Thank you for keeping up with this story.
§ 6 §
Phlox wasted no time. No sooner had Sahak drifted off into unconsciousness than he jumped to his feet and went to the desk where the Scientist had been working. Malcolm followed the Denobulan, rubbing his left arm. The pain had started to subside, and although his heart was still skipping beats, he felt more alert, which was what he most cared about.
Malcolm watched Phlox flip through some notes left on a padd., while a frown came to crease his brow. "What I don't understand is why Trenton knocked us out, when he has such a more powerful weapon at his disposal," he reasoned.
"He probably didn't synthetise enough," Phlox replied. "Besides, close contact with Doctor Sahak will undoubtedly result in us getting infected as well."
He touched the screen with his gloved index, and it flicked to life. Leaning with both hands on the desk, he narrowed his eyes as he delved into numbers and diagrams which to Malcolm meant next to nothing. Soon he had slid into the chair and was lost to the world. Minutes ticked by in total silence. Beside him, Malcolm was beginning to feel a bit too useless, when Phlox suddenly stilled and his face darkened, the mask the Doctor was still wearing over his mouth and nose unable to conceal the change that had come over it.
"What is it?" Malcolm's voice was stifled by his own protective device and he fidgeted with it, tempted to remove it.
"It's the structure of the virus Trenton created, and Sahak's preliminary research."
Malcolm shook his head at the misunderstanding. "What did you just see on that screen that has sent your worry up a few notches?" he enquired directly. Something bad had definitely caught Phlox's attention, because the look on his face had been matched by a glum tone of voice.
Phlox twisted to look him in the face and Malcolm moved a step back, his muscles tensing. He didn't need more bad news.
"I was a bit too quick in dismissing Trenton's concoctions as harmless, for a Denobulan," the Doctor explained. "My specie's blood just so happens to contain an enzyme that would make his newly-created pathogen very happy indeed. If I catch the illness, the virus will have a feast – as Commander Tucker would put it – and multiply unrestrainedly."
There was no mirth in Phlox's voice to accompany the light choice of words.
"Bloody hell," Malcolm let out softly, as his mind already raced for ways to counteract the danger. He straightened his shoulders. "You will have to stay away from the contagion," he said firmly. "I'm sure that one way or the other I can get the better of the lock and –"
"If you think I'm going to abandon somebody who needs my professional help, Lieutenant, you are wrong."
Malcolm felt the outraged words like a slap across the face. His vision clouded for a brief moment as his heart gave a louder thump. A nasty little voice in his mind had lost no time in suggesting that Phlox's outburst might have a second, but not secondary, meaning.
"My job is to keep you safe," he countered instinctively, with a self-assurance he did not feel.
Not the cleverest remark, after you left him in the hands of those Klingons – that nasty voice commented in sarcasm. This was like begging to be attacked. He averted his eyes, preparing for cutting words that never came.
"Mine is to restore people to health," the Doctor simply said, with his same determination. "And I'd expect you to take Doctor Sahak's life just as much at heart as mine, Lieutenant."
Malcolm shook his head with force. "I'm not planning on abandoning anyone to their fate, if I can at all help it," he said in earnest. "But if this virus is especially dangerous to you-"
"Thank you, Mister Reed, but the answer is no."
A door had been slammed in his face. That left him no options. There was nothing he could do but stand by the stubborn man. With my life, he had told Archer. Well, there was a good chance it would come to that.
"If you don't mind, Mister Reed, I have work to do," Phlox said, not unkindly, as he turned back to the computer screen. "And you should follow your Doctor's orders and rest," he added meaningfully after a moment.
Malcolm blew out a frustrated breath. Rest was the last thing on his mind.
Two of the people behind that clear screen had collapsed to the floor. Archer watched in dread as the legs of a third one gave out from under him, the palm of his hand sliding slowly down the partition as he fell to his knees; a moment later he too was an unconscious form on the ground. Only one was left standing, and he looked back at him with haunted eyes, disturbingly immobile.
"Trip, can you get that comm. system to work?" Archer asked in a hoarse grumble, unable to break the link with that compelling gaze. It was as if the person was drawing the very strength to stand from him, and might collapse to the floor like his colleagues, if he so much as turned away.
"I'm tryin', Capt'n," the Engineer's frustrated voice came from behind. "I think somebody has messed with it, damnit."
It just went to add to the list of suspicious things in the station.
