Enterprise’s tactical officer crept to the T-junction of the two corridors, and cautiously poked his head around the corner.  Despite the gravity of the situation, Archer still had to smile.  Reed, so reticent and quiet (even nervous) in other situations, was totally in his element here.  Archer had learned long ago that a smart commander knew when to fall back and when to lead.  Right now, Reed’s expertise trumped Archer’s rank.  Just as he would never think to advise Trip as to the proper way to repair the engines, or Phlox on how to engineer a retro virus, when it came to tactics, Malcolm Reed was the acknowledged master.

Reed looked back, nodded and pointed.  That way. 

As silent as ghosts, they followed him down the corridor.  So, far, so good.  Most of the Elgarian crew was on shore leave; their ship had been lured here by a clever forgery of Hoshi’s.  The Elgarian Captain had really believed he was speaking to the planetary governor, and that a personal invitation to visit had been extended to the Elgarians to “come and play”.  Archer fleetingly wondered what would happen should their Captain take it into that scaly head of his to actually visit the governor’s residence while downplanet.  No matter; with any luck, they would have what they had come for and would be long gone before then.

Tempting as it was to have Enterprise come after the Elgarians with all guns blazing, Archer was forced to agree that stealth, not firepower, was the – he hated to use the phrase – logical course of action.  Although he knew that if his crew became aware of what had really happened to Trip, the Elgarians would be in for an ass-kicking they’d never forget.  However, most of the crew was on shore leave.  Travis, Hoshi, Malcolm and T’Pol had all voluntarily cut theirs short in order to help Trip.

Right now, Travis was using his considerable piloting skills to keep Enterprise on the far side of the planet, away from Elgarian sensors.  Archer, Reed and T’Pol had taken the Suliban cell ship, and using its cloak, had docked with the unsuspecting Elgarian ship.  T’Pol had fooled the ship’s sensors into believing that nothing was attached to its airlock, and now she, Archer and Reed were, with the help of Phlox’s modified scanners, making their way to where the virus was stored.

Reed stopped again, indicated a door.  “Here.”

“Why bring Trip here, I wonder?” Archer mused.

“My readings indicate a major power source in this wall,” T’Pol responded.  “It is probable that the Commander was attempting to lock down a power drain.”  Archer looked at her.  “The power signature here is atypical from that of the rest of this vessel.  But it also bears a striking resemblance to the Commander’s own handiwork,” she added by way of explanation.  “It is almost as distinctive as a handwritten signature.”

“It is at that,” Archer agreed.

Reed was not listening.  He was intent on manipulating the door controls.  He had pulled the panel off the wall, and now, frowning in concentration, was working on the circuits.  “Pity he’s not here right now,” he murmured.  His frown cleared.  “Ah.” 

The door opened, and they slipped inside.  Reed closed the door behind them, and they looked around, stunned.  “Holy – “ Archer began.

It was a room full of death.  Row upon row of canisters stood before them, each one bearing a lethal cargo. 

“There’s enough here to take out a whole damn planet!” Archer gasped.

“The whole quadrant,” Reed corrected, somberly.

“Here,” T’Pol said, indicating an empty space in the row of canisters by one wall.  It was obvious that a canister had once stood there.  There was also a hairline crack in the wall.  Reed sighed.  “A chain of unfortunate happenings,” he said.

Archer agreed.  “A leaky canister, a crack in the wall, and Trip on the other side.”  He looked around, still unable to grasp the sheer amount of destructive, lethal power he was looking at.  So small, and yet so deadly...  “This changes things,” he said.  The other two nodded.

The original plan had been to grab the antidote and make a quick get-away.  This was no longer acceptable.

“Ideas?” he asked.

“Obviously, these must be eliminated,” said T’Pol.  “If they were to fall into unscrupulous hands, it would be unfortunate.”

Archer suppressed a sigh.  The Vulcan habit of stating the glaringly obvious could be tiresome, to say the least.  "No kidding.  Any useful ideas?”

Reed was running over scenarios in his mind.  Transport to Enterprise?  Too risky.  He didn’t trust the damned transporter, regardless of what Starfleet said, and if there was a glitch, then a lethal organism would be let lose to infect the ship and everyone on board.  Beam everything into space?  Better, but someone could come upon it, either accidentally or on purpose, pick it up, and they’d be right back at square one.  Obviously, this bug had to die.  But how?

Suddenly, he smiled.  He opened his communicator.  “Hoshi, put me through to Phlox.”

A moment later, the doctor responded from the planet’s surface.  “Doctor,” said Reed, “how hardy is this pathogen? How much heat will it take to destroy it?”

If Phlox was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it.  “The virus can only survive within a narrow temperature range,” he said.  “100° would destroy the virus.  It would be completely broken down.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Reed replied, and signed off.

“Malcolm,” said Archer, “wouldn’t blasting these canisters be dangerous?”

“Not blasting, sir.  Cooking.  They are made of metal.”

Archer mulled this over, then slowly smiled.  “Right.  First, though – the antidote.”

“It is here,” T’Pol said.  She picked up a canister. 

