Disclaimer: If Star Trek was mine then there would be no happy endings.
Reed woke in darkness punctuated dimly by an unsteady white glow from beyond the immediate range of his vision. His body ached all over, and sharper pains stabbed at his neck and side. His head throbbed. He could not at once distinguish the pains of injury from the discomfort of lying on a hard surface.
At some length his consciousness returned enough for him to make a halfhearted effort to sit up. The burning in his side intensified with the movement and he froze, waiting for it to pass. It went slowly, leaving him sick and dizzy. He felt hot and clammy though he was shivering.
He looked toward the light, hoping it would provide some explanation to his befuddled mind. It came from a doorway, beyond which was another room lit with flickering fluorescent lights. He thought that shapes moved from time to time in front of the light, as if people passed before the door. He could not be sure. The dizziness did not pass, and after a few minutes Reed was forced to lower himself back onto the floor. He strained his memory for any idea of how he had arrived here and found nothing except a renewed throbbing in his head. He felt too ill to be disturbed by his inability to remember. He wanted to sleep, but even in his current state he knew better than to allow himself that luxury.
First things first. Pain was not necessarily a good indicator of the severity of an injury. With an effort Reed raised his hands to feel gently over his head, and in doing so he discovered a large, aching swelling. That at least explained why he couldn't seem to remember anything; he must be concussed. Badly concussed, if the size of the injury was anything to go by.
As he moved his hands, he came to realise that one of his wrists was chained. He tugged weakly at the restraint, more out of curiosity and confusion than a desire to escape an unknown captor. The chain's clank brought the dark shape of a man into the doorway. Reed squinted against the brightness in an effort to make out the man's features.
"Entek," a voice from beyond the doorway called, causing the man to turn. "Is he ready to fight?"
"He's alive," the man in the door answered, sounding disgusted. "So I suppose he is, knowing this one." He came into the room and nudged Reed with a foot, provoking a groan.
"If he's not ready by tonight, get rid of him. He's been taking up space for a day already."
"He'll be ready." The man bent down over Reed and took him by the unchained arm. Reed felt the sharp prick of a needle in his skin. He was being drugged. He gave a soft groan of relief as the pain eased. He did not try to move, conscious of the hard toes of his captor's boots near his face. When he had finished with the needle, the man left.
Reed sat up and found that the dizziness had dissipated to a great extent. He still felt warm and was shivering, but with the pain almost completely dulled it was not unbearable.
In the dim light, he took stock of his condition. Besides the main head injury, he appeared to have a large number of minor wounds, mostly bruises. He felt along his neck, which stung slightly, and encountered a series of scratches and a larger, jagged patch of missing skin under his jaw just below his ear. Without a mirror it was hard to judge the nature of the wound.
His side still twinged noticeably despite the painkiller, and when he examined it he found that this injury had been securely bandaged with some kind of semi-clean cloth. He wanted to examine the wound closely, but felt it was best not to remove the bandages lest the wound break open and begin to bleed. He slid his fingers under the edge of the dressing and noticed with a grimace that the skin around the wound was quite hot. If it was infected, that would certainly explain why he felt feverish. He hoped that the painkiller also contained some manner of antibiotic.
The man with the hard-toed boots, to whom Reed had attached the name Entek based on the conversation of a few minutes prior, reentered the room carrying a cup and something on a plate. He set both before Reed, who only then noticed his own hunger and thirst.
"Eat this. You're going to need your strength. If you don't win for me tonight, I'll kill you myself. You've been enough trouble already."
Reed considered asking the man where he was and what had happened, but Entek clearly did not harbor friendly feelings towards him. He drank and ate gratefully, though the strange liquid and dried bread unsettled his stomach.
He did not spend much time thinking about Entek's words. He didn't seem to have much choice in what happened to him, and he could not bring his jumbled mind to care very much. Reed felt strangely indifferent to his surroundings, as if they weren't real at all.
Perhaps he would live tonight; perhaps he would not. Either way, he couldn't imagine there was anyone who would particularly care. He did not.
