Author's Note: I'm glad people seem to be enjoying the concept. Thanks for the reviews! My original estimation of the length of the story seems to be somewhat off. I'm not really sure how many more chapters. I'm estimating two or three, but I'm not entirely sure.

Warning: Somewhat graphic description of a medical procedure – I don't think it's too vivid really, but it might bother those who are bothered by such things.

Archer entered his quarters and looked longingly at the bed. It called to him, and for a moment he nearly gave into the temptation to lie down, but with a supreme effort of will he resisted. He had lost count of the hours since he had last slept. He knew if he succumbed to the desire to lie down 'just for a moment' he would fall asleep, and right now he couldn't take the time. Sighing, he went instead to his bathroom. He just had time for a quick shower before the meeting with his senior officers—at least those who were available.

It had been six hours since the frantic call from the armory, and in that time the situation had gone progressively downhill. The call from engineering, which had mercifully turned out to be nothing more than a superficial burn to Commander Tucker's hand, and some rather serious bruising to the posterior of the crewman he had shoved out of the way of an overheating console, had heralded a series of 'accidents' throughout the ship. With each new incident Archer could sense the crew's confidence deteriorating. Oddly, he had not yet detected any impediment in his own ability to run the ship, but he was wary, concerned that he might not notice it. He had pulled T'Pol aside and instructed her to inform him if she noticed anything. In her normal calm, impassive way she had assured him that she would do so.

There had been no report from sickbay on Malcolm's condition, and, knowing how busy Phlox, Cutler, and the crewmen who had been pulled from the science sections to help out were, Archer had not bothered them. The last image he had, of the critically ill armory officer being wheeled into the operating theatre while Cutler followed, clutching a padd full of medical references, was haunting. He knew they would update him as soon as they possibly could.

Glancing once more at the waiting bunk, Archer sighed and grabbing his towel and washcloth hurried into the shower.

Cutler peered down into the operating field, trying not to think about the fact that this was a friend's body they were cutting into. Although tentative, the doctor had made a clean incision just below the rib cage, and had easily located the heavily bleeding spleen. A fractured rib had obviously lacerated it, and the doctor had quickly decided it was too damaged to attempt to salvage it. Malcolm could live without a spleen. With Cutler reminding him of the procedure, the doctor had carefully, but unfortunately very slowly, began ligating the blood vessels that fed the injured organ. It seemed to take forever, and Cutler watched nervously as despite the artificial blood being pumped into his veins, Malcolm's blood pressure remained critically low.

"I've ligated the splenic artery," Phlox muttered. "I'm ready to remove the spleen… Wait!" there was a touch of panic in the doctor's voice, "Where is that bleeding coming from?"

Cutler glanced quickly at the anatomy schematic on the padd, and then back at the incision being held open with a variety of retractors. She shook her head. "It looks like you've got all the major vessels… wait, look, I think it's just a little…" she pointed at the small artery that was leaking blood."I think that's it. It's not major."

"I hope not," Phlox groused, as he used a cautery to stop the bleeding. Suctioning the area, he again looked for any signs of bleeding, and this time was satisfied there were none. With great care he lifted the spleen, now detached from all its connections out of Malcolm's body and into a small basin.

Cutler was forced to turn away. Although not normally squeamish, she was finding herself strangely bothered by this part of the operation. She looked down at her padd as a distraction. "Okay, now, we need to double check that the pancreas wasn't injured, too," she told the doctor.

"Right." The doctor examined the organ in question. "There is some minor bruising. We'll have to just watch and make sure there are no complications. You know, with the force of that blow, he's lucky his diaphragm wasn't ruptured."

"Well, I don't know if I'd call him particularly lucky today," Cutler commented. "But I see your point."

"I think I'm ready to close." The doctor grabbed the appropriate instruments to begin closing the various layers of tissue. "How are his vitals?"

"His blood pressure has come up a little, now that the bleeding is stopped," Cutler noted. "He's had a lot of blood substitute."

"Yes, well, we had little choice, hmmm? I should be done in a few moments here. Go ahead and start decreasing the anesthesia. Let's leave him on the ventilator for the time being until we see how he does. The surgery was much longer than it should have been…. I was very slow." Phlox sounded apologetic. "I'll get him started on the antibiotics to prevent infection… which ones are recommended?"

