The First Sacred Duty

by Seacook

An attacked alien vessel sends out a distress signal; when the Enterprise crew tries to help they are mistaken for the attackers. "From his place in the Weapons Room Thelik listened to them while staring numbly at the image of the crippled scout ship on the screen before him, finally at the end of his tether..."

6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Noticed a few spots in the previous chapters where glitches/typos got through and one or two places that needed minor rephrasing, so went back and repaired/reposted those...hope the latest installment was worth the wait...

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He struggled with new energy against the arm wrapped around his throat and the iron grip crushing his right wrist, ignoring the pain of his injuries and the taste of blood in his mouth. All that existed right now—aside from the gloating behemoth pinning him to the console, forcing his hand toward the controls—was the image he'd seen when the door of the alien Armory had first opened: Enterprise on a large viewscreen, with four targeting markers winking mockingly at him. Bridge. Forward Armory. Port nacelle support pylon. Starboard nacelle.

All of the markers were dead-center.

He shoved backward with a growl and gained a small victory as the wall of EV-suited flesh behind him stumbled for an instant, both men coming close to landing on the floor of the massive weapons room. Malcolm took advantage of the moment and drove the point of his left elbow into the G'l Benai's midsection, feeling a primal satisfaction at the roar of pain his action elicited from the beast. But he was still trapped in the murderous grip of the warrior and found his insolence paid back by a shove into the console that painfully jostled his broken ribs and sternum. He fought to stifle the shout trying to force its way past his lips, only half succeeding.

Reed found himself again tightly sandwiched between the console and the G'l Benai, his hand once more forced into position over the controls. The soft, madness-filled voice filled his helmet. "You're going to show me, Human," his adversary purred seductively. "I want to know if you are as talented at killing your own people as you are at killing mine. It is a simple thing. You will do this, and then I will give you the gift of a quick death."

"No!" Malcolm growled, still fighting to pull his hand away from the controls; bones began to yield noisily in the warrior's devastating grip. Feeling his fingers graze the launch controls he strained desperately to pull his hand away. Though the G'l Benai's breathing was becoming more labored by the minute the brute's strength never seemed to ebb as he held his quarry. Malcolm could swear he could feel the monster's hot vulgar breath on his neck as the warrior mocked him.

"Poor little Human," the behemoth panted gleefully, laughter bubbling up in his throat. "He is soo tired. Perhaps we should let him rest. What say you, my battle brother?" he asked as he swung his prey away from the controls and hauled him to the next console. Malcolm was brought face-to-face with the only other G'l Benai in the room; he cringed at the sight of the EV-suited corpse sprawled awkwardly on its back across the controls, a huge sheathed sword laid across its chest, the dark face with golden eyes staring lifelessly from behind a scorched, cracked faceplate.

"He has never been overly talkative," the alien chuckled, stifling a fluid-filled cough before growing dangerously somber. "He died in battle, as a warrior should. I watched him die." The pressure on Malcolm's throat increased painfully as he was dragged back to the torpedo launch controls. "I watched them all die," he hissed at Reed, all humor gone. "So now it is your turn to watch your people die." With savage force he slammed the lieutenant's hand into the console, launching the torpedoes.

Though he wanted to avert his eyes Malcolm found he could not tear his gaze from the screen, squeezing his eyes shut too late to block the image of the first torpedo impacting against the starboard nacelle and exploding. Bile rose in his throat at the celebratory squeezes and shakes the G'l Benai bestowed upon him.

"Well done, Human! Your captain's ship burns well!" the warrior laughed heartily, giving him one last gleeful shake before unceremoniously tossing him aside. Malcolm landed on his knees and forearms, body and soul too numb to feel the impact. He choked back nausea and tears as he listened to the alien's reveling delight, the laughter soon degrading into wet choking coughs. Then there was silence.

He felt rather than saw the mountainous presence of the warrior towering over him but Malcolm refused to use the last of his strength to look up at him.

"I promised you…a quick death," the winded G'l Benai rumbled down at him, struggling for breath.

"Go to hell," Malcolm retorted softly, content to stare at the floor and draw light-headed satisfaction from the sound of the G'l Benai's labored breathing. He felt the large hands pulling on his helmet, hauling him upright, and closed his eyes. He'd gotten Saunders killed, plus God only knew how many on Enterprise. As far as he was concerned this was a fitting, well-deserved punishment for those crimes. Better not to resist, and certainly better that he not watch the beast tear off his helmet or slice his hoses, or whatever the hell the monster planned to do.

He was on his knees now, eyes still closed as he drew in short, shallow breaths, his head tipped so far back by the alien that he'd have been staring up into the rafters of the huge room had he possessed enough energy to open his eyes. The frivolous thought occurred to him that the size of the G'l Benai Armoury made his own cherished Armoury look like little more than a walk-in closet. 'Maybe when I get back the Captain would let me expand it a little,' he thought, momentarily giddy from shock. Then he remembered that the Captain had in all likelihood been on the Bridge when those torpedoes had been launched. 'Besides, you bloody twit, you're not getting back, remember? No happy ending this time.'

Fingers probed almost gently through the material between his helmet and EV suit, finding his throat and pressing gently, holding their position. A moment later Reed felt something small, hard, and rounded pressing into his throat where the fingers had probed, just beneath his left ear. There was a familiar hiss and a cold sensation at the injection site, the object was withdrawn, and about two heartbeats later his blood had turned to white-hot acid. Eyes wide, he stared at the G'l Benai. "What…did…you…do to me?" he screeched at the beast, the new agony wiping away all others.

The expression on the feline face was almost benign. "It will be a quick death, as I promised," the G'l Benai explained, displaying the hypospray before returning it to the small box on the belt of his EV suit. He retrieved his sword from his fallen comrade. "Not painless…but quick. It was either that or this," he added, briefly holding the sheathed khopesh aloft before strapping it to his waist. Given a choice, Malcolm knew beyond all doubt that he would have preferred the sword even with its vicious sickle-like curve at the end.

