Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Star Trek: Enterprise is the property of Paramount; I am just borrowing the characters and setting for a little while.

I am new to the Star Trek: Enterprise universe, having been without a television since the year 2000. The DVD's are a recent acquisition.

This was to be a finale fix... but it turned into an adventure, murder mystery.

Synopsis: A continuation of my murder mystery loosely based on TATV. (Very loosely.) The Tuckers settle down on the Interspecies Medical Ship. Kelby wakes up in the brig. Archer and Admiral Tyson have a very unexpected visitor.

 My series seriously departs from canon and is admittedly AU ... as many are.

Reviews are welcome.

 And thanks to my beta who asks to remain anonymous.  ;-)

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Elsewhere that same night...

 

0000 hours- The Brig on the Dauntless.

Waking up with one's face in one's own spittle wasn't the most pleasant thing in the world, but it was his first awareness as Kelby's body slowly threw off the effects of the phaser stun. The second thing he noticed as he was returning to consciousness was the extreme pain in the muscles of his neck and shoulders. But falling asleep at his desk didn't usually mean waking up face down on a wet surface in such pain. The two just didn't seem to jibe.

 I must have conked out working at my desk.

There was a low moaning sound coming from someone nearby.

"Unnnnggghhh."

The noise got louder and seemed to emanate from his throat.

Damn, that's me.

Kelby's mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He ran his tongue over his teeth and breathed a bit harder, trying to get a handle on just why he was immobile. Hot breath rebounded into his face, smelling and tasting of something metallic interfering with his ability to get enough oxygen into his lungs. He tried to decide what was worse, the pain or the taste of metal in his mouth. It had to be the taste...and the odd taste of metal only came from one thing... a stun blast. The memory of just how he had been stunned hadn't quite returned... but he knew the feeling afterwards as well as he knew his own name.

He opened his eyes and reflexively closed them in the reflected glare of the lights above him. He glanced down at the shiny stainless steel surface underneath his chin, trying to make sense of just where he could be. If he was waking up after being stunned... a metal floor underneath him meant... but the pounding in his head stopped the thought. Unfortunately the sound of heavy boots just outside his field of vision finally led him to the inevitable. He moaned.

This was the brig. And he knew the brig on the Dauntless wasn't meant to be much more than a metal and plastic cage with shelving. Not the most pleasant of places to wake up when you consider the number of drunks that had sobered up lying in their own urine on this very same bunk. That, at least, accounted for the aroma of stale vomit and human waste that wafted past his sensitized nose. An ambiance that was common to every drunk tank in the sector.

The circulation to the majority of his extremities was being cut off by tight bands, and the pain began to be excruciating. He decided it was time to rectify the situation while he could still feel his extremities. Struggling against the restraints that held him to the bed, he yelled to get the guards attention. There was absolutely no slack left in the band and try as he might he couldn't even wiggle more than a half inch in any direction.

He tried getting their attention again after getting no response.

"Hey, get me out of here." The little bit of extra volume made his head pound even more.

What the hell did I do to get put here?

 The intercom crackled to life. "Hey, shut up in there."

 Kelby's testosterone level and the rise of the pain in his arms drove him to become more than a bit belligerent. "Shut up and listen, moron. I'm in pain. The restraints are too tight. I have a right to humane treatment and to see counsel. Now get me help." He didn't deserve this kind of treatment. He was an officer for goodness sake. The answer to his pleas shocked him.

 "This isn't Earth and you happen to be in military custody. You don't have Miranda rights. I'm sure someone will be down soon to inform you of the charges." The guard sighed. "I have orders to leave you in full restraints until we get back to Earth in 22 hours. Until then you get what you get. No loosening of the restraints, no communication unless ordered by the Commander. I suggest you calm down and comply or we will get the doctor down here to help you comply."

The engineer struggled with this information and decided to demand one concession. "Yeah, get me the doc 'cuz I am not going to be quiet until you listen. I can assure you it will be a very noisy one way conversation." Kelby turned his head to look through the doorway and was surprised to see 4 armed guards at different points of the security bay. All their eyes and weapons were aimed at his face.

Can't be for me... I didn't do anything. I'm just a ....

The grim look on the man in the rear of the room said it all... you don't scrap a fellow officer for no apparent reason. The light dawned and he became limp with the realization, striking his chin on the metal beneath him. He turned his face downward and a tear trickled down his cheek out of the view of his jailer.

...awww fuck... they know about Tucker.

 Kelby began to chant softly, lightly pounding his head against the metal plating. "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid." He searched his memory for the chain of events that led them to stun him and then place him in full restraints tied to a bunk in the brig. Slowly he pieced together his dash from his quarters past security and down the long hallway towards the shuttlebay. Kelby knew he had shot back at security and remembered the sputtering paint on the bulkhead... to his surprise the phaser was set to kill. The image of Nelson face down on the decking shook him and he tried to stop from barreling into the security cordon. In his minds eye he saw the 3 beams inch out to strike him and after that was the descent into nothingness.

 I am so screwed.

With a sigh he thought carefully about what he wanted to convey to his new CO given that Nelson was probably being held in another cell nearby. He called softly to the guard closest to the door to his cell. "Hey grunt..."

The guard turned.

"Tell the Commander I'll drop a dime on Nelson."

The guard nodded and walked to the comm, pressing the stud.

"TC to Shran..."

The comm whispered with Shran's voice. "What does he want?"

"Kelby wants to see you. He says he's willing to 'talk'."

The blue Andorian thought for a moment about his options. Murder of a fellow officer was the worst crime one could commit. There was no assuring Kelby of the future. All he could do is keep him alive long enough to get to the court martial. What Starfleet did with him after that was none of his affair.

"TC... tell the engineer that I'll be there in a few hours. Let's just let him stew for a bit. Don't let anyone in or out of that brig without my okay. We have no clue if any other crewmen are in on their little plan." Shran ran his fingers through his hair. It was time to sniff out any other co-conspirators on board before they had a chance to act. "Start checking all crew for anything suspicious. Be ruthless. Confine anyone you suspect to quarters. We can't afford to let this rot go any further. Have all incoming and outgoing communications monitored and inform me of anyone attempts a call out. Otherwise there's a comm freeze. And keep this as quiet an operation as you can. I don't want any more murders, TC.  I'll be in my office if you need me. Shran out."

"Aye sir." TC turned to his crewmates and grinned. The Commander's orders promised to have quite rewarding consequences for him and his crew.

It was time to prove their worth to Starfleet.

 

* * * *

 

None of the exchange between the guards and Kelby was lost on Nelson. He watched the guards move towards Kelby's cell as he lay trussed to a bunk across the security bay.  He shook his head.

I should have killed the little bastard when I had the chance.

Nelson's arms and legs ached from how the restraints cut into his skin cutting off his circulation, but he wasn't about to beg for mercy. Thus far he hadn't had the comfort of unconsciousness that the engineer had had during the hour since their arrest. He wasn't used to being in situations that were beyond his control and he didn't like it one bit.

All he could do now was hope that there was another crewmate from the Blakwatah Corporation on Dauntless. In his haste to leave Earth there had been no time to communicate with Lockwood so he had no clue who he could count on. It was in Blakwatah's best interest to take out the engineer out before he had the chance to rat on them. Kelby was always an unknown factor... it was going to be a case of his word versus Nelson's, and he knew that.

Patience, Jack, patience.

Whether or not Jack talked depended on who he was more afraid of, be it Starfleet or his Blakwatah co-conspirators. You can't have two masters ... then again Blakwatah's enemies tended to wind up very, very dead. Even if he spent the rest of his life in a Starfleet prison, that life was still going to be shortened if Blakwatah infiltrated the staff.

