AUTHOR'S NOTES: As always, standard disclaimers apply. NOW, time to find out (among other things) what the G'l Benai used on Malcolm and whether it has totally messed up the Armoury Officer's mind...
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
Just over an hour after the doctor took the alien warrior to surgery he contacted the captain, who was ensconced in his Ready Room reviewing damage reports. "I've just finished with our friend, Captain. You should be able to speak with him within the hour."
"And the others?" Archer asked.
"Mr. Saunders is still unconscious at present. He's doing well—to use a Human phrase, I believe he is 'out of the woods'—but he will require more blood transfusions, and it will be some time before he's able to speak. Ensign Sato is almost finished programming a padd for him to use for communicating with us once he regains consciousness. Mr. Reed slept for a brief time and is a good deal calmer at present, but he's still feeling the effects of the alien drug. Now that things have settled down here I'm going to continue looking for a way to counteract or neutralize the substance." Despite the fact that the doctor couldn't see him, the captain nodded.
"Would it be alright to pay Malcolm another visit?"
"I believe a short visit would be acceptable so long as he doesn't become overly agitated."
"We'll be there in a little while. Thank you, Phlox."
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
Standing guard at the foot of the G'l Benai's bed a solemn Crewman Atkinson turned and nodded to the captain and Commander Tucker as they entered Sickbay. Both men hesitated at the sight of the privacy curtains drawn around Malcolm's and David's beds—on their previous visits the curtains had been open. As soon as Phlox saw them he guided them to a far corner of the room. "I must apologize, gentlemen…I know I said you could visit him but Mr. Reed has fallen back to sleep," he explained in a low voice, "and I'd like him to stay that way for as long as possible. As far as the G'l Benai, I've run some further tests on our friend and found something rather interesting. The results indicate that he has the same drug in his system as the lieutenant."
"So he poisoned himself, too?" Trip asked.
The doctor shrugged. "It's possible, but I'm not entirely certain that it is a poison. It's possible that the drug has some sort of medical purpose for these people, though why one would want to elevate one's metabolism to such dangerous levels is beyond me."
"No guarantee that it's right," Trip offered after giving it some thought, "but I've got a theory if you're interested." Phlox and Archer both nodded so Tucker continued. "Doc, you said this guy was busted up pretty bad, but he went after our people with more power than a maxed-out warp engine. An' I don't hafta tell you what Malcolm's been like since we found him. What if it's somethin' to keep them goin'? Wouldn't be the first time soldiers used chemical enhancements."
"But why give it to Malcolm?" Archer wondered aloud. "The G'l Benai made it clear he didn't plan to leave survivors, so why administer something to keep his opponent alive?"
Trip shrugged but Phlox had a suggestion. "From what I've heard of these people, they enjoy combat…perhaps he simply wanted to keep fighting?"
Malcolm's voice—such as it was—drifted out from behind the curtain. "He promised me a quick death," he said dully, his shaking voice sounding as though he'd swallowed broken glass. "Claimed he thought the injection would kill me quickly. Lying bastard."
The men approached his bed and drew the curtain aside, Jon remembering to keep his voice soft as he spoke. "Didn't mean to disturb you, Malcolm. We thought you were sleeping." He stepped to the side of the bed, pushing the chair that was there toward the head of the bed.
A pained humorless laugh escaped the lieutenant. "Not bloody likely with all the noise. Sir," he hastened to add. His eyes, still unsettling in appearance despite the return of some of their natural hue, stared sorrowfully into those of his captain. "It's not that you three were being loud," he assured them. "I know Phlox has been trying to keep the place as quiet as possible, but I can hear everything. I'll count it miraculous if the sound of my own heartbeat doesn't deafen me before this is all over. And even when the lights were turned off I could see as if under the noonday sun. Though I must admit, this helps immensely," he added, holding up a black, padded eye mask. "Ensign Pierce loaned it to me after I woke up a little while ago. I'm not usually one for blindfolds, but it was a marvelous relief to have a little darkness. Pity the earplugs didn't work out as well—it was like holding a seashell to both my ears and turning up the volume full bore. As for the rest of it...I suspect that my raging tantrums will be back before too long. This may just be a lull in the action, so to speak."
"You don't know that," Trip said encouragingly, but Malcolm shook his head.
"Our large friend went through a similar period back on their ship. Got very calm, lucid…actually seemed to be listening to me for a few minutes. Then he was back to his old lovable self, stronger and more unreasonable than ever. No adverse reaction when you sedated him, was there?" he asked Phlox, bitterness seeping into his ragged voice.
After exchanging glances with Archer and Tucker, the doctor spoke. "He was unconscious and near death when—"
"Not bloody near enough," Reed huffed. There was an awkward silence before he spoke again. "Sorry, Doctor," he sighed hoarsely. "Guess I'm just not feeling very charitable at the moment. You were saying…?"
Phlox gave him a fatherly smile. "Apology accepted. I was saying that he was unconscious when brought aboard, so there was no reason to sedate him at that time. Your phase pistol apparently did some damage after all—the life support system of his EV suit shorted out. That, combined with the fluid building up in his lungs and his other injuries, helped take the fight out of him. But you do make an excellent point, because we did eventually administer drugs to him without adverse effects before finding out that he had this stuff in him. The unknown chemical is in both of your systems but his blood shows a smaller quantity. I suspect that his body processes the drug differently."
"Smaller quantity?" Trip asked. "Soo...he gave himself a smaller dose of the same stuff?"
Reed shook his head. "I didn't see him administer it to himself. And trust me, if the initial effects are the same for them as they were for me I would have noticed."
"It's possible that he used it before your encounter with him began and it has had more time to work its way out of his system," Phlox offered.
"I want to see him," Jon said in quiet anger before moving to the G'l Benai's bed, Phlox hustling to follow.
"Seeing him won't be a problem but he's still unconscious, so questioning him may have to wait a little while longer."
"If he's unconscious why are his eyes open?"
Startled by the captain's discovery Phlox rushed to check the G'l Benai. Concern clouded his face as he studied the display over the bed. "His vital signs are becoming very erratic—we may be losing him." Alarms started sounding as if to confirm the doctor's suspicions; the G'l Benai began gasping desperately for air and convulsing.
