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"Subcommander, we should be in range to contact the away party," Hoshi said, happy to give the long-awaited news.

From the Captain's chair T'Pol turned to face her and nodded her acknowledgment.

Hoshi's fingers flew over her console and on the planet a welcome chirrup floated to Malcolm's ears. He stopped walking and gently helped Archer to the ground, swiftly unzipping the Captain's arm pocket and flipping the man's communicator open. "Reed," he answered, out of breath.

"Lieutenant," T'Pol said, after a moment of hesitation. "Why are you answering instead of the Captain? Is he all right?"

"No, he is not," Reed panted. "He is injured and needs medical attention."

A flash of worry flickered through T'Pol's usually steady gaze. "How seriously?" she asked.

"He was poisoned by some thorns. He has developed a high fever and is confused," Reed managed, putting a hand on a nearby tree to support his weight. "How long before you're here?"

"About four hours. We were delayed by engineering problems. Are you in any danger?" T'Pol asked.

"I can't say for sure. But I know what the enemy looks like, and that's a start," Malcolm replied.

T'Pol heard the tiredness in Reed's voice. "Lieutenant, will you be able to meet us at the landing site?"

"I'll try my best. The sooner the Captain gets medical attention the better. I'll contact you, should I encounter any problems. Reed out."

Malcolm sighed in relief. At least now he knew Enterprise was on her way.

After taking down those four cones, Malcolm had collected a few of the thorns that had missed him for Phlox to examine – presumably they still contained their poison – and had resumed their march, dragging himself and the Captain on and on for what had seemed like ages.

Now, having put away Archer's communicator, he glanced at his watch. It was fifteen-forty-six and since striking camp that morning they'd been walking for more than seven hours. He didn't dare calculate how many hours had passed since he'd had his last decent sleep. He looked at his padd; because of their slow pace they were, as far as he could tell, only about two thirds of the way there. He was so damn exhausted that he briefly considered discarding the second backpack. The last time they had stopped he had left Archer's one behind, careful not to leave any technology in it. The Captain had been leaning more and more heavily on him and the weight of the man and the pack had begun to be too much to carry. But he knew he couldn't do without this one, so he regretfully dismissed the idea. He allowed himself a few more minutes of rest, while he ate a nutrient bar. Then he tried to rouse Archer.

"Captain," he called, gently shaking his shoulder.

"Hmm," Archer mumbled, cracking his eyes open. "Shift time already?"

"N… Yes, Sir, you're needed on the bridge," Reed tried, hoping the Captain would react and shake out of his stupor. He did, in some way. He pushed himself up to a sitting position and allowed Malcolm to help him to his feet.

"Why is the bridge called that?" Archer slurred, grimacing in pain. "Doesn't look like one."

Reed adjusted the Captain's weight and resumed walking, groaning under the effort. He tried not to think of how much further they had to go; the thought would definitely not help him focus. Archer was almost a dead weight now and Malcolm knew that if the man lost consciousness he wouldn't be able to carry him very far. The Captain needed to be put in Phlox's capable hands as soon as possible, so he forced himself to keep the conversation going.

"In the old sailing ships it did. And it's the place which acts as link for all the departments," he said hoarsely, as they staggered on. He had no doubt Archer would know the answer in normal circumstances.

Some time later Archer stumbled for the umpteenth time and they were almost thrown off balance. "Just lean on me, Sir," Malcolm grunted, striving to keep them upright as he checked on Porthos; the beagle was trotting obediently at their side, as if he knew it would be dangerous to stray.

"Lean… someone's wife could eat no lean..." Archer raved, lost in his own world. He moaned in pain as Reed gripped his wrist and waist more firmly.

"That would be Jack Sprat," Malcolm replied as he struggled to keep the Captain talking and his attention concentrated on their surroundings. "'Jack Sprat could eat no fat and his wife could eat no lean'," he recited. They sound like a couple of Vulcans.

Archer's head lolled and Malcolm cursed under his breath. He frantically searched his befuddled mind for yet something else to say. Difficult enough in normal circumstances, for a taciturn man like himself, but now it was proving to be a real nightmare. Nursery rhymes would do just fine, he decided. "My sister Madeline… she was just like Miss Muffet," he sputtered. "'Fraid of spiders… gave her a good fright once, put a spider in her..."

Archer's legs gave in and all of a sudden the weight was too much for Reed to carry. They both fell forward, with the lieutenant doing his best to break the fall. A moment later they were both flat on the ground. "Sorry, Sir," Reed murmured wearily. He felt an unexpected lick on his cheek and, cracking his eyes open, saw Porthos a few inches from his face.

"Thirsty," Archer mumbled, rolling on his back with a groan of pain.

