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"Everybody stay where they are!" Reed commanded. He still had his weapon aimed at Kartaak while he motioned with his other hand for Kemper to remain at the door, in case another threat arose. The Nausicaan captain and Humperdinck seemed shocked into silence, but it was possible they might not agree with the proceedings in a minute.
He slowly moved towards Kartaak as Archer came closer as well. The captain helped Cutler back on her feet as he quietly asked, "Are you all right?" Malcolm heard the tremor in her voice as she replied, "I'm…I'm okay, sir."
Malcolm holstered his phase pistol, knelt beside Kartaak's unconscious form, and checked for vital signs.
The level of noise in the room was rising gradually as crewmembers started to recover from the incident. Malcolm could hear them speculating amongst themselves as to the cause of the seemingly unprovoked attack on their kind and always-cheerful colleague. Then Archer's voice overrode all others. "I better contact Phlox that he has a new patient." The captain moved towards the comm panel. "Archer to sickbay."
Malcolm couldn't find a heartbeat, but that was not wholly unexpected, as Nausicaan and human physiology probably were different. He was turning the man over to check his breathing when he noticed scorch marks on the leather tunic. Malcolm looked closer, inhaling sharply. There was a gaping wound partly visible through the layers of cloth and leather. "Captain! Medical emergency!" he shouted as he desperately began searching for any sign of life.
Archer was still talking to Phlox when Reed's cry rang out, and the doctor responded with a brisk, "I'm on my way."
"What's wrong, Lieutenant?" Archer's voice rose above the murmuring of the curious bystanders. But before the captain could move, the comm panel beeped. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."
Malcolm looked up from his frantic search to see the captain punching the reply button forcefully. "Archer here," was his terse answer.
"Captain, internal sensors registered…"
Archer did not let her finish. "T'Pol, I want extra security to the mess hall. And get Trip and his team back on Enterprise!" he ordered.
Malcolm did not hear T'Pol's reply. There was no respiration, no pulse. He did not know the extent of the Nausicaan's injury, but he had recognized the type of wound, and feared the worst.
"Is he… dead?" Malcolm's eyes widened as he looked up into the concerned face of the Nausicaan captain.
The doors to the already crowded mess hall opened and Phlox entered, followed closely by Vizzini and Romero. Behind them were two of Malcolm's teams, led by Ensign Müller.
As Phlox moved towards Malcolm, Archer began issuing more orders. "Ensign Müller, I want this mess hall cleared. Hoshi, take Crewman Cutler to her quarters. I want to talk to her later."
Hoshi, with an arm around the other woman, nodded. "Yes, Captain." Cutler still seemed to be in a daze, and said nothing.
Malcolm rose to his feet, and took a few steps back to give both doctors some space. Seeing Vizzini here had given him a spark of hope. Perhaps a Nausicaan doctor would have a better chance to save this man's life.
As both doctors worked on resuscitating Kartaak, a security team efficiently cleared the mess hall, while the other team stood watch near Humperdinck and the Nausicaan captain. Both Nausicaans seemed confused by the proceedings, but peered with concern at their lifeless comrade. They had yet to make any violent overtures for which Nausicaans were famed. Perhaps not all Nausicaans were like those they'd previously had dealings with, Malcolm thought.
As for himself, Malcolm was standing straight as a ramrod. He wanted to fold his arms, but his hands were dirty with the splattered food from Kartaak's clothing. Not that it was of any concern to him how his uniform looked at the moment, but in a twisted sort of way it felt as if he would be wiping off Kartaak's blood. He wearily dropped his hands to his sides instead.
When Phlox finally rose from kneeling on the stained floor, he did not wear his usual smile. He looked at both captains and somberly said, "There's nothing we can do for him. He suffered severe trauma to vital organs, including the liver and stomach." He looked down on the lifeless Nausicaan with regret. "I'm sorry."
The finality of the message hit Malcolm hard, and a mix of guilt, anger and sorrow rose like bile in his throat. At the same time, however, it struck him as odd that the Nausicaan crew was still calm, and did not react with outrage at the news that their shipmate was dead. Maybe shock had made them passive. Maybe they didn't understand what had caused Kartaak's sudden death. Or who was responsible.
Stepping closer, Archer asked in a gruff voice, "What caused it?"
Phlox opened his mouth to reply, but Malcolm answered first, his voice subdued. "Phase pistol fire, sir."
