The Protector's Holiday

Prologue

"I hate you." She swung at him and he blocked her, then pushed her back.

"That's not what you said last night..."

"You weren't torturing me last night." She tried to hit him again, but he wasn't there.

"No, I believe you were torturing me." He tapped her once more.

"You deserved it."

"Consider this my revenge then." He landed several more slicing touches to her torso, her head and legs, all the while maneuvering out of her reach.

"A vengeful nature isn't very becoming."

"No, but it's fun."

"You are not fun." She brought her weapon down with force, but he merely parried it and pushed her aside, then sprinted past her to land a gentle smack on her backside in a non-regulation move. She let out an indignant squawk.

He grinned. "That's not what you said last night..."

"I must have been delusional." She pivoted to face him again.

"Ah. That explains why you put up with me."

"Yes." She lunged at him, feinting in one direction, then swerving. He anticipated her and stepped out of the way.

"Pity. Thought there was something more there than mere insanity. Mind your footwork. Try migi-mai."

She looked at her feet and slid her foot diagonally to the right, then brought her left foot into the standard position. "Nah, guess I'm just crazy about you." She tried to knock his head off his shoulders. He ducked.

"You poor mentally unstable child." He landed another hit.

"Child!" She swung at him, and he easily danced away.

"You'll have to work on that too, you're telegraphing your moves again. Chudan no kamae."

"Bastard." She positioned herself so that her shoulders squarely faced him, her left hand three or four inches in front of her navel, her right hand holding her weapon at throat height, elbows slightly bent, and both hands directly on the center line.

"I've told you, I'm fairly sure I'm legitimate."

She jabbed out again, and he deflected the blow, then unleashed a series of moves that struck her again and again.

She backed off and decided to change tactics. She held up her hand, asking him to stop. He relaxed his guard.

She stripped off her baggy sweat pants, back to him and bent over, removing them slowly, one leg at a time and revealing the shorts that hugged her attributes. She smiled as she heard his barely audible moan of admiration. She whirled and swung again, screaming her kiai powerfully, scoring a direct hit to the side of his head. It knocked him off his feet and down to the mat.

"Treachery, Ensign," he managed as he lay there, stunned, albeit with small dazed smile on his face.

"Lechery, Lieutenant," she chuckled. "You shouldn't let your libido distract you."

His eyes, an appreciative gleam in them, slid down her body and then back up to meet hers. "I can't help it. You make my libido so...libidinous..."

She smiled. "Horndog. You need more oxygen to your head." She swung her hips seductively, teasing him, enjoying his reaction.

"If you continue to move that way, I'm certain my trousers will become too confining and I'll never get any air to my head then..."

She laughed and tapped him on the head with her weapon. "This head, Lieutenant. The one that thinks."

He sat up and looked down at his lap. "Odd, this one's doing all the thinking right now."

She laughed again and smacked his head once more.

"Lovers' spat?" that southern drawl asked from the doorway.

They looked over.

"More like lover's splat," Hoshi grinned and held her hand out to help Malcolm up. He kissed her palm and rose unaided, the padded Kendo stick still in hand. He rubbed at the spot she had hit, the headgear jostling with the motion of his hand. She smirked at him.

"What you doing beating each other with overgrown Q-tips?" Trip asked as he settled himself on a nearby bench.

"I asked Malcolm to teach me Kendo ages ago and we decided this was the safest way," Hoshi answered. She bowed deeply to Malcolm, who bowed to her in return. She spoke the ritual words of the finishing etiquette, hiding her smile as Malcolm replied, maiming the pronunciation as usual. She began to strip off her head gear and bogu, the lightweight body armor used in matches, while Malcolm inspected the Kendo sticks for any damage.

"Williams' been teaching me," Malcolm said. "She's a renshi. That's a fairly high ranking."

"Malcolm's trying to complete godan. That's the fifth level," Hoshi put in. "You need to work on your kiai," she added and Malcolm grunted.

"Kiai?" Trip asked.

Hoshi yelled, thunderous and strong. Trip started. He wondered how someone so small and delicate could bellow with such force. She plopped down next to him, unconsciously leaning into him and against his shoulder.

"A fierce kiai is an expression of one's unstoppable will to succeed. It's an indispensable part of a powerful attack. The use of your voice is an expression of ki, which means spirit, will, or intention. Ki embodies self-confidence, the willingness to trust your natural abilities. The most fundamental principles of Kendo can be summed up as 'Ki Ken Tai Ichi'. It means 'Spirit, sword, and body acting as one.'" Hoshi smiled at Trip. "Malcolm forgets to yell."

"I don't forget, I'm just not used to it," Malcolm muttered as he started his inspection on the second stick.

Trip looked at Hoshi and her smile dimmed for a brief moment as their eyes met. Trip knew that they were both thinking the same thing, both recalling how Malcolm was trained. Although it had been three months since their experience on Pachaa, the memories still surfaced on occasion. At least his reoccurring nightmare had stopped.

Trip would find himself in the Suliban installation, dressed in that sleek black uniform, surrounded by the others, a gun in his hand and a dead Suliban at his feet. Pleasure and excitement raced through his body as he turned toward Malcolm, seeing the same feelings mirrored on his friend's face, beautiful intricate designs painted in blood across Malcolm's smiling features. Then Cain, in his low and inflectionless voice, would order Trip to shoot. Trip would bring his arm up and fire, watching in an uneasy mixture of horror and enjoyment as he placed a neat hole precisely through the scar on Malcolm's left temple.

And it was all done in silence.

In his dream, the only sounds were Cain's soft order and the report of the weapon. In his dream, Malcolm would fall, his blood trickling from that tidy hollow in his temple, his eyes open and swiftly clouding, his smile widening. Trip would see Malcolm laugh soundlessly, blood bubbling out of his mouth, ruining the exquisitely delicate tracings on his cheek. Trip would see the light fade from his friend's eyes. And in his dream, Trip would feel wonderful.

Trip would awaken with a jerk, heart pounding, covered in sweat and feeling queasy with the shameful thrill of proud accomplishment mixed with a rapturous delight lingering from the dream, his mind remembering.

That ominous black uniform he had been forced to wear at Tarque's dinner. How it had fit him perfectly. Tailor made for him and him alone.

Tarque's "invitation" to join him as his warp engineer and that madman's cool promise to provide the proper training for Trip.

The sound of Malcolm screaming.

It could have been him.

And his nightmare wasn't anything he could talk to Jon about, or Phlox. Wouldn't do to have the captain and the chief medical officer wondering about his stability. He wouldn't tell Hoshi and he certainly didn't want to say anything to Malcolm.

He was grateful that he could talk to T'Pol.

He'd been surprised when she had approached him that evening following the botched first contact on Cloiter, asking if he was "okay", pronouncing the word as if she had a mouthful of vinegar.

She caught him when he was so tired and keyed up, Jon's counsel still reverberating in his head—and it had all just spilled out.

He told her of the horrors he had witnessed, the sick realization of what Tarque could have done to him, his repetitive nightmare.

She had listened, that impassive look on her face, yet he thought he had seen compassion in her dark eyes. She had listened to him, without interrupting, without comment as he blurted out his feelings and fears.

When he finally finished she merely nodded and invited him to the messhall for a late night snack to continue their discussion.

As they sat over a slice of pound cake, she told him that his reactions were normal, his dream understandable. She launched into an explanation of the human psyche, its reaction to traumatic stress and its attempts to cope by playing out scenarios in dream states.

She told him that it was no reflection of his character, that his essential decency and morality were still intact. That dreams were dreams, not reality. Her calm non-judgmental assessment coupled with her low placid tone soothed him and he felt that persistent anxiety dwindle.

She then offered to help, asking if he'd been interested in meditating with her.

He laughed and she looked puzzled. He hastily explained that he appreciated the offer, but didn't think he could sit still that long. In reality, although part of him wouldn't mind spending the time with her, the other part was just a bit nervous. He thought he saw her mouth quirk into a slight smile as she nodded.

She then leaned forward and met his eyes. "If you are more comfortable just talking, then feel free to talk to me at anytime...Trip."

And he had. Many times. Effortlessly and with a level of comfort he hadn't thought possible with her. T'Pol's support and encouragement, her quiet logic and rational assessments alleviated the strain from the ordeal.

And she had continued to call him Trip.

Hoshi's smile brightened again at the goofy grin on Trip's face and she laughed.

He brought himself out of his thoughts. It was behind them. He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"I guess I'll have to figure out a way to make you scream, Lieutenant," she called to Malcolm and he looked up from his examination of the Kendo stick. Her eyes were alive with a wicked glint and Trip grinned as he saw his friend color slightly under her bold scrutiny.

The gym door opened before Malcolm could reply and T'Pol entered.

"Lieutenant, Ensign," she nodded in greeting. "Trip."

Trip saw the swift look flash between Hoshi and Malcolm, both working to suppress a smile at T'Pol's lowered pitch when she said his name. They acknowledged T'Pol in turn then turned their expectant gaze toward Trip.

"T'Pol," Trip responded, unable to keep the warmth and slightly softer tone out of his voice. He shot his friends an annoyed grimace as they both let identical grins slip loose. Malcolm returned to his study of the Kendo stick, innocently humming an old Earth love song under his breath. The lyrics sprang to Trip's mind and he knew his friend was gently needling him. Trip felt his face grow warm and Hoshi started to giggle. Trip pushed against her in protest and released her hand.

T'Pol ignored their byplay. She approached Malcolm.

"Lieutenant, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind postponing our lesson by one hour. I have a few matters to attend to prior to meeting with you."

Malcolm looked up and nodded. "Whatever's convenient for you, Sub-Commander. We could cancel if you prefer—"

"No, that won't be necessary." She looked at the Kendo stick in his hands. "What is that?"

Malcolm explained, pointing out that the bamboo stick was a substitute for a sword and T'Pol looked interested.

"We have a similar weapon, the lirpa. It's weighted at one end, with a blade on the other. I could show you the basic techniques if you'd like."

"Great, another toy for him to play with," Hoshi grumbled good naturedly.

Malcolm refrained from sticking his tongue out at her. He was a Starfleet officer after all. He settled for a dirty look instead, which only made Hoshi laugh. "I'd enjoy that Sub-Commander. Never know when it could be useful."

"Unless you are planning on challenging a Vulcan for a bond mate, then I doubt you'd ever need the knowledge." She arched a single eyebrow at him and he wondered if she was teasing him. "However, it is an intense workout. The lunging also helps tone the gluteus maximus." With that, she nodded and turned on her heel.

He smiled, knowing now for sure that she was joking with him. He'd gotten over his acute embarrassment of what she had picked up in the mind meld; between their nightly meetings and her delicate ribbing, she had finally assured him that she hadn't been offended. He even thought she'd been amused.

"I'll see you at 1300 hours, Malcolm." She said his name with the Old Vulcan accent then nodded to Trip and left.

"Lessons, Malcolm?" Trip asked.

His smile faded. "Meditation," he mumbled as picked up Hoshi's equipment, putting it away with the Kendo sticks. He removed his own headgear and bogu, heading for the showers before Trip could question him further.

Trip raised an inquiring eyebrow at Hoshi and she chuckled. "T'Pol's eyebrow must be catching," she teased. Trip elbowed her. She elbowed him back.

Hoshi leaned against Trip again and he put an arm around her shoulder.

He was glad that she looked happy again. Relaxed. The first few weeks of their return she had stuck close to Malcolm, as if afraid to be alone. Malcolm tolerated her clingy behavior with surprising patience, and Trip had mentioned it to T'Pol one evening. She commented that it was most likely post traumatic syndrome. T'Pol pointed out Malcolm's symptoms. And Trip's own.

But everything was back to normal now. Better than before. A deeper friendship had drawn the three closer, their peace of mind and emotional balance restored. Trip was grateful to have Hoshi and Malcolm at his back, all watching out for each other, able to talk to someone who had been through the same thing. Jon had been supportive and sympathetic throughout, reaffirming their friendship, understanding Trip's reluctance to fully confide in him and not being hurt by it. And he and T'Pol had achieved a level of familiar understanding that Trip would have thought impossible when they first set out from Earth.

Trip studied Hoshi's contented profile. She looked rested as well. Trip didn't know if Hoshi and Malcolm had been sharing quarters before their troubles on Pachaa, but he thought they had continued to sleep together as they had in the barracks. He'd seen the logs of Malcolm's override code used on her door. He figured that they had been staying in her cabin, where she felt safe and comfortable.

But he also knew for the past two weeks Hoshi and Malcolm had been on different shifts and he wondered if their staggered sleep periods and limited time together had caused her any insomnia.

"How you doing? Sleeping okay?" he asked.

She smiled at him. "Yep. No problems. Then again, I didn't have to go through what you did." She covered the hand lying on his thigh and gave it a gentle pat. He hugged her tighter.

She had finally pried details of the Suliban foray from Trip. He had left out some parts, but it had been enough for her to get an idea of the atrocities he had witnessed.

In retrospect, it had helped him. But now, he wasn't sure if he should have said quite so much. He was glad he had glossed over Malcolm's actions, but then, he had a feeling she knew something.

"I made him talk to me." She laughed softly at Trip's surprised look.

"I thought only Vulcans could read minds."

She smiled and rested her head against him. "You're easy to read, Trip. You're an open book most of the time."

"How's he doing?" He knew she'd know what he was referring to.

"Fine." They both smiled at her word choice. "Now. The time he spends with T'Pol has really helped."

"Whose idea was that?" T'Pol hadn't mentioned anything to him about meditating with Malcolm.

"Well, T'thaylis had suggested that it would be 'beneficial' if he ran into any problems. She couldn't guarantee that she covered everything. But T'Pol volunteered pretty readily."

T'thaylis had wanted to meet Hoshi, curious about the woman she had seen and felt in the mind meld. T'Pol had escorted the Vulcan healer to the ensign's room. Hoshi liked the woman immediately, even though she could see the Vulcan sizing her up, appraising her. She and T'thaylis had spoken for quite a while.

"Hmm...maybe I should take up her offer to meditate."

"Yeah. Some nice quiet time together. In her quarters..." Hoshi said, laying the innuendo on thick.

He laughed, though he colored again. "You're such a yenta."

"Eh. It's a living."

Chapter 1

T'Pol reviewed the encrypted information again, scrolling through it with an inhuman speed, vainly trying to suppress her surprise and excitement. Neither were true Vulcan characteristics, as she had been reminded many times in her youth. But this—well, the cause was sufficient.

She would need assistance. Someone she could trust.

She could trust Jonathan. She made up her mind to tell him as soon as possible. She would need help and she would not withhold this information, regardless of the Vulcan Science Directorate's request.

She could trust Trip. He deserved to know what she was "up to", as he would say.

She closed down her console and looked expectantly at her door. She mentally counted down the seconds and was satisfied to note that her door chime sounded at the time she had anticipated. She stood and crossed over to admit her visitor.

"Punctual as always, Lieutenant."

"Habit, Sub-Commander."

She nodded her approval and ushered him in, indicating for him to sit in his customary place. He leaned against the wall in the corner, knees up, arms wrapped around his legs and facing the door; not the proper position, but one that he was most comfortable in. She could make allowances.

She sat across from him without blocking his view of the exit, and lit the candles and incense. She placed the items between them.

"Any more incidents?" she asked, her voice contemptuous and icy, breaking their routine. She wanted to see if her questions and tone would throw him off balance, trying to goad him into a negative reaction.

"No. Not since that first week," he replied, unruffled but puzzled by her hostile attitude.

"Studies on test animals indicated that after one episode of aberrant behavior, others follow within a few months' time. Are you sure?" Again, she put as much rancor into her tone as possible, stressing the word 'animals', knowing her statement would strike a nerve.

"Yes," he replied softly before looking away. There had been no anger in his eyes, just surprise. And hurt. She regretted that.

She softened her manner. "Good." His progress had remained steady. She nodded to him and he closed his eyes, and started the Cycle of Ten breathing exercise as she had taught him.

She closed her eyes as well and began to murmur the wh'-ltri recitation in Vulcan.

It took him much longer than usual for him to slow his breathing to a languid pace. She opened her eyes and noticed that his concentration was off. She placed her fingers on his face to briefly touched his thoughts, as T'thaylis had taught her. She felt his acknowledgment of her presence and heard his half formed question about her unusual attitude earlier, his concern for her well being because of her uncharacteristic behavior. She then glimpsed the utter distress her words had caused him, before he blocked it. She sent an apology for testing him in such a cruel manner, letting him see that she truly did not view him that way, and she felt his overwhelming relief, although it was tinged with an emotion she could not identify.

Only then did he allow her to faintly skim over his surface emotions. She helped him regain his control, his calm returning, and was amused as always to hear his mutilated rendition of the wh'ltri in his mind. She withdrew, not probing deeper, the echo of his steady reassuring presence lingering in her head, and contemplated the events which had led her to volunteer her services.

***

A week after their release from Pachaa, Ensign Sato had come to her, requesting T'Pol's assistance, strongly suggesting that T'thaylis' recommendation be carried out. T'Pol could understand the ensign's concern. She shared it.

They had been on an away mission when things had gotten out of hand. They had come across an inhabited world and the aliens had hailed them, demanding to know what Enterprise was doing there; they invited them down to their planet, Cloiter, to talk and it devolved into an elementary disagreement that no amount of Jon's diplomatic skills could resolve. There were simply some species who didn't want to take the effort to communicate, preferring to regard all with suspicion.

Jon and his team were leaving peacefully, making their way to the shuttlepod, when one of their three 'attendants' decided that Trip wasn't moving fast enough. The alien shoved Trip into the rough rock studded wall that edged the path to the landing site, causing Trip to cry out in pain and anger. The engineer wheeled about, blood dripping from his forehead.

And Malcolm had snapped.

He lunged at Trip's assailant, ramming the man back against the wall with such force it rendered him unconscious. Malcolm then spun, his face twisted into a murderous snarl, and launched himself at the other chaperon who was in the midst of pulling his weapon. T'Pol moved quickly to nerve pinch their last armed attendant.

Jon roused himself from his surprise and pulled Malcolm off the man, jerking Malcolm's arm up to wrench the knife his armory officer had drawn away from the downed and mostly insensate alien. Jon ordered his lieutenant to drop the blade and recoiled as the full force of Malcolm's intensity centered on him.

But still Jon didn't let go.

Malcolm froze, the look of fury dissipating, only to be replaced by an expression of shocked bewilderment. He took in the alarm and concern on Jon's face, then lowered his eyes and whispered a shaky apology.

They quickly made their unescorted way to the shuttlepod and flew back to the Enterprise. T'Pol attended to Trip and Jon piloted the shuttle while Hoshi sat next to Malcolm, talking to him quietly. He answered her in soft monosyllabic sentences, staring at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

Jon ordered both Trip and Malcolm to sickbay, sending Hoshi and T'Pol back to duty.

Dr. Phlox used the autosuture to close the wound on Trip's forehead. When he finished he began to scan Malcolm.

"What happened, Lieutenant?" Jon asked quietly. No accusation, no outrage. Just worry.

"I couldn't control my temper, sir," Malcolm answered in a low voice. He gazed at his feet, watching them swing.

"Your adrenaline levels are a bit high, Lieutenant. There are several other nuerochemicals that are elevated..." and Phlox animatedly began to question Malcolm, prodding, taking multiple readings, samples, his clinical interest stimulated.

Trip saw that the extended examination, the doctor's excited and impersonal running commentary as he performed the same tests with different scanners, was distressing Malcolm. He could read it in his friend's slumped shoulders, the quiet and curt answers, the downcast eyes. Lab rat.

"Doc. Stop it. Please." Trip asked softly. He shot a look at Jon.

"That's enough, Doctor, thank you. Destroy your readings."

Phlox stopped in mid evaluation, his comment of desiring further exploration halted by the Jon's order. He glanced at the men, finally noticing Malcolm's demeanor. A look of remorse crossed his features. "My sincere apologies, Lieutenant. You're both free to go. Commander, let me know if you experience any dizziness or headache, please." Phlox wandered away.

"Jon, maybe you should check and see if the Doctor did as you asked..." Trip suggested, cutting his eyes from Malcolm and back to Jon.

Jon could see he wanted to talk to Malcolm alone and took the hint. He followed Phlox to the other side of the room and asked the Doctor a question, all the while watching Trip and Malcolm, hoping he was still close enough to hear.

Trip settled next to Malcolm, thigh and shoulder brushing against the armory officer. He could feel Malcolm's instinctive tensing at the contact, then felt him make a concentrated effort to relax. Malcolm's conscious decision to override his ingrained nature made Trip smile fondly.

"So you got pissed off?" Trip asked, informal and easy.

Malcolm glanced at Trip. "Yeah." He looked back down, watching the rhythmic movement of his feet.

"Were you gonna kill him?" Trip's voice was still causal, still normal.

"I think so," Malcolm whispered.

"Now, I've seen you madder than a poodle in a pigpen before," and Malcolm flashed a small smile at the Tripism. "And cussing a blue streak while fighting someone, but I've never seen you lose it like that. To that point. Except, well, did you...you know..." Trip hedged.

Trip felt Malcolm's body tighten again, although his friend's face gave away nothing.

"No."

"Sounds like from Phlox's readings it kicked in though..." Malcolm heard nothing but empathy in his friend's voice and he relaxed a bit.

"No. It...it wasn't that. I just couldn't control my anger."

Trip nodded. At least Malcolm was talking. At least he was trying and not slamming up walls.

Trip continued to question Malcolm and Jon watched as Malcolm worked to answer, laboring to respond to Trip's thorough inquiries and comments, Trip gently drawing him out a bit more each time.

"Did you like it?" Trip kept his tone soft and friendly.

The question struck Jon as odd as he watched his best friend interrogate Malcolm, Trip's gentle accent warm.

Malcolm's feet stopped swinging and he stilled. Trip could see him thinking, remembering. Struggling to reply, to talk, no matter what.

"No," he replied finally, looking at Trip. "It wasn't like that. I wouldn't have enjoyed—I...I was just...furious. You were bleeding..." His legs started moving again and he regarded them distantly, head down and fingers digging into edge of the biobed.

Trip flashed back to when Lita had drawn Chris' blood in the gym and Malcolm's reaction, so contrary to the rest of the team's. He wondered again if the years of conditioning had mistakenly spawned something quite different than its original intent.

He continued to talk to him, too low for Jon to catch all of the conversation, Trip's drawl soothing, his words matter-of-fact and affable.

He asked one more question and received a halting answer. Jon saw Trip nod and tell Malcolm it was okay. He watched as his best friend spoke reassuringly to Malcolm, watched as some of the tension fell away from the armory officer.

Trip said something in jest, leaning into Malcolm's shoulder, pushing him slightly for emphasis, and another little smile darted across Malcolm's face.

"Malcolm, why don't you take the rest of the day off, go get some sleep or something to eat," Jon said finally, returning to stand before them.

Malcolm's head shot up. "I can return to duty, sir. I'm fine—" he started but Jon cut him off.

"No, take it easy until tomorrow. I'm going to cut the away team's shift short anyway."

Malcolm nodded and slipped off the biobed. "All right, sir. Thank you, sir." He strode to the exit and Trip called out to him.

"Malcolm, if you want to talk, you know where to find me."

Malcolm stopped, a genuine smile briefly touching his lips. "Thanks, Trip." He left.

Jon turned his attention to Trip. He ran a light finger over the covering on the engineer's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay. You know how when you cut your head it looks like you're bleeding to death."

Jon nodded. "You look tired." Jon noticed the beginning of dark smudges under Trip's eyes.

Trip shrugged. "Still trying to settle into ship routine, I guess." He couldn't bring himself to tell Jon about his nightmare-interrupted sleep.

"What was all that about?" He indicated to where Malcolm had just exited.

Trip sighed. He knew Jon didn't know much of what happened during the time Tarque held them. It hadn't been an official Starfleet mission and Admiral Forrest insisted that no reports were to be filed. In fact, the Admiral had urged Trip and Hoshi not speak about it at all; and although Trip had talked to Jon a little about what they did to Malcolm, their captivity, he hadn't gone into any specific details about the Suliban mission, or their escape. How Malcolm had acted, what he had done.

He hated not confiding in Jon, and Jon hadn't pressed, but Trip didn't think Jon would understand. He hadn't been there.

Trip looked at Jon's expectant face; the open trust and worry on his best friend's countenance. And Trip felt a sudden burst of outrage at what Tarque had put him through. What they had done to him. To Hoshi. To Malcolm. He hoped that Zindzhi found that bastard and killed him slowly.

A week's worth of nightmares, of Trip's haunted dreams of being in that black uniform again, his anger and frustration from weeks of powerless impotence crashed down upon him.

"They fucked with his head. They tortured him, they tried to turn him into an animal, and he did his damnest to resist. He tried to take care of me and Hoshi throughout it, but they almost got him, Jon. They almost did it to him and it nearly killed him. And I couldn't do anything to prevent it. Couldn't do a goddamn thing to help, except watch and flap my gums at the both of 'em. They're under my command and I was totally worthless."

Jon was taken aback by Trip's vehemence. The infuriated passion in Trip's voice. The distress.

"And I won't let him down again; I can't tell his captain everything that happened. Because you need to trust him. You need to treat him like always, because he doesn't need his captain looking at him like he's some sort of freak experiment, second guessing him, wondering." And if Tarque had his way, it could have been me, Trip added silently.

Trip exhaled loudly, his anger dissolving as quickly as it had appeared. He rubbed the back of his neck, putting things together, talking out loud. "I think what happened is partly stress, maybe an aftereffect of the conditioning or something—I think his protective streak just got a little out of hand when I got hurt. And Lita was always asking if his temper was getting worse, and it was getting a little frayed toward the end...but after what they did to all of them, you couldn't really blame him. Nothing serious," Trip added quickly, trying to assure Jon when he saw the look of alarm on his face.

"And T'Pol explained to us what that Vulcan healer tried to do. It's only been a week. He just needs a little time to readjust."

"Is he dangerous, Trip? Will he pose a threat to us? To the ship?"

Trip understood; Jon had to ask. He was the captain and the safety of his crew came first. "No. He'd never do anything to hurt us. He's still the same mule headed son of a bitch he's always been." Trip laughed a little. "He's trying hard though, trying not to keep it all inside. You saw it yourself. He just needs to talk. But Hoshi figures it's difficult for him, 'especially after hiding all this time." He sighed. "She kept him going and I just sat there, useless."

"I wouldn't say that, Trip."

He raised his head and looked at Jon in cynical disbelief. "Oh yeah, Jon. I'm the one who got Hoshi and me into that mess in the first place. Hoshi kept Malcolm together; I didn't do anything. Just a hostage against him."

"That's funny, Trip, because Hoshi insists that she's the one who screwed up and got you both caught. And that she was the one they used against Malcolm. She told me that you made the whole thing bearable. Gave her strength."

Jon settled next to Trip on the biobed and put his arm around the younger man's shoulders. "And Malcolm told me that it was his fault that they even took you two." He looked at Trip's astonished face and cut off his friend's protest.

"You know, after everyone left, I cornered Malcolm for a few minutes outside the shuttlebay. He said if hadn't been for you and Hoshi, he wouldn't have made it. He said that the two of you gave him something worth fighting for—and that you in particular were a good friend when he needed it most." Trip looked surprised and Jon smiled. "He also told me that you managed to make comm units out of spit and duct tape." Trip laughed at that.

Jon squeezed Trip's shoulder. "I think the three of you need to stop blaming yourselves. Take your own advice, Trip. If you can't talk to me, talk to someone else. Don't sit there stewing and thinking you were useless. You did a damn good job in a harrowing situation and you should be proud of that. I know I'm proud of you, Trip."

He stood and Trip rose as well. "Come on, let's get dinner. I could eat a horse." And Jon led Trip out of sickbay.

***

Hoshi had looked for Malcolm in sickbay, the armory, his room, and the mess hall before heading to the gym. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened on the planet, to see if he was all right. He wasn't very responsive when she had spoken to him in the shuttle and it worried her. She actually hoped he wasn't in the gym. He sometimes didn't know when to quit when he was upset.

But that's where she found him; running full tilt at the wall, climbing up it and flipping over. She watched him do it several times, sweat dripping off his bare torso, droplets flying off his hair. She watched as he backed up again, bouncing a little on the balls of his bare feet, and then charge the wall, climbing up just a little higher each time and somersaulting, landing upright.

She was relieved that he wasn't using the punching bag, beating on it until his knuckles bled. Peculiar as this activity was, at least it wasn't self destructive.

She cleared her throat and he started, turning. He watched her as she walked over to him, his face blank. For one panicked moment she looked into his eyes, studying them, and then he rolled them, snorting a laugh caught between amusement and annoyance.

"Look, Donald O'Connor did this in 'Singing in the Rain'. And he was a bleedin' dancer for Christ's sake."

She looked contrite and rubbed his back. "I'm sorry, Malcolm. I didn't mean—"

He kissed her, silencing her apology.

"It's all right. I don't blame you. Not after what happened today."

"Want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Malcolm..." she warned.

"Fine," he said sullenly. He kissed her forehead. "Bloody nag."

"And you love it," she shot back with a sassy tone.

He pulled her closer and kissed her fully. She molded herself to the contours of his body, and he relaxed into her arms, giving his entire attention to her lips, his hands cradling her face, thumbs rubbing over her cheekbones in a gentle, sensuous caress.

She loved the way he focused his concentration on what he was doing. On her. Total and absolute. She responded with gusto, her fingers stroking his sides, pleased by the goose bumps that rose as they often did when she touched his bare flesh just right, listening to that unconscious and barely discernible sound he'd make in the back of his throat. She kissed him until she needed to breathe again.

She pulled back. "Have you eaten?"

He shook his head.

"Want me to make you dinner?" she smiled.

He waggled his eyebrows. "So you'll be showing me your enchiladas then, Ensign?"

She smacked him, then ran light fingers down his chest, eyes twinkling as she felt him shiver slightly. She liked the fact that he was so sensitive to her touch and her touch alone. She took a perverse delight in the fact that when others touched him, he'd usually tense, but when she touched him...

"I talked to T'Pol. T'thaylis had suggested that meditation would be helpful, in case you got...well...so we've decided that you should meet with T'Pol nightly—"

"What?" He stalked away from her abruptly, over to the bench and wiped himself down, defenses up. He angrily hurled the towel into the recycler. He turned to say something, but looked away instead, jaw tightening.

Without even asking him, she'd made arrangements with the one person he couldn't face. The idea of sitting with T'Pol, after she saw his inappropriate thought about her bum through the mind meld...her barbed comment about it; the woman must think he was a debauched animal. He still couldn't meet her eyes without blushing.

She could see him restraining himself and it made her temper flare. Damn it, he was not going to avoid talking to her. Or taking her advice. Even though she hadn't discussed it with him...but she knew with him, when it came to his own good, she sometimes had to sneak up behind him and hit him with a two-by-four...then run like hell...

"We've decided that it would be in your best interest to meditate with—" she started in an overly patient voice, as if speaking to the village idiot.