Jon stepped away as medical personnel converged on the patient, studying the alien as Phlox fought to save the warrior. As with the rest of his body, the leonine man's bandaged hands were far larger than those of any Human. His fingers were not only large but seemed unnaturally long, with each section between the joints not quite the length of Archer's entire thumb. Where fingernails would be on a Human, small slit-like folds of skin were visible at the end of each finger: there was no sign of the long claws T'Pol had told them about. His toes were far shorter than his fingers but they also had the skin-slits. His eyes returned to the man's face as the convulsions faded, his attention lingering a moment on the headset. In case it wasn't a translator he'd already asked Hoshi to see if she could find information about their language from the Vulcan Database as soon as she finished the padd for Saunders. Now he wasn't even sure that the alien would live long enough for the ensign to put her talents to use with him.
As Phlox worked to stabilize the man Malcolm's gravelly, venom-filled voice pulled Archer's attention away from the warrior and back to the man in the bed behind him. "Let it die," the faint voice growled. Archer faced his Armory Officer in shock. Reed's fury-filled eyes were black as night as he glared at the alien in the next bed. "Let it die," he demanded more loudly, forcing his trembling body to sit up on the edge of the bed. Trip reached over from the opposite side of the bed to keep him from standing but Malcolm angrily cuffed away the engineer's hands with a growl. Rage and disgust filled the lieutenant as the massive head lolled toward him, glassy, uncomprehending alien eyes half-open and mouth agape as air rattled in and out of the G'l Benai's lungs.
In one fluid movement Malcolm effortlessly rose, seizing the chair from alongside his bed and raising it to club the G'l Benai. Phlox moved to shield his patient but Malcolm showed no sign of even noticing the doctor's presence as he swung the chair. "LET IT DIE! LET IT DIE!" he screamed over and over as Jon intercepted him and managed to wrench the chair from his hands. Trip reached across the bed to grab Malcolm while Archer dodged what would otherwise have been a devastating punch from Reed's cast-encased right hand. Ensign Pierce entered the fray, joining Trip on the opposite side of the bed and hauling the bellowing, livid man across the bed as Archer shoved Reed away from the doctor and helpless patient. Jon felt a small but strong pair of hands grab his arm and yank him from between the beds, Crewman Atkinson's voice filling Sickbay.
"LieuTENant!" Her shrill voice cut through Malcolm's screams of rage and silenced her superior with startling efficiency. He glared at her a moment before ceasing his struggles against the men holding him, realization of what he'd tried to do slowly showing on his face. Miranda remained planted firmly between the captain and lieutenant, braced for any further attack from the man on the bed. For half a minute the only sounds aside from medical equipment were those of the men breathing heavily from their exertions and the strained, rattling gasps of the G'l Benai. Malcolm began trembling fiercely.
Pierce tapped the commander on the shoulder and motioned him away. Trip grudgingly complied, watching with concern as the orderly gently helped the unexpectedly docile lieutenant lay back in bed.
"Oh God, oh God," Malcolm moaned softly. "My God, what have I done? What have I become?" Still shivering he laid on his side, curling into a ball. Finding himself staring at the alien in the next bed he closed his eyes as Pierce and another orderly positioned themselves at either side of him. When the captain motioned them away they went only as far as the wall behind the head of the bed and stood ready to intervene. Archer laid a hand on Atkinson's arm and she stepped aside, hesitating briefly before moving to the foot of the G'l Benai's bed but keeping her eyes on the lieutenant a few more moments. Malcolm flinched at the touch of Archer's hand on his shoulder.
"Malcolm…it's all right," Jon tried to console him. "You didn't know what you were doing. It wasn't your fault."
Malcolm almost laughed. "That's just it, sir," he croaked softly. "I did know what I was doing. I just didn't care. It's as if it's all instinct and impulse, gratification without regard for consequences." He opened his eyes to study the cast covering his hand and wrist. "My God, I might have injured you, maybe even killed you. And that's what I wanted to do. Strike out, inflict some damage. Would have preferred our friend in the next bed, but just so long as there was someone on the receiving end it didn't really matter. Any carnage will do." He looked over at Phlox and the now-stabilized warrior, whose eyes had drifted closed, and sighed. The shivering eased back to mild tremors before he slowly sat up and addressed his CO, his decision made. "Captain…you have to put me in the brig."
"I'm not going to lock you in the—"
"I'm a risk, sir!" Reed snapped loudly, then took a breath to steady himself. "Until this damned stuff either wears off or can be neutralized I am a danger to everyone around me. Surely you must realize that! You have to confine me before I try to hurt anyone else, and I strongly doubt that merely sending me to my quarters will be effective. Sir…please," he pleaded. "You have to lock me in the brig!"
"Even if the captain were inclined to do that," Phlox chimed in, "I would not allow it. You are injured, ill, and need to be monitored, so you are staying here. The orderlies will be close by, as will I. And if the situation becomes too desperate we have security personnel close by and restraints at the ready. It was a nice try, Lieutenant, but you're not getting out of Sickbay just yet." He offered a faint, comforting smile, which Reed slowly struggled to return before laying back down.
Jon took a long look at the man huddled on the bed, wanting to comfort him and knowing that no words or actions would ease Malcolm's suffering. Still, he felt he had to do something. With great care Archer covered Malcolm with the blanket, speaking in a whisper. "You're probably sick of hearing this, but try to get some rest. I'm going to go check on Saunders." As the captain disappeared behind the curtain on Malcolm's left and the doctor walked away, taking the orderlies with him, Trip retrieved the chair and sat down beside Malcolm, drawing the curtain enough to block his friend's view of the G'l Benai.
Uncomfortable with the tense silence the engineer at last spoke, his voice hushed. "Gotta hand it to ya, Malcolm…ya sure know how to liven up a place." Reed silently shot an incredulous look at his friend. "Most guys," Trip continued, "woulda been content to just get in a couple punches, but not you. No sir, you've gotta start rearrangin' furniture. Sooo…chairs as weapons. Is that some fancy European thing that I'm unaware of? 'Cuz I don't recall ever hearin' about any of those old-time duels involving recliners at twenty paces. And I think I would remember readin' about the Knights of the Round Table using armchairs during jousts." He was pleasantly surprised to hear a genuine though hoarse laugh.
