Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 30 Jan 2004 23:08:24 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: daria@ameritech.net (Daria) 
 

Title: Loss

Author: Daria

Contact: Daria@ameritech.net

Series: ENT

Part: 5/8

Rating: [PG-13]

Codes: Tu, R, A 

Summary:  When an away mission goes wrong, a friendship is damaged,
Archive: ASC*

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, so naturally I'm not making
any money off them. Please do not link directly to this story without
asking.

***

Archer put the padd down on the table beside his bed. He was trying to
concentrate on routine ship's business, but he couldn't keep his mind
focused.  His determination to find out what had happened on the
planet kept intruding.  He had been tempted to insist that Trip tell
him immediately, but the engineer needed medical treatment, food, and
rest. He could have asked Hoshi and Travis, but they hadn't mentioned
anything in their debriefing and he was fairly certain they didn't
know anything beyond what they had told him.  Both ensigns had been
shaken by the events; he'd given them a few days off-duty and he
didn't want to bother them if he didn't need to. Neither would admit
it, but they'd been very frightened to be arrested, and by what had
happened to Tucker and Reed. Speaking of Reed...

"Archer to sickbay."
     
"Yes, Captain?"

"How is it going down there?"
 
"It's almost precisely the same as it was fifteen minutes ago when you
asked. Lieutenant Reed is still asleep, and will be for some time
yet-- I've sedated him rather heavily. Commander Tucker did finally
come to sickbay, but refused to stay here.  I imagine he is in his
quarters..."

"Thank you, Doctor."  Archer was a little embarrassed to be acting
like a mother hen, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.  He picked
the padd up again, determined to finish reading the most recent
evaluation of sensor efficiency, but was happy to put it down again
when he heard the door chime.
      
"Come in," he called, expecting T'Pol. She had the somewhat
disconcerting ability to sense when he was troubled, and frequently
showed up at his quarters on those occasions to inquire about his
well-being. He hadn't given her many details about what had happened
to the away team-- he had none to give-- and he knew that, despite her
insistence to the contrary, she was curious.

He was surprised when the door slid open to reveal Trip. 

"Commander. Come in. I thought you'd be sleeping."  'Which is exactly
what you should be doing,' Archer mentally added. The engineer looked
terrible. Although he was now clean and in a fresh uniform, Trip's
appearance had not substantially improved. He was pallid, the paleness
more noticeable because of his bruises. Although he was trying to
stand straight, he was hunched slightly to one side, and looked ready
to topple over at any instant.

"No, sir. I thought you might want to conduct the debriefing now."

"Trip, really this can wait until you've had some sleep, some food..."
 Archer beckoned his friend in, gesturing at a chair.

"I've had both," Trip said. "Not a lot, but enough. I'd really like to
get this over with."  To Archer, the engineer sounded... haunted.  It
was obvious Trip needed to tell his story. And on some level Archer
was pleased. His own curiosity would finally be satisfied.

"Okay, Trip. Go ahead."Archer reached over to the computer and hit a
button to start recording .  "After-action report. First contact-
Dorlog. Date 20 May 2152. Interview with Commander Charles Tucker."

Trip took a deep breath, and released it slowly.  In a few minutes,
everything would be changed.  He dreaded talking, but he was desperate
to alleviate the gnawing pain that was eating at him, occupying his
every thought. But as much as he wanted to get the debriefing over
with, he was unsure how to begin.  He took another deep breath, and
forced himself to begin speaking.

"First of all, this is all my fault. I was in charge of the away team.
I wouldn't listen to Malcolm when he warned me about the merchant, and
then... well..." Trip hesitated so long that Archer didn't think he
would continue.  "Captain," the anguish in Trip's voice was palpable,
"I betrayed Malcolm."

Archer didn't understand what his engineer meant.  "Trip," he said
gently. "I'm sure that isn't true.  Why don't you start from the
beginning, and tell me exactly what happened." Archer rose and went to
his desk to flip on his water heater.  Almost instantly it reached a
temperature hot enough to boil water. He put a mug of water on it, and
when it boiled he dropped a tea bag in, and set it aside to steep. He
prepared another mug similarly, and then returned with the tea to sit
across from his friend.  Archer added some honey to his beverage, and
offered the jar to the engineer. Trip shook his head. He refused to
meet the captain's eyes.

"Now, Commander, why don't you try starting from the very beginning. 
You arrived on the planet..."

Trip didn't look up. "Yes, sir.  As you know, we landed on Dorlog
safely.  I decided that leaving the shuttlepod at the Central
Shuttleport without a guard was fine.  I argued with Malcolm about it
for a while."

A ghost of a smile crossed Archer's lips. Of course. Malcolm would
never have willingly agreed to leave a shuttlepod unguarded in a
public place, regardless of the apparent safety of the area.

"...and then we started walking. I left Hoshi and Travis to shop while
Malcolm and I..." Trip allowed the memories and images he had been so
desperately fighting to return.  He began to speak, remembering...


//// The shuttlepod landed so gently Trip barely felt it make contact
with the ground.  "Nice job, Travis,"  he declared, rising and
clapping the helmsman on the shoulder.  "We'll make a pilot outa you
yet!"

Mayweather grinned, used to the engineer's teasing.

"Come on, gang. The market is about a fifteen minute walk from here."

"Commander--"
  
"Malcolm, I don't want to hear it.  This place is safe. We have
permission to visit. This is a shuttleport.  It is meant for leaving
shuttlepods."

"It is not a good idea to leave it here, unsecured. We should leave
someone with it," Malcolm  insisted.  He had lost this argument back
on Enterprise and hence he had not been allowed to bring one of his
security officers.

"Like who? Want to leave Hoshi here? Or Travis?"

Reed held his ground. "It might be best if either Travis or I do
stay--"  Travis looked decidedly unenthusiastic at this idea, but he
didn't need to worry.

"Lieutenant, this discussion is over. We-- all of us-- are going to
the market. Now, come on, and quit ruining the fun."

Malcolm didn't say anything more, appearing resigned to the situation.
Trip thought his friend must have become accustomed to being accused
of being paranoid and overridden on security matters. Still, he gamely
continued to insist they pay attention to security concerns. Trip
smiled inwardly.

