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17

Doctors, Malcolm thought. Some things seemed to be truly universal, and the medical profession was one of them.

Healer Sten, First Physician of the House of Sreman, muttered, frowned, fussed, muttered some more and produced a sound that reminded Malcolm of Phlox clucking his tongue over a patient. An elderly man with gentle eyes, Sten didn't seem to care whether the patient he was treating was human or Vulcan.

"Healer?" T'Var prompted, after the clucking and fussing had gone on for several minutes. "Do you believe he will recover?"

Sten glanced up from his hand scanner. "He will, but it is going to take time. This man owes you his life, Lady. Had he remained where he was, he would have been dead in another day or two."

Remembering how the overseer had brought his whip down on the semiconscious man, Malcolm doubted that it would have taken that long. Jackson was right; they had been about to kill Trip.

"I will administer an antibiotic to fight the bacteria in his blood," Sten continued. "As for the foot, I am going to remove the dead tissue and clean the wounds. If they do not show any signs of healing within the next two days, I will have to remove the amputation stumps as well."

Malcolm looked at the propped-up foot. The stumps were almost black, the raw flesh surrounding them red and swollen. It was hard to believe that Trip had still been able to walk at all.

Calmly, Sten began to work, administering an IV line before he started to excise the necrotic skin from the stumps. Malcolm saw Jackson wince in sympathy. The young man had been quiet since they had arrived at the House of Sreman, and Malcolm guessed that he was intimidated in spite of himself. He knew from their time in Silak's holding pen that Jackson had worked on a farm since he was nine, and had never left the place until he ran away at the age of twenty-five. The House of Sreman must seem like a palace to him.

Unsurprisingly, many of the servants had immediately looked down on the two newcomers. There had been contemptuous glances, remarks about "factory fodder", and relieved looks from Malcolm's bunkmates when T'Var assigned him, Trip and Jackson their own sleeping chamber. Now they were quartered in a room hardly larger than Malcolm's cabin back on Enterprise, which Malcolm didn't mind at all; as long as they were on their own, it would be far less difficult to engage in extracurricular activities – for example, working on the probe.

"Hand me that swab." Sten was looking at him, and Malcolm quickly handed him the requested item.

"Thank you," Sten said, a smile touching his voice. "Do not be scared. Your friend is unconscious, and I have administered a local analgesic. Something to numb the nerves in his toes," he added, mistaking Malcolm's silence for ignorance. "He does not feel a thing."

Malcolm didn't point out that he had known that before. "Yes, S'haile."

Sten began to dab the infected wounds with a sharp-smelling ointment. "May I ask, Lady, how he came to be in this condition?" He frowned at the welts and cuts scattered over Trip's torso. "I do not believe that the Family of Sreman would punish their servants like this."

"He and his friend belonged to Aylak," T'Var replied. "The conditions in his factories are abominable."

Sten's mouth thinned. "It is a shame that such goings-on should be tolerated in our community."

"Indeed. I plan to send a public protest to Central Administration, and request that the health and safety department investigate the factories. I would be most grateful for your support, Healer."

"I shall be glad to make a statement." The Healer set the bottle and swab aside and reached for a roll of bandage. "I hate to see these poor creatures treated with such cruelty. They need understanding and logical guidance, not this." Disgusted, he indicated the cuts and bruises. "So many of us do not realize that respect and obedience is not won through violence."

Behind Sten's back, Malcolm exchanged a look with Jackson, who rolled his eyes.

"Maybe we should strive to win their cooperation, not their obedience," T'Var said quietly. "I am sure it would be far more rewarding in the end."

Sten raised an eyebrow at her. "An unorthodox idea. But you may be right. The system as it is now is detrimental to both our people." He wrapped the last end of the bandage around Trip's foot and fastened it with a clip. "I will come back tomorrow to check the wounds. In the meantime, he will need antibiotic injections every five hours. If you do not mind taking care of it, Lady..."

"I do not mind at all," T'Var said with a small smile. "However, I believe that his friends are fully capable of administering the injections. Just show them what to do."

