Archer felt the ship shudder and drop out of warp at rapid deceleration even as he gave the order to stop, and he turned towards the science console; "Trip, T'Pol, I need answers! Do we evacuate the Bridge?"
Trip was shaking his head as he assessed the readouts in front of him; "I don't think we're building up to..." he started,, but then broke off, his eyes widening in alarm as he looked up, "It's Tactical! Malcolm – your console – move!"
Archer whipped around to face Tactical but the warning came too late – his eyes briefly met Reed's; the Tactical Officer's grey eyes widened fractionally in realisation, and then, without further warning, the Tactical Console overloaded and exploded in a burst of smoke and a cascade of white sparks. Reed was bodily lifted off the deck by the force of the overload; he slammed heavily into the bulkhead behind him, and then crumpled onto the deck, facedown, motionless.
"Malcolm!" Archer cried out, launching himself from his chair, "Hoshi, get Phlox up here, now!"
Archer dropped to his knees beside the fallen Armoury Officer; Trip was mere seconds behind him.
"Oh my God..." Trip breathed, "Jon, is he...?"
"He's alive," Archer supplied, his fingers snaking underneath Reed's collar; he found a pulse, weak and shallow but a pulse nonetheless, and added, "just about..."
"Tactical systems are offline," T'Pol reported, from the other side of the Bridge, "I have prevented the automatic redirection of weapons control to the Armoury for the meantime."
Archer did not acknowledge this sensible precaution as his concern for his wounded officer precluded everything else.
"Keep him immobilised," Archer ordered, recalling his basic first aid training, "Don't let him move..."
Trip nodded and gently clasped his hands either side of Reed's head, but then immediately withdrew his right hand, glancing at his palm in horror; it was stained red with blood.
"Head wounds always bleed a lot," Archer tried to sound reassuring, "Find a first aid kit, quick! Malcolm? Malcolm, can you hear me?"
Reed remained unmoving on the deck, and Archer could feel all eyes on the Bridge staring at them. He tried to assess the younger man's injuries; his hands and face were scorched from the explosion and the front of his uniform was burned and blackened, but without a medical scanner and an expert eye it was impossible to say how bad it was.
"Hoshi, where the hell is Phlox?" Archer demanded, fear for his officer lending his tone an unintended harshness.
"He's on his way, sir!"
"Goddamn it," Archer said, bitterly, one hand still resting on Reed's shoulder, "Trip, I want you to take that console apart and find out what the hell just happened, understood?"
"I will, Jon – let's just see to Malcolm first..." Trip had located one of the emergency medical kits stored on the Bridge and was holding a sterile gauze against the wound to the back of Reed's head, attempting to stem the flow of blood.
A few moments later, the turbo-lift doors finally hissed open, revealing Dr Phlox. The Denobulan immediately spotted the two officers crouching beside their fallen comrade, and dropped down beside them.
"What happened?" he asked, immediately taking out his scanner and passing it over Reed quickly.
"The Tactical Console overloaded," Archer supplied, quickly, "it seems to have been done deliberately. Malcolm was caught in the blast."
Phlox made a humming noise; part acknowledgement, part concern. He administered a hypospray and then took the bloodied dressing from Trip's hand, applying a fresh one and hastily bandaging it in place.
"I think it is safe to move him," Phlox nodded, "if one of you gentlemen would be able to carry him to Sickbay?"
"I will," Archer volunteered, quickly, "Trip, get on with the assessment and repair of the Tactical Console. Someone seems to be very deliberately trying to cripple our weapons and our Armoury team and I want some answers."
"I'll do my best, Jon," Trip nodded, grimly, "just... let us know about Malcolm, okay?"
"Will do, Trip."
Under Phlox's guiding hand, Archer took Reed by the wrists and, with the doctor's assistance, lifted the limp officer upright and then hefted him onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The whole time, Reed did not stir or give any indication of regaining consciousness, which troubled Archer deeply. They left the Bridge, and Archer willed the turbo-lift to go faster.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Archer asked, quickly, as Phlox took another scan.
"His injuries are remarkably superficial, all things considered," the doctor replied, "he has suffered mild electrical burns and I'm detecting a faint heart arrhythmia as a result of the shock; he has a moderate concussion and a few bruises, but with treatment and proper bed rest he should make a full recovery."
