Disclaimer: The plot holes are mine!

(They're also [mostly] intentional.)

Reed did not know when exactly he had awakened, but he would rather have remained asleep.

His head was alive with pain and the alarming sensation of something crawling inside his skull. It precluded any rational thought, and at the same time seemed to heighten his awareness so that the slightest sensation of any kind was a torturous onslaught. Cold sweat slithered across his bare skin, contrasting strangely with the feverish heat that gripped his back wherever it stuck to the cruelly insulating leather beneath him. The slightest motion sent sharp spikes of agony into his forehead. He couldn't quite be sure that some outside force wasn't actually striking him in the head at every move.

Something cool and hard brushed against his neck and hissed as it discharged. Reed tried to pull away. His muscles refused to cooperate.

The crawling thing inside his skull wriggled and died, leaving only the faintest recollection that it had been there at all. The headache eased with the disappearance of the crawling sensation and he found he could breathe normally again, rather than chancing short gasps when he could bear the pain. A hand ghosted across his face, and he pulled instinctively away again. The throb in his skull worsened slightly, but no answering stab met his movement.

"Don't open your eyes yet," a voice whispered close by.

He wasn't planning on it. His eyes ached deeply and the idea of the slightest bit of light was abhorrent.

The pain had eased enough for his mind to slide shudderingly back into place, thoroughly rattled. Reed found he was able to think enough to realise that he had no idea what the hell was happening to him. Where was he? Nearby, he sensed motion. He'd heard a voice just a few seconds ago; who was it? Presumably someone who had more answers than he. It was difficult to imagine anyone having fewer answers.

"Phlox?" he slurred groggily. Speaking did not hurt as much as anticipated, which was a pleasant surprise.

"What?"

Automatically, he opened his eyes to see the speaker. Light struck at his eyes like a dagger and he groaned in pain.

"I said," the voice was impatient, and, he noticed for the first time, accented, "don't open your eyes. Your eyes are very sensitive right now. Be patient."

His mind scrabbled clumsily for details. What was wrong with him? Was he waking up from surgery? Why would he have surgery? Had he been injured? Who was with him? The voice, and its accent, was unfamiliar to him.

He searched for a fixed point in his memory to start from. All he could manage to conjure was a vague recollection of shadowy figures moving against a backdrop of green light. The images didn't seem to make sense, though he couldn't say why. He had nothing concrete to contrast them with. Slightly panicky, he tried to find any recollection at all. A name? A place? Just a moment ago he'd said Phlox. He was able to put a face to the name – a faint memory of a ridged, alien face that was very familiar to him. He did not remember where he knew Phlox from.

Reed opened his eyes again, more cautiously, and though he had to squint, the light was bearable. In fact it was quite dim, he realised as he adjusted slowly to using his eyes. Motion flickered to one side, and he turned toward it to see a Romulan approaching. He jerked back reflexively and only by pure luck avoided falling off the leather-covered table he was on. The Romulan stopped.

"I'm not here to hurt you."

He hadn't thought that, exactly, but his heart was racing and adrenaline prickled uncomfortably at his stomach. But why? And how did he know so clearly that this was a Romulan? He looked around, disoriented by the strangeness. In the dimness he couldn't make out much of his surroundings.

"Do you know where you are?"

Reed looked back at the Romulan, feeling dazed and sick. "I – no. What happened? Where am I?"

"Don't worry. You will remember," the Romulan told him. "You're suffering from mild amnesia. It's quite common. You'll regain your memory soon."

This answered absolutely none of his questions. He sat up cautiously, swinging his legs over the side of the table. He had to fight a momentary wave of dizziness.

"Don't try to walk yet, Malcolm," the Romulan warned.

Malcolm. He was Malcolm, which answered a question that hadn't occurred to him yet. I am Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise. The words were hauntingly familiar.

"Where is the Enterprise?" What was the Enterprise? A starship, of course, hadn't he already told himself that? But what was its significance to him? …of the starship Enterprise. It was his ship. The Enterprise. Of course. "I want to speak to Captain Archer."

Jonathan Archer. And Phlox. Phlox was the doctor. A Denobulan. The random bits he could glean were slowly reassembling. Reed scolded himself nervously for his lapse of memory. The Enterprise was intimately familiar to him: it was his own ship. Of course he remembered it.

