§ 9 §

"Subcommander, we've got sensor readings," the Ensign at science exclaimed.

T'Pol stood up from the Captain's chair and with fluid strides went to check her console.

Hoshi couldn't help envying the way she managed to look elegant even in haste. The linguist swivelled in her chair to follow her with her gaze, studying the Vulcan Officer's face closely to try and capture what was going on behind her carefully controlled features. In the end she could no longer keep her curiosity in check.

"Can you locate Shuttlepod One, Subcommander?"

T'Pol raised a rather intense gaze to her and nodded as she depressed the internal comm. link. "T'Pol to Doctor Phlox."

"Go ahead, Subcommander," the Denobulan answered without delay.

"Doctor, the interference has cleared and we have located Shuttlepod One. I intend to use the transporter to rescue the Commander and Lieutenant. Please report to the transporter room."

Phlox's urgent voice came back immediately. "I wouldn't recommend that, T'Pol. There is no way to tell what…"

"Doctor," T'Pol uncharacteristically interrupted him; Hoshi's trained ear heard the edge in her voice. "I am afraid I'm out of options."

This time the pause was slightly longer.

"Please make at least sure the transport is as quick as possible."

"Understood."

T'Pol straightened up and addressed Mayweather's replacement. "Take us out of orbit, Ensign. We are going to enter the planet's atmosphere. I'm sending you a set of coordinates." Then she turned to Hoshi. "Hail the Captain."

This wasn't how he had thought he would die, Trip thought, standing on wobbly legs after emptying what little there had been in his stomach just outside the hatch. Indeed there had been virtually nothing to throw up and the dry heaving had only hurt his throat and sent wonderful spikes of pain through his skull. He had been sure it was going to split in two.

Trip shielded his eyes, desperately trying to shut out the light. Not only the bright daylight but also the blinding flashes of energy that flared right into his brain, numbing it more and more and making it increasingly difficult for him to concentrate on anything.

Shakingly, he managed to climb back inside the pod. His balance was all but gone and he stumbled worse than a drunkard as he returned to his bench. He dropped on it limply, letting himself fall on one side, facing Malcolm.

Soft moans and broken words were coming from across the narrow space that divided them, and Trip egotistically wished he could shut them out. To hear them added another layer of suffering to his trial, an anguish which he really could do without. Malcolm had left him about half an hour before, without notice. He had begun muttering technical gibberish about weapon systems and EM fields; and then things Trip had tried not to pay attention to, for he knew they were not for him and his friend wouldn't have wanted him to hear them. Not that it really mattered what he overheard, at this point. Trip had gently lowered him on the bench and covered him, his heart clenching at the sight of Malcolm's empty eyes and at the notion there was nothing else he could do for him – for both of them.

Damn, this was no way to die. Trip bit his lip to suppress a groan, inwardly laughing at his idiotic self-consciousness: Malcolm was certainly in no condition to judge his pain endurance - in fact no one would hear him even if he screamed at the top of his lungs. Maybe that's just what he should do. But instead, scrunching his eyes shut, he sent out a silent prayer that he could slip into oblivion too, for he'd just about had enough of... Well, how about that? He might be granted his wish sooner than he thought: he was already hearing things. Specifically, a communicator chirping.

It took him a long moment to formulate the thought that the sound might not be in his head. His heart started racing and his breathing got ragged as he removed the small device from his arm-pocket and held it in his unstable hand: it was chirruping, and he felt it vibrate. Flicking his wrist to open it – a movement he'd done hundreds of times – he almost lost his grip on it and let it fly out of his hand.

"Commander, can you read me?" T'Pol said through it. Never had a Vulcan voice sounded so melodious.

"T'Pol?" he heard himself mumble in bewilderment. He blinked, willing his mind to work for just a few more seconds. "T'Pol," he added immediately after, urgently, his words slurred and barely understandable, "You'd better get here and soon, we're runnin' out of time."

"We're coming in with Enterprise, Commander," T'Pol's voice replied. "In about two and a half minutes you and Lieutenant Reed will be transported on board."

Trip felt a wave of relief so overwhelming that it almost knocked him unconscious. "Never too soon," he whispered. Then he looked across to Malcolm. "Hold on, Lieutenant, cavalry's on its way."

The last he knew, before feeling a well-known tingling sensation in his body, was the sound of Enterprise's engines. Damn, but it was a beautiful sound!

