A/N: This story takes shortly after the start of Season Three and deals with one of my favourite aspects of Star Trek lore; telepathy. It is centred around the character of Malcolm Reed (no surprises there!) and what could happen if he were the victim of such a mental attack as have been launched on T'Pol in certain episodes of the earlier seasons. Will he be able to keep his hold on sanity as his most personal memories are violated? And even if he does recover – will he still be the same person he was before? Or will he become the person he should have been?

Hang on, just to introduce myself, I am a thirteen year-old girl hailing from Suffolk, England. I am also writing 'Guardian Angel' in the Enterprise section, which is about what happens to Malcolm after his 'death', and I intend to continue it alongside this story.

I hope you all enjoy this story. It has a lot more action than I'm normally accustomed to, and also a lot of imagination as far as the Xindi Council are concerned. I've made up their names as I haven't yet managed to catch them during the four episodes of Season Three I've seen so far! But I'm pretty pleased with this nonetheless. I wanted to get through the idea that they, just like Enterprise, are just trying to protect their homeworld.

Now what are you doing still reading this for? Get on with the story!

Disclaimer: As I have noted elsewhere, if I owned Enterprise – or any other fan, for that matter – it would not be getting cancelled.

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"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes..." - William Shakespeare, 'That Scottish Play'.

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Prologue

Jonathon Archer could not remember feeling so helpless in his life. Hospitals, sickbays, they'd always had that effect on him… but at least in the past he'd had the knowledge that the doctors, at least, understood what was going on and would keep their hold on things.

But in this case, even Phlox did not know what to do.

"This is not something I am entirely sure I can treat, Captain." The normally cheerful Denobulan's face was serious. Archer glared at him.

"Why not?" Phlox looked up impatiently, and when he replied his voice was icy.

"Because, Captain, this is not an illness, or injury, of the body…" He trailed off, and sighed at the perplexed expression on the CO's face. He shrugged. "Look." He said simply, drawing back the curtains from around the biobed. Archer stepped in.

Sitting on the biobed was Malcolm Reed, staring straight ahead, completely unresponsive to anything but his own haunted thoughts. Every now and then he would suddenly jerk and squeeze his hands together, his shoulders spasming back and forth.

Archer was rendered speechless for a moment, before he turned back to Phlox.

"What happened to him?" Phlox sighed once more.

"Well, it seems, Captain, that the Xindi's methods of… interrogation are slightly more… intrusive than a human mind should ever be capable of dealing with." He paused. "By rights, he should be dead."

Chapter One

Three Weeks Earlier

The Xindi Council wanted information. And that meant that they would get it, eventually, whatever the means. However, it was the means that was the cause for quite a few arguments among the Xindi generals…

"What you are suggesting is patently ridiculous!" N'Kaw, tall, humanoid, and covered in a thick coat of white shaggy hair, voiced his opinion loudly. At this, the representative of the insectoid Xindi sub-species (no-one could quite pronounce his name, so they normally called him 'Bug-Eyes', though not, of course, to his face) reared up in anger, clicking loudly. At his sharply emitted comment several of the generals nodded in agreement, and N'Kaw fell back in his seat, an extremely ugly expression upon his face.

"And just where, dear friends, do I fit into all of this?" An oily voice floated from the door, and with a sharp signal from the reptilian An'Din, two of the guards stationedby the doorsdragged in the perpetrator of the interruption. An'Din surveyed the little humanoid distastefully.

"You," he hissed, as the man become more and more red-faced from struggling against the guards, "are the back-up plan…" And then, with another flick of his hand, the guards holding the man struck him on the head, causing immediate unconsciousness. An'Din leaned over and looked over the body, and hissed;

"And you know, I never did like people who eavesdrop."

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The Xindi fighter-ships appeared out of nowhere. One moment, the bridge, manned by the night shift, was quiet and calm, and the next - bang! The crew were being thrown back and forth with the force of the explosions, and the tactical alert was blaring, awaking the Alpha shift quite ignominiously if the blasts had not doen so already.

Unsurprisingly, Malcolm Reed was the first to get to his station, surprisingly fully dressed. But when the captain - dressed only in his skivvies and dressing gown – gave him an odd look he only shrugged and muttered; "Couldn't sleep," before hastening to get the weapons and shield plating online.

But then, just as things seemed at their worst, the barrage stopped, and the bridge crew breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived, for a tiny shuttle appeared from the underbelly of the larger Xindi ship and headed straight for Enterprise, and no-one had any question as to their motive and plan. Weapons had been severely damaged in the attack, so they could not shoot the shuttle down, and any sort of restriction they tried to stop the Xindi boarding was immediately overridden by the Xindi themselves. Whatever this attack was meant to be, it had clearly been well planned.