"Captain Archer isn't here. You are not on the Enterprise."

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"I am S'Trep, First Medic of the ship Pritak. You are in our medical bay."

"Why?" Reed groped for an explanation that seemed to hover just out of reach. "Where's Harris?" He had seen the man recently, he felt sure. That was a bad sign, but it could be a starting point for an explanation of what had happened to him.

"Harris?" S'Trep seemed unfamiliar with the name. "I do not know who you speak of." He held out a folded garment of heavy grey material. "Wear this. You may become chilled."

Reed realised only when the clothing was offered that he was, in fact, completely unclothed. He took the proffered garment hastily and put it on, holding the edge of the table to steady himself. It was similar to a hospital gown, loose-fitting and fastening down one side with three ties. The fabric was neither soft nor comfortable, but it was better than being naked.

"Harris brought me to your ship, didn't he?" Reed asked, drawing out the thoughts with difficulty.

"The one who brought you here?" S'Trep looked at him with a strange expression. Reed wasn't used to seeing any expressions on such a Vulcan-like face. It was disconcerting. "That one is long gone."

"I don't understand," Reed frowned uneasily. "Why? What happened?"

The expression became more distinct. S'Trep looked pitying.

"You will remember soon enough. You ought to rest now."

Reed's gut clenched uncomfortably. "What happened to me? Why am I here?"

The Romulan's mouth tightened into a thin line. "No more questions."

"I need to speak to Captain Archer," Reed said deliberately. Surely the Captain would have answers. "Please, will you help me contact him? Use the frequency 1247 alpha. I must speak with him."

He didn't really expect a reply, and he got none. S'Trep turned away without answering. Reed tried to follow him, but stumbled dizzily as soon as he relinquished the support of the table. He fell heavily onto his hands and knees. The Romulan hoisted him briskly upright with Vulcan-like strength and deposited him back against the table.

"Do you listen to nothing?" His tone was impatient. "Do not walk. Lie and rest. You will not recover if you slam your head on the floor!"

Chastened, Reed slid back onto the uncomfortable leather table and lay back, welcoming the relief from dizziness. His mind raced with questions, but he had been trained to take things as they came in hostage situations.

Hostage situations? Reed disliked the way his mind seemed to dredge up the most random phrases and thoughts and dump them on him from time to time with no explanation. It was maddening. He wondered, briefly, if he was losing his mind, but dismissed the possibility without much consideration. If he was, there wasn't much he could do about it anyway, and if he wasn't then there was nothing to worry about. In any case, there was no point dwelling on the thought.

Lie and rest, S'Trep had said. Uneasily, Reed closed his eyes and was surprised by the sudden relief from the headache he hadn't realised was still there. He tried, with little success, to quiet his mind.

He did not have long to spend thinking about it. A door slid open nearby, letting in a flood of light that slapped Reed hard in the face as he sat up, startled. He squinted through the renewed pain in his head to see two Romulans wearing mottled grey uniforms enter.

"S'Trep!" one of them called as the other touched a control on the wall which brought the lights in the medical bay up to full brightness. Reed winced and raised his arm to block the glare. He heard S'Trep's hurried footsteps behind him.

"Why isn't the human tied?" the first of the two arrivals demanded. "You know it's dangerous, S'Trep."

"Come now," S'Trep protested in a scolding tone. "Surely you're not doubting my ability to defend myself against a drugged and barely-conscious human. He's no threat to me." The medic's voice sounded harsher than it had earlier. He seemed displeased with the intrusion into his territory.

"I'm sure Keyar would be pleased to know what liberties you've been taking with it." The second Romulan's voice was lower and smoother. Reed got the impression that this one was infinitely more dangerous than the first. "One might almost think you desired to help the human."

"Don't be absurd." Much of the bluster had gone out of S'Trep's voice. "I am only keeping it alive, as he asked. A job, I might add, which you seem determined to make me fail at!"

Reed peered through slitted eyes toward the three Romulans in time to see the one who had just spoken to S'Trep shrug indifferently. "Keyar paid a high price for it. He wants it alive only as long as it can be useful."