"As you wish, Lady. Here," the Healer handed a hypospray to Malcolm. "Adjust it to five milligrams for every new injection. This button refills the cartridge, and this one releases the medication into the bloodstream. I trust you have seen a Healer handle one of these before, so it should not be too difficult. If you are not sure what to do, I am sure Lady T'Var will be glad to assist you."

Malcolm suppressed a twinge of annoyance at the Healer's patronizing tone. "Yes, S'haile."

Sten set a box of swabs and a tube onto the floor next to Trip's cot. "For the cuts," he said as a way of explanation. "I have treated them with the derm restorer, so there should be no bleeding. Be careful when you administer the ointment."

"Don't worry," Jackson said quietly. "We've got a lot of practice treating whip wounds. S'haile."

The last word was added like a careless after-thought, and the tone was anything but deferential. The old Healer turned to look at Jackson, the expression on his face sad rather than angry.

"I am sorry, child."

Jackson didn't reply, and the Healer rose with a sigh, reaching for his bag. "I shall return tomorrow morning to have a look at him."

T'Var followed him to the door. "Thank you, Healer. We are most grateful for your help."

As soon as the door had closed behind the two Vulcans, Jackson spat on the floor. "Bats! They think they're so smart."

Malcolm said nothing, reaching for the tube and the swabs Sten had left. The pungent smell of the ointment filled the small room as he began to dab it on the raised welts and cuts on Trip's chest. Those on the back would have to wait until Trip was conscious and could sit up on his own. Malcolm didn't want to risk moving him around too much, for fear of jostling the freshly dressed wound.

After a while, Jackson came over to sit on the cot next to Trip's. "Never seen anyone move so fast."

Malcolm glanced up. "I'm sorry?"

"When you attacked that overseer. It looked as if you were a trained fighter."

Malcolm bent back down to his task. "I am," he said. "I'm the Armory Officer and Security Chief back on our ship."

Jackson laughed a little. "Right, the human ship. Trip mentioned it too, back at the factory. What is it with that story?"

"It's true," Malcolm said simply.

"Course it is." Jackson snorted. "You're the Armory Chief, and I suppose Trip's the Captain, then. Any other members in your crew, or was it just the two of you on your Terran battle-cruiser?"

"Chief Engineer, actually," a hoarse voice said from the cot. "An' it's a starship, not a battle-cruiser. Told ya that."

"Trip!" Malcolm turned back to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Trip blinked. "Better, I guess." He paused for a moment, a far-away expression in his eyes as he continued. "I... I thought I was hallucinatin'. When you, you know, went for Ass Kisser..."

"He broke his nose," Jackson interjected with a grin. "Would've broken his neck if the other overseers hadn't stopped him."

Trip managed a crooked smile. "Really?"

"I suppose I got somewhat carried away."

"Too bad I missed it." Trip's eyes traveled over the cramped room, the sparse furniture and the barred window before returning to Malcolm. "Where are we?"

"The House of Sreman. I was brought here shortly after you were gone." Malcolm paused, not sure how the engineer was going to take the next part. "One of the Vulcans here, Lady T'Var, is a secret follower of Surak. She got you out of the factory."

If Trip had intended to answer, he was cut short by Jackson. "Got us out! You mean she bought us."

"She did it to help you," Malcolm said quietly.

Jackson's scarred upper lip curled into a snarl. "Help us, right. And next thing she's gonna put one of those things on us – " he pointed at the collar on Malcolm's neck – "just to help us, right? You're even more naive than I thought, Krintu."

Malcolm whipped around. "Look, do you really believe that I'm here because I want to be?"

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not the one who's suddenly friends with the bats."

Beneath the man's all-too-openly displayed anger, Malcolm sensed something else, something that made him bite down on his retort. Jackson hadn't thrown the offer of rescue back into T'Var's face, had opted to swallow his pride and escape Aylak's hellhole of a factory. His dignity, of course, had come away in tatters, and dignity was about the only thing he really had.

"Guys," Trip said quietly from his cot. "Don't. We're all tryin' to survive here, right?"

