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"Nothing will shake a man...out of his merely verbal thinking and his merely notional
beliefs. He has to be knocked silly before he comes to his senses. Only torture will bring
out the truth. Only under torture does he discover it himself."
-- C.S. Lewis "A Grief Observed"
"Look, all we want to do is make a fair exchange," I say to the Vayllen Trade Ministers.
I do my best to keep my exasperation out of my voice. "I don't think it's an unreasonable
request given that Enterprise was crippled while rendering aid to one of your ships."
"And we are most grateful for the lives you have saved, Captain Archer," First Trade
Minister Oldiran replies smoothly. "Our own ships would have never reached them in
time, but I fear we can not trade such important technology with those who do not
understand themselves."
My blood pressure climbs another notch and I can feel the beginnings of a pounding
headache throb behind my eyes. It's times like these that make me wish that I had
become an accountant instead of a Starfleet Captain.
Beside me, Malcolm shifts slightly and gives an almost imperceptible sigh. It's the first
sign of impatience he's shown all day. I'm sure he's as tired of these fruitless negotiations
as I am, but he's much better at hiding it. Usually I'm annoyed by his ability to mask his
emotions, but today I'm envious of it. Despite that, I'm grateful for his quiet supportive
presence.
I stifle a weary sigh of my own before speaking.
"I've told you, we don't know what that means. Understand ourselves how? If you would
just explain..."
"You are as children to us. Young, unknowing, and innocent," Oldiran says. His
copper-colored eyes glint in the overly bright lights of the reception hall. "You do not yet
fully understand what is in here." He points at my stomach, which just leaves me more
confused than ever.
I'm so frustrated I could scream. We've been talking in circles all morning. For the
hundredth time, I wish that Hoshi were here. She might be able to make some sense of
what these people are trying to tell us, but she was injured during the battle with the
raiders and Phlox has yet to release her from sickbay.
"Perhaps a compromise can be reached," Second Trade Minister Asala says. She sounds
reluctant, but a small surge of hope runs through my heart anyway. Right now a
compromise of any kind sounds good.
We all look at her expectantly.
"Perhaps they can undergo the Valdarria," she says hesitantly.
"The what?" I ask. I exchange a quick glance with Malcolm. I can tell that he's as
mystified as I am. Asala seems to sense our confusion and hurries to explain.
"The Ordeal of Understanding," she says. "It is the final step our young take on the path
into adulthood."
"And if we undergo this...ordeal, you'll be willing to trade with us?" I ask, eagerly
grasping at this faint hope of moving the negotiations forward.
"If you will excuse us for a moment, Captain," Oldiran says stiffly. He takes Asala
firmly by the arm and draws her to the far side of the large hall. I can hear the faint rise
and fall of their voices. Oldiran's gestures are sharp and angry.
"Captain," Malcolm says with a faint frown "I'm not sure this is a good idea."
"I'm not either," I say wearily. "But we're out of options at this point. Trip says that
without those parts it will take him months to get the warp engine back online. If they're
willing to let us do this, then we should take the chance." Malcolm raises no further
protests, but his eyes remain troubled.
A few minutes later, Oldiran strides over to us. His eyes are angry and his lips are tight
with disapproval. I wonder if the emotions are directed at Asala or us.
"If the Adaree is willing to let you undergo the ritual and if you gain understanding, then,
yes, we will trade with you." Oldiran doesn't sound overjoyed by the prospect.
"The Adaree?" I ask in confusion.
"She Who Guides," Oldiran says unhelpfully. "Come. We will go to her now." He turns
and starts walking, leaving us no choice but to follow.
He leads us through a maze of luxuriously carpeted corridors, all of them filled with
extraordinary sculptures and paintings. I try not to gawk like a tourist and fail. But I'm
comforted by the fact that Malcolm also seems openly impressed by the fantastic artwork.
Eventually, we exit the building and cross a vast but well-kept lawn. The grass is so lush
and thick that it catches at my boots and makes walking difficult.
Oldiran finally pauses at the edge of a large grove. Unlike the rest of the neatly groomed
grounds, it appears to be untamed and ancient. The gnarled trees are massive and
surrounded by dark impenetrable thickets of underbrush.
"Do not step off the path," Oldiran warns sharply before walking forward into the trees.
The grove is strangely silent - no wind stirs the broad leaves; no birds or animals move
among the still branches. The silence is infectious and no one speaks as we travel along
on the narrow dirt path.
I catch a glint of silver ahead. At first I think it's water - a large puddle or a very small
pond - but as we get closer I can see that it's a large bright metal disc set in the ground.
Oldiran kneels down in front of it, heedless of his fine robes. He traces his fingers over
the strange raised symbols on the silver metal. The designs are faint, having been worn
away to nearly nothing by generations of such handling.
The symbols flare with brilliant blue light for a moment and there is a loud grinding
sound as the center of the disc irises open to reveal a dark hole. It goes straight down.
There is a rusty metal ladder bolted to one side.
"The Womb of Knowledge," Oldiran says as he gazes down into the hole. His voice is
hushed and reverent. I try to look suitably impressed, but I'm not sure if I'm entirely
successful. To me it looks more like something that might lead down to a sewer system
than to some mystical repository of self-knowledge.
"What's down there?" Malcolm asks warily.
"I am forbidden to say," Oldiran says as he rises gracefully to his feet. "And it would not
help you if I did. Each Ordeal is unique."
Malcolm doesn't look very satisfied by the answer. He pulls a small flashlight out of his
pocket and steps forward to look down into the Womb.
"It goes down quite a way," he says. "I can't see the bottom."
"According to our myths, there was once a passage that went straight to the center of the
world where all knowledge resides," Oldiran says. "But then, in their arrogance, our
ancestors defied the gods and that pathway was forever closed to us. Now we must rely
on the Ordeal to grant us a dim understanding of ourselves and our place in the universe.
The Ordeal takes place in the Womb for it is there, deep in the earth, that we are closest
to the ancient flawless knowledge our people once held."
"I see," Malcolm says noncommittally.
"The Adaree awaits below. If she deems you worthy, she will set you on your path to
understanding." Oldiran gestures at the aperture in the disc.