"Which I am beginning to believe it cannot be!" S'Trep shot back. "The mind probe failed. Would you condemn another of our crew to madness by trying again?"

"There are other ways to retrieve information," the first of the newcomers began.

"I am not even certain there is anything left in the human's mind to retrieve, even supposing the probe did function," S'Trep objected. "I have yet to ascertain the extent of the neural trauma he has suffered."

That sounded quite serious. Reed found that he could not bring himself to be as concerned as he ought to be. All this had a bizarre tint of unreality to it. Perhaps he was drugged, as S'Trep had said. He couldn't understand why the Romulans would speak so openly in front of him. For that matter, why would they speak English? The whole situation made little sense. Very likely he was lying in Sickbay under the influence of some drug or other of Phlox's. Probably he had been sick, or injured, and all of this was simply a fevered dream.

"That's not your job to ascertain," the Romulan with the silky voice said. "As you yourself said, your job is to keep the human alive. As it is my job to retrieve whatever information it possesses."

"It is also my job to care for the health of this crew," S'Trep said. There was a taste of fear in his words. "You cannot risk sending another probe operator to insanity because of a malfunction."

"There is nothing wrong with the probe. It was a freak occurrence."

"You don't know that," S'Trep insisted. "At least permit me to study the human's physiology further. Perhaps we may learn something about why the probe malfunctioned, so we may prevent another failure."

"And perhaps you may decide the human deserves a mercy killing."

"It is too dangerous," S'Trep said firmly. "I cannot allow you to carry through with this."

There was a dangerous silence. "I am acting under the orders of my superior officer," the other Romulan said at last in a very low, soft voice. "Do you intend to try to stop me, Medic?"

S'Trep shrank backwards, realising almost too late the peril he faced. "I do not," he managed, defeated.

"Very well."

S'Trep stood aside as the two Romulans advanced into the medical bay. Reed watched them uneasily as they approached. He wished the dream would end now. He disliked being in Sickbay, but he would rather be awake and under Phlox's eye than in the middle of this strange and disturbing fantasy.

The Romulans seized him under the arms and dragged him off of the leather table. Reed struggled against them instinctively until one of them struck him hard in the face with the butt end of a disruptor pistol. The pain and S'Trep's outraged cry of protest were all too real.

Unexpectedly, it was T'Pol who brought the first hope of something more than irregularly-shaped space rocks into Tucker's mind, during a senior staff meeting.

"I have been examining Vulcan star charts," she explained, displaying one on the computer monitor mounted on the wall. "We will soon enter a region of space that is not officially claimed, but which is controlled by the Orion Syndicate. As you know, they are an enemy of the Vulcan High Council. Several deterrent attacks have been conducted against them in recent years, with little success in halting their activities. I recommend extra security precautions while in this region."

"Wait a minute, T'Pol." Archer leaned forward. "I'm not planning on having anything to do with the Orions, especially if they can outgun Vulcan ships. Vulcan firepower is superior to ours."

"The failure of the attacks was not due to inferior firepower," T'Pol said stiffly. Her rigid posture suggested that the suggestion was absurd. "Rather, it was due to an inability to locate the Orions in any significant numbers. They do not have an organized central government, Captain. They are a largely nomadic people composed of a number of smaller tribes, each of which operates under its own set of rules while maintaining a measure of connection to the Syndicate as a whole. Each tribal group lives off what it is able to pirate from vessels within its particular sphere of influence. Their chief industry is a slave trade to the worlds within this region."

"I can see why they're enemies of the Vulcan Empire," Covan said drily. Tucker understood what he meant. The planet Vulcan had a violent past, and before the teachings of Surak were widely adopted, slavery and other atrocities had been universally practiced across the world. Since the sage's teachings of peace and inner calm had become common law more than philosophy, slavery and other barbaric customs had disappeared entirely and were punishable by death. So strong was the Vulcan abhorrence for such things that, as a united species, they had announced their absolute refusal to ally themselves or associate in any way with peoples that engaged in the trade of sentient beings.