It was a beautiful day, and Trip enjoyed the walk.  He noticed that
even Malcolm's mood lifted. The air had an amber glow, caused by some
atmospheric condition Trip didn't understand, and it gave everything a
warm glow that was both unusual and very pleasant. Travis and Hoshi
were talking, and laughing, enjoying themselves and the opportunity to
visit a new world. Trip picked up his pace a little and joined them.

"Okay," Trip announced a short while later, while studying his
scanner. "We're only a few minutes from the market.  Hoshi, Travis, I
want you to stay out in the main square. Go ahead and take a look
around, see if there is anything that might be of interest to us.
Hoshi, talk to the people, see what you can pick up of the language. 
We'll come get you once we've found this shopkeeper.  Malcolm, come
on."

Reed looked unhappy again at the idea of splitting up the team, but he
kept silent.  Hoshi and Travis started toward the main square while
Trip viewed his scanner, checking the directions and information they
had been given about the shop they were to visit.

"Looks like it should be about one hundred meters... this way." Trip
started off, his eyes alternately watching the device in his hand and
looking up for the shop.
 
"What is the name of the gentleman we're meeting?" Reed asked.  He was
looking sharply around, alert to anything out of the ordinary.

"Cooman. Supposed to be some sort of trade negotiator. The captain
heard if he can't get something we need, he can direct us to someone
who can.  Apparently he runs a trade co-op of some sort."  Trip looked
up at the buildings lining the square again.  "There! I think that's
it... I guess I should have kept Hoshi with us after all. I guess I'll
just have to ask inside."

"It looks rather abandoned," Reed noted. Most of the shops surrounding
them were well lit and crowded with shoppers. Not Cooman's shop.  Trip
noticed that Reed was looking around even more carefully, observing
the people in the area; the armory officer looked uneasy.

"Commander, are you sure this is the right shop? They don't seem to
have anything much to offer..."

"Let's take a look inside."  Trip wasn't too concerned. The shop they
wanted would not be likely to draw casual shoppers or tourists.  He
rang the bell to the shop.  As  he waited for answer, he noted that
Reed was still standing on the walkway and hadn't approached the shop
door.

"Malcolm, are you coming in?"

"Sir, I think it would be wise if I waited out here. I'd like to keep
an eye on things." Reed said quietly.

"Lieutenant, I do not want to offend our host by implying we don't
trust him and we need to post a guard.  Now come on, already! I'd like
to get this done and have time to pick up some souvenirs in the
market."

"Sir--"

"Lieutenant," Trip sighed. "I know it is your job to be cautious. I
do. And I appreciate it. But you're driving me nuts. Get up here."  No
one had responded to the ringing bell, so Trip turned and opened the
heavy door to the shop, and stepped in.  Shaking his head unhappily,
Reed followed.

The interior of the shop was dark, and it was cool inside. It wasn't a
comforting coolness, as some old shops have, but was a musty, damp
feel that was clammy and unpleasant.  Trip looked around, wondering.
This was a shop that was supposed to have advanced technological parts
for sale? He felt a small warning in the back of his brain, but he
pushed it aside.

There were two men in the shop, both behind the counter. From the
corner of his eye, Trip saw Reed's expression tighten, and Trip felt
his own personal alertness increase a notch. There was something about
the expression on the alien faces that puzzled him; Trip couldn't
place the emotion. The beings spotted their new customers, and the
expressions quickly changed, smoothing over.

Trip approached them, making a concerted effort to remain relaxed. 
"I'm looking for Merchant Cooman. Might one of you gentlemen be him?"

"I'm Merchant Cooman."  The shorter of the two aliens leaned forward,
tapping himself on the shoulder. The aliens were humanoid, about the
height of humans but very broad chested, with arms that hung in a way
that was, to human eyes, disjointed.  Their skin was a tannish color,
except for their ears which, to Trips amusement, constantly seemed to
be changing color.  Later he would realize that the changes reflected
mood.  The alien faces were broader, their eyes set at what would
nearly be the temples of humans.

"Pleased ta meet ya, Merchant Cooman," Trip replied.  "I think our
captain spoke to you. We'd like to make some arrangements for some
supplies we need, mostly repair parts.  We heard that you were the
person who could get them for us."

The merchant moved forward, and Trip was struck by how awkward his
movements seemed.  He saw Reed step back to better study the second
Dorlogian, who had remained quiet and still.  Trip could see from the
way Reed moved that the tactical officer  was in full alert mode. 
Trip tried to ignore his crewmate while continuing to talk to Cooman,
explaining what they needed, but he was interrupted.

"Commander!"

"What, Malcolm?" Trip asked in exasperation.

"Could I speak with you for a moment?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something here, Lieutenant."

"Sir, it's important."

Trip shook his head. "If you'll excuse me Merchant Cooman." 
Irritated, Trip strode over to the armory officer.  "What is it?"

"Sir, we need to get out of here. Now. Something is wrong. Something
is going on-- that other man may have a weapon."

Trip considered. "You sure?"

"Not entirely," Reed admitted. "I saw something in his hand, but
couldn't tell precisely what it was.  But every instinct is telling me
we should get out of this place."

"I appreciate your caution, Malcolm.  It will only be another moment. 
I just want to place our order, and we can leave."

"Sir, we really should get out of here. Perhaps we can return later,
when things have settled down."
  
"I'm not leaving without ordering the stuff we need. So hold your
horses."

"I'd like to wait outside, keep an eye on things."

"No," Trip said, not knowing why, other than the fact that he was
annoyed with the armory officer. "You stay right where ya are."

Malcolm turned red, but he fell silent. He continued to keep a wary
eye on the merchants.  Trip considered that as annoying as Reed's
paranoia might be, the armory officer might have a point. They were in
a strange place, and it might be wise to bear that in mind.

"Commander? Is that how I should address you?" Cooman asked
hesitantly.

"That'll do fine," Trip smiled.  

"You're asking for some very interesting items. Not my normal stock at
all.  Do you mind my asking if you have any... affiliations... I
should be aware of?"  As he spoke the shopkeeper glanced nervously at
the silent man by his side.

"Huh?" Trip was puzzled. "We're from Starfleet-- that's an
organization on our home planet.  Is that what you mean?"

Cooman smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, I don't mean official
government organizations.  I was just wondering if there was anything
else I should know about your... employers?  So I can adjust my record
keeping accordingly?"

