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"Computer, page Doctor Trenton."

Archer stood rigidly in front of the machine, scowling at it as if it were responsible for the uncooperative replies.

"Doctor Trenton is not available at the moment."

"Computer, page Doctor Kim."

He didn't know why he was still insisting: the answer was always the same. Compulsory behaviour. But he couldn't just stand there and wait for something to happen. He was a man of action. He needed at least to try. So when he had discovered that a rectangular plaque on a wall of the entrance hall hid a computer terminal, he had stuck to it like a limpet to a rock. He'd had no luck raising any of the partitions that cut them off from the rest of the station, but he was prepared to make the computer worth the money Starfleet had spent on it.

"Computer, page Doctor Vinci."

"Doctor Vinci is not available at the moment."

Archer caught Trip's wary blue eyes and wondered whether the Engineer wasn't starting to be concerned about his sanity. It did seem a futile exercise to keep paging these 'unavailable' doctors, hoping that sooner or later one of them would reply. Well, they knew for sure that at least one of them – Trenton – was alive; so the chance was there.

"Capt'n, I don't think you'll get anywhere," Trip finally blurted out, sounding as if he had tried hard and failed to keep the comment to himself.

"There's no harm in trying," Archer bit back irritably. His temper was rather short these days; shorter than he'd like. Certainly shorter than a good Commanding Officer should allow it to be, especially in a situation like this. He sighed, turning his focus back on the job. Maybe he should try something different. "Computer, locate Doctor Trenton." He was determined to try and understand what the hell was going on behind that separating wall.

"Doctor Trenton is currently in..."

The metallic voice suddenly slowed to a distorted groan and broke off. Archer was left staring at the computer with a frown. In the flummoxed silence, his communicator chirped. He reached for it and flicked it open with accustomed ease.

"Archer."

"Captain, the biosigns of Lieutenant Reed and Doctor Phlox are no longer immobile," T'Pol said.

Out of the corner of the eye Archer caught Trip react to the words, standing up from his crouching position and turning expectantly to him. "Where are they?" he enquired.

"Approximately where they were before."

"What about the doctors of the facility," Archer went on. "Can you also read their biosigns? Can you tell where they are?"

T'Pol came back right away. "One of them seems to be with the Doctor and the Lieutenant. Another one is in a different place, alone. I cannot read the other four biosigns."

Yet before, outside the station, the computer had confirmed that there had been six life signs inside. Archer didn't have a good feeling about that. The only explanation he could find was that they might be too faint for Enterprise, from orbit, to pick up.

"Keep an eye on the readings," He instructed his SIC. "And tell me if you see any changes."

"Understood."

Archer pursed his lips. Phlox was once again in a dangerous situation, and he didn't like that. He had grown attached to the alien doctor he had enlisted, spur of the moment, when he'd needed someone who would have a grasp of Klingon physiology. The man had proven to be not only an excellent physician, but a loyal friend. The bruises from his last misadventure hadn't had time to heal yet, when…

"Capt'n."

Archer resurfaced from his abstraction to find Trip beside him. The Engineer threw a quick glance over his shoulder, and the MACOs distanced themselves, recognising the Commander's need for privacy.

"It's goodnews," Trip said encouragingly, keeping his voice low. "At least we know they're alive." His blue eyes studied Archer's face as he added, "Malcolm will take care of Phlox."

"He'd better," Archer replied, in the same hushed tones but with frost in his voice. Bitterness still had the better of him at times, when he least expected it.

Trip brought his hands to his hips and narrowed his eyes. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, because no one will tell me," he said carefully. "But I know Malcolm puts duty above all else."

Archer narrowed his own gaze. "I just hope he knows what his duty is," he spat back.

The moment the words were out he regretted them. He was acting like a child, saying things out of spite. The truth – the uncomfortable truth his conscience didn't want to acknowledge – was that Malcolm had hurt more than the trust that had been between them: he had hurt his ego. Reed had made a choice between two commanding officers, and he, Archer, had come out second best. No matter how contrite the man had sounded later, the fact remained that he had chosen Harris over him; had obeyed that shady figure rather than coming straight to his Captain.

Trip was looking at him as if he didn't know him any longer, and Archer's heart clenched painfully. At least – he thought sadly – it meant his heart was still made of flesh; hadn't completely turned to stone.

"You're right. I'm sure he will do his best to protect the Doctor," he amended uncomfortably, averting his gaze from that of the other member of his crew who had made his self-esteem suffer. And deep down he believed it, even though it was so damn difficult to say it out loud.

