For those of you who are wondering about Archer... you'll have to be very patient!

§ 4 §

It was not a perfect recording, but it was good enough. There were the two of them. Malcolm followed two blips on his screen, one closer to the dot that connoted that automated signal, the other, himself, much further away. He saw, now, that while he had been busy checking the area, the Captain had lingered in front of the obelisk for two minutes and… – numbers flickered by – twelve seconds, before starting to walk around it. It was then that the high-pitched sound had begun. A few seconds later, the explosion.

Malcolm watched himself – his blip – be thrown what he now gauged to be three and a half metres back, and winced, aware of every sore bump in his body that had resulted from that wingless flight. He had hit one of those boulders with the back of his head, and no wonder he'd been knocked virtually unconscious. It was a miracle he hadn't broken any bones. But the Captain? He replayed the last ten seconds at slow speed, eyes fixed on the other blip. There was Archer, in front of the obelisk... he had moved to circle around it and... Bang. The blip was no longer there.

Malcolm stopped the recording, suddenly overcome by a numb dread. Could Archer really have been vaporised like that, in the blinking of an eye, by whatever force had hit them? That displacement field, after all, according to ship's instruments had been energy of some sort, and Archer seemed to have been virtually at the point of origin. His mind rebelled at the idea. No, they would have found some DNA, some trace of the man. Until he had that evidence in front of his eyes with the official imprimatur of the science lab on it, he would think positively; he would force himself to believe that 'no news was good news', as Trip had suggested.

But Trip… Trip had also suggested something else, that the artefact seemed more like a defence system than anything else. Malcolm was inclined to agree. But then why was it giving out that automated signal? It didn't make sense – or it did in a wicked way: to attract people only to blow them to invisible smithereens? Unless… it was possible that the message that thing transmitted was warning people 'to see and not to touch', so to speak; but then again, if it was, why send it out on a frequency that spaceships would pick up from light years away, thus tempting them to come and take a look around?

Damn it! With the whole big universe available to him, why did Archer always want to investigate any little thing they came across? Being explorers didn't mean they had to take unnecessary risks. Besides, when they had picked up that signal they already had been on a mission, they had the Admiral and Ambassador to take to their destination; they shouldn't have made this detour. Unfortunately, as his conscience dutifully nagged him, they had been compelled to investigate what had sounded like a distress call; Startfleet regulations.

Malcolm turned his head abruptly, to drag his eyes away from those infuriating blips, and a sudden bout of nausea made him dizzy. Arms groping about for support, he found his console and leaned with both outstretched hands on it, letting his head fall forward and closing his eyes against the spinning room. If truth be told, he wasn't fine at all. Should he go to sickbay? Perhaps it would be enough to take one of those breaks the Doctor had…

They flashed open in his mind like lights that had been suddenly switched on, making his heart skip a beat. They captured and held him, almost physically weighing down on him like a sparring partner in an immobilising grip. Look at me – the green eyes seemed to say – don't stray. And how the hell could he? The look in them was so intense that Malcolm wouldn't be able to break free even if he wanted to. Energy began to drain out of him. Whether because of his Captain's eyes or of his own injuries he didn't know, but a deep weariness set in, making him break into a cold sweat; his legs threatened to betray him and his breathing got shallow.

"Lieutenant, are you all right?"

And they were gone.

Released from his vision by the nearby voice, Malcolm found the willpower to open his eyes and raise his head.

"Sir?"

A hand came to steady him as he swayed slightly. Brilliant. Why not faint altogether, and give Phlox reason to lock him up in sickbay for a week?

"I'm all right," he mumbled, turning to Crewman Wang. He took a deep, steadying breath. "I experienced a dizzy spell, but it has passed." Not entirely true but close enough.

The woman's dark gaze showed hesitancy. "With all due respect, Sir, you don't look very well," she dared. "Shall I walk you to sickbay?"

Definitely not. Malcolm straightened his shoulders, knowing, from the way he felt, that he could not bluff beyond reason; better use a different tactic.

"Thank you, Crewman, but I just came from the place," he said, forcing a faint smile on his lips. "The Doctor said I should take frequent breaks, and it looks like he was right. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my quarters."

Grabbing the padd. on which he had downloaded the recording, he gave a small, careful nod; then willed his legs to do their job and made a strategic retreat.

As he limped along the corridor – for his abused lower back had started to complain – Malcolm wondered what in the bloody hell had just happened. It was one thing to have a nightmare of the Captain when unconscious; more or less reproving, his C.O.'s gaze would probably haunt his dreams until his own guilt for coming back without him could be assuaged or pushed into a remote corner of his conscience. It was quite another thing to see the man when wide awake, merely because he had closed his eyes a few seconds; and feeling... trapped by the vision. It must be his concussion. This time he really had banged his head hard: the nausea and dizziness were there to testify to it. He was surprised the Doctor had let him out of sickbay, actually. It just went to show how concerned everybody, even the Denobulan, was about finding Archer.

The reddish image of the planet filled the viewscreen, drawing Trip's eye the moment he stepped onto the Bridge. He felt better, having washed away all that dust; though he would have gladly stayed under the shower for longer than he had allowed himself.

The sound of the lift doors opening made a few gazes turn, and he tore himself away from the view to briefly acknowledge Travis's and Müller's greeting nods before meeting T'Pol's steady eyes. Beside her, at the Communications console, Hoshi was still entirely concentrated on her job.

"I have received the analysis of the dust collected from Lieutenant Reed's uniform," T'Pol said. "Its structure is peculiar: each speck has hundreds of miniscule surfaces." With a typical lift of her eyebrows she reasoned, "It is curious that, given its prismatic nature, it should appear as having a reddish colour."