Malcolm and I look at each other. We both know there is little choice. Malcolm shrugs,
then steps onto the narrow ladder and climbs down into the darkness. I wait for a few
seconds before following, not wanting to crowd him. Oldiran makes no move to join us.
I pause on the ladder.
"You're not coming?" I ask. Oldiran looks down at me with shadowed eyes.
"I have been born four times in my life - once from my birthmother's womb and thrice
from the Womb of Knowledge. That is enough for any man. Most of my people undergo
the Ordeal only once in a lifetime." He hesitates and then adds, "It is not too late for you
and your crewman to return to your ship, Captain. You are both quite young and the
Ordeal is not to be entered into lightly. Knowledge can be a heavy burden."
I shake my head.
"We aren't doing this lightly or on a whim, First Minister. Our ship is crippled and we
have people who are relying on us to do something about it. So unless you're willing to
change your rules...?" I let my voice trail away.
"I fear the parts you require contain technology that may only be entrusted to those who
have attained wisdom and knowledge. On this our laws are clear," Oldiran says with a
heavy sigh.
"Then I have no other choice," I say.
"Very well. I shall wait for you on the other side, Captain. May you learn well." He
makes a graceful gesture with his hands and inclines his head slightly. I give him a curt
nod and start down the ladder.
Malcolm is waiting for me at the bottom. I can barely see him in the faint light from
above. Before us, a narrow corridor stretches away into the heavy darkness.
"You wouldn't happen to have a torch would you?" Malcolm asks. "The battery in mine
seems to have given out."
"Uh, no. Sorry," I say.
There is a sudden screech of metal and the hatch begins to close. Malcolm curses under
his breath and leaps for the ladder, but he's too late. Moments later the hatch clangs shut,
plunging us into utter darkness. I can hear the sound of Malcolm's boots clattering on the
rungs as he rapidly ascends the ladder.
There is a long silence, broken only by the sounds of Malcolm testing the metal of the
hatch.
"I think we're trapped down here, sir," he finally says from above. "I can't find anything
that feels like a release mechanism and there's no way we can move this thing on our
own. It must weigh several tons."
"I don't think we're supposed to get out the same way we came in," I say. "Oldiran said
he would meet us on the other side. I think the only way out is to go forward."
"I don't like this," Malcolm says tensely as he starts down the ladder.
"They said this was a test their children undergo in order to become adults. A lot of rites
of passage involve a test of bravery."
"I suppose," Malcolm says, clearly unconvinced by my reasoning. "Of course that
assumes that what they told us is true."
"They have nothing to gain by harming us," I say.
Malcolm lets his breath out in a barely audible huff. It's the sound he always makes
when he thinks I'm being too idealistic or reckless.
"It's not like we have much of a choice," I remind him.
"I know," he says unhappily. "Let's get on with it then." I hear the scuff of his boots on
the ground and a few seconds later he bumps into me.
"Excuse me, sir," he says as I quickly put my hands on his shoulders to steady him. The
darkness lends my touch a curious intimacy and my cock immediately responds in a way
that leaves me a more than a little flustered.
"Um...that's all right Malcolm," I manage to say. "It is a little, uh, dark in here."
"Just a little," Malcolm says wryly. I can detect a faint smile in his voice.
I wonder what he would do if I gave into my impulse to slide my hands down his back
and... Hastily, I lift my hands off his shoulders. This isn't the time or the place to be
indulging in my wildly inappropriate fantasies about Malcolm.
I wonder how long it will be before I get over this ridiculous crush. I keep telling myself
that it's unseemly for a captain to moon over one of his subordinates - especially one that
will never return my affection. But my foolish heart never listens. Neither does my all-
too-excitable cock. That leaves my brain sadly outnumbered.
I sigh and recall myself to the situation at hand.
"Come on," I say. "Let's go."
We feel our way through the narrow corridor, moving carefully. The darkness is absolute
and strangely oppressive.
I jump slightly when Malcolm touches my shoulder.
"There's light ahead," he whispers. He's right. I have to strain to see it, but there's a faint
flickering glow up ahead.
"Wait here," Malcolm says softly. "I'll go -"
"No," I cut him off. "We go together." There it is again - that faint huff of annoyance,
but for once he doesn't argue with me.
"All right," he says. It might be my imagination, but I think his hand tightens slightly on
my shoulder before he withdraws it altogether.
We move forward at a cautious pace. The tunnel slowly widens out into a small cavern
and the source of the flickering light becomes apparent. Two bright torches flank a
throne-like wooden chair. In the chair sits an ancient woman. She turns her head to look
at us as we approach.
"Welcome Jonathan Archer and Malcolm Reed of the Earth starship Enterprise." Her
voice carries clearly through the dimly lit cavern. "I am the Adaree. I have been waiting
for you."
The Adaree is tall and thin and possesses an air of bird-like fragility that is only
emphasized by the heavy black and gold silk robes she is wearing. She looks harmless
enough, but there's something about her that makes me uneasy. As she assesses me with
her cool copper eyes, I get the feeling that she's looking into my very soul; that she
knows things about me that she couldn't possibly know - things that perhaps I don't even
know about myself. It's disturbing.
I think Malcolm senses it too. He moves so that he is standing slightly in front of me,
ready to defend me.
I smile inwardly. I love it when he goes all protective on me. I like to pretend that he
does it because he has deep personal feelings for me and not just because I'm his captain.
I know it's foolish and juvenile, but I do it anyway.
"You come seeking understanding?" the Adaree asks.
"Yes," I reply.
"Are you willing to pass through the Valdarria in order to gain greater understanding?"
She transfixes me with her piercing stare.
"Yes." I force myself to meet her eerie gaze. It's almost a relief when she turns away
from me to address Malcolm.
"And you, youngling? Have you also come for understanding?" Malcolm looks slightly
irked by her term of address, but replies politely enough,
"Yes, ma'am, I have."
"Come here," she demands. Malcolm casts a quick look at me before obeying. The
Adaree reaches out and takes his face between her hands. Malcolm shies away from her
touch and drops into a defensive crouch.
"I will not harm you, young man," the Adaree says briskly.
Malcolm looks a little chagrined as he straightens up, and I get the feeling that his
reaction to her touch was more instinctual than intentional. He steps forward again. This
time he holds his ground as she places her hands on either side of his face. For a few
seconds they just stand there, staring into one another's eyes, but then Malcolm jerks
away from her touch with a sharp gasp. He staggers slightly.