Body stiffening, arms stretching out to his sides and behind him, Reed's head snapped back as his eyes rolled up into his head. His back arched at such an angle that he was sure his spine would break; he remained frozen in that position for three of the longest, most painful seconds of his life. Then the convulsions began, feeling as though massive electrical currents were tearing through his body. He was deprived of the ability to scream as the violent spasms ripped the air from his lungs, allowing only strangled grunts and gasps to escape from him. Somewhere through the haze he could hear muffled pounding and the distant voice of Commander Tucker sounding as though the man were trying to shout through several dozen pillows.

He was fairly sure that he'd soiled himself.

At last his body went slack and he fell onto his back, breathless. His vision went grey for several seconds and when it cleared he knew that something was very much amiss. The room had been sparsely illuminated before but was now bathed in light almost blinding in its intensity, and where there had once been the silence of a tomb there was now a near-deafening, distorted cacophony. His skin felt as if millions of microscopic insects had taken up residence just beneath the surface. Every muscle of his body tingled as though electrified, his chest feeling as though a flock of birds was trapped deep within fluttering frantically to escape. Strangest, though, was the pain: his head was hammering merrily away and his muscles ached from the seizure, but his injuries no longer seemed the least bit painful. He experimented by reaching over and tapping timidly at the dagger in his arm; he could feel the tug of it against the muscles but there was no discomfort. Staring at his broken hand he cautiously wiggled his fingers and felt a slight resistance within but no real pain. He almost giggled at the peculiarity of it until he realized that the G'l Benai was staring down at him.

"I…apologize," the warrior rumbled, genuine regret in his voice. "I thought it would kill you far more quickly than this. You were not supposed to linger."

Malcolm heard the pounding again, still muffled but discernible, along with the distinctive vocal cadence but undecipherable words of Commander Tucker. He found himself quite satisfied at the agitation this caused the alien, even more so when he heard with absolute clarity Trip's pronouncement that they were "almost there, Malcolm!" As the growling G'l Benai drew his sword and positioned himself to meet Malcolm's liberators Reed struggled to regain his feet. His eyes fell again on the viewscreen showing Enterprise hanging crippled in space and something within him shattered.

The fruitless rescue mission, the bodies in the turbolift shaft, the G'l Benai's stubborn refusal to listen and determination to kill them, Saunders' body sprawled in the corridor, the alien toying with him and using him to attack Enterprise—it was all too much. A surge of primal rage and hatred tore through him as he rose, all discomfort gone and one thought banishing all others: Kill.

With a beastial scream of fury he launched himself at the goliath, feeling nothing but bloodlust as he attacked the warrior with new-found strength. The G'l Benai had clearly not expected the assault and stumbled backward, hissing his obvious displeasure at Reed's discourteous refusal to die. As the soldier fell to the floor the sword sailed from his hands, clattering to the floor several feet away. Still screaming, Malcolm stayed on top of him, feral hands prying maniacally at the alien's faceplate: it had come open before and if he had anything to say about it, it would bloody well open again. He wanted to reach inside and pound the smug alien grin off the bastard's face with his bare hands, wanted to watch the life drain from the massive body as the air ran out. He imagined seeing the face and skull caved in, with fur, blood, and brains scattered within the helmet and all about the deck, and felt unbridled joy at the mental image. Malcolm didn't even feel the warrior pushing him away until he'd already been sent airborne, and he barely felt his impact with the floor.

Eager to go at the beast again he roared as he quickly hauled himself to his feet but this time the room spun violently around him, waves of nausea and vertigo slamming into him. He stumbled to the wall in search of a handhold without noticing how still the fallen G'l Benai remained. When the door slid open an energizing flood of adrenaline washed all dizziness and nausea away: certain that more of the leviathans had arrived to finish him off he staggered away from the door and braced for an attack, filled with a sudden feeling of invincibility. If they wanted a fight he'd happily give them one the likes of which they'd never seen. Kill them all...I'll kill them all. As several dark forms entered the room and approached him Malcolm rushed to retrieve the sword. Feeling hands on him he fought wildly, striking out blindly, gleefully raining blows on the people trying to restrain him until a familiar voice forced its way through his enraged howls and filtered into his brain.

"Malcolm! It's me—Trip! Take it easy! Jesus Malcolm, STOP! It's ME!"

Freezing in mid-swing Reed stared disbelieving first into his friend's face then at the rest of his shocked rescuers. He began trembling, legs going weak beneath him. "Trip? Oh God...Trip," he gasped, first stumbling away from his friend then into Tucker's open arms, clinging desperately to the commander without breaking eye contact. "She's been hit. Enterprise is hit," he managed to say before dropping to his knees and throwing up.

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"Maybe I should get back down there, see if there's anything I can do to help," Trip said anxiously as he paced across the Ready Room.

"Phlox said he'd keep us posted. He's got his hands full right now and the last thing he needs is to be stumbling over my Chief Engineer. The best way to help is to concentrate on repairs and wait for the doctor to call us."

Tucker sighed in resignation. "I guess. It's just that…you didn't see him. I mean, I know you saw some of it through that surveillance camera once we got him into the corridor but…I looked right into his eyes, Jon. They were black as coal, and wild. It was like he wasn't even in there. When we first got to him he started hammerin' on everybody within reach, until he finally recognized me and settled down. But when T'Pol told us that the G'l Benai was still breathing, Malcolm went totally berserk. He grabbed that sword off the floor," he said, pointing to the huge sword now lying across Archer's desk, "and went after the guy. It didn't matter that the fella was laid out cold and it didn't matter that T'Pol was in the way. I swear, Jon, if we hadn't grabbed him he'd have sliced right through her to get to that guy. I'm just glad we had a security team with us, 'cuz I know I wouldn't have been able to stop him on my own. I know Malcolm's stronger than he looks, but this was different…it was scary, Jon. Have you tried lifting that thing?" he asked, pointing again at the alien weapon. When Jon nodded Trip asked, "Heavy, ain't it?"