Tucker happened to know that the Vulcan High Council was excellent at having closed eyes where there was substantial gain to be found. But a disorganized society with little to offer, which openly practiced the slave trade? He had to concede the point to the Andorian lieutenant. He could certainly see why the Orions were not in the good graces of the High Council.

"Indeed," T'Pol agreed, unamused as ever. "The Orions do not possess the technology to withstand Vulcan attacks. However, their loose structure and lack of central leadership makes them a difficult enemy to fight. They should pose little threat to the Enterprise, although they represent a powerful force within this realm of space."

"We're talking about an organisation with a price on my head," Archer objected. "The first time we ran into them, they crippled our weapons and took nine crew members, including yourself. How can you say they're not a threat?"

"That incident is what ultimately prompted the Vulcan High Council to take action," T'Pol said. "It was felt that the Orions' willingness to capture and enslave a Vulcan showed a dangerous disrespect for the High Council. As for the attacks, Captain, I did not say they were entirely unsuccessful. A great deal of infrastructure and ships were destroyed; enough to set the Orions back many years, as I understand. However, these attacks were considered failures because they produced no substantial effect on the slave trade within Orion territory."

Archer was frowning. "You're telling me the Vulcans have been at war with this species in the last few years? I find that a little hard to swallow. I've never heard of such a conflict."

T'Pol's expression faintly suggested bemusement at human naivety. "Captain, the Vulcan High Command does not report to Starfleet," she said delicately. "Sometimes in dealings with other species, discretion is considered prudent. There is much that Starfleet does not know about the actions of the High Council."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I see," Archer said at last. "Still, I'm reluctant to take us into Orion territory after what we've seen of them before. Can we plot a course around them?"

"That would be inadvisable, Captain." T'Pol seemed undisturbed by the momentary awkwardness. "We are not far from the borders of Romulan space, and avoiding Orion territory will mean entering Romulan space. Alternatively, there is a route that would take us away from both the Romulans and the Orions. However, it would take approximately nine months at maximum warp."

"And given the choice between Romulans and Orions, you think the Orions are the less risky choice?"

"Indeed, Captain. Their technology is inferior to what you recall from our last encounter with them."

"Supposing I accept that the Enterprise is relatively safe from attack," Archer acquiesced. "Are there any security measures you recommend beyond normal?"

"Yes, Captain. Small or unarmed vessels are at great risk of capture. I recommend caution in the use of shuttle-pods. It may be prudent to entirely refrain from using them until we are out of Orion space."

Tucker didn't like the idea of entering Orion space at all. T'Pol's assurances about Orion capabilities were a bit too vague for his liking. He understood that she still maintained ties with contacts inside the High Council, and could not relay everything she knew to her human companions, but given recent events it made the engineer uncomfortable to think that another senior officer was withholding information. Archer's expression indicated that he felt likewise, but he kept his silence on the matter.

"I agree," he told T'Pol. "Let's avoid away missions for now. How long will it take to pass through the Orions' territory?"

"Approximately three weeks," T'Pol said, drawing a soft groan from Tucker. Covan shot him a sympathetic glance, which he stoically avoided. "Is there a problem, Commander?"

"No away missions, just when we're finally gettin' somewhere with M-class planets?" Tucker asked plaintively. "That's harsh, Cap'n."

Once, a long time ago, Archer would have laughed and agreed. He might even have come up with an idea to safely give the crew a day or two of shore leave. Now, he responded unsmilingly to Tucker's complaint.

"It's a necessary security measure. I'm in full agreement with T'Pol."

"I'll brief my staff, Captain. We won't be unprepared." Covan's antennae curved backward in anticipation. The antennae were almost exactly the same length now, Tucker noticed. He hadn't paid much attention since his initial impression of the Andorian, but it appeared that the damaged antenna had fully grown back.

"I trust not." Archer nodded approval. "Take whatever security measures you see fit, Lieutenant. T'Pol, please forward all pertinent information on the Orion Syndicate to Lieutenant Covan. If that's all, you're dismissed."

Archer rose as the rest of the staff began to file out, but beckoned to Tucker. "A word, please." When the others had gone he settled himself on the edge of the briefing room table.

"I know you're getting restless, Trip. So am I. I know it's hard to go this long without any action."