 Trip simply gazed back at him, unable to determine what the
shopkeeper was attempting to communicate, but Reed, who had stepped
closer to hear the conversation, understood immediately.

"Commander,"  he said in a low voice, "he's referring to any
underground type organizations. He wants to know if he needs to keep
this transaction in separate books- books that probably aren't ever
shown to their planetary authorities."

Cooman smiled broadly, relieved that his message had finally gotten
through. "Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. I don't deal in that sort
of thing myself. But some of my customers  like to keep all their
activities... private.  And these items," Cooman glanced down at the
list Trip has supplied again, "could draw some attention."

"It's not a problem for us, Merchant Cooman," Trip reassured him.

"Very well then--"

"Commander!" Reed spoke urgently again. "Something is going on in the
square. It's being overrun with police officers, and--"

"No!" Cooman cried. "Not today!"  Frantically the merchant began
gathering up the books on the counter. "Quick, out of here!  Get out
of here!"

Trip was too surprised to respond immediately, and then it was too
late.  The door to the shop was pushed open with such violence that it
swung forward, hit the wall, and bounced back. Before it could close
again, several of the policeman from the square had entered.

"This is a preventive security sweep.  Everyone out," the officer in
the lead announced.

Reed and Tucker stood stunned, while Cooman began babbling.  "Of
course, officers. We're coming right out. Please let me put my books
away and lock up--"

"No time, Merchant.  Who are these men?" the policeman gestured at the
Starfleet officers.

"Customers, Officer. Just customers."

The second Dorlogian had been standing silently behind Cooman
throughout.  "Who is this Cooman?"  the officer demanded.  The
merchant turned a shade that Trip could only guess was the equivalent
to 'pale' in humans.

"Oh, he's a customer, too."  Cooman continued speaking swiftly, trying
to reassure the police officers.  Trip could hear the commotion
outside. Glancing out, he saw that everyone who had been in the market
was being loaded into vehicles.  He looked for Travis and Hoshi, but
couldn't see them.

"All right, I haven't got all day," the officer who seemed to be in
charge bellowed.  "Everyone out to the vehicles. We'll sort this all
out at the Center."

"Excuse me," Trip interjected. "What Center? We're visitors here. We
have permission to visit. If you let us return to our shuttlepod,
we'll be going."  As he spoke they were herded outside.

"No exceptions. You were in the market when a preventive sweep was
conducted, you have to get verified.  Come on."  The officer was
hurried. He knew it would be a long day. He hated the preventive
sweeps.  It took so long to get everyone to the Center, process them,
feed them, and finally get the identity verifications started. He
wouldn't be home until late. With these thoughts distracting him the
officer moved toward the Dorlogian who had remained silent behind the
counter and grabbed for his arm, hoping to move him more quickly out
of the shop.

Trip didn't see precisely what happened inside the shop at that point
from his vantage point just outside the door.   Hearing the sound of a
weapon charging, he spun around to see the Dorlogian merchant, whose
name he had never learned, holding a weapon pointed levelly at the
police officer, who was now on the ground.

"I'll be leaving now," the alien commented coolly. He raised the
weapon to point it at each of the officers in turn,  backing slowly
away.  He reached behind him to open a door behind the counter that
Trip guessed led to an exit.  Without ever taking his eyes off them,
the Dorlogian stepped back through the door, and pulled it closed.

Immediately two of the officers pursued him. Trip suspected they would
never find the man. He had been too calm; he obviously had an escape
plan.

Instantly the attitude of the remaining  police officers changed.
While before they had simply been performing a routine chore, they now
found themselves in what could be a dangerous situation. They had
stumbled on to something big.  The officer closest to Trip grabbed for
the engineer's arm, pulling him roughly away from the vehicle that
only a moment ago he had been urging him towards.  Trip reacted
instinctively.  He yanked his arm free and took a step back.  The
response from the edgy officer was immediate. A stick came down on
Trip's head, hard, and the engineer crumpled into unconsciousness.////

***

"I guess Hoshi and Travis saw it happen.  I don't know what happened
to Malcolm."  Trip stopped and took a deep breath.  He reached for his
tea and took a deep swallow.  He winced at the heat against his still
sore throat, but took another swallow before continuing.

"When I came round, I was in the cell. I had a splitting headache.
Everything was blurry. Malcolm was there, too. He was okay. Mad as
hell, but okay. Not like..." he choked on the words and couldn't
finish the sentence.  "I thought they'd come question us, and things
would get straightened out.  But it didn't happen like that."
  
Trip stopped again, looking down at the carpet, unable to meet the
captain's eyes.  Archer could see anguish on his face, and when he
finally looked up was Archer saw the despair in his friend's eyes.

***

Reed stirred slightly, his sleep restless, and Phlox moved immediately
to his side. The doctor had been keeping a close eye on the lieutenant
since the earlier nightmare. By the time the doctor got to the biobed
that first time Reed had quieted, and the doctor decided against
waking him, but he had no intention of letting his patient suffer that
sort of terror again. Reed's blood pressure and pulse had skyrocketed,
and in his weakened condition he didn't need that sort of stress. 
This time though there was neither pain nor fear in Reed's voice when
he began to speak in his drug-induced sleep. There was only sorrow and
grief.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," the injured officer mumbled. "Please,
I tried.  I'm so sorry..."  Phlox reached out, but Reed quieted again,
leaving Phlox to stare at him and wonder.

***

"A Dorlogian, a guard or police officer, I don't know which, came and
asked us our names.  We told him, of course.  Told him we were
visitors, that we'd been granted permission to visit-- but he wasn't
interested.  He told me he to follow him. They left Reed sitting there
in the cell. They knew I was senior. I told them-- and they could see
the rank." Trip paused.  "Captain, can I have a glass of water?"  He'd
finished his tea in a few long gulps.  Archer nodded and wordlessly
got the glass of liquid. He didn't want to speak and interrupt Trip.
He wasn't sure if his friend would be able to get started again.