"Lieutenant?" Archer's voice held a note of disbelief, as if he expected Kartaak to open his eyes again, while Enterprise's armoury officer would smirk and say, "Fooled you, sir!"
Malcolm replied carefully. "I believe it was phase pistol fire, sir." He could feel the captain's eyes rest upon him, and finally looked up.
The Denobulan doctor looked from Archer to Reed, and did not miss the tension between them. He wanted to pacify both officers, but the stark truth was lying at their feet. Phlox soberly explained, "The lieutenant's assessment may be correct. It seems the impact of a high-yield energy beam burned a hole through the muscle tissue, rupturing a portion of the larger intestine on its way, and puncturing the upper part of the stomach… consistent with weapon's fire."
Malcolm wanted to turn away from Archer's searching look, but the captain held his gaze for what seemed like a lifetime. Malcolm's heart plummeted as Archer's facial expression turned cold. Then Archer called out, "Ensign Müller, Sergeant Kemper."
Malcolm's SIC stepped forward. "Captain?"
Kemper came to stand at attention next to Malcolm. "Sir!"
Archer looked sternly at Müller, and it was to the latter man's credit that he didn't flinch. "Ensign Müller, I hereby order you to investigate this incident. Find out what circumstances led to the violent outburst of our Nausicaan guest," the last word was spoken with a stab of anger, "and his subsequent death. Start with Crewman Cutler."
The captain stood rigid, but fierce indignation was radiating from him. Müller acknowledged with a firm nod, but was hesitant to leave, sensing that the captain was not finished yet.
Archer looked at Malcolm. "Lieutenant Reed and Sergeant Kemper, hand over your weapons to Ensign Müller."
Malcolm quickly wiped an oily hand on his pants leg, and then handed his holster to Müller, who looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"What is their current setting, Ensign?" Archer's voice was low, and he seemed to form the words with difficulty as if he was afraid of the answer he would receive.
Müller quickly looked down at Malcolm's weapon. "Lieutenant Reed's phase pistol is set on stun." He turned Kemper's sidearm over in his hand. "Sergeant Kemper's EM-33 is set on stun as well."
The captain's jaw was set, but he gave a short nod. Then he looked at Malcolm and Kemper and said tersely, "Until this investigation is completed, you are both relieved of duty."
Malcolm had expected as much, but the actual words from the captain still felt like someone had punched him in the head. His mind reeled with recent memories: time spent in the brig not so long ago, with bitter words spoken by Jonathan Acher, the captain to whom Malcolm Reed had pledged his full loyalty.
Malcolm was confused and needed time to think, but his training kicked in and took over. Outwardly, he still looked like the prim and proper armoury officer.
As if they had prepared for the occasion, both Malcolm and Kemper straightened to their full height, looked straight ahead and answered, "Yes, sir!" They left the mess hall together.
Malcolm did not speak to Kemper during their short ride in the turbolift, as both were lost in their own thoughts. But right before the doors opened on D deck, he felt compelled to encourage the MACO. "Sergeant."
The man jumped to attention. "Sir?"
But Reed couldn't find the words to ease any discomfort of the man. He did not know how to reassure himself. Kemper will be all right, though, he thought. He has friends who will share his burden. And Malcolm was sure the MACO's worries would soon be over.
Instead, he nodded, holding the other man's questioning gaze. Kemper nodded in unspoken acknowledgement, and marched out, his head held high. Military men are not always used to mincing their words. Better, then, to not say anything at all. It was a Reed tradition as well.
As he entered the soothing solitude of his quarters, Malcolm let go of his professional façade, and leaned against the bulkhead, suddenly exhausted. He closed his eyes, but was immediately bombarded with snatches of impressions, images and sounds. It all came in a jumble, and only provided him with the beginnings of a headache. Opening his eyes again, he noticed the dark stains on his clothing.
Malcolm took a long shower, letting the hot liquid spill over his cold skin until the small bathroom was filled with steam. Out of routine he started to change into a clean uniform. Suddenly realizing what he was doing, he half-heartedly pulled out a grey shirt and black slacks.
Not able to stop the train of thoughts that kept battering against his conscience, he started pacing his quarters, searching for any memory that would provide a clue to what had caused the tragedy of that afternoon. It was how Trip found him many hours later.
TBC
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