Archer nodded again. "It's pretty hefty, yeah."

"Have you tried swingin' it around?" Jon shook his head and Trip continued. "Well, Captain, your Armory Officer was flailin' away with it like it was made of balsa wood, howlin' like a banshee the whole time. Personally, I consider it a bona fide miracle that he didn't kill any of us with it. I hate to say it, Jon, but…I'm not a hundred percent sure he woulda stopped with the G'l Benai. I don't think he'd have been able to stop." Before Jon could comment the door chime rang.

"Come in."

T'Pol entered. "Captain, Dr. Phlox asked me to update you on his patients. The G'l Benai is stabilized but will require surgery soon. Crewman Saunders is presently in surgery, and although his injuries are severe the doctor is hopeful that he will survive. There is, however, a serious problem with Lieutenant Reed. The lieutenant was highly combative when taken to Sickbay and the doctor attempted to sedate him, unaware that a foreign substance had been introduced into Mr. Reed's system. The lieutenant had a near-lethal interaction, but they were able to revive him. I have been assisting Dr. Phlox in isolating and neutralizing the substance."

'But they were able to revive him.' She had just basically told them that Malcolm had, if only briefly, died, and she'd done it so casually, almost sounding nonchalant as she delivered the news. A small part of Archer envied T'Pol's ability to be so detached and clinical when discussing the near-death of a crewmate, but a far larger part had to fight the urge to shake or slap some sort of emotional response from her. He bit back the first question that sprang to his mind: would she have delivered news of a Vulcan's death with the same cool indifference? Hell, he already knew the answer to that one. Instead he asked, "Any idea how this 'substance' got into Malcolm?"

"Mr. Reed has become largely incoherent since we found him. However, after the doctor revived him he was able to tell us that shortly before we reached them the G'l Benai injected him with something."

"I don't suppose our guest would be willing to help undo what he's done to Malcolm?" Archer asked bitterly.

T'Pol shook her head. "He is still unconscious, but it is doubtful that he would help someone he views as an enemy."

"What I don't get is, why'd he do it?" Trip asked. "I mean, he'd already beaten Malcolm almost to death—why poison him, too?"

"Unknown," T'Pol replied, "but the doctor is certain that the toxin is what is causing Mr. Reed's violent behavior. With your permission I'll return to Sickbay to continue working on the blood samples Phlox has taken."

The captain nodded grimly. "Thanks. Keep me posted. Trip, continue with repairs and get me an estimate as to how long it'll be before we can get underway." As the officers left the captain called T'Pol back. "Subcommander…a moment please?" Trip left as T'Pol stepped back into the office.

"Trip told me some of what happened over there, and I just wanted to hear your take on it. How…out of control…was Malcolm?"

The Vulcan's eyebrows arched as she contemplated her response. "I believe," she finally said, "that 'out of control' is an understatement, Captain. Mr. Reed is a highly disciplined individual and, although he is prone to bursts of temper—as is typical of your species—he usually possesses the ability to restrain himself. That was not the case when we found him. Despite the severity of his injuries he was highly combative when we first entered the G'l Benai weapons room, attacking everyone who approached him. Once he recognized us he calmed down and told us about the attack on Enterprise; however, when he found out that the G'l Benai was still alive he lost all capacity for rational thought and endeavored quite forcefully to kill the man, even to the point of endangering the rest of us. That is not behavior that is anywhere near normal for the lieutenant." Jon shook his head in disbelief and T'Pol continued.

"The security team had a great deal of difficulty subduing him. It is possible that he either lost the ability to recognize us, viewing us all as adversaries, or was unable to realize that his actions were potentially harmful to us. I realize that it is difficult to picture Mr. Reed in such a mental state given his usual self-control, but the substance injected into him is most certainly causing this behavior. His actions should not be held against him."

Archer looked as though he'd been slapped. "It wasn't my intention to blame him," he said quietly. "I'm just trying to understand what the hell happened to him." He stared at the sword a long moment before turning back to his Science Officer. "Give Phlox whatever help he needs. Keep me posted." Once she was out the door his eyes went back to the enormous blade, Trip's words replaying in his mind:

"Well, Captain, your Armory Officer was flailin' away with it like it was made of balsa wood, howlin' like a banshee…"

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"Sickbay to Captain Archer." The call cut through the tense air of the bridge, unexpectedly breaking the silence.

Archer thumbed the comm button. "Go ahead, Phlox."

"Crewman Saunders is out of surgery, Captain, and his vital signs are stable for now. I'll be taking the G'l Benai to surgery soon. And," he added somberly, "Lt. Reed's condition is…slightly improved." Phlox's statement was accompanied by angry primal screams filling the comm.

"DON'T…TOUCH MEEEE!" Malcolm screeched, his strained, hoarse voice filling the bridge. Everyone froze, several people flinching at the volume and shrillness of the lieutenant's voice. The metallic clatter of something in Sickbay hitting the floor punctuated Reed's frantic demand, making the bridge crew and repair teams jump. More screams, shouts, and the sounds of an all-out brawl followed.

"I have to go, Captain," the doctor blurted before breaking the connection.

Jon rose from his seat and headed for the turbo lift at a near-run. "Hoshi, contact Commander Tucker and have him meet me in Sickbay. Travis, you have the bridge."