The lieutenant's weak voice cracked as he spoke. "No Mistah Tuckah, it's not a 'European thing.' I suspect it's an indication that I've been spending far too much time around you Yanks." He laughed again then fell silent as a puzzled expression spread across his face.
Trip's smile faded. "Sorry Mal, I wasn't thinkin'. Prob'ly hurts for you to laugh."
Reed shook his head. "That's just it, Trip—it doesn't hurt. I've got seven broken ribs and two holes in my midsection, fore and aft, and I'm not even sure what else that furry bastard did to me. It should hurt like hell to laugh but it doesn't. My heart's going like a jackhammer, my head is throbbing, my throat's shredded, I feel as though I've a few million insects crawling just beneath the surface of my skin, and every muscle in my body is screaming, but…" His voice trailed off and Trip waited patiently for his friend to continue.
"I remember what I did over there," Malcolm said at last. "When you first came through that door I attacked you. I forgot that you were trying to get me out of there—I was sure more of them had shown up and I was determined to fight them off. Wanted to fight, even with this," he added, holding up his injured hand. "And a few minutes later I grabbed his sword and tried to use it on him. On all of you," he admitted with shame. "And the ribs, the stab wounds, the hand—I didn't feel any of it. Hell Trip, I still had his dagger sticking out of my arm and that didn't even hurt.
"It's like I've discovered some unique level of hell, Trip. How can I not feel broken bones and knife wounds yet still be in such agony?" he asked, voice trembling with the effort of reining in his emotions. "And that's not even counting what's happening to my mind. I truly believe I'm going mad."
"You gotta stop thinkin' like that, Malcolm. You're not going mad, it's that damned drug old furface shot into ya. Once that's outta you're system you'll be good as new."
Malcolm dubiously shook his head. "I'm not so sure of that, Trip. Back on their ship I could have injured or killed all of you with that bloody sword. I knew that…the whole time I was trying to get at that damned behemoth part of me knew I was putting you all at risk, but it didn't matter. I didn't give a damn about any of you—all that mattered was slitting that monster open and watching his entrails pour out of him. And what just happened a few minutes ago…I desperately wanted to kill the bastard, and if I had to go through Doctor Phlox or Captain Archer to do it, that's what I was going to do.
"Trip…I've never been more afraid in my life. I'm terrified of the thoughts I'm having, the things I'm imagining doing. The things I know I'm capable of doing. You have to talk to the captain. Please, Trip…he's your friend, he'll listen to you. I'm. Going. To. Hurt. Someone. You have to convince him to lock me up before something terrible happens. Please. You have to persuade him to put me in the brig before it's too late."
Tucker shook his head. "Malcolm…even if I wanted to talk him into doing that, his mind's made up, and so's the doc's. It's not gonna happen. I know you're frustrated, and I know you're scared. We're scared, too. Dammit, we almost lost you over there, an' even now that we've got you back all we can do is stand around an' watch you go through this. I didn't think I could feel more helpless than I did when those doors closed over there, but this is worse. At least on that ship we could try to help, work on ways to get you guys out. But just waiting around for this stuff to work its way outta your system, not able to do anything to make it better…" As gently as possible he laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We're not gonna lock you up, Malcolm. The doc's right. You need to be here, where he can keep an eye on you, make sure that crap in your bloodstream doesn't do anything worse to you. He's gonna keep tryin' to find a way to counteract it, and you know how persistent he can be. We're not giving up, Malcolm, an' you shouldn't, either. I know you're strong enough to get through this." The lieutenant sighed, unhappily resigned to the situation, and Trip sought to reassure him. "Like Phlox said, he's gonna have the orderlies stick around, plus there'll be some of your people here keepin' an eye on our guest, so they'll be able to help if needed. An' don't forget," he added with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, "Phlox promised to use the restraints if you give him too much grief."
That brought momentary laughter and a smile from Malcolm. "Ah, yes…God bless the restraints," he quipped hoarsely, sighing more happily this time as he shifted position. He quickly grew thoughtful as he met the engineer's eyes. "You mentioned trying to figure out how to get us out…so how did you finally get those damned doors open?"
"Couldn't have done it without our fuzzy buddy's help," Trip confessed with a nod toward the G'l Benai sleeping behind him. "When he decided to take you into their Armoury he apparently forgot that we were watching. Once we saw how he accessed the door controls the rest was pretty easy, though I gotta admit that it's a lot harder to find the right panel in the ceiling when you're on the outside of the door. We'd been looking for one like you an' Saunders found on your side but the bastards put the one on our side flush with the ceiling, and the seams were damned near impossible to see so it took a little extra searching before we spotted it. But once we did find it and made sure it wasn't boobytrapped—"
"Boobytrapped?"
"Yeah. We figure that when you guys went down that corridor you triggered a defense system that had a separate power source from the rest of the ship. T'Pol thinks that the console that blew up on their bridge was sabotaged, so we were worried that the door controls might have been rigged, too. Fortunately we didn't find any surprises waiting for us. Of course, before we could do anything we had to find the closest spot where we could use the transporter so we wouldn't have to shinny up and down the turbolift shaft. Turns out that whatever shielding or dampening field they've got on that Battledeck of theirs doesn't actually extend through the entire deck. T'Pol did some tweaking on the sensors and found a spot down the corridor from you, near the turbolift. And getting the doors open apparently weakened or deactivated some of the shielding so we didn't even have to take you guys all the way back to our original transport site."
"Please give everyone involved my sincerest thanks...and my apologies for not giving them a more hospitable welcome."
"I'll pass it along," Trip assured him with a twinkle in his eyes. Malcolm smiled at his friend; the smile quickly faded, though, as he first gasped then screamed in agony as the muscles in his legs cramped simultaneously. Trip looked around desperately for the doctor. "PHLOX!" Yanking the curtain aside Archer left Saunders and hastened to Reed's side, unsure what to do.
The Denobulan raced to the bed. "Lieutenant?"
"Cramps..." Reed gasped as he sat up, reached for his calves and screamed again.
Phlox motioned Trip to the foot of the bed began issuing orders. "Take his right ankle and straighten his leg. Captain, you do the same with the left leg. Push his toes up toward his shins."