"Malcolm?" I ask in concern. He's breathing hard and his eyes are dazed.
"I-I'm all right," he says.
"What happened?"
"I...I don't know exactly. But it's a little...disorienting." He shakes his head sharply as if
to clear it.
"I am merely mapping the path you will take," the Adaree says calmly.
"Path?" I ask in confusion.
"To knowledge. I must touch your fears in order to determine what form the Valdarria
will take."
"You can read our minds?" I ask. Malcolm tenses beside me. The old woman merely
smiles.
"I am the Adaree," she says as if that explains everything.
"Sir," Malcolm says urgently, "if she can see our thoughts who knows what tactical
information she can -"
"The secrets you carry remain your own," the Adaree interrupts. "My gift allows me to
touch only that which is necessary."
"I don't like this," Malcolm mutters to me. "We only have her word on that." I place a
reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"We've come this far, Malcolm," I say softly. "If the Vayllen wanted to hurt us, they
wouldn't have to resort to underhanded schemes to do it." I don't have to elaborate. We
both know that in her current state Enterprise would be no match for even the smallest
Vayllen ship.
"Shall we continue?" the Adaree asks. Malcolm glares at her distrustfully as I walk
forward.
The Adaree places her withered, wrinkled hands on my face. Her skin is soft and warm
and carries a faint spicy scent. She looks deeply into my eyes.
I'm not exactly sure what happens next. It's as if she unlocks some secret floodgate in my
head. Thoughts and feelings rush through my mind at warp speed - too fast to really
comprehend. I bounce along helplessly in the raging riptide. Suddenly a vast
unreasoning fear grips my heart. For a shocking moment I feel like I can't breath. And
then it is over.
"Are you all right, sir?" Malcolm asks. There's quiet concern in his voice. I'm warmed
by it even as I tell myself that it means nothing. His worry for me is professional, not
personal.
I nod and try to catch my breath. It takes longer than I would like; it feels like I've just
run a marathon.
"Your paths are now clear to me," the Adaree says "but I must warn you. Once the
Valdarria has begun it cannot be stopped; it must be seen through to the end. Do you
understand this Jonathan Archer of the starship Enterprise?
"Yes." I'm able to say the word clearly even though I'm still a little breathless.
"And do you wish to continue?"
"Yes."
"And what of you, Malcolm Reed of the starship Enterprise? Do you also wish to
continue?"
"Yes," Malcolm says decisively.
"Very well. The choice is made. You will follow me." She rises from her ornate chair.
Her silken robes flow gracefully around her as she leads us through another narrow
tunnel that ultimately opens into a large cavern. In the center of the cavern there is a
fissure filled with dark water. The natural pool is not particularly large, perhaps ten
meters square, but the water swirls and churns with ominous currents.
The Adaree gestures at the pool.
"This is your Ordeal," she says softly. "May you learn well from it."
Beside me, Malcolm stumbles slightly. I catch him by the arm to steady him.
"I'm all right, sir," he murmurs softly, but his muscles are tense beneath my hand and his
face is pale.
"Are you sure?" I ask. He tears his gaze away from the pool and gives me a weak smile.
I can see apprehension in his eyes.
"I guess she really can read minds," he says.
"Um...you do know how to swim, don't you?" I ask anxiously.
"Yes, of course. My father saw to that. I'm not the strongest swimmer, but I get by. I'll
be fine sir." A mask of composure settles over his face, erasing the outward signs of fear
I saw just moments before. The change happens so fast that I'm a little startled by it.
"Malcolm..."
"We need those parts," he says flatly. He shakes my hand off of his arm. I watch as he
pulls off his boots and slowly strips down to his underwear. He folds each piece of
clothing neatly, lingering over the task, clearly stalling for time. I know that the last
thing he wants to do is climb into that dark murky pool.
"We'll find some other way," I say softly.
"There is no other way. I can do this." His voice is hard with conviction, but I can see the
slight tremor in his hands.
I'm surprised by how much I want to protect him from this, but I know that he won't back
down unless I order him to. And I can't do that because he's right. We need those parts.
Without them, Enterprise is little more than a tin can floating aimlessly in the vacuum of
space.
Malcolm finishes folding his clothing and looks at the Adaree. She inclines her head and
gestures at the water. Malcolm swallows hard, but walks over to it without hesitation.
He pauses at the edge and stares down at the water for a long time. He's so pale that I
start to worry that he's going to pass out. He glances at me over his shoulder and I smile
at him encouragingly.
He turns away and slowly sits down on the edge of the pool. He gives a low gasp as his
feet slide into the water.
"Oh! That's cold," he says to no one in particular. His hands flex on the dark rocks. He
sits there for a few minutes and then he eases himself into the pool. He treads water for a
moment before taking a tentative stroke forward.
Without warning, he panics and flails at the water. His uncoordinated movements aren't
enough to keep him afloat and he sinks beneath the dark surface. A fraction of a second
later he reappears, gasping and sputtering. He claws frantically at the rocky edges of the
pool and manages to pull himself halfway out.
"Malcolm..." I take a step forward but he holds up a trembling hand.
"I'm all right. I'm all right," he says. He sounds anything but all right to me, but I stay
where I am. I suspect that my concern for him won't be welcome at the moment.
He lies against the dark rocks, half in and half out of the water. Eventually he looks up at
me with embarrassment in his eyes.
"There's a very strong downward current," he explains. "I...I wasn't expecting it."
"I can see how that would be startling," I say, even though I know his reaction was due to
far more than simple surprise. He gives me a faint grateful smile. My heart races as I
smile back. I wish he would smile at me more often.
"Right then," he says softly. "Here we go." He pushes himself off the rocks and back
into the water. I notice he is careful to stay near the edge.
He doesn't look at me again.
***
A quick glance at my chronometer tells me that a little over two hours have passed in
tense silence. It feels more like an eternity.
Malcolm's movements are becoming slower and jerkier - clear indications of his rapidly
growing fatigue. It's getting harder and harder for me to watch him struggle against the
water, but the Adaree shows no signs of calling an end to his torment.
"Enough," I say. "He's been in there long enough. Surely he's proven himself to you by
now."