"I hate to say this, doc, but I need him back on his feet as soon as possible," Archer felt horrible as he spoke but it was the truth, "Malcolm's the only one on board with the training and expertise to catch the saboteur and I think that's why he's been targeted – first Brogan, then Timmins, now Malcolm – we have to catch this person, quickly."
"I understand, Captain," Phlox was unnaturally subdued, "but I must act in the best interests of my patient and he should be allowed time to recover."
"If the saboteur detonates this bomb, doctor, none of us will be in a position to worry about that," Archer pointed out, "patch him up and get him back on his feet and I promise when this is all over I'll personally see to it he gets a week off duty."
"I'll see what I can do," Phlox agreed, reluctantly, "but I must insist he be allowed to regain consciousness unassisted; to wake him any earlier could cause severe trauma."
"How long, doctor?"
"Three to four hours at least."
"Agreed," Archer nodded, as they left the turbo-lift, heading to Sickbay, "we'll resume our course; I'm going to order the evacuation of the Enterprise while we try to figure things out."
"A wise precaution, Captain," Phlox nodded, leading the way into Sickbay, "place him on the bed, please..."
With Phlox's help, Archer very gently placed Reed on the bed, straightening him up so that he was lying flat on his back. Under the harsh, bright lights of sickbay, his injuries looked even more horrific, and Archer grimaced at the burns and abrasions littering the Lieutenant's face and hands. On the next bed, Lieutenant Brogan was stretched out under a blanket, a monitor attached to her temple, still unconscious.
Archer surveyed his two most senior Armoury Officers, balling his right hand to into a fist. Ensign Timmins' body, he knew, was stored in the morgue. Whoever had done this would pay dearly. Phlox was already setting to work with a dermal regenerator; he barely spared the Captain a second glance.
"I'm sorry, Captain, but I need to work," the doctor told him, bluntly, "if you'll excuse me, I'll contact you when Mr Reed regains consciousness."
"Please do, doctor," Archer inclined his head slightly, spared one last glance at the recumbent form of Malcolm Reed, and then left Sickbay, determined to get to the bottom of things.
There was a voice, at first, in the haze and the pain and the darkness. There was a voice, and it was familiar somehow, and it was singing. The words did not make much sense, but there was a voice, and it was singing.
"Call you up in the middle of the night, like a firefly without a light... you were there like blow torch burning, I was a key that could use a little turning..."
The darkness surrounded him, muting most other senses, but he could hear the voice, and he tried to follow it, thinking it was a way out of the oppressive blackness, as distant and distorted as it sounded.
"So tired that I couldn't even sleep, so many secrets I couldn't keep! Promised myself I wouldn't weep; one more promise I couldn't keep... It seems no one can help me now, I'm in too deep, there's no way out. This time I have really led myself astray... Runaway train never goin' back, wrong way on a one way track..."
Pain flashed across his senses, blinding bright behind closed eyelids; he grunted and tried to twist away from it; a strong hand caught his shoulder, pinning him in place.
"Feels like I should be gettin' somewhere... Whoa! Hey, doc, I think he's finally waking up!"
The Tactical Console – he remembered the explosion, instinctively trying to turn his face away from the recollection of the burning sparks; the searing pain of electrical discharge shooting through his hands and arcing through his body; the impact of colliding with the bulkhead; pain lanced through his head and he recoiled from it automatically.
"Don't fight, Mal," strong hands held him down as something was pressed against his neck, "Phlox is giving you something for the pain..."
The hypospray delivered blessed relief and Reed was finally able to drag in a ragged breath, blinking to clear his vision; he found himself half-sitting up on the bed, his hands reflexively grasped around the wrists that were trying to pin him down, and his eyes met a familiar green-eyed, grinning face.
"Brogan!" he rasped out, his throat parched and sore; "You're awake!"
"I could say the same about you," she replied, still grinning despite being distinctly pale, with dark shadows under her eyes; Reed doubted he looked much better from the way he felt, "morning, Sunshine – you gave us a bit of a shock."
"Pretty sure I'm the one that got shocked," Reed remarked, releasing her wrists, surveying his hands; the skin was still red-raw and pink in places, indicating he had been treated with a dermal regenerator, "what happened?"
"Damned if I know, I was spark out at the time," Brogan replied, with a casual shrug, "and I've got the mother of all hangovers..."
