6

Trip felt torn by opposite forces. He was drawn towards Lizzie, yet something held him back.

Suddenly, the smile on the young woman's face was replaced by an expression of surprise. "Elizabeth?" Trip wondered. "What's going on?"

"I'm afraid it will have to be another time, Trip," she replied. "You're going back."

"Going back where?" Trip blurted out. "I want to see what's over there!" And he pointed to the bright light and melodious music in the distance.

"You will, one day, Trip," Lizzie said, her voice getting distant, her features fading. "I love you."

"Elizabeth!" Trip cried out, reaching out towards his sister. "You can't do this to me!" But the distant bright lights were no longer there, and the music had gone. The fog had returned and was thickening around them once again.

"I'm sorry, Trip," Malcolm said in defeat. "I really don't know how to get us out of this fix."

And then Malcolm was gone, and things started to swirl. Trip felt caught in a vortex. He lost all bearings. The eddy was dragging him towards a distant, small hole of light. He clenched his jaw and closed his eyes tight. This was it. If they hadn't been dead before, surely, they were going to be in a moment!

And then there was sound. There were voices. They hit him with force, after the cottonwool world he'd been walking in.

He's coming round, someone said. He knew the voice, just could not place it. He opened his eyes and found himself in Sickbay.

"You gave us a good scare," Jon said, squeezing the shoulder of his Chief Engineer. The relief of seeing Trip conscious washed over him, taking away some of the tension of the past few days. Now, all they needed to archive this latest misadventure was for Malcolm to respond to Phlox's cure too…

"What happened?" Trip croaked, his voice rough with disuse.

"You were injured while investigating that alien ship. There was a defence mechanism, you were infected with some pathogen." Seeing Trip's blink in confusion, Jon gave his shoulder another light squeeze. "It's only natural for you to feel a bit out of the loop, Trip, you've been unconscious for a couple of days. But that's all in the past now; rest and get well soon. Your engineers have been… missing you." He had wanted to say working around the clock, but Trip was in no shape to shoulder any additional worries. He'd learn about the damage suffered in the recent battle soon enough.

"I…" Trip rubbed two fingers on his furrowed brow. "Yeah, that ship…" he said after a moment.

He seemed to be straining to remember, so Jon reassured him, "Things will gradually come back to you, don't worry about it now."

That's when Phlox returned to his patient with a hypospray, and as he turned to him Trip caught sight of the next biobed.

"What happened to Malcolm?" he asked, his frown deepening.

Jon turned to cast a look at his Armoury Officer. "He… got infected too," he said, eyes on the deck plating, for how that had happened and why was another piece of information he didn't want to give him just yet. He settled for, "He's had a worse reaction, because of his allergies."

"Mr. Reed is stable, and I am sure he will get better soon," Phlox said soothingly. "There is no reason why the antidote should not work on him as well." He put the hypospray to Trip's neck and injected whatever was in it.

"I thought… I thought I had caused his death…" Trip murmured, as if lost in some distressing recollection.

"You haven't," Jon said. Hopefully I won't have either, he silently added.

Trip's eyes drooped closed and his head lolled to one side. Jon looked alarmingly at Phlox.

"Nothing to worry about, Captain. His vital signs are getting stronger by the hour," the Doctor reassured. "Rest and sleep can only be good for him."

Jon nodded. "Take good care of them, Doc."

"Of course, Captain."

Trip worried the edge of his sheet. He had finally been told all that had happened to Malcolm and him, and he was still trying to decipher the images that were popping unbidden into his mind. They were so vivid, so real that it was difficult to discount them as a dream. He looked at the next biobed. Trust Malcolm to put his life on the line for him. His friend was still unconscious, and he felt his heart constrict, reliving the angst he had experienced in that field of fog, when he had been convinced that he had caused his best friend's death. "Come on, Malcolm," he muttered, "give us a sign that you're with us." A muscle in Malcolm's face twitched, and then his head moved slightly. "Doc!" Trip called out.

"What is that?" Malcolm asked the man who looked like his great uncle. He pointed to the lights and music in the distance.

"That's-" Suddenly, the man cut himself off. A few moments passed. "Ah," he said, "I'm afraid I can't really tell you, son. You're going back."

"I'm afraid you've lost me entirely, whoever or whatever you are," Malcolm countered coldly. He had seen more than his fair share of deceptive tricks and inconceivable things, during their mission, this must be just one more.

In response, the man gave him a fond look. "Before I go," he said with a wink, "I want you to know that you've made me proud."

"Proud," Malcolm repeated deadpan. "How so?" he enquired with a sarcastic huff.

"That time your ship got struck by a mine." The man gave a firm nod. "You're a fine officer."

Malcolm wilfully pushed the idea that this might really be his great uncle aside. "And I believe you're just a figment of my imagination," he stubbornly insisted.

"A Reed all right," the man repeated with an impish smile. "We'll meet again one day," he then added seriously, as he gradually began to vanish.

Then the fog closed in again, the vision was absorbed into it, and Malcolm found himself caught in a whirlwind that swept him off his feet.