Her tone was the last straw and set him off. "My best interest? What gives you two the right to decide my best interest? I don't get a say in this?" She could see him getting angrier, his temper smoldering. "I'm suppose to let you two dictate what I'm to do as if I'm some sort of backwards child? I don't need to gaze at my navel and spout mumbo jumbo, trying to get in touch with my feelings—"

"Damn it, Malcolm! Unless you can explain to me why you tried to cut some man's heart out, then I think you might want to try something that might actually help you!"

"I don't need help. I just lost my temper—" Well, perhaps he was understating it a bit...

"You tried to kill someone!"

"The bloody arsehole attacked Trip! What the hell was I to do? Stand there and—"

"And you won't even talk to me about it! I'm tired of having to force you to talk to me! You—"

"That's not fair. I've been trying—" As if he could ever get a word in edgewise...

"Only after I nag you to death," she retorted fiercely, ignoring the fact that he had been making tentative but awkward attempts in the last few months.

"Oh, yes, you're bloody good at that—"

"God! You are the most obstinate, annoying bastard I've ever known!" Hoshi shouted as she stepped right up into Malcolm's face, her anger at his stubborn balking just as strong as his at her imperious meddling. They stood, toe to toe, furious at the other.

Malcolm growled low in his throat, his frustration and temper threatening to burst. He glared at her. She drove him mad. She always thought she was so bloody smart and knew best.

The worse part was that she was usually right.

He saw the fire in his lover's eyes, her temper a match to his own, her face slightly flushed, her seductive lips parted as she breathed hard in anger, her chest heaving.

Dear Lord. Chest. Heaving.

He thought she was magnificent.

He loved her so much. And she loved him.

All the blood that had rushed to his head was now reversing course. Damn.

She saw his expression change.

Oh God. The way he was looking at her, his eyes smoky and reckless. The way he looked, half naked and sweaty, hair disheveled. Those damn designs, faded but still visible, running down his chest and hard stomach, banding those arms.

He took her breath away.

She was going to kill him.

She just didn't know which course of action to take—a phase pistol shot between the eyes or making love to him until he expired.

She kissed his nose. "You're beautiful when you're angry, Lieutenant," she said, her tone now saucy.

An explosive laugh erupted from him and she started laughing as well. He placed light kisses down her neck, nibbling, still chuckling.

When his hands reached a particularly responsive area, she decided on the latter course of action.

***

T'Pol found an uncomfortable and nervous Lieutenant Reed at her door the next night.

***

T'Pol put aside her thoughts and fell into her own private meditation about what to do with the Directorate's request. After an hour, they opened their eyes.

He thanked her and rose to leave, as usual, as was his custom.

"Malcolm."

A deviation from the norm. He stopped and turned, surprised.

"I have a...'favor'...to ask of you."

He walked to her and sat back down. She had his full attention.

She almost hesitated under that direct and intense gaze. She didn't want him to feel obligated. "You are under no constraint to agree...krenath."

He broke out into a full smile at the name she called him. He had laughed hard when she told him what it meant. It was a personal favor then.

"Fire away, Duchess"

Her mouth twitched and she knew he understood, knew that he would acquiesce or refuse, with no hard feelings on either side.

But she knew he'd agree.

Chapter 2

"Let me get this straight," Captain Archer began. "There's these manuscripts of Surak's—"

"The Seven Sacrosanct Scrolls of Surak," T'Pol interrupted.

He looked at her and rolled the phrase around in his head. He decided he wasn't even going to attempt to say it out loud.

"And one of the three lost scrolls has been found in a museum on this planet..." he looked at the PADD in his hand. "...Archolli?"

"Yes. The Archollian Archives of Alien Art and Archeology, Astrophysics, and Astronomy."

"And alliteration," Archer mumbled under his breath.

She looked at him.

Damn. How could he have forgotten about her hearing? Especially with those ears.

"And your government wants you to retrieve this document?"

"Yes."

"Why not just ask for them back?"

"The Archollians do not...like...Vulcans."

"Really? Why?"

"They feel we are too...austere."

Jon looked at her. "That's all?" Well, at least the Archollians were observant.

He thought she suppressed a very un-Vulcan-like sigh.

"They also claim that we...emit an odor which...offends them."

Jon struggled to keep a straight face. "They think you—Vulcans—smell bad?"

"Yes." This time he was sure that a sigh escaped her.

He refrained from mentioning karma, or the many times she had made pointed comments about her nasal suppressant.

"They think you reek?" His lip twitched upwards involuntarily.

"Yes."

He could tell that her patience was being tried. Just one more comment...

"They think you're stiff and stinky?"

That did it. A muscle twitched in T'Pol's jaw and her eyes narrowed just an iota.

Trip was right, Jon thought. She does show her emotions, if you knew what to look for. Jon filed this tidbit away for further reflection.

"And you want Malcolm to help you...liberate...this document from their museum."

"Yes."

"Can't the Vulcans ask Starfleet to ask the Archollians?"

There was that soft exhalation again. "No. The Directorate does not wish to have outsiders know of this."

He studied her carefully. "And you don't agree?"

She looked at him. "No. I don't agree." She was tired of the secrecy her people exhibited, the lack of trust that they displayed toward their allies. While not desiring to be as open as the humans were, she had learned during her service on the Enterprise the value of trust and the worth of depending on others.

Nor did she ever want to endanger her crewmates by not imparting information again.

"Why?"

"Surak's philosophy of peace and mastery of emotions has been debated before. This scroll could contain information that will either bolster or destroy one sect or another. The Directorate would like to examine it before it's made public."

She paced to the other side of the room, hands behind her back, and Jon felt a lecture in the air.

"Not everyone agrees with the suppression of emotions. Some would prefer the elimination of emotions altogether, taking Surak's philosophy to the extreme, as the Kholinar do. You've already met those who wish to explore and exploit our emotions. And there are some who wish to maintain the status quo, others who want to eliminate Surak's teachings altogether in favor of a more 'modern' philosophy. But all sides are creating...controversy right now, and this debate is unsettling for many."

She turned and faced him. "Many stories about Surak and his actual teachings are apocryphal; some of his written works were destroyed, others were taken and remain hidden to this day. Vulcan possesses four of the Seven Sacrosanct Scrolls. This one could contain the ultimate proof of his true intent—elimination of emotions or the suppression of them as most believe, or even something else entirely, an acceptance of them, with logic and reason controlling our responses.

"This could become something akin to a 'religious' war on your planet, and these disagreeing factions must find some middle ground before it becomes unmanageable. The Archollians do not realize what they have. And my government does not wish to have outworlders assist us. This is a very private matter for most Vulcans."

"But not for you?" Jon asked, curious.

She looked at him, measuring him. He was inadvertently asking her about something very personal to the Vulcan people. His inquisitiveness could be deemed offensive, that is, if Vulcans could be offended. Which they couldn't, of course.

But she had always been something of an eccentric, at least in her own people's eyes. Such as her ability to tolerate irrational humans for longer than a week. And her absolute lack of propriety in not discussing those secrets her people wouldn't speak of among themselves, let alone to outsiders.

Such as pon farr and mating challenges.

She was frankly sick of keeping secrets. And she took a hidden pleasure in revealing them to her crewmates.

She was sure that some of the humans' less desirable traits were rubbing off on her.

And she didn't mind.

She considered this her way to 'reciprocate' the 'logic' of her people's decision. Which was to boot her off her homeworld to wander the galaxy with a shipload of undisciplined and highly illogical humans.

She'd always been a bit of an iconoclast. Her people thought she was mad. And had gotten rid of her the first chance they saw, without seeming to be doing so.

Screw them, as Trip would say.

"While we are too dangerous a race to let our emotions rule, some believe that it is foolish to suppress them to the point of being unable to understand the vast majority of other species which surround us. Vulcans feel, Captain. We merely do not allow our emotions to dictate our course of action."

Unless it was the pleasure of teasing a certain lieutenant. Or admitting to an attraction to a certain commander.

Jon was stunned. "Gee, T'Pol. That's...so...weird. I thought all of Vulcan was united."

"Evidently some have concluded that it is time for Vulcans to exercise their shaky gazelle-like legs and run with the rest of the herd. Sir."

She added needling a certain captain to her list.

She watched in satisfaction as Archer's brow furrowed.

Chapter 3

Hoshi continued to smile as she walked to her quarters that evening at 2100. She had gone to the movie with Travis and had gotten him back for a practical joke he had played on her last week.

The whoopee cushion she had placed on his chair had been satisfyingly loud enough to reach the back rows.

Childish, yes. But effective.

These past two weeks had been frustrating, with Malcolm on Gamma shift and she on Alpha. But this was a particularly vacant part of space and the captain had decided to rotate a few schedules.

Trip and T'Pol saw more of Malcolm than she did. They were all on the same night shift.

At least it was only for a few more days.

Now if they could only get their days off synchronized.

In her grumpier moments she wondered if Jon was testing them.

At least she would have an hour to be with Malcolm before he had to wake and get ready for his shift. She entered her room; Malcolm had left the bathroom light on and its door partially open for her so she could see.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to him.

She stood, merely watching him as he lay still and quiet on his stomach, close to the edge of the mattress leaving ample room for her. He was facing her, his foot dangling off the bed. His cheek rested on his arm, his pillow haphazardly atop his head, his other arm wrapped around her pillow with his bare back visible, the sheet riding provocatively low.

She watched him dream, his fingers twitching minutely and his eyes shifting beneath his lids. She studied those dark lashes, the thick strands of hair that fell over his forehead. He looked at peace.

She loved seeing him asleep and trusting, innocent in his sprawled position. The first time she had slept next to him was in that holding cell on Sandaran. He had slept curled up tight, tensely motionless. After a few weeks of sharing sleeping mats with him, she had noticed a gradual change. She had always suspected this loose limbed and spread out posture was more to his nature, only relying on that defensive tautness and instant wakefulness when conditions warranted it.

She liked sleeping with him. He was usually so tranquil. She could sleep well lying next to him, no restless shifting or fitful tossing on his part. He was calm and controlled even in repose. She felt that flutter again in her ribcage.

The fact that he was naked under that sheet and in her bed may have caused other flutterings to occur.

She washed up and undressed, then slipped in beside him, freeing her pillow and feeling the heat from his body radiating from him. He was always warm to her touch and it was a sharp contrast to the chill of the sheets. She snuggled in close, wrapping herself around him.

"Mornin'," he muttered.

Every time she slid into bed he was aware of her. But she liked that too, his perception of her presence, as if he had been waiting for her, even though sound asleep.

"Evening," she smiled.

"Righ'."

"What were you dreaming?" she asked, caressing his back, enjoying the texture of his skin.

"S'plosions," and she could hear the teasing tone.

She gave his rump a light smack. "Liar." She rested her head between his shoulders, rubbing the small of his back. She could hear his slow heartbeat, feel him breathe out a drowsy sigh of pleasure.

She loved how he muddied his words when he was still half slumbering, that normally precise accent now lazy and unselfconscious. She'd seen him go from a deep sleep to full vigilance from one breath to another and it made her feel good that he allowed himself the luxury of not being alert around her. Sometimes she could even get him to talk about himself as he'd ramble, unguarded.

He didn't move, but his hand crept toward her thighs. She chuckled low and caught his questing fingers, holding them at bay. He didn't fight it, still mostly asleep, his awareness negligent.

Still stroking his back she asked, "Were they pleasant dreams?"

"Hmmuhh," he murmured in the affirmative.

"What were you dreaming?" she prodded again.

"Skopelos, beach, poetry, you," he managed, his pronunciation of the Greek island surprisingly correct.

"Poetry?" she asked, interested, her hand stopping. "What kind?"

She was greeted by silence and she asked her question once more, moving off him and shaking him a bit to wake him again.

"'...the happiest man I seem, Sitting before thee, rapt at thy sight, hearing Thy soft laughter and thy voice most gentle, Speaking so sweetly.

"'She whose gentle footfall and radiant face Hold the power to charm more than a vision Of chariots and the mail-clad battalions Of Lydia's army.'"

He turned over and looked at her from under half closed lids and continued.

"'The gleaming stars all about the shining moon Hide their bright faces, when full-orbed and splendid In the sky she floats, flooding the shadowed earth with clear silver light.'"

He touched her hair, sweeping his fingers through it and down to her cheek, gliding down to her collarbone, then cupping her face.

"'The sinking moon has left the sky, The Pleiades have also gone. Midnight comes—and goes, the hours fly And solitary still, I lie.'"

He blinked slowly, partially awake now. "Sappho". He leaned forward and kissed her. "I miss you. I detest having separate shifts. I loathe going to bed without you beside me. We catch an hour at most in the gym, then an hour before we each have to go on duty...I miss your voice. Seeing you. Touching you."

He pulled her down to his chest and kissed her again, his fingers making light brush strokes down her back, painting an abstract design on the canvas of her bare skin. He nuzzled her and placed a demure kiss on her temple.

"I love you." The force of his gaze was discernible even in the low starlight of her quarters, even from under his heavy sleep filled lids.

She kissed him back. "I love you too, Malcolm. Always." She nestled against him once more, her hand rubbing his stomach in small rhythmic circles, and she felt, rather than heard, his subconscious sound of contentment resonate through his chest.

"T'Pol asked me a favor today."

"Really?" As far as Hoshi knew, T'Pol never asked anyone for anything. She wondered what she wanted from Malcolm.

"She asked me to help her...reclaim...a document that's collecting dust in some alien museum." He seemed fully awake now.

"Reclaim? In what way?" she asked, suspicious.

He sighed. "Just...well...just a bit of breakingandenteringandstealingit," he replied in a quiet rush.

"What?!" She sat up, staring at him, hands on hips and demanding.

"They'll never miss it; they don't know what they have, and even if they did, they couldn't care less. The Archollians, once they figure out what it means to the Vulcans, will most likely destroy it. They don't like Vulcans...but it's important to T'Pol. To her people."

She could see him tensing so she started rubbing his stomach again, entertained by the fact that he relaxed immediately at her touch.

"Will this be dangerous?" she asked.

"No. Just a couple of days to case the place and check their security systems. Then T'Pol and I go in and nick it. Should be easy." He sounded enthusiastic and she couldn't help smiling. It had been a couple of boring weeks.

"What about your vaunted ethics, Malcolm? I thought you weren't a thief?" She said it playfully, but felt him flinch.

"I'm not," he stated and the heat of his response startled her.

She felt a flash of regret. She should have known better than to tease him about that.

Before she could apologize, he sat up and focused all his attention on her. "This isn't for personal gain. It's a favor for someone I consider a friend. She asked me and it's important to her. I just want to show her my appreciation." He sighed and wrapped his arms around her. "She's really helped me a great deal, Hoshi." His voice got quiet and very serious. "I...I think that after what happened on Pachaa, I would have...I don't think things would have turned out well if T'Pol hadn't intervened and brought T'thaylis here. She made Soval assist in getting rid of the evidence. And, as much as I hate to admit it, these meditation sessions with her have...helped."

She felt him tensing again as a note of self-loathing entered his voice. "I may not be able to ever fully control my temper, but at least now I won't kill anyone because of it." He pulled back, eyes intense. "It's still in my head, Hoshi. Those last conditioning sessions..." He repressed a shudder and turned away. "I think it did something to me," he whispered.

Three months and he had never said anything. Hoshi waited, stroking him, sending her love to him through her touch. She knew whatever he told her, she could accept.

She hugged him, and turned his head toward her. She kissed him, reassuring him. "What, Malcolm?" she asked gently. At least he was talking. At least he trusted her. But she'd always known that.

He heard her tone, calm and encouraging. Heard the love in her voice. Saw it, in her dark eyes.

He couldn't believe that he'd been given a second chance. A second opportunity to love someone completely, and to be loved in return. Someone who knew what he was, and didn't care.

He knew he could tell her anything.

He met her eyes. "It's enticing. To use it. When I have to fight. To not feel the fear, the worry. The guilt. And it scares me. Because it's still there and I may not be strong enough to resist the temptation one day."

Especially if she were to be threatened. Or his shipmates, his friends. His family now.

He swallowed, but did not look away. "And I started to like it, there on Pachaa." He paused and gazed into her eyes, his wide and upset. "Tarque said it was my instinct, that I was easy to train, that he just built upon my true nature. Is he right? Am I an animal, Hoshi? Something less...human?"

His sorrow as he voiced his questions devastated her and her hatred of Tarque flared, hot and profound. She embraced him, his body so rigid he felt like stone. She rocked him gently, caressing his back, waiting for him to instinctively relax at her touch, but he held her tighter as if she were an anchor in a current trying to wash him away.

"You're not an animal, Malcolm. I wouldn't love you if you were. And you're very human. You have a conscience, you try your best. You're a good man—don't let Tarque win by making you think otherwise." She kissed him and then rubbed her cheek against his head. He leaned into her, concealing his face against her neck and she held him closer, as if to keep him pieced together.

They stayed like that for long minutes, their bodies gently moving. "I love you, Hoshi. Always."

She heard him trying to control himself and murmured in his ear. "I love you too, Malcolm. Always." She felt him respond, that gradual release of tension, his muscles no longer so tightly coiled.

She rubbed his back and continued softly. "I know what it left you with. I've seen it, no matter how hard you've tried to hide it." He pulled away, alarmed, and she forced him back to her, kissing him and smiling. "You worry too much," she said. "It doesn't change anything."

He smiled back, encouraged by her sincerity. "You're a clever girl, Hoshi. One of the many reasons why I love you." He kissed her fingertips, then the palm of her hand. "I should have said something."

"Yes. But I can understand why you didn't. It doesn't make you an animal. Besides, you fight it, despite what they did. Why do you think your accuracy with a phase pistol is close to one hundred percent when you do target practice, but far less when shooting at people?"

He looked at her, puzzled. "I'm not that bad—"

"No, but I've noticed. You hesitate. You automatically aim for the head, don't you? You were trained that way. But then, you aim again, going for the torso. That split second re-targeting lowers your efficiency in a fire fight." He stared at her, baffled. "I..." he began, then stopped, reviewing his actions.

"You know that a phase blast could cause catastrophic neurological damage if it hits in just the right place. And whether you know it or not, you override your 'instinct' and place your shots where you'll do the least harm."

She pushed him down onto his back and covered his body with hers. "An animal would just do it, Malcolm. And you, consciously or not, control that. It's not your nature." She breathed out a small laugh. "I think your instinct is to protect. Even the bad guys you shoot."

He hugged her tight, then flipped them over, smiling. She could see the relief, her words warming him. His faith and trust in her. His belief in her. He kissed her, all over and thorough, only stopping to whisper bits of poetry and his love to her.

He later had to skip breakfast, running through the corridors to make his shift on time.

Chapter 4

"What do you mean you have to do this? And why are you taking Malcolm? Why can't I help you?"

"Because, as I have explained, Trip, this is something that my people have asked me to do. I'm taking Mr. Reed because he has specialized skills which will increase the probabilities of success—"

"Come on, T'Pol! I'm an engineer! I can open locks just as well as he can!"

"This is not simply bypassing locked doors by disrupting their energy frequencies. I need assistance with someone practiced in...subterfuge and stealth—"

"I can be just as sneaky as him!" Trip emphasized his point by shaking his fork full of cake at T'Pol. "It doesn't sound that difficult; just open a door, grab the scroll and leave. I can do that," and Trip continued, telling her how, while in school, he used to 'break' into the cafeteria all the time, trying to prove to her that he was just as adept at the art of skulking.

T'Pol leaned forward a bit and speared a piece of the cake from the plate between them. She nibbled at it with dainty bites, waiting as Trip wound down his blustering rant.

"As meritorious as your skills are, Trip, this will be much more complicated than putting duct tape on a door latch and absconding with cookies and milk."

"And other stuff! You ever try and get twenty kilos of ribs out of a locked freezer? Along with five liters of barbeque sauce? Well, you're looking at the guy who managed to do that and I'll tell you, we had a damn good cook out with that—"

"I'm sure it was the finest 'cook out' in your alma mater's history," she said dryly. "However, this is not comparable to appropriating dead animal flesh from an unsecured kitchen. There are guards and there are security devices that will have to be deactivated. There are other matters that make this more difficult than triumphantly carrying raw meat through the hallways—"

"Don't forget the barbeque sauce," Trip added sullenly.

"And barbeque sauce," she said as jabbed at the cake again. Her fork squealed across the plate and Trip winced at the grating sound. She looked at him, noticing his discomfort.

"Seems like you're going through a lot of skullduggery just for a stupid ole piece of paper," he sulked.

Her eyebrows rose. She dragged the fork across the plate again slowly, making the abrasive sound once more. He grimaced and shifted in his seat.

She indolently thought that perhaps he'd think twice now the next time he decided to use a drill on the captain's chair in her presence.

She immediately dismissed that as unworthy. That was quite a while ago, and the humans had all been under the influence of that radiation.

However, Vulcans had long memories.

Something made her haul the fork against the plate repeatedly in short sharp strokes, the annoying sound squeaking out several times.

She watched him shiver as he winced again. She almost smiled. Almost.

She relented and placed the cake in her mouth. She chewed with precision and swallowed.

"I told you I was sorry about that damn drill," he said, exasperated.

This time her mouth did twitch upwards.

"That is another thing I admire about you Trip, you are exceedingly perceptive." The warmth of her tone made Trip smile.

"Well, my perception tells me that I can help you out on this—"

"No. I know that you worry. I assure you, this will be as 'easy as a piece of pie'—"

"Cake. It'll be a piece of cake, or easy as pie," he corrected.

She nodded. "The risks are negligible."

"Risks? Is that why you're taking Malcolm? You told me that this wasn't dangerous!"

She could see his apprehension. "It is not dangerous, Trip—"

He cut her off. "Then why are you taking Malcolm? You know, maybe you shouldn't take him; with his luck, he'll probably get shot."

"In that case, he is better off with me. I've ascertained that the lieutenant has not been injured once during our mission when he has accompanied me. However, he has been injured forty-three percent of the time in the company of the captain, thirty-one percent in your company, three percent in the—"

"You've been keeping track?" He sounded incredulous.

"I had...pondered it...during one of my meditation sessions. I...made a chart." That had been a very dull week.

"You made a chart?"

"Yes. However, the highest percentage of injuries on this ship occurs when you and the captain are together on an away mission. Those totals were fascinating. I discovered that—"

"I don't want to know." He shoved a piece of cake into his mouth and shook his head. "You made a chart..."

She placed her fork on the table and leaned forward. "I appreciate your concern. I assure you, we will be fine."

"T'Pol, it's just that...well..." he couldn't continue, knowing what he wanted to say, but suddenly tongue tied.

She nodded sagely. "I understand that you 'worry', Trip. But this is not a Starfleet matter and I do not wish to involve you. Mr. Reed is my logical choice for this and we will return safely."

She indicated to the crumbs on the plate. "Now, tell me, what does this cake have to do with food for angels?"

Chapter 5

He used his security code to override her door lock, edging in sideways as it opened, closing the door as soon as possible so that the light from the corridor didn't spill into the room. She had forgotten to leave the bathroom light on, but that was all right. He stood for a moment, his eyes easily adapting to the starlit darkness.

He had stopped at his cabin after coming off duty, cleaning up and changing, then on to the messhall. He set the tray down on her desk, her breakfast covered and kept warm until she was ready to eat. He kicked off his shoes and padded silently to her bedside. Crouching down, he watched her.

He loved to watch her sleep. So beautiful. Sometimes animated, her eyes moving beneath her lids, dreaming in a language other than the one they shared. He focused on her mouth, her so lips captivating and lush, as she whispered foreign sentences. Sometimes alien, Vulcan, Klingon, or one of the many languages they had encountered so far on their mission. Sometimes an Earth language—German, Vietnamese, Swedish, Portuguese, Russian. He had listened to them all, her accent always exact and exquisite.

He memorized her face again as she slept on her back, her face toward him, one hand curled under her chin. That little mole. Her nose. Her eyebrows. Those lashes. He stared at her hair. It had always entranced him. So dark and full, its texture soft and smooth, a silky delight to his sense of touch.

His eyes roamed to her hand, her elegant and slim fingers. He remembered the fascination he felt watching them move with such skill and precision when she showed him the techniques of origami that first time. Those hands which held such surprising strength when she'd massage his shoulders, so graceful when she moved them as she talked, her fingers so delicate as they played over his skin. Her touch.

He loved it when she touched him. He had been touched by very few people who had cared about him.

She touched him with love and tenderness. Not the impersonal carnal touch of a one night stand, or the awkward and fleeting touch of a short term paramour. Or the stark touch administered in the name of discipline and failure. Or the panicked and grasping touch of a stranger in the middle of a crisis, clinging to you as you tried to get them to safety. The superficial touch of an acquaintance. The touch of an enemy, grappling and sweat slicked, kill or be killed. The detached touch of a squad mate during an assignment. The wary defensiveness that always had to be maintained in case a touch meant a fight or worse. A stranger or a friend turning on you. The touch that invaded your personal space, making you respond instinctively with a high-strung tension. The touch that inflicted pain. The touch that wanted to get too close, to pry, to make you talk when you could not.

But when she touched him all he felt was her. Her gentleness. Her empathy. Affection and warmth. Intimacy and acceptance. She used her fingers and hands to soothe him, reassure him, to amuse him, to excite him, to tease him, to let him know how she felt about him.

He inhaled quietly, trying to still his emotions and he could smell the shampoo and body wash she used. The light touch of her natural scent. So clean. Warm. The scent of comfort, security.

He closed his eyes, overwhelmed by his feelings for her.

And she loved him in return.

He knew it, as surely as he knew his own name. She was his friend, companion, confidant, lover. He marveled again at his luck, at her ability to include him and make him feel welcomed, to allay his self-doubts and insecurities, to make him feel as if he belonged. She was intelligent and beautiful, passionate and kind. She could make him laugh. She knew about him and still she loved him.

Malcolm leaned forward, unable to resist any longer, and kissed her. She mumbled something in Andorian. He smiled.

"Good morning," he murmured in Japanese.

Hoshi chuckled, eyes still closed, and corrected his pronunciation.

He managed to get it right this time and she smiled, opening her eyes.

"Very good."

"Thank you. It's only taken me two months to say it properly," he grinned at her, but she could see that he was proud of himself.

"It's just a matter of wrapping your tongue around the syllables the right way."

"I'd rather wrap my tongue around something else," and he leapt on top of her, said tongue darting out and licking her.

She squealed and giggled until his tongue reached parts of her body that made her moan and pant his name instead.

Chapter 6

Six days later they were orbiting Archolli and T'Pol and Malcolm had already visited the quartermaster for their native costumes. Jon, Trip, and Hoshi arrived in the shuttlebay to see them off. Travis would drop them off, returning in three days to pick them up. Enterprise had been ordered to meet with a stranded ship and assist in repairs in the meantime.

Malcolm wasn't happy. T'Pol's expressionless face somehow managed to convey her displeasure as well.

Travis was grinning, not bothering to hide his merriment. Malcolm was glowering at him and T'Pol was simply ignoring the young pilot. Dr. Phlox was fussing with one last adjustment to T'Pol's neck.

Jon tried to maintain a straight face, while Trip smiled and Hoshi laughed outright.

"It's not funny," Malcolm growled.

"Yes, it is," Hoshi replied.

Malcolm made a noise of disgust. T'Pol turned and stared at Trip, daring him to laugh. Trip wisely maintained his silence, although his grin grew wider.

"You both look very...native," Jon said, and he cleared his throat, stifling a chuckle.

"The Archollians are noted for their...eccentric...style." T'Pol managed to sound as if she was discussing the duty roster.

"Pretty damn eccentric if you ask me," Trip commented.

"We could have just borrowed clothing from your wardrobe and fit in nicely," Malcolm spat.

Hoshi chuckled and patted Malcolm. "You look good. Really."

"I look like a schizophrenic transvestite rodeo clown," Malcolm snarled.

Trip laughed. "Love to see what rodeo you've been hanging around."

They were both clad in tight black denim pants, tucked into leather boots that laced up to just below their knees. Their shirts were snug, cropped so short that they barely covered their chests, leaving their midsections exposed. Malcolm's was a disturbing swirl of blinding lime greens and oranges, while T'Pol's was a vomitous blend of a sickly dun and chartreuse.

And two small yellow petal-like decorations were attached to their shirts. Plastered over each nipple. Hoshi curbed the urge to flick Malcolm's to see if it would spin, propeller-like.

They both wore dark burgundy dusters, the coats long and sweeping. They were made of a slick material that looked like vinyl, but was supple and permeable.

Their hair and eyebrows were a soft turquoise, T'Pol wearing a wig, her ears and eyebrows artificially rounded by Phlox, her short hair hidden. The wig was teased out, poofy and enormous in the latest Archollian style for women. Malcolm's hair was a bedraggled mess, with three small thin braids woven into it and hitting the neckline of his shirt in the back.

The both had identical studs in their left ear lobes. The stone shimmered and glowed like a black and red fire opal.

Their skin had been lightened to an unhealthy pallor and the thick dark kohl outlining their eyes emphasized them, making the officers appear somewhat decadent and not a little dissipated. Apparently their eye colors were considered normal, since Phlox hadn't changed them.

The tiny gill-like slits on the side of their necks did look a little odd though. As did the long canine teeth.

"I think you look like deranged vampire prostitutes," Travis commented.

T'Pol and Malcolm snapped their heads around in unison and glared at him. Travis smiled sweetly. "Hey, it's a good look for you guys. Very...debauched. You'll mix right in," he added cheerfully.

Jon couldn't help it. He laughed. T'Pol and Malcolm cast their baleful stares at him.

If looks could kill, Trip would be captain now.

"We have all seen what the Archollians wear and how they act. As...gauche...as this apparel is, it will enable us to blend into the population easily. Although Archolli is an open planet with many outworlders visiting, we do not want humans, or Vulcans, to look as if they are involved in this..." she hesitated searching for a judicious word.

"Caper?" Jon offered.

"Harebrained scheme?" Hoshi suggested helpfully.

"Heist?" Travis proposed.

"Escapade?" Phlox piped up, enjoying himself as usual.

"Exercise in insanity," Trip stated flatly.

"Archeological mission," T'Pol finished.

Malcolm snorted a laugh and Hoshi could see his sense of the absurd emerging as he shot T'Pol an amused glance. "Look, it's just a harmless little retrieval job. The Archollians will neither miss nor care about the bloody thing. As ludicrous as these Halloween costumes are, they're necessary if things go pear shaped. We can't risk being linked to Starfleet or the Vulcans. If something goes wrong, Travis will just have to bail us out. And I've researched their penal codes. The sentence is rather light; ten thousand Simoleons for each perpetrator."

"Simoleons?" Trip echoed with a snigger.

"Their currency," T'Pol explained.

"And I've...made...about thirty five thousand worth—"

"Forgery, Malcolm?" Jon feigned a shocked look, but he made sure that Malcolm could tell he was joking.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. "Captain. A chimpanzee with a crayon could duplicate their currency, and, oddly, it's not a crime. And how else are we going to pay for whatever we need? It's in the armory. Travis, just bring it down with you in case we don't meet you at the rendezvous point."

"However, it is highly unlikely you'll need to do so, Ensign. The Archollians are not noted for their efficiency," T'Pol added. "Their society appears to be based on a loosely formed anarchy."