The chime of the ready room rang.
T'Pol assessed the door with a practiced eye. As many times as she had been in this room, she was still unaccustomed to the view from this particular angle. She had been acting Captain a number of times before, but that had always been in the absence or incapacitation of Archer. This time, it was quite different.
It was not that the switch was unpleasant, exactly. T'Pol had never harboured ambitions toward the captaincy of a Starfleet vessel, but under the circumstances she understood the necessity and was not perturbed about temporarily taking command. Still, being in the Captain's ready room as the commander of the Enterprise, while Archer was in no way incapable of fulfilling his role, was a distinctly odd situation.
"Come."
Unsurprisingly, it was Archer himself. T'Pol studied his face carefully. In her time aboard the Enterprise, she had come to know and understand Jonathan Archer better than she ever could have imagined she could know or understand a human. That did not mean she agreed with him at all times, or even most of the time, or that she was motivated by the same passionate emotions that powerfully influenced this human. However, she had come to realize that just because Archer's primary motivations might be emotional did not mean that his logic was flawed. That, more than anything else, had allowed her to develop respect for the competence of humankind. They might be emotional: they were not always wrong.
T'Pol saw discontent in Archer's expression, along with a mix of warring emotions. The time had long passed when Archer's face was a closed book to her. His feelings were perfectly obvious to one who knew how and where to look, and T'Pol had mastered that art. He was angry, she observed, and hurt. Anxious. Worried. Angry at her? Perhaps not. He was angry, but he knew it had not been her decision to take command and she would never have done so had she not been ordered to by the High Council itself. But he had been snubbed, and badly.
T'Pol did not like what she saw in his face.
"Captain." She rose respectfully to her feet. "What may I do for you, sir?"
It was not her customary manner of address toward Archer. She had always been respectful, and with rare exceptions spoke to him only by his proper title, but she had never permitted her behaviour to border on subservience. However, she judged that a different approach was required here. Archer had already been affronted by his superiors; it was important that he not believe himself likewise slighted by her. She did not want him to leave feeling that his authority was threatened from multiple fronts.
Archer gave a bitter smile. "Sit. I'm not the Captain, you are."
T'Pol did not sit. "A temporary relief from command due to particular circumstances does not constitute a demotion."
"Give it time. The demotion's next." Archer shook his head distractedly. "That's not why I'm here. What's going on, T'Pol? What's happening to my ship?"
T'Pol evaluated his meaning. The Enterprise had suffered no damage, so evidently Archer was not literally asking what had become of his ship. His first question was more enlightening.
"The High Council requires the temporary use of your vessel, Captain."
"So I see," Archer said in a manner that suggested she had told him absolutely nothing of value. "Why?" His eyes scanned her face. "Who is S'Trep? What do they want with him?"
There were times when T'Pol experienced two incompatible desires regarding her position between the High Council and Captain Archer. Now was one such time. She had great respect and trust for this human, and would have preferred to relate everything that Sural had said both explicitly and through implication. At the same time, she recognized the duty she owed to her own people. This was a place to tread carefully.
"Captain, you seem to be under the impression that I have been informed of all the motives behind the High Council's decision."
Archer stared hard at her. "And that's a mistaken impression?"
Since curiosity was not an emotion, T'Pol was quite comfortable admitting to herself that she, too, was intensely curious about S'Trep. She recognized the legitimate concern of the High Council regarding the Romulan Star Empire. However, the willingness of the Council to move so quickly from a diplomatic request to an open threat toward Earth had been completely unexpected to her. Either the High Council placed far less value on Vulcan-human relations than she had believed, or there was a far more compelling reason than she knew for the Council to gain custody of S'Trep. When questioned, Sural had refused to explain any farther than to say that tensions with the Romulan Star Empire were higher than tended to be publicized. If there was more to the story regarding S'Trep particularly, he had not told her.
"In part, Captain."
Archer disliked her obfuscation. T'Pol considered the most tactful way to approach the situation.