"Thanks, Captain.  Well, they... they took me to this room..."  Trip's
hands were trembling, and he was sweating.  "It was cold. That was the
first thing I really noticed.  Then I saw that they had the
merchant--Cooman was his name-- there, too.  I thought that would be
good. He could vouch for us as his customers, ya know? But then I saw
that he was scared, real scared.   Another Dorlogian came in, one I
hadn't seen before..." Trip shuddered at the memory. He was staring
into space, not looking at Archer, not even really seeming to be fully
aware of the captain as he relived the memory.

***

////  "Tucker?"  

Trip nodded assent cautiously. "Yes, I'm Commander Tucker."

"I'm Corzac, Director of the Dorlogian Protective Forces Special
Security Unit.  I have a few questions to ask you."

"All right," Trip replied, still cautious.

"First, who are you? I know your name, but who do you work for?" the
Director asked calmly.

"As I told that guard back there, I am from a planet called Earth. I
belong to an organization called Starfleet," Trip replied.  Why did he
have to keep repeating this information? His head hurt badly from the
blow it had taken earlier, and it was making him irritable.

"What is the purpose of your Starfleet? What is your position in it?"
the Director ignored Trip's tone.

"We're explorers. We just explore space. Look for people we haven't
met before. Like you Dorlogians."  Trip was starting to feel a little
more relaxed. These seemed like routine enough questions.  "I'm the
Chief Engineer for our ship.  We enjoy meeting new people." He paused,
and then added, "We told your government all this, when we filled out
the visitor forms. We have permission to be here, you know.  And to
talk to your merchant."

"Ah, yes, Merchant Cooman. How, exactly, did you select Merchant
Cooman to visit?"

 Trip wondered that very thing himself. "I don't really know,
Director. My captain and our science officer arranged the meeting. I
was just told who to meet, and where."

"Well, I have to tell you, Tucker, that I find that a little odd. You
arrive from a place I've never heard of, and you visit a merchant well
known for trafficking in illegal goods, among other things, asking how
to find certain supplies that are pretty rare-- at least on Dorlog. 
So forgive me if I find this all rather curious."

Trip shifted uncomfortably. Hearing it that way, it DID sound rather
suspicious. Corzac was staring at him intently with the barest hint of
a smile. Trip didn't like the smile at all. It was predatory.  He
shivered.  "I'm afraid I don't know what else to tell you, Director.
Everything I've told you is the truth."

"Is it? Tell me, what organizations is Starfleet aligned with?  Are
they part of any larger conglomerates?"

Trip wrinkled his forehead in confusion, and wished he wasn't feeling
so lightheaded. He could sense the danger in this conversaion, and
knew that he needed to tread carefully. But it was hard to focus. He
was starting to feel a little nauseous, and suspected he had a
concussion, if not a more serious head injury.  "Conglomerates? We're
not part of any conglomerates. We don't have any other organizations
we're aligned with... well, maybe the Vulcan High Command. But we're
not really aligned with them. We just... well really they give us
advice. And sometimes tell us what we should do..."  Trip realized he
wasn't explaining well, and knew he wasn't helping his cause.  "They
have more experience in space travel, so they advise us.  Sometimes. 
But that's all."  Trip reached up to touch his bloody head and winced.

Corzac stared at him for a few seconds more, and then abruptly turned
away, beckoning for one of the two guards in the room.

"I believe I'll speak to Merchant Cooman now. I'm interested in seeing
what he had to say.  Bring him over here, please." The director turned
back to Trip.  "Commander Tucker, you might wish to reconsider what
you're willing to tell me."

Trip watched as the guard walked the terrified merchant over to the
director. Corzac smiled at Cooman, and Trip was again struck by the
wrongness of the smile.

"Good day, Merchant Cooman," the director began smoothly.

"Good day, Director," the merchant squeaked, his ears a bright yellow.

"Merchant Cooman, you heard what Mr. Tucker said.  I have to tell you,
I'm not convinced I trust him. But as one Dorlogian to another, I have
faith that you'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

 Cooman nodded vigorously, eager to gain the Director's favor. 

"Very good. Tell me, Merchant, how did you meet this man?"

"He walked into my shop today, Director."

"Had you ever met him before?"

"No, Director."

"Had any arrangements been made for him to meet with you?"

"No, Director."  The director nodded and flipped his hand at the
guard. Without warning, the guard delivered a vicious blow to the
merchant's face.

"I don't think I believe you, Merchant. I'm not sure I believe
everything the commander is saying, but I don't think he found your
shop by accident. So I ask you again, had any arrangements been made
to meet with him? Or anyone else from this Starfleet?"

 Cooman nodded, his face a study in misery.  "Yes, Director. As he
said, his captain contacted me. Or rather he contacted a friend of
mine who couldn't help them, and referred them to me. My friend told
me it was likely to be a very... lucrative... exchange for me.  I was
told to expect aliens from a place called Earth to visit the shop.
That's all, Director. Really."

The director nodded slowly, and Trip shivered as the tiny half-smile
reemerged on the alien's face.  "Merchant Cooman, who else was in your
shop when the police officers arrived for the preventive sweep?"

 The merchant's face dropped, and his ears went pale.  "Pardon,
Director?" His voice had gone up another octave.

The director flicked a finger, and the guard delivered another
crushing blow to the merchant, who cried out in pain, and raised his
hand to his face.

"Don't play games with me, Cooman. Corman was in  your shop. That was
him, wasn't it, who escaped? How is it that the head of the largest
smuggling conglomerate in this part of the galaxy just happened to be
in your shop at the same time that these 'visitors', who claim to be
from another part of space were?  That seems like more than
coincidence to me."

It seemed that way to Trip, too, but he didn't think it wise to say
anything.

"I know, Director!" the merchant cried. "But I can't explain it! It
was a coincidence... and I didn't know that the other customer was
Corman. I run a reputable shop! I don't--" he was interrupted by
another punishing blow, this one to his belly. He gasped.

The director studied him, and then glanced over at Trip, seeming to
suddenly remember the Starfleet officer.  He looked back at the
merchant.  "I'm sorry, Merchant Cooman. I don't think I believe you.
I'm sorry you aren't being honest with me; I'm afraid I'm going to
have to become more insistent."  He motioned to the guard. The
merchant was yanked from his seat, and the guard pulled him to the
other side of the room.