"Your lover is brave," the Adaree says calmly, "but he does not yet understand the true
nature of his fear."
"Uh...he's not my lover," I say. My face burns with embarrassment and I wonder just
what, exactly, she saw in my mind. The Adaree gives me a quick sidelong glance.
"Perhaps I misunderstood," she says softly. "Still, he cannot face his fear while he fights
it."
"I don't understand."
"His fear is not of the water. He cannot truly understand his fear until he surrenders to
it."
I frown in confusion. Malcolm is an aquaphobe, of course he's afraid of... Suddenly I
recall the conversation I had with Malcolm out on the hull of Enterprise during the
incident with the Romulan mine.
***
"I was raised on the water," Malcolm had told me. "I knew how to handle a boat before I
could ride a bicycle. Studied all the great naval battles. I don't know. I suppose I
thought I would just...grow out of it."
"Grow out of what?"
"Aquaphobia."
"You're afraid of the water?"
"More precisely, afraid of drowning."
***
No, Malcolm isn't afraid of the water. A cold aching dread tightens in my stomach.
"No," I whisper. I turn to look at the Adaree. "No," I say again. I want her to tell me
that I'm wrong, but she only gazes back at me with her glittering inhuman eyes.
"He will understand in the end," she says impassively. "As will you."
I've made a terrible mistake. I thought that I understood the purpose of this ordeal, but
it's clear that this isn't some simple test of bravery. These people aren't human; they have
motives that are as strange and alien as their eyes. My heart twists in my chest.
"He'll die," I say with a trace of panic. "Our species can't breathe under water."
"I am aware of that."
The cadence of Malcolm's strokes is becoming increasingly erratic and I know that he's in
trouble. I can no longer stand by and watch. I run over to the pool, intending on pulling
him to safety.
Just short of the water, I slam painfully into an invisible wall. I stagger backward with
the force of the impact. The pool is surrounded by some kind of force field. I push
against the unseen barrier, but it doesn't give. Frantically, I run my hands along it,
looking for a way over or through it. There is none.
Malcolm looks up at me with fear in his eyes. I whirl around to face the Adaree.
"Take it down!" I snarl. The Adaree looks at me unflinchingly.
"I cannot. Once the Valdarria has started, there is no turning back."
"You can't do this," I say. My voice sounds scared even to my own ears.
"It is already done," she says calmly. Rage rises into my chest and I take a menacing step
toward her. Four armed guards materialize out of the shadows and train their weapons on
me. I freeze.
"Neither my death nor yours will prevent his," the Adaree says. "The Valdarria must be
seen through to the end."
"So you're just going to let him die?" I say furiously. "Is that how you learn about
yourselves? By murdering innocent people?"
"His death is necessary."
"If someone has to die to finish this thing, then take me!" I demand. "Let me take his
place." The Adaree sighs and shakes her head sadly.
"You still do not understand," she says.
And I don't. Malcolm is floundering now, clawing desperately at the dark water;
struggling to keep his head above it.
"Please," I beg. The Adaree looks at me with something that might be sympathy, but I
don't trust myself to read her anymore.
"There is little I do not know of fear, Jonathan Archer," she says. "I am three hundred
and thirty-seven cycles old and I have been the Adaree for nearly a hundred of those. I
have tasted the fear of thousands, but yours is particularly bitter."
And suddenly I understand. This isn't just Malcolm's test. It's mine as well. I curse
under my breath and slam my fist against the force field.
Malcolm surges forward, reaching out to me, but his hand crashes into the invisible
barrier. His eyes are full of raw, unadulterated panic. He knows. He knows he's going
to die and there's nothing he can do about it.
I know too and am helpless to stop it.
Malcolm makes another desperate lunge for the edge of the pool. His hand slides along
the force field and then he goes under. He doesn't come back up.
"No!" The word tears out of me with a force that leaves my throat raw.
I can't let this happen. I won't let this happen. I slam my fist against the force field so
hard that I feel the bones in my hand and wrist crack. Pain shoots through my arm but I
don't care. Right now, all I know is that I can't let him die. Not like this. I throw myself
against the barrier again and again and again like a frantic moth battering itself against a
pane of glass.
I have no idea how much time has passed - only that it is too much. Suddenly the barrier
vanishes. Without thought or hesitation, I dive into the black chaotic water. The current
tugs and pulls at me like a malicious creature and I instinctively fight against it until I
realize that it will take me to Malcolm. I force myself to relax and swim with it.
The water is shockingly cold and murky with sediments. I wonder how Malcolm
managed to bear it for so long. I can see very little, but I keep my eyes open anyway,
searching for any sign of him.
I grope around with increasing desperation. I'm rapidly running out of air and will have
to surface soon. I'm just about to give up when my fumbling hand collides with
something. I seize it before the capricious currents can steal it away again. I pull it
closer and can make out the faint outlines of pale flesh. An arm, I think. I have him. I
pause only to get a better grip on him before heading for the surface.
I struggle against the swirling waters. Malcolm's dead weight hinders our ascent and I
lose precious seconds when I stop to pull him closer to my body to minimize the drag. I
wrap my arm around him and hold him tightly against my chest.
I have often fantasized about holding Malcolm, but I never imagined that he would be so
still and cold.
I kick with my legs, trying to keep my movements strong and efficient. I don't have
much time left. My lungs are burning with the need for air. Small bright spots explode
behind my eyes and I can hear blood roaring loudly in my ears. I have no idea how close
I am to the surface or if I will reach it before my increasingly hypoxic body betrays me.
My vision starts to gray out as the fire in my lungs spreads to my weakening limbs. The
need to draw breath is nearly overwhelming. I'm not going to make it. Malcolm and I
are going to die on this alien world because of my stupid mistake. Everything around me
is fading into black. I kick wildly with the last remnants of my strength. I'm not going to
make it...
I break the surface with a sudden splash. For a few seconds all I can do is tread water
and suck air into my aching lungs. The current pulls violently at Malcolm and nearly
wrests him from my grasp. I tighten my hold on him, refusing to let the water have him
again.
I maneuver us closer to the edge. The barrier is still down and I struggle to push
Malcolm up onto the rocky lip of the pool. The Vayllen watch me with their impassive
alien eyes, but make no move to help. I would curse them, but I haven't the time or
breath to spare. With one final desperate shove I manage to get Malcolm's limp body up
onto solid ground. Water trickles out of his mouth. He doesn't move as I heave myself
up next to him.