"The Vulcan High Council is a new entity, as you are aware."
Archer studied her curiously. He knew enough of her to realize that she was not in the habit of making inane comments that did not lead into her main point. "Yes."
"Administrator T'Pau has encountered opposition to her methods," T'Pol said carefully. "It is necessary for the Vulcan government, especially now, to maintain strong unification in the eyes of the governments with which it associates. This includes the governments of Earth."
"Is what you're saying…" Archer began, but T'Pol uncharacteristically spoke over him.
"The Vulcan government has never been in the habit of making public its concerns about enemies, Captain. The Orions are not the only species which poses a threat to the High Council. The Council does not feel the need to relay its apprehensions to humankind. Especially with the new government, there is a belief that potential…problems…should be kept 'within the family,' as you might say, Captain."
"The High Council's scared."
T'Pol disliked Archer's intimation that the Council was incapable of the proper degree of emotional regulation. "That is not what I said."
"The High Council doesn't want to look incompetent in front of Earth," Archer amended. "They're worried about the Romulans, more than they want to admit. Especially with the new government, they don't want to publicize an apparent weakness."
"That is not inaccurate, Captain."
"I see." Archer looked thoughtful. A little of the anger had gone out of his expression. He now appeared more interested than upset.
"And what about S'Trep? Where does he fit in?"
"I do not know," T'Pol admitted. "It is possible that the High Council simply desires to interrogate this man. I cannot say for sure whether there is any further reason for their insistence. My own belief that he may not be trustworthy is founded in what I know of the relations between my people and the Romulans through my own experiences. However, I do appreciate that he appears to have spoken truly insofar as Lieutenant Reed's whereabouts are concerned."
"As far as his whereabouts were concerned, you mean." Frustration and resentment smouldered in Archer's eyes again. T'Pol had noticed this reaction before when Reed's name was mentioned. It seemed that Archer took his officer's presumable desertion personally.
"Lieutenant Reed is a resourceful man," T'Pol said. She wanted to relieve the unpleasant and destructive emotions that Archer felt in relation to his former tactical officer, but after hearing the report from Covan and Tucker, she knew the chances of Reed's survival were nearly zero.
"I'm well aware." Archer sighed, then turned his attention back to the matter at hand. "You say your own experiences, T'Pol. What do you know of the Romulans?"
A dangerous question. Archer seemed to pick up on T'Pol's reluctance to discuss the matter.
"Some time ago, you assisted me with a personal matter of some importance," she said cautiously, after a hesitation that lasted a bit too long. "A man named Menos."
"I remember."
T'Pol had no doubt that he remembered well. On that occasion, too, the Vulcan government had demanded the cooperation of the Enterprise. "Captain, I informed you then that I was in the employ of an organization within the Vulcan government. This organization was called the Ministry of Security. Administrator T'Pau has made an effort to restructure this subsection of the government, but it has proved extremely resilient. Its function has historically been largely separate from that of the official Vulcan government. It is a Ministry of protection, and as such it has had great leeway for many years. I will be the first to admit that it has done much for the security of the Vulcan people. However, it has never been held to the same standard of accountability as other branches of the government and the military."
"A rogue organization."
"In a manner of speaking."
There was a dark look in Archer's eyes. "And you worked for this Ministry. Is that how you know about the Romulans? You encountered them while you were in the Ministry?"
"Captain, I have already spoken more than is advisable." T'Pol tried to cushion to blow of the words by lowering her voice. Archer never liked having things kept from him, and he didn't like it now. He scowled at her.
"T'Pol, you're an officer on my ship. You have a duty to me."
Tactfully, T'Pol opted not to remind Archer that in fact, he was currently an officer on her ship. She straightened slightly. "I regret that I am unable to discuss the matter further." Truly, she did. But she was, after all, a Vulcan, not a human, regardless of her present ties to Starfleet. "I have the greatest regard for you, Captain. However, as you know, I must answer to the Vulcan government first."