"NOOoo!" Malcolm squealed as the men warily obeyed, his protests slowly dying as the cramps began to loosen. "Oh godohgodohgod..." He laid back, gasping for breath as his calves kept trying to re-cramp.
Expert hands explored his legs as Phlox felt the miscreant muscles. "Mr. Pierce, go to the storage locker and get two large towels and a blanket from the linen warmer, and please be quick about it. Captain, Commander, keep holding his feet in position and with your other hand you're going to use the tips of your fingers and press here," he pointed to the plumpest part of the back of Malcolm's calves. "And don't be timid. Keep applying pressure...it may take a few minutes but you should be able to feel the hardness subsiding. When Mr. Pierce returns you're going to help me wrap the towels around Mr. Reed's legs. Malcolm, with your hyper-stimulated senses there's a chance the heat will cause some discomfort, but please try to bear with it."
Reed nodded and swallowed hard, his voice shaking. "It started to let up as soon as they moved my feet, but if they let go I think it'll start up again." He was shivering violently, teeth chattering as if he were freezing.
"Don't worry, Malcolm," Archer assured him. "We're not gonna let go. We've got you." Pierce came racing back with the linens and stopped alongside Phlox and Trip.
"Thank you Ensign. Commander, lift his leg a little more, please," Phlox instructed as he took a towel from Pierce, "and you'll need to remove your hand from his calf to help me position the towel." Malcolm flinched and bit back a shout as they wrapped his right leg. "Excellent...please lower his leg and resume pressing on the calf, Commander. When you feel the muscles begin to relax please begin gently massaging the back of his leg." Taking the other towel from the orderly Phlox moved to Archer's side of the bed. "Your turn, Captain. The same as Mr. Tucker, please." By the time they had the towel around Malcolm's left leg Trip was slowly, gently rubbing up and down on the back of Malcolm's wrapped leg. Phlox took the blanket and draped it over Malcolm, encouraged that the trembling was subsiding.
"Trip?" Malcolm spoke timidly. "Could you...use a little...more pressure? Please?"
"Sure thing, Mal. Wasn't sure if it would hurt to press too hard."
Reed shook his head, his voice strained. "No. Feels good. Think the heat's...working it's magic. It's just...a little embarrassing...asking for a massage...from my superiors."
Trip looked at the others with a smirk. "Oh yeah...he's feelin' better. Almost good as new." Archer shook his head with relief as he too began rubbing Malcolm's left calf, mimicking the slow, steady rhythm that Trip had begun. Both men tried to stifle their relieved smiles at Malcolm's moans of relief as the muscles continued to relax.
Letting his head drop to one side, Malcolm looked over at Saunders—or what he could see of him. The curtain was still partly drawn so he could only see the crewman's blanket-covered form from the hips down. He thought he remembered catching a glimpse of the man when he'd first been brought to Sickbay but his memory of it was cloudy from whatever had been shot into him. Out of necessity he had been strapped to the exam table despite his still having most of the EV suit on—the memory of that was vivid, as was the memory of him screaming about Saunders being dead. They'd told him the crewman was still alive as Saunders had been bustled off to surgery but he hadn't believed them; sure that they were just trying to placate him, he'd been deafeningly vocal and embarrassingly vulgar with his accusations that they were lying to him. But Trip had carefully, firmly, desperately seized his face and stared deeply into his eyes as he'd lain there. "Malcolm, I swear to you he's alive. He was still breathin' when we found him, and he's still breathin' now." Those passionate blue eyes would not have lied to him. As improbable as it seemed, Saunders must have still been alive, because Trip had said so. Even so, even knowing that Trip hadn't—wouldn't—lie to him, it still seemed an impossibility.
He had to ask again. "He's still alive, right?" His eyes were still riveted to the crewman's legs.
The smirk blossomed into a full smile as Trip kept massaging. "Yep. Like I told you before, Irish granny and British grandpa. Lucky and stubborn. Sorry," he corrected after a moment, humor in his voice, "I forgot. Determined, not stubborn."
Malcolm risked a soft chuckle before growing somber again. "I want to see him. I need to talk to him."
Archer shook his head. "I was just over there, Malcolm. He's still unconscious. Phlox says he's not going to be able to talk for a while because of the damage, so Hoshi's going to bring a padd for him to use once he wakes up. You can talk to him then, okay?"
No, it bloody well wasn't okay, but he somehow kept from screaming his objections—it would be unseemly to bellow 'go to hell' at his captain, after all—and instead nodded as he kept staring over at David's feet. Part of him understood: they were no doubt trying to protect him. They'd all seen what it looked like to get bitten by one of those things, after all, and Saunders had gotten worse than an ear bitten off. Hell, part of him didn't want to know how bad it was, but another part had to know. "Is it...I mean...it's pretty bad, isn't it? That's why you won't let me see him, isn't it, sir?"
Archer's hand hesitated then resumed its careful ministrations. "He looks a lot better than I thought he would," he admitted. "I think I kinda let my imagination run wild for a while...kept envisioning the worst. It's bad, but not as bad as I expected it to be." Probably best to not hold back too much. "There's a breathing tube, an IV, and some bandages on his throat and his left cheek. He's getting a transfusion right now, and will likely need another in a little while. But Phlox thinks he's out of the woods."
"Indeed I do," the doctor confirmed as he first felt and then scanned Malcolm's legs. "If it's all right with the lieutenant I think you can stop now, gentlemen. Thank you for your assistance." They looked at Malcolm, who nodded.
"It's all right...they've stopped. I can't thank you enough for your help." He looked at Phlox, trying to hide his fear. "That's not going to happen again, is it? I don't think I could bear another bout of cramps like that."
"I wish I could say it wouldn't," Phlox answered with regret, "but I honestly don't know. Regrettably, it's a distinct possibility, but I'm sure I have some massage pads—we can wrap them around your legs and the pads provide gentle, continuous vibrations to help keep the muscles relaxed." He motioned to the curtain behind Archer. "Captain, would you mind, please?" With a silent nod Jon drew the curtain closed, blocking Malcolm's view of David's legs. "I'll go check the storage locker for those pads." The doctor had only taken a few steps when a loud yawning moan from the G'l Benai stopped him in his tracks. Changing direction he started toward the alien but froze as the felinoid's heterochromic eyes, pupils nearly normal, met his gaze.