I quickly drag him a safe distance from the pool and arrange him on his back. I tilt his
head back to open his airway and place my ear next to his mouth. Nothing. His chest is
as cold and still as marble beneath my hand. I can't find a pulse.
I pinch his nose shut and seal my lips over his. He is cold, so cold. I try not to think
about it as I force air into his lungs. My own oxygen-starved body is shaking and close
to collapse, but I ignore it.
I lift my mouth off of Malcolm's and position my hands carefully on his chest. I count
out loud as I begin the compressions. Two breaths, thirty compressions. I repeat the
cycle over and over. Twice I lose track of where I am and have to start again.
Part of me is convinced that it's already too late; that Malcolm was under too long and
this is just a pointless exercise. But I can't give up. I can't. I will not let death take him
without a fight.
I'm startled when Malcolm suddenly jerks and convulses beneath my hands. Water
spews out of his mouth as he begins to cough and gag. Tears of relief spring into my
eyes as I roll him over onto his side. He struggles for breath between gut-wrenching
coughs.
I stay beside him and stroke my trembling hand over his wet hair. His eyes are open but I
can tell he's not completely conscious.
His body is wracked by another violent spate of coughing. He pushes himself up a little
with his hands and then vomits up even more water. He wobbles precariously and I
quickly grab hold of him before he can collapse into the puddle he just created.
He paws at me as if searching for something solid to grab onto. I gather him up and hold
him close as much for my own reassurance as his. He gasps and shudders against my
chest, clutching weakly at my wet clothing.
"It's okay, Malcolm," I say gently. "I've got you."
"Do you understand the nature of your fear now?" The Adaree's voice takes me by
surprise. I had forgotten about her.
I understand far more than I want to. I understand that losing Malcolm was like losing
part of myself; that what I feel for him goes far beyond simple attraction. The depth of it
is terrifying.
"Yes," I snarl. "But don't expect me to be grateful."
"Gratitude is not required. Only understanding." She bends down to touch Malcolm's
forehead and it's all I can do not to slap her hand away. She has no right to touch him.
"He understands as well," she says. I glare at her.
Still cradling Malcolm in my lap, I fumble for my communicator. I manage to pull it out
and open a channel. I'm ashamed that I hadn't thought to call for help earlier. I know all
too well that CPR is rarely effective on its own. Phlox's equipment would have helped
Malcolm far more efficiently.
"Archer to Enterprise." The only reply I get is a faint hiss of static. I mutter a violent
curse. We must be too far underground.
"Your devices will not work here," the Adaree says. "You must return to the world
above." She sighs and looks at me sadly. "You must think us a cruel people. But the
knowledge you have gained here may someday lead you to a greater happiness. At the
very least you will be stronger for bearing the burden of it."
I think she's wrong. I think the weight of it will slowly crush me. Malcolm has no
interest in me. Before now, I could simply shrug off his lack of interest by dismissing my
own feelings as a silly superficial infatuation. That protective fiction has just been
vaporized. My heart is now terrifyingly defenseless.
A loud scraping noise echoes through the cavern as a door opens in the rough rock wall
before me. A corridor slopes upward and I can see a faint glimmer of daylight in the
distance. I want nothing more than to get Malcolm back safely to the ship, so I don't
argue or ask for help.
"Come on, Malcolm," I say as I drag him to his feet. "Let's get out of here." He slumps
against me, still only semi-conscious. I'm supporting nearly all of his weight as it is, so I
just lift him up awkwardly in my arms and carry him. I'm a little worried by the fact that
he doesn't protest this indignity or insist that he try to walk on his own.
Malcolm is heavier than I thought he would be, and my arms are aching and trembling by
the time we reach the end of the steeply slanting corridor. It opens out onto a vast green
expanse of lawn.
Oldiran is waiting for us. He looks at me with sympathy and understanding as I gently
ease Malcolm down onto the soft grass.
"Tend to your crewman, Captain," he says. "And then we will trade." I spare him a
quick angry glance before trying my communicator again.
"Archer to Enterprise."
"Yes Captain?" T'Pol's voice comes clearly through the device.
"Transport myself and Lieutenant Reed back to the ship at once. Have Phlox meet us in
the transporter room with a trauma team." I'm amazed at how calm I sound.
"Understood," T'Pol says. "Stand by for transport." I'm grateful that she doesn't waste
any time asking unnecessary questions.
I'm relieved when I finally feel the effects of the transporter take hold of me.
***
We are back on Enterprise and Phlox and his medics are taking Malcolm away from me.
I sit down on the transporter platform and watch numbly as they quickly load him onto a
gurney and leave.
I stare after them. I want to go with Malcolm, to make sure he's going to be all right, but
I have trade negotiations to attend. I slowly rise to my feet. I'm surprised to find that I'm
shaking. But I have no time for weaknesses. I take several long deep breaths. It helps a
little, so I do it again.
As I exit the room, I almost run into Trip.
"Capt'n, what happened?" he asks anxiously. "I heard you transported up. Are you
okay? Where's Malcolm?"
"Malcolm's in sickbay. I don't have time to explain right now," I say harshly. "Have
someone from security meet me in the shuttle bay. As soon as I change out of these wet
clothes, I'm going back down there to get what we need to fix the warp engine. And then
we're getting the hell out of here."
"Capt'n..." Trip starts to object, but then catches himself. "Yes, sir," he says softly.
***
Oldiran is more than accommodating. I think he regrets what happened, and he trades a
small fortune in equipment and warp plasma for a song - almost literally. All the Vayllen
want from us now is a copy of Enterprise's cultural arts database, something we would
have been more than happy to give them anyway.
I thank Oldiran politely before I leave even though I still think that Malcolm and I got the
bad end of the bargain.
***
I sit at Malcolm's bedside and listen to him breathe. The rough, labored sounds of his
respirations are slightly muffled by the oxygen mask that covers his nose and mouth, but
I can still hear them. In...Out. In...Out. After each exhalation there's a tiny heart-
stopping pause before he inhales again. It's as if his body isn't sure it has enough energy
to continue breathing. I find myself timing my breaths to his, as if by doing so I can keep
his lungs going through some strange sympathetic magic.