At this, a security team was sent down to prevent their advance any further into the ship, and Reed hurried to join them, whilst Archer remained on the bridge, growing more and more frustrated as the Xindi refused to answer their hails and remained stubborn to any of their scans.

But ten minutes later, the shuttle departed from Enterprise, leaving no casualties, taking no supplies. Once it had re-docked with the larger ship, the two vessels simply vanished once again.

Archer frowned at the viewscreen showing the area of space the Xindi had just vacated. Why would they come, attack them, board, and then just leave like that? Mystified, he pressed the comm button on the arm of his seat.

"Bridge to Security."

"Sir?" Major Hayes answered. Archer frowned again. He'd have rather spoken to Malcolm, rather than the arrogant MACO commander. Ah well…

"Any casualties, Major?" There was an infuriating note of satisfaction in the soldier's voice as he replied.

"None sir, but one of Lieutenant Reed's men managed to get shot in the leg, he's been taken to Sickbay." Archer looked up to see Hoshi rolling her eyes, and he shot her a look. He woulddeal with Hayes in good time.

"Thankyou, Major." He said curtly. "Bridge out." He slapped the panel once again, cutting off the Major's reply. He sighed, exasperated. "Why is that man always so damn pig-headed?" Hoshi smiled.

"Just habit, I guess." This drew a faint, nervous titter from around the bridge, and Archer didn't know whether to stop it or join in with it. Enmity between Starfleet crewmembers and the MACO's oughtn't be encouraged, but could he deny his crew a chance to relieve theirfrustration with alaugh,a rare enough occurrence these days?

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It was only later on in the day when the true reason – and consequence – of the Xindi's attack became clear, but by then it was far too late to do anything about it.

Commander 'Trip' Tucker had been fighting for several hours the niggling discomfort at the back of his mind. He could not shake the indeterminable feeling that something was… missing, somehow.

It was only when he was sitting with Hoshi and Travis in the mess hall that he realised what that something was. He looked up at the pair, frowning.

"Where's Malcolm?"

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Malcolm Reed awoke with a thumping headache and a mouth dryer than the Sahara Desert after a particularly dry spell. He rubbed his eyes blearily, trying to remember what had happened to him. Had heand Trip got a bit too eager with the synthol, somehow?

A boarding, something to do with a boarding party… the Xindi, the scaly ones…

Then his eyes came into focus, and he realised with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach the true extremity of his situation.

He was onboard a Xindi fighter ship. They'd captured him, somehow… and of the reason he was sickeningly sure.

They need information… about Enterprise, about Earth, and about the human physiology, all for the making of their 'weapon'.

Malcolm Reeddidn't particularly care to think about how they would go about getting that information out of him.

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"You have the human?" An'Din hissed in satisfaction, and at thebrusquenod of his subordinate he smiled, revealing two rows of sharp, jagged yellow teeth. He looked up as the strange, whale-like creature, Ee'Sihr – the unofficial leader of the council – screeched out a command.

An'Din gritted his teeth – he would never quite console himself to the experience of taking orders from a creature that didn't even breathe the same air as he – and barked out the order, in his own language, to the Xindi standing before him. The captain smirked, nodded, and turned from the room.

An'Din leant back in his chair, folding his hands on the table before him. It was, a part of him felt, somehwhat juvenile; the amount of pleasure he drew from speaking his own language before Ee'Sihr just because he knew the ridiculous creaturewouldnot understand. The fact that Ee'Sihr never seemed to show any frustration did not hamper his childishgame.But, then again –An'Din's nostrils flared, the only sign of amusement on his face – the accursed amphibian didn't have facial muscles, did he? An'Din didn't even know Ee'Sihr was a he, for that matter…

Hisrestfulmusings were broken by the entry of the other members of the Council. He stood - even managing to make what should have been a sign of respect look like an insult – and shot N'Kaw a particularly boastful look. The shaggy fool had resisted his idea, and now it was time for his comeuppance… An'Din almost laughed. And all the filthymutt could do was growl, for any more would be considered a gross impertinence by the rest of the Council, for it was in this matter that Commander An'Din had truly shown his aptitude for success…

"Bring the human in!" He barked out as the Council was seated, and was more than a little pleased to see that the human male being dragged in by the guards was struggling for all his pitiful worth. He smiled once more, the smile of a hunter bearing down on its prey. It was always so much more enjoyable to interrogate an unwilling informant…

An'Din rose to his feet, noting the bruises on the human's face and grunting in satisfaction. His men had obviously not been gentle with the human, and rightly too. The human race was a barbaric scum…

"Your name, human!" He spat out, and the human raised his head, his eyes – blue, an odd colour to a reptilian eye – hard and defiant. He spat blood from his mouth – red, also strange, An'Din mused – as he replied;

"Go to hell."

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A/N: There! What do you think? Please review and tell me!