He seemed awkward with his own informal manner. Tucker watched him, curious as to where the line of thought was going.

"I just think it's better to err on the safe side," Archer explained. Tucker was reminded fleetingly of Reed's constant vigilance, almost to the point of paranoia. The last time they'd had 'any action,' they'd lost an officer. Archer was understandably, if a bit irrationally, concerned at the thought of incurring any further risk that wasn't strictly necessary.

"I know, Cap'n. But the crew's gettin' bored stiff. They'd just like to see somethin' happen." Never mind the fact that he, too, was nearing the limit of his ability to sit still and do nothing. Reed would have been itching for some action by now, though he would probably have agreed wholeheartedly with T'Pol's recommendation of caution. Not for the first time, Tucker was annoyed with himself for thinking this way. It had been three weeks since Reed's disappearance-presumed-death, and still in any given situation Tucker often caught himself picturing the former Tactical Officer's reaction. It was as if Reed were still on the ship. A piece of him lingered in the memories of his shipmates.

"I understand." Archer rubbed a hand wearily over his head. These days, he looked tired more often than not. "But I need the safety of the crew to be our top priority."

It sounded as if he were pleading for Tucker to understand and agree. Tucker wondered if the Captain, too, realised that his method of approaching the threat of the Orions was different than it would have been a few years ago. Perhaps he was trying to show that he hadn't changed; that it was just a matter of priority. Rather than being softened by the appeal, Tucker was left slightly unnerved. In the face of potential danger was not the time for any captain to need reassurance from his subordinate.

Tucker realised in the moment that Archer was not the only one who had changed. A couple of years ago he would have hurried to Archer's support with understanding and probably some humour to lighten the atmosphere. Now, his reaction was discomfort, almost distrust. But the Captain was not the only one who regretted the change in them both.

"I guess we'll all have to put up with the ship a little longer. We can clear out the mess hall, put on some jazz, and call it shore leave. They'll never notice the difference."

The weak attempt at a joke fell flat, although Archer smiled along. The two men stared at each other across a widening gulf between them. Tucker wished that Archer would say this is ridiculous, Trip, let's just have things the way they were. I've got a couple of beers and a water polo match in my quarters, want to join me? But he didn't, and Tucker couldn't find the words he wanted either.

"If that's all, Cap'n?"

"Yes, Commander," Archer said distantly. There was a note of finality in his tone. "Yes, that's all."

"Malcolm. Malcolm, you must wake."

Something hissed near Reed's ear. His surroundings faded from blackness into sharp focus as he opened his eyes. His heart throbbed painfully, as if he'd just been injected with pure adrenaline.

He was lying on his back on cold, hard metal, and there was a Romulan leaning over him. Reed recoiled instinctively, but had nowhere to go.

"Shh. I mean you no harm. It is only me, S'Trep. Come, you must get up."

"What," Reed croaked weakly, but the Romulan placed a hand firmly over his mouth.

"You must be silent. Get up."

Reed was horribly disoriented. He had a vague recollection of pain and Romulan faces, but he couldn't be certain it hadn't been a dream. This Romulan seemed familiar to him somehow, though he couldn't say how, but nothing else in this strange shadowy place was recognisable.

S'Trep helped him to his feet, something which Reed was too dizzy to accomplish on his own. He supported Reed with one arm. The other arm was occupied by a bulky parcel of some kind. They hurried across the cold, hard floor and through a door into a better-lit, though colourless, hallway. Reed was too dizzy and blinded by the light to walk very well, but the Romulan seemed very urgent. Reed was terribly confused. He felt that something was wrong here. He wanted to lie and rest until the dizziness left, but he did not have the energy to pull away from the Romulan.

The walk seemed to last a very long time, but finally S'Trep deposited him against a wall and disappeared somewhere out of the narrow range that Reed's squinting vision allowed him to see. The alien returned shortly and half-lifted him up a set of stairs into a small chamber. Reed was able with difficulty to make out that it was the inside of a small vessel.

After a few minutes he felt the muted purr of engines, then had to clutch wildly at the sides of the seat he'd been placed in as his still-reeling mind translated the gentle shift of takeoff as a violent rolling motion.

