A/N: It is with sincerest apologies that I post this incredibly late update. My only promise is that the cliffy at the end of this chapter (there, you've been warned!) will not be left in the balance too long, for chapter fifteen is already written and waiting in the wings!

My thanks to all who have reviewed and cajoled me along the way – I do hope you enjoy this chapter, for it has certainly been knocking around my brain long enough!

Chapter Fourteen

Deadly Words

When they were led out of the cell several hours later – she thought it might be morning by then but wasn't sure – Henny reached out her hand and he took it, squeezing it tightly. The guards made no remark which, if anything, made her all the more scared of what their intentions might be. As they were pulled along the corridor – neither bothered to struggle, for the guards were both armed and bulky – they passed a window, set high in the wall, through which a pale watery light was filtering. Morning, then. Henny wondered if it might be the last glimpse of she would ever see of sunlight. From the way Malcolm's grip tightened on hers, she wondered if he was thinking the same.

They finally reached their destination – a wide door which one of the guards opened by pulling an ancient-looking lever – and were abruptly pushed in. The doors closed behind them with a clang, and as they did Henny saw the guards on the other side turn away. There was guilt in their faces.

The room they were in was a large hangar, and it was full of people – and guns. The moment they entered two new guards trained their weapons on the pair of them, and at the far end of the room a Clendavin in dark clothes rose from a chair and approached them.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you." He said lazily, and Henny glanced at the communicator – one of theirs – in his hands. Henny no longer found the abjectly alien appearance of the Clendavin's opposing, but the hard, cold fire in his eyes gave her pause. Even as she gripped all the more tightly at Malcolm's hand – not even daring to look at his face – the Clendavin nodded at a pair of guards by the door. "Separate them."

For a moment Malcolm hung on, and as Henny met his gaze she saw real panic in his eyes, and that more than anything made the cold terror in the pit of her stomach expand, but one of the guards grabbed his wrist and twisted it back, and he let go of her hand with a gasp. As she was dragged away from him Henny felt the loss of his warm hand around hers as dearly as she felt the loss of her mother's heirloom from that same hand. They were led to separate sides of the room, where two dark, uniform pillars stood supporting the roof. The guards then shackled them to the pillars, in such a way that they were both facing slightly inwards – they could still see each other. Henny tried to catch Malcolm's eye but he was firstly too busy struggling with his guard – receiving a backhand to the face for his pains – and then looking around the room, his tactician's mind clearly hard at work on finding a way – any way – out of their seemingly impossibly situation. When Henny saw his eyes widen with horror she barely dared follow his gaze. But there they were; two guards, standing diagonally opposite each of them, just visible in the shadows at the other side of the room. The guns they held were not the slim-lined phase rifles of the other guards, Henny noted dispassionately, but older, heavier-looking – projectile weapons. She wanted to struggle against her bonds, but she could not move. When had Starfleet Basic Training ever prepared their uniform-washing crewmen for this?

"So that's your plan, is it?" Malcolm spat out, a new bruise welling up on his cheek. "A painful execution?" As he said the word Henny bit her lip, and felt herself begin to shake. How could he even still have the power of speech? She was too terrified for words.

"And why not?" The Clendavin leader paced from one side of the room to the other, glancing from Malcolm to Henny as he did so. "She murdered one of my people. You helped her. I have the word of my officers who were injured and escaped that you gave her the weapon with which she shot down the cave ceiling. Have you no concept of justice on your planet?"

Now Henny found her voice again.

"It wasn't his fault!" She said, ashamed of how her voice shook, of how it rose in panic at the end of her sentence. "I was the one who did the shooting."

"Henny!" Now it was Malcolm, glaring at her, looking almost furious, and Henny was, ridiculously, reminded of his anger at Crewman Manning's rumour about their spending the night together. Well, they had spent a few nights together now, although perhaps not in quite the situation or setting that Cathy would have imagined. Oh god, Cathy. Why weren't they looking for them?

***

Ryan Tiller could barely believe his ears when the Clendavins – the rebels who had es caped to the planet Andivin, where they had fatefully chosen to take shore leave – finally signed off after laying out there terms to Captain Archer.

"Justice!" He exclaimed, receiving a mildly irritated glance from the Vulcan science officer. Well, let her be irritated. "So that's the choice – we give them 'justice' or they take it themselves?"

