Chapter Five

Müller had piloted Shuttlepod Two back to Enterprise.

In Shuttlepod One, once in space, Trip had put the vessel on autopilot and helped Phlox strip Malcolm and Strutt of their wet uniforms, dry them as best as they could and cover them with thermo-blankets. He too was beginning to shiver, but there was not time to think of his own self, so he'd just raised the heating in the cabin.

Now he and Müller were in the decon chamber. Phlox had taken the injured men straight to Sickbay and ordered the two of them to wait, but quite some time had passed, and they had had no news or instructions.

Wrapped in a thermo-blanket, Trip watched Müller restlessly pace up and down. With two armoury men severely injured, one of whom was his Chief, Trip could sympathize, but it was starting to get to him. "I'm gonna have to redo the flooring, if you keep that up, Ensign," he said, none too kindly. Müller turned abruptly and with a "Sorry, Sir," sat down on the bench opposite to him.

"Nah, I'm sorry," Trip huffed out, "it's this waitin'. But Phlox will fix them up," he said, though he sounded wary to his own ears. Both Malcolm and Strutt had looked in a bad way.

"They could at least tell us something," Müller complained. "How long have we been in here? I'd say close to—"

As if on cue, the small window between Sickbay and the Decon chamber opened. Behind it, T'Pol appeared.

"What's goin' on?" Trip asked, jumping to his feet.

"Doctor Phlox has managed to bring Lieutenant Reed's and Crewman Strutt's body temperature up and has stabilized them, at least for the moment. Crewman Strutt, however, has suffered a large haemorrhage and will have to undergo surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. Lieutenant Reed suffered a severe concussion. Both men's condition remains critical," T'Pol replied.

Trip's concern went up a few notches . "Always the optimist," he muttered under his breath, though to tell the truth he'd have to dig deep to find anything heartening about the news. He had forgotten, however, the Vulcans' enhanced sense of hearing…

T'Pol cast him a look. "I'm simply stating facts." she said.

"Can we get out of here?" Trip asked in frustration.

"You picked up some bacteria. You must use the gel in container C," T'Pol instructed. "When you have finished, ring and I will let you know if you are free to go."

Discarding the thermo-blanket, Trip silently nodded.

With a last undecipherable look, T'Pol closed the window.

Müller went to the shelf. "Here, Commander. Agent C," he said glumly, handing him a reddish gel.

Trip took it without a word and started spreading the decontaminating substance over his arms.

Archer watched Strutt's inanimate form slide out of the imaging chamber. Phlox held his chin and studied the diagram of the man's cranial scan. Jon shifted his gaze to the Crewman. He seemed to be breathing normally, but Phlox was hovering about, far too serious and focused to make him feel reassured.

"Excuse me, Captain," Phlox said in a grave voice, "I need some room."

Archer quickly moved out of the way, while a couple of medics, with measured, professional moves, delicately placed Strutt on a biobed and Reed on the imaging chamber bed, which silently slid in. Something was gnawing at Jon. It was the idea that things should always turn out sour, aliens should invariably shoot at them, and that no matter what planet they chose to set foot on, they ran into trouble.

He heard someone approach and turned to see T'Pol behind him.

"Captain," she began.

"Don't say it," Archer warned. "I could do without the lecture right now."

T'Pol's eyebrows rose. "I was only going to say that Commander Tucker and Ensign Müller are decontaminating now and should be out in about half an hour."

Archer heaved a breath and closed his eyes. "Sorry," he apologised. Perhaps what really gnawed at him was the fact that T'Pol had cautioned him and he had ignored her suggestion. "It's good to know that at least those two are okay," he added. He knew that his eyes were saying a whole lot more, including things which he would rather keep to himself, so he lowered them. He needed to be alone with his thoughts.

"I'll be out of your hair, Doctor," Jon said to Phlox. "Keep me apprised."

"Of course, Captain," Phlox replied, hardly sparing him a glance.

Avoiding T'Pol's gaze, Jon left to find refuge in his ready room.

He cracked his eyes open, fully aware that he would not like what he'd find. He didn't expect it, however, to be this bright environment. A soft alarm went off, and a strange face with an even stranger smile appeared in his line of vision. It stirred something in him, but he couldn't tell what.

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," the man said. "Any pain?"

"Where am I?" he asked in a voice hoarse from disuse.

"You're in Sickbay, on the Enterprise."

"Enterprise?" He closed his eyes. "I thought I was on the Clement…" The name Enterprise, actually, had a vaguely familiar ring to it, but the devil if he could tell what it was. "I don't know what you mean," he breathed out. Trying to focus would cost him too much of an effort.

"It is perfectly all right," the man came back in an oddly chirpy tone. "You suffered a severe concussion. You need time and rest. You'll remember."

The image of a young blond man suddenly flashed before his mind's eye. "The man I kept afloat?" he enquired weakly, cracking his eyes open again.

"Rest, Lieutenant," the Doctor just told him, all lightness gone from his voice.

