(no subject)
§ 7 §
As he settled into the Captain’s chair Archer mused that it had been a satisfying day of exploration. The M-class planet had been a relaxing experience, for once. And not, as a nasty little voice suggested, because of the absence of trouble-magnets such as Trip and Malcolm. No, no, he wouldn’t acknowledge the thought. It wasn’t fair to the two officers. Maybe, though, it was time to check on them, see if they were on schedule for their rendezvous.
“Hail Shuttlepod One, Ensign,” he ordered Hoshi’s replacement. Leaning in contentment with both hands on his knees, he felt the picture of the successful Starfleet Captain. Everything under control.
Ensign Paskowsky, a pretty brunette with intense green eyes, sat straighter in her seat and immediately set to work. She had that look about her which one found on inexperienced junior officers - a blend of excitement and apprehension, sprinkled with eagerness to please.
Seconds ticked by, and all eyes gradually turned to the comm. station, where a frown had come to crease the young Ensign’s wide brow. This time Archer was powerless against the nasty little voice and its malicious whisperings.
“Something wrong?” he enquired. That well-known tightness threatened to form in his stomach.
“Well, Sir...” Paskowsky stuttered.
Archer felt a sudden urge to shoot up from his seat but restrained himself - this was a young girl, manning the Comm. station on A shift probably for the first time; she would take the move as a criticism. Besides, she could do without witnessing her Captain’s paranoia. He forced what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his lips. “In your own words, Ensign,” he egged on.
“I am getting a strange language, Captain. It almost sounds like... Nausicaan,” Paskowsky said, a little hesitantly.
“Na...” Archer’s voice failed him as images of the fierce pirates with whom they had come into contact not long before while assisting an Earth freighter ship crowded in his mind. He hoped he’d never see their ugly faces again - or anything resembling them.
“Are you certain you are hailing our Shuttlepod, Ensign?” T’Pol enquired with typical Vulcan composure.
It was the kind of question that would have got on Hoshi’s nerves, but Paskowsky didn’t seem offended.
“Yes, Ma’am,” she simply replied.
Archer cleared his throat. “Put it through,” he ordered.
Indeed, the sounds that suddenly filled the Bridge were no variety of English, not even of the spiky and sometimes unintelligible kind spoken by their resident Brit. Archer looked at his Science Officer, hoping she would somehow find a logical explanation. All she did, was offer a reasonable suggestion.
“Try the UT, Ensign.”
“It isn’t Nausicaan,” Paskowky said after a moment. The poor girl had probably been proud to have been chosen for the A shift. Until now.
“...Please acknowledge,” the UT suddenly picked up. “Human ship, how in the qèpweihg do you get the jwiuegn on this vessel to work? Please acknowledge.”
Archer felt a small nerve at the corner of his eye twitch. Whatever had happened, he didn’t want to know. A part of him just wanted to leave the Bridge and go to sleep. Maybe he could ask Phlox to put him into a coma until the away party was back. Preferably with the pod. But even without. As long as they were back in one piece. Fortunately, the other part of him - the Captain in command - took over, and he found himself standing, ready to face whatever was about to be thrown at him. He filled his lungs with air, squaring his shoulders.
“Put me through,” he said, in a deceivingly calm and resolute voice. A moment later Pawskosky’s nod silently informed him that a channel was open.
“This is Enterprise,” Archer barked. “Please identify yourself.”
“Ah, good! I suppose you are the Captain,” the same voice replied, in a jovial tone that held an undercurrent of tension.
“I know who I am,” Archer growled. “The question is: who the hell are you?”
“Easy, Captain,” the voice replied soothingly. “My name is Obne, and I’m a Felon.”
What could one say to that innocent admission of guilt? The man had raised the Black Jack. Archer was momentarily left without words.
“Felons are a species distantly related to the Nausicaans,” T’Pol quietly provided, taking advantage of the pause.
Ah. Well, that didn’t change things by much. “What are you doing in our Shuttlepod? Where are my officers?” Archer angrily demanded.
“A small misunderstanding, Captain,” Obne replied condescendingly.