The director turned his attention to Trip.  "You see, Mr. Tucker, I
really find it impossible to believe your story. Let me tell you what
I think. I think you had arranged to meet Corman at Cooman's shop.  I
think it was your intention to exchange information with him. Perhaps
you weren't even interested in purchasing supplies. Perhaps you had
something to sell him? Weapons are very scarce and controlled here on
Dorlog.  There are factions who would do anything they could to get
their hands on powerful weapons, such as your ship has.  Dorlog is at
a strategic location in this sector, and there are those who would
like to gain control of our trade market."  There was a cry of pain
from the merchant on the other side of the room, but Corzac ignored
it. "So I guess what I want to know is why, exactly, you were meeting
with one of the most powerful criminals in the sector at the shop of a
man that has been known to sell technological secrets to criminals,
and to facilitate all sorts of illegal activities. I'd really like to
know."

"So would I," Trip muttered.  His head was snapped back by a blow to
his chin.

"I think I would take this conversation a little more seriously, if I
were you."

Trip nodded, and as he looked at the director's cold, cold eyes, he
knew fear.  Corzac seemed satisfied, and he turned and went to the
second guard who had, until this point, remained silent and
motionless.  The director spoke quietly-- Trip couldn't hear the
words-- and the guard nodded, his eyes never leaving his superior's
face.  When he was finished speaking, Corzac left without a backward
glance.

The guard came to Trip, his face expressionless. "I need to ask you
several questions. Make it easy on yourself, and just tell me the
truth."  Trip sat silent.

***

The guard asked him the same questions the director had asked, over
and over. He answered honestly; he truly knew nothing about any
smuggling rings, any plans for a large weapons sale, any planned
insurrections. He couldn't give them the information they wanted, but
they remained unconvinced, and each of his  denials brought another
blow.  He could hear Cooman being questioned as well. Trip had been
feeling foggy even before the questioning, and now the repeated blows
to his body were making it hard for him to hold onto consciousness. 
He could hear Cooman pleading with the guards to leave him alone.

"I'll tell you!" the merchant moaned. "I'll tell you everything."  

"You have my undivided attention, Merchant Cooman," the director, who
had returned at some point, purred.

"I didn't know what they were going to do! I swear! I didn't know they
had arranged for Corman to meet them at my shop.  But when they
started talking... they're going to sell weapons off their ship to
Corman... or maybe just give him the technical specifications... I'm
not sure which."

"Thank you, Merchant," the director was pleased. "Of course, I'm still
not sure I entirely believe you.  We'll need you to answer a few more
questions."

***

Trip heard Cooman's statement and knew instantly he was in trouble. It
was obvious to him, and he thought it should be to everyone present,
that Cooman was lying, would say anything to get the abuse to stop. 
However, the merchant had provided the excuse the director needed.
Some of the questions Trip had been asked had made him wonder if
Corzac didn't have an agenda beyond simply catching smugglers. The
director wanted information about Enterprise, and now he had the
perfect excuse to try to get it. Things were about to get very ugly,
Trip feared.  His concern was validated almost immediately as he was
yanked roughly to his feet.

"Mr. Tucker, what exactly can you tell me about your ship's weapons?"

***

Trip lost track of time.  At some point he became aware that he was
screaming, and that he was freezing.   He could hear Cooman screaming,
too, and he wondered what other lies they might have extracted from
the unfortunate man. Trip didn't know if Cooman was a criminal or not,
but he didn't think it was right that he should suffer so much. Trip
himself was fading, awareness slowly slipping away. He was brought
back to his senses with a rough slap just as Cooman fell quiet. The
sudden silence in the room was startling.  There was a flurry of
activity, and raised voices.

"What did you do to him?"
     
"I was just questioning him-- you saw me!"
     
"Were you monitoring him?"
  
"Of course!"

"Well then why is he dead?"
  
"He can't be!"

"He is! He must have had some sort of condition.  Did anyone check?"

"Get the director!"

***

They had killed the merchant. Shock ran through Trip at the
realization. They had been torturing the man relentlessly, having long
since quit asking about Trip or the plan to sell weapons, instead
moving on to asking for information about the smuggling syndicates the
merchant dealt with. He had not been willing to answer, and Trip was
sure the merchant's fear of  the powerful criminals was greater than
his fear of the director-- and they had killed him for it. Perhaps it
was an accident, but he was dead nonetheless. That they could be so
ruthless as to actually torture a man to death frightened Trip to his
very core. He felt somehow responsible.  Surely there was something he
could have done-- made up a more feasible story, or protected the
merchant somehow. The horror of the incident threatened to overwhelm
him, and his beleaguered mind forced the image out of his conscious
mind.

The questioning resumed.////


***

"They were asking me about stuff I did know the answers to, but I
couldn't tell them. Stuff about the Warp Five engine, and about
weapons and such." Trip paused again, trying to catch his breath, not
wanting to think about what he had to say next. He seemed fascinated
by his boots as he continued.

"They decided they really wanted to know about the weapons.  They put
me on a table, and tied me down, and started asking serious questions.
They burned me, Captain.  They had electric prods, and hot metal, and
I don't know what else." His voice cracked, and Archer knew he
wouldn't be able to go on much longer. He reached out a hand and
placed it on his friend's shoulder. Trip's response was violent.

"Don't touch me, Captain! Don't try to make me feel better! You don't
know what I did yet!"

Archer flinched at the violence of the response.  "Okay, Trip," Archer
tried to soothe his friend. "Tell me then."

Trip glared at him, knowing he was being patronized, and hating it. 
Then he dropped his head again, despondent.

"Trip," Archer encouraged, "you're almost there. Just tell me what
happened. It will be okay. I promise you."

"No," Trip replied, in a voice Archer had never heard him use before.
"It will never be okay."

***

In sickbay, Reed opened his eyes. Or rather, he tried to open his
eyes.  "Doctor," he said. At least, that was what he meant to say. It
came out a whispered, "Doc."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Phlox was at his side almost immediately.  
  
"What..."
  
"Hold on a moment, Mr. Reed." The doctor reached down, and with
amazing gentleness for one with such large hands, opened Reed's eyes. 
"The swelling has begun to go down. I'm using one of my favorite
anti-inflammatory balms." He handed Reed a wet cloth. "The balm is
sticky. Rinse some of it off, and you should be able to open your
eyes."
  