"The Tactical Console was deliberately overloaded," a voice behind him made him turn, sitting up properly, "you were very lucky, Lieutenant."
"I suspect I owe you my thanks, doctor," Reed acknowledged, flexing his fingers experimentally; it was itchy and sore but a dramatic improvement on the electrical burns he had no doubt been sporting; his face and jaw felt similarly tight, and the thumping pain in the back of his head reminded him just how hard he'd hit the bulkhead.
"Not necessary, Mr Reed," the doctor spared him a tight smile, "as I'm sure you can appreciate, I would like you to take the time to recover fully before returning to active duty."
"Ah, no – no, no, that will have to wait," Reed shook his head and then grimaced, pressing a hand to his temple even as he continued, "I have to find whoever did this, and more importantly, our missing anti-matter detonator."
"Sadly, the Captain agrees with you and I fear I am in no position to argue," Phlox crossed over to him, holding the dermal regenerator, passing it over his face and hands in slow, steady sweeps; Reed tried not to grimace as it forced the skin to heal itself at an accelerated rate, searing and itching as it worked, "as you know I would normally prefer to use my Osmotic Eel for such treatments – it is certainly less painful and more effective over time, but sadly slower. This will have to do for now."
"Thank you," Reed acknowledged, trying not to grit his teeth, "what about Brogan?"
"I'm fine to return to duty," she announced, clapping her hands together enthusiastically, "fit as a fiddle."
"A debatable sentiment at best," Phlox responded, dryly, "but again, not one I am in a position to dispute. However, both of you will need to be careful – Lieutenant Brogan, if you experience any further pain, spasms, seizures, dizziness, nausea or vertigo you must report back to Sickbay. Lieutenant Reed, the same goes for you, you have a particularly nasty concussion and it really ought to be monitored."
"I'll be fine," the two officers said in unison, and then looked at each other, amused.
Phlox shook his head; "I'll inform the Captain that you're both being returned to duty... you can go."
"Thank you, doctor," Reed said, again.
"Cheers, doc!"
The two Tactical Officers exited the Sickbay together, and Brogan snagged Reed's elbow, pulling him a little closer as they walked.
"Is it true?" she hissed, into his ear, "Some bastard nailed me from behind with a fuckin' agoniser?"
"I'm afraid so," Reed replied, matching her low tone, "on the maximum setting. When I first saw it, when Phlox handed it to me, I thought..."
"Yeah, I can imagine," Brogan released his arm and glanced away, "you still got it?"
"It's sealed in the evidence locker," Reed nodded, "why?"
"Because setting three was always my personal favourite," Brogan growled, in a low, menacing tone, "and when we catch this mother-fucker, I am gonna use it to make him sing like a fuckin' canary... Phlox told me about Timmins. Damn shame. She was a good kid. When I get my hands on the bastard..."
"Steady, Brogan," Reed cautioned her, "that sort of thing won't carry here, not on this ship. We're playing this one by the rules."
"Rules were made to be broken, Mal. Who are we talking to first? You must have some ideas by now."
"I have a few suspects, but you won't like it," Reed answered, as they turned the corner to head towards the Armoury, "any idea what our current status is?"
"Orbiting some habitable planet somewhere," she shrugged, "the Captain's been gradually ferrying all non-essential personnel to the surface on the shuttles, it sounds like it's starting to look like a refugee camp down there. Armoury crew are all still on high alert and working in twos, nobody's allowed to be unaccompanied at any time."
"Good," Reed nodded, barely suppressing a wince when this intensified his headache, "I need to know the exact movements and locations of Crewman Davies, Crewman Oban, Crewman Stuart, Ensign Lee and Ensign D'Arcy."
"Not D'Arcy, surely?" Brogan stopped short in surprise, and then had to jog to catch up with him when he did not stop, "damn it, Malcolm, you can't be serious – not D'Arcy. Do you know how much I went through with him? I trust him with my life!"
"I know, Brogan, I know, and I trust you with mine," Reed tried to be reassuring, "but his duty rosters tally with the maintenance logs just like the others did, which makes him a suspect. I..."
He broke off and raise a hand to his aching head; something was niggling at the edge of his thoughts.
"You okay?" Brogan sounded concerned, "You've gone awfully pale."
"I'm fine," he murmured, carelessly, "I... I was doing something, on the Bridge, before... but I can't remember..."