There was a moment of silence.

"I've got an idea," Trip said.

The sudden change of tone made Archer shift his gaze back to him. The face of his… of Hernandez's Chief Engineer had lit up. Damn it if he had ever seen such sparkle, such intensity on the face of Kelby, the man who had been promoted as Enterprise's Chief of the Engineering Department.

"There must be an internal comm. system in this place," Trip said, determination in his voice. He started scanning the room. "It shouldn't be hard to - There!" he exclaimed, taking long strides towards the entrance door. "I'm pretty sure that's it."

"Sir," Chang's voice suddenly sounded, strangely choked.

Archer turned and his eyes went wide. Four ghostly-looking men had appeared behind the partition wall that cut them off from the left corridor. Palms flat against it, bodies shaking, faces pale and sickly, they looked at them with begging eyes, mouths forming words that no one could hear, yet that echoed way too clearly in Archer's heart.

"I suspected something," Sahak said feebly, with his eyes closed, "but was too late to stop him."

Being in the main laboratory had its advantages. Phlox had found gloves and masks, and after they had donned them, with the little help that Malcolm, in his far from optimal state, had been able to give him, they had untied the Scientist and laid him down on the floor. It wasn't comfortable, but it was still better than slouching in a chair.

Phlox put a hypospray to the sick man's neck and administered one of the drugs he had wisely kept for emergencies.

"This will ease your symptoms," the Denobulan said, his voice muffled by the mask.

"He was studying the virus of a very malignant strand of encephalitis," Sahak went on in earnest, forcing every word out. "The pathogen was especially interesting, because it would double neural connections, though ultimately it killed the person infected." He grimaced. "I would have never imagined… He thought he'd found a way to alter it and defuse its lethal effects while retaining the mind-enhancing ones."

The sick man fell silent as he tried to catch his laboured breath, and Malcolm closed his eyes against the many possible dreadful developments of Trenton's actions; his mind was already theorising a few.

"You don't mean to tell me he injected you with –"

Phlox's outraged outburst was cut off by a despondent huff.

"Not me," Sahak exclaimed, cracking his eyes open. "Himself."

"I take it something went wrong," Malcolm said bleakly.

Sahak's breath hitched in despair. "We didn't know what he had done." He raised a shaky hand and covered his eyes. "His character began to change," he finally managed. "He became restless, hyperactive; but we thought he was being affected by the solitude of life in such a removed outpost. Then one morning…"

Chest heaving with the effort of pumping air into his congested lungs, Sahak paused again.

"You should rest, Jason," Phlox said gently.

The Denobulan looked deeply troubled, and Malcolm could read on his face that he didn't think the Scientist had much of a chance.

"One morning," Sahak resumed feebly, "he hardly seemed the same person. His hair had turned completely white, his voice hoarse. That's when we knew something was seriously amiss. By then, though, it was too late. He was also showing signs of paranoia; had become convinced that we all wanted to kill him."

"Why didn't you alert Starfleet as soon as you suspected something was strange with Trenton?" Malcolm enquired. He kept his tone gentle but didn't refrain from adding what he thought needed to be said. "Even though you believed it was only psychological strain, you should have reported it."

Sahak dropped his hand listlessly and turned sad eyes on him. "This station had become our home, Lieutenant. When you live with the same small group of people for months on end, the bonds you form with them are quite strong. You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings; you implicitly trust you can solve things together."

Malcolm clenched his jaw. Perhaps on Enterprise he should have trusted that they could solve things together and gone to Archer, instead of doing Harris's bidding and hurting his Captain's feelings; though here such a course of action didn't seem to have come to any good.

"His mental abilities have indeed compounded," the man went on, drawing Malcolm out of his reflections. "He was able to escape our attempts to confine him; has disabled the comm. system, messed up the computer…"

Yes, there had been an unusual glint in Trenton's eyes; Malcolm remembered thinking that it had indeed revealed an impressive mind.

"What happened to you and the others?" he asked, though he didn't really want to know. He instinctively clutched his mask closer to his mouth and nose.

"He infected us with a new virus of his own creation, an altered pathogen, and locked us up in a storage room." Sahak forced his eyes open and sought Phlox. "We managed to pick the lock and decided that one of us should try to come here and work on an antidote. I was chosen. But he caught me and…" Once again the Scientist had to pause for breath. "I don't know if the others are still alive," he concluded hardly above a whisper.

His eyes drifted closed again, and soon he had fallen into an exhausted sleep.

TBC

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