Were his teeth chattering, or was the transmission disturbed?
“We borrowed your vessel, so to speak, but are ready to give it back. We have come to realise that it doesn’t really suit our needs. Would you kindly tell us how to---”
“Where are my men?” Archer cut him off. He couldn’t believe his ears: borrowed the Shuttlepod!
“Captain, please. We can explain everything. But how do you raise the jwiuegn on this ship?”
Archer cast a questioning glance to Paskowsky, who swallowed hard.
“And even more urgently,” Obne continued, “Doesn’t your species need, once in a while, to - well, you know... Where in Hioanet’s name do you do it?”
§§§ - §§§
An untamed horse was probably more docile than A Shot In The Quadrant right now. Indeed, riding a bull in one of those silly Yankee rodeos was probably less traumatic on one’s backbone. The bloody ship was proceeding by what felt like leaps and bounds, tossing them about like... A ridiculous image dawned in Malcolm’s mind, one of a giant barman’s hand holding a huge shaker. Surely this was what it must feel to be turned into a Bloody Mary. The thought only made things worse. Tightening his lips against the sudden roiling in his stomach, he silently cursed himself. Don’t think of liquids, you sodding nitwit!
“Dammit,” Trip echoed loudly from a nondescript spot on the floor, as he tried for the third or fourth time to gain an upright position. “What did ya do to get her so upset, Travis?”
Malcolm dared a glance at their helmsman. His usually playful features were rigid and drawn and - what was even less reassuring - he was banging away at the alien commands randomly, all the while endeavouring to keep himself on the pilot’s chair.
“I haven’t got a clue,” the man cried out. “I was sure those were the levers for the warp drive. She’s gone wild and I haven’t got a damn idea how to regain control of her.”
Now, that was something you never, ever wanted to hear from the person at the helm.
Malcolm groaned under his breath. It was good that he had had a light breakfast that morning. He’d be very embarrassed to give a public display of his motion sickness problem. Holding the edge of the tactical console so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if he left dents in it, he checked on Hoshi: she had stolen the pole from him, and he missed it greatly, but he was glad to see her safely wrapped around it. Also a bit envious, if truth be told, though the pole was the best thing to embrace, under the circumstances.
Umph. Trip once again lost his balance and came crashing against him, his arms tackling Malcolm roughly around the waist. Now, his hug he could have done without.
“Can’t you take the bloody engine offline?” Malcolm barked over his shoulder, as he tottered perilously under the added weight.
“Yeah, if only I could reach the engine room without knocking myself unconscious,” Trip bit back.
A blip began flashing on the tactical diagram, catching their attention.
“Hey, isn’t that’s our pod?” the Engineer wondered. “Aha!” he added triumphantly, “It looks dead in the water. And...” Trip’s voice suddenly became frantic. “We’re on a collision course with it! Do somethin’, Travis!”
Travis was still uselessly banging away at all that was within reach. “This damn helm is not responding!”
Another, bigger blip entered the picture.
“And that...” Trip’s voice got even more alarmed. “Enterprise?”
“Enterprise?” Hoshi echoed, in a much happier tone.
Malcolm was more inclined to share the Engineer’s apprehension than Hoshi’s delight. Müller’s finger must be itching to fire on the wild vessel on a collision course with their pod right now. If they didn’t manage to speak to their ship, Archer might well decide to grant him the pleasure.
“The cavalry’s here,” he said darkly. “But we’re on the wrong ship. You’ve got to find a way to tell them, Hoshi.”
The young linguist’s smile fell, replaced by bleak realization. “Right.”
“Shields, shields,” Malcolm mumbled, hand hesitating over those two commands. Cover or insulation? Insulation or cover? He’d have to trust his instincts. “Shields,” he decided, going for the one labelled ‘insulation’. Nothing seemed to happen, and he took that as a good sign.
As Hoshi warily started to untangle herself from the pole a loud and shrill intermittent sound filled the small Bridge.
Malcolm winced. “And I thought my sister’s screaming was piercing.” He briefly considered letting go of the console to block his ears, but quickly dismissed the idea.
