Happy New Year to all my readers and reviewers!

§ 2 §

Trip and Malcolm had been summoned to the Captain's Mess, into which Archer had retreated like a hermit crab into its shell. Well, parading like that in front of the breakfasting A-shift wouldn't be something the Captain particularly wanted to do, Malcolm mused. He would at least first want to change into a better-fitting uniform.

A rather awkward silence had fallen after the initial expressions of bewilderment. As they waited for Phlox, Archer had taken to pacing. The man was on his umpteenth lap of the table. Presently, he passed in front of Malcolm and shot him a concerned look, and Malcolm noted with an inner start that he was almost level with the green eyes. Archer still had a slight edge over him, but not much. On instinct, as soon as the Captain had passed, Malcolm checked himself; there was no telling if and when he'd start shrinking too.

"Watch it, Capt'n," Trip said solicitously, steadying his stumbling CO.

The engineer eyed Archer's overlarge boots and bit his lip. It was a worried reaction, not a humorous one, but Malcolm was aware of the fact that if this wasn't a serious situation, there would be plenty to laugh about. In his loosely fitting clothing, Archer right now looked a lot like Dopey.

The chime rang and they all turned to the door. T'Pol, who was closest, pressed the release button to reveal the Quartermaster with a neatly folded uniform on one arm and a pair of boots in hand. T'Pol took the items and dismissed the wide-eyed man.

"Your… new garb," she said, turning to hand it over.

Archer grimaced.

"You'll feel a lot better in it," Trip soothed.

Somehow Malcolm doubted that, although the man would at least look more dignified.

"Damn it, Capt'n! Why didn't you call Phlox right away?" Trip suddenly burst out, seemingly unable to take the tension any longer.

Archer raked a hand through his hair. "I couldn't believe I was…" He sighed; then resumed, "I didn't think it was possible. Until I found myself face to face with T'Pol. At that point I couldn't deny it any more."

The door chime rang again. This time it was Phlox. Only a couple of minutes had to have passed after Trip had summoned him, but the heavy mood had made it feel a lot longer.

Phlox entered, looked at the Captain, and let out an intrigued high-pitched 'hmm.' His bright blue eyes ran his patient up and down in a professional visual scan, before he reached for a more sophisticated diagnostic instrument. For a long moment, only the soft buzz of his medical scanner was heard in the room.

"This is quite extraordinary," Phlox eventually said, looking at his readings. Bluntly, he added, "Your molecules are shrinking."

Archer frowned. "You mean they still are? That this," – and he raised an arm, showing the extra-long sleeve – "is only the beginning?"

"As far as I can tell, yes." Phlox lowered his scanner. "I'll need you in Sickbay for more extensive tests, Captain."

"How about Malcolm?" Archer enquired, shooting a puzzled glance in his direction. "Why isn't he shrinking? Not that I'd want him to," he quickly added, realising how that sounded.

God forbid, Malcolm silently prayed. He was already quite self-conscious about his height – or lack thereof. With apprehension, he watched Phlox approach him and raise his scanner again. After a moment, the Doctor's eyebrows lifted.

"I don't know, but he isn't," he declared.

Malcolm let out the breath he'd been holding.

"There has to be a logical explanation," T'Pol calmly put in. "I shall assist the Doctor in finding it."

"I cure would also be nice," Archer said darkly.

T'Pol latched her hands behind her back. "Captain, one will likely lead to the other."

Her inveterate calm had the usual effect of amplifying their human reactions and making them seem excessive.

"All right, all right," Archer muttered. He gave them a tight-lipped smile. "And now, if you don't mind, I'll change my garb in private."

Trip stepped onto the Bridge and looked around. The Captain's chair was empty. Archer was still in Sickbay, Phlox's captive. T'Pol's station was also vacant. Hoshi glanced briefly his way, acknowledging his arrival. She was pressing a hand on her earpiece, and had that look of frustrated intensity about her. On the other side of the Bridge, Malcolm nodded gravely, arms tightly crossed over his chest.

Trip's eye was caught by Travis, who had turned around all the way and had bewilderment written all over his face.

"Is it true that the Captain...?"

"Yeah," Trip said. "A couple of inches."

Travis let out a soft whistle; then turned pensively back to his job – which, since they were currently orbiting the planet of their latest mishap, didn't amount, in truth, to much.

"Any news from Sickbay?" Malcolm enquired.

"Not yet." Trip went down the few steps to the lower level and grabbed the railing in front of Hoshi's station, leaning on outstretched arms. "What about that signal? Any trace of it?"

The linguist shook her head in denial, mouth twisting in a lopsided smirk. "It was very soft to begin with. I haven't heard it since."

"That's highly suspicious," Malcolm commented.

Says the resident paranoid, Trip silently added. He turned to give him a meaningful look.

"I'm serious, Commander," Malcolm went on with narrowed eyes. "It's the perfect strategy. Lure us with a mysterious call, infect us with a bloody virus that will shrink us to the size of midgets, and then attack us." With a sarcastic huff, he added, "It's brilliant in its wickedness."

"And also probably a figment of your wild imagination."