“Good,” said Archer.  He looked at the other two.  “Well, let’s get started,” he told them.  “We’ve got work to do.”

Slowly, systematically, they began to move up and down the rows of containers.  A measured shot from a phase pistol to the bottom of each receptacle caused it to begin to glow, cherry-red, as the energy from the pistol shot caused the metal to heat up, cooking the contents and turning its deadly cargo into so much harmless protoplasm.

By the time they were finished, all three were drenched in sweat, and the room itself felt like a blast furnace.  It’s like standing on the edge of hell, Archer thought.  Considering what was in this room, that’s pretty appropriate.

T’Pol was taking a scan.  “The virus has been destroyed,” she said calmly.

“Good,” said Archer.  “Now let’s get out of here before the Elgarians notice this room has been turned into an EZ-Bake oven.”

The Vulcan raised a brow, but did not ask for clarification.  “Unnecessary,” she replied.  “I disabled all their sensors.”

Thank God for Vulcan thoroughness, Archer thought.  “Nevertheless, I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” he replied.  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of this place.”

“Agreed,” Reed said, fervently.

“So let’s go,” the Captain said.

And go they did.

*  *  *

Archer grinned.  Generally, communiqués from the Vulcan High Command were not mirth-provoking documents, but this one made for some extremely satisfying reading.

It seemed that, acting on an anonymous tip, the Vulcan warship Valarin had stopped an Elgarian freighter.  Subsequent scans had shown that said freighter was carrying biological matter of a highly dubious nature, to say the least.  Further investigation proved this matter to be a lethal, engineered virus, illegal on most worlds.  Somehow, the virus had broken down and was no longer deadly, but it was confiscated and destroyed by the Vulcans nonetheless.  The Elgarian Captain and crew were currently enjoying Vulcan hospitality, and it was highly likely that they would continue to enjoy such hospitality, in the form of a Vulcan rehabilitation colony, for some time to come.

Archer looked down at Trip, who was peacefully sleeping.  After what they did to you, he mused, they’re getting off easy.  In a perfect world, they would have been tossed out the airlock in their underwear.  Well, it wasn’t a perfect world, so this would have to do.  He could live with it.  Smiling again, he put the padd down.

Trip murmured in his sleep, and made a slight snuggling movement, deeper into his pillow.  For the first time in what seemed like forever, Trip looked as if he were actually sleeping, actually resting, as opposed to simply being unconscious.

For the past three days, Phlox had been pumping the engineer full of the antidote.  It had taken some time, due to the fact that the virus had changed somewhat, but now the medication was starting to take effect.  The virus was on the run, and now it was just a matter of time before it was completely routed.

As if his thoughts had summoned him, the portly doctor entered the bedroom.  “He is still sleeping?”  And now, the Denobulan’s cheer sounded natural, and not forced.

Archer nodded.  “And really sleeping”, he said.

“Good,” Phlox responded.  “Another day, and I think I will be able to return to Enterprise.”

“No shore leave?” asked Archer.  “We still have three weeks, you know.”

“I may take some time,” Phlox mused.  “I understand that there is an establishment in one of the coastal cities that carries a most impressive inventory of rare flora and fauna.”

“Not to mention Algasoria fudge,” said Archer.  “I think once Trip’s appetite returns, there’s not going to be much left from the box I got him.”

“Yes, that’s a consideration as well,” Phlox agreed.  “I wonder,” he mused, “if Chef were able to obtain the basic ingredients –“

“ – the whole crew would end up grossly overweight,” Archer finished for him. “Better not.”

Phlox sighed.  “Unfortunately, I believe you are correct.”  He sighed again.  “Pity.  You’re certain ...?”

“Afraid so, Doc.”  Archer sighed theatrically.  “It’s the tough part of a Captain’s job – making these unpopular decisions.”

*  *  *

Archer frowned, held out his hand.  “Give it to me, Trip.”  The engineer scowled in reply.  “Trip,” Archer repeated, sternly.

Sighing, Trip handed over the remote control.  Archer took it, and activated the wall screen.  A schematic of the EPS conduits on “D” deck appeared. 

Archer looked over at Trip.  “So,” he said mildly.  “Let’s see.  It’s 3 o’clock, and you aren’t sleeping.  You’re checking ship’s systems instead of using this only for entertainment.  You’ve lied to me, and you’ve forgotten who the boss is here.  Congratulations, Trip.  You’ve managed to break four out of the five rules.”  He paused, gave Trip a long, appraising look.  “I’d almost bet you’ve broken rule number one as well.”  Trip did not respond.  “That’s what I thought,” Archer said.  “What am I going to do with you?”

Trip started to speak, but Archer cut him off.  “That was a rhetorical question,” he said.  Trip fidgeted, but remained silent.

“Do I have to tie you down again?”  Trip did not reply.  “That one wasn’t rhetorical,” Archer told him.

“But I’m feeling a lot better,” Trip protested, by way of an answer.

“I know that,” the Captain replied.  “But that doesn’t mean the rules aren’t still in force.”

Trip scowled again.  “For how long?”