"Great," Hoshi interjected. "Anything goes?" That worried her. "Are you armed?" she asked Malcolm nervously.

"I seriously doubt that the Archollians will pose any type of threat, Hoshi," Malcolm replied. "But I have a few things with me just in case."

He smiled at her and she felt relieved. She knew how cautious he was.

"Besides, we cannot bring any Starfleet issued equipment," T'Pol reminded her. She opened her coat and withdrew what looked like a common stylus from one of the many deep pockets inside the duster. T'Pol held it up.

"This is a communications device. The frequency and signature is recorded in your consol, Ensign. Its signal is not very strong, but we can be contacted if you are within one hundred kilometers of us while on the planet."

Trip asked to see it and she handed it her. "Where'd you get this?" he asked, intrigued. It looked like something out of a spy movie.

"I have accumulated some non-Starfleet equipment," she said rather evasively.

Trip handed it back to her. He wondered what types of things she had 'accumulated'. He also wondered what non-regulation weapons Malcolm had on him as well.

"Well, you two be careful," Jon said and Trip gave T'Pol a meaningful look. She nodded, her eyes softening, making her face less severe.

"Yeah," Hoshi moved closer to Malcolm and rubbed his shoulder. "Be careful, okay?"

He took her hand and kissed her palm. "Always." He nuzzled against her, pitching his voice for her ears alone, "I love you."

"Love you too," she murmured back and ignoring decorum, and her crewmates, kissed him fully on the lips, until he was lightheaded due to the lack of oxygen, with his hands instinctively cupping her backside and holding on for dear life.

His altered skin was so fair that the blush made him look badly sun burnt for a moment.

Chapter 7

T'Pol contemplated the abstract painting in front of her while Malcolm stood next to the door, looking through his coat. Opening the duster wide to cover his actions, he casually examined the door lock as he rifled through those deep pockets. They had studied the cases which held several exhibits, verifying that they all contained the same type of alarm. He had noted the security cameras and the electronic eye outlets that dotted the walls and ceilings. He pulled out a sketch pad and a few pencils.

He moved over to a large sculpture and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall across from it. He began adding an illustration of it to the ones he had already done to camouflage the true intent of their extended investigation of the museum.

His slipped his left hand behind his back and unscrewed one of the electronic eye lens, fishing with deft and slender fingers until he found the alien security mechanism inside. He removed it, palming it and then replaced the eye lens. He slipped the device into a pocket, continuing his sketching.

T'Pol eventually walked over and gracefully lowered herself next to him. She leaned over and looked at his paper with interest.

"That's very accurate. Have you had formal training?"

"Not really." He tried to edge away from her unobtrusively, but she noticed. She moved back a bit.

"My apologies, Lieutenant."

He smiled. "No, I'm sorry. But now I know how you must feel on a ship full of humans."

The injection Phlox had given T'Pol to mask her natural scent made her smell like an Archollian. And T'Pol knew that Malcolm found it unpleasant.

***

Travis had noticed it in the enclosed shuttlecraft. Soon he was sniffing the air with a blatant disregard for T'Pol's disapproving gaze.

"What is that smell?" Travis asked with amazement. "God! It smells like..." he tried to put his finger on the familiar scent.

"My great Aunt Malia!" Malcolm blurted, and then ducked his head, embarrassed.

"Yeah! Oh, man! That old lady smell! Your great aunt must have smelled like my great Aunt Tiffany!"

Malcolm started laughing. "Large woman? With an enormous bosom and would enfold you in her great flapping arms, clutching you to her chest, suffocating you?"

Travis laughed hard. "Yes! Smelled like booze, body odor and cheap perfume! She pinch your cheeks and tell you how you've grown? Slip you a couple of credits when no one was looking?"

Malcolm was nodding, chuckling.

"Badly dyed hair and a little mustache?"

Travis grinned and nodded in return. "Heart of gold though, right? Strong as an ox..."

"Pick you right off your feet and squeeze you to death..." and Travis laughed louder, nodding his agreement.

"Oh my God, Malcolm, we could be related!" Travis and Malcolm burst out laughing again.

"I don't smell anything," T'Pol interrupted their reminiscence of their respective relatives.

"You're lucky," Travis snickered.

Malcolm smirked.

"On Vulcan, we have respect for our elders," T'Pol said sternly.

"On Vulcan, your elders most likely do not smell like great aunts Malia and Tiffany," Malcolm replied with a straight face. Travis choked back a laugh while finding the navigational panel extremely interesting.

"You find my scent offensive, Ensign?" she asked coolly.

"Well..." Travis waffled.

"Not offensive exactly, Sub-Commander. Just...overwhelming in close quarters," Malcolm said as tactfully as he could. "Much like how you must perceive us," he added pointedly.

"Perhaps you will wish to use my nasal suppressant over the next few days, Lieutenant," she commented icily and headed toward the back of the shuttle.

"You'd have to use a whole jarful—" Travis whispered and Malcolm started laughing again.

***

Malcolm shifted back closer to T'Pol. She looked at him, that ubiquitous eyebrow raised in puzzlement.

"Might as well get myself used to it," he said with a small smile. "We'll be sharing a room tonight." He looked up from his drawing. "You really can't smell any of the Archollians?"

"No. Apparently Dr. Phlox's injection has made me immune to that particular scent, especially since I seem to be carrying it myself." He nodded, making a small "hmm" of thoughtful acknowledgment. He put the finishing touches on the sketch, preparing to move to another part of the museum. "I can still, however, smell you," T'Pol added archly although her eyes gave her away.

He breathed out a small chuckle. "I'll be sure to shower thoroughly tonight, Duchess."

She stood, and indicated that they should move on. "It would be much appreciated, krenath."

***

They returned in the pouring rain to their hotel when the museum closed, all security arrangements noted and studied, the location of the scroll not yet discovered.

T'Pol shook out her drenched coat, shivering slightly and went into the bathroom for a towel. Malcolm placed their sopping coats on hangers and hung them near the heater to drip dry. He stripped off his damp shirt, happy to be out of the ridiculous thing, and toweled off.

"We will return to the museum tomorrow to ascertain the exact location of the scroll," T'Pol said, removing her wig and drying it off. Malcolm suppressed a smile. It looked like one of Phlox's tribbles, albeit an enormous drowned blue and fluffy one.

"I'll take a look at the mechanism I...borrowed. I'm fairly sure it emits a laser of some type, but I'd like to know if it's only a harmless trip alarm or if it'll cut you in half if you pass through it."

"That would be a wise precaution, Lieutenant," T'Pol agreed as they headed to the main room. She removed some clothing from her overnight bag and Malcolm followed suit; neither wished to remain in their wet attire any longer.

"I'll order room service and start working on an approach to our 'archeological mission'. Why don't you take a hot shower to warm up, Sub-Commander?" He turned the heater on higher, relieved to hear it kick in. It had been raining and chilly since their arrival on Archolli and their native costumes did little to keep them warm or protected. He figured if he was cold, T'Pol must be freezing.

"Yes, please. Thank you, Malcolm. I appreciate it." She made her way quickly back to the bathroom.

T'Pol stood in the shower, finding the heat more than satisfactory. She let it wash away the bone deep iciness she felt. Vulcan was a desert planet and she was not used to this type of wintry weather.

She stood under the hot cascade of water and closed her eyes, wondering where the Archollians were keeping the scroll. They had carefully visited all the exhibits, stopping to examine the security arrangements, Malcolm using the sketch pad as a cover activity while they both studied them. She thought about a few of the sketches she had seen, his embarrassment the first time she had leaned over to see what he was doing. She thought his efforts were competent and aesthetically pleasing and idly wondered why he would react as he did.

Even after all this time she had spent with humans, she still found it difficult to discern why they behaved as they did. Especially with emotions of which she had little knowledge. Embarrassment. Jealousy. Greed. Vanity. Desire.

She admitted to herself that she could understand pride. She was beginning to understand humor, although she still failed to see why a rubber bladder full of air which made a sound similar to a natural bodily function was comical to humans. And why Ensign Mayweather had been so mortified at first, then laughed as loudly as the rest attending the movie. She could understand Ensign Sato's satisfaction at avenging Ensign Mayweather's last prank, although she couldn't understand the point of playing practical jokes.

She admitted that she understood anger and frustration. But it was difficult to comprehend the different ways humans expressed them and why the same emotions would have such varying degrees of intensity depending on the person. And why the same person would, at different times, react to the same level of emotional stimuli with different results.

She thought about the other emotions she had encountered among her crewmates and found her thoughts drifting toward their Chief Engineer. She quashed that line of thinking and decided that meditation would be in order after eating.

***

Dinner was awaiting T'Pol when she finished dressing. She was grateful that the main room was warm. She and Malcolm ate, discussing his plans for entering and exiting the museum after hours. He showed her the security mechanism he had taken from the museum, the laser beam made to set off an alarm. They discussed how to avoid them when activated. Malcolm showed her a few of the tools that he had brought. An eclectic assortment. She did not ask about the legality of two of them.

When Malcolm emerged from his shower, clad in a faded pair of sweats and an old tee shirt, she invited him to meditate with her. She reminded him that they should not alter their routine.

He slipped easily into the Cycle of Ten breathing exercise and when she feathered across his thoughts, she could feel an excited thrill of anticipation undermining his attempt to achieve the usual detached composure. She was about to admonish him for this unseemly enthusiasm during a meditative exercise, but stopped, sending her wry acknowledgment instead.

She felt his pleasure at her benign acceptance of his lighthearted mood and withdrew, vaguely satisfied by the lieutenant's outlook. She could forgive his festive spirits; she supposed he was entitled to his bizarre concept of 'fun'. And considering the challenges he had faced over the last several months, she decided he had earned a bit of diversion.

She did not think she would ever understand humans. Their emotions were so alien. So diverse. She could spend a lifetime trying to decipher them.

Curiously, her deliberations returned to Trip.

Chapter 8

They returned to the museum the following day and spent several hours trying to find Surak's lost epistle, methodically searching the building story by story, gallery by gallery, strolling through the labyrinth of hallways and surreptitiously scanning private rooms and offices. Malcolm was intrigued by the tiny scanner-like instrument T'Pol used to finally locate the scroll, pinpointing it based on the materials and age of the document. It was much more sophisticated than a standard Starfleet issued one, and Malcolm knew it wasn't a typical Vulcan model.

It was T'Pol's turn to be intrigued when he bypassed the lock with a thin metallic device. She raised an eyebrow in inquiry as he locked the door behind them. He handed it to her. She studied it carefully. It looked hand made, disparate pieces cobbled together seamlessly.

"It disrupts any electromagnetic field, without alerting a monitoring station. Then it's just a matter of picking the lock."

"I've never seen anything like it. I wonder who made it, Lieutenant." It wasn't quite a question. He merely shot her a shy smile which highlighted his altered canine teeth as she handed it back.

He opened the next door with the same speed and ease, and when they entered that smaller interior room, T'Pol stood still, stunned, although she did not let it reach her face.

Hundreds of Vulcan artifacts lined the shelves. A treasure trove of her people's heritage and culture. It was almost overwhelming.

She stared at the cache of history, fighting to control her astonishment. Malcolm, unaware of the importance of their find, moved to the shelves looking for anything which matched the description of the scroll.

"I suggest that you either scan for lifeforms approaching whilst I look for the scroll, or I scan and you look," he said, still searching the shelves.

His statement broke her out of her thoughts and she quickly looked at the scanner in her hand.

She wished she could use an expletive. She had learned so many from her shipmates over the past few years. But Vulcans did not curse.

"There are three Archollians coming down the corridor. I do not know if they intend to enter this room, but I would recommend that we do not wait to find out."

"Right. But the scroll's definitely here?" he asked as they exited the room.

"Yes. But we will need time to find the correct one." She scanned the door before opening it and stopped abruptly. The desire to utter a malediction became stronger.

"They're right outside," she whispered. He motioned her toward the window. He popped the lock within seconds and helped her out onto the ledge.

"Hope you're not afraid of heights," he said as he closed the window behind them. He caught a glimpse of the door opening and he gestured her to follow him away from anyone's view.

They were fifteen stories up, overlooking a busy street. The sky was dark and threatening again as it continued to sprinkle. The wind was strong here, blowing with a biting chill. The slippery ledge was slick with moisture.

Malcolm did curse. Creatively and with feeling. T'Pol felt a vicarious tug of relief. He looked up and cursed again. T'Pol filed that one away for future reference.

"Up. To the roof. I can't get us down. And if the windows are like this one, there's no way in, unless we break one. And I'm sure that'll set off an alarm."

She looked up, rain dampening her face. She replayed his last three profanities in her head.

"I doubt that we can cling to the side of the building and climb up like Mr. Tucker's Spiderman," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

"No." He rummaged around in his coat, and withdrew a fist sized object with a leather strap. "But we can play James Bond," he replied with a wide grin and his eyes sparkling. He wrapped the strap around his wrist twice and then looked at her, his grin fading. "Er...you'll have to put your arms around my neck and hold tight."

With misgivings, she did as he said. They both stiffened with the full bodily contact as he put one arm around her waist. He breathed through his mouth, her fabricated scent overpowering in such close quarters.

He raised his arm and aimed at one of the gaily adorned flagpoles protruding from the side of the building at the very top. "Hang on." He tightened his hold and fired.

A slender steel cable shot out from it, wrapping itself around the rod and then they were yanked upwards, flying through the air.

They came to a halt centimeters from the flagpole. They hung there, swaying in the wind. T'Pol could touch the side of the building.

"Christ! That nearly broke my sodding wrist! Damn! I have to let go of you, so hold on tight and don't strangle me, all right?" She nodded and felt his hand release her. He used both hands to hang on, relieving the painful strain on his wrist and shoulder. She wrapped her legs around his hips so as not to overstress his fragile human neck with her entire weight.

She was firmly pressed against him and he could feel her hotter than human body heat through their thin clothing. And on his bare stomach.

He was as embarrassed as hell as his first instinct was to slide an arm underneath her bottom to help support her. The freezing weather was about the only thing that kept him from blushing hotly. That and being twenty-three stories up, hanging from a thread in the freezing rain.

If Hoshi could see this, I would be dead right now, he thought.

"Can you grab the railing and pull yourself up?" he asked, looking down at the street below, trying to avoid her eyes. It was a long drop. He found comfort in concentrating on that instead of her chest mashed against him.

"Piece of cake," she replied. He barked out a short laugh, startled, and looked at her. There was a glimmer of humor in her eyes.

"Oh, Lord, Duchess! You've been hanging around Trip far too long."

"Well, krenath, better than hanging around here with you..." and he laughed again at her deadpan tone. Her mouth twitched slightly and she let go of his neck, her legs still about his waist. She twisted, supple and quick, and grabbed onto the railing that ringed the top of the roof. She released her legs and pulled herself up and over the guardrail.

She reached a hand down and he took it, and she tugged him over the rail with that Vulcan strength. He stumbled as he landed on the roof, the momentum of her yank sending him off balance. She steadied him.

He hit a small button on the grappling device and the cable released, reeling itself back in swiftly. He unwrapped the strap and replaced it in his coat pocket, shaking his sore wrist, trying to get the circulation back into it.

"Are you injured?" she asked.

"No. I'm fine. The old style was a bit more comfortable. I haven't used this model before. But it's easier to conceal."

She nodded. So far the lieutenant's injury rate while with her on a mission remained zero. She intended to keep it that way.

She didn't want to have to revise her chart.

Chapter 9

"Those repairs were a piece of cake, Cap'n," Trip said, returning to his station on the bridge. He nodded his greetings to Hoshi and Travis. "We can leave and get back to Archolli any time you're ready."

"Travis, set course for Archolli. Warp 3."

"Aye, sir."

"Sir, we're receiving a transmission," Hoshi announced. She listened. "It's from the Vulcan Science Directorate. Personal, for Sub-Commander T'Pol."

"Put it on screen, Ensign."

A dyspeptic looking middle aged Vulcan appeared.

"I'm Captain Jonathan Archer. What can we do for you?"

"I asked for T'Pol," the Vulcan replied. Jon thought the man sounded miffed. But then again, all the middle aged Vulcans he'd run into lately looked dyspeptic and sounded miffed. Perhaps it was a symptom of some sort of Vulcan male mid-life crisis.

"She's not on board. She requested a leave of absence on...Trip, what was the name of that planet?" Jon swung toward his friend, back to the Vulcan. He winked at Trip. They'd play dumb, knowing that T'Pol had told them of her 'assignment' in confidence.

"Archolli, Captain," Trip drawled.

"Archolli, Mister...?" Jon questioned.

"When did she leave?" he asked, ignoring Jon.

"Two days ago. We're on our way to pick her up. We're supposed to meet her at 2100 tomorrow."

Jon noticed a slight narrowing of the man's eyes and a subtle lowering of his brow.

"Can you contact her?"

Jon was surprised. The Vulcan had shot out the question with haste. He sounded alarmed, for a Vulcan.

"No. She didn't bring a communicator with her." Jon winced, knowing how sloppy that sounded, but the Vulcan nodded, apparently expecting it.

"I strongly suggest that you increase your speed and arrive as early as possible. I would also recommend that you scan for her biosign to locate her and return her to your ship. Tell her..."

The Vulcan hesitated, obviously trying to phrase whatever he had on his mind without giving anything away.

"Tell her that the condition of her...cousin-uncle is grave. I'm sending you an encrypted message. It is for T'Pol's eyes only, Captain. It is of a highly personal nature. I trust you will honor her privacy?"

"Of course. I'm sorry to hear about T'Pol's cousin-uncle. My thoughts to her family."

The Vulcan nodded with an abrupt motion. "Find her as soon as possible. Out." The screen went dark.

"He was understating it when he said this message was encrypted, sir," Hoshi said. Her hands danced over the consol. "It's locked up tight."

"Travis, increase our speed to Warp 4."

"Aye, sir."

Jon shot Trip a worried looked. "Trip, Hoshi, in my ready room. Travis, you have the bridge."

***

"You think one of her relatives is dying?" Jon tossed out, his tone indicating his doubt.

"If so, why would some nameless guy from the Science Directorate contact her? Why not a family member?" Trip replied.

"Has she ever mentioned this cousin-uncle to either of you?"

Hoshi and Trip shook their heads.

"I think, well, maybe, I think she would have said something to me if someone close to her was sick," Trip said softly and he shuffled his feet, his cheeks starting to redden.

He thought that they'd become friends, that T'Pol would feel she could confide any of her troubles to him, as he had to her. But what if she didn't feel the same way, comfortable enough to say anything that personal? Trust him enough.

He thought she would. He hoped the she knew that she could. Damn. Women were hard enough to figure out, why'd he have to go and fall for an alien one?

Hoshi brushed against Trip. "I'm sure she would have said something to you, Commander. She trusts you," Hoshi added in a low tone, her eyes sympathetic.

Hell. Was he that transparent? Hoshi's hand was still on his arm and he looked at it. Or were all the women he felt close to touch telepaths?

Jon cleared his throat, and they both looked at him. "I think Mr. Science Directorate was hiding something." He paced a bit. "Trip, do you think...well...do you think if we took a look at that encrypted message, T'Pol would mind? My bet is that it has something to do with this caper they sent her on. But..." now it was Jon's turn to blush, "But if it really is a private message about her family..." He didn't want to pry, didn't want to snoop through any of T'Pol's personal business. Didn't want a pissed off his Science Officer. "I think you're the best person to make this decision, Trip," Jon deftly passed the buck to his Chief Engineer.

Trip had been down this path before. The look he shot his best friend made Jon cringe a little.

"Sorry," Jon said and shrugged. But delegation was one of the advantages of being in command.

Trip shrugged and Jon shrugged back. They both looked indecisive and stared at each other, silent, eyebrows raising and lowering, eyes widening and narrowing, foreheads furrowing. They both shrugged again.

Hoshi watched the twitching contest and blew out a breath in exasperation. "I think the sick relative story is a ruse," she stated firmly. The men looked at her.

"Cousin-uncle. It's not a Vulcan family term I'm aware of and it sounded like an Old Vulcan pronunciation. I could search the database for a similar word, but I don't think I'll find one; there's not much Ancient Vulcan in the base. And if he used it as a code word as a warning for her, I doubt that it would be readily available for us humans to stumble across."

Hoshi crossed her arms across her chest and planted her feet wide apart. "I think he was lying through his teeth. His body language was stiffer than any Vulcan I've ever seen and he sounded almost...apprehensive. I think we should try to crack that message. I'll get on it right away." She turned to go and then stopped.

"Um...if that's okay, sir?" she said, realizing that she may have overstepped the boundaries a little. Well, a lot. But someone had to make a decision.

Trip and Jon stared at her. Trip laughed suddenly and Jon grinned.

"Yes, of course, Captain Sato. Carry on," and Jon gave her a small salute.

***

Malcolm inspected the lock of the roof access door in the gloom of the fading light. Night fell swiftly on this planet, the storm-swollen clouds making it darker, no moon or starlight to brighten their surroundings.

T'Pol looked for shelter from the rain which had begun to fall in great fat drops, the sound echoing off the rooftop like bacon frying. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering, her coat doing nothing to protect her from the pervasive moisture, her ludicrous clothing failing to keep her warm.

Eyes straining in the dimness, she finally found a small alcove recessed in the side of the building. A dog-sized rodent scurried out of her way, squealing at her as it disappeared over the railing and down the side. She could smell the musky scent of the animal as she moved into its lair. She used her feet to sweep away remnants of small bones and offal, nesting material and detritus. At least it was dry and shelter from the piercing wind and driving rain.

She turned and looked out into the night. It was completely dark now, the surrounding buildings unlit except for a weak glow feebly radiating from a few windows of the building across the street. Not much help, but enough that T'Pol could at least see her hand in front of her face, the rest of her surroundings ink. She moved forward, intending to let Malcolm know where she was and to lead him to their refuge.

Her body did not react as he appeared suddenly, silently approaching, his steps unerring and confident as he stopped in front of her.

"You found shelter? That's marvelous. I'm freezing." She motioned to it and he sidestepped the pile of debris she had removed.

"Oh, Lord. Does this whole planet reek, or is it just me?" he asked as he looked about, his nose wrinkled with distaste.

"I did offer you the use of my nasal suppressant," T'Pol said mildly.

"And I should have taken you up on it," he grinned, flashing his canines. "The door'll be easy to open. I've already disconnected the alarm, although it will still show up as active on their monitors. I reckon we should wait a few hours in this enchanting grotto you've discovered until the guards change shifts. There were several scrolls in there; can your scanner detect the correct one?" he asked as kicked away a few bones T'Pol had missed. He moved to the opening of their shelter, taking off his coat and wringing as much water as he could from it before putting it back on and returning to its recesses. He sat down, back against the wall, and wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling the duster securely around him.

T'Pol squeezed the water out of her coat and then sat solidly upright next to him, covering the front of her body with the damp coat. She could hear his teeth chattering and leaned closer in the near pitch black. She could see him shuddering with cold.

She repressed her own trembling and hugged her coat to her. "Yes; there are certain properties in the parchment which will allow me to identify it almost immediately. It should only take a few minutes to locate and place it in the case I've brought for it."

"Good. Shouldn't take more than fifteen, twenty minutes at most to get in, get it, and go." He stuttered slightly, unable to control his shivering.

"We should share body heat," T'Pol announced and moved closer to him. She noticed as he tensed. "I will not bite, Lieutenant, regardless of the appearance of my dental appendages..."

He gave her a slight half smile and nodded, unfolding himself and spreading his legs wide. He opened his coat and indicated for her to slide back against him. "I was going to suggested it," he said as she settled stiffly against his chest, their chilled and damp skin meeting, "but I know how Vulcans don't like to be touched—"

"And I know this is uncomfortable for you, Malcolm," she murmured as he wrapped his coat around her, holding it snugly around them and trying not to rest his arms against her, his posture rigid.

For three months they had meditated together; T'Pol touching his mind each night, guiding him to help secure and channel that anger and rage which had been internalized and left smoldering, his control damaged by that last aborted conditioning session. T'thaylis had cautioned T'Pol that the healing meld she had performed may not have achieved a complete mending.

It had been difficult at first, his mental shields stronger than even her own. But she realized early that he had more in-depth practice than she. It was a rare quality in a non-telepathic species, one that she would have liked to study.

And his automatic defensiveness every time she tried to touch him had made it all the more arduous. The first two weeks had been exhausting for both of them; she trying to teach him without forcing her mind to his, possibly injuring them both; he fighting against his instinct, trying to let her in, to let her help, his apprehension and reluctance bred from years of the coerced and invasive techniques used, not to mention his own innate reticence. But they both shared a common trait. Stubbornness.

And she knew how awkward this made him feel. He had been so mortified by what she had seen in that very first meld with T'thaylis that it had taken her quite a while to convince him that she didn't think poorly of him. And now, here she was, for the second time today, pressed intimately against him.

If she had been human she would have sighed in long-suffering resignation. Or laughed at the irony.

"I'm sure Ensign Sato would understand," she said matter-of-factly. One of the advantages of the extensive meldings. She knew exactly how he felt about Hoshi; knew that this type of contact made him feel guilty and uneasy.

Then again, he knew details about her that she had rather kept private. Much to her surprise, she had discovered that the melds were a two way street.

But he had always been discreet.

Although not above teasing her about a few minor things.

She shivered once, unable to master her body's response to the deep frosty air any longer. He unconsciously tightened his embrace about her, pulling her closer, trying to warm her.

"I know." He laughed, a little self deprecating. "I had a harder time than she ever did with...well, you know...what you saw, before."

She did not look at him, but, if Vulcans indulged in gambling, she would wager he was blushing.

"I thought that you were no longer embarrassed by that, Malcolm," she said gently. "I was not offended. I know your...interest...was purely...aesthetic." She felt the heat radiating from him, warmer than most humans she had encountered. Not that she had touched that many. She changed to a different tone of voice, one that he recognized she used when teasing him. "Beside, krenath, I have been told there is nothing wrong with looking."

He chuckled. "Yeah, as long as you don't get caught." She nodded and settled back, relaxing a bit into his warmth. Her trembling had stopped and she didn't feel quite as cold as before.

He spit out a piece of hair. "You should take that wig off, Duchess. It's like having a bleedin' wet dog in my face," he grumbled good-naturedly. One side of her mouth curled upwards noticeably, safe in the dark, and she removed the hairpiece. At least it had kept her head warm and dry. She couldn't say that for the lieutenant though. He was soaked through, still shivering slightly. She put her hands on his, trying to warm his fingers.

"I have noticed that your body temperature seems warmer than most humans, Lieutenant," she mentioned casually, curious about a few anomalies she had discerned over the last few months. She had watched him carefully these last two days they'd been together and had detected a few more irregularities. They had a few hours before the museum closed and this seemed as good as any time to bring them up, a half formed theory developed.

"I've always had a high metabolism," he said lightly, keeping the bantering tone they'd established.

"And your sense of smell seems to have improved in the last few months."

He snorted. "You needn't be a bloodhound to smell things on this planet, Sub-Commander."

She paused, thinking.

"I found it...interesting...that you were able to locate me so easily, given the paucity of light. I had assumed that most humans have difficulties seeing in the dark. You seem to have exceptional night vision."

"Good genes, I guess," he replied, sounding nonchalant, but she felt his body becoming taut.

She waited in silence until she felt him shift restlessly. She could tell that he was suspicious. She forged ahead anyway.

"Your ability to lead us through the city and the museum without getting lost or asking directions was admirable. I studied the only set of maps while on Enterprise. I noticed that you were finally able to peruse them for a few minutes while we were in the shuttle."

"I have a good memory," he replied, his voice becoming a touch curt. His leg began to bounce in agitation.

"Yes, Trip told me that once. But it seems to be...better...since your return from Pachaa..." she mused out loud, trailing off. More observations clicked into place.

"And I believe your hand-eye coordination has improved. You move faster when sparring than before—"

"I've been working out a lot." His accent thickened and clipped the words out with precision.

She could feel him tensing with each question, his leg jittering away as she persisted. His movements were shaking her and she placed her hand on his knee to still it.

"The last conditioning sessions did something to you, didn't they? Perhaps a permanent change in your brain chemistry," she stated flatly, sitting upright, still staring straight ahead, her hypothesis coming together with the additional evidence she had witnessed in the last few days.

His muscles were rock hard now, guarded and poised for flight. But there was nowhere to go. "What would you have me say, T'Pol?" he asked quietly.

"I only ask because I am concerned with your well being. I consider you...a friend," she said softly with an empathy in her voice that startled him.

It was easier to say what she wished, in the dark, without making eye contact.

"Vulcans do not give their friendship lightly. Nor do they abandon friends because they are...unique." She paused, knowing he was listening. "I wounded you the other day, with my comments, comparing you to a test animal. I ask forgiveness, Malcolm. I did not intend to hurt you."

"I know. It's all right," he replied quietly. She recognized the distress in his voice and winced, knowing she had caused it.

"Nonetheless I fear I have harmed our friendship—"

"No. No, you didn't, T'Pol. You only voiced what I'd been thinking. And I'm not angry, nor hurt anymore." He shifted a bit, relaxing a little. "Hoshi knows. She saw it even before I did. It helps, having someone who knows." He pulled her toward him again, warming her back.

He shrugged and she felt the movement. "You're right. I noticed the changes a few weeks after T'thaylis left. I'm surprised no one else has seen them, though I think Trip suspects. And Phlox is still interested. I try to avoid sickbay."

His leg began to jiggle again and this time T'Pol did nothing to quiet him. But she kept her hand on his knee.

"I thought it was over." His voice became softer, pitched a little higher. "I'd hoped, with the program destroyed, Tarque missing and Thuse after him, that it was finally over. That I could leave it in the past again, where it belongs. Dead and buried.

"But it just won't go away," he whispered. "It'll never go away..."

He fell silent, the steady movement of his leg rocking both of them. T'Pol removed her hand and slid it back under the layer of coats, hugging herself, feeling cold again. His leg stopped abruptly, as if he realized that he'd been jostling her.

"My night vision's improved, it was always good, but it's a bit better now," he said, confessing to what she had surmised. "When you're in your training the neurochemicals sharpen your senses. It's like they're always on now, not to that full conditioned extent, but more so than usual. Sense of smell, sight. Touch a little more sensitive, hearing slightly better, but nowhere near as good as Hoshi's." She could hear the weary resignation in his voice.

"My time sense has always been reliable, but it's much more accurate now, within a minute or two of the actual time, no matter what planet I'm on. And I've noticed my countdowns are spot on."

He exhaled slowly and leaned his head against the wall. "My memory's always been sharp, but if I concentrate hard enough I can memorize anything as long as it's visual. I didn't think I was faster when sparring, but in a middle of a scrap, when the adrenaline's really pumping...it just happens...I don't think about it, I don't try to do it...it just...happens."

She was grateful that her mental shields were fully up, that she couldn't feel his emotions; the dismay in his voice was difficult enough to hear. "But I haven't used it. I haven't used the training and I don't want to. I just want to be normal, T'Pol. I didn't want this. I...I...just want to be...normal."