They arrived at the armoury; Brogan tried to key open the door, but it beeped and would not move.
"You changed the code," Brogan commented.
"Ah, yeah, sorry..." Reed stepped by her and entered the correct code; the door swept open obligingly.
He locked it behind them, as Brogan swept forward and jumped up onto a torpedo launch tube, sitting on it with her legs dangling over the edge.
"Ah, it's good to be home," she commented, casting an approving eye around, "hey, you tidied – and you put my Christmas tree up! Aw, Malcolm, you old sentimentalist..."
"I was cross-checking," Reed leaned against the armoury console, ignoring her as he tried to remember, "I was referencing something... it was important, I can't remember..."
"Steady on with all that thinking over there, you'll put yourself back in Sickbay," Brogan lounged back against the torpedo; Reed glanced at her and grimaced, recalling the discovery of Ensign Timmins' body.
The defunct torpedo had been removed and replaced, but it would take a long time to get the image out of his head; the young Ensign's dead features gazing back at him from within the torpedo casing.
A summons at the door drew their attention, and they both turned towards it.
"Would you mind getting that?" Reed mumbled, still leaning heavily on the console.
"It's probably the Captain," Brogan replied making no effort to move.
"All the more reason to answer it," Reed did not look up.
"Might be our saboteur," Brogan continued, leaning back on her hands to swing her feet casually, "having heard how physically fit and able we both are and quaking in their boots at the thought of us hot on their tail, they've come to hand themselves in."
"Not bloody likely," Reed conceded defeat, and moved to open the door.
Sure enough, Archer was stood there, a slightly guilty look of surprise on his face, his hand halfway towards the door chime, no doubt to try summoning them again.
"Who is it, darling?" trilled a sing-song voice from behind Reed, "it is room service? Have they brought the Champagne I ordered?"
"Well, at least one of you is feeling better," Archer quipped, eyeing Reed's pallid features as the Lieutenant stepped aside to let him in, "it's good to see you both up and about... how are you feeling?"
"Fine, sir," Reed replied, dutifully.
"Like warmed up shit," Brogan said at the same time.
Archer quirked a smile at both of them; "I'm sorry you've both been forced back to duty so soon; I wish I could endorse Phlox's recommendations for rest and recuperation but we need to find that saboteur and the missing anti-matter container."
"Agreed, sir," Reed tried not to sound as weary as he felt, "I was just wondering... I was trying to remember..."
A wave of dizziness hit him, and he absent-mindedly reached for the console to steady himself, but missed. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen had Archer not grabbed his elbow; suddenly, Brogan was at his other side, and he found himself sitting on the deck, leaning back against the torpedo tube.
"Sorry," he groaned, raising a hand to his head.
"Maybe you were a bit too hasty in leaving Sickbay," Archer remarked, crouching beside him.
Brogan had joined him, sitting on the floor beside him, her shoulder supportive against his. He somehow felt less ridiculous sitting on the floor of the Armoury with her next to him and he reminded himself that sometimes, just sometimes, he really was thankful for her casual irreverence.
"I'm fine," Reed answered, automatically, "sorry, sir. I was just trying to remember what I was doing on the Bridge before... well, before my console exploded."
"Trip's been looking into that," Archer told him, grimly.
The Captain threw decorum to the wind, and took a seat on the deck opposite to Reed, leaning back against the other torpedo launcher.
"It seems that there were one or two altered power relays," Archer continued, making himself comfortable on the floor, stretching out his legs and crossing them, "but whoever triggered the overload did so remotely and they'd set it to bypass all of the safety protocols, sending a power surge straight through your console. It was made to look like an accident and if we hadn't known better we might have missed that it was a deliberate attack... our attacker is clever. There are sensor scramblers placed at strategic locations all over the ship that were activated to coincide with the surge to stop us from accurately predicting it. I'm sorry, Malcolm – we should have known, we should have checked the Tactical Console..,"
"I should have known, sir," Reed corrected him, softly, "I should have checked... It was my duty to ensure all of the Tactical systems were working properly."
"The system diagnostic you were running didn't flag anything up," Archer shook his head, "whatever's going on, it's been in the making for months..."
