Part 3 - What We've Become
Where are my feelings?/I no longer feel things/I know I should...
Where is the real me?/I'm lost and it kills me/
Inside, I'm paralyzed.
-Tommee Profitt (Paralyzed)

Dawn came and went on the Dolizet homeworld. One by one, the Enterprise crewmen got up and went about their business. Nobody remarked on Malcolm's absence, or seemed to particularly notice, even to suggest that the day might go more pleasantly without him. They all might as well have forgotten he existed for how much they appeared to notice or care that he wasn't around.

Instead, conversation revolved around the spice, and what they were learning about it. It wasn't only good for seasoning. According to what they were finding out, some strains of the mushroom could be turned into very exciting recreational drugs with minimal side effects or addictive qualities, and they were pretty sure there were medicinal uses for most of the strains as well. The mushrooms were universally being hailed as a boon to mankind.

But, for some reason, Trip felt a little hollow about it. Like he was hearing all this for the first time, and wasn't sure he believed any of it. It sure sounded like it ought to be exciting, but somehow he felt a kind of detachment, like he was listening to people talk about a good movie they'd seen, not something real and tangible that could be touched, felt and researched.

He also had a mind numbing headache, which had left him pretty disoriented. He didn't clearly remember when or how he'd gotten to this planet, or why everyone had such a vested interest in these mushrooms, which he didn't so much remember as infer were what the spice was made from. The Vixlettes' spice he did remember, at least well enough to follow the conversation.

Automatically, he'd checked in with Captain Archer, and listened to himself talking about how things were reportedly going down here in some amazement, because the words seemed to come of their own volition without his actually having thought about them. Like a part of him knew what was going on, while another part was fumbling around in the dark looking for a light switch.

It had not escaped his notice that he was considerably bruised, and he had some faint flickering images of having had a fight with somebody, though he couldn't entirely remember who or what for. It also crossed his mind that he was mad at Malcolm for some reason, but he didn't know why. He wasn't even sure Malcolm was down here. Certainly nobody had mentioned him if he was.

Stumbling through the breakfast conversation before everyone filed out to… farm mushrooms?… and then through his status update with Enterprise, Trip continued to have this feeling of unreality, like he wasn't really here and nothing he said or did now mattered because it was all some kind of dream he was having. Only none of his dreams had ever come with such a blinding headache.

What the hell had he even been doing the last couple of weeks? Trip had the sense of time having passed, but he was drawing a blank on the details. Had he been tearing apart the Armory? Or was that another dream? It seemed like he'd decided to dismantle the Armory for some reason, but he couldn't begin to guess what reason would be important enough to justify that.

However, it was no challenge to figure how that put him at odds with Malcolm.

Grabbing Travis as the ensign started to leave the place they were apparently calling home these days, Trip asked, "You wouldn't happen to have seen Malcolm recently, would you?"

Unmistakable fear flashed in the ensign's eyes, "Look… Commander… I don't want to get in the middle of that. I'll tell Captain Archer what I saw, and I'm sure he'll see it your way, but if you're looking for payback... I…" he looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it and instead concluded, "I don't want to know about it."

Payback? What the hell for? What had Malcolm done?

"I just want to talk to him," Trip said placatingly, "That's all."

To his surprise, that seemed only to increase Travis's distress.

"I've seen you two 'talking' enough lately. I just got back in Captain Archer's good graces, and I'd like to stay there. And the best way to do that is to stay far away from Lt. Reed," Travis spoke as if this was a statement they both understood the significance of, but Trip only felt lost.

He let Travis go, and watched in utter confusion as the ensign scurried away. Then he took out his communicator, and tried to contact Malcolm. No answer.

"Malcolm, what the hell have you done?" Trip wondered aloud.