The offending sound came from something that looked like a sponge. A throbbing, bleeping sponge to the right of the helm. Travis was staring at it in disgust, almost as if it were a live creature.
“Could it be the Comm.?” Trip wondered, over the din.
As soon as she ventured to take a half step away from her safe grip, Hoshi ended up draped on the noisy piece of unidentified equipment.
Malcolm shut his eyes tightly: with their luck she had just activated Self-destruct. At least they would go into oblivion with their eardrums intact, for the irksome sound had stopped. To their surprise, a well-known voice, instead, filled the small Bridge.
“Everyone okay?”
Malcolm had to admit to himself that it also filled his heart. Embarrassing as the whole thing was, the Captain would transport them out and he’d be saved the additional humiliation of passing out in front of his friends and colleagues. His nausea was clawing at him mercilessly, making him light-headed.
It was Trip who reacted first to the unexpected.
“More or less, Capt’n,” the Engineer replied, with a grimace that carried in his voice. “If you knew where to find us, then I suppose you also know that...”
“Yes, yes,” Archer interrupted him. “Listen to me, Travis: you must deactivate that vessel’s anti-robbery device.”
Malcolm felt Trip’s eyes on him, but was too sick to acknowledge the message he knew must be in them. His focus was all on convincing his stomach not to divorce from its contents.
“Sir?” Travis blurted out.
“Under your seat: you’ll find a small wheel. Turn it counter-clockwise all the way.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The ship’s flight gradually smoothed, and a collective groan of relief lifted. Travis, finally in control of the helm, went to Full Stop. Silence had never felt so wonderful.
“Thank you, Capt’n,” Trip blew out, shoulders sagging as his muscles relaxed. “We owe you one.”
“I’ll see to it that you pay up,” Archer threatened, but the relief in his own voice took the sting out of the words. After a moment, he added, “I thought you and Malcolm had made Shuttlepod One into a little jewel. Heat control seems to be acting up: those Felons are freezing in there.” As an aside, he commented, “At least it’s them and not you, this time.”
Now that his stomach was slowly recovering, Malcolm could no longer escape Trip’s eyes. He met the blue gaze and drew in a steadying breath. “This is Reed, Sir,” he croaked out, cringing. “What those people are experiencing is... a security upgrade, so to speak.”
A beat of silence ensued.
“Would you care to expound, Lieutenant?”
There was a curious mix of amusement and irritation in Archer’s voice, as if the man weren’t sure whether a commendation or reprimand was due. Malcolm automatically straightened his shoulders; then silently cursed himself. Even if Archer could see him, standing as straight as a pole wouldn’t change the fact that he ought to have run the idea by the Captain, before implementing it.
“It’s... our own anti-robbery device, Sir,” he explained, choosing the words carefully and wrapping them in as sweet a tone as his pride allowed. “After our misadventure, it occurred to Commander Tucker and me that a rigid environment would make a good deterrent for anyone who wanted to steal our pod. Moreover, when the temperature drops below a certain degree, systems start to fail. Eventually the Shuttlepod stops, preventing the robbers to escape with it.”
“I see. And how do you deactivate this... contraption, Lieutenant?” Archer enquired with suspicious kindness.
Here came the sore spot. “I still have to work on that,” Malcolm admitted hoarsely. “I believe the best thing would be if we docked with the Shuttlepod and... exchanged hostages, as it were.”
An audible sigh came out of the comm. link. “Proceed,” Archer ordered.
§ 8 §
As he walked along the corridor to Sickbay, Archer endeavoured to slow his pace and relax his tense muscles. There was no more reason to worry, after all: the away team was back and so was the Shuttlepod; and all more or less in good shape. Besides, he should be used to this by now - more often than not Sickbay was an obligatory stop after an away mission, and not just because it was near the decon chamber. If the away mission included Malcolm and Trip, then, one or both would unfailingly require Phlox’s care. It was becoming a bit too predictable. With all the worry lines those two gave him, soon he’d look older than his age.
As he approached the infirmary doors, they opened to let Hoshi out. The Ensign’s face lit up in a smile as soon as she saw him. Archer let his eyes roam discreetly over her body: no obvious injuries could be seen, thank God.