Phlox is guardedly optimistic about Malcolm's condition. He told me it was a good sign
that Malcolm is breathing so well on his own, but he also warned me that near drowning
comes with many possible complications. Sometimes a patient who appears to be doing
well can take a sudden and drastic turn for the worse.
Malcolm moans and stirs fitfully in his sleep. I wonder if the memory of cold black
water is seeping into his dreams.
"It's okay, Malcolm," I say quietly. "We're safe now." I reach out and take his hand in
mine. He stills at my touch and a small thrill runs through me. I like the idea of being
able to comfort him. I wish I could curl myself around him and protect him from all of
his nightmares.
It'll never happen, a mocking voice whispers in the back of my head. I ignore it and the
rough tangle of emotions that stirs in my chest. Those feelings are too raw and painful to
examine at the moment. Eventually I'll have to deal with them, but not now. Malcolm is
alive and that's all that matters. Everything else can wait.
I stroke my thumb lightly over the back of his hand. Malcolm sighs and his dark lashes
flutter a bit before he opens his eyes. My heart surges with joy. It feels like I've regained
a missing part of myself.
I wonder when he became such an integral part of my existence?
Malcolm's gaze wanders blankly around sickbay for a moment before coming to rest on
me. His fingers tighten fractionally on my hand and his lips curve up in a small smile
under the oxygen mask.
"Malcolm?" I ask hopefully.
"Mmmm," he mumbles unintelligibly. He looks at me steadily but every time he blinks,
his eyelids stay closed a little longer as if the effort of opening them again is increasing
exponentially. Eventually his eyes fail to reopen and his hand goes slack in mine, but the
faint smile remains on his face.
I settle back in my chair and listen to him breath.
***
Several hours later, Malcolm wakes with a startled gasp. His hand tightens reflexively on
mine as he stares wildly at his surroundings.
"Easy, Malcolm," I say. He blinks and focuses on me.
"Captain?" His eyes are glassy and he sounds pretty groggy, but that's not too surprising
considering Phlox has him drugged to the gills on antibiotics, pain killers, muscle
relaxants, and who knows what else. I smile at him.
"How do you feel?" I ask. He doesn't answer right away and I start to get a little worried.
"Malcolm?"
"I don't know." His voice is hoarse. "Tired. Sore."
He frowns and then reaches up and pulls the oxygen mask off of his face. I debate
whether to put it back in place, but then decide that if he's awake and talking it probably
won't hurt to leave it off for a few minutes.
"What happened?" he asks.
"You drowned." I immediately regret saying it. He draws in a sharp breath, and his face
tightens with anxiety.
"I'm sorry," he says. He pulls his hand out of mine and looks away from me, unable to
meet my gaze.
"Sorry? What for?"
"I failed." His voice is low and full of self-reproach.
"What?"
"The Ordeal..."
"We passed their damned tests," I say angrily. Malcolm looks at me in confusion.
"But...I-I drowned."
"They meant for you to drown."
"They did?" He sounds shocked.
"I was wrong. The test wasn't about facing fear - it was about living through it. Or not,
in your case."
"I... Did I die?" he asks hesitantly.
"You didn't have a pulse when I pulled you out of the water." A cold shiver creeps down
my spine at the memory.
"Oh." He looks rather horrified by the information and I hasten to reassure him.
"Phlox says you're going to be fine," I say with as much conviction as I can muster.
"That's good to know," he says with a small unsteady laugh. "What about you? Are you
all right?"
"I'm okay," I say but my voice isn't as firm as it should be and he knows that I'm lying.
He frowns and gives me a searching look. His eyes darken with anger and concern when
he sees the splint on my arm.
"What did they do to you?"
"It doesn't matter," I say.
"Yes it does," he insists.
"Malcolm..."
"Captain... Jonathan," he says softly "what did they do to you?" His use of my given
name startles me into truthfulness.
"They made me watch. They made me watch you die."
"Jonathan..." There's something in his voice that I can't quite identify. Compassion?
Forgiveness? Pity? Whatever it is I don't think I can bear it.
"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "I have to go." I stand and leave before he can say anything
else. It's a despicable thing to do, but I'm so off-balance that I'm afraid I will say or do
something that will reveal my feelings for him. And right now I don't think I can deal
with the inevitable rejection. Not coming so soon on the heels of our brutal ordeal. Not
when I've just discovered exactly how deeply I care for him.
I retreat to my quarters and spend the rest of the evening pondering his use of my name.
Part of me thinks I should be glad of it. It implies a level of intimacy that we haven't
really shared before except in my fantasies. But then again, it could have just been the
drugs talking. Finally, I give up trying to analyze it and go to bed.
I dream of death and dark water.
***
I play with my food, sculpting the mashed potatoes into irregular formations with my
fork. Trip is going on about something but I tune out his voice until his mention of
Malcolm's name catches my attention. I look up sharply.
"I'm sorry. What did you say?"
Trip gives me a look of concern mingled with frustration.
"I said Malcolm was asking after you. Again." His voice is mild but I can see the
reproof in his eyes. I look away.
"How is he?" I ask.
"Worried about you. He wanted to know if you were okay. Said you hadn't been by in
several days."
"Oh," I say inadequately. Trip frowns.
"So...are you?" he asks.
"Am I what?"
"Are you okay?"
"Me? I'm fine"
"Really?" Trip challenges.
"Trip..."
"You've been pretty quiet since you got back."
"I...I've just had a lot to think about."
"Are you sure that's all it is?" Trip asks doubtfully. I give him what I hope is a reassuring
smile.
"Yes. I'm sure."
"Okay. But if you ever need someone to talk to..."
"Thanks, Trip. I know."
"And you really should go see Malcolm," Trip says quietly.
I've been telling myself the same thing for the past three days. But every time my
courage has failed me. When I think about Malcolm I feel a deep sense of loss. I know
it's foolish to grieve over something that was never mine to begin with, but I can't help
myself. In some ways, I think my feelings would be easier to deal with if Malcolm had
actually died on Vayl. I immediately feel guilty for thinking such a terrible, selfish thing.
I know that I will eventually find a new internal balance - some new way of shielding my
heart from his indifference - but right now, staying away from him is the only defense I
have.