A cold chill ran down Nelson's spine. It occurred to him that his life, too, would be considered forfeit by the Corporation. Once brig security was breached, there was no stopping his own elimination. If Kelby dies ... so would he.

The enormity of the situation overcame him and his head sank to the bunk.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't.

Nelson finally turned his face to the wall and willed himself to sleep. This was going to be a very long 22 hours.

  

* * * *

 

0050 Just at the edge of the Sol system

 

Parked on the dark side of a large asteroid in the Kuiper belt just within Pluto's orbit, the tiny shuttlepod was invisible to Starfleet sensors. The rock reverberated with the concussion of a large round object that was being repeatedly bashed against the inside metal bulkhead. Tiny pebbles were bounced away from their parent by the harmonic tremors coursing through the strata and the debrei surrounded the asteroid in a cloud. The hollow bulkhead resonated loudly in the cabin's thin air as the rebounding ball returned to its thrower's hand over and over for hours at a time. It took very little time for the force of its repeated impacts to wear a head-size bare spot off the paint on the shuttle wall.

Archer could feel the returning vibration through the decking under his bare feet giving him the illusion of movement through space. Sitting motionless on an asteroid wasn't exactly comfortable for the Captain... but it gave him time to mull over what to do before he left the system for good. A foggy thought kept running through his head. The constant beat of the ball became his metronome as he tried to grasp just what his subconscious was trying desperately to tell him.

Jaw clenching, the ball hit harder and harder, buckling the thin metal sheathing, his fingers tingling with the impetus of the impact back against his hand. He envisioned faces filling the space his ball struck over and over. At first it had been the face of a man, then the face of a lover... then he imagined the face of his father, his tyrannical, perfectionist father. Tears flooded his eyes.

"It's all your fault ... you're the reason I am what I am today." The ball flew even harder. Everyone said things happen for a reason. Somehow he could see no reason to the death sentence he had been living under ... it was all due to Henry Archer.

A sudden sharp pain lanced from his right shoulder down his arm to the elbow, interrupting the constant thrumming.  "Son of a bitch."

Dropping the ball Archer reached into his bags for the ever present hyposprays of steroids and pain killers he kept with him at all times. Much cherished, the drugs helped to diminish the ever-present pain that had kept Archer on edge for most of the last year.  As he checked the hypo that held the only thing that had made life livable, his face became marred by fury; he realized it was empty. He hurriedly checked the others. All empty. In his rush to flee Enterprise, he had picked up the wrong stack as he packed. There was no going back for the medications he had come to rely on ... nor could he call the doctor that had prescribed them since he had severed ties with both.

Life was about to become very unpleasant very quickly as withdrawal began to set in.

 Grinding his teeth, he threw the hyposprays across the room and reached for one of his bottles of scotch. At least he had remembered his favorite libation. Pouring a generous two fingers into a glass, Archer snickered before he threw the entire shot back. The liquor burned as it went down and the pain slowly subsided to a low burn. He knew he would still hurt ... but at least he wouldn't care.

 "If Trip could just see me now ... his beloved 'Captain'." The final word came out as a twisted, dying thing. Leaning his head back, he stared at the ceiling. "That son of a bitch must have 9 lives."

Archer chuckled but was unable to contain laughter at the sheer irony of his own predicament. "It's all just a fucking joke. I can't get away from it ... Trip must have loved the irony. Dammit, they should have told me about their death pact. Jackass must not have trusted me. God, I wonder why." His rage towards the dead man started to build. Somewhere in his addled brain he knew that his dead friend had had nothing but good will towards him up until that final moment when Trip saw the fury in his captain's eyes. Unfortunately the psychosis was the stronger power in Jonathan's mind.

A stab of pain shifted quickly through his heart at his own role in his best friend's death, and the rage receded a bit to be replaced by emptiness. The vastness of space was less empty than the void that grew in Archer's chest at that moment.  "I am such a stupid bastard. Small wonder he didn't trust me."

Again he snickered at his own folly. The sound of his laughter grew and took on a hysterical tone which slowly turned into sobs. The indelibly etched images of his friend's death in Sickbay assaulted him, and he broke down in tears. He felt to his knees with the weight of his betrayal of their long friendship and then to his side in a fetal position there on the cold hard floor of the shuttle. He tucked his knees close to his chest. His physical pain began to be replaced by mental anguish. This wasn't about T'Pol at all. He was just kidding himself that his feelings for her led him to this juncture.

It was about Trip all along ... my best friend ... and I had to watch him die.

Archer wept bitter tears. He had been assured by Nelson that the plan was foolproof and Trip's death would be instantaneous. For a time he had kidded himself that it would be a bloodless death, that it would be over quickly and cleanly, much like the portrayals of death in the movies. But whatever Godhead that ruled the space ways wasn't so kind and had made Archer pay for his arrogance. Archer knew better. He had seen death many times but somehow couldn't relate this to his current reality. He wasn't mentally prepared to endure watching his friend die at his behest. It was different when it was your fault someone lay dying. The experience had shattered the fantasy he had built around him of his love for Trip's Vulcan wife and the importance of preservation of his legacy on Enterprise.

For that one fleeting instant he was naked in the face of his crew as he stood there in sickbay. Knowing his complicity, he still felt compelled by his crew's expectation that their captain would attend to the fallen engineer, his friend; he had shuffled through the crowd to be near him as he died. To hold his hand as he passed.

I don't feel anything. I don't feel... I do not feel...

He shut his eyes, assaulted again by visions of those last moments in sickbay and the pain that stabbed through his heart. Surprise had swept through him when he felt a tear drop from his nose as he bent over the inert body.  His conscious mind may have rationalized his decisions but his subconscious mind was fighting his traitorous behavior tooth and nail.

The monitors had bottomed out, and Phlox pronounced the engineer dead, pulling the Captain away from his side and shoving him out of sickbay. "Get out. He's dead."

After Nelson propelled him out of the room, Archer fled to his quarters. Pulling out his ever present bottle of Scotch, he medicated away the pain that plagued him, feeling ashamed of his weakness. He abused his drugs that day and every day since the accident. Here, now on a cold dark anonymous asteroid, a chill flashed up Archer's spine and a reemerging conscience began to berate him for his arrogance. There was no way out of this. The drugs were gone; the world became an even colder, unfeeling place.

What have I done?

His mind kept flashing back to those last moments in Sickbay. As the biobed monitors sank to zero, he glanced up at Phlox. A cold look of hatred was plain on the doctor's face who hadn't been fooled by the charade for a moment. Phlox raised his chin and glared at his captain. The tests were conclusive and he was convinced of the Captain's complicity. Science didn't lie.

Archer knew that the doctor was more perceptive than anyone else on his staff and had known in that instant, in that moment their eyes met, that he had a hand in the engineer's death. Guilt and grief had combined to nearly bring Archer to his knees. He had wanted to confess everything then and there, and it had only been Nelson's firm hand on his bicep that stopped him. The same question seemed to plague his already overtaxed mind in the weeks following the accident.

What the hell have I done?

As Archer cried there on the floor, he wondered how the world had become such a dark and foreboding place, with faces that haunted him, with voices that cried out for revenge, and intrusive thoughts that nearly drove him insane. He finally rose from the floor and reached for the bottle that sat beside the command chair.

Suddenly Archer heard a cry just behind him. He spun around looking for the source of a man's scream that echoed in the shuttle bay.

"Jon... what the fuck are you doing?" It was Trip's voice... it was unmistakable.

Archer called out into the dark of the shuttle hold. "Trip, where are you?"

No one was there ... just like all the other times.