The inside of the shuttle was dark. Reed could barely hear the minute hum of the engines. Still unsure whether he was awake at all, he didn't try to talk. This was not painful, only strange. If it was a dream, he might wake to something much worse. To what? Instinct did not provide that answer.

A long time passed in the darkness and quiet. Occasional glints of light from distant stars lent an ethereal quality to the experience. Despite the adrenaline-fueled pounding of his heart, Reed drifted in a state of half-sleep. He watched the darkness outside, flecked with a thousand pinpricks of white. After what could have been long minutes or hours, he felt the small ship transition to warp. Its purring engines rose to a low throb and the dots of light blurred into coloured streaks against the black of space.

The Romulan flicked on the cabin lights, making Reed blink and squint in the unexpected glare. S'Trep slumped forward in the pilot's seat with a low groan of relief.

Reed felt abstractly that he should say something. But constructing words seemed difficult enough in his present state of disorientation, let alone translating them correctly from his brain to his mouth, so he opted not to make the attempt. After a while, the Romulan sat up and looked over at Reed.

"Are you in pain?"

It was such a non-sequitur to the situation that Reed had difficulty processing it. Apart from the involuntary tremors in his hands and the cold pit of unexplained nerves in his stomach, he felt fine.

"No."

"Good. I had to inject you with a stimulant to wake you. I wasn't sure how it would affect your physiology." He studied Reed with a worried crease in his forehead.

"I don't understand," Reed managed after some thought. He didn't understand anything, really. Where was he? What had happened? He could recall almost nothing before waking to S'Trep's low-spoken words. His dazed condition removed any urgency he felt from the questions in his mind. Perhaps they would take on more meaning later, but for the moment he was only confused, and nervous from the stimulant in his blood.

"No. I expect you don't." S'Trep examined a starchart on a small screen before him. "I'll try to explain when you're more coherent. Try to sleep for now, if you can. There's not much else you can do. Sleep, and pray that your Enterprise finds us before my people or the Orions do."

The word Enterprise stirred a strange uneasiness in Reed. He could not explain it. He did not recognise the word in context, but it held a strange significance, like a foreign word which bears such a strong resemblance to one's own name that it feels familiar.

But the Romulan was right. Reed was at least clear-headed enough to see that. He was in no fit state to understand much of anything right now. He didn't think he could sleep with the jittery alertness of the drug running through him, but he leaned against the side of the craft and closed his eyes against the cabin lights.

Reed woke to find himself alone in the front of the small spacecraft. Behind him, he heard S'Trep moving around in the back. The Romulan came forward holding a small sealed package. He looked surprised but relieved to find Reed awake.

"You're awake. I was beginning to worry."

Reed pushed himself upright in the seat. His mouth was cottony with dryness. "How long was I asleep?" he asked hoarsely. He thought he had only dozed for a short time, although he did feel much refreshed. The events of the past hours were dreamlike and distant in his mind, but by the fact of his presence on this shuttle with S'Trep, he had clearly not imagined everything.

"Almost twenty-four hours," S'Trep said. "Here, drink this." He handed the pouch to Reed and went into the back of the craft to get another for himself. Reed tore a corner off of the pouch carefully and sipped the liquid inside. It was not water, but seemed to be water-based. The drink had a bitter taste but quenched his thirst quickly.

"How do you feel?" S'Trep asked, returning to the pilot's seat. "I have food, if you're very hungry, but if you can do without that would be best. There's not much of it."

"I'm alright," Reed said. There was a bruise or something similarly painful on his left cheekbone and his head was mildly sore, but otherwise he couldn't find anything wrong with himself. He was quite hungry, but opted not to mention that. "Just confused. I don't understand."

"What can you remember?" S'Trep asked. Reed shook his head doubtfully. Anxiety curled in the pit of his stomach as he searched his mind for anything before waking to S'Trep's urging the previous day, if the Romulan's estimate of the time he'd slept was accurate. He found nothing.

"I'm not sure."

"You know me? Do you know why we are here?"

"I don't know," Reed admitted.

"You were on a Romulan ship, the Pritak," S'Trep prompted. "Do you remember why?"

"No." There was a gaping void in what Reed knew he ought to know. He felt he was groping in the dark.