There was something vulnerable about him at this moment and if she were human she would want to reassure him. But she was not human. She placed her hands on his arms once more, thinking again how young her human crewmates were.

"IDIC, Malcolm. Each individual is unique. Some gifted with abilities that others do not have. And I have found that there is no 'normal'."

Her tone became gentle. "We cannot run from our pasts and we cannot bury the experiences that make up who we are, no matter how unpleasant. It sounds trite, but it is true. I have discovered that for myself."

He held her a little tighter, and she knew that he knew to what she was referring. One of the memories that had bled through their first mind melds. An experience which she had tried to keep buried from even herself, but it had broken free, and he had seen it.

And did not judge her for it. Accepted it with an imperturbable understanding. Reaffirming his unconditional friendship and support.

She admitted that humans continued to surprise her.

T'Pol spoke even softer now, sharing her own confession. "I know what it is to feel like an outsider. Different, not fitting in."

She felt him nod. "But that's because you're amongst a shipload of humans, T'Pol. We're not your people. It must be very lonely."

She sat up straight and ignored the sudden coolness on her back as she broke their contact. "Vulcans do not feel lonely. But I do not refer to my shipmates. I have felt like a stranger among my own kind." She unconsciously tightened her grip on his arms and he instinctively pulled her back toward him. "But I have come to see Enterprise as my home now, my crewmates a sort of family. An unruly and illogical family, but family nevertheless," she said archly.

He chuckled and her mouth curved upwards in the dark as he finally relaxed. She reclined against him again, pressing her skin against his stomach and chest, letting their warmth meet. She continued.

"I believe that you make what you will of your life. You fit in where you can. And I believe that the crew of the Enterprise, while not at first welcoming, has overcome their prejudices and antiquated notions. I have found somewhere I fit. And I think that you know that you have found that as well."

They sat in silence for a long time, waiting, listening to the rain, each in their own thoughts, mulling over their mutual disclosures, finally comfortable and no longer cold.

Malcolm broke the silence. "I don't think I've ever thanked you for the meditation lessons. They've been beneficial. I appreciate your patience and the time you've taken."

His acknowledgment sounded almost Vulcan-like in its formal cadence. It amused her. "You are welcome. It has been, I believe the term is, my pleasure."

"I doubt that," he laughed.

"Watching your progress has been...edifying," she replied thoughtfully. "I did not realize that humans could be so adaptive to Vulcan ways."

"Yes, well, amazing what we humans can do once we put our minds to it."

"So I have discovered." She repositioned herself again, finally stretching her legs out, touching the inside of Malcolm's, still sharing her body heat. "I must admit I'm...fascinated...by humanity. Something my Vulcan colleagues would no doubt find unseemly." She would have snorted ruefully if her people were given to such emotional displays. "Your passions, your will and fortitude, your inexplicable logic."

Malcolm chuckled softly at that.

"Such as that. Humor. Yours is different than Commander Tucker's. I believe he would have been offended by my remark concerning your logic. Yet he finds 'Three Stooges' movies humorous." She shook her head. "I do not think I will ever understand his sense of humor."

"Each culture finds humor in different things. Each person. Some like visual humor, slapstick. Others like wordplay, irony, sarcasm, or just plain silliness. Depends on the person, I guess. What you're used to."

"I find Commander Tucker difficult to understand at times," she said, the darkness making it easier to voice her thoughts.

"Yes, he does have an odd accent. The whole lot of them do, if you ask me," and she recognized that he was teasing.

"I believe that 'the whole lot' would say that the reverse is true in your case, Lieutenant," she said, and he again recognized the tone she used. He chuckled.

"I think you underestimate yourself, T'Pol," he said. "You're getting the hang of it. But you didn't mean his accent, or his sense of humor." Yes, those mind melds were a two way street.

She was silent for a minute. "No. I did not."

Malcolm shifted again, relaxing fully against the wall. "I think with Trip, what you see is what you get. Not that he's simple, mind you. There's a complex man under that open exterior. He drives me mad sometimes, but I'd trust my life to him in an instant. He's honest and intelligent. Gentle. A good friend." He paused, trying to carefully phrase his next words. "I think that, were you to be interested in pursuing more than a friendship with him, you would find it rewarding." He waited to see what her reaction would be.

"Interspecies relationships are not logical. There are too many differences," she responded as if by rote.

"They used to say that about interracial relationships on Earth. They were wrong." He sat up straight and looked at her. "People are people, T'Pol. We might not always understand what motivates each person, but there's not much different under the skin. Our emotions may differ a bit in magnitude, but so far, I've found out here, everyone basically has the same. Even Vulcans."

She turned her head and met his eyes, and she was again struck by the intensity of his gaze. She found that complete attention focused on her a bit disconcerting. As if he knew other things she thought she'd kept hidden. Then he smiled shyly and the thought passed. "I don't have a very good track record with relationships. In fact, it's rather dismal. Hoshi is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I almost let that chance slip away. Trip's a good man, T'Pol." He leaned back and she resumed her previous position against him. "There's my tuppence, a little something from someone older and wiser in the ways of miserable relationships," and he laughed.

"Not older, Lieutenant," she murmured.

He leaned forward. "I know," he whispered in her ear.

She turned and looked at him askance, eyebrows high.

"Another little tidbit that slipped through the mind melds." He grinned at her, his canines flashing in the dim lighting. "And do you know what? I think Mister Tucker likes older women."

Chapter 10

"It's a warning, Captain," Hoshi stated. She looked tired. She and Trip had been up all night, trying to crack T'Pol's message. They stood in Jon's ready room, Trip scrubbing an anxious hand through his hair and Hoshi trying to stifle a yawn.

"Trip helped with the algorithms since it was a symmetrical block cipher, almost like extending Matsui's linear cryptanalysis to ciphers defined in GF 65538 bits..." she trailed off at Jon's uncomprehending look.

"Sorry. It was a very high level encryption."

"Not your run of the mill Vulcan encryption," Trip added. "This one was real tough."

Jon knew Hoshi had broken an encrypted message to T'Pol once before, at the beginning of their mission a few years ago. "If it wasn't like that other one, then how did you—?"

"I spent some time with Adam and Yaffa while on Pachaa and they taught me several things." Hoshi smiled a bit. Now she knew where Malcolm had acquired a few of his previously hidden skills.

"Yeah, it's a good thing too, because the Vulcans were kind of sneaky with this one," Trip added. "Adam even showed me a couple little tricks. Actually we picked up a couple of interesting things from all of them; talk about some weird hobbies—" Trip prattled on, his fatigue apparent.

Jon cut him off. "Just...what does it say?" But he made a note to find out from Trip what interesting things he had learned.

"That other people are looking for the Sacrosanct Scroll of Surak. Apparently a couple rival sects have sent followers to recover the scroll before the Directorate can retrieve it." Hoshi bit her lip, then continued. "They want her to return to Enterprise. They just gathered some new intelligence and wouldn't have asked her to do this if they had known. But she was the closest Vulcan to Archolli at the time."

She glanced at Trip and he continued, his accent thick with concern.

"Seems like there's some "adversaries" who are trying to get that scroll so they can start an internal conflict on Vulcan, get these sects all worked up, hoping to undermine the government. These guys are dangerous, so they want her to abort the mission and the Directorate will figure some other way to recover the scroll."

Hoshi looked at Jon. "It said they don't want her to risk her life..." she trailed off and Jon could see the worry in her exhausted eyes.

Jon commed the bridge.

"Helm. Increase our speed to Warp 4.5." He cut the channel after hearing the acknowledgment. Jon placed a comforting hand on Hoshi's shoulder.

"We'll get there early. Tomorrow morning Archolli time—they aren't expecting Travis at the rendezvous point until the evening, so you, me and Trip will go along for the ride and try to contact them. You both should get some sleep. I'll need you fresh." He gave her a little pat and made eye contact with both of them. "It'll be okay."

She tried to smile at him. She looked at Trip.

Trip stared blankly back at her. He ardently hoped that it would be okay.

He didn't want T'Pol to have to revise her chart.

Or add herself to it.

Chapter 11

"They'll be changing shifts in thirteen minutes," T'Pol said, finally breaking the long companionable silence they had settled into.

Thirteen minutes, twenty-three seconds, Malcolm thought, his time sense enhanced and honed by the interminable wait. But he knew that T'Pol had deliberately been less precise; she knew that most of the bridge crew found her exactitude annoying. They rose in tandem, T'Pol serene and calm as usual, Malcolm with eagerness. Neither had slept more than an hour or so last night. T'Pol had continued to study their plan of action, trying to anticipate problems. She had tinkered endlessly with her scanner, attempting to increase its speed to make sure that all of the properties in the correct scroll would be identified as quickly as possible, trying to reduce the time they would be exposed to the guards and security devices.

Malcolm had been too wound up to sleep much. He had felt a mixture of excitement and anticipation, much like how he had felt as a child the night before Halloween, in those early years before his grandfather had died. That exhilarated expectancy, that bright hope, too stimulated to relax.

He couldn't help it. He hadn't had much fun lately and he was looking forward to this. Doing something slightly less than proper, something not within the strict and sterile confines of rules and regulations that he had sought to conform to most of his life. Allowing that small rebellious streak within him, which had sometimes bucked at and fought against those strictures, loose. Looking forward to doing something safe for a change, with no chance of bloodshed, feeling that little thrill of nervousness that they could be caught if all didn't go as planned. Amused by the thought that the repercussions would be minimal—a minor incident report recorded on a planet he'd probably never visit again.

It reminded him of what Hoshi had said before she had left for her shift the day he and T'Pol left.

He had kissed her and reluctantly told her that he had to go. "I'll only manage a few hours of sleep before T'Pol and I have to leave, and we have a bit of work to do on Archolli before attempting our little incursion."

"Casing the joint?" she had asked with a teasing grin.

"Yeah."

She had seen the anticipation and glee in his eyes, although he had worked hard to keep his voice and manner casual.

"You know, for someone so uptight about following the rules, you do love a little mischief, don't you? That's why Trip can always pull you in to some crazy misadventure or another."

As Malcolm and T'Pol made their way to the roof access door, he smiled, reflecting that Hoshi knew him very well.

Chapter 12

They made their way down the stairs, stealing through the corridors and toward the room where they had discovered the scroll, meeting no one. Malcolm admired the way T'Pol moved, her footsteps light and stealthy, their soft soled boots making no sound. He enjoyed the contrast—on the ship every tread was noisy, their Starfleet issued boots always echoing off the metal decking.

T'Pol absently noted Malcolm's hyper-alertness, his eyes in constant motion, moving silently, his slow breathing regulated and inaudible despite his obvious relish.

He quickly broke into the room where they had been hours before, locking the door behind them and swiftly taking care of the other locked door. T'Pol switched on the light and began scanning for the correct scroll while Malcolm leaned against the outer door, listening.

Three minutes later she found the Sacrosanct Scroll of Surak. She picked it up and unrolled it, the first Vulcan in centuries to see it. It looked authentic; handwritten and in the ancient Formal Vulcan, the lettering delicate yet legible. She skimmed over a few lines but would need an extended period of time to translate it. She studied the signature at the bottom and ran her finger over the blood green gemstone embedded next to it.

She was sure the scroll was genuine. Every Vulcan school child knew that signature.

The history. She was actually holding something that Surak himself had touched. Had written.

An honor, no matter what your beliefs were.

She carefully placed it in the container she had brought to store it in. Virtually indestructible, it was fire and blast proof. She keyed the code in, unbreakable. She reverently placed it inside her coat pocket.

She stood for a moment, looking at the other artifacts along the shelves, composing herself. She hadn't thought that she would be affected by this.

Another part of her Vulcan facade which had been dislodged by her experiences slipped.

She turned, her mask of Vulcan propriety secured, and joined Malcolm, her scanner out and searching the corridor beyond the door. She nodded and they left.

He led them down to their pre-arranged exit, avoiding the security cameras, coming to the one place they would have to bypass the laser beam alarms.

They entered the cavernous 25 meter high gallery, filled with sculptures, alarmed cases of artwork and huge mobiles overhead strung from a latticework of wires and cables, all hanging from the ceiling at various heights.

Malcolm withdrew a small canister. Setting it on the floor, he pulled the tab. A fine mist filled the room and the invisible light beams were exposed. They moved as they'd rehearsed, Malcolm having sketched the locations then calculating the beams' pattern last night, slithering under some or squeezing between others, moving slowly so as not to touch one by mistake. They came to the last series of beams, the one that was the most complicated. The one blocking the opening to the passageway out of the building.

The mist outlined several shafts of light layered upon each other, spaced too narrowly to pass between, too close to the ground to crawl under and too high to jump over.

Malcolm took off his coat and then stripped off his boots and socks, rolling his eyes at T'Pol as he stuffed the multi-colored striped toe socks into his boots. He had complained once more about the Archollian fashion sense during dinner and T'Pol had suffered his sartorial condemnation with patience. She privately agreed with him. Not that she would say so. Vulcans were above giving fashion critiques.

He pushed his coat and boots carefully underneath the beam guarding the exit. He rose, walking back to T'Pol, eyes on the mobiles overhead. He stood in front of her and stretched a few times, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders, and then nodded.

T'Pol interlaced her fingers and he stepped onto her hands, grasping her shoulders to steady himself. He tapped her once, and with her superior Vulcan strength she boosted him upwards, his knees bent and leaping at the same time.

He caught the slender cable four meters overhead, which ran the length of the room. He pulled himself up, the lower mobiles attached to it moving slightly. The cable was threaded through the beams, and more beams rose upon them, ending at half the height of the gallery to avoid the larger mobiles which hung over those rays of light.

Malcolm stood upon the narrow cable, arms flung out for balance and moved cautiously along it for a few meters toward their exit. He looked up and found the other cable, cris-crossing the one he was on and supporting several whimsical art pieces. He glanced at T'Pol's upturned face and managed a slight smile.

She heard him breathe twice and then he jumped, fingers catching the wire. He hauled himself up again and walked forward slowly until he was under the mobile which was shaped like a trapeze and moved freely. He caught it and tested it with his weight. Sturdy and secure, as they had suspected. He smiled wider and nodded to T'Pol.

With a smooth and long practiced motion he grasped the cable, flipping off it and hanging down. He gauged the distance to the first cable and let go. He landed, arms windmilling to stabilize himself, the cable swaying, his toes clenching the wire. He waited until the cable steadied and walked back to where T'Pol was waiting, and then lowered himself to it again, this time hooking his legs over it and hanging by his knees. He stretched out his arms.

T'Pol prepared herself and sprang up, her Vulcan athleticism apparent in the height she managed. Malcolm caught her hands and between them pulled her up to the cable.

She clung to the wire and held on as he walked back until he was under the cable overhead, moving with more confidence now. He leapt to the wire above, pulling his legs over it and then dangled there by his knees, waiting. T'Pol waited until the cable stabilized before she started crawling along the wire, legs wrapped it and pulling herself forward along the underside. She stopped beneath him and swung herself on top of the cable. She stood cautiously, her balance keen. She closed her eyes and focused for a moment, then jumped the small distance she needed.

He caught her.

She had not doubted that he wouldn't.

She looked up at him, at those cheerful eyes and wide grin, and together they hauled her up. They waited until the cable stopped moving and then he stood and bounced upwards, snatching the trapeze-like mobile. He swung from it, testing it, the length of the arc it made, the timing. He slowed, waiting for it to stop and resume its original position above T'Pol.

Once again he hung from his knees and reached out to her. She stood and caught his wrists, his hands secure and tight around her own. He began to swing.

"Ready, Duchess?" he whispered.

"Your timing better be precise, krenath. I do not wish to injure myself."

"Just make sure you catch the cable. Let go of my wrists now; when I have you over the right spot I'll release you. Your momentum will carry you over the security beam. Remember, just fall straight, and keep your hands ready. You should be able to grab the cable, but if you don't, you'll have a second chance with the bottom one."

She nodded.

He began to swing. They moved through the air, T'Pol relaxed and waiting, Malcolm working hard to gather the speed and thrust they needed. The arc increased and T'Pol found that their calculations had been correct. She counted and was satisfied to hear his whispered "now" at the time she had anticipated. He let go.

She flew over the beam, grabbing for the wire on the way down.

She missed.

T'Pol moved her arms slightly, fingers grasping.

She caught the bottom wire.

She waited for a moment, then dropped lightly to the ground, on the other side of the security beams and looked up at him. She cocked an eyebrow, her face placid. She held up two fingers.

They had taken two minutes longer than anticipated.

He gave her a lopsided grin and spread his hands in an "oops" gesture.

She turned and looked out the exit of the gallery, peering down the hallway. She saw no one and returned her attention to him.

He was still swinging, getting the timing right. She saw him release and make it over the beam, somersaulting once to twist himself into the correct position, then stretch out. He caught the first cable. He waited a moment, then dropped to the second one, landing upright upon it and arms cartwheeling. He strode quickly forward until he was above her and stepped off the side of the cable, catching it on the way down to break his fall, and then dropped the remainder of the way to land beside her.

Malcolm sat down, swiftly tugging on his socks and boots. She saw the sweat glistening off his torso and face, could hear his accelerated breathing. She checked the corridor again, letting him rest for a moment.

"I was expecting a double somersault," she said, her tone deadpan.

He stood and put his coat back on. "I'm a bit rusty," he replied and they moved out into the corridor.

"Trip told me that you lived with a family of circus performers for a short time..."

Malcolm blushed and stopped. "How—"

"Trip said that Ensign Sato mentioned a few things." She continued to move and he caught up with her.

"I knew I never should have said anything to Hoshi," he mumbled as they made their way to the exit.

"I hear tigers are quite interesting," she remarked casually.

She watched in satisfaction as his blush returned.

***

They moved swiftly toward their destination, behind schedule and having to stop twice to hide from the guards making their rounds. One last corridor and they would come to a side exit where Malcolm would deactivate the alarm, open the lock and they would be out and back to their room within a half hour.

T'Pol placed a hand on the container holding the sacred scroll. She was satisfied with their night's work.

They turned the corner, T'Pol in the lead, Malcolm checking the way they came.

T'Pol's eyebrows disappeared into her wig when she saw two Klingons at the end of the corridor, in front of the door that led to their escape.

Chapter 13

One Klingon had a scanner thrust out in front of him and he looked up in surprise. "She's Vulcan! She has it," he grunted and they moved toward T'Pol.

T'Pol grabbed Malcolm and spun him around, and they took off at a sprint from the direction they had come. The Klingons gave chase, their boots echoing down the corridor.

"Plan B," Malcolm hissed and pulled her to the left, intending to go to another exit further away. He wouldn't have time to deactivate the alarm, but at least they'd be out of the building. They skidded to a halt when they saw three Andorians in front of them further down the hallway. The one in front had a scanner.

"A Vulcan! She has the scroll!" he exclaimed and the three moved toward them.

T'Pol was hoping that Malcolm would curse. She needed a vicarious outlet. Instead he tugged her back and reversed course. Toward the pursuing Klingons.

"Plan C."

"I don't recall a Plan C," she snapped.

"Just made it up." He pulled her sharply into the gallery they had so painstakingly woven their way through, both alien parties hot on their heels.

Malcolm yanked T'Pol with him, through the invisible beams they both knew were there. Alarms sounded instantly.

"Fascinating plan, Lieutenant."

She had learned the art of sarcasm very well.

"The more the merrier, Sub-Commander," he replied, and led her through the other side and toward the lobby.

Where the primary guard station was located.

The Andorians and Klingons met, pushing and scuffling occurred, slowing their pursuit of the Enterprise crewmates. T'Pol and Malcolm careened down a hallway, toward the grand staircase and the lobby below.

Three Archollian guards, dressed in their uniforms, stun prods at the ready, stood at the bottom of the stairs.

Malcolm thought that the guards looked for all the world like circus clowns, minus the big floppy shoes. The little hats topped the impression. He was glad that they hadn't had to disguise themselves as guards. He'd have rather shot himself out of an airlock than wear that outfit.

He had some pride.

The guards moved as one, racing up the stairs on the left. He pulled T'Pol to the right, on the other side of the center divider and pushed her toward the outside railing.

"Time to slide, Duchess," he ordered, boosting himself up, straddling the banister.

She followed suit and he pushed off, sliding downward, past the stunned guards, T'Pol following rapidly. He jumped off as the railing ended, catching T'Pol and steadying her while the guards reversed direction, the Klingons and Andorians just now at the top of the staircase.

He towed her toward a window, snatching up a chair and tossing it through the glass. It shattered and he yanked up two large vinyl cushions from the couch and thrust one into her hands. "Ever gone sledding?" he asked, flashing an apologetic smile. "It's steep. Meet you at the bottom."

He led her through the window and into the pouring rain, clutching the cushion to his chest. The Klingons and the Andorians were now busy with the guards with more streaming into the lobby, and Malcolm made a run toward the hill. T'Pol watched as he flung himself belly first upon the cushion, down to the ground and lurch over the edge. With resignation, she followed his example.

***

Mud. Wet, cloying, dirty mud.

T'Pol admitted she was not pleased. They had slid down the hill, Malcolm ahead of her, both out of control. Thankfully it was barren, devoid of trees, bushes and rocks. Just a thick layer of grass, slick with moisture, making their descent all the faster. They finally came to a stop, their momentum carrying them across a highway. T'Pol was grateful that no one was out driving at this time of night and that there had been no fence to impede them.

Bad enough that they wound up in a ditch. A muddy, filthy ditch.

She stared at her surroundings, not realizing the expression on her mud smeared face was one of haughty disdain. She pushed the ridiculous hair out of her eyes so that she could turn the full intensity of her glare upon him.

He grinned at her.

She could see that he was happy. She did not bother to push away the uncharitable and irritated thought that while there was no 'normal', there were people who were insane.

"I'm amazed that you still have your wig. Did you borrow Trip's duct tape?" he asked, that wide grin still in place, his eyes alight with exhilaration.

She slowly removed the wig. It looked like the remains of a furry animal that had been run over. Several times. And dumped in the mud.

She repressed the urge to throw it at him.

He rose, mud dripping off him, trying to wipe it from his face, managing only to let a few streaks of his artificially pale skin peek through. He ran a filthy hand through his equally filthy hair and removed a small twig. He looked at her, thinning his lips against the laughter threatening to bubble out. He gallantly offered his hand to her and she took it, rising with grace and dignity from her muddy berth.

They began to walk back to their hotel, the rain slowing slightly, each trying to scrub off what they could. Malcolm broke the silence.

"At least I can't smell you any longer," he said, eyes twinkling merrily.

Her aim was true and the wig hit him in the face.

Chapter 14

Enterprise was in orbit around Archolli, making it there faster than expected, Travis pushing their speed and navigating the most direct route.

He piloted the shuttle down, Captain Archer the co-pilot seat, Trip and Hoshi seated behind them. Travis was happy, despite the early hour, almost dawn Archolli time. He was going on an away mission, no matter how brief their stay, teaming up with the captain to locate T'Pol and Malcolm. Travis would drop Trip and Hoshi off elsewhere to increase their chances of contacting their errant crewmates, T'Pol's communication device having a limited range.

At least their communicators would allow each team to stay in touch.

They were dressed in causal clothes, undisguised and features unaltered, much to Travis' relief. Aliens were welcome on Archolli and went about the planet unremarked.

As they neared their landing point, Hoshi attempted to raise T'Pol. She received nothing but dead air, their crewmates apparently out of range.

Travis landed the shuttle with nary a bump and Trip nodded his approval of their smooth set down. Travis grinned and Hoshi and Trip exited, last minute instructions reiterated by the captain.

Travis took off again and minutes later they were at the central space port. They checked in then took the Archollian subway to the museum. Jon tried several times on their trip to reach T'Pol, but each time was met by silence.

They disembarked and walked out into the rain. It was early, but there were plenty of Archollians about, all dressed in their outlandish clothing, no one carrying an umbrella or anything to protect them from the foul weather.

Archollians were a water evolved people, reveling in the dampness. The tiny gills on their neck, a reminder of their evolution, were still functional, their ability to spend time underwater shorter than their ancestors but still able to pull some oxygen from their oceans while swimming beneath it.

As they approached the entrance to the museum they saw what looked like police lines—ribbons blocking the entrance—and Archollian police in odd court jester-like uniforms milling around.

A guard approached them and Travis was reminded of a circus clown. Minus the big shoes.

"Sorry. Museum's closed today."

"What happened?" Jon asked, a certainty growing in his mind, apprehension overlaying it.

"Robbery attempt a few hours ago. We have two of the suspects in custody."

Jon looked at the broken glass, the colorfully uniformed men studying the side of the hill. Two suspects. T'Pol and Malcolm.

"What were they trying to steal?" Jon asked, glad that Travis had brought the bail money.

"We don't know. The Klingon won't talk and the Andorian is demanding to see a lawyer."

"Klingon?" Travis blurted.

The guard nodded and walked away to speak to an elderly Archollian couple who were waving frantically at him, peppering him with questions.

Jon indicated for Travis to follow him and they wandered over to the side of the hill. They looked over and saw the police cruisers on the other side of the highway far below, officers cheerfully searching through the mud.

Travis looked at Jon with questions in his eyes and Jon drew him away. They started back down to the subway station.

"Looks like they either got away or didn't get a chance to get at the scroll. And it sounds like those 'adversaries' are Klingons and Andorians," Travis commented.

"I can't see those two species working together, although both have something to gain by destabilizing the Vulcan government," Jon said.

"Politics make strange bedfellows."

Jon laughed. "Yeah, that's true. Well, I think T'Pol and Malcolm are holed up somewhere, if they got it. Let's see if we can catch something on the newsnets. In the meantime, I figure that they stayed somewhere close by—they're probably in some hotel, snug, dry and warm, sleeping in."

***

Hoshi and Trip walked the streets of the downtown area, hoods of their jackets up, cozy and dry within the waterproof material. More Archollians were bustling about now, their day starting early. Music played everywhere, from tiny speakers on street lamps, from shops, from the ground cars and buses and cabs. Pedestrians carried their own personal music devices, some with tiny headphones, and some allowing their music to fill the air. Young Archollians whizzed around on what looked to Hoshi like the flit boards Travis had told her about once. Music blared from their boards as well.

It was the nosiest planet she'd ever set foot on.

Trip would stop every few blocks, trying to raise T'Pol. Hoshi looked in the windows of the stores which were now opening, wincing occasionally at the mannequins which modeled the latest styles. She wouldn't be caught, alive or dead, in any one of those fashion disasters.

She stopped abruptly in front of one window, Trip continuing on a few paces before realizing she was no longer at his side. He backtracked and she tugged him into the store.

They stood in front of a huge monitor, watching an early morning news report. She listened, translating the newscaster's words without the aid of the UT.

Live footage of the museum was playing, police and guards swarming over the grounds. Photos of an Andorian and a Klingon were shown, then replaced a few moments later with blurry footage from a surveillance camera.

Two Archollians were sliding down a banister, one grinning madly, the other with a look of serious intent on her face. Trip and Hoshi watched as the male flung a chair through the window, grabbed two cushions and led the female out.

"That has to be T'Pol!" Trip blurted as Hoshi exclaimed, "That has to be Malcolm!"

Still photos of the suspected Archollians were then displayed and their suspicions were confirmed. The costumes were identical to the ones their shipmates had been wearing, their altered features barely distinguishable with the grainy blow up of the frozen shot.

"They're wanted for questioning. Their identities unknown," Hoshi translated for Trip. "They've got a Klingon and Andorian in custody, but they're expected to post bail later today. Another Klingon and two more Andorians on the loose. The reporter says that some minor artifact is missing..."

"Think T'Pol and Malcolm got it, or the other guys?" Trip asked.

She looked at him and shrugged. The report ended and went into a discussion of the weather, hosted by an Archollian wearing a mismatch of colors and patterns so glaring that even Trip had to look away.

They left the store, Trip trying to contact T'Pol again, Hoshi scanning for Vulcan lifesigns.

They didn't notice that two Andorians, who had been standing on the other side of the monitor, were following them.

Chapter 15

Forty minutes after their successful, but untidy, mission, T'Pol and Malcolm finally made their weary way back to their hotel. Before crossing the street, T'Pol glanced up at their room's window. She stopped and Malcolm followed her gaze.

"I didn't leave the light on," Malcolm stated.

"Nor did I."

They stepped back into the shadows, and T'Pol withdrew her scanner, aiming it at their room.

"Vulcan biosigns. Two."

"People from one of the sects?" Malcolm asked. She had briefed him on all the intelligence she had been given.

"The probability is close to one hundred percent," she stated. "It would be illogical and redundant for the Directorate to send others."

"Now what?" he asked sourly, visions of a hot shower and a warm bed evaporating.

"We can wait and see if they leave. Or we can abandon this as a base of our operations and seek shelter elsewhere." She reached into her coat and searched for the wallet which contained their Archollian currency.

It was gone.

She wished again that she had the outlet of cursing. She played several imprecations she had heard Malcolm utter in the past in her head.

"Our wallet is missing," she stated flatly.

"Lovely," Malcolm replied, not surprised. He had lost a few items himself, the slide down the hill and muddy landing apparently dislodging them.

The entrance to the hotel opened and T'Pol glanced at her scanner. Although the two men appeared to be Archollian, they read as Vulcan. The one in the lead had a scanner pointed toward them. She looked at Malcolm and he nodded and they ran, toward the subway.

She could vaguely hear the pursuing footsteps.

***

Malcolm jumped the turnstile, T'Pol following, leaving a trail of wet mud in their wake. A train was just about to leave the station and Malcolm jammed an arm and shoulder into the closing door, making it open again. T'Pol followed him through and they ran toward the back of the long subway cars, avoiding the few Archollians already sitting there. They were ignored.

The train started off and T'Pol caught a glimpse of the two disguised Vulcans who had been following them, still on the platform, scanning for them.

Malcolm stopped at the very last car and sat down, catching his breath.

"You certainly know how to show a fellow a good time," he said, leaning back and rubbing his brow. His hand came away with more mud on it and he wiped it on his coat.

"Vulcan hospitality," she retorted dryly.

He laughed and leaned forward, looking around.

"I think I saw a loo in the car we just passed. You might want to wash up a bit. Let me see what I've still got. I'd make some more Simoleons, but I've lost the pad and pencils, amongst other things. We'll have to mask your biosigns, because I'm fairly sure that our friends will catch the next train to try to follow you." He yawned widely and started going through his pockets.

She nodded and made her way to the bathroom.

She washed the best she could, scrubbing at her hands and arms, her torso and face. She ducked her head in the sink, letting the warm water wash over her. The wig was ruined; she'd have to make do with her own hair coloring and cut. Perhaps she'd start a new fashion trend.

She was fatigued. Vulcans could go without sleep for days, and they both had essentially been up for the past three, the Archollian day lasting 32 hours. But Vulcans needed to perform a specific meditation technique to set their bodies properly before foregoing regular sleep.

And Malcolm looked tired. He was probably hungry as well, she thought, humans needing to sleep and eat after such exertions.

She washed off as much mud as possible from her clothing, then used the paper toweling to dry the best she could. She touched the container with the scroll again, reassuring herself that it was still there.