Reaching for the scotch he raised it to his lips taking great swallows, not bothering to even pour it into a glass. He was determined to forget the events of the last few weeks but was resigned to the fact he would only forget for awhile. His dreams had become nightmares, and his nightmares had driven him from sleep to live in a kind of waking twilight world. Voices calling out in the dark, faces and people from his past coming back to lecture him on his failings assailed him hourly.

And now he wouldn't even have the crutches to keep them at bay. The drugs were gone.

It was white knuckle time.

The alcohol began to help him throw off the yoke of conscience and a cold iciness sped down his body. He straightened. Now was the time to look at ensuring his own survival in light of the atrocious choices he had just made. Part of him wanted to be caught, wanted to atone for his actions ... another louder voice drove him to greater depths, to think only of its own self-preservation.

Archer's cheek grew hard and his jaw clenched. "Enough of this foolishness, I can't change the past." Walking into the tiny bathroom, leaning on the edge of the plastic sink, he looked up at his reflection in the mirror. After pulling off his shirt, he stuck his head under cold running water in an attempt to bring sanity back into his fevered mind. He shook his soaking wet head trying to lift the fog that seemed to haunt him frequently these days. Droplets flew all over the tiny room and coated the wall in a shimmer of reflected pinpoints of light. It occurred to Archer that the only reason the very vessel he inhabited worked as well as it did was due to the man he had just seen die. The irony of the situation was not lost on him and he chuckled.

I'm alive because of him.

Unobserved, a pinpoint of light emerged in a distant corner of the shuttlepod hold. It grew into a one-dimensional curtain that expanded into the flattened image of a man. The human form began to fill and push out from the center. Once the form completed, it turned to watch the man standing in the bathroom doorway. 

Archer looked up to try to make eye contact with his mirror image. He stood back and saluted his likeness. "You've turned into a lunatic, Captain." Lifting the scotch from the sink edge, he started to make a toast to his massive acts of stupidity but was interrupted. "Here's to..."

"I would have to agree with you, Jon ... you've become a lunatic."

The irises of Archer's eyes dilated suddenly as he latched onto the form of his father standing behind him. Henry Archer reached up to put his hand on his son's shoulder. The fingers felt arctic cold against Jonathans' bare skin. He jumped at the sudden coating of ice that enveloped his heart, and he moved swiftly away, pulling the hand from his shoulder.

"Get your hand off me. What do you want from me this time?"

"What... no hello for your dear departed father?"

"You don't exist anymore, you're dead."

"Now, Jon. Do I look dead? You can touch me, I have substance, I know all about you ... how am I not your father?"

"Shut up." The younger man strode out of the bathroom pushing the man aside and stood at the port watching the stars speed by. Henry pursued him into the room and stubbornly refused to be ignored.

"I will not shut up. There has to be some way to get through that thick skull of yours that you've done wrong. You can't just run from all the tragedy you've caused."

"You are a figment of my imagination, I don't believe you exist."

Henry stood facing his son putting his hands on his shoulders turning him towards him and spoke softly. "You just stood by doing nothing while your best friend dies. Can you tell me why?"

"Do I need a reason?" Archer stared at the decking.

"Jon, you can't be so stupid."

"He took someone I love away from me."

Henry made the obvious assumption. "Jon ... T'Pol was always Tucker's. She's in love with him; they are bonded, you were never even on her radar. You gave them your permission to marry ... you even performed the ceremony." He bent down to look up into his son's downcast eyes. "I can't help you if you won't listen to me."  Henry tightened his grip on Jon's shoulder and shook him, begging silently for his son to look at him. 

Archer shoved his father away and strode angrily forward to the pilot's seat, sitting down with his back to the older man. "Just shut up. I had to do it. He was always getting in my way."

"Had to do what? Stand by while your friend is murdered?" Henry began to shout at his son. "You were there. You actually played along."

"How would you know, you weren't there."

The hell I wasn't.

 Henry decided his son didn't need to know he was there in the compartment's shadows watching as the farce played out. "The only thing that Trip got in the way of was your love of power. And I think you love power more than you ever loved anyone, even Erica." There was a flash of recognition in Jonathan's eyes and a grimace on his face that made the hair stand up on Henry's neck. Something was wrong.

 "What about Erica, Jon?" Henry reached over and spun his son's chair around; he bracketed Jon's face with the flat of his palms, forcing his head upwards so Henry could look in his eyes. 

"What did you do to Erica, Jon? What have you done, you damned fool? You've hurt her too, haven't you?" He shook his son's face.  "Where is she, Jon? Tell me where she is. Jonathan, look at me when I talk to you."  Henry kept saying his son's name, hoping Jon would orient on something other than his twisted thirst for revenge.

"Quit saying her name. You've no right." Archer shoved him away.

"Where is she?"

"They'll find her... eventually."

"But will she be alive?"

 Jonathan's answer was a long time coming. "...no. She's dead. I killed her. It was an accident, I didn't mean to. She just made me so damned angry, and I ..."

Henry inhaled and stepped back, wiping his hands on his clothing like he had touched something putrefying. He started to pace to and fro across the cabin. This wasn't something he had anticipated. "Erica too then." He spun around, stabbing the air with his finger.  "What the hell have you become? You've ruined your career, your life... have you no shame?"

Jonathan laughed and spread his arms wide. "What career ... life behind a desk, never to see space again. Put out to pasture just like a prize stallion ... servicing dignitaries and being useless. Give me a break. I was meant for better things."

"Yep, better things ... you'll spend life in a prison cell ... if not a mental institution. "

Jon turned away and stared at the floor, not wanting his father to see the tears in his eyes. "Oh I'm sure they'll put me away for whatever time I have left ... just like they put away my mother. I bet that's what you want, for them to put me away somewhere so I won't hurt anyone. You never loved us ... she was just ..." Every word his father had said was true. He had become a monster ... and he had no clue what had changed him.

Henry pressed his advantage. "So she's still important to you. Jon, you need to visit your mother one last time before you're killed or captured. It used to be one of your greatest fears ... that she'd die before you can say goodbye." Henry shook his head at the thought that the mental illness that felled his wife would still bother his child.  "Just go talk to her, Jon; she's all you have left. Everyone else is gone."

"I haven't hurt T'Pol, not intentionally."

 "You nearly caused her death by taking away the man you believed was your rival. I have to hand it to her, she figured out a way to overcome what you did. You've always been jealous of what your friend had that you never had nor wanted. Even I knew you never wanted a family...or children." It was time for truth, Henry's face became grim and he stared into the depths of his son's soul. Henry watched the emotions flow across his son's face. "You never wanted her... then again maybe it wasn't T'Pol after all, Jon. I seem to remember you and Trip used to be close..."

Jon's face became ruddy with barely contained fury and Henry rapidly moved backwards when he saw his son's fists clench.

I hit a nerve. It was Trip after all. You sad sorry son of a bitch, what the hell am I going to do with you? How did you get so twisted?

As Henry feared he would, Jon launched himself at his father. "Shut up, just shut up." Jon didn't want to hear anything that smacked of the truth feeling he had to derail the conversation before it became that much more painful. This was getting too close for comfort and Jon knew he was out of control.

Henry took another couple of steps back, holding up his hands up in mock surrender. His son was always unpredictable when he felt pushed into a corner, but this was unprecedented. "You never used to be this volatile ... at least not until you started those damned drugs ..."

"Just keep your nose out of my business. The drugs keep me alive ... drugs for the disease you so generously passed on to me."  Archer grasped for something that would change the subject before his father gained the upper hand again. He turned towards his father and looked up at him. "If I go see mother, will you promise to leave me alone?"

