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§2§
Malcolm turned abruptly to the sound behind him, weapon at the ready, making a figure freeze.
"Don't you know better than to sneak up on a man on guard, Commander?" he muttered, relaxing his stance and replacing his phase pistol in its holster.
"I know I haven't been around for a while, but I trusted you'd still recognise me as a friend," Trip quipped, bridging the gap that separated them.
Malcolm returned to gaze into the darkness. When he had learnt that Trip had asked for a transfer, he had wondered if their friendship had meant anything to him. The Engineer had left without so much as an explanation, almost as if he didn't care about the people he was leaving behind.
"You shouldn't be here," he told the man, who was now standing beside him. "I'm not supposed to be distracted; and you're supposed to be tucked away in your sleeping bag."
"You know that sleep and I haven't been gettin' along much lately," Trip commented. Awkwardly, he added, "You and I have to talk."
"Don't ask."
Saying the words and turning squarely on Trip had been one and the same. Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek. Brilliant. He was giving the man a warm welcome indeed; because he really was happy to have Trip back, even temporarily. He snorted silently to himself. Look what had happened without him.
"Don't ask what?" Trip challenged, in a careful voice. "Why you're so damn distant these days, or what you did to piss the Capt'n off so much that he threw you in the brig?"
As if he didn't know that the two were connected.
Malcolm held his friend's eyes for a long moment, and though the distant fire didn't provide more than a faint light he could see that Trip was eager to restore their bond. But the events of the past few weeks had broken something in him, and he didn't know where to start. He averted his gaze, shifting it back to their surroundings.
"I don't want to talk about it," he muttered.
He should be bloody good at keeping things to himself, damn it. He had even lied to his Captain.
"You promised you'd explain everything," Trip reminded him.
"Not now, Trip," Malcolm quietly begged.
'Not ever' – he should have said. Or even, 'not to you'; for the last thing he wanted was to tell his best friend that the perfect Lieutenant Reed… Hell, he wasn't ready to disappoint yet one more person who believed in him. It was just as well that Trip had been on Columbia when he – Malcolm – had acted as Harris's pawn. He wished, not for the first time, that he could rewind the past few weeks; or just erase them from his memory. Not a chance. He knew they would pop up from time to time, to haunt him when he would least need it.
"All right," Trip acquiesced.
They were in silence for a moment; the only sounds the crackling fire and the gloomy call of a night bird.
"There's something else," Trip eventually added.
Malcolm tossed him a look.
"I owe you an apology," the Engineer went on. "I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry."
He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, and Malcolm forced his gaze stubbornly ahead, unable to deny that truth. It wasn't so much the fact that Trip had left that had hurt, but the way he had done it: abruptly, without notice and practically without saying good-bye. That had hurt him deeply.
"I guess running away from problems doesn't help solve them," Trip said.
Wasn't that true… Malcolm blinked at the memories that flashed against the backdrop of his mind. He had run away from a life in the Navy, but the problems with his father had remained; he had run away from a life as a covert agent, but it had caught up with him.
"Well, guess I'll leave ya to your job, then," Trip mumbled, starting to leave.
Damn.
"Trip…" Malcolm turned, suddenly afraid to experience once again the void that had been his faithful companion for many years, before Enterprise. He was allowing his own problems and despondent mood to get in the way of this friendship, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't what he wanted, either. He passed a hand through his hair. "Why don't we… erase the past few weeks, and start again." He shrugged. "I suppose a cold start, like you did with the engine... The subroutines ought to go back to normal," he quipped; but Trip considered the words with a straight face.
"A cold start is an emergency procedure," he said carefully. "If you have to do that it means that things are pretty screwed-up. I should hope you and I don't need such desperate measures."
Malcolm looked back speechlessly. Sometimes Trip took things very seriously; though if it was the case with their friendship, it was a comforting thought. Yes, maybe all they needed was to have a nice talk over a couple of beers, and they would be back on track. He would tell him everything, he really wanted to, deep down. When this mission was over he would, yes, because a true friend would understand.
"Look," he blurted out on impulse, "I did something stupid, and..." Wincing, he forced himself to hold Trip's scrutiny. "I just don't feel like getting into it right now. I can't." Taking a deep breath, he quietly added, "I'm glad you're back, even though that patch on your arm still says Columbia."
Trip cast a look at the round insignia on his sleeve. "Don't worry, pretty soon it will change again, if Captain Hernandez has no objections." He twisted his face in a lopsided smirk. "I should've never left. Guess you're not the only one who did somethin' stupid."