Archer raised his hands in a reassuring gesture. "We are trying to fix the intercom," he said, shaping the words slowly and clearly.
The man's gaze tracked to his lips; then back up to his eyes. He wasn't tall, but well-proportioned; indeed, well-built. He must be close to forty – Archer mused – and looked quite fit; but he was breathing with difficulty, his chest heaving with the effort. His face was pale and even through the screen that separated them Archer could see the sheen of perspiration that covered it.
He cast an impatient look over his shoulder. "Trip."
"I think I'm almost there, Capt'n."
Archer took a few slow steps forward. If it weren't for that thin partition, he and that person could have touched. He let his eyes fall briefly to the tag on the man's lab coat: it said 'Doctor Vinci'. He couldn't imagine what must be going through the Doctor's mind, through his heart. So close and yet so distant, almost as far apart as on two different worlds; for it was clear that before knowing what was wrong with the four men they should take care not to breathe the same air; even provided they could get the wall to lift.
Suddenly Vinci blinked, his eyes losing focus. He wavered, fighting a bout of dizziness, or weakness.
"Stay with us," Archer muttered in frustration, under his breath. "Trip!" He cast another urgent look over his shoulder.
"Sorry, Capt'n, but..."
Archer banged one hand flat on the partition. As if in slow motion, the man twisted on himself and fell limply to the floor.
He didn't have very much time. That Lieutenant looked dangerous, and the virus would take a bit to work. He'd do his little job and leave by the emergency exit.
Trenton sat at the computer in the control centre and typed his password to access a restricted area, striking the enter key with a determined tap.
"Please state your name and pronounce your alpha-numerical identity," the metallic voice requested.
"Doctor Alexander Trenton. DGH-630-FT-96"
"Please stand by."
Trenton leaned back in his chair. They had tried to close on him, like a pack of wolves – first Sahak; then the others – but he wasn't a helpless prey. They wanted him dead, because he was cleverer. But because he was cleverer, they would be the ones who'd end up dead, instead. The irony of it made him guffaw into a chuckle.
All right – he thought, his smile falling as he tapped his fingers nervously on the desk, waiting. The arrival of those people complicated things a bit, but it confirmed his suspicions: yes, they wanted him dead. Sahak must have called in the cavalry when he had realised that he stood no chance, because he – Doctor Alexander Trenton – was better. Cleverer.
His esteemed colleagues must be close to whatever afterlife they believed in, by now; and that alien Doctor and the Lieutenant would follow them soon enough. As for the others…
The computer asked for a second password, and the corners of Trenton's mouth crawled back up. It had been so easy to get Vinci's password. The man was so damn soft it wasn't funny. All it had taken to win his trust was to go along with his idea that they were a family. Brothers. That's what they were, after so many years of life together, weren't they? He gave another chuckle. Except that brothers aren't always good to one another. Jealous. Brothers are often jealous. They had been jealous of his achievement, and had wanted to kill him. He couldn't allow that, definitely not.
Trenton entered the second password.
"Please state your name and pronounce your alpha-numerical identity."
And now his masterpiece. Trenton picked up a padd. and pressed a button.
"Doctor Pietro Vinci. JEO-466-ZX-29"
"Stand by."
"Yes, darling," Trenton muttered. "But hurry up."
It was warm. They had been locked in that lab for only four hours, but Malcolm was already feeling a bit claustrophobic. One knee on the floor, he wiped a sleeve over his brow and studied once more the lock of the door that held them prisoner. It didn't seem particularly difficult to pick, but he had no tools, not even a bloody screwdriver. He was sure that if Trip had been there he would have had the better of it already; the Engineer always carried something handy with him.
Not that Phlox had any intention of leaving the lab. He was bent over a microscope, analysing the blood sample he had taken from Sahak and looking like nothing would distract him from his job. But while the Doctor was at it, Malcolm wasn't going to stand around twiddling his thumbs. If he could get out, he might be able to find Trenton. The man should be rendered harmless. The thought of someone as dangerous as Trenton loose in the station, while he was locked in there unable to prevent him from harming any more people, namely Archer and the others, drove him crazy.
Out of the corner of his eye, Malcolm saw Phlox straighten up, and turned to him. The physician rubbed two fingers on his eyes. He looked tired – he thought – and quite concerned.
"Found anything?" Malcolm asked.
Phlox sighed. "Trenton altered the virus of a disease that ran rampant on the lunar colony six years ago. It caused a lot of casualties, as you may remember; but was contained in the end. He's made it resilient to the cure the Doctors had developed."