Henry recognized his son's offer for what it was, a way to put him off the scent. "Your mother is the only person important to you underneath all that hatred you carry. Hell, you hate yourself so much you can't see straight. She will knows you for who you were ... not for the monster you've become. She remembers you as a child and that's how she'll see you ... as a wonderfully innocent child. You still love her, no matter what she's said or done. She is your mother after all. And she's still my wife ... well, my widow. I visit her when I can and she looks forward to your coming to see her."

Jonathan suddenly felt ashamed of himself, of his behavior towards his father

and glanced back at him.

Henry saw an iota of reality slip into his son's mind and wasn't about to let this chance slip by. He gave him an ultimatum. "If your mother dies before you see her... well, I swear I'll never! ever! forgive you, and I will make the rest of your life a living hell. I will make sure you never sleep, never eat. I'll make you listen to reason if it's the last thing I do."

The younger man drew himself up to his full height and tried to tell himself this wasn't real, that this man wasn't real, but it didn't work. Whoever this entity was, it was channeling his father, and his father wasn't one to threaten without meaning it. The struggle between love and hate was evident on Jonathan's face as he weighted the consequences of his actions. He gave Henry the 'Archer stare' not realizing his father was the originator.

Henry started to grin but stifled it, raising his chin in defiance. He took a step closer and stabbed his finger against his son's chest to emphasize his words. "I can never leave you, Jon ... never. You can't get rid of me. I'm stuck ... we're stuck together for eternity." He could see Jonathan was still dangerous and out of control, but he tried not to step away from him. He had to depend on his son's respect for him to keep him in check. If the way to make him stop was to haunt him day and night, it was just something that had to be done. They would never be parted ... Jonathan would be haunted by his father's shade through all eternity. The two were inextricably linked.

          Archer mustered up one last bit of courage and clenched his fist, waving it under his father's nose. "You wouldn't dare cross me." He hoped that his bluff worked and his father would back down.

Henry looked into the eyes just inches away and whispered softly to his son, just loud enough for Jon to hear him.  "Just watch me, boy, just watch me." He leaned towards him, edging close to his son's fist and daring him to use it.

Archer glanced up into his fathers eyes. He was startled by the stark coldness there. His father had never made a threat of this magnitude. Several minutes went by as the two stood toe to toe, cold steeliness against cooling rage, each weighing the threats they faced as they sought resolution.

Archer had to swallow the large lump in his throat before he could find his voice. Feeling defeated and shamed by his own behavior, he decided that capitulation would be the only way to rid himself of his father's visage.  "I'll go this morning before I leave the system ... I promise. But I'll only do it if you'll just leave me alone. I've had enough honesty for one night." He turned his back and walked away. Tears began to flow, leaking slowing from the corners of his eyes. He had paid a high price for his crimes... a price no one could even imagine save his father. "Just leave."

The shade watched in silence as his son slumped to the floor in defeat, tears running down his face. He had won the argument and hoped that Archer could be stopped before he harmed others. In order for that to happen, he would have to take a more active role in his apprehension.

Henry Archer stepped back into the shadows and slowly moved back into the depths of the darkened cargo compartment, away from his sobbing son. Bending down, he picked up the empty hyposprays that Jon had thrown into the corner and broke them open checking the content labels. He glanced up at his son brow furrowed, his hand still clutching the empty hypos in his closed fist. His expression hardened and he nodded to himself.

Gotta' get this show on the road.

Henry's form flattened and shrank into a mote of light that sped through the bulkhead on the way to its next destination, the empty injectors disappearing with him.

 

* * * *

 

0100 hours on the Interspecies medical ship

 

A very sleepy little girl looked up at her father with watery blue eyes. The jostling from climbing out of the shuttlepod and walking down the long passage way had brought the child back up to awareness despite his best efforts. Elizabeth, when rested, was a handful. Trip didn't even want to think about how she'd react with no sleep.

"Are we there yet, Daddy?" She wrapped her arms around his throat and burrowed her nose into his shoulder. "Smell's funny, all mediciny."

Trip snorted and shifted her dead weight to his other shoulder pressing his nose into her hair. He could feel her awareness on the edge of sleep and worked hard to keep her there, soothing her mind with his warmth. "We're already there, punkin'. I'll have you to bed in no time flat. You can go back to sleep."

Elizabeth shifted and burrowed her nose even further against her father's neck. The ship didn't smell right, more like a hospital than home. Her father's aroma was familiar and soothing along with the steady buzz from his mind. She could sense her mother walking behind them and her brother as he dozed in her arms. They were on shipboard from what she could tell from the vibration; there were many new minds surrounding her but just out of reach. Sleep was catching up with the 6-year-old, and no amount of self determination was going to keep her body from shutting down the curiosity she normally would have been driven to satisfy.

Staff ensured that the walk from the shuttle through the hallways was swift and left little time for the passengers to notice just where they were going. Two crew members greeted each couple as they entered guest quarters and guided them to their assigned compartments.  First the Reeds and Trip's parents were taken aft to their compartments. Then the Tuckers and Phlox were ushered to their rooms on the port side. Belongings had already been moved from the shuttle to their rooms and ample meals were waiting for everyone once they had settled in. They each said their goodnights in turn, pleading exhaustion from the hectic pace that the Admiral had demanded, looking forward to taking their meals in their rooms before finally getting to retire for the night. Their last meal earlier that evening was just a distant memory and they had had little time to grab any kind of sustenance during the journey to the medical transport.

 

* * * *

 

It was just before 2 in the morning when Quaid finally relaxed enough to finish nursing and his body lapsed into a contented slumber. Soon he was fed, safe, warm and snuggled up against his favorite person, his dad. The evening had been so fraught with danger and their flight so hurried Trip had had little chance to be with his son, having to deal with Elizabeth instead. As T'Pol showered, the two sat quietly in the rocker beside the crib, savoring the quiet time they had gotten used to having and both now missed terribly. Quaid moved in close to his father's throat, listening to his father's heartbeat for quite some time before falling back asleep. Trip carefully adjusted the transport inhibitor that encircled his infant's ankle to fit a bit more closely and closed his eyes leaning back into the back of the rocker.

Lulled by the movement Trip nearly fell asleep himself, murmuring endearments to his child. He was still worried sick about the coming week regardless of how much security surrounded them. Even if the perpetrators of Tucker's murder had been caught, the plan to leave Earth still left too much to chance. Danger still swirled out of his control ... and would until the situation was finally resolved to his satisfaction. His family's security was number one and had to be protected at all costs. When he heard the shower shut off, he threw off his fatigue and moved on with his tasks so he could finally settle in for the night.

After changing Quaid's diaper and checking his inhibitor yet again, Trip put him down in his crib. He moved to check the inhibitor bracelet on the ankle of a snoring Elizabeth and pulled the covers back over her out flung arms. He picked up her teddy bear from the floor and tucked it in back in beside her. Picking up the baby monitor he set the transmitter on the nightstand beside the crib; closing the door he walked back into their bedroom. Stepping towards the massively oversized bed, he set the receiver down on the nightstand as was their nightly custom. He stood watching greedily as a naked T'Pol toweled off after her shower.  

Sitting on the bed T'Pol patted the sheet beside her and arched a brow in an obvious invitation to something more than just sleep, hoping he would take the bait. "Remember we aren't due to be anywhere until noon." But she was also aware that her mate was over-tired and she wanted him horizontal before he collapsed. She noted that he had looked disappointed once she donned the nightgown she took from their bags. The spirit may be willing but ...