Cutler looked it up and told him as he finished closing. Together they got the armory officer tidied up and bandaged, and Phlox started the antibiotics running. They were both exhausted by the long procedure, the constant tension, and their fear for their friend's life. Worse, they knew he was far from being out of danger and the next several hours would be critical. Exhausted, the physician and his assistant worked to settle their patient into the ICU, knowing they still had a long list of patients with minor, and some not so minor, injuries waiting.

Only slightly refreshed by his shower, Archer strode through the halls toward the meeting with his senior officers and key personnel. Knowing that they, too, were sleep deprived, and had probably not made time for a meal in several hours, he had scheduled the briefing for the dining room. Although he knew they were waiting for him, he took time to stop and greet the crewmembers he encountered on the way, gauging their mood and morale. Although clearly not at their best, the Starfleet training was proving its worth. The crew was frightened and upset, but not, Archer thought with pride, demoralized.

As Archer entered the dining room, Tucker spotted him first. The engineer stood, calling the others attention to the captain.

"As you were," he instructed them, taking a seat. They followed suit. He studied them. They all met his gaze.

"First off, I just heard from Phlox. Malcolm is out of surgery. He's still recovering from the anesthesia. It was touch and go, but barring any further complications, Phlox thinks he'll recover just fine. Trip, what did your investigation into the accident find?"

Trip leaned forward, his bandaged right hand resting on the table while he gestured with his left. "Sir, after talking to Ensign Morris, I think I know what happened. To close the torpedo loading door, you push up a lever. To lock it closed however, you have to then rotate it half a turn to the right. It should lock in place—there's a loud click, and you should feel it lock in place. If you don't push it quite hard enough and hear it click, it's not locked. Apparently, it wasn't locked in place. The team leader, Crewman Butler is an experienced non-commissioned officer. How he didn't realize it wasn't locked…." Trip shook his head. Anyway, apparently Malcolm was standing nearby, and when the door flew open, it hit him."

Archer nodded his understanding. "I take it the other accidents—the one in engineering, the others, are of the same nature? They've all been small oversights that seem to be inexperience?"

T'Pol answered him. "Yes, Captain. In nearly every case that is what I have found. Not gross errors, but small oversights that one would not expect from experienced crewmembers."

"That's what I thought," Archer sat back in his chair and collected his thoughts. "Okay. Here's what we're going to do. We're going to do some old fashioned brainstorming. We're going to make a list of everything we know about this phenomenon, and find the common denominators. Maybe then we can come up with a way to counteract it." Archer hit his comm. Badge. "Archer to Phlox."

"Here, Captain." The doctor sounded harried.

"Doctor, I know you're very busy, but is there anyway you can join us in the dining room? I'd like you to bring any observations you might have about our current situation."

"Captain, we've managed to tend to the injured, and sickbay is nearly empty now, but Lieutenant Reed is showing signs of waking. I would really rather stay here."

"Understood. Is it possible for you to send Cutler up here? We can send her back down if you need her."

"I think I can spare her, Captain, as long as we don't have another flood of injuries."

"Great. Send her up, along with any notes you've made. And keep us informed about Lieutenant Reed's condition."

"Right away, Captain." The intercom clicked off. The assembled officers took advantage of the opportunity to eat while they waited for Cutler. She arrived in less than five minutes, slightly out of breath.

"Grab a ration and have a seat," Archer told her, noting how tired she looked. When she was settled, he began.

"Okay, let's get started. First, as near as anyone can remember, when did this start?"

The assembled officers were quiet for a moment, and then Trip spoke. "The first thing I remember noticing was Malcolm and I had some trouble reading some scans… that was right after we met the Actuarians."

Hoshi and Travis nodded agreement.

"And Phlox had trouble with reading the scans in sickbay when you and T'Pol were in decon, Captain, remember?"

Archer nodded. "That's right. So… we think this all started at about the same time as T'Pol and I got back to the ship?"

The assembled officers nodded.

"Okay. Let's use that as a starting point. Anything happen around that time? Besides our returning?"

"Well…" Trip mused. "There was that light."

Archer looked up sharply. "What light?"