Slowly raising his left arm, he paused to briefly study the dressing on his hand and experimentally flexed his fingers before reaching to gingerly touch the headset he was still wearing. Satisfied that it hadn't been lost or removed, he lowered his arm. "Hmm," the alien hummed in puzzlement. "You are Denobulan," he observed in his own language, speaking slowly to give the translator time to do its job. "I had not expected that. How long have you been kept prisoner by these creatures? Do you wish me to kill them for you so that you may regain your freedom?"
"I am not a prisoner," Phlox informed him. "I am here of my own volition, serving as the ship's chief medical officer. And no, I most certainly do not want you to kill them."
Looking past Trip and fixing his sapphire/jade eyes on Malcolm, the warrior spoke with a trace of admiration in his deep voice. "He is far more…resilient…than I would have thought possible for a Human. I did not expect him to endure the stimulant for this long. It should have killed him far more quickly than this."
"Stimulant?" Phlox asked curtly. "What kind of stimulant? What's it supposed to do?" The G'l Benai gave a derisive snort.
"It is a standard-issue combat stimulant, used when battles become…extended. And it is doing what it is supposed to do. It heightens senses, increases strength, stamina and alertness, and helps dull the pain of battle injuries."
Phlox was incensed but controlled his anger—barely. "And why exactly did you administer it to this man?"
The warrior shrugged, his jade eye squinting slightly. "It was an…impulsive act. Difficulty controlling impulsive behavior is an unfortunate side effect of the drug. It takes a measure of discipline to prevent the animal mind from overpowering the rational mind and my control…lapsed…for a moment. I had promised him a quick death—usually I would have used my sword or rifle, but the voices of the fallen suggested using the stimulant. They thought it unfair that our enemy should be granted a virtually painless death when their deaths were neither swift nor painless. But I had already promised him a quick death, so I had to find a way to satisfy the will of the fallen while still keeping my word. Once the idea of using the stimulant was in my mind I was unable to dismiss it. Having heard stories of the physical frailty of Humans, I was certain it would kill him quite rapidly. I must have miscalculated the dosage," he added as he looked at Malcolm. "I apologize."
The doctor was rendered momentarily speechless by rage, but he knew he still had to do his job. Storming over to the G'l Benai's side he fixed an icy stare on his patient. "Judging from the results of your blood tests you administered it to yourself as well. When did you do that?"
"When I realized that my captain's ship had been boarded I knew I would eventually have to engage the intruders. Such a confrontation would not have been possible without another dose of the stimulant. So I administered a half-dose just before that one blew up Tactical Station," he grinned, motioning to Malcolm.
"Another dose?" The doctor was incredulous. "When did you take the first dose?"
"When these soulless cowards attacked my captain's ship I was injured. When the decision was made to lead the survivors away my captain needed someone to stay behind, to provide cover fire for the transports, and to try to protect the fallen. I administered a full-dose to myself at that time so that I could do what my captain required of me. My battle-brother did the same."
"These people are not cowards," Phlox defended his crewmates, "and they had nothing to do with the attack on your ship. Now, how long does it usually take for this stimulant to work its way out of someone's system?" Phlox asked.
The alien tilted his head, thinking a long moment before speaking. "Not my ship. My captain's ship. As for the stimulant, there are many variables to consider. Size of the dose, size and physical condition of the warrior, battle conditions—these must be taken into consideration. I know of some cases where it lasted only a few hours and a few instances where the effects remained for days."
"DAYS?" Malcolm screamed, trying to leap from the biobed. The orderlies stationed near Reed's bed expertly seized the howling lieutenant, straining to keep him in bed as he fought against them. "YOU HAIRY BASTARD, I'LL KILL YOU! LEMME GO!" he commanded the orderlies, who had been joined by Phlox, Jon, and Trip in the fight to keep him in bed. As they finally pinned him down he bellowed incoherently, the coarse, prolonged howls drowning out all other sound.
"LIEUTENANT!" Archer shouted at the struggling man to make himself heard, "you've got to try to calm down!"
"GO TO HELL!" Malcolm shrieked at the top of his lungs, black eyes blazing with rage as he glared murderously at Archer. He strained and struggled desperately against the arms holding him down. Phlox began strapping him to the bed, the orderlies doing all they could to help without losing their grip on the growling, combative man.
"NO! LET GO OF ME! LET GO OF MELETGOOFMELETGOOFMEEE!" Spent at last, Malcolm stopped screaming and lay trembling on the bed, gasping and grunting for breath as he strained against the straps. The men who had restrained him were breathing heavily as well, winded from their efforts.
"You should do as he asks," the G'l Benai cooed, his voice seductively soft and deep. "Let him come so that I may fulfil my promise and grant him a quick death. He has earned the right to die on his feet."
The doctor glared at him. "That is not going to happen. Now, tell me how to neutralize the stimulant," he demanded.
"To the best of my knowledge it cannot be neutralized. It must be…endured." Loud frustrated growls spewed from Malcolm as he struggled anew against the restraints.
"There must be some way," the doctor insisted angrily, "something that can be done."
The warrior squinted as he offered a faint, malicious sneer to the doctor. "You could try shooting him with one of those tiny toy guns he is so fond of. That might help."
Phlox gave an angry, exasperated sigh; before Archer could speak Trip exploded. "What the hell's wrong with you! We came here to help you people an' all you've done since we met you is try to kill us! I'm beginnin' to see why somebody'd wanna attack you!"
"Trip, that's enough," Jon warned quietly but Trip plowed ahead.
"As far as I can tell, you folks deserved what you got."
"Commander!" Archer snapped. "Enough!"
They all watched uneasily as the G'l Benai slowly sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, glaring down at the engineer. "Deserved? We…deserved?" he snarled, his deep voice menacing. Atkinson's hand rested on her holster as Phlox moved to the alien's side in an effort to calm him.
