Thanks for your comments, I'm very glad you liked how I wrote Phlox in the last chap. And now, a bit of action...
§ 7 §
"Tucker to Reed."
Malcolm who, armed only with good-will and courage, had but taken five steps into the corridor, froze, the unexpected sound of a voice calling him sending a shot of adrenalin through his system.
"Malcolm, can you read me?"
Looking frantically around, he spotted the intercom on the wall and sped to it, pressing buttons randomly. "Commander?" he tried, under his breath.
"There you are," Trip's taut voice came back. "What's going on, where are you? We've-"
"Keep your voice down," Malcolm interrupted him urgently. "I'm trying not to be conspicuous, here. Nice to hear from you, though," he added in the pause that followed. Not that Trip and the rest of the party could do anything; but even only vocal contact was nice to have.
"Are you two all right?"
That was Archer, and Malcolm's body automatically adjusted to the voice of his Captain. "More or less, Sir."
Glancing warily down the corridor in both directions, he explained the situation in as few words as he could. "I'm afraid Doctor Phlox is already showing a few symptoms, Captain," he concluded glumly.
Phlox's health had definitely begun to worsen. He looked fatigued and had developed a cough. Sahak's difficult breathing had been a worrisome wheezing by the time Malcolm had left the lab, and he was afraid Phlox would soon follow suit.
"I'm on my way back to the control centre, to try and get Phlox the information he needs," he said in hushed tones, all senses alert for any movement or sound. "And while I'm at it, I'm hoping to find Trenton. I'm quite certain he has a cure."
"How can we help?" Archer enquired, and by the defeated tone of his voice Malcolm could tell he had already answered his own question.
"I'm afraid there is nothing you can do, Sir," he confirmed. "You ought to keep away from us; at least until we know for certain that this virus can be countered."
There was an eloquent pause. Archer was never happy when he had to stand at the side while his crew was in danger. Malcolm could picture his taut face and pained gaze.
"Be careful, Lieutenant."
"Aye, Captain. Reed out."
His heart had stopped its mad rhythm, but was thumping loudly in his chest as Malcolm made his careful way towards the door at the end of the corridor.
Passing a hand through his hair to push an unruly lock back, it came away damp. Something heavy was settling in the middle of his chest, and he straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath to try and lift it, stopping in mid-action when a dull pain stabbed his side.
Bloody hell. Not him too.
Never mind. The control centre was there in front of him now. Pushing his fears aside, he took the last few steps to the door, wondering how he could get past it. Brute force? This wasn't going to be easy. Malcolm silently cursed a blue streak, wishing he had his phase pistol. Maybe he should just ring the bell – he mused dryly. Although… why not? If Trenton was in there, which was more than likely, he might even be tempted to open, if only to see who was still on his feet and came to challenge him… A bit of a reckless approach, admittedly, given that he was unarmed, but what other choice did he have?
A few seconds after he had pressed the button, Trenton's wary voice came indeed back.
"Who's there?"
Malcolm flattened against the wall. Time ticked by. He could picture the man inside, white eyebrows furrowing over his clever eyes, weighing his options. He counted on the fact that Trenton might have the cleverest mind but was not reasoning straight. From what he could tell, the man felt very sure of himself, almost invincible. The hell if he hadn't experienced it himself a few times, at the height of some dangerous action. Right now Trenton must be annoyed that someone was still in his way, and eager to finish off whomever that was. His self-assured self must be arguing that sooner or later he'd have to open the door, so it might as well be now.
Indeed, with a sudden swish, that's exactly what happened. Malcolm tensed, but didn't move. Once again seconds ticked by in total silence.
Damn it, should he fear a weapon, considering he could already feel the virus working in him? It was now or never.
Lunging through the opening, Malcolm rolled on the floor, narrowly avoiding a couple of his own phase pistol's blasts. He ended in a crouch, conveniently within arm's reach of a chair, and he gave it a good shove, sending it to roll violently into Trenton.
The man tottered, his eyes wide with surprise. Malcolm didn't give him a chance to recover: with a jab to the jaw, he sent him stumbling back, and crushing onto the desk. A moment later he had regained possession of his weapon, and was on top of Trenton. Grabbing him with both hands by the front of his coat, he gave him a vigorous shake.
"You thought you'd got rid of me, didn't you?" he spat inches from his face and in his darkest voice. "Well, think ag-"
White pain erupted through Malcolm's skull when Trenton's forehead violently butted on his nose. His sight clouded, and he never saw the kick which took his legs out from under him. Rolling to get out of range, he let a feral growl escape his throat. A good fight was just what he needed to release some of the pent-up tension of the last few weeks. He felt his blood rush, his muscles readying themselves for action. A foot connected painfully with his ribcage, but through the stars that were still dancing before his eyes he managed to see a leg, and grabbed it angrily. Soon they were grappling on the floor.
The Doctor was surprisingly strong, and obviously not helpless in a fight, but was no real threat for someone fully trained in hand-to-hand, and as motivated as Malcolm. It didn't take him long to land a couple of well-placed and thoroughly satisfying punches. Trenton lay panting on the floor, blood flowing freely from his nose.