Of course, the now-deserted room didn't answer him, and after a moment he decided to go looking for Malcolm, who he was increasingly certain was somewhere on this planet, probably nearby. He didn't know why he was sure of that, since he wasn't even sure how or why he himself was here… it just felt true for some reason, the way you just know or understand things in dreams without having any real explanation for why the things are that way. You just know the thing behind the door is scary because you feel it, or that there's about to be a wedding on this subway despite all visible evidence to the contrary and you have to help prepare for it even though you're not sure who it's for. In that way, Trip not only felt that Malcolm was here, but that he had all the answers to Trip's many questions.

A good thirty minutes hunting around got Trip nowhere. He talked to some overly friendly Dolizet, who all seemed to think he knew them and that he had a vested interest in mushroom farming for some reason, and he listened to himself talk to them as if he had any idea about any of that. And then he heard himself ask for progress reports on things he knew nothing about from the crewmen working down here. He also asked after Malcolm, and was even more astonished to hear the scathing, disrespectful words that came out of people's mouths.

He'd never heard such language from crewmen being directed at one of their superiors. Not while they were talking to another of their superiors anyway. It once more crossed his mind to wonder just what Malcolm had done. Surely he must have done something. It seemed like everybody was pissed off about it, whatever it was. And none of them wanted to be anywhere near Malcolm when Trip found him, they were all clear on that too. But they didn't seem to know or care where Malcolm was otherwise, as long as it was somewhere they were not.

The more Trip wandered around, the more memory fragments he started to recover. And the more he remembered, the less sense everything around him made. What the hell was Enterprise doing here? And why was everyone so damned high on these mushrooms? Were they… actually high? Surely not. Surely Phlox would never have allowed them to start eating the spice in the first place if there was a risk of that happening… right? But what other explanation was there?

And where the hell was Malcolm anyway?

It strolled through his mind that Malcolm must hate being here. It was so hot and humid. Malcolm wilted in humidity just like Trip did in the desert. Unless he had a specific job forcing him to be out in it, Malcolm wouldn't step foot outside with this sort of weather waiting to greet him.

So Trip went back through the little doorway set in the side of the overgrown molehill they were calling their base of operations, and began to roam through the various tunnels, poking his head through doorways, looking for Malcolm inside where it was less oppressive to someone who lacked a taste for bayous and tropical rain forests and other equally pleasant locales.

The tunnels were maze-like, and Trip was pretty sure he'd be lost if his subconscious didn't remember the layout of this place. He felt like he'd never been here, but also like he'd been here a hundred times. It was impossible to reconcile the two feelings satisfactorily.

And then, as he opened a door, it suddenly came back to him. All of it. All at once. Trip would have gasped, but it felt like his lungs had suddenly locked into place and he couldn't breathe, so he just choked as the memories, the feelings, all of it hit him.

Through the chaotic jumble of memories and their associated feelings, and his own incomprehension as to the why of it all, one thought came clear as crystal: Malcolm hadn't done anything.

But Trip had. And suddenly he understood why Travis had looked afraid of being caught in the middle the feud Trip had started with Malcolm. He remembered it making sense at the time, remembered being furious… but looking over what he now remembered, there was no reason for it. Malcolm had done no wrong to him, yet Trip had lashed out at him at every opportunity.

He'd taken Malcolm off active duty, sent him to his quarters, whispered in the Captain's ear about getting rid of Malcolm, replacing him… taking apart the Armory for God's sake!… and finally, yesterday, Malcolm had clearly had enough of it. But even then… God… even then, it had been Trip who threw the first punch. Malcolm had finished it… but Trip had started it. And then he'd vowed revenge. He'd been looking to get Malcolm court martialed, or even killed, he wasn't entirely sure which. He'd done all that, both behind Malcolm's back and right to his face… when Malcolm hadn't done anything to deserve any of it.

And the hell of it was, Trip didn't know why. He didn't know why he'd been so vindictive, so hateful. He understood even less why everyone else on Enterprise seemed to support him in it. Even the Captain and T'Pol were effectively in on it, though formally they knew nothing of the violence or venom of it, and hadn't approved of some of Trip's stronger actions. But they had conveniently failed to notice some of his remarks, and been absent at critical times. The Captain knew how vicious Trip had become towards Malcolm, and yet he'd sent them down here together anyway. He'd undoubtedly deny it, but he knew how that was going to turn out.