Trip sat down after changing into his pajama bottoms. "This bed isn't exactly what I expected of a Vulcan vessel. It's big enough for 4 people." Trip half heartedly bounced a few times testing out the resilience of the mattress. "Nice action. We never had it this good on Enterprise." He looked over his shoulder at the beauty beside him. His body was approaching meltdown. Though his desire for his wife was just under the surface, exhaustion wasn't all that far away and the final crash was inevitable.

T'Pol thought back to the day they received the king-size bed for their home in San Francisco. Her husband had insisted on thoroughly testing out the structure of the framework with a methodical pattern of jumps and bounces that left her on the verge of actually laughing out loud. He finally proclaimed it up to the task of any gymnastics they might choose to indulge in and proceeded to prove the veracity of his conclusions. And in accord with his pronouncement the bed had held up to any punishment her exuberant spouse had devised.       

 Trip wearily stretched out, luxuriating in the grand space. He wiggled in under the coverlet and took his wife in his arms. She pulled him in close and pulled his head against her shoulder. It wouldn't be long before he would be out like a light. She drew him close enough for a kiss but her spouse was losing the battle as she had hoped he would. Trip was exhausted, dark circles were evident under his eyes and he struggled to keep them open. He gave their kiss his best effort given the level of fatigue he felt.

 "Oooohhh ... equally nice action." Trip tried to stifle a yawn as he snuggled in, molding his body to hers with his head in a perfect imitation of the position his son had had earlier. He sighed and became painfully aware that he was about to disappoint his wife.

T'Pol began to speculate aloud on the purpose of such a large sleeping area in hopes that her voice would drive him into slumber.  "I expect they wanted to cater to all species, including those with multiple partners such as Denobulan triune marriage or Andorian quads. Hence they included a bed large enough for such activity. There are also a larger species from Canus Minor similar to the species known as Bigfoot of Earth. Naturally they would also require a larger sleeping space." She had noted earlier in the week that a soft level voice murmuring in his ear had become quite effective in putting him to sleep even against his will, something her own Trip had been immune to. 

"I can understand that ..." The demands of the day were winning in Trip's battle against sleep. His wife was warm and the bed was comfortable. Her voice murmured in his ear requiring no response on his part as she continued in her attempts to get her hyperactive spouse to finally give up the ghost. In some ways this man and their daughter were even more alike than Elizabeth and her bio-father were. Habits, attitudes, energy levels ... they each thought if they slept, they might miss something important.

"Travis has ordered that we be left to sleep in as long as we wish. Quaid isn't due for another feeding for another 4 hours and Elizabeth will sleep until 9 given how tired she was this evening. Phlox will help her with her morning routine as he always does, and your parents will no doubt insist on being a part of that." She was gratified to hear a muffled snore. She ran her fingers through his unruly mop of hair and became determined to get him a proper haircut when they arrived on Vulcan. No doubt he would balk at the traditional bowl cuts that most natives wore. However the barbers at Starfleet were quite professional and she knew from experience that they were adequate to their needs.

Reaching up she turned out the last remaining light over the bed and settled down next to her husband using the soft rhythmic sound of his snoring to move herself into a meditative state. But, in the end, she too had to admit that the day's activities had taken their toll and joined her mate in dreamland, spooning against him under the quilt. Their bodies were nearly lost on the huge sleeping surface.

  

* * * *

 

0130 hours - the home of Rear Admiral Tyson

 

The admiral was still awake and working with Starfleet security to circumvent any fallout from the revelations of the evening. Still dressed in pajamas and robe, Tyson realized that the past hours had been eventful and highly satisfying.  The two officers on Dauntless had been apprehended. The witnesses for their trial had been taken into protective custody and were now safely on their way to Vulcan. The only other major players, Archer and Lockwood, were God knows where by now, having left in warp-capable craft.

 "... I'll speak with you once we have found the others. Good night Commanders, Doctor, Lieutenants." He had just let Tucker know that the 2 assailants had been apprehended. Tyson reached over and ended the call. He saw his own face in the now-dark monitor and glanced at the visage of the reflected room. Behind him a second face was mirrored in the dim light of the study.

Tyson spun around. "Who ...?" He knew quite well who it was. The face of the inventor of Earth's warp engine was known to every person on the planet.

The newcomer leaned against the wall looking embarrassed. "Admiral ... we've never met. I'm Henry Archer, Jonathan's father." The man stared down at his feet for a moment before looking up at the officer. "And yes, I am long dead."

Tyson snorted. "You look real enough for a dead man. I'm too old for games, Mr. Archer. Sit down and I'll pour you a drink." Tyson turned and reached for the bourbon bottle he kept in the desk drawer. He turned back and gestured with the bottle. "Umm... do you still drink? Do ghosts drink?"

"I'm not a ghost, Admiral. However just what I am is still under debate. And I'll take that drink if you'll call me Henry."

"I know about your ... situation. I read the reports documenting your death ... and your current ... ah ... existence. " He poured two fingers and handed the glass to the specter experiencing more than a bit of amazement that the glass didn't fall once released. The man was real and a miracle to boot. "You're here about Jonathan, I assume."

Again Henry seemed more than a bit embarrassed. "Yes ... and I need a favor."

Tyson snorted and made a wry face. "You have to appreciate the irony, Henry. I don't make it a habit of doing favors for dead men. But after the events of the last 2 weeks, your visit seems pretty mundane by comparison. Now what is this favor? It must be pretty important for you to manifest to a total stranger."

Henry snorted. "You're not the stranger you think you are. I slip in on meetings here and there. Watch people surreptitiously. Spy on them ... spy on Jon." His head bobbled a bit in amusement. "I had to find something to do with my time. I've become a very well-informed dead man."

"I can just imagine." Tyson eyebrows fluttered a bit. What he wouldn't give for this man to be on his team. As far as he knew, this was the first time Henry had ever spoken to anyone from Starfleet ... let alone anyone on Earth. He wasn't prepared for the next bombshell.

"I just spent an hour with Jon on a shuttle hidden in the Kuiper belt."

"What ...?"

Henry motioned for Tyson to keep quiet when the man started to rise out of his chair.  "Don't ask how I got there; I don't know how to explain how I get from place to place, I just do." He sighed and put his hands on his knees leaning forward. "That kid's in really bad shape. He's confused and angry and ... out of his mind. I got him to promise to visit his mother one last time before he leaves the Sol System sometime this morning; I imagine he'll be there once visiting hours start at 11 am. She's currently involuntary at the Solum Plania mental hospital at Mare Insularum on Earth's Moon." He straightened. "My wife is mentally ill."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I always wondered why Jon never spoke of her."

"He's visited her there many times, the staff knows him well." Henry sipped on his drink. "The thing is this may be your only chance to detain him." His face hardened. "I won't lie to you. He's gravely ill, Tyson, dangerously psychotic, more dangerous than you can imagine. He says Erica Hernandez is dead, Tyson. He admitted to killing her."

As Henry talked, the admiral scribbled down the name of the facility that had become home to Archer's mother and all the pertinent data. He looked up at Archer and downed the rest of his drink, immediately pouring another one. The day had been long and promised to become even longer. He smiled. "Except that he would be wrong."

"What? But he..."

Tyson was gratified to see the surprise on the shade's face. "We found her an hour ago in Archer's quarters after a call he made to a co-conspirator. She's been transferred to Starfleet Medical and is going to survive, God willing. He didn't do anything to her beyond a slap in the face. Erica ... was having a miscarriage." He held up a hand as Henry started to speak.  "Jon wasn't the cause, nor is he the father according to Erica. I don't know why he didn't summon help at that moment. Phlox was on Earth at the time, but med staff were still on board even though sickbay had been closed. I think his belief that he did kill her speaks to the fact that he's unbalanced and not in his right mind."

