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Chapter 25

Three white walls surrounded him, the fourth wall was missing. He had been in this room before, had run his hands over the cold, smooth walls in an attempt to find an opening, yet it was different this time. He knew, for one thing, why the wall was missing. If he tried to touch the seemingly empty space, he knew that there would be a painful shock to his body, accompanied by a shower of sparks. A force field. Like Malcolm's EM field, only a hundred times more advanced. His mind paused, trying to process the strange image of Malcolm in a room full of weapons, Malcolm working at a console. EM field. Armory. Enterprise. His mind balked at the sudden flood of information the image brought.

He stepped as close to the invisible barrier as he could, calling out. No one came. They had dragged him out of bed in the middle of the night, barely leaving him enough time to put on his uniform. They had knocked him out and when he awoke, he was in a room (holding space?) with Malcolm and dozens of other people, all human, some of which looked very strange and talked in languages he had never heard before. All of them seemed very scared, and whenever their captors came in to take one or two of them away, there was a collective mutter of anger and fear. When it was Malcolm's turn, Trip had got up and followed them of his own free will. Their captors hadn't really cared. For some reason, they seemed to be in a great hurry, afraid of the "troops" who were preparing to enter the complex.

He had no idea what they were talking about. He and Malcolm were separated after receiving an injection each, locked into white cells and left to their own devices. He could not tell how much time had passed since then.

He called out again, and suddenly someone appeared before his cell. Someone who was holding a hypospray and said something about a second injection before he was "ready to go". He backed away as the man entered, retreated until his back hit the cold tiles, and before the man could grab him, he ducked under the arms that reached for him and ran...

He awoke with a start. His hands were cold, clutching the sheets. His mind would only gradually return from the white, brightly lit place, and it took a few seconds until he realized he wasn't actually running away from anyone. The dream had never been so intense before. The holding space, the strange people, the... force field... these things had never appeared in the nightmare up until now. Images swirled through his mind – Malcolm, dragged towards a platform, his face contorted in terror... himself, following shortly after... a sudden, instant blackness... a dark backstreet that smelled of oil and dirt.

He closed his eyes, willing the images (memories?) to go away. There was a strange, familiar smell about this place, and his mind threw another bit of information at him. Sickbay. This was sickbay and he was on Enterprise. He was back.

Trip opened his eyes. Sickbay. He wasn't entirely sure why he would know this, but it was what this place was called. He recognized the white curtains, the blankets he was covered with, even the mint-green color of the pajamas he was wearing. How he had come to be here, he had no idea.

He shifted, and noticed that there was an IV needle inserted in the back of his hand, held in place by a piece of band-aid. But he wasn't sick, was he? Why would Phlox hook him up to the drip if he wasn't actually ill?

Phlox. Before he could stop it, another floodgate in his mind opened and inundated him with information. A round smiling face... Denobulan. Chief Medical Officer. Enterprise. That was where he was. On Enterprise, their ship. Jonathan Archer's ship. He was Commander Charles Tucker III.

This was all getting to be too much. His head seemed close to bursting, memories of River Valley and Lendon entwining with his dream – if it was a dream – and leaving him with a wild tangle of images and information. He could not deal with this right now.

Trip sat up and found that his body would only reluctantly obey him. He felt sluggish, out of touch with his surroundings. Maybe this wasn't real, maybe he was still drowning and these were the last hallucinations of a dying mind? It could be. He did feel as though he were surrounded by water; the edges of his vision were blurred and his head was light, as if he weren't getting enough oxygen.

He pushed the blankets aside and saw them fall to the floor as if in slow motion. His legs were exposed, and he was about to swing them over the edge of the bed when there was a tug in his hand. He had forgotten about the IV line. Fumbling with fingers that would not cooperate willingly, he finally managed to get a hold of the plug and pulled it out. Translucent liquid dripped out of the open line and onto his bed, but Trip didn't care. He had to get out of here and had no intention of dragging an IV pole with him. He wasn't sick, now was he?

He was about to get up again when there was another tug, more painful this time and in a quite sensitive part of his anatomy. He stopped. He hadn't noticed the small tube before, but there it was, coming out from under the hem of his one-size-fits-all gown. He followed it with his eyes until he discovered the bag discreetly placed on the bed frame. Great. Fed through an IV line and peeing in a bag. Almost afraid of what he was going to find, he lifted his gown, wincing at the sight. That didn't look right at all. He blinked, wondering if there was any way of pulling out the tube without inflicting serious damage on himself. Well, what had gone in would come out again, wouldn't it? Simple engineer's logic, and he wasn't Chief Engineer for nothing.