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The screams had subsided by the time Jon and Trip reached Sickbay; the men lingered just inside the door, taking in the scene in front of them. The heads of all three biobeds were elevated slightly, allowing a clear view of the occupants' faces. In the first bed, being watched by a security guard, lay the unconscious G'l Benai, both forearms and hands wrapped in bandages and his breathing labored but steady. Whatever clothing he may have been wearing had been removed along with the alien's EV suit, leaving his fur-covered, battle-scarred torso exposed save for a blanket draped to protect the man's modesty. Though much of the blood had been washed from his face and head, pink stains marred much of his white fur. A small earpiece protruded slightly from his left ear; a slender metallic-looking tube snaked out from it, wending around and behind the ear and down along the length of his head, ending in a small rectangular box near his mouth. The mammoth alien's feet rested on an improvised extension to the foot of the bed: an instrument table with a pillow on top of it had been put there to accommodate the G'l Benai's long legs.

On the third bed over Saunders was in a similar state, though additional medical equipment near the bed, IV bags feeding blood and medication into his arms, a breathing tube protruding from his mouth, and bandages enveloping his throat and left cheek hinted at his more precarious condition. The privacy curtain was partially drawn, blocking the occupants of the other beds from seeing his upper body.

Drenched with sweat, hair plastered to his forehead, a shirtless Malcolm occupied the bed between them, breathing heavily as he fidgeted and twitched uncontrollably. His right hand and forearm were in a cast, his upper arm and battered midsection bandaged. A harried-looking orderly sporting a black eye tried to pull a blanket over the lieutenant's bruised torso only to jump away when Malcolm sat up and took a swing at him, snarling hoarsely and glaring with jet black eyes.

"I don't NEED that I'm NOT cold DON'T…TOUCHME!" Fighting to steady his breathing, he squeezed his eyes shut to block out the anxious expression on the orderly's face—and the black eye he knew he'd given to the man earlier. Left hand involuntarily clenching and unclenching and the fingers of his right hand twitching, he leaned back in the bed and opened his eyes. "I'm sorry," he finally managed to say, struggling to maintain a normal volume but unable to keep his gravelly voice from shaking. "Please just…I don't need a blanket, I just need this to stop. Why won't it stop, why can't he make it stop?"

"Thank you for staying with him, Ensign Pierce," Phlox told the orderly as he approached the bed. "Why don't you take a little break now, hmm? And don't forget to put a cold compress on that eye. As I've already explained to you, Lieutenant," Phlox said patiently once Pierce had gone, "I don't know yet what our friend here put into your system, but all tests so far indicate that anything I try to use to counteract it or alleviate the symptoms will only worsen your condition. T'Pol is running more tests right now but it's going to take some time. Please, try to hold on a little longer."

"What the bloody HELL do you THINK I'M TRYING TO DO!" Reed snapped, then grimaced. Suddenly cold he laid back with a shiver and pulled the bedclothes slowly, painfully over himself. "Sorry, Doctor, I just can't…sorry, so sorry…"

Phlox successfully resisted the urge to pat him on the shoulder, opting instead to carefully help straighten the blanket. "It's quite all right, Lieutenant. The substance is hyper-stimulating your nervous system and wreaking havoc with your physiology as well as causing an intense mental strain. But it is vital for you to remain as calm and still as possible—we've stopped the bleeding but if you do too much thrashing about you'll reopen your wounds or further aggravate your internal injuries. I really don't want to have to resort to the restraints again—I know they caused you immense discomfort—so you have to promise that you'll remain in bed."

Malcolm nodded, shivering as he clutched the edge of the blanket. "I know…I understand, really I do, but…" he replied, voice shaking and cracking, "but it feels like…like I've got fire ants crawling around under my skin, biting and stinging. There must be something you can give me, anything, put me under, DO SOMETHING!" he pleaded.

The doctor shook his head sadly. "We already tried to 'put you under,' and we almost lost you—"

"SO HIT ME OVER THE HEAD WITH A BRICK YOU BLOODY QUACK, DO SOMETHING TO MAKE IT STOP!" Phlox stood serenely by the bed, waiting as his patient panted for breath. Closing his eyes Malcolm finally spoke again, his hoarse voice suddenly very tiny and contrite. "Oh God Phlox, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, you know I didn't mean it. I'm so sorry."

The doctor smiled benignly as he reassured the lieutenant. "Yes Malcolm, I know. Don't concern yourself about it any further. Frankly, it's encouraging to hear you regaining some of your usual eloquence." A short, pained chuckle slipped out of Malcolm as Phlox continued. "I have to give the captain an update then see if T'Pol has made any progress with the latest samples I gave her. I'll be back as soon as possible." Dimming the lights over Malcolm's bed, he walked across Sickbay and motioned to Archer and Tucker.

They approached and stood next to him, anxiously waiting for the doctor to speak, but Phlox guided them to the far side of Sickbay before speaking in a hushed voice. "The G'l Benai is doing surprisingly well considering the amount of trauma he suffered—skull fracture, concussion, multiple scalp lacerations, blood loss, four broken ribs, a punctured lung, multiple fractures throughout the length of his tail, and second- and third-degree burns to his hands and forearms. He's stable now but I'll need to take him to surgery soon to repair the worst of the damage. You should be able to speak with him within the next few hours. I believe the device he's wearing on his head is a combination communicator/translator. I left it on him in hopes that it would help us better communicate with him when he wakes.

"Crewman Saunders is still in critical condition, but his vital signs are stable at present. The impact of the storage container coupled with his impact with the wall caused a concussion, broken nose, three cracked ribs, a bruised kidney, several cracked vertebrae, and deep muscle contusions to both legs. The injuries to his throat are by no means minor, but all in all he is a very lucky young man. Because of the EV suit, the G'l Benai wasn't able to get a full grip on the crewman's throat when he bit him. Also, the emergency sealant not only closed the gaps in the suit but a good bit of it leaked inside the suit as well, creating a sort of pressure bandage against the wounds. There was still substantial damage and blood loss but I have seen medical records detailing the sort of damage the G'l Benai can do with their teeth, and it could have been far worse. Barring any complications and given enough time, I am hopeful that David will make a satisfactory recovery.