"At least you didn't endanger the entire ship," Malcolm muttered darkly, before he could stop himself. He watched Trip open his mouth to speak; then close it again.
"See you tomorrow," the Engineer said, clearly curbing his curiosity in respect of Malcolm's wish.
"Good night, Commander."
Malcolm followed the retreating form for a long time, before focusing again on the darkness outside their camp, his heart lighter.
"Nice place; are we gonna knock on the door?" Trip enquired deadpan, studying the impregnable-looking structure they had finally reached.
"Not unless you want to electrocute yourself," Malcolm cautioned, though he had no doubt the Engineer was well aware of that danger.
Indeed, as the sign in several languages – Earth and non – warned, a high-tension electrical field surrounded the station's perimeter. A no-trespass line of red, blinking lights marked, on the ground, the boundary between safety and a rather unpleasant death.
"We'll ring the bell," Archer said, casting a narrowed-eye look at the armoured door, grey and solid-looking like the rest of the station. He jerked his chin to the vessel parked on the small landing pad. "At least it looks like we haven't come all this way for nothing."
Low and sturdy, the science station was partly incorporated in the rock face of the mountain. All one could see of it was an angular portion jutting out, with rows of tall, narrow slits as windows – vaguely reminiscent, Malcolm thought, of those of old castles.
With a quick gesture, Malcolm sent the MACOs on a recce of the narrow confines, and they took off, in opposite directions. The place looked undisturbed, but it was always better to make sure.
Archer flipped his communicator open. "T'Pol," he paged.
"Go ahead."
"We're at the station. Any luck with the comm.?"
"Captain, I would have informed you if we had reached the scientists," the Vulcan came back.
Though busy checking the parked vessel, Malcolm caught Trip rolling his eyes, and his lips curved up. So much had changed in these four years, and yet nothing had; and the notion warmed his heart.
"We are about to announce our arrival," Archer replied, ignoring T'Pol's show of logic. "I'll be in touch. Archer out." He turned to his Armoury Officer. "Lieutenant?"
"Everything seems normal, Captain," Malcolm said, having received reassuring nods from Chang and Romero.
Slipping his communicator back into his arm pocket and zipping that up, Archer approached a tall, round metal column that stood about a metre outside the boundary line. He pressed a button on it and a flat, brassy voice filled the silence.
"Please allow retinal identification and state your name."
Archer straightened his shoulders, staring into the scanner. "Archer, Jonathan. Captain. Starfleet authorisation alpha, six, four, zulu, twelve."
"Captain Jonathan Archer, Commanding Officer. Stationed on the S.S. Enterprise," the computerised voice came back. "State the reason for your visit."
"I wish to speak to Doctor Sahak."
A good half a minute ticked by.
"Doctor Sahak does not respond."
Archer frowned. "Computer, page Doctor Trenton," he tried. More long seconds passed.
"Doctor Trenton does not respond."
"Doctor Anybody available?" Archer muttered in frustration.
"Doctor Anybody is not part of this facility," the computer dutifully replied.
Archer sighed. "Computer, page any of the doctors of this facility."
When the reply finally arrived, it was what Archer had feared.
"No doctor is available at the moment."
Frowning, Archer enquired, "Computer, scan the station for life signs."
"Six life signs detected."
"That's what it's supposed to be," Archer said, turning to his people. "Maybe it is only a problem with their comm."
"I wouldn't let our guard down, Sir," Malcolm warned.
Archer rubbed an absent hand on his slightly misshaped forehead. "Computer, scan the station for toxic or dangerous elements," he ordered darkly.
"This facility stores a number of pathogens for research purposes. Altarian encephalitis, Andronesian encephalitis…"
"Computer stop," Archer butted in loudly. "Scan the facility's air for toxic or dangerous elements," he rephrased.
The waiting seemed longer that it actually was, but the answer was reassuring.
"No toxic or dangerous elements detected in the facility's air."
"We should go in, Captain," Phlox said, urgency in his voice. "We must make sure the doctors are all right."
"That's what we're here for, Doc," Archer patiently reassured him. He turned back to the column. "Computer, I wish to deactivate the energy field and gain entrance to the station."
"The operation requires the clearance of two persons, each in possession of deactivation codes."
