Surak's Soul - J.M. Dillard [28]
“It was able to warn us,” Trip countered. “For all we know, it saved us in time. If it hadn’t told us—”
“You’re right,” Archer admitted. “I just wish—”
“You just wish you could be the perfect captain. Not only protect your crew from harm, but restore those poor dead people to life.”
“Exactly,” Archer admitted, with a wry grimace that was not quite a grin.
Trip gave a knowing nod. “And I wish I could tell you it was gonna be okay—but we just aren’t gonna know that for a while.”
Archer sighed and opened his mouth to retort, Could you tell me something just a little less obvious, when his door buzzed. He scowled faintly. “Now, who would be up at this hour?”
Trip looked at him, and they both said simultaneously, “T’Pol.”
“Come,” Archer said.
The door slid open. To his surprise, Phlox appeared, his normally ruddy flesh pale, all animation fled from his expression. For an instant, he lingered in the doorway, leaning heavily to one side before he sank to his knees.
Archer leaped off the bed without consideration for the dog, who had to scramble out of his way. In an instant, the captain was at Phlox’s side, with Trip close behind.
“Captain,” Phlox whispered, though the desperation behind the sound made it seem as though he had screamed. As he uttered the word, he shuddered, eyes rolling back in their sockets.
“Captain…”
Archer barely caught him in time as he pitched face-first toward the deck.
Five
Captain’s Starlog, supplemental. Doctor Phlox has fallen ill, apparently with the same illness that afflicted the inhabitants of Oan. Now Enterprise faces a possible plague without the help of her chief medical officer.
IN THE night-dimmed lights of sickbay, Archer stood across from Ensign Cutler while the two of them looked down at the unconscious form of Dr. Phlox. The Denobulan’s skin was sunken and sallow; Archer glanced up at the diagnostic readout displayed over Phlox’s head and tried to make sense of it.
Nearby, both T’Pol and Wanderer lingered—not, Archer thought grimly, that either of them would be able to help. But just in case, he had summoned them both to sickbay.
“Are you sure that he’s suffering from the same disorder that afflicted the Oanis?” Archer asked Cutler.
She let go a sigh. Cutler was young, a bit wide-eyed, with hair that swung easily about her face in a golden-brown arc. She was still unsure of her space legs and most definitely not a doctor. Even as a medic, her experience was limited; but at the time Enterprise was launched, it had never occurred to Archer that he might need more than one doctor to tend to the needs of a sixty-person crew. Nor had it occurred to any of the brass who approved Enterprise’ s launch.
Now the captain could only wonder how they had made such a glaring oversight.
While Cutler struggled valiantly to maintain a professional exterior, Archer knew that the situation was particularly difficult for her: she was closer to Phlox than anyone else on board. A trace of emotion flickered in her brown eyes, but was gone by the time she gazed up at Archer. “It appears so, sir—if only because of the fact that he shows no symptoms other than a gradual ebbing of life functions.”
“What can you do for him?” Archer asked.
For an instant, she looked away and down; she did not want to let the captain down by saying Nothing, Archer understood. Instead, she squared her shoulders and met his gaze again, squarely. “We can help most of his vital organs to keep functioning, sir. So long as there’s brain activity…”
Total life-support, in other words. “Have you tried standard radiation treatment for Denobulans?”
“No, sir.” Cutler brightened a bit. “I’ll give that a try.”
Archer nodded, knowing full well it would probably do no good; but at least it would allow them some temporary hope. “And go ahead and administer the standard treatment to the rest of the crew. It might help and it certainly can’t hurt.”
“Aye, sir,” Cutler said.
“It’ll be quite a task,” Archer said. “I’ll reassign some crew