"That's better," Reed agreed, gingerly cleansing his eyes. He went on
to rub the cloth softly across his entire face, enjoying the
refreshing feeling. He winced when he got to his jaw.
  
"You cracked your mandible. It should heal by itself in about six
weeks. In the mean time, eat soft foods, or don't chew on that side,"
the doctor told him.  Reed's expression dropped at the thought of soft
food for six weeks, but he didn't argue. He lay still, trying to take
stock of what else might be wrong. Phlox helped him.
  
"You've got a couple of broken ribs, as well as some cracked ones. All
the fingers on your right hand are broken, and you're about as bruised
as I've ever seen a man.  As for these burns..."
  
At the mention of the burns, Reed's face changed. It was only for an
instant, and the doctor couldn't identify the emotion that flashed
across his patient's face. Reed turned his head away, as though tired
of looking at his own battered body. The splint on his right hand
seemed to commandeer his entire attention, and he studied it, picking
at it with his left hand.  He wouldn't meet the doctor's eyes.
  
"When can I leave here?"
   
The doctor considered. "I want to keep you tonight for observation,
and probably a day or two more.  I'm concerned about the shaking your
insides appear to have taken. After that though, there isn't any
reason you really have to stay. You need a great deal of rest, but you
can do that in your own quarters. I can give you something for the
pain, and I'll stop by a few times a day. I don't think you're going
to feel like doing a whole lot until those ribs get a bit healed. I'll
give you some cream for the burns.  But I want your word that you'll
rest."

"That you have, Doctor," Reed said softly.
  
***

"I don't remember really clearly what happened.  There was... it just
hurt so much, Captain. I kept fading in and out.  They kept asking
questions I knew I shouldn't answer. But I did. I couldn't help it; I
just wanted the pain to stop. I tried.... I really did.... Then they
got to questions that were really sensitive- they could have done real
damage to Enterprise. I couldn't have answered some of them even if
I'da wanted to, but I could have given them some info.  And I would
have, Captain. I... I got to the point where I would have told them
anything they wanted to know, if I could have. I've never been hurt
like that." Trip broke off.  Archer watched him as he re-lived the
experience.  "So, the next time they asked me something I couldn't
answer... well I just wanted to make them stop, so I said.... I
said..." Trip stopped, unable to continue, as he tried to choke back
sobs.  He dropped his head with anguish.  Archer waited patiently, not
reaching out this time, knowing how the action would be perceived. 
Finally, when the engineer seemed to be able to talk again, Archer
gently probed.

"What did you say, Trip?"

"I said... I said..." Trip gulped, "I said 'I don't know! Ask Malcolm,
he's the weapons expert!' " Trip dropped his head into his hands and
wept softly, as he remembered.

***

////As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Trip regretted them.
He wanted to take them back, but knew it would be futile. He couldn't
unring the bell.  He lay, shivering, wondering what would happen next.
 No one was touching him, hurting him, at the moment, and that was a
tremendous relief.

After some time, a guard returned with Reed, who immediately locked
eyes with the engineer.

"Commander, are you all right?" he asked, concern  in his voice. Trip
lay silent, unsure of what to say, and he saw Malcolm's face tighten
with anger.  Reed looked around the room, and a hint of fear crossed
the armory officer's face.  The guard who had been tormenting Trip
just a few minutes earlier re-entered the room, and came to face
Malcolm.

"Ah, Mr. Reed.  We have a few questions we need to ask you. I'm sure
you'll be more cooperative than your friend,"  the guard smirked.

Malcolm shot a look at Trip who knew immediately how Malcolm had
interpreted that statement. Trip didn't know why he did what he did
next. He didn't mean to. He hadn't intended on saying anything to Reed
at all. But he was overwhelmed with shame at having provided their
captors with information. He had no idea how they would use it, or how
serious the damage to Enterprise's security was-- but he knew that
Malcolm had information that could be truly damaging in the wrong
hands.  The Dorlogians were intently interested in Enterprise's
weapons, and Trip had just handed them the keeper of that knowledge.
So, without thinking it through, without weighing the consequences,
out of his own panic and regret, he gave an order.

***

Trip watched as Malcolm stoically took a blow to his face, refusing to
answer yet another question.  Trip wished he wasn't here, that he
wasn't seeing this.  His own body hurt terribly, and seeing the damage
being inflicted on his friend was torture in itself.  Malcolm flinched
at another blow, and Trip closed his eyes, not wanting to see any
more. And then he heard it-- a snapping crack. Malcolm cried out in
pain, but then refused, again, to answer the question.  Another
cracking sound, and this time Malcolm screamed. Trip screamed too, for
Malcolm, and for himself.  He had seen too many horrors.  His mind
refused to process any more of the scene.  He faded away, and while he
was gone his mind tucked the images away from him.///
 

***

Archer finally understood Trip's anguish.  To have been forced into
answering questions under torture was one thing-- and understandable.
No one could hold out forever under that kind of pressure. But to tell
the interrogators that Malcolm was a weapon's expert was to sentence
him to the same torture-- and more.  Knowing he was a weapons expert,
the Dorlogians would have not listened to his claims of ignorance,
even if he truly didn't know the answer.  It had been a terrible thing
to do. But Archer knew that even this act was not, as Trip seemed to
believe, unforgivable. No one knew what they might do under that much
pressure. Enough pain would cause any man to crack. And Trip had
suffered. His injuries attested to that.  The engineer was right too,
in that he was partially responsible for Malcolm's suffering. They
undoubtedly would have interrogated Reed in any event, but the
severity of his injuries indicated that their knowledge of his
expertise had doomed him to more aggressive questioning.  Trip would
have to live with that knowledge.

"Trip." Archer spoke in his firmest captain's voice. "Listen to me. 
It was an unfortunate thing. You didn't set out to get Malcolm hurt.
It happened.  No one can predict how they'll behave in that sort of
situation.  Have you ...?"

"I haven't told you everything yet, Captain. The worst part is...  as
soon as I gave up Malcolm, they quit hurting me. But they left me
there.  They went and got him. When they brought him into the room, he
could see I wasn't in such great shape.  He didn't know I had given
him up to them, but he was starting to look a little worried; he knew
it was gonna get rough." Trip stopped, unable to continue for the
moment, but this time he didn't break down.  His voice had gone cold,
emotionless.  "I said to him, 'Lieutenant, don't tell them anything.
For Enterprise's sake.'"
 