"Jon?" Trip is frowning at me again. "Are you listening to me? I think you should go
visit Malcolm. I think he needs to see that you're okay."
"I will," I say quietly.
And I do, late that night when I'm sure he'll be asleep. I sit silently by his bedside and
listen to him breathe.
***
I'm not used to thinking of myself as a coward. But cowardice is the only explanation I
can come up with for my inability to face Malcolm. During the daytime hours, I throw
myself into my work, coming up with excuse after excuse not to go down to visit him. I
tell myself that the ship requires my attention; I'm the captain after all. But I know it's a
lie. The ship would function perfectly well without me for an hour or two.
I creep into sickbay every night after midnight because it's safe to see him when he's
asleep.
I'm not used to thinking of myself as a coward, but that's what I am.
***
I'm later than normal tonight. It's almost oh two hundred hours when I finally steal into
sickbay. The lights are on low. A series of muted squeaks and rustles tell me that
Phlox's menagerie of therapeutic creatures has noted my presence. Hopefully the extra
noise won't wake Malcolm this time. It hasn't in the past. He's always sound asleep.
I make my way stealthily to his bedside. These late night visits have become routine, but
when I part the privacy curtain the sight that greets me isn't the one I've come to expect.
The biobed is empty. Did I get turned around? Frantically I look around the room. All
of the beds are empty. Malcolm isn't here. Panic rises into my throat. Phlox's warning
about potential setbacks slithers through my mind like a poisonous snake.
My gaze jumps automatically to the door to the morgue and my stomach clenches in fear.
No. I shy away from the possibility. There must be some other explanation for
Malcolm's absence. There has to be.
I turn and stagger toward Phlox's office. "Phlox." It comes out as a strangled whisper. I
try again. "Phlox!"
Phlox emerges from his office, eyes alert and questioning.
"Captain?" he says. "What's wrong? Do you require medical assistance?" I lunge
forward and grab him by the shoulders. Phlox looks startled by the abrupt contact.
"Where's Malcolm?" I say. "Where is he?" Phlox gives me a bewildered frown.
"I released Lieutenant Reed back to his quarters earlier this evening."
"Oh." Dizzy with relief, I let go of Phlox and lean against the nearby counter. Not dead.
He's not dead.
"Captain, are you well?" Phlox asks in concern. "You seem rather agitated." I struggle to
regain my composure.
"I-I thought... When I didn't see Malcolm, I was worried..."
Phlox is studying me intently. His sharp alien gaze suddenly reminds me of the Adaree's
- too perceptive by half.
"Uh, Never mind," I say quickly. "I'm fine. Really. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." I
bolt from sickbay before I can betray myself any further.
***
Malcolm has been cleared for light duty and I'm half-hoping that he'll decide to spend his
shift in the armory. No such luck. He's already on the bridge when I arrive. He glances
up at me warily and then quickly drops his gaze back to his console. He sits there,
strangely motionless, as if he's waiting for some particularly cruel and inescapable blow
to fall.
It makes my heart ache. The Ordeal has left something vast and tangled lying between
us, but I have no idea how to clear it away without cutting myself to ribbons in the
process. I know I have to say something to him because it's expected. I clear my throat
nervously.
"Good to have you back, Lieutenant." It's not what I want to say and I wince at the stiff
formality in my voice.
"Thank you, sir," Malcolm murmurs almost to low for me to hear.
Trip, who is standing in his customary spot behind Malcolm, gives me a disapproving
frown. Shame washes over me.
"T'Pol, you have the bridge," I say as I make a quick escape into my ready room.
I spend the day fretting and brooding and don't go off-shift until I'm sure that Malcolm
has already left the bridge.
***
I wake with a low gasp. My brow is damp with sweat and my heart is hammering
violently in my chest. A cold oily sense of dread coils around me. I don't remember
much about the dream that woke me, only that it involved Malcolm and water. I rub a
shaking hand over my eyes.
For some reason my nightmares have become worse since Malcolm was released from
sickbay. Not only do they disrupt my sleep, but the unease they generate also lingers into
my waking moments.
I sigh and swing my legs over the side of the bed. I know I won't be getting back to sleep
anytime soon, so I get up and pull on some clothes.
Porthos whines softly from his bed. I've disturbed his rest as well. His eyes glitter faintly
in the starlight as he looks up at me.
"It's okay boy," I say. "You stay here." He wags his tail at the sound of my voice but
drops his head back down at the word 'stay'.
I exit my quarters and wander down to the small observation lounge. I find that watching
the stars go by often helps soothe my nerves. I open the door only to find that Malcolm
must have had the same idea. He's stretched out on one of the couches. Startled, I open
my mouth to stammer out an apology for disturbing him, but then I notice that he's fast
asleep. Emboldened by the discovery, I move a little closer to him.
In sleep, Malcolm's face looks different - younger, peaceful, relaxed. The tight anxious
crease he was carrying between his eyes this morning is gone. A dark lock of hair lies
tumbled carelessly across his forehead and I have to clench my hand against the urge to
brush it back. A splayed-open book rests on his chest, his hands clasped loosely over it.
For a long time I study him, listening to his soft even breaths. I don't know why I find
the sound so profoundly comforting. I guess it's proof that Malcolm is still alive; that my
terrible error on Vayl didn't end in the worst possible way.
I know I need to talk to him - that I should have talked to him days ago. After all, it's my
responsibility as captain to see to the well being of my crew.... Oh, hell, who am I trying
to kid? Professional responsibility has nothing to do with it. I'm worried about him
because I love him. What I feel for him isn't attraction or lust or mere affection. It's love
- deep, passionate, unreasoning, unwise love.
Malcolm mumbles something in his sleep and shifts slightly. The book slides
precariously toward the floor. Quickly, I reach out and grab it before it can fall. The
book's paper cover is tattered and worn with use. I glance at the title: "The Wasteland".
T.S. Eliot. I frown and wonder why Malcolm is reading a twentieth century poem about
death and desolation. Personally, I've had more than enough of both lately.
I page through the book with aimless curiosity. It looks like it had been used as a college
text at some point. Short passages have been highlighted and there are numerous
cramped notes written in the margins. I wonder if Malcolm wrote them. Strange. I read
his reports all the time, but I don't know what his handwriting looks like.