S'Trep sighed. "I was afraid of this. You were on the ship because the Romulans believed you had information that would be useful to them. They have been torturing and interrogating you for the last two and a half weeks."

"I – but I don't know anything," Reed protested. "I don't remember. What did they want?"

"Something you couldn't give them. Or wouldn't. I don't know."

"I don't remember anything."

"You did. You knew something they wanted, but they couldn't get it out of you." The Romulan shook his head. "I am taking you away from them. They did not know we were gone until it was too late."

"You helped me escape?"

"Yes."

Reed wasn't sure he believed that. "Why?"

"I believe what they were doing to you is not right," S'Trep confessed. "The mind probe is an instrument of evil. It should never have existed!"

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Reed said bluntly. S'Trep sighed.

"I suppose I do owe you an explanation."

Reed agreed.

"The Romulan Star Empire has technology to enter the mind in order to retrieve memories," S'Trep began. "It is called a mind probe. The Tal Shiar often uses it for interrogation. It is known to cause intense pain and great damage to the neural network of the individual it is used on, but that is considered…acceptable. It is most effective on a mind that is already vulnerable, so an extended period of torture prior to the use of the probe is not uncommon in situations where time is not a limiting factor.

"You were sold to the Empire by a human named Harris. I do not know why, or what information you were supposed to have. I only understand that it was something of great value to the Empire. For two weeks the captain of the Pritak placed you under extremely high mental and physical stress to open your mind to the probe. However, when he attempted to extract information from you with the mind probe, it malfunctioned in a way we have never seen before. It seemed to backfire on the operator of the probe. He suffered extensive and irreparable neural trauma."

By extremely high mental and physical stress, Reed suspected that the Romulan meant torture. He was not sorry he didn't remember that.

"The Captain insisted the malfunction was a fluke and made another attempt, with a similar result. He intended to try again the following day. I refused to allow this abomination to continue."

Reed watched the Romulan suspiciously. His inability to confirm or negate anything S'Trep said with corresponding memories irked him.

"Why should I believe you?" he demanded of the Romulan. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?"

"You cannot," S'Trep said weakly. He looked very tired. "I cannot prove it. You may decide whether or not to believe me. I doubt I could stop you from attacking me and taking control of this ship, if you chose to do so. But you have nowhere to go, and you don't know how to fly this vessel. If you kill me, you will only sabotage yourself. Although I am sure I deserve it."

Reed didn't have a ready response to that. It was true enough, though, that he would have nowhere to go without the Romulan. He had no choice but to trust S'Trep.

"Why can't I remember anything?" he asked, less harshly.

"I put a block in your mind," S'Trep said, without meeting his eyes. "The probe operator was not the only one who suffered trauma to the mind. Your neural network was quite scrambled after the second interrogation with the probe. I had to place a block around the damage to allow you to function. I am sorry, Malcolm. I am not experienced with the technique."

Reed experienced the sensation of hanging to the end of a rope that had just been severed. "Does that mean I'll never remember anything?"

"No," S'Trep said unhappily. "I'm not very good at the technique. I doubt it will last very long. It was the best I could do. I only hope it will last long enough for us to find your ship. Perhaps we can get you to your doctor before it disintegrates."

"What did you mean 'to allow me to function'?" Reed asked warily. S'Trep looked even more distressed.

"The techniques used on you – they are intended to retrieve information at all costs. Including destroying the mind. Your mind appears to be stronger than most, but…"

"What will happen when the block breaks?" Reed asked. His hands felt cold.

"It is not so much a break as a gradual degeneration as your brain rewrites neural connections to the damaged areas." S'Trep shifted uncomfortably. "As these connections are formed, the damaged portions will begin to affect all normal mental functions. You may lose the ability to distinguish between past and present. Your mind may create, distort, or combine memories and draw upon them at random. Essentially, your neural network will become so tangled that it cannot link stimuli to responses."

"I get the picture, thanks," Reed said hastily. He didn't like the sound of that at all. The thought that his own mind could begin to fail him at any moment was terrifying. "How long will this take?"

"I don't know. It could be as little as a few hours or possibly even a month or two." S'Trep assumed a more clinical air. "You must let me know if you experience any confusion, flashbacks, or other physical or mental symptoms."