Reed cursed himself for not thinking about it. Of course the man was thirsty. He was running a high fever. His own mind must be losing focus, he realised. With an effort he pushed himself up and reached for the canteen, offering it to Archer. "Here, Captain. It's still quite full."

"Fuller was the first to die," Archer muttered in reply. He made no motion to take the water from his hand, so Reed leaned over and helped him drink, taking a long swig himself, afterwards.

"My first crewmember dead…"

The circumstances of Fuller's death brought back yet more unpleasant memories and Reed nearly brought his hands to cover his ears, he didn't want to hear anything else. But instead he blurted out darkly, "I never thought I'd see you torture someone. That time in the airlock, you almost…." Malcolm stopped abruptly, berating himself. His exhaustion and the fact that the Captain was practically delirious were making it a bit too easy to speak his mind. He should think of getting the man to safety, not upset him even more.

"Losing my humanity," Archer said faintly. "I'm so sorry," he whispered after a moment, and Reed wondered what exactly he was sorry for.

Was he sorry for the humanity he had lost, for almost killing a person in cold blood, for stealing a warp coil, for creating a clone to harvest his brain tissue, for ordering to target an outpost manned by three innocent Xindi, for disappointing him…? Probably all of those things.

"It's alright," he murmured.

Trip stepped out of the pod and tried hailing Malcolm again, a concerned frown knitting his brow. He and the Captain were nowhere to be seen and his hails were not being answered. He got his scanner out and was about to speak when he heard a faint barking, and Phlox grabbed his arm.

"Over there!" the doctor said, pointing to his right.

Trip looked and saw the blue of Starfleet uniforms in the far distance, at the edge of the forest. He narrowed his eyes and made out Malcolm staggering under Archer's weight, and Porthos running towards them.

"Travis, get the stretcher," he shouted back at Mayweather, who was inside the pod, and took off at a run towards his friends, with the doctor trying unsuccessfully to keep up with him.

Trip took in Malcolm's exhausted look and immediately grabbed hold of the Captain. "I've got him," he said, easing him off Reed's shoulders. He lowered Archer gently to the ground and saw Malcolm collapse to his knees without a word.

Phlox suddenly was at Trip's side and immediately crouched down to check the Captain's condition. A moment later Travis was there, with a stretcher.

"Doc…?" Tucker asked in concern.

"He is running a very high fever. Some toxin in his bloodstream," Phlox replied worriedly. He injected Archer with something and gestured Mayweather to help him get the Captain onto the stretcher. "We'd better get him back to Enterprise right away, I need to run some tests."

"Poisonous thorns… got some in my pack," a weak voice said, and the three men turned as one to Reed. He had sunk back on his heels with his eyes closed and was run through by an uncontrollable tremor.

Phlox jumped up and checked the lieutenant with his scanner, as Mayweather unloaded the backpack from his shoulders.

"He's totally exhausted," Phlox said. "Very low levels of sugar." He reached for a hypospray and emptied it into Reed's neck. A groan from the stretcher got the doctor's attention back to Archer. After a moment he turned to Trip and said, "Commander, can you help the Lieutenant back to the shuttlepod, while Mr. Mayweather and I carry the Captain?"

Trip nodded and watched Phlox and Travis lift the stretcher and begin to walk back to the pod, followed by a happy-looking beagle. He turned to Malcolm and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Malcolm," he called, and Reed's eyes slowly opened. "We need to get you to the shuttlepod," he said, and after a moment Malcolm nodded silently.

Trip shouldered the backpack and lifted his friend to his feet. He looked completely spent. His trembling had subsided, no doubt thanks to whatever Phlox had injected him with, but Trip had to steady him for he swayed dangerously.

"You ok?" he asked, feeling immediately stupid.

"Knackered," was the murmured reply.

"Do you think you can walk? It's not far."

Malcolm nodded again and Trip swung one of his friend's arms across his shoulders, eliciting a soft wheezy laugh. "Suppose it's my turn to be carried," Malcolm said faintly; but he didn't complain when Trip grabbed his waist and stumbled on, soon falling in step with him.

As they awkwardly made their way to the pod something attracted Trip's attention. At the edge of the forest, all around the clearing, suddenly tall stalks were sprouting up, surmounted by what looked like blue cones. It was a weird and worrying sight; there were dozens of them snaking up from the ground.

He heard Malcolm's breathing quicken. "Too far to harm us, I think, but let's hurry," his friend mumbled in an urgent tone, finding somehow, somewhere, a residual bit of extra energy to quicken his pace.

Inside the pod Trip deposited Malcolm on the rear bench and rushed to close the hatch. Mayweather lost no time in getting them off the ground. After they were clear of the atmosphere Trip turned from his navigator's seat to look at the back. Phlox was busy treating Archer. Malcolm had slouched down and had promptly fallen asleep.

TBC