She returned to the back of the train. Malcolm was using the tip of a vicious looking knife to carefully open and extract small components from his lock breaking device. He looked up at her.

"We probably won't need this any longer. It's got some parts that I can reconfigure to conceal your biosign. Don't know what you'll read as, but it certainly won't be Vulcan." He looked back at his work.

She studied the knife in his hand, the alien writing etched on the blade. She did not ask where he had gotten it, or why he was carrying it. He stifled a yawn and rocked his head back and forth, relieving the tension in his shoulders.

"You should attempt to get an hour or two of sleep, Malcolm," she stated.

"No, if I doze off now three phase cannons and a brass band wouldn't wake me." He chuckled softly, still working. "I have a tendency to sleep hard when I've been up for a long while. It's all right; I've always been able to stay up for days."

"Your training?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "Before that. Natural born talent. Normal. For me."

She heard the slight cynical tone in his voice. "I once went for eight days without sleep," she remarked, watching his nimble fingers manipulate the parts into something she didn't recognize.

"Four and a half without stimulants is my record," he responded conversationally. "Close to six with."

"Why?" she asked, curious.

"Classified." He looked up and smiled. "Why did you?"

"Classified," she responded and they shared a knowing look. He knew of her background, as she knew of his.

He made one final adjustment. "There." He handed her the makeshift device. "That should mask you. Unfortunately it'll only last a couple hours, but if we get off at the next stop and double back, our friends shouldn't be able to track you."

"I do not think we should return. I would prefer to find somewhere far from our hotel to stay. We can rest and wait, then take the subway back into the city before we're to meet Ensign Mayweather."

He nodded and rubbed his eyes. "Give me six hours straight and I'll be good as new."

"We'll get off at the next exit and board another train. I believe we should spend a little time in the country, Lieutenant."

"Sounds peaceful, Sub-Commander."

Chapter 16

Trip and Hoshi were startled when they were yanked into a doorway, weapons pressed into their necks.

"Where are your friends who stole the scroll, pinkskin?" a whispery voice hissed in Hoshi's ear.

Andorians.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to stay calm.

"Tell us now or I shoot the woman," the heavier one demanded of Trip.

"Look, we're just tourists, out for a stroll, you've got the wrong guys," Trip protested.

"Move. Don't try to run or attack; we'll shoot her." They both felt a pistol prod them in the back and they started walking. They rounded the corner and were pushed forward, down an alley and to the back of a building. Their captors shoved them through a doorway and into a dimly lit warehouse.

Hoshi looked at her surroundings. The warehouse contained brightly colored flags and flagpoles, of all shapes and sizes, of all materials and lengths. The Andorian covering her drew her away from Trip, his captor spinning him around and securing his hands behind his back with some version of Andorian restraints. The alien pushed Trip down to the ground to a sitting position. He then secured Trip to a flagpole with another restraint and Trip couldn't get up.

"Now you will tell us where your thieving friends are or you will regret the consequences."

"Look, you've got the wrong—"

The Andorian struck Trip across the face, splitting his lip. Hoshi could see him hold back an angry retort.

"We heard you talking about them. You recognized their photos on the newscast. Tell us where they are. Now." The other Andorian pressed his weapon under her chin, forcing her head up.

"I'll tell you! I'll tell you...just, please, don't hurt me," Hoshi whined, tears filling her eyes. Trip looked at her in astonishment. The Andorians looked pleased, their attention on her.

"Speak," her captor urged.

"You're scaring me! Please, please don't hurt me," Hoshi's voice was pitiful and she flinched away, turning toward Trip. The Andorian lowered his weapon and grabbed her wrist. Her shrewd eyes met Trip's and she nodded minutely.

She lashed out quickly, yanking the startled Andorian toward her and bringing her knee up into his stomach. She used the heel of her palm to thrust upwards, breaking the alien's nose. He dropped his weapon with a painfully choked grunt and she dove for it.

At the same time Trip kicked the legs out from under the Andorian covering him, sending the man crashing to the ground. He kicked at the Andorian's head, breaking one of the alien's antennae. The man screamed in pain and writhed on the floor. Trip frantically tried to kick the weapon away.

Hoshi's fingers brushed against the gun and the Andorian yanked her away from it. She rolled onto her back, kicking at him again. He grabbed her ankle and twisted hard. She bit back a cry of pain and went with the motion, landing on her stomach. She flung out a hand and grabbed the nearest pole.

It was two meters long, solid wood and slender. Perfect.

The Andorian moved to retrieve his weapon and she swung the pole, knocking him off his feet. She rose, and her ankle protested. She used the pole to sweep the gun away from him, then brought her weapon down upon his back. He swore in Andorian, a string of words which Hoshi recognized.

She'd make him think twice about casting aspersions upon her virtue.

She moved toward him and a shock of pain went from her ankle to knee and she faltered, hissing a breath from between clenched teeth.

Her hesitation allowed the Andorian to rise and grab a pole of his own. She stepped back, favoring her injured leg and automatically assumed the proper position. He swung at her and she blocked it, countered and parried, then struck him in the ribs. She screamed her kiai, her voice echoing throughout the warehouse and she aimed for his head in earnest. He barely managed to block her assault, and she felt the vibration of his parry tremor through her wrists and arms. She attacked again, yelling louder, making the Andorian's antennae twitch. She feinted to the left, then reversed, and butted him in the stomach with her pole. He staggered back and she hobbled forward, hollering again. She sliced downwards, hitting his shoulder and he bellowed in pain. She struck him twice more, forcing the pole from his hands, and then swatted him in the knee. His leg buckled and she brought the pole down over his head.

He fell, unconscious.

She turned as quickly as possible toward Trip, the other Andorian not forgotten.

But he too was out. Trip had finally landed another kick to the injured antennae and the man had passed out from the pain. Their antennae were very sensitive.

Hoshi limped over to Trip, pushing the weapon away from his former captor with her pole. She prodded him with it as well, making sure he wasn't faking, then bent down to rummage through his clothing. She found the key to the restraints and released Trip.

Trip smiled at her. "Damn. Y'all got a black belt in that or something now?"

She laughed and he rose, wiping the blood that had dripped from his lip to his chin. He picked up the guns, then wrapped his arm around her waist, and placed her arm over his shoulder. He helped her to the exit.

"If Malcolm had seen the way you beat the daylights out of that guy, he would have dropped to one knee and proposed to you on the spot."

She laughed even harder and they went back out into the rain.

Chapter 17

Jon listened to Trip's full report, satisfied by Hoshi's assurances that she was fine, her ankle just a little sore now. She and Trip had taken what passed for an Archollian cab and gone kilometers out of the downtown area. They had stopped at a cafe, where Hoshi had iced her ankle and had a cup of surprisingly good tea. Trip had gone next door and returned with a bandage to wrap her ankle with and she could now walk on her own.

Both parties had tried to contact T'Pol and Malcolm several times without luck. Jon and Travis were now making a slow radius away from the museum.

Jon told Trip to keep trying to raise them and that the four of them would widen the search as soon as they completely covered the area as previously planned. Jon contacted the ship and asked them how the scan for T'Pol's Vulcan biosign was going, human lifesigns too similar to Archollian to be useful. But they told him it was futile, the sheer amount of electromagnetic interference in the atmosphere making it impossible to locate one Vulcan science officer.

Jon and Travis continued on their way, heading toward the hotel district. For a society that prided itself on its anarchy, the cities were laid out carefully and well organized. The Archollians were basically good natured, law abiding people, albeit capricious and arbitrary.

Jon wasn't worried about the Archollians. He was worried about the Andorians. And the Klingons. And the Vulcans.

He and Travis walked along the street, the rain finally letting up and moving off, away from the city and further out.

***

T'Pol and Malcolm switched trains and took the one out to the countryside. Malcolm visited the restroom to clean up the best he could, and returned, nearly presentable.

Malcolm prowled the interior of the subway car, looking at the advertisements and graffiti. He admired one particularly fine drawing, studying it for a time while T'Pol withdrew the Sacrosanct Scroll from its casing and examined that. His fingers itched to add to the gallery of scrawlings, a perfectly legal past time, encouraged by the minimal Archollian government as a means of providing public art.

Malcolm looked at the visual display which showed where their train was, the destinations and distances flashing. T'Pol had decided on an exit three hours from the city and they had two hours to go.

His circuit done and with nothing else to occupy his attention, he sat down next to T'Pol and leaned over, no longer noticing her Archollian scent. He supposed he had gotten used to it. Or else he was finally catching a cold, he thought dourly.

"So, it's authentic?" he asked.

"It appears so."

"Is the gemstone for decoration or does it have some significance?"

"When the Scrolls are in proximity to each other, the gemstone becomes luminescent. One of the means to verify that they are genuine."

"Can you read it?"

"The language is archaic. It would be as if attempting to read ancient Latin yet only knowing modern Italian. There are root words, but the changes in the Vulcan language are much more diverse."

"I hated Latin," Malcolm sighed. He yawned deeply and stood again.

"I thought you could stay up for days," she stated, looking up from the scroll. He heard the tone she used when she teased him. "It's only been seventy-four hours."

"Easy to stay awake when you're running through a jungle, nerves on edge and scared to death. Hard when you're comfortable and being rocked to sleep." He starting pacing again, running his hands through his hair, trying to stay awake. She heard his stomach growl and she was reminded that she was hungry too.

"I'm going to take a little walk," he said and she nodded and returned her attention to the scroll.

He returned fifteen minutes later, handing her a couple of purple muffins and a cup of something hot.

"Where did you get these? We have no currency."

"Found the vending machines; fiddled with them a bit," he shrugged and fished out another muffin from his coat pocket. He sat next to her, unwrapping it then sipped his drink. "I don't like doing it, but..." He would not meet her eyes.

"Yes. Sometimes we have to compromise our principles. Unpleasant, but life isn't always black and white, Malcolm," she said, her voice surprisingly kind.

He snorted a harsh laugh. "Seems like mine's always been grey." He ate in silence, then scrubbed a tired hand across his face. He tried to ignore the combination of the motion of the gently swaying train, the hushed rhythmic sound of the power system, and the warmth of the car after spending so much time being cold and wet. Then there was that let down after the adrenaline rush from all the excitement, leaving him weary and dulling his thoughts. The mission was over, their pursuers left far behind; and they'd be back on Enterprise tonight. The need to stay alert and sharp was no longer necessary.

Two more hours of this. Then trying to find somewhere safe to stay so they could sleep.

He rose abruptly, not wanting to be lulled into that rambling stream of consciousness he was prone to when he was with Hoshi and fatigued. A habit he had gotten into, relaxing his guard with Hoshi, knowing that he could talk to her, that his thoughts and feelings were safe with her. She knew all about him and yet she still loved him.

He suddenly missed her, and a longing for her swamped him with a force that made his throat ache.

He had never loved anyone as much as he did her. Not even Taki.

He began to pace again.

T'Pol watched him, neatly eating her muffin, using the wrapper carefully so as not to touch it. She thought about his comment, wondering again about his life prior to joining Starfleet. She knew only a bit. They shared a covert operations background, had their secrets, had done things they'd rather forget; she wondered if he realized how alike they were or if her being Vulcan made it difficult for him to consider their similarities.

She looked down at the scroll once more, not really seeing it, eyes unfocused and deep in thought. She contemplated the many facets of humanity and that train of thought led to Trip.

She had to admit to herself that she was greatly surprised when the gemstone began to glow.

Chapter 18

Travis and Jon wandered for an hour, trying to contact T'Pol. They stopped for a rest break at a crowded food emporium and sat at a table, nursing a cup of thin, red Archollian coffee. Jon watched the monitor playing the newscast, waiting to see if anything on the museum robbery would be shown. Travis watched another monitor displaying a complicated sports game, the players alternately trying to ram each other with the Archollian equivalent of their flit boards or attempting to shove a small square shaped peg into a round hole in the ground, either avoiding or barreling over various obstacles in the way.

The rules made no sense; sometimes someone would score using the same techniques as someone else who was penalized. But Travis enjoyed the stunts the players could do. Some had boards that seemed rocket powered, others that hovered by means of a field of some kind or pressurized air, keeping them afloat. Still others pushed themselves along, their boards having smooth metallic rolling treads that slid along the floor and over barriers.

The game was chaotic, fast, and looked like a lot of fun. Except for the crashing into each other part.

Jon nudged Travis and pointed at the news monitor. Travis looked over and watched the same report that Trip had briefed them on.

"That's definitely T'Pol and Malcolm," Jon said, looking at the footage, now cleaned up and enhanced. "They must have the scroll, since the Archollians don't have it, and the Andorians wouldn't be after them if the Klingons had gotten it."

Travis carefully watched the broadcast of the surveillance tape. He pointed. "Look there, at the top of the stairs—see those three—looks like a couple of Klingons and an Andorian to me. T'Pol and Malcolm have to know that those guys are after it. Looks like they were running from them."

Jon nodded, just catching the figures on the tape before the newscast cut away to a different story. He hadn't noticed the others; he'd been looking at his crew members.

"I think our people can avoid them; Andorians and Klingons are easy to spot. It's the Vulcan sect members I'm worried about. They're probably made up like T'Pol is—I doubt that Vulcans would go around overtly, especially since they're not welcomed by the Archollians."

Travis nodded. "Well, Malcolm's pretty cautious, and the Sub-Commander knows how to take care of herself—she did pretty well when we went with her to get that renegade Vulcan, Menos..."

Travis had wondered about T'Pol during that mission. He had made some educated guesses, had learned things by staying quiet and listening, his suspicions that she wasn't just a typical science officer confirmed. He'd always been observant and an astute judge of people. Growing up on a boomer ship made you observant—living in close quarters, sometimes for years on end, reading people's moods and emotions, trying to reduce the friction that such proximity could breed.

He had continued that practice on Enterprise, second nature to him now. He'd seen the budding attraction between Trip and T'Pol; he thought those two were just now becoming fully aware of it. He'd seen the change in Hoshi's and Malcolm's relationship after they had gotten back from Sandaran, the tension afterwards, and then the depth of their bond. The past months had been difficult for everyone and he knew that some things had occurred that he wasn't privy to. But he could read people. Very well. And being young and an ensign, people underestimated him.

He had discovered a lot; things that he figured he wasn't supposed to know.

He'd known Malcolm before being posted to Enterprise. He had made friends with the quiet Brit, something about him piquing Travis' interest. He thought that the man had secrets and Travis had always loved a good mystery. An odd friendship, considering their differences, but Malcolm had been amiable enough, although fairly introverted most of the time. However Travis managed to draw Malcolm out once in a while, not pushing, just by being himself. And Malcolm had always been fun to watch on the rare occasions they had gone out drinking together, looking for diversions of the female persuasion. It was that peculiar dichotomy when Malcolm cut loose versus his usual restrained behavior that had made Travis very curious. Sometimes it was what you didn't say that spoke louder than what you did say.

So Travis listened. And watched. And reached some interesting conclusions.

Secrets were hard to keep on a ship.

T'Pol had been interesting as well. He wondered if she knew that she showed her emotions through her voice and small facial movements. She could be quite stone-faced, but he had seen her talk to Trip, the way she looked at him sometimes when she thought she wasn't being observed. Seen the late night snacks she shared with the commander.

Travis had also pondered whether Trip was consciously was trying to woo her using food; he supposed that the old adage could be twisted, that the way to a Vulcan's heart was through her stomach. Travis had seen Trip go out of his way to get chef to prepare little tidbits and delicacies, then invite the sub-commander to sample them. And Travis had seen T'Pol respond positively, talking to Trip in the informal setting of the mess hall.

Travis also noticed that the captain had been subtly encouraging the relationship. Putting Trip and T'Pol on the same shifts recently, placing them on assignments where they would have to work together. Backing off as the two spent more time with each other.

Travis thought that it must be hard for the captain, spending less time with his best friend, but he seemed genuinely pleased. He supposed that Archer had a bit of a matchmaking streak in him.

Now Hoshi. Travis always liked hanging around with Hoshi. They were the same rank, close to the same age. She was smart and funny, they both loved practical jokes and gossiping with each other, both observant and discreet. He had enjoyed watching her evolve from that first year of their mission, Hoshi developing the confidence in her own abilities and becoming more at ease with space travel and the unexpected. Plus she and Liz Cutler were good friends, and Travis liked Liz.

So Travis had sat back and watched all of his crewmates, the people he worked with in particular. Watched and listened. People confiding in him. People telling him bits of gossip. Small talk and hearsay.

Travis always knew what was going on within the Enterprise community.

If he hadn't loved flying so much, he could have asked Malcolm to let him join security.

Travis looked around again at all the colorfully and ludicrously dressed Archollians. He liked this planet. He liked the carefree and nonsensical natives. They were polite and friendly. You could do pretty much anything you wanted as long as you didn't hurt anyone.

He noticed the two tall, thin Archollians sitting behind the captain, not talking, slowly eating their snacks. The four Archollian women next to him were showing each other the hats they had bought, each one more absurd than the last. Travis actually winced when the last woman pulled out her purchase. A sudden image of T'Pol, trying to maintain her dignity while wearing her comic wig and clothing, flashed through his mind and he grinned, mentally placing the hat on the sub-commander's head.

He tried not to laugh out loud. He didn't think the captain would appreciate his helmsman giggling to himself. He voiced the other matter that had been on his mind instead. "You know, sir, I think that we should head out to the farthest range of the sub-commander's communicator—Trip and Hoshi pretty much covered the city and, assuming T'Pol's got the scroll, they may have put as much space as possible between them and the Klingons and Andorians. They probably figured that they'd catch a ride back to meet me at the rendezvous point in time. So if we figure an area radiating from the museum—"

"Yeah. That's a good idea, Travis." Archer took out his padd and together they went over the maps, calculating the furthest points their crewmates could have gone and still be able to return at the pre-designated time.

Jon made his decision and they rose, leaving the food court and heading for the subway station.

Deep in conversation with the captain, Travis didn't notice the two thin Archollians who had been sitting behind Jon follow them out.

***

When T'Pol straightened abruptly, Malcolm stopped in mid-stride, becoming instantly alert again. "What?" Had she picked up their pursuers on her scanner? Had the muffins made her ill? He hurried to her side and saw the gemstone in the scroll glowing faintly. He looked at the train's visual display, noting their position and then back at the scroll.

"There's another scroll lying about?" he asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.

"Apparently."

She looked at him. Although her face was its usual placid mask, he saw the animation in her eyes.

He checked the status monitor of the train. "The next stop on this line is over thirty kilometers from here."

She flashed a look at the display and returned her eyes to the gemstone. "Continue to monitor the visual display. I'll record the location of the brightest illumination of the gemstone. We will disembark at the next stop and find shelter for the night. We will return when we have rested. I do not believe you will be happy with a thirty kilometer hike right now, Lieutenant."

"Ya got that right," he muttered in a familiar southern drawl.

T'Pol arched an unamused eyebrow at him.

***

Trip and Hoshi agreed to finish their search of the city area and then meet up with Jon and Travis. Jon gave them one hour, uneasy with having them split up any longer, considering the incident with the Andorians. Trip concurred with Jon that although sticking together would decrease their range, it was safer.

Hoshi sighed and stood up, testing her weigh on her ankle once more. No problem. The ice pack had helped and Trip had decided to just take a cab around the city, acting as tourists, covering the area faster and with less walking for Hoshi.

They left the cafe and Hoshi was happy to see that the rain had stopped, the sun shining, although the dark clouds had drifted over further to the west.

"This is more like it," Trip commented, removing his jacket and shaking it out, basking in the sunshine. He handed her his jacket and moved quickly back and forth, arms outstretched like an old fashion airplane. The Archollian way of flagging a cab. Hoshi grinned and he gave her a sheepish shrug as he continued his aeronautic maneuvers.

It was the only time in her life she was actually relieved that she'd been injured and she wasn't about to tell Trip that her ankle didn't hurt any longer. The sight was quite comic and she was sure that Trip would have delegated the responsibility of hailing a cab to her, all the while taking pictures of her for blackmail purposes.

"Too bad it looks like it's going to rain again," Hoshi commented. The sunshine was nice.

"Yeah. Hope T'Pol's okay. I don't think Vulcans like being cold and wet. And her outfit wasn't much protection."

Hoshi could hear the concern in Trip's voice, even through his cab hailing calisthenics.

"I'm sure she'll be fine, Trip. Malcolm doesn't like being cold either, so between them I'm sure they'd find some way of staying warm."

"Yeah, they're both probably staying at some swank five star hotel, meditating or something," he said with a chuckle.

A cab pulled up and Trip opened the door for Hoshi. She climbed in.

"Although I'd give up a paycheck to see T'Pol hail a cab," she said and they started laughing. Giving their destination to the driver, their cab pulled away.

Two tall, thin, and sober faced Archollians entered the next cab and told the driver to follow them.

***

Jon and Travis met up with Hoshi and Trip. They rode the subway in comfort, eating an early lunch and talking. They tried to contact T'Pol and Malcolm periodically, but received no reply.

The train was crowded and Travis was thankful that they had all used a nasal suppressant. He thought that the smell would have been incredible.

It was a public holiday and Archollians were dressed even more outrageously than usual, off work and heading to all sorts of destinations providing public entertainment and amusements. Travis struck up a conversation with two young men, flit boards on their laps and turquoise hair shaved into staggeringly ugly styles. But the three of them excitedly talked about sports, Travis with a gregarious ease that made his crewmates smile.

An old Archollian woman, dressed in a skin tight neon green leotard with a scratchy pink skirt, her hair piled up and teased out in a massive rictus of starchy curls, started talking to Hoshi about the holiday and the celebrations throughout Archolli. Picnics, festivals, performances, huge crowds of people frolicking with abandon.

Not that there was any significant reason for this holiday. The woman explained that this was just their largest holiday weekend.

Hoshi listened and smiled, dodging the woman's hair as the woman nodded vigorously every time she made a point. Hoshi had picked up the language with relative ease, another reminder of her linguistic gifts. It made her think of Malcolm and his steadfast ability to slaughter any foreign tongue.

How did she ever end up with him?

The Enterprise crewmates didn't notice the two thin, tall and solemn looking Archollians sitting in the same car with them.

Nor the other set of tall, grim looking Archollians two cars ahead.

Chapter 19

He woke partially, warm and snug. His head cushioned between the soft, toasty pillows, his body pressed against the heated mass, arms embracing it, pulling it closer to him like a blanket made of the coziest down.

He barely registered the prickling substance beneath him, the frostiness of the air. He scooted closer to the warmth and faintly noticed an answering tightening around his hips. He was scarcely aware of the fact that his bum was being cradled, the soothing heat against it fighting off the chill. Faint trickles of consciousness tried to invade his sleep filled mind, and he battled valiantly to stave them off. He was far too comfortable, not yet ready to wake.

He'd been up for days, slogging around in rain and mud, and needed at least three more hours of sleep. He'd earned it. He knew he was safe, for now, and pushed away all sentience, luxuriating in the complete warmth and earthy scent of his surroundings.

He snuggled in closer to his blanket; his brain, having given up all efforts to wake him, simply settled for reminding him that it was cold and staying warm was a good thing. He gave a cheer, congratulating his brain for surrendering, and sighed contently.

He felt something move and brush against his bum, a caress. He tried to ignore it, concentrating on discarding all shreds of cognizance, and he burrowed his head deeper into his pillows. His sleep filled brain was alarmed though and insisted that he wake up. He dared it to give him one good reason.

Because that something hot which was fondling his ass was inside his underwear. Against his bare skin.

His eyes snapped open. It was dark, and he pulled his head back from between his pillows, allowing light to invade his senses.

His moments before slumbering consciousness roused itself and it recognized the pattern of T'Pol's bra in front of his startled eyes just as he felt two hotter than human hands grip his butt in alarm.

He let out a small but embarrassed squeak and rolled away, onto his back.

Unfortunately his arms were still about her body. Even more inauspicious, T'Pol's hands were still within the confines of his briefs, and she rolled with him. Her breasts assaulted Malcolm's face and T'Pol had the hapless feeling of deja vu. Her fingers involuntarily twitched in reaction to the falling sensation, trying to catch herself and grasped the lieutenant's backside again, inadvertently giving it a damn good squeeze.

Vulcans do not squeak, but in this instance, T'Pol wished she could. Fervently.

His arms released her and he flailed about like a capsized turtle, attempting to get some leverage as he sunk down in their deep and loosely packed bedding. She tried to withdraw, but her hands were trapped. He finally found some purchase and lifted his hips, his face pressing more firmly into her chest since she hadn't been able to remove herself from her prone position upon him. A level of her consciousness assessed the lieutenant's lung capacity and estimated the length of time he could hold his breath.

She extricated her hands and rolled off him and he drew in a great gasp of air. His face was a remarkable shade of red, but she didn't think it was all from the lack of oxygen.

He blurted out a heartfelt "Sorry, Sub-Commander" just as she intoned a low "I ask your forgiveness, Lieutenant".

His eyes skittered about their surroundings for a few seconds, nervously surveying everything within the ramshackle barn, except for his superior officer. His brain however was screaming, half in mortification, the other half howling with laughter.

His mind, having a mind of its own in this instance, decided to betray him. A chuckle escaped his lips, as hard as he tried to hold it in. His eyes flitted to T'Pol's, and a bray of laughter followed.

Biofeedback control, my Vulcan warmed arse, he thought as he laughed harder.

T'Pol's face was an amazing shade of green.

She had told him once that Vulcans did not blush since they could control their bodily responses. He had countered that certain emotional reactions were very powerful and couldn't always be managed. She had answered that Vulcans had more mastery of their emotions than humans.

Apparently not quite as much as some thought and Malcolm's hysterics grew. He flopped back into the hay, gasping with laughter, wiping his eyes and he looked at her.

One side of her mouth had jotted up a smidgen and her eyes were twinkling.

For T'Pol, that was an equivalent of a belly laugh.

He shook his head, smiling, and relaxed.

"Well Duchess, that was quite the wake up call." He grinned at her and her stiff posture loosened.

She looked at him, bits of hay in his tousled hair, that wide smile on his flushed face and her mouth twitched upwards again.

"Yes, krenath, but not one I'd like to repeat."

"I'm just not the right person," he teased gently.

"I believe the expression is, 'you've got that right'," she quoted in a familiar southern accent and he started laughing again.

***

Jon, Trip, Hoshi and Travis disembarked and made their way through the exit tunnels and up into the bright sunlight. They spent an hour trying to contact their crewmates, using a cab to get around the city. Trip's scanner picked up four Vulcan biosigns, but they disappeared almost as soon as they registered. Unsure if it was just a glitch or something more sinister, Jon began to search the faces of the Archollians they past, scrutinizing the other occupants in the cabs and ground vehicles around them.

Unsuccessful in all their attempts to locate T'Pol and Malcolm they headed for the subway again, intent on getting to the next stop.

They were waiting on the platform for the next train, Trip running another diagnostic on the scanner, Jon and Hoshi studying the crowd. That's when Travis noticed the two tall, thin Archollians who had been sitting behind them at the food court.

***

T'Pol and Malcolm entered the subway, stifling yawns, their sleep not regained after their flustered awakening. Their clothing was still slightly damp and uncomfortable, but both were silently thankful that it wasn't raining. The walk had been long and they had removed their coats in the bright sunshine. Malcolm had finally cut the plastic flowers off his chest and T'Pol had followed suit. Not that their apparel had suffered from the surgery—they were mud stained enough to have dulled the fluorescent colors, with a rip and tear here and there. T'Pol noted that they now appeared to blend in with a subculture of Archollians—some of the youth looked just as grimy and unkempt as they now did.

T'Pol had never dreamt that she would be on the cutting edge of haute couture.

They jumped the turnstile again, suffering through a lecture from a mother with six children in tow who followed them to the platform, haranguing them about setting a poor example. When Malcolm finally was able to get a word in, he explained that since they had no money they really had no choice. The woman then pressed several bills into his hand. He tried to refuse but she pinched his cheeks, insisting he take it, using a high pitched cooing tone that people usually reserved for babies and small animals, all the while addressing him with appallingly gooey pet names.

Malcolm controlled his shudder of repugnance and politely thanked her, praying that she would leave. Soon.

The woman then pinched T'Pol's cheeks, telling her that she should eat something once in a while seeing how she was just skin and bones. The woman then parted with the profound advice that T'Pol would look so much prettier if she hadn't had such an ugly hair style and color.

Malcolm couldn't help grinning as T'Pol's eyes narrowed in reaction. After all, T'Pol had been giving him that look of smug Vulcan superiority, as if she had been enjoying his discomfort as the woman pinched and squeezed him, calling him those disturbing baby talk names. He continued to smirk as he handed her the currency. He was rewarded with a further narrowing of the eyes.

They walked onto the crowded platform and T'Pol saw Malcolm wrinkle his nose as they moved through the crowd.

"Is there a problem, snookookums?" T'Pol asked. Straight faced, naturally.

"I can't believe you can't smell anything, coochiepuckie," he replied, matching her deadpan countenance and tone.

She raised an aloof eyebrow and he flashed her a little self-satisfied grin. Her expression thawed.

"I have found that the Archollians are even more illogical than humans. And that woman's use of diminutives was..." T'Pol searched for a word not imbued with emotional connotations.

"Icky?" Malcolm supplied and laughed.

"Indeed, Lieutenant," and her eyes laughed with him.

***

Hoshi's head shot up and she surveyed the congested platform, the train just now pulling in and opening its doors, Archollians bustling through them in a disorderly fashion.

That sounded like Malcolm's laugh. She spotted two scruffy looking Archollians with their backs toward her, dressed in tight black pants and high laced up boots. The man had a filthy and tattered coat slung casually over his shoulder and she recognized that alert yet nonchalant stance.

Not to mention that firm and exquisite backside.

She nudged Jon and started toward them. "Malcolm?" she called.

He whirled and broke out into that full smile, less rare now than in the past, but usually reserved only for her. She felt her face split into an answering grin and he moved toward her with quick and eager steps.

"What in the world are you doing here?" he asked.

That's when a pair of tall, thin, and grim looking Archollians grabbed T'Pol.

And another pair grabbed Jon.

Chapter 20

The train pulled out, leaving the station deserted, except for the Enterprise party and four determined looking Archollians.

The two sets of Archollians stared at each other.

"Spork."

"T'vo."

"T'bet."

"Spam."

They greeted each other coldly. Spork and T'bet had T'Pol. T'vo and Spam held Jon.

"And you dislike your name?" Hoshi muttered to Malcolm. He ignored her, concentrating instead on Spork, who was now speaking to T'Pol.

"We know you have the scroll. You will give it to me."

"No," T'vo interrupted with a fervor which surprised the Enterprise crew. "We lay claim to it."

"Your kind is barely above the beasts in the fields," T'bet replied coldly.

"And your kind wouldn't understand the true intent of the scroll if Surak himself came back to explain it to you," Spam retorted with sarcasm.

The two groups of Vulcans continued to trade insults, icy and analytical on Spork and T'bet's part, T'vo and Spam's responses tinged with mockery and anger.

Jon looked at Trip and Trip looked at Malcolm. Travis silently watched the three of them, waiting for a cue.