"To the Ministry of Security, you mean." Archer paced around the room, running a hand agitatedly through his hair. He stopped in front of the desk. "I don't like it, T'Pol," he confessed with unexpected frankness. "First Malcolm, now you. How many people on this ship are secretly working for someone else? I don't know who to trust. After what Malcolm did…how can I trust you?"
"Captain, I am not Lieutenant Reed," T'Pol said gently. "I do not condone his actions, if indeed he left willingly. I am bound to silence on some matters, but that does not mean I am intentionally hiding loyalties to another commanding officer."
"That's what he told me," Archer muttered. "He promised me he would never speak with this Harris again."
T'Pol could understand Archer's concern. Her own situation was not entirely dissimilar to Reed's connection with the mysterious organization to which he apparently held stronger loyalties than to the Enterprise itself.
"I assure you that I do not intend to leave the Enterprise without your knowledge and permission."
Unexpectedly, Archer smiled at her. T'Pol stoically ignored the noticeable relief from tension that his smile afforded her.
"I appreciate that, T'Pol, I really do. Thank you for your honesty."
"Vulcans do not lie, Captain."
Archer laughed. It was not a happy laugh, but it was better than the sullen anger T'Pol had seen only moments before. "If there's one thing I've learned about Vulcans," he said, "it's that they don't need to lie to hide the truth."
Reed woke abruptly from vaguely disturbing dreams into a world of confusion. Someone was dragging him upright with a rough hand under his arm, and out of instinct Reed resisted. Entek kicked him in the ankle with the toe of a hard boot.
"Save it."
He stabbed a needle into Reed's arm with no care as to where it went in or at what angle. If the substance the needle carried was not pure adrenaline, it was something similar. Reed blinked against the sudden oppressive brightness of the ambient light from the next room. The shouting voices rose into a wall of chaotic sound. His heart throbbed urgently against his ribcage. He found himself gasping for breath as if he had been running. He wanted to move, to run – anything that was not standing still.
Entek unsnapped the chain from Reed's wrist, but the heavy metal cuff still clung around his arm. Reed swiped experimentally at Entek's face, testing the weight of the cuff. The alien dodged the blow and pushed him forward roughly with an angry laugh.
"Better keep that spirit if you wanna live."
Off balance, Reed stumbled through the doorway and into the bright room. He straightened to find that it was packed with people. Aliens of all kinds crowded around a raised platform in the centre, which was walled and roofed with uneven wire mesh. The aliens were a rough-looking crowd. Most of them were much larger than Reed, and many bore evidence of recent injury. Several of them shouted to Entek as he emerged from the dark room with Reed. Although he could understand their language, Reed was unable to process the meaning of the words. His heart was beating too hard. Everything was too loud and bright. He saw everything and understood nothing. In a far corner, a humanoid of indeterminate species and gender lay crumpled against the wall unmoving, as if it had been tossed aside when it became too weary or injured to provide any further amusement. There was blood on its head. Entek saw Reed looking at it.
"That'll be you if you don't fight."
Reed had no intention of not fighting if he was given half a chance to. The adrenaline surging through his body would permit of nothing different. He would fight anything and anyone.
Entek pushed him forward toward the caged platform. The crowd parted to let them through. A set of rickety wooden stairs mounted up to the platform, where Entek opened a small door and prodded Reed forward into the cage. He snapped a short chain onto the cuff on Reed's wrist and threaded it through the wire of the door before he closed and locked it. By keeping tension on the chain, he forced Reed to crouch by the door with one hand pressed tightly against the wire mesh.
On the other side of the platform, from the opposite end of the room, someone else was coming. The crowd of aliens drew apart again, cheering. Reed squinted to see what was coming. His eyes were reluctant to focus on anything farther away than the opposite wall of the cage. The colour more than the shape told him that it was an Andorian approaching the cage, pushed ahead of a laughing Orion man. The Andorian was likewise shoved onto the platform across from Reed. The Orion held him in place by keeping a hard grip on one blue wrist, but he didn't need to. The Andorian's antennae were pinned flat back against his skull with fear. He cowered against the wire door, shaking. Reed tugged at the chain holding him. He felt a peculiar desire for violence against the frightened Andorian. Surprised at this urge, he checked himself. Why should he fight this man? The Andorian clearly posed no threat.
