psychotropic reactions are not in the list of offences punishable by a court martial," Archer laughed. "Not that I approve of your choice of songs, mind you," he added, in mock reproach.
"Why, Capt'n, I thought it was perfect!" a familiar voice cut in. Trip was entering the mess hall, a wide smile plastered on his face. "You've got to admit, it was kind of funny that…"
"Is everybody getting up an hour earlier this morning?" Archer interrupted him, frowning.
"Actually, just the three of us, it seems," Trip shrugged. Getting himself a cup of coffee, he shot an amused look at Malcolm, who appeared horrified at his boldness.
Malcolm was horrified; and not a little envious of Trip's laid-back nature. Tucker looked totally unperturbed, as if nothing had happened. Malcolm sighed inwardly. He'd never manage to be even half as relaxed as his friend.
Archer gave Trip a reproachful glance. Then he put a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "I suppose Doctor Phlox has already told you that your ravings and my… daydreaming were both induced by external factors, hasn't he?"
"Yes, Sir, he has," Reed replied, finally able to raise his eyes to those of the Captain.
"Good. Then let us both forget about the incident, Lieutenant, and that's an order," Archer concluded, preparing to leave. "See you later on the bridge, gentlemen. I'll let you have your breakfast in peace," he said, walking towards the door.
He was already there when he stopped and, without turning, called out, "Ah, Malcolm?"
"Sir?" Reed replied warily.
"One last thing: next time we go on an away mission to an inhabited planet, do me a favour and stick to… The Sounds of Silence?"
THE END
Ps. The song, "Peggy-o", is a traditional song which was re-arranged by Simon and Garfunkel (Album "Wednesday morning 3 A.M.)