"I don't think our saboteur was ready, though," Brogan chimed in, "it was by accident that we discovered the tampering in the Armoury; ever since then everything that's happened smacks of desperation, a desire to throw us off or hide the evidence; the attack on me, Malcolm's console, Ensign Timmins... it's all deliberate but it's like damage control, and now we're way off course, orbiting a planet with most of the crew on the surface..."
"What are the chances our saboteur is still on board?" Archer wondered.
"If it's a member of the Armoury crew, one hundred percent," Brogan answered, "none of them have been relieved of duty yet."
"D'Arcy," Reed interjected, suddenly raising his slightly, "that was what I was doing on the Bridge – D'Arcy pulled several shifts with Timmins where maintenance logs match up with possible sabotage..."
"Who else?" Brogan demanded, defensively, "I'm telling you, it's not D'Arcy. It's not his style and he's done with Section 31 – same as you and me."
"Ah..." Reed frowned as he tried to recall, "Crewman Davies and Ensign Lee too, but there's crossover where D'Arcy did shifts with both of them as well... I'm sorry, Brogan, but the evidence is stacking up."
"I don't believe it," she scowled at the deck, drawing her knees up to her chest, "we've always been tight, he's saved my ass more than once. He'd never smack me from behind with the agoniser."
"Even if Harris ordered him to?" Reed queried, sharply, "If he told him you were a double agent or a traitor, perhaps? You know what that bastard can be like; he manipulates you – plays with your head – he's done it to me before..."
Archer remained diplomatically silent at this comment, as Brogan heaved a sigh.
"Fine," she huffed, "we'll haul him in for questioning and search his quarters. You question him, I'll conduct the search; I wouldn't want to be accused of going easy on him."
"Fine by me," Reed acquiesced, though at present, he was unsure of his ability to form a coherent question, let alone conduct an interrogation.
"I'll be present for the interview," Archer told them, authoritatively, his tone brooking no argument, "If Ensign D'Arcy is working under the orders of Section 31, I want to know exactly what they hoped to accomplish."
Reed nodded and, very carefully, got to his feet. Archer and Brogan stood as well, as Reed crossed to the wall panel.
"Lieutenant Reed to Ensign D'Arcy; come in please."
There was a long pause, as Archer and Brogan exchanged a concerned glance.
"Reed to D'Arcy; please respond."
"I don't like this..." Brogan growled, under her breath.
"Lieutenant Reed to Ensign D'Arcy, report in immediately!"
Brogan turned to the console and began tapping in commands, reviewing the security logs.
"Here!" she pointed to the screen, "he's stationed on duty outside the starboard fusion impulse system."
"Who with?" Reed queried, heading over to one of the weapons lockers, keying in the code quickly.
"Crewman Davies," Brogan replied, "we toolin' up here?"
"We'll go prepared," Reed nodded, withdrawing two phase pistols from the cabinet, "Captain, with respect, this could be dangerous – you should return to the Bridge."
"No," Archer shook his head, determinedly, "give me one of those, I'm coming with you."
Reed could not argue in the face of a direct order, and reluctantly withdrew a third phase pistol.
"Please let us lead the way, sir," Reed asked him, as he handed over the weapon, "we are trained for this."
"My money's on it being Davies," Brogan checked her phase pistol and adjusted her grip, "not D'Arcy. Do you want to clear the halls first?"
"No – leave all stationed personnel where they are," Reed told her, swiftly, as the three of them stepped out of the Armoury, "the ship is virtually empty... there is one thing..."
As they walked, Reed reached into his sleeve pocket and pulled out a communicator. Archer looked at him in surprise; with the intercom system aboard the ship it was not really necessary to carry a long-distance communicator around.
"I always have one," Reed shrugged, by way of explanation, catching his questioning look, "useful if the com system is down – or being monitored... Reed to Bridge."
"Bridge, go ahead," came Hoshi's voice, "is there a problem with the intercom, sir? I'm not reading any faults..."
"No, Hoshi, but it might be being monitored, and not just by you," Reed told her, "I need to you to contact Commander Tucker and ask him to shut down power to the impulse fusion reactors, immediately."
"Understood... Is there anything else, sir?"
"Get all remaining non-essential personnel onto shuttles and planet-side immediately," Reed said, quickly, glancing to Archer for confirmation and receiving a nod in return, "The Captain, Brogan and I are following a lead. We'll keep you informed but from this point on we'll maintain radio silence."
"I understand. Good luck."
"Thanks. Reed out."