"Lt. Reed's condition," he continued solemnly, "is very precarious. He has two knife wounds to the torso and one to his right upper arm, seven broken ribs, a cracked sternum, several bruised internal organs including his heart, a concussion, and numerous fractures of varying severity to the bones in his right hand and wrist. And, as T'Pol has already informed you, he has had some sort of drug introduced into his system. It's causing—" he was interrupted by another spate of growling howls of frustration from Malcolm.

Once the yells subsided, Phlox continued. "It's causing a number of problems. His heart rate and respiration are far above normal and his blood pressure is dangerously high. The drug is causing his body to produce massive amounts of testosterone and adrenaline and is causing near-constant muscle tremors and twitching. It's also having an unusual effect on his senses—although they seem to have been heightened to the point of causing extreme discomfort, he's experiencing very little pain from his injuries. His reasoning abilities and self-control have also been adversely affected, hence the outbursts, shouting, and…brawling.

"So far we've been unable to find a way to safely counteract any of the effects, and if the drug isn't neutralized soon I'm not sure what kind of permanent damage he may suffer. I can't even perform the surgical procedures he requires to properly mend his injuries until the substance is either neutralized or works its way out of his system. Not to mention the risk that he may further injure himself during an outburst or perhaps injure someone else."

"I thought you said his condition had improved," Archer said.

The doctor nodded. "I said it had slightly improved, and it has. Until a short time ago he was incapable of anything even resembling coherent speech. At least now he's able to scream in more or less complete sentences. I've ordered the restraints removed for the time being because they were causing him great agitation and discomfort, and he is at least a little calmer now that they're gone. His eyes are still a bit…unsettling, but I'm hopeful that that effect of the drug will pass soon. Try to not mention it to him—he's rather self-conscious about it.

"You can visit with him now if you wish but speak softly and try to refrain from physical contact. Also, mention of our large guest would be best kept to a minimum. I'll be taking our friend there to surgery after I check in with T'Pol. You shouldn't be too surprised by anything the lieutenant says or does, but for goodness sake keep him in bed. I had to treat his injuries without giving him pain medication and don't relish the thought of having to put him through that again, but if he reopens his wounds I fear that's precisely what I'll have to do. If all else fails, try reminding him that I will use the restraints again if need be." With that the doctor bustled away.

Standing next to Malcolm, Jon and Trip stared down at his tightly-closed eyes. Reed was trembling uncontrollably, his breathing rapid, his lips moving silently until another frustrated, wordless screech burst forth. His hands repeatedly clenched and unclenched, sporadically pounding on the bed beside him. The tremors stopped for a few seconds then resumed.

"Hey Mal," Trip said, his voice velvet.

Despite the softness of the engineer's voice Reed flinched in apparent pain at the sound. He spoke without opening his eyes, his voice a shaking, gravelly, jagged whisper. "Hello, Trip. Is Saunders...is he really still alive?" He'd scarcely dared hope it was true when he first heard of the man's survival.

The engineer nodded. "Yeah...Doc says he's pretty lucky—he's not in great shape, but Phlox thinks he'll be okay. Guess between his Irish granny and British grandpa he inherited enough luck and stubbornness to keep him going."

"Determination," Reed corrected hoarsely. "We prefer to think of it as determination, not stubbornness." There was a long pause. "And our furry friend?" he asked with no attempt to hide the contempt in his voice.

"He's still out cold…no need ta worry about him, Doc's got a guard on him." Sparing a glance at Jon, Trip spoke again. "Can we do anything for ya, Malcolm?"

Reed's head shook almost imperceptibly. His breathing slowed slightly as he finally looked at his friend, the familiar blue-grey of his eyes eerily displaced by blackness. "Not unless you can make it stop." His shaky voice was frighteningly calm, but his breathing sped up again and they could see another yell building up. Malcolm was obviously fighting to contain it but soon failed. "Make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP!" Despite the cast on his right hand his fists pounded out a rapid staccato on the bed.

Archer, standing on Malcolm's right, risked lightly laying a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder. "Lieutenant," he whispered.

Reed's eyes snapped open at the sound of his captain's voice, meeting his superior's concerned gaze with a look of confused awkwardness. "Sorry, sir," he finally gasped, embarrassed by his outburst.

Taking his hand from the man's shoulder Jon shook his head, smiling. "Don't worry about it. I think you've earned the right to do a little yelling, don't you?"

"Not very professional of me, I'm afraid. I just…I can't seem to…" Pausing, Malcolm shut his eyes for a moment as he fought the torrent of emotion. "I'm trying to control it, sir, I'm just…not doing a very good job of it. It's so damned frustrating. I should be able to…" Staring at the ceiling he let the sentence trail off, unfinished.

The captain shook his head again. "You're doing fine, Malcolm. Just hang on, okay? I'm sure Phlox and T'Pol will get this figured out soon, and we'll do everything we can to help you until then."

"How bad is it?" Malcolm rasped. "How much damage to the ship?"

"Nothin' we can't fix," Trip assured him. "We'll be back to a hundred percent in no time, and so will you an' Saunders."

"Weapons…do we have weapons? If more of those furry bastards show up—"

Trip tried to stifle his exasperation. "Your people are workin' on it, Loo-tenant. Try to quit worryin' so much about the ship and concentrate on getting better, okay?"

"What about casualties? How many...how many people did I hurt? Did I...was anyone killed?"

Brow furrowed with confusion Archer tried to comfort his officer. "Aside from some cuts and scrapes, bumps and bruises, everyone's okay. Phlox and his team already have everybody else patched up and out the door." He studied the lieutenant before pointing out what was, to him, obvious. "It wasn't your fault, Malcolm. You didn't hurt any of us."

