CHAPTER 31

Archer was still sleeping when Hoshi entered his cabin. She glanced at Mayweather, who impassively gazed back. No change on that front. When she got back to her universe -- not if, but when, she thought giddily -- she was never again going to be aggravated by her Travis's talkaholic tendencies.

She picked up the hypospray she'd loaded with antibiotic earlier, prepared another with painkiller, and went to kneel by Archer's bunk. He had been asleep since that morning; it was now into the evening hours. She considered trying to give him the injection without disturbing him, but it would probably be better to wake him up, see how he felt, and get some more food into him. She gently shook his shoulder.

His hand shot up and grabbed hers.

"Hey!" She tried to wrest her hand away, but his grip only tightened. "Would you let go, please?"

He opened his eyes, focused on her, and let go.

"Thank you," she said, rubbing her bruised hand. "That's no way to treat someone who's trying to help you."

He regarded her. After a moment, his green eyes lost some of their hardness. "Sorry." He shifted in the bed, pushing himself up against the pillows so that he was in a semi-reclining position. "Can't be too careful."

She held up the hypos. "Time for another antibiotic shot, and a painkiller if you need it," she told him. "Then I want to check your side." At his nod, she held the first hypo to his neck and pressed the button to inject the contents. When he gestured toward the second hypo, she applied the painkiller.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

He shifted slightly on the bed and grimaced. "Sore."

She drew the sheet down to his waist and carefully removed the bandage. There were definite signs of improvement since the last time she'd changed the bandage. She gingerly touched the area around the site with her fingertips.

"Ow!" he said, glaring at her. "Do you have to do that?"

She made a noncommittal noise and said, "The inflammation is going down. The antibiotic seems to be working."

"Thank you, Doctor Sato," he said sarcastically.

How like this man to be so ungrateful, she thought as she began putting a new dressing on the wound. "With your doctor in the brig for trying to kill you, and not trusting anyone else on this ship, you ought to be glad I'm taking care of you," she said tartly.

His tight features relaxed somewhat at her words, and he actually smiled. His next words further disarmed her. "You're right. I appreciate what you've done."

She glanced at his face as she taped the dressing in place. He was watching what she was doing with a slightly bemused expression. Her Captain Archer sometimes wore the exact same expression, and it never failed to amuse her. With a start, she realized she was beginning to think kindly of this version of the man.

Stop it! she told herself. She was just taking care of him until he was better and she could go back to her own universe. It was in her best interest that he stay alive until she could get out of here, so of course she had to protect him. But she wondered how much of her current sympathetic reaction was due to her knowledge that she didn't have to be here much longer, and how much to the fact that she'd stopped thinking of him as a murderer. And how much, she finally admitted to herself, that he was a handsome man.

"I'm starved," Archer said. "Get Cunningham to bring me something to eat."

That was more like the Archer of this universe, she thought wryly, ordering people around without so much as a please or a thank you. But it was a good sign that his health was improving if his appetite was returning.

"Aye, aye, Captain," she retorted, but her tone was softened by a tolerant smile. "Oh, there's someone who wants to see you."

She walked over to the door between their cabins and opened it. Out bounded Dart, who ran straight to his bed. It was a good thing she'd been prepared for the dog's reaction, because she managed to grab him by his collar. Otherwise she believed that Dart, in his joy at seeing his master awake, would have leaped right onto into the bed with Archer. Then she'd be bandaging him up again.

Archer, petting Dart, watched Sato put away the med kit and then go to the intercom to order some food. Mayweather was stationed by the door, but like any good bodyguard, he could blend into the background, easy to overlook, until he was needed.

He sighed, trying to find a comfortable position. Damn that Shran! Considering that the Andorian had ignored the deal they'd worked out, he should have anticipated that Shran would try to kill him. Hadn't Sato told him that Shran had managed to kill himself in the process? Yes, he remembered, she had told him, shortly before the doctor's abortive attempt to kill him.

It was Gral all over again. That stupid Tellarite hadn't given him a chance to save him, and neither had Shran. He'd had it all planned out, how to bring the Andorians, a serious threat to stability in the empire, into joint leadership with humans, only to see if all go down the drain because of Shran's short-sightedness. If anything, Shran had been even greedier than some of the humans in positions of power in the empire.

The only good thing about the situation is that no one knew that he'd been seeking an alliance with Shran, and therefore, no one knew that he had failed. If word ever got back to fleet command, his lifespan would suddenly shrink to only as long as it would take for his public execution to be arranged.

It was his bad luck that someone among his crew had tried to finish what Shran had started. If there was one constant in the Imperial fleet, it was that you got kicked when you were down. He wasn't surprised Phlox had been the one to try to kill him. For all his gruff exterior, the Denobulan could be easily intimidated. No, the surprise had been that Phlox had conveniently gone into hibernation, thereby making it impossible to get him to divulge who had put him up to it. Until he found out who had planned his demise, he was going to have to be extra careful.

"Would you like me to take that bandage off your head? I don't think you need it any more."

Sato was standing near his bed, looking down at him. His head? He reached up, his hand encountering the bandage above his left eye. "I forgot about that," he said. Now that she had called his attention to it, it itched like the dickens. "Take it off."