"I can see that giving our sensors problems," Trip commented. "The dust's structure, I mean."

"Yes. I believe it is what partially blocks our sensors: readings that are reflected in different directions interfere with one another, effectively erasing some of the information."

Trip leaned one elbow on the back of the empty Captain's chair. "Can anything be done to reconstruct the missing parts?"

T'Pol had quite obviously already considered the idea, for her reply came without delay.

"We cannot be entirely certain that the result will be accurate, but in theory it can be done."

"Do it, then," Trip ordered on impulse, forgetting he was talking to a superior officer. "I mean…" he self-consciously rephrased, "I think it's worth a try."

His breach of protocol won him fully lifted eyebrows and a silent look which lingered a moment longer than necessary. Still, it was kinder than a verbal reprimand in front of the Bridge crew.

"I agree," T'Pol eventually said.

Trip nodded gratefully. Not for the first time he mused that their First Officer was pretty hard to figure out. If she put her mind to it she could be outright irritating; haughty and patronising like most of the Vulcans he had come across. Then, when you least expected it, she could surprise you with shows of kindness, like now, betraying some of those emotions she claimed Vulcans kept buried.

Clearing his throat, he went on to enquire, "How about the samples of ground I sent up? How long will it take to analyse them and…" He waved a hand in the air, leaving the rest unspoken. If the science lab found traces of Archer's DNA scattered over the wide area they had taken samples from, it would be a pretty grim piece of news.

"I'm expecting results any moment," T'Pol replied, as impassively as if she were talking of nothing of importance.

"What if they find nothin'?"

The idea was no less frightening, and Trip knew that it showed on his face.

T'Pol took a moment to react; in the end she rose from her chair. "We'll be in the ready room, Ensign," she told Mayweather. "You have the bridge."

"Aye, Ma'am."

Once the door had closed behind them, T'Pol turned to look very directly into Trip's eyes.

"When the twenty-four hours have passed, if we are no closer to finding out what happened to the Captain, we will have to follow Starfleet's orders," she said very calmly.

That was what Trip had feared. But if T'Pol was not willing to stage a mutiny, he was.

"I'm not gonna leave unless I'm sure the Capt'n is dead," he stated harshly.

"You will have no say in the matter, Commander," T'Pol countered serenely. Trip opened his mouth to argue but she anticipated him, adding meaningfully, "And unless I am mistaken, neither will I. The Admiral was quite clear about it."

Trip blew out the breath with which he was going to do battle, his irritation replaced by worry. "Let's hope we don't come to that," he muttered darkly.

"Indeed," T'Pol said, her tone, to Trip's ears at least, equally as dark.

Vulcan robes looked uncomfortable – Admiral Blake thought, as he eyed the immobile form near the large porthole in the observation lounge. Though their colours were rich – if not particularly bright – the garments looked rather heavy, and as stiff as the people who wore them. He was grateful that Starfleet stylists had gone for uniforms with clean and traditional military lines.

"I must express my disappointment, Admiral," V'Sir said, hands latched behind his back, which was still turned to him. "You know how important it is that we reach our destination in time."

He wasn't a particularly likeable man, Blake decided. Not that many Vulcans were – likeable – in his experience. They had that aura of infallibility about them that got on most people's nerves. Plus, he would never trust people who were as flat as a mountain lake.

"We will get there in time," he answered, matching coldness with coldness. He was as good as any Vulcan in that respect. "This ship is capable of Warp five. When the twenty-four hours are up I will make sure we break orbit."

"It is unfortunate that we could not use a Vulcan vessel." V'Sir finally turned. He inflated his chest, chin lifting up as if to make more room. "This situation would undoubtedly not have arisen."

"Vulcan ships are required to answer distress calls, too," Blake said, taking a few unhurried steps towards the overly thin man; not that he could remember seeing many fat Vulcans, now that he thought of it.

"A Vulcan crew would have studied the signal and its source from orbit," V'Sir scornfully reminded him. "A Vulcan ship's Captain would never have embarked on an away mission, especially not a foolish one such as that during which Captain Archer disappeared. Your race's impetuousness risks undermining a diplomatic mission which has taken the High Command months to arrange."

Blake clenched his jaw, calling upon his self-control. This was not the time for an argument, much as he would like to give this arrogant man a piece of his mind.

"My race may be impetuous, but it is the one which is helping you carry out your mission," he did, however, remind him. He narrowed his gaze, not afraid to hold V'Sir's.

"Do not fool yourself – and me – Admiral: Earth will gain from this mission as well."

That, Blake had to admit, was true.

"That may well be," he conceded. "But the mission is not without its risks, and when it comes to taking risks, it seems that other races are just as impetuous – and quick to pull themselves out of the picture."

They looked at each other for a long moment, neither willing to lower his gaze first.

"However, I do not wish this incident to ruin our friendly relationship," Blake eventually added, forcing a smile to creep upon his face. "Let me assure you again, Ambassador: you will get to your appointment in time."

V'Sir studied him a moment longer, his eyes tracking briefly to his mouth as if to gauge the sincerity of that smile; then gave a small nod. "I agree." Unfolding his arms, which half-way through their conversation had crossed over his chest, he said, "I trust you will keep me informed of any progress. Good night, Admiral."

With that he exited the room, leaving Blake with a strong desire to roll his eyes.

TBC

Looking forward to your comments!

Also, I see some of you have voted in my poll. Please feel free to send me a pm with suggestions for "special months" - for my next poll!