Malcolm shook his head at the captain's words, sorrow and guilt filling his unnaturally black eyes. "He dragged me to the console, and…he made me…couldn't get away from him, couldn't get my hand away from the…" His voice faded, the trembling of his body increasing. Staring at the cast he at last forced himself to finish the thought, voice quivering. "It was my hand on the controls, sir. He made me fire the torpedoes. Said he wanted to know if I was as talented at killing my own people as I was at killing his. I can still see my hand on the console…the first impact…the explosion," he whispered, letting his damaged hand drop onto the bed and closing his eyes against the memory.

"It may have been your hand, Malcolm," the captain said gently, "but it wasn't you. Besides—"

"I couldn't get my hand away from the controls," Reed continued as if Archer hadn't spoken, eyes still clamped shut. "I tried…wasn't strong enough, didn't…fight hard enough. Should've…fought harder." Another outburst was rapidly building in him despite his struggles to contain it. "I wasn't strong enough," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Mal," Trip tried to comfort him, "The sonuvabitch is over two feet taller than you an' at least a hundred pounds heavier, he'd just got through beatin' the crap outta you, and he'd stuck a knife in you…three times. I'd say he had a little bit of an unfair advantage, wouldn't you?" Malcolm's face contorted horribly as another unstoppable, incoherent, full-volume growling shriek escaped from him.

Archer waited for the dreadful sound to end. "Lieutenant," he said in a firm but gentle tone, "I want you to listen to me. That's an order." Reed's eyes snapped open again and he stiffened in the bed as if trying to lie at attention. "I was about to say that if it wasn't for you, chances are none of us would even be here. If you hadn't yelled out that warning the hull wouldn't have been polarized when those torpedoes were launched. Granted, it didn't totally prevent us from taking damage, but getting the hull polarized in time kept us from getting totally blown apart. Even got in a few shots of our own—took out one of the torpedoes and knocked another one off-course enough to keep our port nacelle attached to the ship." He paused to let his words sink in. "Malcolm...you saved our asses."

Reed shook his head, unconvinced. "Doesn't exactly feel that way from here, sir." He looked over at Saunders—what he could see of him—still not quite able to fathom how the man had survived. "My god, he knows how to put up a fight, doesn't he? Maybe if it had been him in that weapons room, Enterprise wouldn't have taken any damage at all."

Trip pushed back his annoyance as he replied, trying to sound sympathetic. "Saunders is one of your men, and I know you feel bad about him gettin' hurt, but lemme ask you something, Malcolm. If you coulda traded places with him over there, would you really want him to be goin' through what you're dealin' with right now?" Reed silently shook his head, which Trip counted as a victory. "He saved your hide, and you saved ours. You're both still alive, and so are we, and that's the important thing right now. Blamin' yourself for something you had no control over isn't gonna help any of us, so...cut it out, okay? That's an order," he added gently.

A sigh shuddered out of the lieutenant. "I'll try, sir."

Phlox quietly slipped up behind the captain and commander. "Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but it's time to let the lieutenant rest now."

"How am I supposed to rest with this DAMNED STUFF STILL IN ME?" Malcolm raged, muscles trembling involuntarily. "WHY HASN'T THAT BLOODY WOMAN FOUND A WAY TO GET RID OF IT YET?" Clamping his hands on top of his head and squeezing his eyes shut Malcolm moaned in angry frustration. "Sorry, Doctor," he apologized, dropping his hands as he looked at the Denobulan. "I know you and Subcommander T'Pol are doing your best."

"Unfortunately our best is proving to be entirely insufficient," Phlox said with regret. "It appears that the drug has bonded with your cells...which is not an unusual occurrence," he hastened to add when he saw panic filling the lieutenant's eyes. "There are any number of drugs that do the same thing. T'Pol and I think that the best course of action is to try to flush the substance from your system. I would use an unmedicated IV and begin slowly—if you do show improvement we'll increase the input to speed things along. I'd like to get started immediately, but it's going to require that you remain very still so you don't pull out the IV. I know it will be difficult, and uncomfortable—"

"I'll manage," Malcolm said. "Let's get on with it."

"I thought you might feel that way so I've already gotten things ready," Phlox said as he motioned to a nearby instrument table. " But you should be aware that there is no guarantee that it will help."

With a shuddering sigh Malcolm nodded. "Understood."

Trip gave his friend a long, sympathetic look, desperately wanting to shake his hand or give him an encouraging clap on the shoulder but not wanting to cause further discomfort. "Good luck, Malcolm."

Reed gave a grim nod, watching as his friend exited Sickbay with Captain Archer before turning his attention to the doctor's preparations. "So…its injuries were quite severe?" he asked hoarsely and almost hopefully, a few more involuntary tremors coursing through him.

Phlox looked momentarily stunned but recovered. "If you mean the G'l Benai, yes. You heard us talking about him?"

"God, yes," he croaked. "Not your fault—I know you've been doing your best to accommodate my…condition. And it's very much appreciated, but I can hear even the faintest whisper, and the dimmest light seems terribly bright." He watched with foreboding as the doctor finished his preparations, IV needle at last ready to be inserted into the back of his good hand. As the sharp point drew nearer Malcolm anticipated with dread the prick of the needle, certain that his heightened senses would make the insertion unbearably painful. Surprise filled him as he watched the needle slide painlessly into the back of his left hand. Seeing the question in the doctor's eyes, he shook his head. "Just felt like a dull pinch." He waited a long moment before asking the question that now preyed on his mind. "Do you really think Saunders will make a 'satisfactory recovery', or did you just tell them that to put their minds at ease?"

"Mr. Saunders is a very strong young man, in excellent physical condition aside from his injuries, he came through surgery without incident, and his vital signs are currently stable and are slowly improving. So yes, I really think he'll recover." He briefly opened the IV line, allowing the tubing to fill with liquid before closing it off and attaching it to the needle. Adjusting the feed to a slow drip Phlox looked at his patient. "Does that feel all right? Any discomfort?"