"When the Actuarians left—the first time we encountered them—there was this real bright light. I've never seen anything like it. I thought it had to do with their propulsion system, because when it was over, they were gone. You know, Captain, that WAS when the problems started, because that's what Malcolm and I were trying to figure out when we first had problems reading the scans!"

"Well, I think we can safely assume the two are related. T'Pol?"

"Yes, Captain?" The Vulcan looked up from the padd on which she was taking notes.

"I'd like you to record everything we come up with. First thing—our problems started with the light and or the Actuarians visit. Next thing—what has been affected. Specifically."

"Well, I can't fly the ship," Travis contributed.

"That isn't really true, Ensign," T'Pol replied. "You are able to pilot the ship. Just not with your previous ability."

"That's true, Captain," Cutler added. "It's not like Travis can't fly the ship. I can't fly the ship. I have no idea how; I've never had any pilot training. So Travis hasn't entirely lost the ability."

Travis brightened at the realization. "That's right! It's just like I'm new at it. That's how it feels, too."

Hoshi chimed in. "It's the same for me. I can still figure out new languages. I'm just not very fluent. And I've noticed that it's only the more recent ones I've lost—like Klingon. I don't seem to have lost any fluency in Earth based languages, as near as I can tell. And I was just learning to use the universal translator, and I don't feel like I've lost ANY ability with that."

"Okay. So Travis and Hoshi—you don't seem to have lost your knowledge, just the skill you've gained with experience. Is that right?"

The two ensigns nodded. "And it seems the more recently acquired skills are the ones most affected." T'Pol commented.

Trip had been listening and nodding his head. "That's pretty consistent with what I've seen in engineering, too, Captain. My most junior crew members, who are just now learning their jobs aren't as badly affected as my senior staff."

"That would explain the armory accident, too." Hoshi added. "As well as why they couldn't qualify with their phasers. The hand phasers are a fairly new design. Malcolm was bragging about them when he made me switch weapons. I don't think the armory crew had used them before they came on board Enterprise. So they've just recently become competent with them."

"That would be consistent with more recently learned skills being the most effected," T'Pol said.

"What about the doctor, then? Why would he be affected?" Cutler asked. "He isn't a new doctor at all."

"However, he is only recently begun learning about humans," T'Pol replied.

"Wait. Is it most recently learned, or most recently used?" Trip asked.

They were all silent, thinking about the question. After a few moments of silence Archer spoke. "I don't know. And at this point, I'm not sure it matters. What we need now is to figure out who is the best person for what job. We're going to have to find people who are relatively competent in an area, and haven't lost their skills in that area. We need to essentially identify people's secondary areas of expertise, and reassign them to those areas."

"Captain," Hoshi broke the silence that greeted the captain's words. "If you don't mind, I'd like to stay at communications. With the universal translator, I think I'm competent, and I think with practice I'll be back to normal soon." She blushed. "You see, with languages, it's not so much a learned skill with me. It's a natural, inherent ability. And I don't think I've lost that. I should be able to pick up new languages as quickly as ever."

"Agreed. Hoshi will stay at communications. And Cutler, you're obviously doing a great job helping the doctor, so you'll stay there. In fact, why don't you go get a few hours rest, and then rejoin him." The captain had noticed the young woman's eyelids were drooping, and she was slumping with exhaustion. Cutler nodded, picked up the padd she had brought with her, and left, not even bothering to wait until dismissed.

Archer smiled grimly. At least they were making some progress. "Trip, I think you'd better take over tactical. Next to Malcolm, you're the most qualified for that job. You need to let me know if you notice any problems in that area. In fact, I want you to switch the crews—take the senior engineering staff to the armory, and vice versa. Leave the junior crew where they are."

Trip nodded.

"T'Pol, you'll need to take responsibility for engineering. Travis will take your station, and will help out as needed. Travis, I want you to spend as much time as possible at the helm, getting as much practice as you can. I'll take over the helm in an emergency. Everybody, redistribute the rest of the crew as you see fit, as their abilities can best be used. "

Archer took a deep breath, and his gaze roamed around his assembled staff. Satisfied, he let them go with a curt, "Dismissed." As the senior officers began to file out of the room, he pulled Hoshi aside.

"And Ensign? Could you find some time to help out in the galley?"