"You need to lie down," he told his patient sternly, placing a hand firmly on the man's shoulder. "The last thing I need right now if for you to re-injure yourself or create any more patients for me to put back together." Their eyes met and the G'l Benai's ears slowly folded back against the top of his head. Drawing his lips back he growled, looking down at the doctor's hand as if it were an offensive insect perched on his arm. Cautiously withdrawing his hand Phlox backed away and the growling stopped. For the briefest moment the only sound was that of Malcolm struggling futilely against the straps pinning him to the biobed, the restraints creaking in protest.
Ears still flattened back, the angry alien turned his attention back to Commander Tucker. "You say we 'deserved'. Clarify," he demanded, his deep voice deceptively calm but rage clearly visible in his black, narrowed eyes.
Trip folded his arms across his chest, unintimidated. "I don't hafta 'clarify' anything to you, Snowball," he shot back smugly, satisfied that he'd obviously struck a nerve.
Ominous rumbling emanated from deep within his chest as the G'l Benai's eyes opened wide. With lightning speed he leapt from the bed, seizing Tucker just above the elbows and hoisting the engineer into the air until the men were at eye level with one another. Atkinson drew her weapon but was knocked to the floor alongside the now-vacant biobed as the behemoth struck her with the engineer.
"Let go of him!" Reed and Archer demanded simultaneously, Malcolm's ragged voice almost drowning out that of his captain. The alien ignored them, pulling Trip closer until their noses were almost touching. Tucker dangled motionless, gasping in pain as the warrior's claws extended from the skinslits of his fingers, digging easily through Trip's uniform and piercing the flesh beneath. Trip stared wide-eyed at the G'l Benai's massive face, the creature's rumbling voice filling the room and vibrating through his whole body.
"CLARIFY!" the warrior roared as he gave the man a powerful, excruciating shake. "You claim your people's attack on us was justified. Explain! Of what crime was my daughter condemned that she should be killed before she had begun her fourth year of life?" Silence filled the room until the distraught warrior continued, his voice trembling with rage and grief. "What atrocities did my other children commit against you that they had to die before drawing their first breath? Were their crimes were so heinous that they had to be slain while they still dwelt in their mother's womb? What did they do to you to deserve this? CLA…RI…FY!" Trip could only shriek in reply as the claws dug deeper into his flesh and the G'l Benai shook him again.
Archer tried to intervene. "We didn't have anything to do with the attack on your ship. We came to help you, and we can still do that if—"
"You tell the same lies as that one," the warrior snarled, motioning with his head toward Malcolm. "There was a moment on my captain's ship when I almost believed him." He turned his attention to the lieutenant, emotion filling his voice. "I saw you when you reached the bottom of the lift shaft. Watched you crouching over their shattered bodies, knowing I could do nothing to protect them from whatever desecrations you would commit against them. But you did nothing to them, made no move against them. It was almost as though you were showing…respect to them. So when you spoke to me of helping us, I hesitated. I deluded myself into thinking that it might be so.
"I almost believed you," he repeated. "The stimulant must have clouded my judgment more than I realized, for even after witnessing the savagery of your species with my own eyes I almost heeded your words. Thank The Ancestors the voices of the fallen helped clear my thinking—I know now that your words were falsehoods and deceptions. And I know now what you were doing as you crouched over them. You were gloating," he accused in disgust. "Admiring the handiwork of your people. Planning what sort of trophies to make of the bodies." Reed shook his head in stunned, silent protest but the warrior merely sneered at him. "Perhaps their teeth and claws will make suitable jewelry for your mates and offspring," he suggested bitterly as his attention returned to the still dangling engineer. "I'm sure their hides will make fine blankets, or perhaps rugs for your bedchamber. Their heads will no doubt adorn the walls of your living quarters if they do not already. And you can point to your trophies and brag to your guests of your glorious battle against frightened children and slumbering old women."
"No one is going to do anything like that," Archer interrupted.
The alien glared down at him. "This one," he replied, giving Tucker another painful shake, "has shown me the true nature of your species. You are savages…animals…you celebrate the murder of elders sleeping in their beds and cheer the killing of children." He dug his claws still deeper into Trip's flesh, enjoying the pain he was inflicting. Until something solid nudged into the top of his skull.
"I am very sorry for your loss," Crewman Atkinson said, sympathetic but firm. "Now put…him…down." Standing on the biobed, she held her position as the G'l Benai turned his head toward her slightly and began growling. "If you don't put him down," she calmly announced over the growling, "I'm going to have to shoot you, and I'm pretty sure that this 'tiny toy gun' will have a lot more of an effect on you now that you're not wearing that armored EV suit of yours."
The growling abruptly ceased. Tongue gliding out of his mouth and across his nose, he appraised the woman before speaking. "You think I fear you?" he snorted indignantly.
"I think you're at least as afraid—and as angry—as you were back on your captain's ship. I also think it is well past time for you to put. Him. Down."
He looked back to Trip, black eyes still filled with menace. "It is not finished between us," he snarled before flinging the commander backward across Sickbay, not entirely retracting his claws as he did so. Ignoring the doctor and captain as they rushed to help the injured man to the exam table, he instead studied his bloody claws and fingertips then began licking the fresh blood from them. As the doctor cut away the commander's sleeves and tended Tucker's wounds the warrior stared with disgust at the engineer. He spat the blood onto the floor before looking at Atkinson, who was still perched on the biobed. An almost genuine smile spread across his face. "If you were not Human it might be possible for me to like you. Your courage is splendid—apparently even savages are able to possess some admirable qualities. It almost saddens me that you will soon die with the rest of them. But at least yours is worthy blood. Not like his," he observed, aiming another glare at Tucker and spitting on the floor again.
"Atkinson," Malcolm hissed hoarsely as he renewed his struggles against the restraints, "Get away from him…now."
The G'l Benai laughed. "Your mate thinks I intend to kill you. Indeed, I could. Easily." To prove it he spun to face her and seized the hand holding the pistol. Their eyes locked. "And perhaps I should," he said softly, gripping her hand firmly, claws slowly extending and retracting as his eyes almost dared her—or possibly pleaded with her—to pull the trigger. She stared back, startled but unflinching. "Perhaps I should," he repeated even more softly before letting go. "But even knowing what my fate will be at the hands of your vulgar species, I choose not to do so."