"Oh God… what've we done?"

Only then did he finally see the room he'd opened the door to. Like so many of the rooms he'd looked in, this one was a bedroom. Unlike the rest of them, it wasn't unoccupied.

Curled up on the floor in the corner, was Malcolm. He looked awful. His face was battered, his hair matted with blood, his clothes dirty and torn. He was trembling, and his breath came in painful sounding wheezes. There was a glazed look in his eyes, which didn't turn in Trip's direction, but instead stared rather vacantly at a speck of floating dust in the middle of the room.

Instinctively, Trip came forward to inspect the injuries more closely, and see what he could do about them, but the moment he did, Malcolm lifted his head and made a brief, scrambling effort to get up… to get away. It was a short-lived struggle, but a frantic one.

Malcolm thinks I'm here to hurt him… again.

On impulse, Trip squatted down, so he wouldn't be looming, "Take it easy, Malcolm. It's okay. You're alright," the soothing words just escaped without him thinking about it, but in Trip's ears they rang with falsehood.

How could it be okay? How could any of this be okay? Why would Malcolm believe Trip now? Malcolm was never trusting at the best of times, and Trip had twisted, abused and thrown away what little trust Malcolm had dared to offer like it was garbage. More deeply painful than any of his dozens of visible wounds was the simple fact that this had been done to him by the people he worked with. His crew mates. His friends. And they'd torn him apart like hungry dogs with a rabbit.

Even so, Malcolm moved his head slightly. His eyes didn't appear to focus, possibly due to some form of head trauma, but tried to find Trip nonetheless. Each breath seemed a struggle for him.

Trip wanted to ask who had done this, but the words wouldn't form. Though Trip did not remember being there, and probably hadn't been, he was nonetheless responsible. The inevitable answer of who was himself… and all of the Enterprise crew. They had all been complicit in this injustice, not merely by holding their peace, but by actively participating in or otherwise encouraging it.

"Why?" Trip asked, "Why did we do it?"

He didn't expect an answer. There could be no answer. No excuse. No reason was enough to justify this. As individuals and as a collective, the Enterprise crew had behaved unforgivably, and none of them had acted worse than Trip himself. He had instigated so much of it, pushed for it. He had hated Malcolm, and set out to destroy him… over what? A handful of spice?!

But Malcolm, it seemed, did have an answer.

"It's simple really," his voice was quiet, raw, and Trip noticed the bruising on his throat for the first time, "I had it coming."

Malcolm really sounded as if he believed that, and Trip felt his heart break for his friend.

He shook his head vehemently, "No. No, Malcolm. You didn't."

"I did," Malcolm insisted softly, "I was against this mission from the start. I got in the way. I questioned you, I questioned the Captain… I did everything but incite a mutiny."

"You didn't do anything," Trip repeated emphatically, surprised that he was so clear on the point when just a few minutes ago he hadn't remembered hardly anything about the last couple of weeks, "We did this to you. It wasn't your fault."

Malcolm sighed, "It doesn't matter now."

"What? Why not?"

"Because you've won," Malcolm replied, coughing weakly, "Enterprise is yours."

Trip wasn't sure what to do with that. As far as he was concerned, that had never been in debate. Captain Archer commanded the ship, and everyone fell in line behind him. That's how chain of command worked. Nobody knew that better than Malcolm.

But, somehow, he didn't think Malcolm was really talking to him, even though they were the only two people in the room. Beneath the defeat and torment that clearly brought with it, there was a note of hatred so pure it could have burned through the hull of the ship itself if there'd been any genuine fight left in Malcolm at all… which there didn't seem to be. Yet even though Malcolm was looking at Trip, it still felt like all of that hate wasn't directed at him. Not that it mattered. Malcolm looked completely finished, like if someone breathed on him too hard, he'd just disintegrate.

Malcolm was done.