Archer glanced at Trip, who approached the column and looked into the retinal scanner. "Tucker, Charles, Commander. Starfleet authorisation beta, three, nine, gamma, alpha, fourteen."
"Commander Charles Tucker the Third, Chief Engineer. Stationed on the S.S. Columbia," the voice acknowledged.
Malcolm saw Archer's lips tighten at the reminder that Trip was no longer part of his team, at least officially, and had time to hope that Hernandez – or the Captain himself, for that matter – wasn't going to object to the Engineer's return, before a small panel slid open and a keyboard appeared.
"Captain Jonathan Archer, type the first deactivation code."
Archer raised a hand and punched in the alpha-numerical code that Admiral Gardiner had sent to his computer.
"Commander Charles Tucker, type the second deactivation code."
As soon as Trip had complied, the red lights of the no-trespass line switched off, and the thick door unlocked.
"The energy field has been deactivated. You have sixty seconds to enter the facility before it activates again. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…"
"Let's go," Archer said, already moving.
Inside, the station was a lot brighter than Malcolm would have expected. The white colour scheme and bright lights made for a totally different environment than its grey and foreboding exterior.
They found themselves in a large semicircular entrance hall with three corridors fanning out. As they looked around, Trip got out his scanner and switched it on.
"Nothin'," he muttered. "Dead as a dodo."
"If that colourful expression means that your scanner is not working, it doesn't matter, Commander," Phlox said, a touch of humour cheering his voice. "As you know, Captain, I have visited this station once before. I remember its layout quite well." He pointed to the right. "That corridor leads to private quarters. Storage rooms, kitchen and lounge are down the left corridor." He looked straight ahead, at the centre hallway. "This is where the command centre and the labs are."
With that he started with purposeful strides in that direction.
Bad things always happened without warning. Malcolm had learnt the lesson well by now; that's why he kept ready at all times.
Phlox had barely taken a couple of steps into the corridor when an alarm blared. Malcolm did a quick round survey. Archer and Trip were still in the middle of the hall; the MACOs had taken a defensive stance, ready to get into action; the Denobulan Doctor had frozen in the corridor.
Bad things always happened way too fast, too, requiring quick reactions. It didn't take Malcolm long to realise what was happening and what he had to do. Diving, he rolled under the barrier that was dropping with alarming speed from the ceiling like a guillotine. Phlox was about to be cut off from the rest of them, and he couldn't allow that; not the Doctor. He had left him to his own devices already once, with those Klingons, and he wasn't about to do it again. He made it to the other side with inches to spare.
With a slamming sound, the barrier – made of a clear material – locked in place, sealing them off from the rest of the away party. Malcolm jumped to his feet, wishing the deafening alarm would stop. As if someone had heard him, it did.
Archer and Trip were frantically examining the partition from their side, with the MACOs standing each on one side, weapons at the ready.
"This is an emergency barrier," Phlox said darkly behind him. "It is meant to fall into place in case of danger. And you know what kind of danger I'm talking about, Lieutenant."
Malcolm really hoped that wasn't the case. "Check your medical scanner, Doctor," he instructed. "It would be nice to know that we're not breathing some deadly contaminant."
Giving up on his search for a release mechanism, Malcolm reached for his arm pocket. He doubted very much they would be able to raise this barrier very easily; beside the fact that it might not be a good idea. He flipped his communicator open.
"Captain," he paged. To his relief the communicators worked.
"We'll get this out of the way," Archer said, but Malcolm could read on his face how much faith he put in that statement.
"It's not gonna be easy, Capt'n," Trip confirmed in a taut voice.
"You shouldn't, Sir," Malcolm warned. "Not before we are certain that the environment on this side isn't contaminated."
"My scanner works, and is not showing anything," Phlox said, as if on cue. "But it's not sensitive enough to pick up all the substances that might have been released in the air; to make absolutely sure we will have to go to the control centre."
Concern mounted in the Captain's green gaze. As they looked at each other through yet another partition, Malcolm couldn't help having flashes of another Archer, the one who had glared at him from outside the brig, and accused him of treason, and vented at him all that had clawed at his heart.
"Take care of the Doctor," this Archer told him quietly, meaningfully.
There didn't seem to be an 'or else' hanging in the air. Eyes locked on those of his Commanding Officer, for a moment Malcolm was transported to a time when Archer's trust in him was as airtight as Enterprise's docking ports. Perhaps something of it had survived. To hell if he was going to let go of it.
"With my life, Captain," he said deep in his chest.
TBC
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