Malcolm frowned as he considered it. "Not discomfort, no. It just feels…strange. A little warm. But it's passing." With another sigh he laid his head on the pillow and looked back at the doctor. "Will the G'l Benai make a satisfactory recovery as well?" he asked, trying to not sound too sarcastic.

"It's too soon to tell for certain," Phlox replied as he rechecked the IV, "but I certainly hope so. You should too, if only because he's the only one who can tell us what he injected you with and how we can successfully counteract it."

The lieutenant's scowl deepened. "I suppose you're right…it's just not particularly easy to wish him a speedy recovery after all that's happened. Not to mention that it's just plain dangerous having him onboard. Once he regains consciousness he's quite likely going to start trying to kill people. None of us will be safe as long as he's here."

"I'm not totally oblivious to the likelihood that he'll become violent, you know. I've had security personnel stationed here ever since his arrival and he's just been sedated, so he won't be waking any time soon. In fact, he's headed for surgery as soon as I finish here. Does the IV still feel strange?"

The sensation had almost entirely passed but there was still a vague, uncomfortable, warm feeling deep in his hand. "No…it's fine," he fibbed, eager to be left alone for a bit. "You've got other patients to tend to—no need to hang about here, holding my hand."

The doctor opened the IV feed slightly. "I'm going to speed this up a tiny bit," he explained. "Ensign Pierce will be nearby, so if you start to feel any unusual sensations or discomfort I want you to tell him immediately. If there are no adverse reactions in the next half hour, I'll open the IV a bit more." Phlox gave him a sympathetic smile then as quietly as possible drew the privacy curtains around the bed.

Malcolm noticed for the first time that the curtains had been changed—they were a heavier material than usual, completely blocking his view of the other beds. Just as well, probably—looking at the alien made his mind race with various ways he'd like to kill the bastard, and the sight of Saunders—or what he could see of him—filled him with overwhelming sorrow and regret. And Pierce…he remembered that just before the restraints had come into play, the point of his elbow had firmly connected with something during one of his more crazed periods but he'd only realized much later that it had been the ensign's face.

He tried to ignore the warmth in his hand, which had flared slightly and snuck up to his wrist. Between the intermittent muscle tremors still plaguing him, the incessant crawling feeling beneath his skin and the growing heat now slowly creeping past his wrist, he couldn't entirely contain the small frustrated growl that he was struggling to suppress.

"Lieutenant?" Ensign Pierce cautiously peeked in on Reed. "Can I help with anything?"

The officer forced back the screech that almost burst from him. "No, thank you," he managed in a husky voice, sounding far calmer than he felt even as he fidgeted with embarrassment. "I'm, uh, I'm sorry. About that," he nodded toward the man's face as he absently rubbed the ball of his left palm against the bed. "The eye. I hope it's not…too terribly uncomfortable."

"Don't worry about it, sir," the orderly assured him, risking a small attempt at humor. "It's not like you meant to take me out—you were gunning for Ensign Rossini, I think." Seeing Reed's increasing fidgeting and pained scowl Pierce stepped up to the bed, eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right, sir? Is there a problem with the IV?"

"I think it'll be okay," he tried to put the ensign at ease. "It felt strange when the doctor first started it…just a bit warm at first, nothing unbearable." He flexed his hand, hissing at the still-growing, migrating heat deep within. "It's gotten a tad warmer now, but that should pass soon, shouldn't it?" he asked, rubbing the fingertips of his right hand gingerly over his left forearm.

Pierce gave the IV a quick, uncertain inspection. "I better go check with the doctor about it, see what he says. I'll be right back." The man bustled away before Reed could object.

Glaring at his burning arm Malcolm shot it a frowning sneer. "Traitor," he whispered. As if in reply the burning sensation flared horrendously as it shot up past his elbow, forcing a gasp from him. He tried to hold back the moans working their way out of him as the searing migrated further up his arm but the sounds came out, faint little snarls of pain and frustration. His entire limb was blazing—if he'd been able to get his hands on the G'l Benai's sword he'd have lopped off the appendage to stop the rapidly-growing inferno within.

True to his word the ensign hurried back to Reed's bedside. "Doc's on his way," he assured the lieutenant.

"Take it out," Malcolm hissed desperately, clutching at his elbow. "For the love of God, please, take it out."

Pierce looked helpless. "Sir…I can't. I don't know the first thing about those things. I only volunteered a few days ago to help the doctor down here when he needed it, and the first training session didn't cover IVs. Phlox is hurrying; he'll be here soon. Just a few more seconds, I swear."

"I can't…stand it," Reed pleaded through clenched teeth, gasping for breath. "It's burning, my whole arm is burning. Please, you've got to get it out, now!" There was nothing faint about the sounds he was making now. He reached for the IV with his right hand, aiming to rip the needle out himself.

Pierce grabbed his arm just above the cast. "Hang on, sir," he urged encouragingly, firmly gripping Malcolm's arm in both hands. "I swear to you he's on the way, he'll be here in a couple more seconds." As if on cue Phlox shoved the curtain aside with his scanner already in hand, his trademark smile wholly absent. T'Pol was several steps behind him and stayed well back as the doctor rushed to the lieutenant's bedside.

"God, Phlox," Malcolm implored, "Get it out. My whole arm's on fire. Take it out!" The fingers of his right hand were curled desperately around Pierce's arm, nails digging into flesh as he clung to the man for dear life. It was all he could do to keep from shrieking as blazing pain rocketed through his shoulder.

The doctor took a quick scan of the IV site and the length of the affecting arm, muttering several choice Denobulan expletives at the readings before stuffing the scanner in his pocket and silently removing the line with expert speed and care. Only after the IV was out, cast angrily onto the nearby instrument tray, and a small bandage was carefully placed over the puncture in Malcolm's hand did he speak again. "Is the pain subsiding?" he asked softly as he retrieved the scanner from his pocket and gathered more readings.