Archer didn't respond to this revelation. Trip looked at him, waiting
for a reaction.  When there was none, the engineer shouted, "Don't ya
get it, Captain? He thought that meant that I hadn't told them
anything, so they went for him: he took it as an order. I knew he
would. I made him try to do what I couldn't. That's how he wound up
getting hurt so bad."

Finally, Archer understood the depth of Trip's anguish and guilt. 
Trip's pride hadn't let him reveal that he had been broken, and he had
taken it a step too far. He'd implied to Reed that any information he
gave would endanger Enterprise.

"They left me lying there for a while. I had to lie there, and watch
while they beat him... I can't stop remembering hearing his fingers
break." Trip shuddered. "Then I don't remember too much more.
Everything sort of.... I don't know, exactly. I woke up in a cell
alone, and I couldn't remember what had happened, what I had done. But
I could still hear... they weren't done with him yet. I don't know
what they did after that.  And then I guess I sort of went into shock.
I didn't really remember what had happened until Hoshi and Travis came
in. When they finally brought Malcolm back, I couldn't face him. I
couldn't bear to see what I'd caused."

"So you haven't spoken with him? Back in the cell..."

"No. He doesn't want to talk to me. He hates me, for doing that to
him."

Archer listened, feeling immense pity for his chief engineer. This was
something Trip was going to have to live with for a long time. Every
time he saw Reed it would be salt in a very deep wound. Archer
wondered if it would ever heal completely. He didn't know if there was
any chance to heal the rift betweent the two officers, but knew if
there was any possibility that things could be remedied, he had to get
the two officers speaking, immediately.

***

Malcolm couldn't sleep. After two long days he had been released from
sickbay.  Moving slowly and carefully, he had made his way to his
quarters, thinking he would rest there.   He had been unable to. Every
time he closed his eyes he saw Dorlogian faces peering at him, asking
him questions, insisting he tell them about the Enterprise, her
weapons, and her defenses. So when the door chimed, he was awake.  He
sat up, reaching over with his good hand to hit the intercom. "Come
in."

The door slid open to reveal the captain. Reed began to struggle to
his feet.

"At ease, Malcolm. I don't want to disturb you.  I just wanted to see
how you're doing, and talk to you a bit. How are you feeling?"

Reed sat back down, moving gingerly. "I'm doing fine, sir. The doctor
has taken good care of my injuries."

Reed may have been feeling 'fine', but he didn't really look much
better, Archer thought. He was pale, his black eyes making him look
distinctly racoonish, and his eyes held a glaze that bespoke heavy
pain medication.

"I'm sure he has. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about,
though. I want to talk to you about what happened on Dorlog."

Reed paled even further. He stood back up, grimacing at the effort.
"Yes, sir. I've been expecting this.  I've been working on my After
Action Report." He held out a padd. "It's not quite finished yet, but
most of it is here. I....I'm prepared for whatever penalty Starfleet
deems appropriate."

Archer was flabbergasted.  "You're... what?"

Reed swallowed hard. "I'll waive court-martial, sir. I'm prepared to
accept whatever judgment Starfleet offers."

"Malcolm, I'm not here to... what do you think I'm talking about?"

Reed slowly shook his head. "Captain, I know you're trying to be kind,
but I'd rather not muck about. Is the charge... treason? Or is it
merely disobeying a lawful order?  I know either could be supported,
but if you'll read my report, I think you'll see that I... I didn't
deliberately aid and abet the Dorlogians, sir.  Perhaps the medical
report will serve as enough mitigation that they'll be willing to only
go with the lesser charge..."
   
"Malcolm!" Archer was practically shouting, trying to break the armory
officer's monologue. "There are no charges being brought. Not any. Of
any nature."

"Sir, perhaps you haven't spoken with Commander Tucker yet..."
 
"I have spoken with Commander Tucker. And he certainly isn't bringing
any charges against you! Now, please tell me why you thought he was."

Reed stared at him.  "Didn't Commander Tucker tell you anything about
what happened? I... I gave the Dorlogians information. Classified
information of a nature prejudicial to Starfleet security, and more
importantly to Enterprise's safety.  After being directly ordered not
to do so."

Archer couldn't believe he was having this conversation.  He felt as
though he'd fallen through the rabbit hole.  He had come here to see
if he could ascertain how Reed felt about Tucker's actions--and had
instead discovered his armory officer expecting to be court-martialed
for treason. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He knew Reed was a
stickler for military regulations and laws-- perhaps he should have
anticipated that the armory officer would be feeling guilty. Archer
considered how to get through to Reed, and decided to try another
tact.

"Oh, I didn't realize that. So you had tea with them, and discussed
our tactical and defensive measures, did you?"

"No, sir, of course not," Malcolm replied in a tone that indicated he
knew Archer was being facetious.

"Oh. No tea. So you just answered their questions? Had a nice
conversation?"  Malcolm shook his head at this clearly ridiculous
proposition.

"Then they threatened you, so you feared they might hurt you and told
them whatever they wanted to know?"

Malcolm flushed. "No, sir, of course not. And to shorten this
conversation somewhat, let's just say that I answered their questions
under significant duress.  But still, Captain, that is no excuse. The
code of conduct states..."

"The code of conduct states you are to resist giving information that
could harm Starfleet, your vessel, or a fellow Starfleet member, to
the best of your ability. You aren't required to give your life, or
your sanity, or to be super-human.  When did you answer their
questions? After they broke your fingers, or after they cracked your
ribs?  Never mind, it isn't important. Malcolm, it's obvious to me you
held out longer than any reasonable person could possibly have
expected you to."

"But, sir, you don't understand." Reed raised his eyes from the spot
of carpet he had been intently studying. "Commander Tucker gave me a
direct order. He knew what they were capable of. He resisted them. He
didn't give them what they wanted. He explicitly stated that I was not
to divulge any information."

"Commander Tucker gave you an order he shouldn't have given, and that
you couldn't possibly have been expected to obey, and I'll deal with
him about that.  He put you in an impossible situation. Now I don't
want to hear any more nonsense about charges."

Archer softened his voice. "I would like to know what information you
gave, to make sure we develop adequate counter measures, should anyone
attempt to use that information."

