§ 7 §

In this microcosm you didn't move; the sidewalks did. You jumped on, grabbing onto a rail not to lose your balance – for the things were damn fast – and, like conveyor belts, they carried you along to your destination. At crossings, one sidewalk went overhead, the other dived underground, so they didn't get in the way of the odd vehicles speeding down the streets: oblong crystal-clear bubbles that, for all the strange mechanisms you could see through their transparent bodies, didn't make any noise. God only knew under what power they moved. Archer smiled to himself, thinking how Trip would love to get his hands on one.

They had been travelling in this fashion for the past ten minutes and covered a lot of ground. Archer was fascinated. From the inside, the city looked even more amazing than it had from a distance. Like the vehicles, many structures were transparent, so you could see right through them. Archer sped past, transfixed by the scenes he could catch glimpses of, which, despite their exotic flavour, looked oddly familiar. He spotted people at work behind desks of some kind and children in what he assumed was a school. There were shops and restaurants, and a… doctor's office? Oh dear, Phlox would be horrified by the breech of doctor/patient confidentiality. Had they no concept of privacy, on this world? He suddenly felt ashamed and shifted his gaze away, seeking less voyeuristic sights: monuments, nature, and the few structures you couldn't see through. These were mostly large and very colourful in bright pinks, blues and violets. This society definitely liked to shock.

"Please prepare to disembark," Talkative Alien instructed him.

Archer saw they were approaching one such large building, with walls painted in a rich pink and an imposing entrance, in front of which were luscious gardens. There were people coming and going; a group of children stood just outside it with an adult – a teacher? – who was explaining something. When they saw him, there was a collective gasp of awe and then cheering, which the adult immediately started to quash.

Archer smiled to himself at the thought of stirring such a reaction.

The three aliens nimbly stepped off the moving sidewalk. Three legs apparently came quite handy in the operation. He followed suit, but whether because of his missing leg or his inexperience, he stumbled and lost his balance, ending up on the ground. Talkative Alien rushed to him.

"Are you damaged?" he asked, a definite hint of concern sending his metallic voice to a higher pitch.

Well, if they cared about his safety, it couldn't be that bad. At least he hoped so. "No, I'm fine, thank you," Archer replied. He righted himself, rubbed his hands to shake some dirt from them, and turned to look at the majestic entrance, above which hung a large sign.

"What is this?" he enquired. "It is a government building?" He took a step towards it, but was stopped by the umpteenth, "This way."

He was truly getting fed up of being ignored and led by the nose like a donkey, but once again he found himself having to follow the aliens, who headed for the back of the building. "Okay, so we'll use the back door," he grumbled as he trudged behind them. Needless to say, no one considered him.

In the rear, the building was shaped like an E, with three wings extending perpendicularly to the main body. Archer was led by his guides all the way to the farthest wing, and there they entered through an unassuming little door.

It was dark inside. Archer squinted, trying to make out his new surroundings, but they remained shrouded in mystery.

"This way," once again he was told.

That did it. He stopped, determined to get a few answers.

"Now, wait a minute," he said firmly. "Where are we going? Who are you? Why am I here? I'm not going anywhere if you don't tell me first," he finished, taking a menacing step towards the three. One step too many: like the sidewalk outside, the corridor started to move conveying him towards whatever destination was in store for him.

As the turbolift sped up from the bowels of the ship, ferrying him to the Bridge, Trip could hardly contain his excitement. He thought he might have found a way to get Archer back to his metre ninety. The idea had struck him like lightning out of the blue, and he'd spent the last half hour checking its feasibility. Thank God for memory banks, he silently prayed.

Trip burst onto the Bridge the moment the lift doors opened. "T'Pol," he started loudly; but finding the quelling expressions of the Bridge crew converge on him, he clamped his mouth shut, which allowed him to realise that the Acting Captain was currently busy talking to the Away Team.

"Are you certain of this?" T'Pol was saying.

"With all due respect," Malcolm's slightly pissed-off voice came back, "I wouldn't be telling you if I weren't. I'm scanning it right now and..." There was a pause. "This can't be possible," the man continued, almost to himself. "It doesn't make any sense."

Trip braced himself. He knew Malcolm well. If he sounded uptight, like now, it must be with good reason. T'Pol surely thought that too, for even her voice was tinged by a note of concern when she prompted, "Lieutenant?"

"Give me a moment. Let me recalibrate my scanner..."

