Trip grabbed the medical tricorder but shook it in frustration when the readings went haywire.
"Malcolm?" Archer tried, gripping the lieutenant's hand, rubbing it in an attempt to warm the frozen skin, "can you hear me?"
Reed shuddered but did not respond; Trip was already fetching blankets and the coffee thermos.
"Jon, we need to get him warmed up – he's seriously hypothermic and whatever's going on, it's gonna kill him if we don't do something about it."
"Leave it to me," Archer ordered, swiftly, "carry on with the repairs, Trip – just get us out of here and as fast as you can, get the life support systems online. We really need some heat in here!"
"I'm on it," Trip nodded, cast a worried glance at Malcolm, and disappeared back into the aft part of the shuttlepod.
Archer released his hold on Reed just long enough to grab one of the blankets. He lifted the lieutenant slightly, wrapping it around his shoulders, supporting Reed's weight in his arms as he tucked a second blanket around them both, attempting to use some of his own body heat to warm the stricken armoury officer. Reed felt like a block of ice, though he did not shiver, and this worried Archer even more; he knew it was a bad sign when a victim of hypothermia no longer felt the cold. Awkwardly, using only one hand, the other still supporting Reed, Archer unclipped the lid of the flask and poured out the dregs of the coffee into a cup. Picking it up, and cradling Malcolm in his left arm, he raised the mug.
"Malcolm," Archer kept his voice low and calm, "here – drink this."
He held the cup to Reed's lips, and managed to get him to take a few sips of the hot liquid. Archer frowned as Reed gasped and mumbled something incoherent, shaking, more from pain than from cold. Whispering encouragement, Archer persuaded Reed to drink more of the coffee, and was relieved to see some colour finally return to the lieutenant's blue lips. His face remained pale, but his eyes began to clear and he blinked a few times, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath.
"Reed? Malcolm, can you hear me?"
"S... sir..." Reed breathed, with a pained shudder, "my head... it... it was in my..."
He broke off, arching his back against a convulsion of pain, letting out a wordless, agonised gasp. Archer grabbed his shoulders and lowered him gently to the deck, before snatching up the hypospray from the medical kit. Turning up the dosage to maximum, he swiftly administered it, watching as Reed trembled and went limp, slumping back onto the deck, losing the battle for consciousness once more. Archer tossed the now empty hypospray back into the kit, and leaned back against the bulkhead, chewing on his lip with worry. He decided to go and check on Trip, realising there was little else he could do for Malcolm.
Making his way into the back of the shuttlepod, Archer did not see the slight shimmer of mist that hovered briefly in the air above Reed, and then disappeared.
"Hey," Trip turned slightly as Archer entered the aft section of the shuttle, "How's Malcolm?"
"Out for the count," Archer replied, his expression grim with concern, "I don't know what else we can do – I don't even know what that thing did to him. We need to get him to Phlox..."
"I'm working as fast as I can," Trip assured him, "Jon... he said that... that thing... he said it was in his head. What the hell did he mean by that?"
"I've been worried about that myself," Archer admitted, "it might be telepathic – perhaps it's just trying to communicate?"
"Yeah, but why keep picking on Malcolm?" Trip pulled out another scorched relay, tossed it to one side, and began bypassing the circuitry, "I mean, from what you said, it nearly killed him the first time..."
"I don't know, Trip," Archer replied, honestly, "I don't even know if it's friendly or not."
"It's got a damn funny way of showing it if it is friendly," Trip snorted, "right, I think that just about does it – let me try... this."
Trip connected a final relay; a slight vibration ran through the shuttlepod as the basic systems gradually reactivated. Archer glanced up appreciatively as the emergency lighting came back on.
"Trip, you're a genius."
"Don't thank me yet, Jon," Trip shook his head and got to his feet, "let's see what systems we've actually got first of all..."
They made their way to the front of the craft, and Trip dropped into the pilot's chair, tapping a few controls. He scowled, swore, and slapped the console – it flickered, and then powered up. Archer could not suppress an amused smirk. Trip punched in a few commands; a low thrum signalled the activation of the life support systems as the engines powered up. Archer's smirk spread into a genuine smile.
"Good work, Trip," he said, warmly, "have we got enough power to get us out of here?"
"Barely," Trip was shaking his head, "I've got the engines and manoeuvring thrusters online, and minimal life support. We haven't got the aft stabilisers or the inertial dampeners – we can take off, but it's going to be a bumpy ride. Our power core is damaged; we should be able to clear the atmosphere though. The really bad news is that we've got no communications, the navigational computer is shot and all of our sensor systems are fried. Whoever pilots us out of here, they're going to be flying blind."
Archer cast a quick glance back at Reed, and sighed; "I'll take the helm, then. There's no point waiting around here; let's get strapped in..."
Between them, Archer and Trip carefully lifted Reed into one of the shuttle seats, wrapped him in a blanket and fastened the safety restraints around him. Trip then secured himself in the chair next to the armoury officer, and nodded to Archer.
Taking his seat in the pilot's chair and strapping in, Archer cast a glance across the console. The navigational controls flickered intermittently, but the EM pulse had wiped the system logs clean; Archer had no way of pinpointing their location or of finding Enterprise. No communications meant they could not call for assistance and none of the onboard systems were fully functional. He took a deep breath, and brought the engines fully online.
"Hold on," he said, "this is going to be bumpy..."
As soon as the shuttlepod started to lift, it began to rock and shudder in the wind. The lack of stabilisers or inertial dampeners only served to worsen the sensation of being trapped in a ship at sea in a hurricane. Archer forced the nose of the shuttle upwards, fighting to gain altitude, as the tiny craft rocked and bucked. Flashes of lightning lit the cabin with eerie brightness as the shuttle shook and rattled, engines straining to maximum to gain momentum and height.