 "I'm glad Erica is going to be alright." Henry shook his head.  "Jon's not just unbalanced, Tyson. He's psychotic, delusional, and..."

"And he's so desperate he could kill with little thought because he has nothing to lose. Not an unexpected attitude given what he's been charged with."

Henry nodded. "Exactly. Jon's really out there ... much worse than his mother ever was. I've never seen him like this."

Tyson looked his visitor in the eye and leaned forward speaking softly. "Henry ... we can prove he was complicit in Tucker's murder."

Archer nodded. "Jon isn't in his right mind." He knew his son's involvement in the plot but didn't want to divulge just how he knew.

Tyson leaned back.  "We instituted a search of his quarters. Everything was taken to Starfleet headquarters." His hand swept out. "A huge assortment of various hyposprays were left behind, I'm sure accidentally. Medical said some were prescribed for Clarke's disease ..." His narration was suddenly interrupted by the clatter of plastic. Archer had thrown the empty hyposprays he held in his hand onto the desk in front of Tyson.

"Then you know about these?"

Tyson nodded picking up the hypos. "... I'm told others were anabolic steroids and pain killers in dangerously high dosages. If taken as prescribed just one dose could make someone psychotic, let alone someone with as serious an illness as Clarke's who took them day after day."

 "Yeah, I noticed Jon changed right after he hooked up with that shrink ... ah, Lockwood, right?" Archer snapped his fingers and pointed at Tyson.

Tyson nodded.

 Henry continued. "He started Jonny on all sorts of drugs I never even heard of. That was when he started going off the rails, becoming grandiose and pressured. But these ..." Henry gestured at the items on the desk. "Those I recognize from having taken them myself. Correct me if I am wrong but the dosages ... well ... that kid's in big trouble if he's taking these on a daily basis." He leaned sideways against the floor to ceiling bookcase crossing his arms and gestured with his free hand for emphasis. "Besides ... I'm not convinced he has Clarke's. I haven't seen any of the same symptoms I had. He was so young when I died, he wouldn't know what to look for. I wasn't exactly honest with him about the trauma I was going through. And then I died ... security took over ... and Medical just had a field day. I don't even know if there was a funeral."

Tyson's eyebrows rose as he lifted one of the thrown ampoules to read the label. They were in even higher dosages than those found in his quarters. He waved the ampoule. "Then why these ..."

"Exactly, Tyson. If he hasn't got Clarke's ... why take all these drugs?" Archer drained his glass and set it on the desk.

"Why would anyone take drugs for no reason?" Tyson wondered if Phlox knew the extent of Jon's drug use. Somehow knowing the doctor's ethics he doubted Jonathan had been honest with him. If anything, Phlox would have disqualified Archer from serving on Enterprise ... something that Jonathan would have gone to great lengths to avoid. No, the source of the drugs was Lockwood without a doubt. He heard Henry sigh and looked up.

"Admiral ... what's worse is that Jonny's run out. He has no medication left. And unless I miss my, guess he's going to start going into withdrawal soon. He's already getting twitchy... which is part of why you need to catch him quickly before he starts to deteriorate even farther. The man needs to be in a hospital under a doctor's care."

Tyson poured another two drinks and handed one back to Archer. Their hands met and Tyson showed surprise at the weight of the fingers against his skin.

Archer grinned and looked at his glass, swirling the amber liquid around. "Yeah, ghosts don't have mass and substance but I do. It has to do with Clarke's... I'm sure of it. All I can say is it's been one hell of an after life. I can do what I want, go where I want, experience life as I want. But ask me to explain it? Damned if I know what it is." He sobered and looked down at Tyson. "What scares me is if Jonathan does have Clarke's ... will he die the same way I did?"

"And live on just like you have?" The thought of a psychotic murderous shade roaming the galaxy wasn't a pleasant one.

Henry nodded staring into the bottom of his drink and realized the implication of his statements. He looked up. "Can you stop my son before he does any more damage?"

And before you kill him and he becomes unstoppable?

Their eyes met and Tyson was struck by the loneliness evident in the engineer's face. Death had not been kind to Henry Archer.

"We'll do our damnedest." Tyson knuckled the comm and informed Security of the information Henry gave him and issued the order to apprehend with as little force as necessary. "Could Lockwood have been using your son to get something he wants? We know there was thieving on a grand scale going on but . . . what would your son have wanted so badly that he would abrogate his values like this?"

"Hmm ... well, he talked himself into wanting what Tucker had. Quite honestly the Vulcan wasn't his type." Archer's eyes became hooded. "There were only two things my son came to care deeply about other than his mother and me ... one was Enterprise. The only thing Jon ever wanted was to be captain of his own ship and that ship was and will always be Enterprise. It's all ever cared about. He'd kill to keep her. Amazingly it appears Commander Tucker was the other."

Tyson's head snapped around. "Tucker? But he..." The admiral thought about all the times he had seen Archer at Starfleet functions. Beyond Captain Hernandez and Archer's senior staff, he couldn't think of anyone else Archer had ever taken the time to introduce to his peers. Always foremost in Archer's presentation was his role on Enterprise. She was his wife, his lover, his confidante. Tucker had literally kept her alive all those years, knew her better than anyone, even Archer ... and that made him his chief rival for her affections. Tucker was slated for promotion to captain and his first duty would be to preside over the dismantling of her warp drive before being put on display for the masses. He was about to effectively kill Archer's ship.

Tyson shook his head. "Then again maybe he did kill to keep her. Tucker was slated to head the decommissioning, taking Enterprise apart piece by piece over the next few months. Coincidentally it was Tucker who discovered the theft of ship's stores. Thanks to his logs, we have recovered nearly all of the parts beamed into space as well as what was stored on Jupiter station." He motioned to his visitor. "So tell me why anyone would clean a ship of its replacement parts if the ship itself is being dismantled? The only ship they fit was one of the NX class starships. They were all decommissioned except for NX-01."

"Maybe they were after more than just penny ante stuff... bigger fish to fry so to speak."

"You mean they were after a ship?"

"Maybe ships ..." he paused to allow the idea to sink in. "Jon wasn't exactly forthcoming on their plan, if he knows at all. But it's possible." Henry shrugged. Now was not the time to talk about what he suspected. "If he thought he could hang on to her... he'd do anything."

 "Steal a ship?" Tyson's mouth became a thin grim line as he rocked back in his chair thinking about the implications. "It would make sense given the intelligence we have already received. Lockwood has a high position in Blakwatah Corporation. For all we know, he could be chairman. His psych profiles indicate he has absolutely no conscience. Intelligence has told us Blakwatah has, in the past, gone to great lengths ... even murder ... to get what it wants."

"Could Lockwood have talked Jon into going along with such a plan?" Henry stopped himself as he thought back to the shadow of a man he left behind alone in that shuttle. "Never mind, I answered my own question. If Jonathan thought it meant he could captain the Enterprise again he would jump at the chance. I'm just sorry Tucker got in his way. My kid is a sorry twisted man at the moment. I just can't imagine why he would just let Trip die ... can Lockwood be that persuasive?"

"Henry, he could sell refrigerators to Eskimos and suffer no second thoughts whatsoever. The man can be frightening." His thoughts went to the conversation he witnessed earlier in the evening and shuddered. It finally occurred to Tyson that he was giving classified information to a civilian. He shrugged.  But then again, it was a very dead civilian. No one would believe him if he reported the breach in security. Who would the ghost tell?

Henry drained his glass and chuckled at the expressions that flitted across Tyson's face. "Maybe you ought to drop by Sickbay in the morning ... just to make sure I am not the product of an undercooked dinner." He handed Tyson his glass indicating he wanted a refill. "Or bad bourbon."