After what felt like ages, Malcolm's voice returned. "Enterprise, I'm definitely picking up energy readings here, and what looks like life signs... If I weren't in front of a rock I'd say there was an entire city here." His voice turned a shade darker as he added, "And don't ask me why we didn't pick it up before, or even how the hell I can read all that with a simple hand scanner, because I really do not know."

"There might actually be a city," T'Pol pointed out. "Underground."

Perched on the edge of the Captain's seat, her impassivity was once again briefly cracked, this time by a twitch of her mouth.

"It could be a small-scale society," she further reasoned.

"Doctor Phlox believes the Captain has shrunk to a minuscule size," Malcolm came back. He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a swear word. "If what you're suggesting is true, he could have been taken prisoner."

"Or taken in as a guest," Trip countered loudly enough for his voice to be picked up on the open link. "Why do you always have to think the worst?"

Malcolm disregarded him, and went on tautly, "I wouldn't want to try using any explosive, or even my phase pistol on this rock, unless absolutely necessary." His tactical mind was already in full swing. "Not without having a better idea of what I'm dealing with. I could endanger the Captain's life."

"Or damage this hypothetical society," T'Pol added. "We do not know them to be hostile."

"It seems pretty clear to me," Malcolm predictably commented.

There was a lull in the conversation, and Trip took advantage of it to step forward.

"You might not need to use explosives or a phase pistol," he butted in. "How strong are the Capt'n's biosigns? Could the transporter read them?"

"I doubt it. They're quite faint," Malcolm came back. "Damn it, and we still haven't got a clue to what's caused the Captain's problem."

"We might not need, either." Trip, who was now by the Captain's chair, engaged T'Pol's gaze. "I think I can use the transporter to bring the Capt'n back to his original self," he informed her.

The Vulcan turned from the viewscreen, which was filled with the brownish sphere. "Explain."

"The transporter still has the Capt'n's full-size pattern sequence in its memory banks," Trip went on excitedly. "If I lock onto his biosigns and bring him back using that sequence, he should be restored to his old self."

"That's clever, Commander," Malcolm commented right away. "Good thinking. It could actually work."

T'Pol's intense gaze went right through Trip, as she weighed the new plan. She straightened in the chair, focusing back on the present. "We must give more power to the transporter and increase its range," she reasoned, for Trip's sake. And then to the Away Team, "Lieutenant, Doctor: keep monitoring the Captain's biosigns. We shall need to know his coordinates."

"You are the chosen one. You must be proud."

Archer didn't find the words reassuring. To be "chosen" for something often meant nobody else had been found that would be suitable – not necessarily a good thing. And that little addendum, "You must be proud," for some reason brought to mind an old tune: Just a spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go down. Couldn't remember who sang that and why.

"Chosen for what?" he asked of the new being he had been taken to, identical to the others but for the fact that his conical body was dark red – though the stripes across it and his beady eyes were still that intense turquoise colour that went right through your brain.

They were in a room filled with technical equipment he could not recognise. The thing that didn't give him good vibes, in particular, was the big screen that filled an entire wall, with a representation of the quadrant and dots scattered throughout it, marking planets he knew well – like Vulcan or Qu'onos – and others he had barely heard of. Some of the dots were lit; Earth's was blinking.

"To represent your homeworld," the new being finally answered. His voice was more resonant than Talkative Alien's rather tinny tone, and sounded more authoritative.

The words left Archer, who was all geared up to put up a fight, out of balance. "Yes, of course," he said, containing his irritation, "I am proud of being Earth's ambassador. My mission is to meet new species, but I must tell you that I prefer a more honest approach." He gave the new alien a scowl, wanting him to understand from his facial expression if not from anything else that to downsize someone to a microscopic thing was unacceptable, and not the best way to make friends.

"Honest?" the four beings looked at each other, seemingly puzzled. They started to speak in their own language with a thick volley of unintelligible sounds, and their turquoise stripes started pulsing. After a while, Red Alien raised two pairs of arms, and silence returned.

"We have prepared you a place," he said.

Archer wasn't very eager to stay; but he had an obligation to diplomacy. "Thank you," he said with a taut smile. "However, before we get to know each other better, I need to contact my ship. Also, I would like to be reassured that after our talks I will be free to go and will be restored to my original size."

Once again, the four beings looked confused. Once again they began to confer amongst themselves, casting the odd surreptitious look in his direction.

"You are the chosen one," Red Alien repeated after a moment, stressing the concept. "We have prepared a place. Your place."

A shiver went down Archer's spine.

TBC

A big thank you to my reviewers. Keep them coming! And you can now see the model of this story's aliens in my new avatar.