Reed was still very pale.  "Sir, I don't know exactly what I told
them. It all... blurred... at some point."  He looked ashamed, and
Archer knew that nothing he had said had reassured the armory officer.
 Reed believed he had disobeyed a senior officer and surrendered
information to an adversary, while under the same circumstances Trip
had not, and in doing so had endangered Enterprise.  It would eat at
him for the rest of his career, perhaps for the rest of his life.  To
let him live with that mistaken belief would be a cruel act indeed. 
But to correct that wrong, Archer was going to have to inflict more
pain. He studied the crushed armory officer, and then Jonathan Archer
did one of the hardest things he'd had to do as Captain to this point
in his career.

"Malcolm, please sit down.  There are some things you need to know." 
Speaking as gently as he could, Archer repeated the story Trip had
told him.  He watched as realization dawned in Malcolm's eyes,
followed quickly by pained confusion.  Archer could practically see
pieces of the puzzle falling into place in Reed's head. Things that
hadn't made sense before were suddenly becoming clear.  As the truth
sank in, Archer watched Reed's expression change to one of
devastation-- the look of someone who has suddenly learned that a
friend has been the perpetrator of harm. When the captain stopped
speaking, Reed remained silent for several moments, absorbing this new
information, trying to place it into his own understanding of the
situation. It didn't fit.

"But... he told me... he knew I thought... why did he let me think
that?"

"Malcolm, he is more sorry than you can imagine. This is tearing him
apart."

"Pardon me, sir, but if that is the case, then why isn't he here,
telling me this himself?  I can't believe he let me believe..." Reed
stood and began to pace, limping heavily, and Archer remembered that
Phlox said he'd discovered Reed has several smashed toes.  Archer
watched Reed ignore the pain to continue pacing, as he tried to make
sense of what he'd been told. Finally he looked up and his eyes met
Archer's. They were hard. Cold.

"Thank you for telling me this, sir. It doesn't change what I did, but
at least..." Reed's face was a plastic mask of professionalism, not
withstanding the damage that still marred it.

"Malcolm..."

"Sir, I don't really think there is too much more to say, is there?"

Archer wanted to reach out and put a hand on Malcolm shoulder. If it
had been Trip, or Travis, or Hoshi, he would have. But he knew it
would just make Malcolm more uncomfortable.  "Try to get some rest,
Lieutenant. I'll stop by and talk to you tomorrow."

Reed nodded curtly, his face revealing nothing.   

***

As soon as Archer was gone, Reed collapsed onto his bunk, stunned. He
was still trying to absorb what he'd been told. He was overwhelmed
with relief that his worst fear, that of being charged with having
failed to do his duty, was not coming true. Slowly the other 
implications were sinking in.  Commander Tucker had given them
information too?  When?  Reed has seen him in the interrogation room,
and had known instantly that the engineer had been mistreated. It was
obvious in the lines of pain on Trip's face, in the bruises and burns.
Besides, Reed had heard the screaming. He had hoped it wasn't Trip,
but had suspected it was. He had assumed that the engineer had been
forced to provide information-- until Trip had ordered him not to say
anything. That told Malcolm that they hadn't managed to break the
engineer, and were hoping that Malcolm would provide them the
information they wanted.  Malcolm wouldn't have willingly given them
information under any circumstances, but the direct order not to tell
them anything indicated to Malcolm anything he said would be a serious
breach of security.  Trip had made him believe that Enterprise was in
immediate danger and anything Reed said could have catastrophic
results for the ship.

He remembered while they were 'questioning' him, they'd made a
statement he'd found odd. He had been refusing to answer a question,
insisting that he didn't know the answer.

"Of course you know the answer. You're a weapons expert, and this is a
very simple question," the guard had replied, delivering a blow to
Reed's already aching ribs. They had called him a weapons expert. How
could they have known that? At the time, he assumed they had gotten a
copy of the ship's manifest.  His position had been listed on the
visitation permits they'd submitted. He had wondered why, if they had
this information, they wouldn't accept him as a bona fide visitor, but
he hadn't dwelt on that-- other things had demanded his attention. 
Now the statement made sense. They had known that he was a weapons
expert because Trip had told them, and that was why he had been
questioned. The memories crowded into his mind; he'd been trying to
ignore them, but now found he couldn't.

Nearly as soon as he had entered the room they had started questioning
him, each unanswered question punctuated with a blow.  The questions
and beating had escalated quickly. Trip had been there, observing it
all, and seeming to warn Malcolm not to talk.  The engineer had seemed
to be floating in and out of consciousness. 'He must be terribly
injured,' Malcolm had thought, before an eye-closing blow had brought
his attention back to his own dilemma. Very soon he hadn't really
cared about Trip's condition.  At some point, he noticed that the
engineer was gone. He was glad. It was hard enough trying to maintain
control without feeling as though his performance was being judged.

Reed hadn't answered their question when they broke his fingers, nor
when his ribs cracked.  He thought he might have given them something
when they smashed his toes, but he wasn't sure. But he couldn't hold
out against the burns. He'd tried. He'd tried with everything he had,
even as tears of pain streaked his cheeks, and he thought his throat
would burst from screaming. But the hot metal against his skin was too
much.  He'd finally given in.

The injuries had hurt, but not as much as the realization that he'd
failed, and the frantic worry about what might be happening to the
Enterprise. When they had finally, after what seemed an eternity,
returned him to the cell he'd been guilt-stricken and desperate to
learn the fate of the Enterprise.  He had hoped to explain to Trip, to
let him know that he'd done his best, but the engineer had refused to
speak to him, confirming the egregiousness of his crime.

Now everything was different.  He hadn't been all in the wrong after
all. He had done as well as could be humanly expected. Here he was,
sitting in his quarters, his ribs protesting with every breath, his
right hand a tormenting reminder of the experience, unable to even
walk without pain, while Commander Tucker could probably return to
duty the next day. Reed had been harboring a simmering anger directed
primarily at the head guard and the Director.  Now it grew to include
Trip. He wanted to confront the engineer immediately. To demand to
know why his friend-- his friend-- had treated him that way. But
confrontation with senior officers was not Reed's style. Instead, he
sat in his cabin and seethed, his rage at all those who had hurt him
growing.

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Stories Only Forwarding

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