“Captain,” Hoshi greeted him happily.
“Are you all right, Ensign?” Archer asked all the same. He wanted to make sure. He felt particularly responsible for this member of the crew, because he had been the one who had insisted on having her on board as his Comm. officer.
“Yes, Sir, thank you,” she replied. “Only a few minor bumps.”
She looked tired and a bit dishevelled; strands of her dark hair had escaped her usually neat pony tail, and her eyes were circled. Archer gave her arm a gentle squeeze.
“I’m glad,” he told her in fatherly tones. His eyes lifted to the Sickbay door behind her, in anticipation of what he might find in there.
“Captain.”
“Yes?”
Archer’s eyes returned to the linguist. She looked hesitant, but also determined. That was Hoshi all right, delicate but strong. Archer narrowed his gaze and tilted his head. “Go ahead, Ensign,” he encouraged her.
Hoshi cleared her throat. “The Commander and Lieutenant... None of it was their fault, really. Bad luck played a big part.”
“Yeah, they never leave her at home,” Archer commented, deadpan. “I thought you were going to ask me never to send you on an away mission with the two of them again.”
An impish smile brought two endearing dimples at the sides of Hoshi’s mouth. “Weeell,” she drew out, “With them one is always sure to get enough excitement.” Her smile fell as she added, “They, uhm, didn’t need another mission going awry so soon after the other one, Sir, if you know what I mean.”
Archer liked this crew. He was proud of the way they looked after each other: here was Hoshi trying to tell him to take it easy on the boys. At the same time the words struck him hard. He should have realised Trip and Malcolm needed more time to recover from their first misadventure. He should have been able to see through their front, been more attuned to their feelings.
“Get a good rest, Ensign,” he said, his gaze softening in a silent thank you, as he dismissed her with a nod.
When he went through the doors, the first thing he noticed was Travis’s face: it was black and blue, and a plaster stood out on one of his cheeks. The man was sitting on a biobed facing the door, both hands gripping the edge of it as Phlox passed his medical scanner over him. Behind him, Trip and Malcolm were looking on, one on each side like a couple of improbable guardian angels. All three raised their eyes to the sound of the doors swishing open. Phlox only cast a quick glance over his shoulder and returned to his job.
“Gentlemen,” Archer greeted the ensemble, keeping his tone neutral.
“Capt’n,” Trip said, while Malcolm immediately took a more formal stance. Travis straightened his shoulders and a groan escaped his lips.
“Ensign Mayweather has a couple of cracked ribs, and various bruises, Captain,” Phlox informed him with his unfailing glee.
Archer still remembered how weird his mirth-at-all-costs had seemed at the beginning of their mission; as if the man were rejoicing with every injury he had to treat.
“He also collected a cut, which Lieutenant Reed treated on the planet quite competently,” he continued. “I recommend the Ensign stays off duty for at least a day; better two.”
A groan of displeasure welcomed the words.
“As for Lieutenant Reed and Commander Tucker,” Phlox continued, with a silencing glance at the protesting helmsman, “they seem to be fine, aside for a few bumps. All of them suffered stun blasts, Ensign Sato included, but they were mild ones.”
“Capt’n, I can explain,” Trip began, tail between his legs. “It was a small glitch with the engine.”
“It was my fault, Sir,” Malcolm - of course - proclaimed, chest out to face the storm, or maybe offer it to the firing squad. “The glitch with the engine occurred because I fired on an asteroid.”
“Actually, Captain,” Mayweather mumbled around his bruises, “I was the one who got us into trouble. I flew the pod right through the small debris, and the exhaust ports got clogged.”
Archer let his eyes slowly stray from one to the other. Yes, it was a fine crew.
He let the silence become just a touch uncomfortable; then enquired, “How did the new upgrades work?”
Three pairs of eyes exchanged a quick puzzled glance.
“Just fine, Capt’n,” Trip replied for them all.
Archer drew in a deep breath. “Then I suppose the mission was successful.” He restrained a grin as surprise showed on the men’s faces, in various forms and degrees. “Take two days off, all of you,” he went on to order. In the stunned silence he turned and left, and was already at the door when Malcolm spoke.