“For as long as I say,” Archer said.  His tone was light, but there was steel underneath.

Trip groaned.  “That’s what I thought,” he said resignedly.

*  *  *

“Trip?  All set?”

“Yeah.  Got my robe and everything.”

Archer opened the doors leading to the porch, and to the beach beyond.  He turned, and smiled at Trip, who was sitting on his bed.  “Ready?”

Trip smiled.  “I’ve been ready for a long time,” he told Archer. 

*  *   *

Trip sighed, and stretched luxuriously.  “That’s the first time I’ve been able to do that without hurting in I don’t know how long,” he told Archer.  He stretched again.

Archer looked over from his lounge, and smiled.  “Feels good, I’ll bet.”

“It sure does.  ‘You don’t know what you’ve got ‘til it’s gone’,” he quoted.  Answering Archer’s unspoken question, he elaborated:  “Sleeping without bad dreams.  Being hungry.  Being able to walk – even if it’s just a few feet.  I used to take all that for granted.”  He yawned.

“Sleepy?”

“Hate to admit it,” Trip said, “but I guess those damn rules of yours still have to be in force.  Suppose I’d better go back to the house and take my afternoon nap.”

“You can sleep here if you want,” Archer said.  “I’ll fix the umbrella so you don’t get too much sun.  Would you like that?”

“Yeah, I would.”  He looked up at his friend.  “Thanks, Captain.”

“Not a problem, Trip.”

“No, I don’t mean for that.  Well, I do.  But that’s not all.”

Archer raised his brows.  Trip went on:  “I’ve been a pain in the ass, I know.  And you’ve put up with me, gave up your holiday to take care of me, and haven’t said word one in complaint.  ‘Thanks’ seems – I don’t know – not very much to say after all that.  But I have to say it anyhow.  So, thanks, Captain.”

“What are friends for?” Archer asked lightly.

*  *  *

“Not too far out,” Archer shouted.

Trip grinned mischievously.  “No rule against it!” he called back.

“Yet!” Archer yelled.

Trip sighed dramatically, and stood.  The water was chest-deep on him.  “Is this all right?” he asked.  “Mom?”

“Don’t get funny, Commander!” Archer shouted.  “Rule Number 5, you know!”

Trip’s hand moved under water.  Archer wasn’t sure what the gesture was, but he could take a good guess.  Trip then laughed, and threw himself backwards into the water, causing a huge splash.  He then turned over, and began to lazily paddle towards the shallows to where Archer was standing.

“Come on in, Captain,” he invited.  “Ain’t nothing in here that bites.”

“I’m fine here, thanks anyhow,” Archer replied.

Trip grinned again.  “Why, what’s the matter, Captain?” he asked in simulated surprise.  “Don’t tell me the big brave Captain of the Enterprise is scared of a little water.”

“Not the water, smart ass,” said Archer.  “You.  I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.”

“Like you’ll get the chance to try,” Trip taunted.

Archer sighed theatrically.  “Guy starts to feel a little better, and the first thing you know, he turns on you,” he observed aloud.

“It’s a rough old life, that’s for sure,” Trip agreed.

He stood up, and walked up to Archer.  “But I promise I won’t dunk you under,” he said.  Then added, “Yet.”

Archer laughed.  “I wouldn’t advise you to try it.” He then sobered.  “You’d better come in now.  Don’t want you to catch cold.”

“It’s nice you still care,” Trip grinned.

“Not really,” Archer told him.  “But Phlox will kill me if I let you get sick again and undo all of his hard work.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Trip said amiably.  He walked out of the water, and sat on his lounge, and began to towel himself dry.  He looked around, and sighed.  “Only three more days left,” he said sadly.  “You know, for a while I hated this place.  Seemed to me to be only pain and sickness.  Now?  Now I’ll be kind of sorry to leave.”

Archer sat on his own lounge.  “I know.  Still,” he said, “there’s those engine upgrades you’ll have to look over.”

Trip brightened.  “That’s true, isn’t it?  And all those strange new worlds old Zefram Cochrane was always on about are still out there too, aren’t they?  And,” he added, “strange new engines to go along with them.”

Archer nodded.  He remembered his conversation with Phlox, and the promise he had made himself.  “Speaking of that,” he asked, “will you do me a favor, Trip?”

“I only owe you about a hundred,” was the reply.

Look before you leap, Archer thought.  But what he said was, “The next time we come across one of those strange new worlds – or their engines – I want you to remind me of something, okay?”

“Sure.  What?”

“A new rule.  Actually, it’s the Captain’s Rule Number One.”

“And that is --?”

“Never mind.  Just remind me about Rule Number One, okay?”

Trip was obviously mystified, but he obediently repeated, “Remind you.  Captain’s Rule Number One.  Whenever we come across something new.”

“Right.”

Trip shook his head.  “I think someone on this beach has been out in the sun just a touch too long.”

“And I think someone on this beach is due for his afternoon nap,” was Archer’s retort.

Trip groaned.  “You have got to be kidding!”

Archer smiled, and shook his head.  “Rules are rules, Trip.”

The End

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