"Not likely. You make too much sense for it to be the bourbon. Damn, stealing starships. It's not like that scenario hasn't played itself out often enough in the past. It's even succeeded a time or two. I just never figured Archer would steal his own ship."

"Ships, Tyson ... ships. You have to admit it makes sense."

"Ships ... holy cow ... ships." Shaking his head Tyson handed Henry another filled glass. Their fingers bumped and Tyson looked up. "Or that I would talking to a man that had been dead for over 30 years."

Archer sank down into the chair opposite the Admiral and grinned, but he stared down into the glass he held in his hand, swirling the golden liquid around. "I may be dead, I may not be dead. I don't know." He shrugged. "Whatever this existence I find myself in, it's not of my choosing. I just ask that you treat Jonathan fairly and with compassion. Whatever the explanation is for his behavior ... he's still my son and I love him. He IS a galactic hero after all."

Sitting back in the half dark Tyson watched Archer, thinking and weighing out the surreal situation he found himself in. If Jonathan Archer was taken into custody at Solum Plania ... his father could be instrumental in gaining access to information Starfleet needed given Henry's current state. He would be invaluable. Tyson leaned forward. "Would you be willing to return another night to discuss this, Henry? You could be a great help to us in a covert capacity."

Henry Archer nodded and looked resigned to the situation. Cat's out of the bag now.  "Yeah, that thought had occurred to me, too. I can see the headlines now..." He tracked the headline in the air with his outstretched fingers. " 'Wraith of dead father saves Galactic Hero from execution'." Henry shook his head and shot back yet another mouthful. "You have to admit that it's bizarre. Hell, it's bizarre to me, and it's me  that it's happened to. "

Tyson sighed and refilled Henry's glass thinking about the events of the last week. "You don't know the half of it, Henry." Switching on the comm he informed Starfleet security of the possibility that the NX-01 might be boarded. Taking note of the surprised look on the Ensign's face he switched off the comm. He turned. "Excuse me; I need to make a call to a certain doctor Phlox. He was and is chief medical officer on Enterprise.  He's also the man responsible for your son's health and well-being while aboard the ship ... and a mighty fine forensic investigator in his own right. You might as well be here for this."

"Ah ... is he aware of ..."

"Henry, there isn't a medical officer in Starfleet that hasn't read your file. You're famous not just for your engine." Tyson sought to reassure the shade that no harm would come to him. "I do know that this man has been through Hell and back and he's probably the most open-minded alien I have ever had the honor to meet. He'll need to know the information you have regarding your son, and you are the best source for that info." Tyson punched in the code for the Starfleet system and was gratified to note that Phlox was logged in. He forwarded the call to the med ship and waited for Phlox to answer his hail.

"Tyson?"

The admiral turned back to look at his visitor.

"If he's such a great doctor ... why did he allow Jon to continue into insanity?"

Tyson shrugged. "I have no idea."

 

 

* * * *

0055 hours, at Starfleet Medical Center overlooking San Francisco Bay

 

Drifting from the crowded hospital bay back into the hallway, the Starfleet doctor never ceased to be amazed at how hospital rooms all looked alike, regardless of the time period or planet. He looked up at the room numbers and reoriented himself to his position. In the nurses' station, monitors glowed with flickering lights. Cluttering up the background, the constant cacophony of noise kept nurses aware of changes in their patient's status. Today a constant whisper of gossip circulated amongst the medical staff adding to the din.  He shook his head.

Small wonder patients have difficulty resting.

The pretty female captain in room 130 was rumored to be the former girlfriend of Captain Jonathan Archer. Captain James Fisher, staff internist, believed that it wasn't so "former" as the staff was led to believe. Starfleet had put the pressure on Fisher to keep his patient alive at all costs. This fueled rumors that Archer was a wanted man and the lady in the bed was integral to an upcoming investigation.

The doctor lifted the encrypted PADD from its rack beside her bed.  He wondered which staff member the rumors could be attributed to. Since he was her provider for the nightshift, he thumbed in his access codes and started to read through the screens. The clearance requirement in the upper corner of the screen was certainly high enough to prevent the clerks and nurses from accessing the file. No Archer was listed as an outside contact on the face sheet. If they had been close, they weren't anymore. His instinct was correct ... Archer was no longer significant and therefore would not need to be consulted before he commenced treatment. However Archer was listed as the suspected assailant that put Captain Erica Hernandez in the biobed.

One of the tell tales above the biobed began to whine, indicating a change in the woman's level of awareness. As he stepped up beside her he punched the reset button to end the annoying sound. As he glanced down at his patient, her eyelids started to flutter. Hernandez was approaching consciousness for the first time since she was found on Enterprise. Fisher's eyes rose from her face and scanned the gauges on the computer monitor above him. Back to back transfusions had ensured that there were no immediate threats to her life. The hemorrhaging had been arrested but not without its costs.

Fisher dreaded having to be the one to tell the captain that she'd lost the child she'd carried. The fetus had proven to have a teratogenic defect, a lethal one at this stage of pregnancy. The pregnancy had ended spontaneously earlier that evening, but complications had nearly caused her to nearly bleed to death before she was found in Archer's quarters on Enterprise. Initially it was thought that the woman had been battered severely, a single red mark on her left cheek in the shape of 4 fingers still was visible. Subsequent scans indicated the woman had been driven into unconsciousness by blood loss alone. The record had been corrected, though charges against Archer were still being considered since he had not sought help. He grimaced. Perhaps it would be better to wait to discuss her loss until a time when she was better able to handle it. The child had proven to have DNA that matched that of her former XO, Jack Nelson. Small wonder Archer had been angry.

His patient began to stir and opened her eyes.

The lights above the bed were blinding and Erica tried to raise her hand to shade her eyes from the glare. She found her actions impeded by the many leads and lines that tethered her to the machinery beside the bed. The last thing she remembered was Jonathan Archer standing over her as she blacked out. She looked up at the man standing beside her bed with doctor's insignia on the section of collar above his name badge.

She read the name silently.

Dr. James Fisher, Starfleet Captain. Internist.

Looking around the room she reoriented herself and recognized a med floor at Starfleet headquarters from the many visits she had made to ailing crewmembers. Sighing she closed her eyes and resettled herself on the mattress. It didn't take much to imagine the reasons why she was getting transfusions. That combined with the abdominal cramping she was experiencing made her hypothesis a lead pipe cinch. Grimacing at the physical discomfort she felt at his gaze she spoke as she met his eyes. "Dr. Fisher, I presume?"

Fisher nodded and put his hand on her shoulder. "Do you know why you're here?"

She smoothed down the blanket and stated the obvious with absolutely no trace of emotion in her voice. "I miscarried." All she felt at that moment was the numbness that comes after confessing that you betrayed someone you once loved.

The doctor's eyebrows rose at her flat affect and looked perplexed. This woman showed no grief at her loss. He shuffled his feet in discomfort. "There was a lethal defect in the fetus. Your body aborted spontaneously. However you nearly bled to death in the process probably because you were starting the second trimester. There was no hope. I'm sorry." The calm coming from his patient was unnerving.

"It's for the best, doctor. I was foolish, and carrying the fetus to term would have compounded the mistake." Captain Hernandez felt sympathy for the obviously confused doctor. She patted the hand on her shoulder and smiled. "I had already made the decision to terminate the pregnancy. Nature took care of the problem for me."

"Captain ... I'm still sorry for your loss. It can't have been an easy decision."

Erica's mouth contorted. "I'm not sorry in the slightest. I didn't want the child nor did I want any entanglements with the father."