"Crewman!" Archer looked furious now, although Tiller was fairly sure that it wasn't entirely directed at him. He turned away. "Hoshi – can you try to get a lock on where they're transmitting from?" Tiller watched as the pretty young Ensign's face fell a little, and the hope that had flamed up when he had heard the Captain's words died down a little.

"They might be transmitting remo -" she stopped when she saw Archer's expression. "Aye sir."

He glanced at T'Pol.

"When she gets a lock, start scanning for human biosigns."

"Aye, sir."

Tiller stood very still in the centre of the bridge, listening to the command crew move into action around him. He felt powerless and, for the first time in his varied and sometimes even terrifying time aboard the Enterprise, a little out of his depth. The possibility of total annihilation by the Xindi had not caused him to turn a hair – like every other crew member, he had dealt with the fear of the danger by simply getting on with his job a little more noisily and a little more determinedly. This, however, was different. The aliens down on the planet, the aliens who had little Henny, they wanted to –

"Captain." Ryan managed to say, at last, and the Captain turned, a quizzical but not entirely unsympathetic expression on his face. "Permission to go and – keep the team in the Store – informed."

The tense frown lines on Archer's face eased slightly as he smiled slightly, a look of understanding in his eyes.

"Granted, Crewman. We'll keep you posted."

As he left, Ryan felt that it was that which he feared most. What might the next 'posting' from the bridge bring for their young Henny?

888

The Clendavin smirked as he gazed from Henny to Malcolm and back, and Henny could hear her heart thumping and feel the bile rising. She felt dizzy and all the pains which had been inflicted on her over the past few days came back with a vengeance. But it was not the pain or loss of blood which made her feel sick and faint-headed; it was the thought that she might have to watch Malcolm die for what she had done.

"Please," she said at last, her voice shaking, and the Clendavin turned to her, his head to one side. He nodded for her to continue, and as she did so Henny was preternaturally aware of the two armed guards with their fingers bent upon their triggers. Her heart was beating double-time; the awareness that it may stop all to soon had evidently given it the will to fit in as much last-minute blood pumping as possible. "Please," she said again. "Don't shoot him. It was my fault."

From the corner of her eye Henny became aware of Malcolm opening his mouth as though to protest once more but then, at a nod from the chief Clendavin, having a fist driven into his stomach to silence him. The Clendavin pursed his lips.

"You both seem to have a great deal to say. So, young lady, why shouldn't I kill your partner?"

Henny couldn't answer. Malcolm had straightened up, his mouth set in a grim line of pain, and caught her eye, his gaze intense and full of – what, anger? Pain? Slowly, he shook his head. The Clendavin snorted, and Henny looked back at him with a sharp jab of fear, yet still unable to will her lips to form words.

"Shoot them both."

"No, wait!" They both shouted out at the same time as the two men with rifles stiffened to attention and brought their weapons up to bear.

"Why not?" There was only cold revenge in their captor's face now. "Why shouldn't I shoot you both? Three - two -"

"Because I love her!"

"Because I love him!"

A silence filled the room. The Clendavin's eyes glittered darkly.

"Shoot them anyway."

888

With time rapidly running out, T'Pol finally looked up from her instruments and announced coolly;

"We have tracked down two human biosigns."

Archer nodded, his ramrod-straight posture relaxing only slightly.

"Send the co-ordinates down to Trip." He tapped his comm panel. "Trip?" The chief engineer was down at the transporter pad, ready to beam the two crewmen back to Enterprise.

"Just got the co-ordinates, sir." Then Trip swore softly. "There's interference. I can only lock onto one at a time, and that's at a stretch."

"Just do it quickly."

"Aye sir."

The comm went dead as Trip set to work.

888

Malcolm had seen many a bullet or phase pistol beam heading towards his person in his time, but it had never been like this. For one thing, the world around him started to fade to white before he felt the bullet hit. It was only as he heard the blurred whine in his ears that he realised he was being transported. A blink of an eye later and he was back on Enterprise, staring at a very pale Trip Tucker.

"Off. Quick." It was then that he realised Henny was not beside him, and he stared wordlessly as Trip fumbled with the controls. The transporter whined again, and Henny appeared. For a moment he looked at her face and thought, with a wonderful surge of relief, that all was well, but then she stumbled forwards and fell into his arms, bright red blood seeping from her drenched front and onto his hands.

888

A/N: I make no pretense that I am anything but desperate to hear the thoughts of my lovely readers. So go on, make my Easter holidays!