Travis slowly swivelled his chair, clouds gathering in his gaze as he obviously mulled the possibility that their Armoury Officer's dark predictions might be true.

Voice dropping another octave, Malcolm concluded, "I think the Captain should be quarantined."

Yeah, and maybe you too, until Phlox can cure your paranoia. Trip bit his lip before he said that aloud. Engaging Malcolm's eyes, he instead said, firmly, "Let's leave that decision to the ship's doctor, Lieutenant."

"When it will be too late," Malcolm retorted.

Gawd, Trip hated when Malcolm got all pessimistic. Much as they were friends, the two of them would always lock horns when it came to their basic outlook on things. "Look, I refuse to take into consideration the conspiracy theory without any evidence of it," he said, feeling good about putting a bit of his own optimism on the balance.

"Sir, it's my precise job to-"

"Yeah, yeah, but keep your gloomy conjectures to yourself, alright?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Trip realised that Travis and Hoshi had stopped what they'd been doing to follow their bickering.

"Aye, Sir," Malcolm eventually hissed.

Trip stretched his neck, as if to get rid of a kink; then took a seat in the Captain's chair. Everyone returned to concentrating on their respective stations.

It wasn't long before T'Pol arrived. Trip stood up, eager for news.

"I am having the Captain's EV suit examined," she said, joining him in the command well.

"But there can't have been a leak," Trip burst out. "Hell, the Capt'n would've noticed! There are all kinds of warning indicators!"

"The atmosphere on the planet is such that a fissure in the Captain's suit would not have caused a hazard to his life, therefore some of the warnings would have been deactivated. And although I agree that it is highly improbable and quite illogical to suppose there might have been a failure in his suit, it remains a possibility, however marginal."

As Trip ran that through his mind again –T'Pol's language could be quite contorted and even less readily comprehensible than Malcolm's thickest accent – the Vulcan shifted her gaze to the image of the planet, which took most of the viewscreen.

"In the meantime I have ordered the Quartermaster to prepare a few sets of new uniforms," she went on almost pensively.

"A couple would've done," Trip commented absently. "The Capt'n isn't gonna change them so often."

Crossing her arms loosely over her chest, T'Pol turned, and her dark eyes tracked back to Trip, eyebrows lifting. "I asked him to downsize each by two and a half inches," she specified.

"Ya mean..."

"I have calculated the Captain's rate of contraction to be one point zero two inches every hour."

That's when Trip really started to worry.

Archer didn't know what was worse: this shrinking thing, or having to stand Phlox's sounds as the Doctor passed him through the sieve. The man seemed to have an inexhaustible variety of hmms in his repertoire, and they were beginning to get on his nerves.

Besides, despite Phlox's very professional manners, being examined this thoroughly wasn't the way he'd willingly choose to start a day. At the moment the Doctor had his face inches from Archer's right foot, and was scraping with some instrument of torture under his toenail, which made Archer utterly ill-at-ease.

"Er – I took a shower, this morning," Archer said, leaning back on his elbows, as he regarded the operation with a wary eye. He was trying hard not to give in to an urge to kick free of Phlox's hold. The reply was another Hm-hm, one that seemed to say, "Yes, I suppose you did."

"Like every morning, not to mention most nights," Archer insisted. "Don't you think that would've washed away any..." He grimaced, looking for the right word. "… contaminants?"

"It might have – or might have not."

"For heaven's sake, Phlox! What are you hoping to find there? I was inside an EV suit!" Archer blew out a breath. "How do you suppose I got... infected inside one of those damn things? They are made to be airtight, watertight, helltight!"

"I won't know until I find out," was the calm reply. "Very well," Phlox finally said, straightening and breaking into one of his smiles. "I believe that will be all, for the time being. Don't forget to contact me if the analgesic wears out and your aches and pains get too bothersome."

With a grunt of acknowledgement, Archer pushed to a sitting position, legs dangling from the side of the biobed. He could swear that when he'd come to sit on the thing, the floor hadn't been so far away. He grabbed his uniform and started pulling it on.

"Does that mean that I'm free to go?" he enquired in a small voice.

On one hand, he was afraid the Doctor would want to keep him; on the other, he wasn't keen on walking through the ship. By now the grapevine must have reached the lowest crewman on board, and he already felt enough of an oddity without having to endure people's furtive glances.

"Hm? Ah. Yes. I'll page you in case I have any news, or if I need you to come back," Phlox said, already absorbed in his research at his computer desk.

"Won't I… be dangerous to the rest of the crew?"

Phlox looked at him with his cherubic blue eyes. "After you came back from the planet, Captain, you've spent all of last evening mingling with them. If you are dangerous, the damage is already done."

Right. Archer pulled his sleeve, and almost freaked out to see that once again it was rather long. "Well, I hope you come up with something before long," he said, hoping Phlox wouldn't detect his panic. "In a couple of days I'll be riding around the ship on Porthos's back."

Phlox only commented with an indistinct guttural sound. So Archer pushed off with his hands and jumped off the biobed.

So that's how Malcolm did it.

TBC

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