Fisher threw caution to the wind even though he knew the DNA markers were Nelson's. "Jonathan Archer?"

"No, he wasn't the father."

"But he was the one who struck you. You were found in his cabin."

She nodded. "He didn't mean to hurt me. I had started to miscarry earlier that evening well before our fight. He confronted me with the truth ... I told him who the father was. He was ... not happy. I have no idea why he struck out at me other than he's been having more and more problems controlling himself lately."

"I hate to have to ask this, Captain, but ... I am required by law to ask what happened since violence may have been involved."

"I was slapped once by an open hand. He somehow found out about this pregnancy and was angry ... disappointed as I said. He was unforgiving of my lapse in judgment. I'm afraid I didn't help things any. Our relationship was very volatile at times."

Fisher gave her shoulder a squeeze. "It's really none of my business ... I know this is difficult for you. But I have to ask ... do you still feel he is a threat to you?"

 "No, he's no longer a threat to me since he's run away just like he always does. He's such a galactic hero ..." her voice dripped with sarcasm, "but he can't deal with his personal life. The last I saw of him he was leaving Enterprise for a meeting planetside with his command staff. I don't remember anything after that." Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. "You're bound by confidentiality, is that not correct, Doctor?"

"Captain, if called to testify at a court martial, I would have to comply. I'll be requested to attest to your physical health and the circumstances under which you were admitted since I was the admitting physician. But this isn't limited to a case of domestic violence. Archer's in a lot of trouble. He was charged with being an accessory to murder earlier today. Rear Admiral Tyson wants to talk to you once you're up to it."

Erica resettled herself carefully at the news. No doubt the charges were in connection to Trip's death 2 weeks ago. Perhaps her suspicions were more correct than she realized. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment. There were pieces of the puzzle in her possession that could be used both to help and hurt her former lover. Making the decisions regarding what to say and not say in the coming days could either mean the end of his career or getting him the help he so desperately needed. If she stayed quiet, he would no doubt hang himself. It all boiled down to her sense of professionalism and the depth of her ethics. Jonathan had been compromised. She kept telling herself this was his burden to bear, not hers but somehow she kept coming back to the look of panic in his face as he struck out at her. He knew he wasn't able to control his actions and some part of him tried to intercede but couldn't. Suppressing her feelings for him, she realized he had become a threat to Starfleet, and to her, Starfleet security always came first. The tug of war raged between her head and heart.

The monitors above her head betrayed the panic she was actively shoving away. Her face became pale and her skin started to glisten from the effort. Fisher thought he was going to have to medicate her but she succeeded in shoving away her fears. The indicators dropped to normal levels.

Erica kept repeating her mantra over and over...

Cold hard nut, Erica, cold hard nut.

Erica gave a heavy sigh. "You're right, Captain, you aren't the one I need to be talking to. Call Tyson. It's time for a little chat."

 

 

* * * *

 

0100 hours on board the medical ship

 

"Have a pleasant night, everyone." Phlox nodded to the Reeds and Trip's parents as they traveled aft and followed the younger pair to their quarters on the port side. It was gratifying to find that their rooms connected to a common nursery between them. Considering how little notice the medical transport had, the arrangements were perfect and exactly to the specifications he gave them. After commiserating with the Tuckers and promising to take charge of Elizabeth first thing in the morning so they could sleep in relatively undisturbed, he planned to adjourn to his quarters staying long enough to have a meal and settle into his compartment.

Standing in the hallway, Phlox nodded to the two Tuckers who were carrying their 2 children into the nursery. "Commanders, if you need me, I'll be in sickbay talking with the doctors for the remainder of the night. I have a thrilling tale to tell them, and we have a long trip ahead. I might just save the most exciting parts of our journey to the Expanse for our last evening on board and just feed them tidbits a little at a time."

Trip waved a free hand. "Night Phlox. See you in the morning."

"Goodnight Commander." He waved as they shut the door and turned away. While he enjoyed his time with the Tuckers, he was beginning to get itchy feet. It was time to get back to work. Phlox stepped out into the hallway and went in through the doors into his quarters. It took about 15 minutes to finish the meal that was waiting for him and settle his belongings for the journey. While Phlox was looking forward to two days with absolutely nothing to do but to recover from the outlandish stressors of the last few weeks, the events of the last 24 hours had left him with a sense of foreboding. Telling himself it was nonsense, he checked the comm. As he suspected the system in his room was unsecured and he was unable to access his Starfleet account. Feeling better for having eaten and after putting one of the PADDs he had brought with him into his pocket, he got up and stepped through the doorway into the passage.

A slender young doctor was just coming on shift and offered to show Phlox the way to the visiting doctors' offices. The last anyone saw of him, he was walking down the hallway regaling the fetching Denobulan doctor with their encounters with alien species in the Expanse. It was entirely effective subterfuge that he hoped would get him access to the secured Interspecies comm system without too much bother.  There was still much to be done in regards to the prosecution of the two captains implicated in Tucker's murder. While all of his own forensic work was already on file with Starfleet, his face-to-face testimony at the court martial would be crucial to proving their case. His mind flew back to the final confrontation over the engineer's body.

If there hadn't been anyone else in the room, Archer would have needed medical attention.

Luckily the offices were empty at this hour of gamma shift. Phlox thanked the Denobulan for her courtesy as she granted him full access to their databanks. Phlox sat down at the comm after closing the door and securing it from entry. He turned the monitor away from prying eyes. This was not a task he was looking forward to.  Enterprise was his ship, it was his jurisdiction as its chief medical office r... and this was an investigation he felt he had a stake in. Regret was rising in his chest. If only he had stopped the captain months ago ... this tragedy could have been averted. He had allowed himself to feel pity for the man and his condition and had suppressed his better judgment for the sake of their friendship. Now one man and 3 aliens were dead,and one woman was in critical condition thanks to his reticence. Phlox wouldn't allow anyone else to be harmed by the Captain if he could help it.

Given that the clandestine nature of their departure was obviously an excuse to get Phlox off planet, it pained him to see these three families inconvenienced for his sake. He shrugged. Well, there was nothing he could do about it except make it as pleasant a trip as he could for all concerned and play into the charade. Besides the busier he could be, the less time he had to dwell on the unpleasantness ahead. Just in case he was compromised or killed to prevent his testifying, he had to make sure that all the pieces were in place to catch those responsible.

Logging into the Starfleet comm system, he began by entering his security codes.  His curiosity about the Archer investigation was getting the better of him, and he planned to spend as much time as possible conducting his own investigation of Starfleet records.  Amazingly the forensic examiners had finished processing Archer's Enterprise and dirtside quarters and had posted their findings of its contents and their lab tests. The readout caused the Denobulan to react in surprise and dismay.

"Oh my God. But this can't be true, how could he have hidden ..."

A blinking light in the corner of the comm screen indicated a call was being forwarded from Admiral Tyson. Phlox clicked on the screen and presented his best professional air.

"Yes, Admiral ... what can I do for you?" He looked up. "Huh?"

Phlox recognized the man in the background. "Pardon me ... but isn't that ..."

Henry Archer stepped forward as Tyson gestured to the man beside him.

"Henry, this is Enterprise's chief medical officer, Phlox. Phlox may I present..."

Tyson smiled. Phlox was gasping like a dying fish. He had never seen the doctor speechless before.

"Bu ... he's ...." Phlox was pointing at the engineer unable to put together a comprehensible sentence.

Jonathan Archer's father sat down at the comm and waved to the Denobulan.

"Yes, Doctor ... I'm Henry Archer. And I have some questions for you."

 

 

* * * *

          TBC

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