Jackson was the first to lower his eyes. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It's alright," Malcolm said, avoiding Trip's eyes. Justified or not, Jackson's remarks had hit a little too close to home. For all her dissident views, there was no denying that T'Var was a slave-owner, someone who owned a household of sentient beings as if they were mere commodities. It was one of Starfleet's first "contact guidelines": There was to be no contact or cooperation with slave-owning species, and if contact could not be avoided, it was to be kept to a minimum. Diplomatic relations were not to be encouraged.

Not to be encouraged. The sort of phrasing that was so typical of paperpushers, people who hadn't been past Lunar Station in their entire life. Ironic, in a way, that it was the same committee who had thought up the anti-fraternisation rules.

"Malcolm."

Trip's hand touched his arm, and Malcolm wondered just how much of his thoughts had shown on his face.

"I owe you one. Another one," the engineer added, his cracked lips forming a wry smile.

Malcolm frowned. "Another one?"

"Does draggin' my butt out of a sinking shuttlepod ring any bells?"

"Right." Malcolm smiled back, touched and embarrassed by the expression in Trip's eyes. "Well, you would have done the same thing for me."

Jackson shook his head. "You're not making this up, are you? You really believe there's a human starship."

"Actually, I do." Malcolm smiled. "And I've got reason to assume that they're still out there looking for us."

Trip tried to sit up on his cot. "What?"

"Enterprise sent a probe, Trip. One of the Vulcans here is a scientist, and her team picked it up at a beach close to our crash site. I had a look at it last night. I'm sure it's from Enterprise."

Trip's tired face became alight with excitement. "They found a way to cross the barrier?"

Malcolm nodded. "At least they found a way to get the probe through. They seem to have used some extra hull reinforcement..."

"Some sort of alloy might do the trick." Trip frowned, and Malcolm was glad to see some of the old sparkle returning to his eyes. The engineer had seemed so... lifeless, back at the factory; as if his mind had already embarked on a journey, and was only waiting for his body to follow.

"... would have to use in-built thrusters to stabilize it, if they didn't want it to crash like the shuttlepod."

Malcolm nodded. "Yes, unless they found a way to re-route the power surge."

"Wait a minute." Something in Jackson's voice made them both fall silent. The young man narrowed his eyes at them. "I swear, if this is some sort of idiot joke..."

"No joke." Trip smiled at him. "I can't wait to get a look at that probe."

Jackson nodded slowly. "In that case, you might be interested in these." He reached under his shirt, and pulled out a bundle of rags. As he laid it down on Trip's blanket, the bundle fell open.

Malcolm stared. "Where did you get these?"

"Snuck them out of the foreman's toolbox when no one was looking. I was going to use them to pick the lock on the door to the production hall."

Trip picked up a slender tool that reminded Malcolm of a microspanner. "Wish I'd thought of that," he said. "These are great. Thank you."

Jackson grinned self-consciously. "Yeah, well, it's Ass Kisser's own fault for picking on you all the time. He never noticed that I'd left my work station."

A shadow crossed Trip's face at the mention of the overseer, and Malcolm reached for the tools. "Better hide those. T'Var promised to get the probe down here, but we can't risk anyone else finding out. Especially not the other servants," he added before Trip or Jackson could say anything. He wrapped up the bundle and slipped it under Trip's mattress. "There, that should do."

Trip nodded. "Malcolm?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Trip's eyes were serious.

Malcolm didn't hesitate. "I'm sure," he said.

T'Pol could smell the tension on the bridge. Human body odor changed with anxiety or excitement, turning from a mildly unpleasant scent into a pungent smell, strong enough for her to detect even with the nasal numbing agent. Not for the first time, she was glad that it was Ensign Sato sitting closest to her on the bridge; compared to that of her male colleagues, Sato's odor was fairly tolerable.

"T'Pol?"

"The probe is maintaining its course, Captain."

A rather unnecessary statement, she conceded, as the probe's recordings were transmitted directly to the main screen. The stars disappeared one by one as it approached the planet, until the blue surface filled the entire screen.

"Two seconds until it enters the anomaly." she announced. The humans tensed, and even Mevak and Halan straightened a little in their chairs. T'Pol routinely suppressed her own twinge of excitement. Logic dictated that they would not encounter any major difficulties this time.