The shouting of the crowd around the cage was gradually coalescing into a single chant. "Fight," they were shouting. "Fight, fight, fight…"
Entek snapped the chain off Reed's wrist, startling him. Reed looked down in confusion. "Fight!" Entek shouted up at him. Fight what? Reed was confused. There was not a chance that the terrified Andorian would fight back. There was no threat here.
The crowd gave a collective yell and Reed whipped around just in time to get a blue-skinned fist in his eye. The strike knocked him back into the wire, which bent around him. Entek whipped the short length of chain against his back from behind, almost stunning him.
"Fight, you dog!" Entek screamed. "I'll kill you myself!"
Reed twisted sideways and more out of luck than skill got out of the way of the Andorian's next punch. He pushed himself into a forward roll out of the line of fire and had to spring forward as soon as he came up to avoid the alien's charge. His side ached from his uneven gasps for breath. His head swam. The pain only spurred him on.
Reed dropped low to the ground and surged forward as the Andorian came at him. He caught the alien's knee hard with his shoulder, taking out the leg. With a yelp, the Andorian stumbled face-first into the wire mesh. It flopped to the floor and rolled over with dark blue blood trickling down its face where sharp edges of the wire had cut into it. Still on hands and knees, Reed pounced. He got two solid hits into the Andorian's stomach before the man rolled up into a foetal ball.
Reed got shakily to his feet and stood over the Andorian, waiting for it to move, waiting for permission to attack again. All the fight had gone out of the alien.
"Kill him!" Entek shouted. He was standing on the edge of the platform, just outside the wire, shaking the door. "Finish him off!"
Reed looked down at the alien at his feet. The Andorian was crying and covering its head with both arms. It was clear that it fully expected to be killed. Reed prodded it roughly with one foot.
"Get up," he snarled. It was surprisingly difficult to force words out. The Andorian whimpered. Reed kicked the pathetic man in the ribs. "Get up!" He wanted to fight. He needed it. But he could not attack a man who lay passively by and refused to fight back. He moved away a few feet.
The Andorian looked up, its face streaked with sweat and tears. To Reed's surprise, it climbed slowly to its feet. The crowd was roaring. Perhaps desperation spurred on the blue-skinned alien, or perhaps it took Reed's gesture as weakness. It charged at him, covering its face with both forearms, not even looking where it was going. Reed stepped to the side and brought both fists down on the back of the Andorian's neck as it passed. The alien collapsed onto the wooden platform with a resounding thump. Reed straddled the fallen body and crouched to roll it over. The Andorian was unconscious, or dead.
The crowd was chanting again. Kill. Kill. Kill. The rhythm beat into Reed's skull. His surroundings seemed to fade into a distant blur. All that was real was himself, and the Andorian. Reed moved off it and knelt beside the alien's head. He pried back one eyelid and lightly touched the pale eye beneath. The reflex was there. That was something, at least; it was not dead.
Reed sat back on his heels, confused. He didn't know where he was. The man on the floor in front of him was a stranger. Reed struggled to understand what was happening. Had there been an accident? His inability to comprehend the situation frightened him. Kill. Kill. The pulse of the chant filled the air.
Something heavy and metal struck Reed's back viciously from behind, knocking the wind out of him. He looked up, dazed, to see an alien standing over him holding a short piece of chain. Entek whipped the chain down at him again, and again. Reed wrapped his arms protectively around his head and allowed the blows to fall on his ribs.
Someone had come for the Andorian, too. The blue-skinned alien's eyes blinked open as its Orion captor leaned down over it with a long knife. The wretched Andorian did not even have time to scream.
Archer paced around his quarters, feeling both tired and restless. He had been stripped of all power on his own ship, and with that went his ability to act. His hands were tied, as surely as if he had been actually bound.