"What exactly do you think we're going to do to you?" the captain asked, taking a step forward. The movement distracted the warrior; Atkinson took advantage of the diversion, gracefully stepping backward off the opposite side of the bed. She kept her weapon trained on the alien as he took a step toward Captain Archer. Jon calmly stared up at the huge leonine man as the G'l Benai glared down at him with contempt.
"Who are you?"
"I'm Captain Archer."
"Ahh," he sneered at Archer, "the little ghallas has finally come out of his burrow."
The captain smiled faintly, motioning for Atkinson to lower her weapon. "You haven't answered my question. What do you think we're going to do to you?"
"I have heard the stories regarding your people. You…capture your enemies," he snarled with disgust. "Shackle them. Cage them. You force them to remain alive, for your amusement. I thought the stories to be exaggerations, but now I know they must be true. Creatures who celebrate the deaths of children and the murder of elders are capable of…anything. You shackle even your own people," he growled, motioning to Malcolm. "Am I to believe that the same fate does not await me?"
"No one here wants to shackle or cage you," Archer said earnestly.
"SPEAK FOR YOURSELF!" Malcolm shrieked, then squeezed his eyes tightly shut as a fresh wave of tremors wracked his body. "Damn it," he murmured in a shaky, coarse voice. "Damn it, damn it DAMN IT!"
Jon stared at Reed a moment before speaking to the G'l Benai again. "The opinions of my Tactical Officer are not the same as mine," he stated calmly. "And I'm sure you'll agree that his behavior and judgment have been adversely affected both by recent events and the drug you gave to him."
The man stared down impassively at Archer. "On the effects of the stimulant at least, we can agree, though I tend to think that if anything it has perhaps made him more honest about your true intentions."
"We came to help," the captain insisted again but the alien wrinkled his nose in disgust.
"Your words are as empty as your hearts," he replied. "Your people take captives and shackle even your own. You kill children and old women and revel in their deaths. When my people come they will avenge us."
"Your people said they weren't coming, remember?" Reed snapped gleefully, straining against the straps .
"They said they could not assist," the warrior corrected. "They did not say they would not come." He smiled smugly at the shocked silence. "When my people come they will board this flimsy vessel. The Denobulan may escape harm—to my knowledge his people have never sought to harm the G'l Benai. The children and elders will be spared as well, for we are not savages, but the rest of you will be killed." He turned his attention to Trip before continuing, eyes narrowing. "And when you are all dead my people will stand amid your broken, lifeless bodies, scrubbing your unworthy blood from their blades, and they will say to one another, 'These creatures…deserved what they got.'"
Before Archer could reply another agonized scream erupted from the lieutenant as all the muscles in his legs seized simultaneously. Back arched as much as the restraints would allow, his legs strained against the straps as excruciating cramps tried to force his legs into the fetal position. His vital signs leaped above their already-dangerously high levels. Phlox directed the orderlies to the bed and they began trying with limited success to again relax the muscles with pressure points and massage.
Knowing he could do nothing more for his patient Phlox strode angrily up to the G'l Benai. "There must be some way to counteract its effects!" the Denobulan demanded in a murderous tone, shouting to make himself heard over the screams. " Tell me how to help him!"
"I have already suggested a way to help him, but you refuse to do it." As the cramps subsided on their own and Malcolm's cries faded the G'l Benai studied first the lieutenant then at the curtain around Crewman Saunders' bed at length before asking, "Which will kill them first—lack of food or lack of water?"
"I beg your pardon," Phlox snapped indignantly, "but what kind of question is that?"
"A valid one. When the rest of this vessel's crew is dead and you have been removed there will be no one to care for them. My people will not harm them—it is not honorable to slay those in such a helpless state—but they will not render aid either, for they are enemies of the G'l Benai. They will be left as they are. With no one to tend to their needs and unable to do so themselves they will succumb either to hunger or thirst. I want to know which will claim them first."
"I see no reason to satisfy your morbid sense of curiosity," Phlox replied coolly, "and I have absolutely no intention of being removed. Gentlemen," he addressed the captain and commander," I think it would be best if you left now."
"You will not be given a choice, Denobulan. Or perhaps more accurately, your choice will be to either be removed alive with the elders and children to eventually be returned to your people, or stay and die. As for these two...their fate will worse than that of the others," the warrior observed aloud as he motioned to his fellow patients. "A shame that the only ones among you who have earned honorable deaths should instead die flat on their backs, shackled and helpless. Perhaps my people will take pity on you," he told Reed. "If they shut down life support in this section it would bring death in hours or sooner, rather than days or weeks."
"Doctor," Malcolm said as calmly as his hoarse, shaking voice permitted, homicidal jet-black eyes locked on the alien, "get these bloody straps off of me, now."
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant, but I can't risk having you doing any further damage to yourself." Seeing Archer and Tucker still standing there Phlox escorted them to the door, giving them a firm nudge out the opening when they hesitated.
The G'l Benai's voice wafted through the doors just before they closed. "If they vent the atmosphere from this section after disabling life support it would only take a few minutes for you to die," he 'assured' Reed. "That would surely be more merciful, would it not?"
Jon knew that Trip wanted to march back into Sickbay to confront the alien—hell, so did he—but they had to return their attention to repairs. When Trip remained rooted to the spot the captain guided him away from the door with a firm hand on his friend's back. Before he could bring himself to discuss the ship, however, there was one thing he had to know.
He dropped his hand from Trip's back and stopped to look at the engineer. "Snowball?"
Trip looked sheepishly at the floor then back to Archer. "Yeah…I dunno, it just kinda…jumped out. My sister has this big white cat, and he can be annoying as hell, and…"
"And his name is Snowball," the captain finished, shaking his head. "Mind telling me what the hell you were thinking?"
"I wasn't thinking," the engineer admitted angrily, without regret, "I was pissed off. I mean, you've seen what Malcolm's goin' through because of him, and the smug bastard is enjoyin' it. Plus what he did to Saunders, and the ship. So yeah, I admit it, it felt kinda good to rattle the furball's chain a little."
"Did it still feel 'kinda good' when he got his hands on you?"
"Not so much," Tucker sheepishly admitted as he looked down at the bandages on his upper arms and surveyed his ruined uniform. He gingerly touched one of the dressings and winced.