Malcolm felt something being pressed to his neck, there was a soft hissing sound, and his world turned black again.

A week after the accident in the caves, Archer received the call he had long been expecting. Phlox had guarded the Sickbay like a Rottweiler. It had been frustrating.

"Phlox here, Captain. I'm glad to say that Lieutenant Reed is well enough to speak to you, if you wish to visit."

"I'll be there right away," Jon replied, already getting up from his bridge chair. He briefly met Trip's eyes, where he read his same relief, and headed for the turbo lift.

When he entered Sickbay, the Doctor turned from the cage of one of his strange creatures and welcomed him with one of his uplifting smiles.

"Does he remember?" Jon asked Phlox directly.

"More or less everything," the Doctor replied. His very blue eyes got even brighter as he added, "At least he knows that his name is not Robert."

"What about Strutt?" Archer enquired, glancing at the drawn curtains hiding the young man's biobed.

"I'm still keeping him sedated, Captain," Phlox replied gravely. "The operation was complex and delicate. But I'm in contact with the Interspecies Medical Exchange and have not lost hope of a full recovery."

Archer heaved a deep sigh. "Keep me apprised of the situation constantly," he said. "His parents have a right to know how things are progressing."

"Of course, Captain." Phlox swept a hand towards another drawn curtain. "There is your Armoury Officer. Don't stay too long."

Archer peeped behind the curtain. He hadn't expected to see Malcolm sitting up in bed, reading. He let himself inside the enclosure, and to his relief as soon as Reed spotted him, he closed his book and made an effort to sit even straighter. It meant he was a lot better.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Archer said with a smile. "We're not on the Bridge."

"Captain," Reed said, looking his usual awkward self. "Thank you for visiting."

"I've been looking forward to it," Jon said, putting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder, "but the Doctor was inflexible: no visits."

There was a pause, then Malcolm shot Jon a sideways glance. "It… wasn't a nightmare, then," he said in a dark voice.

"I'm afraid not," Jon replied, matching his tone, "but the important thing is that you'll be all right." He narrowed his eyes. "I want my Armoury Officer back on the Bridge as soon as possible."

Malcolm gave him a faint smile.

Jon didn't know if he should ask, but perhaps it would be good for the man to get things out of his system. "Trip told me… you were talking of a submarine, and that you thought your name was Robert," he dared. "It wouldn't have anything to do with what you told me on the hull that time, about your great-uncle?"

Malcolm tightened his lips and fixed his gaze on his book. "It has everything to do with it," he confessed in a voice in which emotion was carefully kept in check. He darted Jon a self-conscious glance. "For some reason, the night before the accident I had dreamt of the Clement. The concussion and the freezing water that flooded the cave must have caused the memory to play havoc with my mind." Finally meeting Jon's eyes, he added, "I was going in and out of focus, and in the end, I apparently got to believe that Commander Tucker was my great-uncle and I was his Lieutenant, Robert Peterson."

Jon gave his Armoury Officer's shoulder a squeeze. "I'm sorry you had to live your worst nightmare," he said. He knew Malcolm would not like his next words, but he felt he had to say them. "I'm afraid I made a bad command decision, which endangered your lives." Malcolm opened his mouth sharply, but he didn't give him a chance to speak. "I should have waited until Subcommander T'Pol had analysed all her data, before sending down an away party."

"You did what you thought was necessary to ensure that we could continue on our mission, Sir," Malcolm said in a resolute tone. "And I don't remember exactly pulling back myself." He shook his head. "Things sometimes go awry. When we signed for this mission, we knew the risks, Sir."

Malcolm's voice was getting weaker. "You need to rest, Lieutenant," Archer said. He peeked outside the enclosure and added, humour lighting up his green gaze, "And if I don't leave soon Phlox might unleash his bat on me." He made to turn but Reed, uncharacteristically, put a hand on his arm and stopped him.

"How is Crewman Strutt, Sir?" he enquired. "The Doctor won't tell me. He remains vague."

Jon took a moment to reply. He didn't want to go against Phlox's decisions but at the same time he knew Malcolm felt responsible for his subordinate. So much for his little lecture of things sometimes go awry but when we signed on, we knew the risks… He and his Armoury Officer were cut out of much the same cloth.

"Captain, please," Reed almost begged. "I have a right to know. Is he…"

"He's not dead," Archer hurried to reassure him, "But he had to undergo a delicate brain operation, and Phlox still has him sedated."

There was a silence.

"You know, if it weren't for you, he'd be dead," Archer said, managing to engage the shifting blue-grey eyes. "Considering what you told me that time on the hull, Lieutenant, you were very brave."

Malcolm huffed out an ironic breath. "Quite the opposite, Sir. If it weren't for him, for the responsibility I felt towards a subordinate, I'd have given in to my fear and I'd have probably drowned." Reed closed his eyes, looking quite exhausted.

"Nonsense," Jon said, but his words were lost on Malcolm, who was slipping into the land of dreams.

Hopefully, better dreams than going down in a submarine in the Arctic sea.

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