Panting, Malcolm hesitated before giving a timid nod. The firestorm was fast cooling as it retreated back down his arm; in less than half a minute the awful sensation was totally gone as if it had never been. Reed looked at the doctor wide-eyed. "What the bloody hell was that?" he asked faintly, finally letting go of Pierce as another set of tremors ran through his body.

Phlox sighed in frustration, frowning at the medical scanner. "A combination of things, I fear, and an indication that flushing the substance from your system is not a viable option." He motioned T'Pol closer and handed her the scanner. "As I told you before, the drug has bonded with your cells. Instead of flushing out the chemical, the IV solution apparently irritated the affected cells. Additionally there was some clotting at the needle site that contributed to the discomfort you experienced."

Malcolm saw Pierce sneak a peek at the tray; the ensign blanched, looking momentarily faint as he hastily excused himself. Leaning to see what had unsettled the man, Reed's stomach turned a somersault at the sight of what looked like a long, slender, dark maroon slug clinging to the end of the needle. Pushing aside his revulsion he looked at T'Pol (whose attention was still fixed upon the medical scanner and her padd) then back at the doctor. "So…what else can you try to get this damned stuff out of me?"

"I can't think of anything else to try at present," Phlox sighed. "Probably best for you to recover from this attempt before we try anything else, anyhow."

The subcommander pulled her attention from the padd and scanner and met Reed's eyes. "Judging from these readings the IV caused a dangerous level of stress without providing any measurable benefit. I agree with the doctor—it would be fruitless as well as unwise to attempt anything else at present, even if we did have another method in mind."

Malcolm's desperation flared. "What about all the eels and slugs and worms you've got lounging about here?" he loudly suggested with absolute sincerity. "Surely there's something in your menagerie that could help?"

T'Pol answered as the doctor sadly shook his head. "We had considered that possibility earlier, but test results indicated that the risk and discomfort to you would outweigh any benefits. I will, of course, continue searching for a way to counteract or eliminate the substance."

With supreme effort Reed successfully squelched the impulse to scream obscenities and accusations of incompetence at her; the exertion forced a long, tired, shuddering sigh from him. "I appreciate all of your efforts…both of you." Sinking back on the bed he sighed again, exhausted and defeated. "But maybe…maybe it's time for you to stop searching, Subcommander. I'm beginning to think there isn't a way to get rid of it, and I'm going to be like this the rest of my life."

"Mr. Reed," Phlox gently admonished, "you mustn't give up. I'm sure that with enough time—"

"God, Phlox," Malcolm snapped sarcastically as his eyes went wide, "if you tell me one more time to hold on a little while longer or give me any variation of your incessant battle-cry of 'Optimism!' I may very well lose what little self-control I have left, and I guarantee that things here will become extremely unpleasant if that happens." After a long, uncomfortable silence he spoke again, his irritation still obvious but more contained. "I'm sorry, Doctor…it's just so damned frustrating…I know you mean well, but it's damned near impossible to maintain anything resembling optimism at this point, and I am bloody well tired of 'holding on a little while longer'.

"Besides which, there is a good deal more at stake here," he continued a bit more calmly, turning his attention to T'Pol. "I don't think that you're incapable of finding a solution, Subcommander, but at this point your time and energy might be better spent helping to get the ship repaired and underway. Chances are very good that our large, furry friend's countrymen will eventually put in an appearance. There's no one on this ship who knows better than you do what they'll do when they get here, save maybe Saunders and myself. Is it logical to continue looking for a solution to my problem when the entire crew is at risk of far worse happening to them? The G'l Benai attacked that Vulcan ship because they suspected the Vulcans might be a threat. They're quite convinced that we're their enemies. Should we really be sitting here dead in the water and defenseless when they show up?"

Fixing her customary dispassionate gaze on him, T'Pol considered his argument before responding. "Your reasoning is sound. Though it would be advantageous to have our Tactical Officer at his post if another G'l Benai ship arrives, it would make little difference with the ship in its present condition." She turned to the doctor. "I believe that the lieutenant is correct—if the G'l Benai find us here, they will undoubtedly board Enterprise and strive to kill everyone on board. I should help ensure that we are not here when they arrive." Handing Phlox the scanner and padd she gave the devices a meaningful look, which drew the doctor's attention to the displays.

She turned back to Reed. "Doctor Phlox is also correct, Lieutenant. You should not give up. The readings seem to indicate that the amount of the chemical in your system is slightly diminished. Though I would need to study a more recent blood sample to be certain, I suspect that the substance is beginning to break down and work its way out of your system on its own, though it appears to be doing so at a very gradual rate. It would be advantageous for you to 'hold on a little longer'. Once the ship is underway I can return if needed."

Phlox broke his intense attention from the padd. "I don't think I've ever seen a drug with such a slow decay rate. If you can spare just a few more minutes before leaving, Subcommander, I'd like to get that new blood sample for you to take a quick look at while I go attend to our guest. Once he's out of surgery I can do a more detailed analysis of the sample."

"Certainly," she agreed, watching dispassionately as the Denobulan drew a fresh vial of blood from Malcolm. The lieutenant scarcely seemed to notice.

"Right then," Malcolm said tiredly, exhaustion suddenly seizing hold of him, "it's agreed. The doctor will go stitch up that hairy behemoth, you'll go help mend the ship, and I'll lay here and try to work up a little optimism, maybe get a little rest, and pray for a more rapid decay rate." Listening to their deafening footfalls as they left he closed his eyes and contemplated the idea of Phlox performing surgery on the alien. With any luck it would die on the operating table. And if it didn't...well, if it didn't die in surgery he might have to dispatch the bastard himself. He dozed off with a faint smile on his face, various methods of killing the beast dancing happily through his mind.