Malcolm flicked his eyes toward the incoming train. The platform would soon be crowded again with disembarking Archollians. He raised an eyebrow at T'Pol and she returned the gesture. Hoshi felt his tense muscles relax and she set herself.

Malcolm gave her a sideways glance and she saw a barely perceptible half smile lift his lips.

The train pulled in, the doors opened and Archollians began to tumble out in a disorderly mess. Malcolm launched himself at the Vulcans holding T'Pol, Hoshi moving in synch with the armory officer.

Travis and Trip centered on the ones holding Jon. Jon dropped suddenly and pulled with all his might, his weight yanking the two Vulcans holding him off balance. When Travis and Trip collided with the Vulcans and started punching, Jon managed to free himself.

Hoshi went low, aiming at Spork's knees. She knocked him off his feet, T'Pol falling with them, Spork's iron grip still wrapped around their science officer. Malcolm leapt and kicked T'bet, planting his feet firmly into the man's chest, sending the Vulcan crashing backwards. Malcolm rolled away, mindful of the opposition's superior strength and reach.

Travis and Trip tried to avoid their opponents' grasping hands, but a hard blow to the chest knocked Travis backwards, into crowd of Archollians. Some of the Archollians ignored them. Some looked for a camera, others applauded.

Jon managed to grab one of Spam's arms and Trip stunned the Vulcan with a well placed right cross. Jon then struck him several times, working with Trip to force the Vulcan to his knees. T'vo lunged for them and threw Jon to the side, sending him flying toward Hoshi. T'vo rounded on Trip, fending off the engineer's boxing skills and trying to nerve pinch him. Travis was set back on his feet by a couple of helpful Archollians, who pushed him back into the fray with encouraging words. Dizzy and panting, he flung himself upon T'vo's back, both toppling to the floor. Spam began to rise and Trip looked around in earnest for a weapon.

T'Pol and Malcolm were fighting side by side, T'Pol using a Vulcan fighting technique against Spork, their bodies whirling and spinning, while Malcolm was taking on T'bet, using Hapkido against the Vulcan's deadly ke-tar-ya-tar.

Hoshi was slowly rising to her feet, her ankle throbbing again and Jon helped her up and nudged her toward the crowd. Trip had managed to finally render Spam unconscious by slamming a trash receptacle into the man's head. He and Travis were now trying to fend off T'vo.

Hoshi limped quickly out of the way, approaching an elderly Archollian man with a cane.

"May I borrow this?" she asked politely.

"Of course, pookielumer. Just tell me when this episode will be on the Tri-Vid," the old man grinned at her.

"Next week," she replied, not sure exactly what he was talking about, but her answer made him happy.

She hobbled over to T'vo, who had shaken off Travis, striking him in the chest several times and was now trying to throttle both crewmates, one man's throat in each hand.

Hoshi knocked T'vo out with the cane.

Trip and Travis fell to their knees, gasping, and Hoshi knelt down to check their injuries. Travis was bleeding from a cut over his eye, clutching his chest and having a hard time catching his breath. Trip drew in great lungfuls of air and shakily rose to feet.

"Hoshi, help Travis and get out of here. We'll meet you at the shuttlepod."

"Trip—" Hoshi started and grabbed his arm. He turned to her, his eyes a steely blue and deadly serious.

"That's an order, Ensign. You're both injured. Get going."

"Aye, sir." Hoshi didn't argue and let her hand drop. She knew he was right. She helped Travis to his feet and half dragged him to an exit, slipping out with a crowd of Archollians and getting away, unnoticed.

Trip moved toward Jon, ignoring the pain in his neck from T'vo's near throttling.

Malcolm was defending himself against T'bet, both of them fighting with a silent intensity that was frightening; as frightening as the savage fierceness in which T'Pol and Spork were battling. Jon shifted back and forth, looking for an opening, but the combatants were moving fast, the Vulcans' intentions apparently lethal.

Spork broke through T'Pol's guard and landed a powerful strike to her shoulder, slamming her against the subway train. Malcolm ducked a slicing swing from T'bet and heard the sound of the train as it readied for departure. He jumped straight up, kicking T'bet in the face. He contorted and turned, kicking Spork in the small of the back, sending the Vulcan off balance. Malcolm landed as T'bet rushed forward, seizing Malcolm and effortlessly hurling him into a line of luggage carriers resembling ridiculously large shopping carts. Malcolm, dazed and tangled up with the carriers, tried to rise.

Jon pulled T'Pol through the open train doors and Trip plowed into T'bet, knocking the Vulcan off his feet. Jon yanked the doors closed, bracing himself against them.

Spork had recovered quickly and pried the doors apart, forcing his upper body inside. The doors bounced back from the obstruction, and he plunged into the train, T'Pol his target. Jon shoved her out of the way and grabbed Spork's arm, twisting it upwards, trying to stay away from those fingers searching for the juncture of his shoulder and neck. Spork's Vulcan muscle easily broke Archer's hold and Spork hit Jon hard, sending him flying into the door on the other side. Spork rounded on T'Pol.

Malcolm freed himself from the jumble of carts and hurtled himself into the train. He grabbed the Vulcan around the neck and jerked him backwards just as T'Pol landed a mighty kick to Spork's stomach. The combined assault knocked Spork and Malcolm clear out of the train, and they landed in a heap, back on the platform. The doors closed again and the train started to pull out of the station. Jon tried to open the doors, intent on leaping off to help his people, but T'Pol held him back.

Malcolm heard Trip grunt in pain, but couldn't afford to look. He had an armload of Vulcan on top of him and he knew he was no match for that Vulcan strength.

So Malcolm bit him.

He sunk his elongated canines into the back of Spork's neck and the Vulcan hissed, the only indication of his surprise and pain.

Malcolm knew human anatomy very well. He hoped Vulcan anatomy was similar.

He bit down harder hoping to hit the spinal accessory nerve, targeting the trapezius which controlled the spinous process of the first through fifth thoracic vertebrae.

Spork's arms suddenly went slack, temporarily paralyzed.

Malcolm had the fleeting thought that it was a damn good thing he drank a lot of milk. He wouldn't want to leave his eyeteeth in the back of Spork's neck.

Malcolm then boxed Spork's ears.

The poor man couldn't even howl in pain.

Malcolm pushed Spork off him and surged to his feet. He sprinted away, toward Trip.

Malcolm saw T'bet bring his double handed fist down upon Trip's back and drive the engineer to his hands and knees. Trip let out a cry of pain and Malcolm felt his temper notch up again. He launched himself at the Vulcan, landing on T'bet and shoving the man's head into a pillar. T'bet dropped, out cold.

Spork was now shakily approaching, one hand to the back of his neck, the other arm hanging limply, with a murderous glint in his eye. Malcolm felt another rush of adrenaline in response to that homicidal look. And Malcolm got angry.

He ran for the luggage carts, Spork trying to intercept him, but Malcolm made it to them first and wrenched one away. With a barely contained fury he ran it full tilt into Spork, forcing the Vulcan off and over the platform, onto the tracks, then flinging the cart on top of the man for good measure.

Malcolm grabbed Trip and helped his friend to his feet. Trip clutched at Malcolm; hunched over, back aching badly.

"Come on," Malcolm urged and Trip tried to move. He sagged against Malcolm and Malcolm caught him. Desperate, Malcolm hauled Trip over to a luggage cart and hoisted him into it, Trip protesting the manhandling.

Spam was getting to his knees and T'vo was moving, apparently coming around. Spork was hauling himself up and Malcolm took off, pushing the luggage cart with his baggage of a cursing Trip, swooping down to pick up his coat and tossing it on top of the commander, the sound of applauding and cheering Archollians following them.

***

They crashed through the exit gate and onto the sidewalk, Trip cursing more loudly, Malcolm racing as fast as he could, trying to steer around Archollians. The natives acted as if this happened every day. Malcolm thought perhaps it did.

"What the hell are you doing?" Trip shouted as he struggled to sit up, pain knifing through his back.

"Running away," Malcolm panted. He threw a swift look over his shoulder.

"Let me outta here—" Trip complained, finally able to pull himself into an upright position, holding onto the sides of the cart to support himself, wincing at the horrible tenderness between his shoulder blades.

"Are you in any condition to move quickly, Commander?" Malcolm asked acerbically, temper flaring again. "Because we've got a couple of very pissed off Vulcans following us at the moment." Malcolm tried to speed up, but it was difficult. He pushed the cart over the curb and into the street. Trip bounced with it, cursing again and looked over Malcolm's head.

T'vo and Spam were several hundred meters behind them and cutting through the crowd, gaining on them. Malcolm ran down the middle of the street, ground cars swerving to avoid the two crewmen.

"Faster, Malcolm!"

Malcolm glared at him, trying to tamp down his escalating irritation. He refrained from hurling a sarcastic insult, opting instead to save his breath. He checked their whereabouts and made an instant, albeit reckless, decision and maneuvered his cartload of Trip Tucker into a wide left turn. Three sharp turns later, his lungs bursting and legs burning he made one last effort and pushed for all he was worth and then jumped on the bottom rung of the cart, hanging on for dear life.

"What the—" Trip started and then noticed that they were picking up speed. He looked forward and moaned.

He swung his head around again. "If we live, I'm gonna kill you," he snarled at Malcolm.

"Good, I could use a decent rest," Malcolm snapped back.

The cart continued to accelerate down the hill.

It was a beautiful hill. Pleasant in its steady descent. Long; very long. And very crowded with ground car traffic. All of which was coming toward them on this picturesque and narrow one way street.

Trip looked forward once more and decided to meet his death as befitting a Starfleet officer, with eyes open and a brave front. A cab swerved out of their way, the driver yelling something out the window which Trip didn't quite catch.

On the other hand, he could close his eyes and perhaps stick Malcolm's coat over his head for good measure. Maybe bargain with God while he was at it. Or whimper for his mama.

A truck loomed in front of them and Trip yelled.

"Gahhhh! Swerve to the right, Malcolm, turn right!"

Malcolm exploded.

"D'you think there's a bloody steering wheel on this fekking thing? Jesus bleedin' Christ—" Malcolm wretched at the cart, leaning furiously to the right, all the while cursing so odiously that Trip forgot about his impending demise and tried to process a few of the obscene concepts Malcolm was proposing.

"Lean for Christ's sake, Trip!" Malcolm bellowed, fuming. Trip shifted his weight and the cart jogged erratically onto its two wheels on the right side, narrowly missing the truck. Malcolm moved to the center again, righting the cart with a jolt and Pissy Malcolm made his appearance.

"You wanking, thick headed pillock! 'Turn right, Malcolm,'" he mimicked in Trip's accent. "D'you think this bloody thing has a ship board computer, complete with a bleedin' autopilot? I swear to God, Trip, you bloody pecan pie soaked—" he continued his profane litany of complaints.

Cranky Trip debuted.

"You goddamn arrogant porridge eating son of a bitch!" Trip roared. "What the hell were you thinking? 'Pip, pip, old chap, let's take the shopping cart out for a spin!'" Trip jeered in a passable English accent.

They continued down the hill, gaining speed, working in tandem to shift their weight in an attempt to guide the runaway cart, cars swerving away from them, drivers shaking fists at them and yelling imprecations. Which neither of them heard. They were too busy loudly blaming each other for their current situation, both using their own regional brand of name calling, neither understanding a word of the other's utterly foreign vernacular.

So they were both extremely surprised when the cart suddenly slammed into the wall of an enormous, but exceptionally lovely fountain at the bottom of the hill. They flew off, barely missing the statuary in the middle of the fountain, and landed with a tremendous splash.

They thrashed about and clambered to their feet, the water coming up to Malcolm's chest. He looked around.

"You know, this has to be the deepest fountain I've ever been in," he commented.

"Yeah, kind of funny, they're usually so shallow," Trip concurred.

"Well, lucky us then. We could have broken our necks."

Trip nodded in agreement.

They both looked back up the hill; no Vulcans in sight. They contemplated the grade of the slope.

"It wasn't that steep," Malcolm said and started to wade his way to the edge of the fountain.

"Yeah, it wasn't bad." Trip plodded beside him. "Just not used to hurtling down a hill in a shopping cart..."

"Well, at least not sober," Malcolm muttered, blushing slightly.

Trip grinned at him. "Really? We used to just do it in deserted parking lots, sometimes towing each other behind our cars. Man, I haven't done that since high school," and he started to chuckle. It made his back ache, but he couldn't stop. Malcolm started snickering as well.

Trip splashed him and Malcolm retaliated. They were soon having a water fight, laughing uproariously.

Chapter 21

Hoshi helped Travis into a cab and told the driver to take them to the space port as quickly as possible. Travis was finally able to catch his breath and Hoshi lifted his shirt.

The bruise on his sternum was enormous, painful looking and hot to her hesitant touch. He inhaled harshly when her fingers brushed along it and she withdrew them quickly, throwing him an apologetic look.

"Is anything broken?" she asked, worried.

Travis tentatively probed the damage. "I hope not...feels like the bone's bruised though." He sighed, but not too deeply. "It's really hurts."

Hoshi nodded in sympathy and placed her hand alongside his jaw. She turned his head left, then right, noticing the fingerprints marring the skin on his neck.

"Looks like he almost strangled you," she said and she could not keep the tremor out of her voice.

Travis gently took her hand away and held it. "I'm okay. How's your ankle?"

She propped it up on his lap and pushed up her pant leg, pulling her sock down. It didn't look swollen and she rocked her foot. It twinged a warning, but it was bearable. "Not bad. Little sore. I wouldn't want to run on it though."

"Yeah, well, now we've got Vulcans and Andorians on our tails. Wonder when the Klingons will show up."

"Hey, don't jinx us," Hoshi replied. She shot a nervous look at the traffic behind them. Travis snickered.

She smiled half-heartedly, still worried about her crewmates.

She thought that Malcolm and T'Pol had been holding their own, and knew that Jon and Trip were good in a fight, but still. These were Vulcans. They were stronger. And if the message to T'Pol was any indication, they were dangerous. Perhaps even willing to kill to get that scroll.

"We shouldn't have left them." Even as she said it she knew that Travis hadn't been in any condition to help. And she had barely managed to hobble the distance to the cab stop. But the thought of leaving them there, not knowing the outcome, gnawed at her.

"They'll be okay," Travis reassured her. He took her hand again. "We really didn't have any choice. We would have just been in the way. And you know how Malcolm worries." He grinned at her. "Especially about you. Do you want to try and contact them?"

"God, yes, I forgot. Trip gave me the communicator." She searched her pockets and found it. "Oh, no. That means he doesn't have one."

"I'm sure they're all together. They'll meet us at the shuttlepod anyhow."

Hoshi flipped the comm open. "Yeah, I hope you're right."

***

Jon answered his communicator, relieved to hear Hoshi's voice. His jaw ached, that last blow from Spork nearly breaking it. A bruise was forming and his face felt swollen and clumsy. He thought that a couple of back teeth were loose as well.

He couldn't wait to get back on board Enterprise.

"We'll get off at the next stop and take a cab down to the space port—"

"No," T'Pol interrupted. She stopped rubbing her shoulder and looked at Jon.

"Stand by, Hoshi," Jon said and turned a questioning gaze at his science officer.

"I will not be joining you. There is another scroll. I intend to retrieve that one as well."

"T'Pol, this is much too dangerous—"

"That is why you and the rest of the bridge crew should return to the ship and then meet me later this evening at a pre-arranged pick up point—"

"T'Pol! We got a message from the Science Directorate." He proceeded to fill her in on the communique which Hoshi and Trip had deciphered.

She remained silent when he finished and Jon watched her. Her face gave nothing away and he wanted to tell her that this was not worth risking her life. But he didn't.

He didn't know what the scrolls meant to her. But he saw the determination in her eyes.

He contacted Hoshi again.

"Ensign, why don't you and Travis head to the shuttlepod. I'm sure Trip and Malcolm are on their way there—"

"I doubt it," T'Pol stated flatly.

"Stand by, Hoshi." Jon turned to T'Pol again. "What do you mean?"

"Lieutenant Reed will most likely meet me where we've determined the other scroll is located. Mr. Reed knows the general coordinates and had agreed to assist me in retrieving it. And based on my previous discussions with our engineer, I believe that Commander Tucker will insist on accompanying him."

Jon closed his eyes and sighed. He knew Trip would jump at any chance to get into trouble. Put Malcolm with him and they were likely to end up in jail. Or start a civil war. He remembered that one misadventure those two had on-

"Perhaps you should go back to the shuttle with Ensigns Mayweather and Sato," T'Pol interrupted his reminiscing. "We will meet you at the pre-arranged hour."

"No. There are nine people down here gunning for you. We'll all stay together and help you out." He informed Travis and Hoshi of his decision, T'Pol half listening.

She was...gratified...that he would help her on such a mission, especially since she hadn't truly answered his question regarding what she hoped the scrolls would contain. Another aspect of humanity that fascinated her. Humans, and Jonathan Archer in particular, were so casually generous in their assistance, expecting nothing in return.

That first year on Enterprise she had found that trait in Captain Archer to be troublesome, that willingness to help, charging into unknown situations without a thought. The last few years had tempered his impetuous tendencies, yet he never failed to aid someone in need, even extending that charity toward her, although he had no reason to love Vulcans. One more reason she respected and trusted him.

She was roused from her contemplation by the captain asking her where Hoshi and Travis should meet them. She gave them the name of the subway stop closest to the location of the scroll and the captain ended his conversation with the ensigns.

They would then travel together to find the scroll. She had no doubt that Trip and Malcolm would meet them.

***

Trip didn't even let Malcolm finish when Malcolm told him about the other scroll.

"That's where T'Pol's going and we should meet her there, help her out, make sure her back's covered."

Malcolm nodded, knowing there would be no way to convince Trip to go back to the shuttle. He briefly wondered where this scroll was hiding, but felt assured that they could recover it. He felt an excited anticipation thrum through him again.

At least Hoshi and Travis were safe. He'd seen them escape. The captain and T'Pol had eluded their attackers as well.

He decided to head for another subway station several kilometers away. If T'Pol and Captain Archer continued on that train route, they would exit at Blissful Beach, the closest stop to the scroll. He estimated his commanding officers' time of arrival. If he and Trip caught the right train, they could make it there only about thirty minutes behind his shipmates. He thought that Captain Archer would go with T'Pol, ordering Hoshi and Travis back to the ship.

They cut through the city sidewalks, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and the Vulcans, although Malcolm was fairly sure that they weren't being followed. His eyes constantly swept the streets, looking for their pursuers, Andorians, and Klingons. He also kept an eye out for a cab to shorten their excursion.

Trip's back was still throbbing, but it didn't hurt as much as before. Malcolm had inspected his injury and told him that a rather large bruise was forming. Trip was just happy nothing was broken. He tugged on Malcolm's arm to slow him down a bit.

"Hey, I'm not quite ready to run a marathon yet, Malcolm."

"Sorry." Malcolm checked himself, matching his gait to Trip's.

"'It's okay. So, did you and T'Pol have fun?"

Malcolm shot him a small smile, and his canines glistened in the sunlight. "Oh, yes. We did indeed." He briefly filled Trip in on their adventures. Leaving out the part about waking up in the barn.

The streets were becoming sparsely populated as they continued, the few remaining Archollians in the process of leaving to celebrate the holiday weekend. Malcolm slowed even further, becoming wary. Without the crowds they would be easier to spot.

"Do you have a comm?" Malcolm asked, the thought just occurring to him now. He berated himself for sloppy thinking. He should have tried to contact everyone earlier.

Trip shook his head.

"Well if you have the duct tape, I have the spit—you could build one," Malcolm said, only half joking.

"Didn't bring any tape with me..." Trip replied, looking around uncomfortably. They turned a corner and a completely vacant street greeted them. They stopped.

"We could buy the parts; or perhaps even a comm—"

"Hoshi has the cash."

"Charming. Broke, people after us and back to jumping turnstiles—I think the stench in the subway will render me unconscious this time. I'm truly enjoying my stay here."

"Yeah, but at least you're with me."

"I'm thrilled."

They wandered cautiously through the empty neighborhood, both now feeling exposed and uneasy. Trip felt as if he had a huge target on his back. He wondered if they'd run into the Klingons or the Andorians next. If the Vulcans didn't catch up to them first.

They came to an unattended cab. Malcolm pulled on the door handle and it opened. He glanced at the ignition, but it seemed locked.

"We could take this—" Malcolm began reluctantly.

"And get arrested for grand theft auto?" Trip's apprehension was apparent.

"No, that's only on the third offense..."

"What?"

"Yeah. First offense they slap you on your wrist and turn you over to your parents. Second offense they fine you and third offense they lock you up."

"How do you know all this?"

"Studied their penal codes before coming down. Didn't want to get imprisoned on an alien planet again." Malcolm looked around once more, but saw no sign of their pursuers. Or anyone else for that matter.

"You memorized all their laws?"

Malcolm shifted uneasily and Trip gave him an odd look.

"They don't have that many," Malcolm defended himself.

"It was eighteen pages long!"

"Well...vested interest and all..."

"You really do got a good memory."

Malcolm shrugged and continued to scan their surroundings. The streets were deserted. He looked at Trip. Trip looked at him. Trip shrugged back and nodded. They slid into the cab, heads diving under the dash.

"This one, right?" Trip pointed to a wire and started to strip it, while Malcolm pulled on another.

"Yes—how did you know?"

"Bob taught me a few things...drew up a few schematics for me. We talked about driving and stuff."

Within moments they managed to hotwire the cab and the engine hummed to life.

"I'll drive," Trip stated firmly.

"But you don't know where you're going!" Malcolm protested.

"So, you'll navigate. Besides, why should you get all the fun?"

"Because I know where I'm going," Malcolm groused, but buckled in all the same.

"Just tell me where to turn..." and Trip took off, pressing them back into their seats.

***

Two hours later Hoshi met Jon and T'Pol at the subway exit and escorted them to the cab, limping slightly. Travis scooted over and T'Pol joined them in the back, Jon in front with the driver. T'Pol furtively withdrew her scanner and brought up the location of where the gemstone had glowed the brightest, the subway line they had just departed coming much closer to the scroll than the line she and Malcolm had taken last night.

"Take us seven kilometers south of here," she told the driver. He looked at her via the rearview mirror.

"Down to Blissful Beach? Or up to Happy Acres? Both have a terrific party going on."

"Happy Acres?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, largest open air festival, right on top of the Big Hill, lots of activities. Great view of the ocean and they're going to have a nice bonfire tonight. It'll be packed. Isn't that so nice?"

"To the beach, if you would," T'Pol decided. They could start there to try to identify the exact location of the scroll. No point in trying to work through the crowds on the 'Big Hill'. And the Archollians, being water loving people, would most likely congregate on the beach itself, leaving the town's streets fairly quiet.

"You got it." The cabbie took off and turned his music up louder.

Hoshi sat back and closed her eyes, resting and enjoying the melody playing. Fast and intricate, it made her think of Malcolm. She missed him. Once again she hoped he was safe. She turned to T'Pol.

"Did you see Malcolm and Trip before you left?"

T'Pol noticed the consternation in the ensign's voice.

"Yes. They were still fighting, but seemed to be...undamaged." T'Pol saw Hoshi's worried look.

She softened her voice. "These factions will not kill them, Ensign. They are interested in the scroll and will be searching for me instead. I doubt that they would seriously harm either Malcolm or Trip. It is not within Vulcan beliefs to willingly kill another living being."

"But aren't these people zealots? Willing to do whatever they need to in order to get that scroll? No matter what or who is in the way?" Hoshi asked. She had no love for fanatics. She supposed her recent experience had made her less tolerant. "That warning from the Science Directorate seemed to take them very seriously."

T'Pol thought for a few moments. Yes, there were extremists in every faction. And sometimes logic could be applied to justify any means, as long as the end results were satisfactory.

Would Vulcans, bred to peace and with firm beliefs in Surak's precepts, willfully commit murder to get what they wanted? It would be against every tenant of the Vulcan way. Against every doctrine they held dear.

But logically, once finding that neither Trip nor Malcolm had the scroll, they would have no reason to kill them.

But they might try to force a mind meld to ascertain the whereabouts of T'Pol. And discover that a second scroll existed. She closed her eyes and tried to remember all the information she had seen on Spork's sect during her stint with the Ministry of Intelligence.

Her eyes flew open as a memory rose. She leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "I will pay you an extra two hundred Simoleons if you hurry."

The driver gleefully increased their speed.

Chapter 22

Trip accelerated through the empty streets. It was amazing. No one in sight, not a vehicle on the road. Malcolm rummaged around the cab and discovered two bottles of water and a box of what appeared to be breakfast bars. He tentatively tasted one, then wolfed it, offering one to Trip.

Trip unwrapped it and took a bite. "Damn! That's awful!" He spit the remnant out the window and rinsed his mouth with a swig of water. Malcolm was busy munching down another one. "How the hell can you eat that?"

"I'm hungry. Haven't had a decent meal since yesterday," he mumbled through a mouthful of food. He opened another one.

"Aww, god. It tasted like olives and chocolate."

"I like olives and chocolate."

"Mixed together?"

"It's better than re-sequenced meat loaf."

"Damn, you will eat anything."

"Only if I'm hungry," Malcolm replied, getting a bit cross.

"Peanut butter on pancakes?" Trip derided.

"Gravy on everything? Including sushi?" Malcolm shot back.

"Hey, that was an accident. But it tasted pretty good."

"No accounting for taste then—"

"Oh, this coming from Mr. Marmite and a Warm Beer," Trip sniped.

"Odd, coming from someone who eats butter and sugar sandwiches. Smothered in gravy," Malcolm snarked.

"Hey, you eat weird stuff—"

"But I don't put gravy on all of it."

"Well, what about fries dipped in mayo?" Trip countered.

"I learnt that in Belgium. Turn here." Malcolm directed him down to the coast highway, busily scarfing three more bars all the while enduring Trip's non-stop ridicule of his food preferences. When they reached the rocky coastline, he told Trip to follow the road south for he reached their destination. He swallowed the last scrap of the food bar and unbuckled himself, climbing into the back seat.

"What are you doing?"

"Look, I've had about four and half hours of sleep in the last three days. I've eaten only two purple muffins and five stale chocolate-covered olive bars in the last 24 hours. I've been mostly cold and wet since leaving the ship, froze my arse off in a drafty barn, and been running from Andorians, Klingons and Vulcans. Not to mention the stench of this whole malodorous planet. I'm tired, wet, and filthy and I've been listening to Mr. Pan-Fried-Catfish-Preferably-Smothered-in-Gravy criticize my eating habits for the last ten minutes. So I'm getting a tad 'cranky' right now and if you'd like to keep your lungs safely ensconced within your chest and not have me rip them out and hang them from the rear view mirror like a pair of fuzzy pink dice, you'll turn some music on, make sure you don't hit anything, and leave me alone until we arrive at Blissful Beach. All right?"

Malcolm shoved his coat under his head and curled up on the back seat, closing his eyes. Trip studied him from the rear view mirror. He could see dark smudges under Malcolm's eyes, almost matching the kohl outlining them and standing out against that artificially pale skin. He noticed the dirt which was ground into his bared skin that even their soaking in the fountain hadn't managed to remove. Saw the gooseflesh along his exposed rib cage and arms, his clothing still damp.

Trip turned on the radio. "You sure are crabby," he said softly, but there was a warmth in his voice.

"I heard that." Malcolm retorted with a slight smile. He didn't bother to open his eyes.

"Sleep tight, Malcolm."

"Thanks, Trip."

***

The cab dropped T'Pol and Jon, Hoshi and Travis off along the main boardwalk of Blissful Beach. Archollians were swarming through the streets, heading toward the shore, dressed in vivid and eye battering swimwear. They trudged through the town, T'Pol scanning, trying to pinpoint the location of the other scroll, the rest of her crewmates silently following, stopping to rest their pummeled bodies after ninety minutes of wandering.

Hoshi sat down on the stoop of the building they had halted in front of, sipping a cold drink and trying to ignore the faint throbbing of her ankle. Travis leaned back and stretched his legs, absently rubbing his chest, watching the few Archollians straggle by, the majority of the natives already at the beach. It was incredible how quickly the streets had gone from being packed with people to now only a handful bustling along their way, latecomers drawn toward the ocean.

Jon sat next to Hoshi, putting his drink cup alongside his jaw, trying to numb the sore flesh. He rubbed his at neck, and then decided that hurt too much to try again. He watched T'Pol out of the corner of his eye as she methodically scanned in all directions, examining her results closely.

"I have a reading indicating that the scroll lies north, a few kilometers from here." She indicated to the hill off in the distance.

"Do you think Trip and Malcolm will know to go there?" Hoshi asked.

"I do not know. The lieutenant only knows the general coordinates of where the gemstone was brightest. We could proceed back to the subway exit and wait there; it is their most logical means of transportation. But there is no way of knowing when they will arrive."

"And you'd like to get to this as soon as possible," Jon stated.

"I can be patient, Captain," she replied blandly.

Hoshi wouldn't mind waiting. She was a little tired of walking all over the town, sweat trickling down her back, the ache in her ankle annoying. The thought of hiking up that hill on a treasure hunt, back down, and then changing subway trains several times to get back to the space port was daunting.

"You know, it would be easier if we rented a boat or something to return to the space port after this is all over. A cruise down the coast, as opposed to several hours in cabs and trains," she ventured. "And I don't know about you guys, but my nasal suppressant is wearing off, and the thought of being jammed into a train with the Archollians..."

Travis and Jon chuckled. T'Pol merely stared at them in mild forbearance.

"That's a good idea, Hoshi. We certainly have enough cash. Why don't you and Travis go down to the beach and make arrangements. That way you wouldn't have to have to walk up to Happy Acres," Jon replied, emphasizing the name of the festival site and shooting a look at T'Pol. His explanation of why the three humans found the name amusing had left her perplexed and his subsequent explanation of centuries-old insane asylums and straight jackets had left him with the distinct impression that she was slightly shocked. He thought he had caught a muttered "barbaric" from her, but wasn't sure. Then Hoshi explained the concept of dark humor to her while T'Pol listened with a surprisingly fixed attention.

Jon handed Hoshi most of their cash, sure that it would be enough to rent something. "We'll meet you down at the main dock; the one where the main street leads into." She and Travis nodded. They had passed it on the way here and knew it well.

They stood to go, Travis wrapping an arm around Hoshi's waist to help steady her. She was about to thank him when she heard the low sound of engines and looked up the street.

Three cycles were coming toward them. Ridden by Andorians. With guns.

Chapter 23

After thirty minutes of extremely fast and enjoyable driving on the empty and open road, Trip saw Blissful Beach ahead in the distance. He glanced in the rear view mirror again. Malcolm was still sleeping, tightly coiled in on himself, his wrists crossed and hanging loose over the edge of the seat. He noticed his friend's eyes shifting rapidly underneath their lids, those sharp counterfeit eyeteeth protruding menacingly from between his lips. Trip watched as he suddenly arched, flexing in response to whatever he was dreaming about before settling down to that curious stillness again.