"I'm experiencing a hell of a lot of confusion right now, thanks," Reed said sharply, made irritable by his own fear. S'Trep looked sideways at him.

"You don't remember anything at all? The Enterprise? Archer?"

"What?" Reed asked, greedy for information. "Enterprise?" The word felt familiar on his tongue, but he had nothing he could connect to it, only a gaping void where understanding should have been. "What are those things?"

"You spoke of them to me," the Romulan told him. "You asked me, 'Where is the Enterprise?' You said you needed to speak to Captain Archer. You asked me to contact him."

"I don't know who that is." Reed clenched his fists in frustration. "Captain of what?"

"A starship, I would presume," S'Trep said. "I believe Enterprise is its name."

"I wouldn't know, would I?" Reed spat at him. He knew he was being unreasonably rude, but he felt little remorse. Any condition of madness would be better than an absolute blankness where he should have had memories of a lifetime up to this point. He had no one to blame but the Romulan. S'Trep winced and didn't answer.

"Where are we going now?" Reed asked, calming himself. Allowing himself to get worked up over something he could not change was unproductive.

"We are on a heading towards your home planet," S'Trep explained. "However, we have neither enough food to keep us alive until then nor enough fuel to power this ship that long. Not to mention that the Empire will be searching for us. We are out of Romulan space now, but that is hardly an obstacle to the Empire."

"I don't like those odds," Reed muttered grimly.

"We must hope that your people or find us first," S'Trep said. "Pray for salvation," he added under his breath, "for the end has come." It sounded like he was quoting something.

"I'm not much of a praying man," Reed said drily. The Romulan looked at him, wide-eyed and startled. "What?"

"I spoke in Romulan!"

"What?"

"I did not say that in English," S'Trep said impatiently. "How did you understand me?"

"I didn't notice," Reed admitted, disquieted.

"I don't understand," S'Trep said in astonishment. "How can you possibly understand Romulan?"

"I don't know."

"I asked you that in Romulan," the medic told him. "This is fascinating." He considered Reed thoughtfully. "Can you speak it?"

"I doubt that. I didn't even realise you weren't speaking English."

"It must have been the mind probe," S'Trep said, awed. "Perhaps when it malfunctioned, you were somehow imprinted with memories from the operator."

"I thought my memories were inaccessible."

"The portion of the brain governing language and communication is separate from the areas that store long-term memory," S'Trep informed him. "It is quite possible. I have never heard of such a thing, but you are already an exception. I can think of no other explanation."

"What a bargain," Reed muttered sourly. "I can't remember anything, but now I understand the Romulan language." A curious thought occurred to him, distracting him from the resentful fear already creeping back in. "How do you know English?"

"I have always been fascinated by languages," the Romulan said, with a hint of wistful pride. "Some time ago, a strange vessel was caught in a minefield on the border of Romulan space. It escaped the minefield and was driven away by patrol vessels, but its entire database was scanned before it left. Some of the information was made public for study, including the portions of the database concerning language."

"What kind of ship was it?"

"A human starship, I assume. I was not involved in the encounter. At the time –"

A shrill siren erupted from the controls of the small craft's controls. S'Trep gasped and bent over the sensor readout.

"What is it?"

"It's a proximity sensor," S'Trep said shakily. His voice was high-pitched with alarm. "There's a ship closing on us."

"What ship?"

"I don't understand," the Romulan protested helplessly. "How can they detect us? The cloak is activated."

The shuttle gave a tremendous shudder as it was struck from behind by weapon fire. Reed almost face-planted into the control panel but caught himself just in time. S'Trep worked frantically over the controls as the streaks of stars coalesced into distant points of light. The shuttle had fallen out of warp. A second jolt set off another alarm somewhere in the craft.

"Tractor beam," S'Trep panted. "Rotating shield frequency."

In the rear viewscreen, Reed could see the ship looming over them. Huge, brown, and ungraceful, it made him think of some carrion creature come to feed off the sick and injured.

"What is it?" he asked again, urgently. S'Trep's fear was contagious. It gripped at Reed as the Romulan looked up, panic-stricken.

"Orions."