"Captain!" Trip had to shout over the noise of the wind and the vibrations, "Boost the power ratio to the aft thrusters or we're not going to make it!"
Archer obeyed, and the shuttle bucked in response, jarring the occupants sharply, as Archer spat out a curse, and tried to compensate. The shuttle dipped alarmingly, tilting to the port side, dropping rapidly. Archer's hands danced across the console as he fired the port thrusters, attempting to compensate, but then had to counterbalance as the wind shifted direction and almost sent them into a barrel roll.
"I can't tell whether we're gaining altitude!" he called out, "the instruments are going crazy!"
"It's the electromagnetic interference!" Trip responded, "Just keep the nose up and boost the power to the aft thrusters as much as you can, sir!"
Archer fought to balance the shuttle; there was an audible creaking of straining metal as the 'pod fought against the powerful winds, turning and climbing higher into the storm. Archer clenched his teeth as he forced the controls well beyond the recommended safety limits, the force of their ascension pinning them into their seats with the inertia. A momentary lull in the winds was the gap he needed.
"Hang on, Trip – this is going to hurt!"
Archer slapped the controls and kicked the shuttle into maximum impulse; the sudden jolt flung them upwards and snapped them all back into their seats. As quickly as the jolt occurred, it was over, as Archer brought the power levels down; they had cleared the upper atmosphere. The thick grey clouds fell away, and Archer was rewarded with the familiar blackness of space, lit with a backdrop of stars.
"Are you alright back there?" Archer asked, finally able to relax slightly.
"A little seasick, cap'n," Trip drew in a steadying breath, "Malcolm's not looking so good, though..."
"I... I'm... fine..."
Surprised, Archer glanced over his shoulder; Reed was barely conscious, pale beyond measure, but his eyes were clear again, as he blinked and shivered, clutching reflexively at the blanket around his shoulders.
"We're almost there, Malcolm," Archer tried to sound reassuring, "we just need to try to find the Enterprise..."
He visually scanned the starry expanse through the cockpit window; without sensors or navigation he was forced to simply look for the ship; it was like looking for a needle in a very large haystack... however...
"Looks like they found us, cap'n," Trip grinned.
Archer smiled with relief as the elegant starship appeared from behind the planet and cruised towards them. He saw the grappling hook deploy and nodded his approval; T'Pol had no doubt detected that the shuttle was badly damaged and was going to do the hard work for him. He released the controls and sat back as the hook attached to the hull with a metallic clang; there was a sharp jolt, and then they were moving once more. Archer breathed a sigh of relief as they were drawn into the cargo hold; he watched as the bay doors closed, and he heard the hiss of air being pumped into the bay. He unfastened his restraints and stood up, stretching his sore, tired muscles.
Trip similarly got up, and helped Reed to unfasten his restraints; "God, Malcolm, you're frozen – we need to get you warmed up."
Reed raised a weak smile, then shuddered, and raised one hand to his head, gritting his teeth against the piercing pain.
"Stay with him," Archer ordered, "I'll call for Phlox..."
Archer crossed over to the hatch, opened it, and stepped out of the shuttle. Trip crouched in front of Reed; his friend looked terrible, and Trip felt his throat tighten in sympathy.
"What the hell did that thing do to you, Malcolm?" he whispered, taking Reed's hands in his, rubbing them in an attempt to warm him slightly.
"I... I don't...know..." Reed shuddered, "it... it was in my head... I could feel it..."
"Jon's fetching Dr. Phlox," Trip tried to sound reassuring, "you'll be fine, Malcolm."
"I... it..." Reed broke off, and gasped; "it's... it's still here...!"
"What?"
Trip leapt up in horror; sure enough, the sparkling white mist was reappearing, shimmering and floating right beside him, next to Reed. Trip reacted without conscious thought, thrusting his hand out and into the mist as if in an effort to wave it away like troublesome smoke. It felt like he had stuck his hand into liquid nitrogen; the cold lanced through his whole body and he gasped, stiffening in shock.
"Jon!" he cried out, snatching his hand back quickly, "Jon, that thing – it's here! It came with us!"
He heard Archer shout something, probably calling for security, but the misty apparition had other ideas. It was moving towards Reed, clawed hands outstretched.
"Leave him alone!" Trip shouted, helplessly.
The ghostly talons brushed the sides of Reed's head; the armoury officer gasped and arched his back in pain, and then the creature was gone. Trip grabbed Reed as the other man crumpled in his chair, gasping and trembling with pain. Trip heard running footsteps and looked up as Archer came charging back into the 'pod, closely followed by T'Pol and Dr. Phlox.
"Cap'n..."
"I heard, Trip – what happened?"
"Same as last time – it appeared, tried to grab Malcolm, and then disappeared..." Trip held up his right hand; the skin was so white it was almost blue, and it stung painfully, "I touched it... it was so cold..."
Phlox was beside him, scanner in hand, even as he was administering an injection to Reed. The lieutenant opened his mouth as if to speak, but the medication took immediate effect, and he simply sighed, slumping forward in the chair. He would have fallen had Phlox not caught his shoulders, gently pushing him back into the seat.
"Captain," the doctor sounded uncharacteristically dour, "I do not know what has happened, but Lieutenant Reed has suffered severe neurological trauma; he is also extremely hypothermic and in a deep state of shock. I must get him to sickbay immediately. Commander Tucker, your hand appears to have suffered frost damage; you will also require tissue regeneration therapy immediately to avoid long-term damage."
"Do it," Archer nodded, "T'Pol, contact the bridge and alert security; we may have an intruder on board – come with me to the ready room, I'll explain everything..."