His momentary resemblance to a feral creature was something Trip didn't want to contemplate and he shoved some unpleasant memories from Pachaa away. As well as the other things he'd noticed since then.

He looked forward once more, maintaining a steady high speed. His thoughts had drifted to T'Pol on the long drive, thinking about her, trying to figure out exactly what he felt, and what to do about it, if anything.

He found her attractive. She pissed him off. She made him laugh. She confused him. She was frighteningly intelligent. She didn't understand some of the simplest things that humans did. She was so alien. She was so familiar. Humans annoyed her. Humans fascinated her.

He'd enjoyed being with her these last few months, building upon that change in their working relationship since the Sandaran incident. But there was no way in hell she'd be attracted to him in any way except their current comfortable friendship. But sometimes...

He sighed.

A thread of worry gnawed at him again. The Andorians were bad enough and now these Vulcans after her. He hoped the Klingons wouldn't show up, but he wasn't too confident about that. God. Malcolm's pessimism was rubbing off on him. They had been hanging around each other too much, he thought ruefully.

He stole another glance into the back seat. Still sleeping.

It was Malcolm's fault. If he hadn't gone on about T'Pol's butt in that shuttlepod, Trip would have happily continued fighting with her, sniping at her stubborn interfering Vulcan ways.

Damn Brit. Making him notice her as a person, not as an alien. Making little comments here and there, making Trip think even more about her, Malcolm pointing out similarities which Trip hadn't thought existed.

Trip deliberately steered for a pothole, accelerating. The cab jolted over it. He took another peek in the mirror. No reaction from the armory officer.

And then last week Malcolm had to poke at him about her. Again. Get him thinking even more. They'd come off their shift, Malcolm disappearing for an hour, then coming back to Trip's room with a little dreamy smile on his face.

Trip figured he'd seen Hoshi before she had gone on duty. At least someone was getting some attention.

Trip cracked a couple a beers open even though it was morning, but being on gamma shift it felt more like evening. Trip talked about a project he was working on with T'Pol for a while and he finally noticed Malcolm watching him carefully.

"What?" Trip asked, suspicious.

"Nothing." Malcolm took another sip of beer and looked away.

"Nothing my ass. You're looking at me like I'm trying to milk a bull here. What?"

"You like T'Pol. She likes you. It's obvious. I suppose I was just wondering when you two were simply going to admit it and do something about it."

"She's a Vulcan," Trip said, exasperated.

"She's a woman," Malcolm replied mildly.

"She doesn't feel like humans do," Trip explained.

"She feels, Trip, she just doesn't express it the same way we do," Malcolm clarified.

"Oh, you're suddenly the expert on Vulcan psychology?" Trip scoffed.

Malcolm rolled his eyes and sipped his beer. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"I doubt she'd think a human and a Vulcan would be logical," Trip finally muttered.

"Love isn't logical," Malcolm said softly, looking down at his beer.

"Who said anything about love?" Trip asked defensively.

"One would have to be blind and deaf not to notice, Commander," Malcolm snorted.

"I think you're the one blind and deaf, Lieutenant." Trip drawled Malcolm's rank sarcastically.

Malcolm looked away again. What could he say? That he'd seen how their captivity on Pachaa had affected Trip? That he felt responsible for putting his friend through that? How T'Pol had helped Trip, just as much as she had helped him and Malcolm just wanted to return the favor?

He couldn't tell Trip that he had felt T'Pol's interest in their chief engineer through the mind melds; that T'Pol was just as unsure and perplexed as Trip was. Just as reluctant to ruin a friendship by taking a chance on something else. "She respects you. She enjoys your company," he said quietly, staring at the bottle in his hands. "You seem to be happy when you're with her. I just think you should be happy."

He rose and drained the rest of his beer. He placed the bottle gently on the table. He gathered his courage and met Trip's eyes. "It's easier to have a bit of slap and tickle here and there; no strings, no emotional attachment. Afraid, when someone wants in, so you turn and run. No one likes to take a chance, only to end up making a mess of things. It hurts too much." He walked to the door and opened it. "But it bloody well hurts even more to let it slip away and knowing you're too much of a coward to do anything about it. It's not a pleasant way to live, Trip. It's so empty."

Trip had sat there for a long time after Malcolm had left.

He thought about Jon, his frequent teasing about Trip's encounters with women they had met on their voyage. Jon called them Trip's "Alien Babes of the Week." And Trip had laughed and enjoyed it—enjoyed the reputation a bit, the admiration of some of the crewmen, the rakish distinction. He had liked all the ladies he had met. He had fun with them. They had fun with him.

But he thought about what Malcolm had said.

And he had thought about T'Pol for a very long time afterwards.

Chapter 24

Trip thought about T'Pol and accelerated over another pot hole, making the cab bounce violently. He looked back at Malcolm and was disappointed that his friend was still asleep. Poking and prying where he shouldn't be going, making him think about T'Pol more than Trip thought was prudent. Making him think about his relationships, making him think about love. He couldn't love her. You can't love someone who was incapable of returning your feelings.

It left him feeling a pang of something which he did not want to examine and he tried to erase that line of thought. Goddamn Malcolm's fault for making him think too much.

He continued to hit potholes, churlishly trying to wake Malcolm up.

Damn Brit. Damn 'let's plant even more unsettling thoughts in Trip's head' sonuvabitch.

He ran into another smooth stretch of road and could see the shoreline now, congested with people, gaily colored flags waving in the breeze, multi-colored tents and food stalls along the sand. There were boats swarming on the ocean and Archollians everywhere in the water and on the beach. In the most ghastly outfits ever designed by humanoids hands.

He slowed and then stopped, looking out the window toward the left, trying to figure out if that was a subway station or not. He looked right to check the shorefront again and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Malcolm sitting in the passenger seat next to him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Goddamn it!"

"What?"

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"The back seat," Malcolm replied, puzzled.

"No I mean...Jesus, Malcolm, you nearly scared me half to death."

"Well, I woke up when you slowed down —"

"Slowing down woke you up?" Trip asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, and thank god for that. I was dreaming I was in Shuttlepod One with a sinister Travis clone piloting, deliberately trying to run into asteroids. I finally had to tear the bugger's throat out with my teeth to make him stop jolting us." Malcolm's tongue darted out as if trying to clear away the taste.

Trip looked at him innocently. "Maybe you shouldn't have eaten that crap before taking a catnap. Made you dream weird stuff."

Malcolm shrugged and looked at the building. "That's the subway station. Looks vacant."

"Yeah, whole damn town's empty. Guess everyone's out celebrating."

Well, I'll wager they'll meet us here; at least that's what T'Pol will recommend. This is the closest I can get to the scroll without a scanner. But I doubt they'll expect us so soon."

"There wasn't any traffic, so...well, I made real good time."

Malcolm nodded. "They should show up in about half an hour or so. We can wait here, unless you feel like looking for them?"

Trip nodded and started off again.

They drove aimlessly for almost fifteen minutes; Trip slowing once to point out a shirt on a mannequin that he thought looked nice.

Malcolm had politely refrained from making a nasty remark and had made a non-committal sound instead.

They turned the corner just in time to see four people, three dressed in perfectly normal clothing and one in grubby Archollian garb, dash into a building. With three armed Andorians roaring down upon them.

***

Hoshi limped along as fast as she could, Travis and Jon helping her. T'Pol darted ahead, checking doors, trying to find any that would open. Hoshi felt for the pistol that Trip had taken from the Andorians. It didn't have a stun setting and she was loath to use it.

Her crewmates were unarmed; Jon deciding not to bring Starfleet issued weapons in keeping with T'Pol's admonishment about not being linked to any organization in case the Archollians caught them.

She wished they had something though. T'Pol tugged at another door and it swung open, but the Andorians were almost upon them. Hoshi withdrew the pistol and pulled away from Jon and Travis. She fired over the Andorians' heads, covering her crewmates, and the Andorians swerved away, scattering. Jon yanked her into the building.

"Here." She shoved the pistol into Jon's hands. He nodded and helped her along, Hoshi smothering a hiss as another twinge shot through her ankle. They followed T'Pol and Travis into a lift, T'Pol hitting a button at random. The doors slid shut just as the Andorians rounded the corner and barreled toward them.

They stood in silence, catching their breath as the lift rose gently upward. Music played softly. Hoshi thought with disgust that all elevator music was the same, no matter where you went.

"Man. This music sucks," Travis noted. Hoshi laughed, the tension breaking within her, her worry that she'd slow her crewmates down forgotten for the moment. He grinned at her and she poked him in the ribs. He winked at her.

The door opened and they exited onto a wide cat walk, an idle production line system following the center of the platform, small foot square boxes crowding the conveyor belt. Jon cautiously led them down along one side of the conveying system, peering over the railings. Four stories below were huge vats filled with unidentifiable substances, some simmering, some looking frosted and cold.

They followed Jon around the catwalk as quickly as possible, his intention to lead them to the elevator on the opposite side of the room, take that one and lose the Andorians by exiting the building again. He hoped that while the Andorians were busy looking for them inside they could slip out undetected, perhaps appropriating the Andorians' cycles in the process for their own use.

The doors to the lift they had been in opened and the three Andorians spilled out, guns drawn. Jon brought his weapon up and they froze.

"The scroll," the Andorian with the white covering over his nose demanded.

"We don't have it," Jon lied smoothly. He jerked his head toward T'Pol. "Her partner took off with it. Said he wanted to make a deal with the Klingons."

The Andorian's antennae flattened and he had a hushed and hurried conversation with his companions.

The elevator door on the other side of the room opened and two Klingons appeared. All of the guns swung toward them.

"We want the scroll," one of them roared at T'Pol.

"We lay claim to it," the Andorian with a bandaged antenna hissed.

The Klingons and Andorians exchanged words, arguing back and forth about who was going to take the scroll. Hoshi surreptitiously lifted the lid of one of the boxes.

She nudged Travis who looked into the box and grinned widely, then attracted T'Pol's attention. A look was exchanged among the three of them, T'Pol's face conveying her confusion.

The Klingons and Andorians advanced on the Enterprise crew slowly, Jon's gun swivelling back and forth while his orders to remain still were ignored.

The third elevator on the far end of the room opened and Trip and Malcolm darted out, weapons drawn. All guns immediately swung towards them. They froze.

"Is this a bad time?" Trip asked.

Chapter 25

Someone fired.

Everyone scattered. Soon beams of energy were flying and the room erupted into chaos.

Trip dove for cover, his tiny launcher tight in his grip. He had given Malcolm the Andorian pistol, figuring Malcolm would make better use of it. Without a stun setting Trip hadn't wanted to kill someone by mistake.

Malcolm had withdrawn a compact little weapon from one of his coat pockets and handed it to Trip. The gun was cold in his palm.

"It shoots tranquilizer darts. They're made of ice. Tough enough to go through clothing, it melts once it penetrates the skin, leaving no trace behind except for a small puncture wound. It's not really meant to be used from a distance, so unless you're a spot on shot, it's difficult to hit someone. You've only got a baker's dozen there, so aim carefully."

Trip hadn't had time to examine the weapon. He ducked down behind a piece of equipment, trying not to get his head blown off.

He fired three times with no results. He adjusted his aim, closing one eye and sighting carefully, taking his time. He squeezed the trigger twice.

He hit one of the Klingons and after a few moments the man toppled as if an anvil had dropped from the sky and fallen on his head.

Trip grinned. It was a beautiful piece of engineering and he couldn't wait to see how the miniature freezing unit was put together.

He fired twice in quick succession, but the other Klingon made it to cover. Trip crawled forward, trying to line up one of the Andorians instead. He fired a few more times, but the Andorians were too well protected. He was running out of darts and he remained behind his cover, waiting for an opportunity.

Hoshi and Travis had scrunched down behind the assembly line, T'Pol next to Jon as he continued to fire. The Andorians were trying to get around to their side of the conveying system and the remaining Klingon was keeping Jon busy. Malcolm was alternating between the Andorians and Klingon all the while trying to move forward, but one of the Andorians turned and fired, causing Malcolm to dive out of the way and flatten himself against the wall. The alien continued his barrage, pinning the armory officer down.

Hoshi snaked a hand up and grabbed one of the boxes off the conveyor belt. Travis followed her example and told T'Pol to do the same.

"I fail to see how we will be able to use these in self-defensive," T'Pol whispered. Travis thought she sounded a little testy.

"Just do your best, Sub-Commander," Hoshi said. She took her ammunition out of the box and suddenly rose, flinging it toward the Klingon.

Her aim was accurate. The fluffy cream pie hit the man in the face, blinding him.

Travis' missile struck the Andorian with the bandaged antenna in the face and he followed up with another pie to the third Andorian, while T'Pol's deadly precision knocked the weapon out of the Klingon's hand. It fell over the railing, clattering to the floor far below.

Hoshi grabbed more pies and tossed them at the Andorians, dislodging the gun from the hand of the one with the broken nose. He snarled in frustration and wiped what appeared to be a broccoli-like filling from his face, and bent to retrieve his weapon. Hoshi flung her pie like a discus and the gun went skittering over the catwalk and into a bubbling vat.

Malcolm popped up and fired. The remaining Andorian howled and grasped his hand, falling against a console and his gun dropping to the ground.

The assembly line sprang to life.

Travis and Hoshi exchanged lunatic grins and started to tear into the oncoming boxes, flinging pies at their adversaries, trying to batter them into submission. Neither wanted to engage in hand to hand combat with them and they made their shots count.

Malcolm swung around to the Klingon and fired again, but the pistol was drained. He mentally cursed the Andorian who hadn't fully charged his weapon before taking it into battle. He tossed it aside and grabbed a pie.

Jon rose from his position and charged the now disarmed Klingon.

Unfortunately Trip had chosen that moment to fire. He hit Jon.

In the buttock.

Jon went down, a dazed look on his face as the floor rushed up to met him.

Malcolm protected his unconscious captain with an onslaught of pie tossing, preventing the Klingon from advancing on Archer. Trip rushed forward into the line of fire, grabbing Jon by the ankles and pulling him backwards towards his crewmates.

They were hit by several pies.

At least it made the floor slippery enough to make dragging Jon easier.

The Andorians hunkered down further along the assembly line and were throwing pies in retaliation. The Klingon roared with anger and ripped pies out of their boxes.

Curses, threats, and pies filled the air. Malcolm tried to flank the Andorians, a steady barrage of pastries leaving their hands. Malcolm ducked and struck back with a one-two toss and watched in satisfaction as the broken nosed Andorian was knocked back by the onslaught.

He glanced over at Hoshi while he darted forward, re-arming himself. He chose a pie with a thick purple glazing this time.

He admired Hoshi's aim as she snatched up pies, one after the other, hitting the broken antenna Andorian several times despite his protective shelter. He knew she was good with a shot glass, but with a pie—true artistry. Her selection of what seemed to be a baked bean and meringue pie was inspired. The result was nicely disgusting.

T'Pol had a look of intense concentration on her face and Trip thought she was calculating vector and launch speeds as she aimed for the overhang above the Klingon. It hit and bounced downward, landing atop the Klingon's head. He bellowed in rage and hit T'Pol several times. She beat a hasty and messy retreat.

Malcolm winced as Hoshi took a hit to the torso from the Andorian with the broken nose. The man yelled in triumphant, and then said something in Andorian which Malcolm's UT didn't catch. Hoshi narrowed her eyes and shouted something back in the same language, unloading two pies in rapid succession, striking the man in the face and leg. He ducked down again, bellowing something and Hoshi replied, just as furious.

Travis had been hit several times, but continued tossing his pastries with steadfast determination. His accuracy wasn't the best, but he methodically continued his bombardment, keeping the Klingon from gaining any ground toward them. Trip had finally dragged Jon to safety and he scrambled next to T'Pol, slipping and sliding in the filling and crusts littering the floor.

Trip was almost unidentifiable underneath the blanket of pie filling and toppings. But he spoke rapidly to T'Pol and she nodded. T'Pol rose, using herself as bait, hurling pies at the Klingon, drawing him out of his shelter. Trip fired his dart gun. The Klingon fell.

Hoshi and Travis worked in tandem, keeping up a steady salvo of tasty projectiles, allowing Malcolm to flank the Andorians. He reached out and grabbed the Andorian with the injured hand by the foot and yanked him back, punching him hard and knocking him out.

Malcolm dodged a pie sent his way when the other two Andorians realized that their compatriot had been assaulted. Trip hit the broken antennaed Andorian with another dart and the man slumped over.

The last Andorian, realizing he was outnumbered, raised his hands, surrendering.

Travis and Hoshi rose, and Malcolm made his careful way over the treacherously slick floor toward them. His crewmates were covered in filling and topping and the sight made him grin slightly, although T'Pol managed to maintain her dignity while trying to wipe the massive dollops of slimy toppings and fruity fillings from her face and clothing.

Hoshi looked at Malcolm. He was spotless. Not a pie mark on him. She was about to make a comment on this when

Trip aimed his weapon at the Andorian. "Drop...your...pie."

Travis and Hoshi started laughing at Trip's deadly serious intonation. His eyes sparkled with merriment. He had always wanted to paraphrase that famous line—

The Andorian hurled the pie at Hoshi, knocking her backwards, the slippery mess on the floor sending her off balance.

And over the railing.

Chapter 26

She tried to seize the railing but her hands merely floated along it, too greasy to maintain a hold, her inevitable descent hesitating only for a moment or two. She fell.

Trip shot the Andorian, just missing Malcolm who catapulted himself after her with an inarticulate howl.

Shocked, Travis watched in horror as Hoshi fell and Malcolm hurtled after her. Malcolm's momentum sent him crashing into her, pushing her through the air, altering the trajectory that would send them plummeting four stories to the concrete below.

They landed in one of the enormous deep vats filled with something white and disappeared below the surface.

Trip skidded over to the side of railing, catching himself from falling over, but the dart gun was knocked from his grasp, its landing to the floor below echoed as it shattered.

"Hoshi! Malcolm!" Trip yelled.

Travis and T'Pol leaned over the edge of the railing, silent and tense.

For one long minute the three of them stood there, frozen. Then they saw the surface move and churn and two blobs broke through.

Trip was never so glad to hear Malcolm's obscenity laced diatribe.

Hoshi was ranting in an alien language. Travis had no doubt that it was just as foul.

Trip and Travis raced to the elevator while T'Pol stayed with Jon, collecting the guns and guarding their unconscious adversaries.

Malcolm and Hoshi floundered about, trying not to sink. Hoshi's foot hit something and she latched onto it. A ledge of some sort. She pulled her way toward it and perched upon it, wiping the whipped cream from her face. She could see Malcolm, completely covered, and stuck a hand out to him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and guiding him over.

Malcolm swabbed the whipped cream from his eyes and opened them. He saw Hoshi's cream smeared face, her eyes wide, a numb look in them. He didn't realize that his held the same expression.

He reached out and crushed her to him with a fierceness he couldn't control. They clung to each other, their adrenaline charged bodies trembling.

Hoshi felt tears slip out, the delayed fear and overwhelming relief mingled. Malcolm kissed her several times, simply breathing her name repeatedly, his voice low and hoarse. She could feel his heart pounding wildly and she inhaled deeply, letting the tears fall without shame, the outlet calming her.

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, attempting to drive his emotions back.

They jumped when something banged on the side of the vat.

"Malcolm! Hoshi! You in there?" Trip called out.

"Yes, Commander," Malcolm replied. His voice shook slightly and he swallowed. Hoshi hugged him tighter and kissed him. She tentatively smiled at him and he offered her a small unsteady grin in return.

"You guys okay?" Travis shouted.

They looked at each other. Hoshi nodded.

"Yes. We're fine. Just a bit...ruffled."

"That's an understatement, Lieutenant," Hoshi muttered to him. He chuckled and kissed her again. She started snickering and they laughed harder, unable to help themselves.

Travis and Trip exchanged looks. "I think they're in shock," Travis said.

"Hell, I'm in shock," Trip replied. "I thought they were goners..." He spoke up louder. "Well, you guys sit tight and have a nice...giggle. Travis and I'll look for something to get you out of there."

The vat was almost a story high itself. They'd have to get on the level above it and lower something down to their crewmates. Trip and Travis set out, looking for anything they could use to fish Hoshi and Malcolm out.

Malcolm leaned into her and caught his breath, his laughter subsiding as he worked hard to clamped down on his outburst. Hoshi continued to laugh breathlessly and he licked her, a gleam in his eyes.

"I always wanted to get you covered in whipped cream, Ensign." He pulled her hand up and slowly sucked her index finger into his mouth. Hoshi stopped laughing and stared at him. He gazed into her eyes and delicately moved on to the next finger, lapping the cream from it.

He continued with each of her fingers, the look in his eyes intense as he met hers. He started on her other hand and Hoshi brought his hand up to her mouth. He shivered when she wrapped her tongue around his finger and slowly suckled on the whipped cream covering it.

She licked his cheek. He licked her nose. They laved at each others' ears and neck, along jaw lines, chins and foreheads, cleaning each other, their bodies gliding smoothly against each other.

His hands delved beneath the surface and he touched her, stroking her, his fingers playing over her body. She grabbed his head and pulled him toward her. She opened her mouth and kissed him thoroughly. He tasted sweet. He responded, enthusiastically, his tongue lingering over hers, savoring her. He made that sound, the one in the back of his throat, barely audible and deep. But she heard it. And it sent a thrill through her. She let her hands fall beneath the surface and held him. She felt the goose bumps rising along his rib cage as she swept her fingers over his skin and up to his chest.

She let her hands reverse direction and explored lower.

He actually growled and pulled her onto his lap, his hands now busy at her clothing. He felt her fingers leave his stomach, sliding downwards.

T'Pol looked away as they kissed again, and checked the captain once more. She would never understand humans, their many responses to stress.

Or their propensity to indulge in mating at incongruous times.

Although she admitted that it would be interesting to learn more about it.

For purely research purposes of course.

***

It took them close to thirty minutes to extricate Hoshi and Malcolm.

Not that Hoshi and Malcolm seemed to mind.

Travis thought for a couple of people who almost died, they seemed to be pretty relaxed. Trip was surprised that Malcolm hadn't complained about being wet and cold. In fact, Malcolm hadn't bitched about the wait or anything.

He supposed there was always the first time for everything.

T'Pol merely cocked an eyebrow at them. Malcolm saw something in T'Pol's eyes and he put two and two together, where she had been standing on the catwalk, that teasing glint. He gave her a self-conscious look, his cheeks beginning to color slightly. Hoshi just smiled at her, the composed look of a woman who was blissfully ignorant.

T'Pol considered how to work references to whipping cream into conversations with the lieutenant in the near future. Or perhaps she'd ask Chef to serve it as a topping next time he made pineapple cobbler.

Travis had found some rags and Hoshi and Malcolm wiped themselves off the best they could. Their hair looked matted and greasy, and their skin had a slight sheen to it, and they were a bit oily to the touch, but at least they weren't covered in that frothy sweetness any longer. Travis thought they smelled pretty good though. A lot better than the Archollians.

Their adversaries were still out cold, T'Pol having to nerve pinch the Andorian Malcolm had punched when the man started to come around. Unfortunately Jon was still unconscious as well.

Malcolm explained that the tranquilizer would last for about three or four more hours for humans, unknown for aliens.

This changed T'Pol's plans. She improvised.

"Ensign Sato, I believe that you should do as we had discussed and rent a boat. Obviously the captain is in no condition to aid us and you will need to get him to safety. Commander Tucker, I believe you and Ensign Mayweather should accompany Ensign Sato to assist her, as well as to carry the captain."

"No, T'Pol. I got a cab outside. We'll put Jon in there, have Hoshi drive it down to the dock, rent the boat, and have her get the Cap'n on board. Then you, me, Travis and Malcolm will go find this scroll of yours, meet Hoshi and head back to the shuttlepod."

"I'm sure Lieutenant Reed and I will be capable of carrying out this task on our own, Commander."

"Now wait a minute. We still have four of your Vulcan friends after us. They're out looking for you. They don't care about Hoshi or Jon. It's you they're going after. And you might as well have the muscle to back you up."

"How very manly, Trip," Hoshi commented dryly.

"Hey, we're manly men," Travis noted. He flexed his biceps and grinned at her. She poked him.

"All our manliness wouldn't help us against Vulcans," Malcolm interjected. "T'Pol could snap our spines like a twig if she was so inclined. I think the less people involved the better."

"Hold on. I'm just saying that me and Travis would be able to watch your backs. Two more sets of eyes while you two go gallivanting around looking for that damn scroll," Trip protested.

"Commander, it's just two more people for me to look af—"

"Lieutenant, it's two more people covering your a—"

"Gentlemen," T'Pol interrupted, just as they were warming up. They looked at her.

"Commander Tucker has a point. Your assistance could be useful. Let us get the captain into your vehicle. Ensign, please procure a fast boat. Preferably large enough to hold the six of us comfortably." T'Pol had had quite enough of being jammed into a crowded subway with the Archollians. A little space would be gratifying.

"Of course Sub-Commander," Hoshi agreed.

Malcolm silently conceded defeat and went to gather the captain. Trip and Travis helped and they soon had Jon bundled in the passenger seat. Hoshi looked around for the driver.

Trip opened the other door, indicating for Hoshi to slide behind the wheel. "Now, if you get pulled over or something, just tell the cop that the Cap'n's your dad, and they'll let you go," he said with an impudent grin.

"What?"

"Yeah, first offense for a stealing a cab is releasing you back to your parents," Trip said.

"This cab is stolen?" She gave Malcolm a disapproving glare.

"We didn't have any money," Malcolm said defensively. "We left the meter running—you could pay it off..."

She sat behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. "Great. Leave me with a hot cab, an unconscious captain, and the bill, while you guys go on a little treasure hunt. I hope you all have chunky fruit pieces in your shorts."

Malcolm leaned in the window and kissed her. "Sorry." He lowered his voice. "But I feel better knowing that you'll be safe. We'll meet you down at the dock and comm you to let you know we're coming. I love you." He kissed her again and she kissed him back, not actually angry. Her ankle hurt and she didn't want to slow them down. Or make that hike up to Happy Acres.

"Besides, the most important part of a heist is the getaway—and I can't think of anyone better suited to make sure it goes smoothly." He grinned at her and she chuckled and brought her lips to his again.

"Watch yourself," she said.

He nodded. "Love you. Always."

"You too."

She drove away and Malcolm turned to T'Pol, awaiting her instructions.

She looked at the Andorians' abandoned cycles. "Do any of you know how to drive one of those?" she asked.

Malcolm smiled and Trip groaned.

"I am not riding with you," Trip snapped at him and mounted one of them, starting the engine. T'Pol slid behind him and he looked at her, surprised. She looked back at him blandly.

Malcolm's smile stayed on his face as he climbed on the other one. Travis shrugged and got behind him.

"You could always take the third one if you like, Travis," Malcolm said.

"Nah. I just want to relax and watch the scenery go by for a change."

Trip snorted a laugh. "Good luck." He started off, heading to Happy Acres, T'Pol telling him where to go. Malcolm followed.

Chapter 27

Hoshi drove carefully through the empty streets, making it without incident down to the dock. She left Jon in the cab, not quite knowing what else to do with him. She entered a rental company and waited until an Archollian appeared behind the counter.

The handsome young man had a friendly face and was wearing an eye watering outfit. The baggy multi-colored shorts made Hoshi wince. She tried not to look at the pattern of his shirt for fear of getting vertigo.

"I'd like to rent a boat," she said, pulling out a thick wad of currency.

"Certainly, my dear! Here for the festivities? Or will you be entering the races?"

"Just a little pleasure cruising with my friends," she replied. She made a note to herself not to tell Travis anything about the races. Their boomer was as big of a speed demon as Malcolm and she was sure Travis would try to talk the rest into entering a race as soon as T'Pol had recovered the other scroll.

"So nice. How many in your party?"

Hoshi told him and he called up several different models on his screen. He explained at length the different features, the amenities, all the small luxuries each had to offer. Hoshi ran a greasy hand through her equally greasy hair and opted for one with some excellent shipboard facilities. The fact that it had a complete kitchen on board was a plus.

He shamelessly flirted with her the entire time.

She flirted back.

She got him to agree to allow them to leave the boat at the harbor by the subway line to the space port. She flirted a bit harder.

He gave her a discount.

He even helped her haul Jon onto the boat, settling the captain into a lounge chair on the deck.

Jon looked happy. Not that he was aware of anything.

The Archollian, Songar, gave her a tour of the ship and explained everything she needed to know. They took it out and he let her get the feel of the boat, letting her do the piloting. They brought it back to the dock and he then suggested that his brother-in-law could get her a couple of outfits, wholesale of course, considering that she was looking a little ragged.

She accepted.

She spent the next two hours happily selecting clothing for everyone from an electronic catalog that Songar so helpfully went through with her. While lounging in the sun. As she sipped a sweet effervescent little concoction from the shipboard kitchen that Songar thoughtfully made for her. Along with several exquisite snacks he had whipped up.

It was nice to put her feet up and relax. Especially in such charming company. He waited on her hand and foot. It was like having her own personal cabana boy.

And such a good looking one too. She realized that the long canine teeth were kind of sexy and she smiled.

While selecting a pair of pants for Trip she decided that despite the smell of the inhabitants, she could really enjoy staying here.

***

Travis breathed through his mouth. Happy Acres was packed with Archollians and his nasal suppressant was definitely wearing off. Trip had the look of a man who just found something unpleasant on the bottom of his shoe. Malcolm was being stoic in his disregard for the overwhelming scent, and T'Pol didn't smell a thing.

She secretly found the circumstances amusing. If her crewmates thought this was bad, they should have been in her shoes during their stay in the catwalk a few years ago. Eighty-one sweaty humans and a Denobulan, not to mention a small canine and three other aliens, with only one toilet and no shower, had been most unpleasant. At the time she had seriously considered risking the radiation just to retrieve her nasal numbing agent from her quarters, regardless of the consequences. Logic had prevailed at the time, but she had been sorely tempted.

If only Trip had installed a shower...and if she never saw Dr. Phlox's toenail clippings again, she could die a satisfied woman.

The readings on her scanner wavered and the properties from the second scroll registered with more strength. She led her shipmates through the picnicking crowds, the food vendors with their carts, the people riding their different vehicles of conveyance, those odd boards and even odder looking bicycle-like transports. She could see the ocean from up here, a vast body of water with barely discernible boats dotting it, the small seaside town with its broad oceanfront street and boardwalk. Several paved paths led downward from this hill, some with stairs and railings jutting from the landscape, some smooth steep grades, others meandering trails zig-zagging through the terrain.

They strayed through the crowd, T'Pol concentrating on her scanner. Malcolm studied the people, looking for disguised Vulcans and Travis watched the flit boarders performing tricks and rocketing through the mass of Archollians on the pathways. Trip walked next to T'Pol, eyes traveling between her readings and her profile.

She stopped suddenly and Travis, eyes on a group of flit boarders, bumped into her. He gave her a sheepish smile.

"Two hundred meters that way," she indicated with a nod of her head and an icy gaze directed at the helmsman. She led them off the path and down the hill, into the scrub and thorny bushes. Brambles tugged at their clothing and Travis and Trip used their bodies to keep back some of the sharper offshoots, allowing T'Pol and Malcolm to pass, mindful of their crewmates' exposed skin.