Trip pushed the thought aside before it could trigger another flood of unwelcome information. Gotta deal with the problem at hand. Maybe if he just-

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Commander."

Blushing bright red, he yanked down his gown. The woman who had spoken tactfully acted as if she hadn't seen and bent down to retrieve his blankets. She wasn't tall and had shoulder-length, darkly auburn hair, and he was certain that he had seen her before, although he had no idea what she was called. She was wearing a blue jumpsuit... a Starfleet uniform, his mind helpfully supplied. She smiled carefully as she spread the blankets over him again.

"It's nice to see you awake. Do you..." She faltered briefly. "Do you know who I am?"

He knew that his face was still crimson, and secretly wished she would just go away. He avoided her eyes as he shook his head.

"My name's Liz Cutler," she said. "I'm... oh dear."

She had noticed the IV line. He expected her to scold him for pulling it out, but she said nothing, merely took his hand and reinserted the plug.

"That's better," she said and smiled at him. "Do you know where you are?"

He tried to speak, but discovered that his throat was to dry to produce a sound. She handed him a glass of water from his bedside table.

"Here."

He took a sip. The cold water in his mouth was very real, very sharp, and he realized that this could not be a dream or a hallucination. He was awake and talking to Liz Cutler, whose name and face were cruelly familiar although it eluded his mind exactly how he came to know her.

"I... I'm on Enterprise," he said finally. "In sickbay."

She broke into a smile. "That's right. If you'll excuse me for a moment, Commander, I have to let the doctor know you're awake."

"Wait!" His voice was still not back to normal, and he had to clear his throat before he continued. "W-What's goin' on? Where's Malcolm?"

"He's right next to you, Commander," another voice said from somewhere behind the white curtains. A moment later, a portly man appeared next to his bed and Trip's mind immediately prompted that this was Phlox, Enterprise's Chief Medical Officer and resident Denobulan. The man – Phlox – smiled at him.

"Back with the living, I see. I wasn't expecting the sedative to wear off so quickly, but it's good to see you awake, Commander."

It felt strange to be called that, even though he knew it was his title. Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. That was Malcolm. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, Armory Officer.

Something Phlox had said caught Trip's attention and he raised his head. "You had me sedated?" he asked hoarsely.

The doctor nodded. "Yes, for quite a while, actually."

"Why? What's goin' on?"

Phlox and Liz Cutler shared a glance before the doctor looked back at him. "Commander... I realize that all of this must be very confusing for you. Maybe it would be best to focus on your well-being for the moment. I take it you remember who I am?"

Trip nodded. "You're Phlox. And I'd really like to know what's goin' on. How did we come to be here? What... what happened to Lendon?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liz Cutler reaching for a hypospray, but Phlox gave her a diminutive shake of the head before he turned back to Trip.

"Maybe the Captain should explain everything to you, Commander. You remember Captain Archer, I suppose?"

A face appeared before Trip's mental eye, along with more information that seemed to come out of the blue: Jonathan Archer, Captain of the Enterprise. Jon, his friend. The man who had come to get them out of River Valley.

He nodded at Phlox. "I'd like to talk to the Cap'n, if that's okay."

The word had come out even before his mind supplied that this was what he usually called Jonathan Archer. Phlox seemed to have noticed as well, for he smiled.

"Certainly, Commander."

He left, followed by Liz Cutler, who pulled the white curtains closed behind her. Trip lay back on the pillows. The movement brought a new wave of dizziness and he wondered if it was a result of the medication the doctor had mentioned. No one had answered his question why he had been sedated, come to think of it. Trip glanced down at the IV. Maybe he should just pull it back out. God only knew what they were pumping into him.

Exhaling slowly, he closed his eyes. If he wasn't sure whether he could trust his own mind, how would he know whether to trust these people? How could he tell whether any of this was real?

Too much. Trip silenced the voice in his mind telling him to run for it while he still could. It might be a good idea to listen to what Jonathan Archer had to say, that much was obvious from the confused jumble in his mind. If there was one person he could trust, it was Jon. And Malcolm, of course.

He sighed. Right now, it seemed, there was little he could do but just lie here and wait.

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