Archer, fearing the worst, pressed the button that would let him into sickbay. The doors opened and his muscles tensed at the harrowing sight of his two officers pale and immobile, a two-day stubble on their faces, uniforms dirty and dishevelled, surrounded by a flurry of activity.

Phlox was issuing orders to a medic who was monitoring Trip, while he himself prepared to get Malcolm inside the imaging chamber.

"Doctor?" Archer enquired tautly.

The Denobulan looked briefly in his direction. "I sedated them; it is better for the tests I need to run," Phlox replied tersely as he strapped Reed to the movable bed. Before Archer could ask anything else, he went on to say, "I won't know for a while if the damage is reversible, Captain. I will contact you as soon as I do."

Archer recognised the words for what they really were, a polite way of saying 'please remove yourself from sickbay', and bit back the questions that were on the tip of his tongue. He knew he had to give Phlox time, and if he stayed in sickbay he'd only be in his way. He nodded and said, "I'll be waiting for news in my ready room."

As he walked along the corridor to the turbo lift, he was quietly joined by T'Pol, who fell in step with him. She glanced at him searchingly.

"Phlox doesn't know anything yet," he murmured, aware that she'd know already, but at a loss for other words.

They walked in silence the rest of the way. When they stopped in front of the lift and faced each other, T'Pol said, raising almost concerned eyebrows, "It was not your fault, Captain."

If the circumstances had been lighter, Archer would have laughed. T'Pol was beginning to know him rather well. Yes, he did feel responsible, even if the phenomenon they had bumped into had been sudden and unpredictable. It was illogical to think he was, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. He felt responsible for all of his crew, no matter what.

"I know," he replied hoarsely. "But it doesn't make it any easier."

"Capt'n?"

Archer raised his head from the padd he'd been reading, a tentative grin spreading over his face. Trip was looking at him through bleary eyes.

Archer had been sitting in between two biobeds, waiting and hoping, for a few hours. That's where he had wanted to be. Phlox had told him the damage should be reversible but they would only know once Trip and Malcolm regained consciousness.

The Doc had wanted to keep his patients sedated for a day to -- Archer hadn't exactly understood why. Well, he probably would have, had he paid more attention to Phlox's lengthy explanation. But his mind had been elsewhere.

He had returned to the bridge, aware that the entire crew was concerned and he needed to be seen in command. He had even managed to catch a few hours of fretful sleep, but had got up early that morning and made his way to sickbay, knowing he had to be there for Trip and Malcolm when the moment came. Now that moment had come, at least for one of them.

"Good to have you back, Trip," Archer said with feeling, studying his friend's face closely to understand just how back Trip was. He looked a bit confused, and Archer's budding smile fell. "Phlox…" he called, but the Doctor was already at his side, checking the monitors at the head of Trip's bed. The obnoxious smile that soon appeared on the Denobulan's face finally melted the icy knot that had formed in Archer's gut.

"How are you feeling, Mr. Tucker?" Phlox asked blithely, turning his very blue gaze on his patient. "Any residual pain?"

Trip frowned. "Pain? No… what's goin' on?" he asked wearily.

"You were transported back to Enterprise from the planet, remember?" Archer gently reminded him, standing up so Trip would not have to crane his neck to look at him. "You were exposed to some strong bursts of energy..."

Trip brought a hand to his head. "The headaches…" he mumbled. He closed his eyes but cracked them open again seconds later. "Malcolm…" he croaked out.

"He should regain consciousness soon," Archer reassured him.

Trip's eyes closed and this time remained so.

Archer turned in concern to Phlox, but the Doctor's face had a reassuring expression on it. "He'll be fine, Captain," he said. "It's normal for him to feel tired, and it's good for him to sleep. He needs the rest."

"What about Malcolm, Doctor?"

Phlox's expression changed as they turned to the next biobed. "The Lieutenant's condition is worse than Mister Tucker's. I'm not sure why," he said gravely. "It looks like he's slipping into a coma. We'll just have to hope and wait. There is nothing else to do."

The sounds were like a distant echo, but they held something familiar, which made him want to focus on them. For some reason that he couldn't quite grasp, it was important not to let them fade away.

Malcolm reached out to them as one would when getting something on a high shelf, stretching his concentration, if not his limbs.

The sounds, zooming in and out, threatened any moment to get lost in the distance. They were pulling away from him, and he was so tired. It took too much energy to try and hold them back. He was too weak to hold his tenuous grip on what had pierced this cottoned world in which he seemed to be wandering. Feeling the despair of someone who loses something precious, he let go and was immersed in deafening silence.

TBC