"I almost lost two men to him already, Trip," Archer scolded crossly, "and antagonizing our guest almost made you number three. Not to mention how much harder it's going to be for me to persuade him we're not his enemies now that he's convinced we're glad that his family was killed. That little dust-up you had with him didn't exactly make my job any easier, even if it did make you feel kinda good." He sighed from frustration and exhaustion, fleetingly scrubbing his face with both hands. Time to change the subject. "I need you to concentrate on repairs. We need the engines up and running, and we need them sooner rather than later." He started down the corridor, Trip falling into step beside him.
"We'll prob'ly have impulse back within an hour, but warp's gonna take a couple more hours, at least."
"We may not have a couple more hours, Trip. We have no way of knowing when our guest's comrades are gonna start showing up, but it's a safe bet they'll be in a very bad mood when they get here. So far we've just been damned lucky that they haven't already gotten here. Now I don't know about you, but I don't think our luck's gonna hold out indefinitely. Do whatever you need to d—"
Another of Malcolm's heart-stopping animalistic screams, coupled with roars from the G'l Benai, came through the closed doors of Sickbay and filled the corridor. Both men froze for an instant, racing back toward Sickbay when the sound of objects being thrown and broken joined the screams. Atkinson's desperate shouts rivaled the primal noises coming from the lieutenant.
Jon and Trip were still several meters from the door when they heard a phase pistol discharge twice.
{}{}{}{}{}{}{}
The scene that met them wasn't entirely what they were expecting. An overturned chair and the contents of an instrument tray were scattered about the room. One orderly, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, was helping Phlox up from the floor; Pierce was crouched next to Malcolm, who was out cold and crumpled on the floor near the doctor. The G'l Benai was seated on the end of his biobed serenely taking in the spectacle while a shocked-looking Atkinson, phase pistol still drawn, couldn't seem to decide whether to keep her attention on the alien or the unconscious lieutenant.
"Phlox…what happened?" Archer asked, reaching out to help steady the doctor.
The breathless Denobulan rubbed his throat with one hand as he answered shakily. "I wouldn't have thought it possible but the lieutenant…broke loose." Jon and Trip looked first at the still form of the Armory Officer then at the bed he had recently occupied. Some of the restraints hung uselessly from the side of the bed; others, torn entirely from their moorings, had dropped to the floor.
Phlox knelt next to Pierce, still shaking his head in disbelief as he checked his patient. "Incredible," the doctor muttered. "The restraints might as well have been made of paper." He looked up at Atkinson. "Crewman, are you alright?" She nodded mutely, all of her attention now on her CO as she holstered her weapon.
"I want to thank you," Phlox continued. "I'm not sure what I would have done without your assistance."
She stared at Phlox. "But…I shot him," she whispered in disbelief.
The doctor nodded. "I know," he said sympathetically, "but if you hadn't acted when you did—"
"I. Shot. Him," she repeated softly, as if afraid the lieutenant would hear her.
"It was the only way to make him let go, Miranda." Phlox motioned to the orderlies. "Help me get him back in bed."
The G'l Benai hopped from the bed and strode over before anyone could react. Wordlessly crouching next to Malcolm he sniffed at the still form before carefully lifting him and placing him almost tenderly on the bed. Looking at Phlox he bowed respectfully then stepped back to his own bed. Perching on the foot of the bed he swung one leg over so he was straddling the bed, then smiled smugly. "I told you shooting him might help." Phlox fought to ignore the comment as he scanned Reed.
Jon tore his gaze from Malcolm to look at Atkinson, who had a worried, sickly look on her face as she continued staring at her fallen CO. "What happened, Crewman?" he demanded gently.
She turned to him; it took a few seconds for her to form a reply. "Lieutenant Reed…he kept demanding that the doctor let him loose, and when Phlox wouldn't do it he broke free and…he grabbed Phlox by the throat." She stared into Archer's eyes, clearly still rattled by what had happened.
"We heard the G'l Benai, too," Trip observed softly, casting a cautious look at the seemingly placid alien. "He cause any trouble?"
Miranda shot a disgusted glare at the warrior. "He never made a move…just sat there roaring like he was cheering on his favorite rugby team while the lieutenant was…" Her features softened and she looked suddenly ill. "The lieutenant wouldn't let go of the doctor, and we couldn't pull him off…I didn't know what else to do, sir." Her eyes returned to Archer then she looked down guiltily at her phase pistol. "I shot once…he kind of flinched, and he looked at me, but he still had a death grip on Phlox so…I shot again." The doctor stepped over to her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Phlox, I didn't...I mean, he's not...did I hurt him? He's not—"
"He's unconscious, and no, you didn't hurt him. In fact," he admitted grudgingly, "his vital signs appear to finally be leveling off."
A condescending snort erupted from the G'l Benai. "Hah! You see?" he motioned accusingly at the doctor. "I was right—shooting him did help."
Trip angrily took a step forward but Jon shoved him back toward the door as the warrior slid from the bed and glowered down at the engineer, hissing and baring his teeth as his ears flattened against the top of his head. "Commander Tucker," the captain said sharply, "I want you to get back to those repairs. And get a fresh uniform." Trip hesitated only an instant before silently stalking out of Sickbay. Once the engineer was gone Archer turned his full attention to his 'guest'. "What's your name?"
The warrior fixed a disdainful glare on the captain. "A name is an important thing, a sacred thing. Something not to be cast about carelessly, and certainly not to be disclosed to savages who lack the ability to comprehend the importance of such things. Despite the admirable qualities of a few of your people you are still animals, creatures without honor. Those without honor cannot be trusted."
Archer returned the stern, unwavering stare with one of his own. "Well for right now we're stuck with each other, whether we trust one another or not. I can understand your misgivings but we are not your enemies. My name is Captain Jonathan Archer. It would be helpful if I knew what to call you. So far the only suggestion I've gotten in that department came from Commander Tucker, but I'm not sure how appropriate it would be to keep calling you 'Snowball'. Unless of course that name is to your liking."
The G'l Benai stiffened, indignation radiating from him. "I am Koshneer Third Tactical," the alien rumbled, glaring down into Archer's eyes. "And Ancestors willing, I shall be your executioner."
Return to Top