His conversation with T'Pol on the previous day had proved enlightening but not ultimately useful. He knew nothing more about S'Trep now than he had before, and Phlox had insisted upon allowing the Romulan to rest. Archer had tried stopping by Phlox's quarters anyway only to find the doctor in, and not pleased at having his orders disobeyed. Now that he could not even pull rank as the captain, Archer had the feeling that nearly everyone on board outranked him.
"Everyone except you, hm?" he murmured, stooping to tickle Porthos's ears. The beagle sniffed his fingers sleepily.
Archer settled himself on his bed and tried to sleep until it became clear that was not going to happen. He changed back into uniform and, out of lack of anything better to do, wandered down to engineering.
"Somethin' I can do, Cap'n?"
Archer caught himself in time to avoid wincing at Tucker's easy use of the title. "No, not really. Actually I was wondering if there's something I can do. I'm not much use sitting around without a job."
"Nothin' much happenin' here. Jes' th' usual maintenance."
"Come on, Trip. I'm sure there's something. Polishing all the rails, maybe?"
Tucker smiled grudgingly. "I kin find somethin' if yew insist."
He led Archer to an access tube in the back of Engineering and crawled in behind him. The small space was lit with the eerie blue glow of an antimatter stream running through its back wall. Tucker handed him a hypospanner.
"Coupla days ago we did some welding down here. Hadn't got around t' cleaning it up." He indicated a patch on the wall where the outer layer of metal was rough and uneven. Small fragments of metal protruded here and there. Tucker turned on his own hypospanner and prepared to begin work on his side of the patch. "Shouldn't take long with both of us."
Archer didn't want to hasten the task. He was looking to kill time, not to be efficient. However, he didn't object to Tucker's company.
"How long you off duty for?" Tucker asked over the whine of the hypospanners.
"The Vulcans should be here in about four days," Archer told him. "I'll take over from T'Pol as soon as we've transferred S'Trep to them. Supposedly."
"Yew don't think T'Pol is gonna let go of command?"
"It's not her I'm worried about." Archer sighed and attacked a small metal fragment with unnecessary vigour. "I don't know what to think anymore. Gardner doesn't think I'm capable."
"Why not?"
"Think about it from his perspective," Archer growled bad-temperedly. "I insisted that the body we found was a clone, only to send him data that shows exactly the opposite. He thought I was 'emotionally unstable.' And I didn't even speak with him before I sent the away mission. He knows why I did it now, but he thinks I'm insubordinate."
"Well, yew kinda are. Takin' it from his perspective, I mean," Tucker added hastily.
"Don't you start, too."
"Yew know what I mean, Cap'n. Gardner wants someone he kin trust t' do what he says. But th' fact of th' matter is he doesn't always have all th' information."
"Damn Harris," Archer muttered. Tucker jabbed his hypospanner at the wall, then swore when it cut deeper into the metal than he'd intended. "Just for once I'd like to have a straight conversation with him. Face-to-face, so he can't run when it suits him."
Tucker said nothing. "Or Malcolm," Archer went on impulsively. "I could say the same for him."
Tucker winced. "Don't."
"If I get half a chance I'll be scanning that planet with a fine-toothed comb."
"He's dead, Cap'n." Tucker turned to face him. His expression was blank, revealing nothing. "Gettin' mad at him ain't gonna change anythin'."
"So he's all forgiven now? All he had to do is die?"
"Stop it, Cap'n. I didn't say that. But insultin' him only makes yew look petty. He can't defend himself."
"I thought that's why you're here. To do that for him."
Tucker stared at him, then gave a bitter laugh. "Yeah. I guess it is." He switched off his hypospanner and climbed out of the access tube. "Tell me when yer done in there."
Archer waited until Tucker's footsteps faded away, then slammed his fist against the wall. He instantly regretted it as his hand landed on a small spike that he hadn't smoothed out yet. "Dammit!"
No wonder he'd been relieved of command, Archer thought grimly. All he seemed able to do these days was tear apart the crew he'd spent so many years building.