Curious, I turn to the page the book had been opened to when I rescued it. There is a
single highlighted passage:
"The awful daring of a moment's surrender /
Which an age of prudence can never retract /
By this, and this only, we have existed. /
I stare at the words and think about all the things I've never dared to do in my life; of all
of the impulses I've suppressed. I'm surprised by how many of those impulses revolve
around the sleeping man in front of me. How many times have I wanted to tell Malcolm
how I feel about him? How many times have I wanted to reach out and touch him? How
many times have I wanted to take him into my arms and kiss him?
I've had so many chances, but I've never dared to take any of them. This time I came so
very close to never having another chance. Another minute in that water and he would
have been beyond help. And I would have been alone with my longings and regrets and
terrible empty knowledge.
I sink down on my knees beside the couch. I reach out and trace my fingers over
Malcolm's stubble-covered cheek. His skin feels delightfully warm. Not at all like it did
when I pulled him out of that frigid pool. I shiver a little at the harsh haunting memory.
Malcolm sighs and opens his eyes. He blinks at me with drowsy confusion. I freeze,
caught in the act. I brace myself for rejection, but Malcolm makes no effort to pull away
from my touch.
I'm not sure how long we stay that way, looking at one another, my hand resting lightly
on his cheek. Suddenly, he smiles at me, a slight upward curve of his lips. I'm surprised
by the reaction. I'd been expecting my touch to be rebuffed. But instead he's smiling at
me - faintly to be sure, but smiling.
My heart pounds painfully in my chest. Slowly and deliberately, I lean forward and kiss
him. It is sheer madness. What I'm doing is impossibly improper and inappropriate. But
I don't care. For once, just once, I'm going to surrender to the impulse and to hell with
the consequences.
Malcolm's lips are soft and warm. He accepts the kiss passively. I make it last for as
long as I can because I know that it will never happen again. Eventually, I pull back from
him with a soft sigh and wait for the painful fallout.
"Why did you do that?" he asks. His smile is gone. I miss it already. Nervously, I hold
up the book. Malcolm looks at it in confusion.
"The awful daring of a moment's surrender," I whisper conspiratorially.
"Ah," he says. I'm not sure what to make of the response, but at least he isn't calling me
'sir' or bolting for the door.
"I've wanted to do that for a while you know," I confess softly. Malcolm sits up on the
couch and looks at me quizzically.
"Then why didn't you?"
"I-I didn't think you wanted me to," I say awkwardly. I don't know what to make of this.
I'd been steeled for outright rejection, but not this odd interrogation.
"But you think I want you to now?" Malcolm asks. I look away, unable to meet his eyes.
This was a terrible mistake. I'm his superior officer, his captain. I should have known
that he, of all people, would react poorly to my interest. Hell, if he wants to he could
have me up on sexual harassment charges.
"I-I'm sorry," I stammer nervously. "I...I didn't think...." I start to climb to my feet, but
Malcolm stays me with a hand on my shoulder. The touch is light and hesitant, but it's
more than enough to hold me in place. I'm fairly certain that this is the first time
Malcolm has ever initiated any kind of unnecessary physical contact with me.
Time passes slowly, seconds ticking by like hours. I hardly dare to breathe for fear that
I'll shatter this fragile moment. Malcolm slowly slides his hand up my neck, his thumb
brushing tenderly against my cheek. I shudder beneath the caress.
"I'm sorry," he says. "That was cruel of me. Keeping you at arm's length has become a
habit I'm afraid."
He smiles again, almost sadly, and then leans forward to kiss me. He cradles my face in
his hands and pushes his tongue lightly against my lips. I yield immediately to the gentle
pressure. He makes a small sound of pleasure in the back of his throat and closes his
eyes.
I revel in the taste of him as our tongues brush against each other. He opens his eyes and
looks at me as the kiss breaks off. I'm surprised by what I see. Affection. Desire.
Longing.
"Everything changed down there, didn't it?" he asks softly.
I nod mutely.
Malcolm slides off the couch and into my lap, his legs straddling mine. He rests his head
against my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him. He feels good against me, as if his
body had been made to fit next to mine.
"When I was under water, all I could think about was that I was going to die without
telling you." His voice is low and rough. "I never told you."
"Told me what?" I ask.
"That I care about you; that I've always wanted to take what you kept offering me. I'm
sorry Jonathan. I'm sorry that I had to die before I could tell you."
"Malcolm -"
"If you hadn't been able to resuscitate me..." His voice falters and he shivers in the circle
of my arms.
"It's okay, Malcolm." I stroke my hands soothingly over his back. "The universe gave
us another chance. All we have to do is take it."
"I don't know if I can..." he says sadly. I pull back a little so I can see his face.
"Why not? Is loving me any more frightening than drowning?"
"Loving you is easy Jonathan," he says. "But there are regulations...we'd be risking a
lot."
"We risked a lot when we stopped to help the Vayllen against those raiders," I say. "We
risk a lot every time we move a little further into deep space or step onto the surface of a
new planet. Is this so very different? Shouldn't we take the chance to explore this?
We've both passed up so many opportunities." I kiss him gently. "Isn't this worth some
risk?"
"Jon..." He hesitates and I feel my hopes start to crumble. I close my eyes in defeat as a
dull ache rises into my chest. I wish he would get off of me so I can leave. I don't need
to hear his list of reasons for rejecting me.
But then suddenly his lips are on mine, hard and demanding. Surprised, I open my eyes,
but my body is already yielding to him. He rests his forehead against mine as the kiss
breaks off.
"Yes," he says passionately. "Yes, it is."
My heart leaps with joy as I pull him in for another searing kiss. My hands roam freely
over his shoulders and back. I need to touch him; I want to map out every inch of his
body with my own. But I suddenly remember that we're in a rather public area of the
ship, and I reluctantly rein myself in.
"Wait," I say breathlessly. "We shouldn't be doing this here. Someone might come in."
"We shouldn't be doing this at all," Malcolm says, but he makes no move to pull away
from me. In fact, he's moving closer, burrowing deeper into my embrace.
"Maybe not," I say. "But it's too late for prudence, Malcolm. Now that I know how you
feel, I'm not letting you go."
"That's good." He tilts his head up to smile at me. His gray eyes are warm with love.
"Because I really don't want you to."