On his knees beside him, Malcolm touched his own face, wincing; his nose was bleeding too. The damn man might have broken it, for it hurt like hell. Blinking against the pain, he pushed to a standing position; then, for the second time, he grabbed Trenton by the front of his coat, and pulled him up, shoving him unceremoniously onto a chair. The Doctor slid forward, mildly stunned, one hand cradling his jaw. Malcolm cast a quick glance around, for something with which to restrain him, but nothing apt to the task was in sight.
"Do you have a cure for the virus you have infected us with?" he enquired harshly, as he carefully dabbed his bloody face on a sleeve. In the fight he had lost his pistol, and he cast a futile glance around for it while he tried to recoup his strength. The physical action had tired him more than it should have. He was feeling the pull of each difficult breath he took, and it made him sufficiently mad to extract the information from Trenton any way necessary.
"A cure?" Trenton let out a wicked laugh, at the end of which he turned dead serious. "Certainly not," he added, rubbing his sore jaw.
Dropping his arm, Malcolm let his eyes go icy. "I don't believe you," he countered, forcing a calm – if threatening – tone. "You would have taken precautions in case you got the contagion." He regarded the stocky man none too benevolently. "You'd better share the information willingly, because I promise you: one way or the other, I will get it. Besides, by now I suspect you will need the antidote too."
"You and that alien doctor should have remained beyond the emergency partition, like the rest of your party," Trenton simply commented. An evil grin stole over his face. "Though come to think of it, it doesn't make much of a difference. The end result will be the same." His eyes flickered for the briefest of moments to the desk, at Malcolm's back.
Trenton looked tense. And Malcolm's sixth sense told him it wasn't because he feared getting sick. Actually, the man looked excited. Malcolm felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He took a careful step to get behind Trenton's chair, so he could see what was on the desk without turning his back on his enemy; but as soon as he moved, the Doctor jumped up and lunged forward to press a command on the keyboard. Malcolm restraining hand was a moment too late. A klaxon started blaring.
"Self-destruct mode engaged. Attention all personnel: evacuate the station. Countdown has started. Attention all personnel..."
Malcolm felt his blood run cold. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat out. He grabbed the Doctor's shoulder and turned him abruptly. As if by magic that strange weapon Trenton had used before, in the main lab, was in his hand again. The hell if he'd give him the chance to use it again, though. Malcolm struck out, and this time his punches had added weight; this time he hit to stun, rather than to defend. Trenton's head flew back a couple of times, and he crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
A message was flashing urgently on the computer screen, asking authorisation to lift the emergency partitions. He disregarded it and shifted his gaze to the far-from-reassuring countdown that had appeared on it, realising with a shiver that they had little less than twenty minutes to get the hell out of the place.
They? A mirthless huff escaped his lips. He and the rest of the infected people could not join the leaving party. Not unless he found Trenton's cure first. Because – by golly – he would bet his last bottle of beer that the man had one. The Doctor was far too clever to risk getting caught in his own net.
"Tucker to Reed."
Trip's taut voice overlapped the recorded message and blaring alarm. Malcolm glanced up towards the intercom on the wall, torn between answering the hail and searching the database for anything useful. Phlox had given him instructions on what to look for.
"Malcolm!"
His breathing was laboured; sweat trickled down his cheek; blood was still flowing from his nose. And his brain was in overdrive. Malcolm wiped an impatient arm over the side of his face and started towards the comm. His foot connected with something, and to his relief he saw it was his phase pistol. Picking it up, he closed the gap to the wall.
"I got Trenton, but not soon enough," he said fast and furious, cutting to the core. "You have about eighteen minutes to get away. Less even; you'll have to use the shuttle parked outside the station and lift off a good five minutes before the explosion, if-"
"I'm not leaving without you two," Archer butted in firmly. "Get Phlox and-"
"Hell, Captain, do you think I like the idea of blowing up on this God-forsaken planet?" Malcolm burst out, his accent sharp and clipped. "Let me tell you, Sir: I'd be more than glad to go with you; but we cannot risk spreading an incurable virus to the entire crew!"
Heaving a painful deeper breath, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. In a sudden flash he realised that he was spewing out all the bitterness that was buried deep inside him. A part of him really resented Archer for retaining hard feelings towards him. He might have messed up royally, but the man should know it had been in good faith. Well, admittedly this might not be the way to get back into the Captain's graces; but there was a very good chance he wouldn't live long enough to regret it.
"Phlox will find a way," Archer insisted darkly, after a stunned pause.
"Phlox might not be in a condition to help himself, let alone the crew," Malcolm bit back, frustration sending his voice to the cellar. He was wasting precious seconds. "Check that shuttle now; it might be locked and need extra warming-up, if it hasn't been used for a while. Five minutes before the explosion, whether we are with you or not, you must lift off," he all but ordered. "Reed out."
"Malcolm, we'll evacuate; but get the computer to raise the damn partition and let me help you!"
Good old Trip. Malcolm smiled a bittersweet smile that turned into a grimace when it pulled on his aching nose.
"Sorry, Commander," he croaked out, past a lump in his throat. "That wouldn't make me a very good friend."
"Malcolm!"
Leaving the wall and the soft curses that the intercom was faithfully carrying over to him, Malcolm returned to the computer, sparing a glance in Trenton's direction, to make sure he wouldn't play him any more dirty tricks. The man was still out cold.
TBC
Okay, Malcolm will blow up, Phlox will blow up, and Archer will have terrible pangs of conscience for thinking his Armoury Officer a traitor. :-)