Sato made to kneel again on the deck next to his bed, but he put out a hand to stop her. "You'd probably be more comfortable sitting on the bed." At her raised eyebrow, he added, "I know better than to bite the hand that bandages me."

With an amused smile, she carefully sat on the edge of his bed, leaning over to reach the bandage. As close as they were, he couldn't help but notice how tired she looked. And yet, there was a sparkle in her eyes that had been missing the last several days. Could she be pleased that he was getting better? Then his cynical side reasserted itself. Of course she'd be happy that he was recovering. If he wasn't around, she'd be facing the equivalent of being thrown to the sharks.

The door chime rang just as she removed the bandage. Mayweather looked to him for permission to open the door. Anticipating Cunningham's arrival with his food, Archer lifted a hand to indicate it was all right. To his hungry stomach's disappointment, however, it wasn't his steward who entered, but his tactical officer.

"Good evening, sir," Reed said to him. His gaze shifted to Sato sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Mister Reed," Archer answered. He watched Reed watch Sato as she moved away. In a surprisingly brief time, Reed's attention returned to him. There was no trace of the officer's usual lasciviousness around members of the opposite sex. He'd only seen Reed like this once before. That had been when Captain Hernandez had made several visits to Enterprise before her own ship had been commissioned. At the time, Archer had chalked it up to Reed's respect of persons of rank. Well, persons of rank who actually deserved their rank. Hernandez, as he knew, had to be extremely competent to be worthy of her own command. Reed respected that, for he didn't tolerate incompetency. Sato must have done something to garner his respect as well.

Unusual, but nothing worth commenting on, Archer decided. Not when there were more important matters at hand. As long as Reed was here, he might as well get a status report while he was waiting for his food. "Do we have new orders?" he asked Reed.

"Back on course for the asteroid field at fleet command's orders," Reed said. "All ship's systems operating at or above normal parameters."

Archer groaned. Despite the debacle that had happened, he'd saved Panmikar. Some recognition should have been appropriate for quelling a rebellion and saving a colony world. But had fleet command seen fit to reward him? No. He was being shunted off to some out-of-the-way place. Again. Not that he expected accolades. Well, he did, to some extent. He was in command of the flagship of the fleet, after all. He didn't understand why his orders from command didn't reflect that status. Both he and the empire would be much better served by sending Enterprise somewhere like the Klingon border where skirmishes were being reported with increasing frequency. Instead, they kept sending him back to that damned asteroid field and its twice-damned anomalies.

It was enough to make him wonder if someone at fleet command had figured out his private long-range goals. He'd never told anyone, however, so that was impossible.

"Where's Commander Tucker?" he asked.

Reed snickered. "Stuck to the command chair on the bridge."

Archer nodded, a harsh chuckle escaping him. "When is he going to learn that there is only one captain on a starship?"

"He wants his own starship," Reed said.

"Well, he's not getting mine," Archer said harshly, eliciting a growl from Dart, who was lying next to the bed. "The sooner he realizes that, the better." He looked at Sato. "Where's that food?"

She frowned at him. She didn't say anything, but she went to the com panel by the door. Before she could open a connection to page Cunningham, the door chime rang. "That must be it," she said to no one in particular.

She did, however, stay out of the way while Mayweather opened the door. She's learning, Archer thought. They still didn't know who had tried to kill him. It was best not to take any chances, although he seriously doubted anyone would tackle him in his own cabin.

Mayweather opened the door. Cunningham, holding a tray with several covered dishes, was waiting in the corridor.

"Over here," Archer said, waving the man in.

Sato helped him sit up higher in the bed as Cunningham bustled around the cabin, getting the bed tray from the closet and transferring a couple of covered dishes to it, then placing it over Archer's lap. The steward lifted the lids with a flourish.

"Soup?" Archer asked peevishly. "And gelatin?"

"Invalids shouldn't eat a heavy diet," Cunningham informed him.

"I am not an invalid!" Archer barked. "Get me some real food before I die from starvation."

Cunningham's face fell.

Behind Cunningham, Archer could see Sato lifting the lids of the other items on the tray. The scent of charboiled steak wafted across the cabin, making him lick his lips. Before he could say anything, Sato picked up the plate she'd just uncovered, brought it over, and put it on his bed tray. That was more like it, Archer thought, looking at the plate which held not only a steak, but a baked potato dripping with butter.

He reached for the fork and knife, aware that Sato had gently pulled Cunningham away from his bed and was showing him to the door.

"Don't mind him," he heard Sato tell Cunningham. "He's always grumpy when he's almost been killed."

An amused snort came from Reed. Over by the door, there was a smile on Mayweather's face. Archer's eyes narrowed. What had she been up to in the short time he'd been incapacitated to make some of his crew act like this? Making fun of their captain? If he wasn't so hungry, he'd put them all on report. He cut into the steak and put a piece in his mouth.

Sato turned around after showing Cunningham out to face him. The angry look on her face, so unlike her, made him stop in mid-chew.

"That man is one of the few people on this ship you can trust," she lectured him. "He's just trying to take care of you, and you return the favor by yelling at him and hurting his feelings. All I can say is you better eat that whole steak, or I'm going to shove it down your throat."

He watched, astonished at her audacity, as she calmly sat down at the table and began eating the soup that had been intended for him.