"Entering now."

Colors exploded like a miniature nuclear bomb. Magnetic lightning flashed across the viewscreen, filling the bridge with unearthly light. Ensign Sato raised a hand as if to shield her eyes.

"It's a lot brighter this time."

"Indeed." T'Pol checked her readings. "It appears that the electromagnetic charges interfered with the recording component of the first probe. The image we are seeing now is a far more accurate depiction."

Archer cut in. "Any problems so far?"

"None, sir," Halan announced from Tactical. "The hull reinforcement is absorbing the charges."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the humans, and even T'Pol couldn't deny a certain satisfaction. Ensign Mayweather had called the probe their "guinea pig", which was an eccentric but accurate description of the situation. The probe's fate would decide whether it was safe to cross the barrier with a manned shuttlepod.

"It is passing the vortex," Mevak reported. "The hull reinforcement is still intact. I do not believe that we will have to fire the thrusters this time."

The image wobbled slightly, then tilted as if someone had suddenly changed the angle of the camera. As suddenly as it had disappeared, the planet's surface filled the screen again.

"All systems are stable," Halan said. "We are approaching the atmosphere."

Clouds parted as the probe resumed its course, "as if nothing had happened", a human might have said. Nothing about the planet suggested that this was, in fact, not the same world Enterprise was orbiting.

"We have exited the anomaly at approximately the same coordinates as last time, Captain." T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "It seems that your metaphor was quite accurate. The "doorway" always leads to the same place."

Archer smiled at her, and she noticed that some of the tension had lifted from his expression.

"I'd say we follow the same course we took last time. If the phase pistol was any indication, that's where they went ashore after the crash."

Steered by Halan, the probe left the last layer of clouds behind and headed towards the mass of land in the distance. Turquoise waves crested with foam washed towards the shore, glittering in the sunshine. Suddenly a flash of white flitted by, its shape suggesting a maritime avian.

"A seagull!" For some reason, Sato seemed delighted by the bird's appearance.

Halan raised an eyebrow. "You recognize the species?"

"Not really," Sato explained with a smile. "It just looked like a seagull to me."

T'Pol checked her readings. "Its anatomy does resemble that of a Terran seagull in some ways. The scans indicate a large colony of these beings close to the shore."

"Any other bio signs?" Archer wanted to know.

"Only small fauna."

The probe had reached the shore, slowly gliding along the silvery strip of sand that was the beach.

"Maybe we should go a bit lower," Mayweather suggested.

Archer nodded at Halan, who altered the probe's course so that it descended several dozen meters, sweeping across a blue forest of feathery trees.

"Take us further inland," Archer said.

The probe changed course again, leaving the beach behind. The landscape below resembled many of the Minshara-class planets they had encountered before, wide stretches of jungle alternating with vast fields and the occasional stream. T'Pol returned her attention to her console, and could not suppress a small frown when a new set of data appeared. This was... unexpected.

"Subcommander." She turned to Halan. "Change course due south. Stay close to the tree level."

Archer was at her console in a few steps. "Have you found them?"

"No, Captain. There are-"

"Sir!" Mayweather interrupted, and Archer turned around.

The scenery on the viewscreen had changed again. There was an assembly of buildings, obviously a farming institution, surrounded by fields and enclosures with grazing cattle. Small, airborne vehicles flitted about the place, some laden with field crops, some on their way to a nearby forest. Groups of people, small dark silhouettes in the distance, worked on the fields, one of the vehicles hovering close to each group. Like a bird of prey, T'Pol thought, rather illogically. Something about the place seemed odd.

"T'Pol?"

"There are 151 bio signs in the vicinity of the buildings," she said, aware that all eyes on the bridge had turned to her. Two words appeared next to the head count on her screen, and for the second time in as many minutes, T'Pol found herself hard-pressed to hide her surprise.

"What is it, T'Pol?" Archer wanted to know.

Unexpected, indeed. "These people are not aliens, Captain."

"What do you mean?"

T'Pol raised her head. "They are humans and Vulcans."

TBC...

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