“Captain, what about the anti-robbery device?”
Archer turned. “What about it?”
“Permission to keep it, Sir?”
Malcolm and his security obsessions. He had almost forgotten about that weird idea of his; deep-freezing any crooks who might try to steal their pod.
“How is it actually activated?” Archer enquired, curiously.
“It’s set to go off when the language spoken inside the Shuttlepod is not English, Sir.”
Archer raised his eyebrows. “Whose English, Lieutenant?” he teased. “Maybe you could fine-tune it,” he added with a smirk. “Make it English and Vulcan; wouldn’t want T’Pol to freeze her.... self,” he finished, catching himself.
As the doors were beginning to close after him, he could hear an explosion of chortles. Stopping both, he peeped back in and said, “And find a way to switch it off quickly, just in case.”
§§§ - §§§
Hoshi cast a look inside the Observation Lounge, uncertain whether she should intrude. Trip and Malcolm had been sitting there for most of the morning - on day one of their two days off - talking. Or maybe in silence, as they were now. All she knew was that she wanted to make sure the two of them were okay. The tension between them, recently, had been telling, and painful to witness.
Summoning the courage, she took a step inside. She had always found the Observation Lounge slightly disquieting. Beautiful as it was to watch the stars go by, it was a powerful reminder of where they were and how fast they were going.
The two officers turned to her, and it was reassuring to see Trip wave her over, and Malcolm break into a faint smile. At least they didn’t seem to mind her presence.
“Commander, Lieutenant,” she said, approaching. “Thought I’d drop by to say hello.”
“It’s good to see ya,” Trip said, though not with the open enthusiasm he would usually put in the words. As he gestured for her to sit down, in fact, he had that look of slight apprehension typical of someone who is about to face a test.
Sliding into the seat, Hoshi noticed that Malcolm’s eyes, on the other hand, weren’t straying from the cup of probably cold tea in his hands. He was the only person she knew who could look more exhausted when off duty than when he worked a double shift.
Feeling Trip’s gaze on her, she turned back to him.
“I’m sorry, Hoshi,” the Engineer blurted out, those very blue eyes burning with feeling.
“There’s no need,” Hoshi hurried to reply, embarrassed by Trip’s embarrassment. “Away missions always involve a certain amount of risk. We all accept that.”
Trip exchanged a quick glance with Malcolm.
“What the Commander is trying to say,” Malcolm took over in a deep voice, eyes back on his cup, “Is that he’s sorry you had to witness my inexcusable unprofessional behaviour.”
“What I meant, Hoshi,” Trip said, with a long-suffering sigh at Malcolm, “Is that we shouldn’t have let the tension get the better of us.” He winced. “You and Travis had to suffer our squabblin’, and that wasn’t right.”
“I am the one to blame, Commander.”
“Do you always have to take all the credit, Lieutenant?”
Hoshi tilted her head. “You were saying?” she teased, letting a smile soften the words.
Malcolm sighed. “Right,” he croaked out, while Trip rolled his eyes in self-reproach.
“It’s not fun seeing you argue, I admit,” Hoshi said, more seriously. “But I know there is a good reason why you’re acting that way. And I hope you’ll be back to normal soon. I miss your old yous, if you know what I mean.”
Another quick glance passed between the two.
“We’ll be okay, Hoshi, don’t worry,” Trip said, switching on his gentle charm. “It’s just a few glitches, but we’ll fix them. We’re as tough as nails.”
Malcolm nodded. “Indestructible, weatherproof, not to mention doughty and indomitable.”
“You mean you agree with me, Lieutenant?” Trip wondered, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
Malcolm jerked his head to the side, in that funny way of his. “Most of the time, Commander.”
He finally lifted those shifty grey eyes long enough for Hoshi to fathom them. She liked what she saw in them: the self-assurance she was used to, in Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.
“Is that good enough for you, Ensign?” the man enquired.
Hoshi felt her face relax in a smile. Yes, things would be okay.
“Good enough, Sir.”