Malcolm pushed to a standing position. "Do you think you can do something about it?" He remembered that outbreak quite well. It had begun after a visit from a Vulcan delegation that had returned from deep-space travel.
"It would be nice if I could access the main medical database, where all the information about the original pathogen is undoubtedly stored. I'm sure Doctor Sahak consulted it, but it appears that Trenton has cut the lab computers off from the station's network." Phlox frowned. "Trenton might even have a cure for his altered virus already," he reasoned. "He would've taken precautions, in case he got the disease. If he has developed a cure, he must have left trace of it somewhere."
"I must get out of here," Malcolm muttered. He strode purposefully to the desk where Phlox was working and started pulling drawers, looking once again for something that might help him break the door lock.
"Before you leave this room we should make sure Captain Archer and the rest of the away party are still in the entrance hall." Phlox shot him a very serious look. "We've been exposed to the pathogen, and we must keep away from them until – hopefully – we find a way to counter it."
Malcolm considered the words; then returned to his search. "It's all connected, Doctor. If I don't get out of here and make it possible for you to access the database – or find Trenton's own notes – you won't have a cure. If you don't have a cure, we can't get back to the Captain and the rest of the crew." He pulled out what looked like an old-fashioned syringe and looked at it; the needle was certainly thicker than he'd like it to be if it ever were to be used on himself... "And we should warn them about Trenton, anyway," he added, wincing. "The last thing I remember telling the Captain was that everything was fine."
Phlox suddenly banged a flat hand on the desk. "Will people never learn?" he burst out in anger. "First those Klingons, and now Trenton: both wanting to enhance their abilities, and look at the results!" His blue eyes flashed with fury.
Malcolm froze. He couldn't remember seeing Phlox lose his temper like this, during all the time he had known him. The pressure the Doctor had been under lately was obviously beginning to take its toll. A new wave of guilt washed over him.
Phlox pinched his nose and closed his eyes, and Malcolm suddenly feared there might be an added reason for his uncharacteristic behaviour.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, worry tensing his voice.
The blue eyes opened again. "It doesn't matter," Phlox replied, much more calmly. "As long as I can work."
A lump formed unbidden in Malcolm's throat. "Did they hurt you?" he asked hoarsely. He blinked, but held Phlox's questioning gaze. "When you were in the hands of those Klingon, did they hurt you?"
His voice had gone deep, and vibrated with more emotion than he would have liked to let through. Well, it had to come up, sooner or later. That nasty voice never left him in peace, and he was going to silence it, once and for all.
"I was beaten," Phlox replied after what seemed like ages, ill-at-ease. "I wasn't going to help them create Klingon Augments. It wasn't very serious," he dismissed, breaking eye contact, and making to return to his work.
"I'm sorry I delayed your rescue," Malcolm forced out.
He was tired of keeping things inside. He needed Phlox's absolution. Or even his condemnation; but he wanted to clear the air between them.
The Denobulan silently turned back to him.
"Before Enterprise, when I was just an Ensign, I worked..." Malcolm pursed his lips, looking for the right words, "... in a different section of Starfleet. Covert operations," he eventually admitted. "After you were abducted, I was contacted by my former commanding officer, who ordered me to slow down Enterprise's search." It was hard not to shy away from Phlox's intense and unblinking eyes, but he managed. "He told me you were on an important mission for Earth."
Malcolm felt his blood boil at the thought of how easily Harris had manoeuvred him. He averted his gaze, crossing his hands over his chest. "I knew nothing of the Klingons' attempt to create Augments," he said, in cold anger. "I was convinced I was doing the right thing. I was a fool," he admitted in discomfort.
There was a long moment of silence.
"It isn't me you have to apologise to, Lieutenant," Phlox eventually said. "I was useful to those people, in the end."
"If I had known you were in any kind of danger..." Malcolm trailed; he narrowed his eyes. "We might have our disagreements but I hope you know I consider you my friend."
Phlox gave him a long look.
"I never doubted that, Mister Reed," he said quietly. "As I said, it's not me you have to convince."
With that, and a last glance, he returned to his microscope. Malcolm watched him for a moment, feeling the weight on his heart was just as heavy as before. Convincing Archer that he could still be trusted was another matter.
With a sigh, he picked up the syringe and turned to his own job.
TBC
I hope I got Phlox's response in character. Please let me know what you think.