They wound up in a muddy gully and T'Pol finally stopped, her scanner pointing downward.

"It appears to be buried. Approximately four meters down."

Malcolm muttered something under his breath and T'Pol turned to him with a cool look.

"Stop whining, krenath."

"I'm not whining, Duchess. I'm complaining. I hate digging ditches; I spent two months doing that and I have no desire to repeat it. Plus, I'm going to end up even filthier than I already am," he said petulantly.

"I believe the prescribed response is 'poor baby'."

Trip and Travis burst out laughing and even Malcolm smiled just a touch.

"Maybe there's a maintenance shed around. They must have shovels to work on the landscaping. We can borrow them," Travis suggested helpfully.

T'Pol nodded.

"Why don't you two stay here; Travis and I'll take a look round," Malcolm said. T'Pol looked tired to him and he thought that Trip's back must still be painful.

T'Pol agreed, managing to convey her gratitude without changing her expression, and Trip gave Malcolm a brief smile in relief. He eased himself down against a tree, relaxing in the shade, careful not to put too much pressure on his back.

Travis rubbed his chest, which was still aching, but didn't say anything. He'd been hurt worse while engaging in sports and he knew he was up to any task as long as he didn't push it. He started forward, climbing back up the banks of the gully. Malcolm began to follow him, then turned and looked at T'Pol and Trip.

"And if you two run out of things to talk about, may I suggest a topic? Interspecies relationships?" He grinned widely at both of them and scampered up the slope after Travis, missing the foul looks his two crewmates shot him.

T'Pol muttered something under her breath in Vulcan and she continued to monitor her scanner, walking carefully around the mud.

Trip studied her, taking in her artificial pale coloring, her dark hair making her look like a fragile spectral being. The canines that jutted out delicately from between her generous lips, her eyes seemingly larger and darker, outlined as they were; the combination made her look dangerous and even more exotic. He tried to look away, to force his feelings aside, but found he could not.

She looked at him, as if sensing his eyes upon her.

"So. Malcolm said you guys had fun."

"The Lieutenant's concept of 'fun' usually includes explosions and mass destruction; therefore I would not put much credence in his statement." She checked her readings one last time and strolled over to him. "Besides, Vulcans do not have 'fun'."

Trip smiled slightly. "Aww, come on now. Sliding down banisters? Stealing that scroll right under the noses of the Archollians? Not to mention a couple of Klingons and Andorians? And tossing pies around? You can't tell me you didn't enjoy it a little bit?"

T'Pol looked thoughtful. "I would not say 'enjoy'. It has been however, a fascinating study of improvisation and how random circumstances lead to spontaneous results which some may perceive as...entertaining."

"So you enjoyed it," Trip stated with authority and a grin.

She looked him squarely in the eye. "I fail to see how you humans find being chased, soaked, exhausted, hungry, and covered in mud and dessert items, enjoyable."

Trip laughed. "God, you sound like Malcolm."

She tried not to wince. Perhaps the mind melds had contaminated her...

"I suppose the Lieutenant was justified in his complaints."

"Well, don't tell him that, you'll just encourage him."

"Indeed," she replied, and Trip saw the barest hint of an upward curl to her lip.

Trip motioned for her to sit down. She hesitated for a moment and then yielded to her weariness. Trip watched her.

"Tired?"

"The last few days have been...active," she conceded.

She was exhausted. Hungry. Dirty, gritty, and sticky. Her shoulder ached where Spork had landed his blow. She was sure it was badly bruised and it hurt when she moved it too much. She closed her eyes, appreciating the warmth of the sun on her body. She and Malcolm had thrown their tattered coats into the cab with Hoshi, the dusters saturated with the remains from the battle in the pie factory and no longer useful. Not that they were much good for anything but carrying their equipment, most of which they had lost in any case.

She attempted to still her thoughts and just listened to the faraway drone of the crowds, the sound of the surrounding trees rustling in the faint breeze, birdsong, small animals creeping in the underbrush, feeling the heat of the day on her exposed skin. She tried to push away the invading awareness of Trip so close to her, that almost subliminal hum she could feel whenever in his presence, at once comforting and familiar, yet energizing.

They sat in silence for several minutes and she reviewed the last three days to turn her thoughts away from the man sitting beside her. If she was completely honest with herself, and she always was, she had to acknowledge that these past few days had made her appreciate facets of her career when she had worked for Intelligence, reminding her of the inappropriate satisfaction she had often felt when performing certain assignments. It hadn't been all bad.

However, she much preferred where she was now. On Enterprise. With people who were open and decent, not yet jaded by the wonders that the universe had to offer. People who had slowly come to accept her as one of their own. People like the man sitting next to her. People like Malcolm and Jon, Hoshi and Travis. People whom she could call friends.

She let her mind ponder their escape from the museum. She had to admit that she had found the planning and physical activity to outwit the silent alarms and their unexpected rivals invigorating.

Something must have shown on her face, because Trip broke the long silence.

"You had fun," he said softly, and she opened her eyes. His smile was tender and understanding.

She stared steadily back at him. "Yes," she confessed quietly.

"There's no shame in admitting to enjoying yourself, T'Pol."

"It is not the Vulcan way," she replied automatically and looked away.

He touched the side of her face, gently moving her head to face him again. "From what I've gathered, you haven't lived a very Vulcan life. There's nothing wrong with that. Look at Travis—a boomer's life isn't your average human's way. Look at Phlox. Denobulans usually don't go traipsing off to wander the galaxy with another species. Hell, look at me, a Florida boy who just likes to tinker with engines, out in the middle of space, surrounded by a bunch scientists and explorers. IDIC, T'Pol. That's what you're always telling me."

He caressed her cheek once, then let his hand drop and smiled wistfully at her. "Pick and chose what you want from your people, T'Pol and screw the rest. Live your life the way it satisfies you. No one owes you anything, and you don't owe anyone anything."

She contemplated his words, seriously considering them.

Advice. From a human.

Perhaps her people were right in deeming her mad.

Because his words made sense to her.

She looked at him for a very long time, searching his face, the sincerity and compassion on it. She thought about what she wanted, she thought about Trip, she thought about her life. She opened her mouth to finally say something, for the first time in her life unsure exactly what would come out, when she heard whistling.

She looked over and Trip followed her gaze. A few moments later the sound traveled to his less sensitive ears.

Travis and Malcolm came into view, shovels over their shoulders, Malcolm uncharacteristically whistling an unidentified tune. He finished the melody and looked at T'Pol, one eyebrow cocked as they continued down the slope until they stopped in front of her and Trip.

She inclined her head slightly, thanking him for his warning of their approach. He handed her a shovel, a smug and knowing look on his face. He winked at her, unable to conceal the teasing glint in his eyes.

She raised her eyebrow coolly and thought that perhaps she would simply hand him a bowl of whipped cream in the mess hall during dinner one night.

Chapter 28

Hoshi admired her handiwork.

Jon looked absolutely...hideous.

She stifled another giggle and Songar smiled warmly at her.

"He looks fabulous, don't you think?"

She managed to keep a straight face. "Yes. Very native."

Songar's brother-in-law had delivered the apparel she had ordered and Songar had helped her remove Jon's sodden clothing, which had been sticky and getting stiff, attracting small biting insects.

She gazed at her captain. It wasn't half bad. If you squinted.

The pants were a bright orange. A really bright orange. And fuzzy.

The shirt wasn't too awful. If you liked fishnet. In neon yellow. But the vest topped it off nicely. At least the print of the sad eyed clowns was on the back and you could always lean against something to hide it.

Jon still lay sprawled in a lounge chair, out cold. She had been concerned about spending time in the sun on their way back, so she had ordered hats for everyone.

Jon looked kind of cute in his.

It resembled a flamenco dancer's hat. Complete with bright orange dingle balls hanging fringe-like from the brim.

And at least it matched his pants. She couldn't wait for him to try on the shoes.

She wished she had Trip's camera.

Her own outfit was an eyesore, but she had to admit, it fit well.

She smothered another laugh as she contemplated what her crewmates probable reactions would be to their new wardrobe.

***

Trip had to stop digging about forty-five minutes into their efforts, his back too painful to continue. His crewmates forced him to quit, T'Pol demanding to see the injury. She had given him a stern look after inspecting the bruise, gently probing it with muddy fingers. She ordered him to cease at once, telling him that further labor could cause more damage.

Travis had to discontinue a few minutes into the second hour. He had tried to conceal his misery, each scoop of mud causing his chest to throb and burn. T'Pol had turned her laser sharp stare on him as she examined his contusions and sent him to sit with Trip. As Travis crawled out of the sludgy pit, he heard her mutter under her breath about stubborn and illogical human males.

Trip and Travis watched as Malcolm and T'Pol continued to dig, the mud pouring into the hole, every shovelful seeming to leave two in its wake.

Twenty minutes after his banishment, Travis heard a low hiss from T'Pol and she suddenly stopped. Malcolm turned to her in concern and she shook her head, then bent to lift another shovelful of mud. She inhaled sharply again and dropped her shovel, fingers flying to her shoulder, and Malcolm shot a hand out to steady her.

Travis couldn't hear their low and rapid conversation, but he could see the expressions on their grimy faces. T'Pol was arguing logically, trying to keep her expression bland, but Travis could see a hint of strain. Malcolm was arguing hotly, his voice quiet but the tone emphatic.

Malcolm touched her shoulder and she flinched. He crossed his arms and glared at her, then said something that made T'Pol's eyes narrow. Malcolm said something that sounded like 'stubborn and illogical Vulcan females' and then smirked.

Travis was surprised to see T'Pol's mouth twitch and she shot something back which made Malcolm laugh.

T'Pol called up to her crewmates. "I will need assistance," she stated calmly.

Travis and Trip rose and made their way to the edge of the muddy pit. She started to climb, slipping back down as she tried to ascend the wet, crumbling walls of the hole. Travis and Trip knelt down and offered their hands to her. Malcolm murmured an apology and grabbed her hips, boosting her up the muddy slope. She managed to keep her face calm as she reached out her good arm to her crewmates above, their hands still several centimeters away from hers.

Her face didn't change expression when Malcolm used his shoulder to support her then heaved, planting his grubby hands on her backside and pushed her upwards with a grunt into the waiting grips of Trip and Travis. They pulled her up the last half meter out of the pit and the three of them went sprawling on the banks of the hole.

"God, my back," Trip moaned.

"My chest," Travis replied with a groan.

T'Pol didn't say anything. Although she was sorely tempted to add to their complaints with one of her own about her shoulder.

She was now certain she had been tainted by her human crewmates.

The three of them walked back to the tree and watched Malcolm. Travis wisely did not mention the two soiled but perfectly formed handprints on the seat of T'Pol's pants.

They watched in silence as Malcolm dug for another hour, finally hitting stone. T'Pol's scanner confirmed that a small metallic box was encased in the bedrock. The readings indicated that it contained a scroll with an identical make up to the one in her possession. T'Pol had the other scroll out and the gemstone was glowing brightly and she felt a wave of satisfaction mixed with frustration when Malcolm's shovel could not break through the rocky barrier.

She rejected Malcolm's suggestion of blowing a hole in the bedrock. Malcolm's aggravation was apparent.

T'Pol and Trip discussed the matter, Travis chiming in with his opinion on occasion as the three of them tried to figure out the best way to crack open the bedrock without harming the scroll.

Malcolm finally sat down in the cold mud, indifferent at this point. He closed his eyes and thought about a hot shower. A decent meal. A bed with clean sheets. Hoshi.

Hoshi in a hot shower; Hoshi in his bed with the clean sheets.

Hoshi, shower, bed.

Hoshi. Bed.

Hoshi.

Damn. Bugger the bed, bugger a decent meal and bugger the clean sheets.

He thought about Hoshi. In a vat of whipped cream.

Trip had said his name four times before he was aware of it.

"You fall asleep in there?" Trip called down to him. Malcolm had that faraway smile on his face and Trip smirked. It was what he had come to recognize as Malcolm's Hoshi Induced Lust Look.

"No. Just...thinking." He looked up at Trip's dirty visage with its taunting and much too knowing grin and that worked as well as a cold shower. "Did you three decide anything, or shall I just amuse myself by making mud pies?" Malcolm said, a little harsher than he intended. A man couldn't even have a decent daydream without being interrupted...

"We have decided to fill the hole in and return tonight with the proper equipment to extricate the scroll without the risk of damaging it," T'Pol said serenely, looking down at him. Travis gave him a chagrined little smile and a shrug.

Malcolm counted to ten. Three times.

His arms and back were sore from digging. He was tired. Hungry. Plus, it went without saying, although he mentally said it anyway in a fit of pique, filthy.

And his nice little reverie about Hoshi had been rudely interrupted.

"No."

His crewmates looked at him in surprise. He had said it so quietly. So calmly.

He stood and shoved his hands in his pockets, searching. "It's been fun Sub-Commander, but if I have to spend a moment longer covered in mud and sweating my arse off like a grave robber at midnight, I'll go stark raving. I've reached my limit, T'Pol. I didn't bloody well dig this hole just to fill it in again."

He pulled something out of his left front pocket, and another item out of his right front pocket. He squatted down in front of the bedrock and studied it carefully. He tore a little piece of the clay-like material off and molded it to the rocky surface, embedded the second object into it and then scrambled up the side. Trip and Travis helped pull him clear of the pit and he herded his crewmates several meters back.

"Lieutenant—" T'Pol began with a warning tone, then cut herself off as he gave her a deadly serious and slightly unnerving smile. He maintained eye contact with her as he pulled one last device from his pocket.

He detonated the charge.

Mud and rock went flying in a silent explosion.

The debris had barely settled before Malcolm jumped back into the pit. Moments later he called to them.

"Heads up."

A metallic box was flung out of the pit and Trip caught it automatically.

Malcolm tossed the shovel out and then he hauled himself out of the mire, slithering and skidding until Travis lent him a hand.

Trip sat down under the tree again, fussing with the box. T'Pol stared at Malcolm and then arched one of her eyebrows.

"Thank you, krenath. I would have never thought that there was any redeeming value to Human impatience."

He smiled at her, this time an amused one. "Illogical males, Duchess."

"Indeed." She turned from him, walking over to Trip, her scanner out and pointing at the container in his hands. Travis and Malcolm followed.

Trip looked at her. "This is closed up tight. But there's no locking mechanism or anything. I'll need some time to figure out how to crack it open."

"According to my readings, it does contain another scroll. We can open it when we return to Ensign Sato and the Captain. Unless you would like to blow this up as well, Lieutenant?" she added, her tone changing as she looked at him.

"That's all right, Sub-Commander. I understand the redeeming value of Vulcan patience," Malcolm replied, matching her teasing tone.

"Then I suggest we depart. We will return the equipment, then proceed to the docks. Ensign, if you'd be so kind as to contact our crewmates to let them know that we are on the way?"

Malcolm collected the shovels, and they started up the hill again, while Travis opened his communicator.

Chapter 29

"What do you mean I have to cast off now? How will my friends get aboard?" Hoshi asked Songar, looking up at him in disbelief.

"The races start soon. All boats must be at least fifty meters from the shore so as not to interfere with the contests," he replied. "We have small tenders that can bring them to you." He smiled at her and she smiled back. She couldn't help it. He was really cute. A little fragrant, but she wasn't a sweet smelling blossom herself right now.

He'd been a perfect gentleman. He had told her all about the joys of celibacy, allowing him to concentrate all that energy into running his business. He figured that in three more years, he'd have enough capital built up to retire.

He said he would then rut like an Archollian spaxloc.

She hadn't asked what a spaxloc was.

He continued to massage the reeking sun screen into her shoulders and she took another sip of her drink. She supposed that her crewmates would just have to wait for a tender then. She shot a look at Jon, who was still unconscious. They had used a couple of sheets from the bedding stowed below to fashion a makeshift awning over him. He had already developed a nice tan and she hadn't wanted him to get a sunburn. She didn't need a cranky captain waking up and complaining.

Songar moved to massage the lotion into her feet and Hoshi sighed in pure pleasure. This was so much better than searching for some old scroll. She closed her eyes and was just beginning to relax again under Songar's gentle ministrations when her comm chirped.

Songar stopped, and Hoshi, stifling a curse at the cruel interruption, opened the channel.

"Yes?" she snapped, her tone a bit waspish.

"Hoshi?" Travis' voice came over the comm, a bit startled.

She sighed again. "Sorry. How's it going?"

"Just finished up. We'll be there shortly."

"I have to move the boat out to the fifty meter mark. You'll have to wait for a tender to bring you over."

"How will we know which boat you're on?" Travis asked.

Good question. Large pleasure boats were already moving off the dock, and she'd have to join them. Hoshi thought for a moment, and then smiled.

"I'll just run the Captain's pants and shirt up the flagpole," she said sweetly.

Travis laughed. "Do I even want to know, Hoshi?"

She laughed with him. "It'll be the easiest way to spot me; all the boats look pretty much alike."

"Just as long as I don't have to salute them," Travis teased and Hoshi giggled.

"That is a highly inappropriate signaling device, Ensign," T'Pol's stern voice cut in.

Hoshi rolled her eyes. "I'm sorry Sub-Commander, but it's the only one I've got on hand," she replied, keeping her tone serious and steady. Which was difficult, considering that Songar was in the process of sending Jon's pants up the flagpole. She held back a chuckle as it joined the captain's shirt, the breeze catching both items of clothing, making them wave merrily. She could see a small cloud of insects buzzing around them and she bit the inside of her cheek to stop the laughter threatening to engulf her.

After a long moment T'Pol spoke again. "Very well, Ensign. We should meet with you within the hour. T'Pol out."

Hoshi laughed hard after T'Pol closed the comm. Songar joined her.

***

T'Pol handed the comm back to Travis with a reproving gaze and he wiped the smile off his face. He glared at Trip's grin and Malcolm had sagely busied himself with returning the shovels to the maintenance shed. But Travis just knew Malcolm was smirking.

Why did the sub-commander always pick on the ensigns?

Travis moved away from T'Pol's reproachful stare, pocketing the communicator and wandering over to the peculiar vehicle next to the shed. He leaned over it, looking inside.

It was triangular bubble of a thing; three wheeled and looked like it was powered by pedals, much like a tricycle. He figured it was a landscaping cart, evidence of dirt and bits of plant material inside it. Two seated, the steering wheel was triangular shaped as well. He popped open the clear top to get a better look at the interior while Trip and T'Pol stood discussing something.

Malcolm walked over to him.

"Bloody ridiculous looking thing," he said with a small smile.

"Yeah, but it looks like fun. Makes sense. Pedal-powered, non-polluting, great exercise."

Travis and Malcolm were in a deep conversation about the merits of various means of transportation when T'Pol and Trip walked over to them.

Trip looked at the vehicle with interest, handing the metal container to Travis as he peered inside.

"We will take the tram back down to the cycles and then proceed to the dock. We shall have to wait for the tenders to bring us over to the boat, but that shouldn't take too long." T'Pol said as she held her hand out to Travis for the metal box containing the scroll. She had the first one safely tucked along the side of her waist, slipped securely through her belt.

Travis was about to hand it over when a voice rang out.

"We want the scroll. If you resist, I'll shoot her."

Chapter 30

Hoshi said goodbye to Songar with regret. He had been such pleasant, and attractive, company. He had helped her move a now groggy and befuddled Jon down to the large living quarters below deck, planting the captain on the couch and letting him fade in and out of wakefulness.

One wall was composed of an entirely transparent material and she could see the other ships and the ocean spreading out in front of her. The opposite wall was a huge screen and she played with the hi-tech toys strewn about the cabin, finally locating the remote for it.

She flipped through odd entertainment programs, newscasts, and talk shows, none of them holding her interest. She sat toward the end of the enormous couch, Jon stretched out beside her and mumbling occasionally about fish and gazelles. She touched another control button and she saw a view of the empty town. She punched random buttons and the view changed, sometimes toward the beach and the jolly Archollians swarming over it, sometimes towards the hill where her crewmates were. She continued to key in commands and was finally rewarded with the control of what seemed to be a remote camera. She increased the magnification until she could clearly see individuals among the throng celebrating up on Happy Acres.

She fixed herself another snack from the galley then returned to her roost on the couch, this time listening to Jon mutter about cheese, and amused herself by watching the crowd. She tried to locate her crewmates, occasionally goggling at particularly horrendously clad Archollians. She watched the flit boarders, fondly thinking about Travis and his interest in extreme sports. He had once said that if he couldn't have been a pilot, he would have been a professional extremer.

She continued to watch people in the crowd, the food vendors with their large three wheeled food carts that they pedaled through the horde, as well as the other odd means of transportation the Archollians used on the footpaths. She saw something that looked straight out of a Dr. Suess book and laughed, wishing Jon was alert enough to enjoy it with her.

But Jon was still fading in and out of wakefulness, muttering peculiar things now and then, this time about leading a horse to water. Malcolm had assured her that the drug was harmless, although it did tend to make one a bit loopy while coming out of it.

Hoshi grabbed another handful of her snack, something purple that tasted remarkably like popcorn covered in chocolate. It wasn't bad. She continued scanning the crowds until she saw something that made her lean forward tensely. She magnified the view again, and let out a gasp.

***

The Enterprise crewmates froze and looked over at the voice.

Through the trees Trip saw three squatty aliens walk forward. Bald. With bifurcated brows. And big ears.

Really big ears.

Aw, hell.

They were the same aliens that had rendered the crew unconscious a few years back, trying to pillage Enterprise.

When Trip spent most of his time in his skivvies, trying to regain control of the ship.

T'Pol looked at Trip and he could see she remembered. Well, of course she'd remember the aliens. He cringed a bit when he could see she remembered his state of undress as well. It was that smugly amused look of hers.

"Who the hell are you guys?" he demanded, his voice made a little harsher by his flustered state.

"Just an interested party." The three aliens moved closer and stopped out of reach, the one with the pistol still aiming it at T'Pol.

"Oh, great. More guests," Travis muttered to Malcolm.

"Not surprising, considering our luck," Malcolm grumbled back.

The Ferengi who had spoken motioned with his weapon to the two mumbling crewmates. "Quiet. No plotting. Just hand over the scroll, and no one will get hurt. Much." He smiled, displaying bits of food still caught between his uneven teeth.

Travis looked at Malcolm. Malcolm returned his look, then glanced at Trip, who looked at T'Pol. She raised her eyebrow and the three men shifted their stances slightly. T'Pol removed the scroll she was carrying from her belt and held it out.

"Toss it here."

"I cannot. My shoulder is injured."

The Ferengi snorted with disgust and nudged one of his compatriots forward.

"Don't try anything."

"I assure you, we will not try anything." She merely stated the truth. They wouldn't try anything. They would try something.

Semantics were a wonderful thing.

The Ferengi's colleague approached with caution and T'Pol noted her crewmates exchange another glance, each indicating with their eyes their intended target.

As the Ferengi grasped the container with the scroll, she yanked hard on it, sending the man off balance and into Trip. Malcolm and Travis moved as one, Malcolm going for the Ferengi with the weapon, Travis for the man standing next to him.

Trip punched his Ferengi several times, knocking him back and T'Pol rammed the scroll casing into the man's stomach. He exhaled loudly, bending over and T'Pol neck pinched him. Trip grabbed T'Pol and hauled her behind the maintenance vehicle when he heard several shots being fired.

Travis twirled the metal case rapidly like a baton and advanced with a grace and speed that was startling. The Ferengi went for his sidearm but Travis knocked it from his grasp with the metal case. He heard something crunch and the Ferengi fell back with a howl, clutching his wrist. Travis continued his assault with the metal casing until the man was curled up and begging him to stop. He turned to help Malcolm and was surprised to see the lieutenant's man down already, the pistol in Malcolm's hand and aimed at the Ferengi's head. There were several smoldering holes in the nearby trees and Malcolm looked peeved.

"Surrender your weapon!"

Travis and Malcolm looked toward the new voice.

Travis heard Malcolm curse under his breath.

Their Klingon friends were back.

Chapter 31

Trip kept one hand on T'Pol, forcing her to stay crouched behind the maintenance vehicle. He didn't dare peek around it to see what was happening, so he peered under the vehicle. He could make out feet. Travis and Malcolm, both seeming uninjured by their stance, a cringing alien on the ground near Travis, and one sitting up just out of Malcolm's reach. Trip could see two sets of Klingon boots a scant meter from his crewmates. He quietly straightened, mind desperately searching for a way out of this situation, and listened as the Klingon spoke again.

"Throw your weapon away," the Klingon growled.

"Right. Then you'll slice us to ribbons. Not much in it for me," Malcolm said as he edged backwards, the gun trained on the Klingon and trying to keep his eyes on all four aliens. Both Klingons had Mek'laths, the shorter and more compact version of the Bat'leth, out and at the ready.

"Just give us the scroll and we will let you live," the Klingon replied, eyeing the metal case in Travis' hand.

"And we're supposed to take your word?" Travis asked with disbelief as he moved closer to Malcolm and away from the big eared alien he had subdued.

"My word is Klingon honor!" the man roared.

"Fine," Malcolm said, unimpressed and irritated, "You're an honorable man. But I have the gun. Why don't you just walk away so I don't have to use it, all right?"

"We want the scroll," the other Klingon said, then kicked the Ferengi who was sitting on the ground. The smaller alien let out a whine. "We should have never sent a targ to do a warrior's task."

"We almost had it! We tracked them down for you, didn't we? You still owe us for our efforts," the Ferengi argued.

"Bah, we owe you nothing for your incompetence," the first Klingon replied sourly.

"You can't renege on a contract!" the Ferengi replied indignantly. "We have a legal and binding—"

"Enough!" The Klingon moved to kick the man again, but the Ferengi rolled out of his way with a surprising swiftness. He clambered to his feet, his partner rising as well.

Malcolm backed up a few more paces and toward the trees, keeping his captured weapon trained on their antagonists. He didn't want to use it, having no idea if it had a stun setting and no time to study it. Travis moved with him.

"We want our compensation!" the Ferengi demanded, getting in the Klingon's face. "Or are Klingons dishonorable businessmen?" he added with scorn. His partner hung back, not quite as brave, but angry as well.

The Klingon brought his Mek'lath up in a threatening manner. "How dare you speak of honor!" The other Klingon moved in closer, his attention now fixed on the other Ferengi. Malcolm and Travis began to edge further toward the trees.

"What honor?" the Ferengi howled. "Are you going to kill us now just so you can cheat us? We would have been able to complete our transaction. We demand at least ninety percent of the payment for services rendered—and that's a bargain!"

The four aliens were now engrossed in a battle of words, trading insults, invoking honor, and haggling over the terms of their agreement, as well as their idea of the amount of compensation that should be rendered.

Trip decided that now would be a good time to beat a hasty retreat since the aliens were distracted.

Apparently Travis and Malcolm thought so too. They continued to casually inch their way toward the thick blanket of trees.

Trip opened the door with slow and careful movements. He indicated to T'Pol to slide in to the passenger seat. She did so, keeping low, her movements noiseless. Trip checked on Malcolm and Travis' position one last time, listening to the argument escalate, and noted that his crewmates were on the edge of the thick grove. He slithered into the vehicle and behind the wheel. He eased the bubble top down quietly. "Start pedaling," he ordered.

Trip and T'Pol took off with a jerky start, down the paved path to the left, both pedaling hard. Malcolm and Travis merely looked at each other and took off through the trees, Travis surprised that Malcolm had no trouble keeping up with his long legged stride. He let Malcolm lead them toward the crowds, hoping that whoever was the victor in the alien tussle would be hard pressed to find them in the dense swarm.

Trip saw Malcolm and Travis dart away through the trees to the right and Trip pedaled harder, trying to steer the unwieldy vehicle. His last sight was of the four aliens, looking up in surprise.

"Turn right at the fork ahead," T'Pol ordered.

Travis and Malcolm ran through the woods and burst out into a clearing and into a mob of Archollians. Malcolm cast glances behind them, not letting Travis catch his breath as he led them through the mass of people. He thought he had heard at least two of the aliens pursuing them as they had made their mad dash through the trees.

Travis stopped Malcolm with a strong tug to his arm. "Malcolm, I don't think I can outrun them," he panted, rubbing his chest. It hurt badly now and he didn't think he could make it to where they had left the cycles.

Travis looked around and yanked Malcolm over to where young Archollians were flitting, doing tricks and selling boards. The music blaring from all the boards was loud, different harmonies dueling and clashing, causing Travis to wince as he shoved the case with scroll under his arm and dug through his pockets. He pulled out a wad of Simoleons and waved the currency at the young man selling an array of boards. Travis winked at Malcolm with a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes as Malcolm groaned.

"I haven't flitted in years—"

"It's like riding a bike, you don't forget," Travis said reassuringly. Malcolm scanned the area from where they came and his eyes widened with alarm. Travis looked over and saw the two Klingons weaving their way through the crowd. One of the Klingons had a scanner pointed in their direction.

"Those two!" Travis said to the young salesman, pointing at the first two flitters he saw. One of them was playing the same awful melody as the elevator had been and Travis decided to let Malcolm have that one.

"Hell, no! I can't listen to that rubbish. I'll take that one." Malcolm pointed, and the young man shrugged and handed him a garish black and orange board with a mesmerizing dirge wailing from it and cartoon of a wild eyed lemur-like creature in a tiny hat scrawled across it. Travis took the other board which had a sinuous tune blasting from it, ignoring the pink and blue color scheme. And the drawing of round neon yellow dancing flowers covering it.

Both boards were steel bottomed with a channel cut horizontally through the middle, and smooth metal treads on either side. A small button on the very back and the very front protruded from the surface of the boards.

"Nice choice. You've got enough power for two rocket bursts. You want extra packs?" the Archollian asked as he took the money.

"Uh...no...no time," Travis replied as he shot another look behind him. The Klingons were coming up fast, pushing people out of their way. He and Malcolm placed the boards on the ground and got on.

"Front button starts it, back button's the burst. Need headgear?"

"No, sorry. In a hurry," Malcolm said with a distracted air. The Klingons were close now and moving rapidly. Malcolm stomped on the front button and his board changed tunes, blasted out a peal of screeching music then took off with a quick spurt of acceleration. Travis hit his button, his stance relaxed and loose, and he followed Malcolm's weaving path along the paved foot trail toward the docks.

***

"Turn left," T'Pol commanded and Trip struggled with the wheel. They were pedaling hard and the slope was getting steeper, making the turns sharper. T'Pol consulted a tiny device.

"Where you taking us?" he asked.

"I've located our crewmates. They seem to be moving quite rapidly. Mr. Mayweather is still in possession of the other scroll and I do not think it is prudent to remain separated, considering our adversaries. Turn here."

"Where?"

"Here," she said with a little more emphasis, pointing ahead of them toward the treeline.

"Which way?" he asked, a little exasperated as a very small and narrow dirt path loomed.

"Right. Turn right," she gritted out.

He swung the little vehicle onto the path, barely making the turn.

"You know, we could slow down a bit when trying to turn," he said, temper flaring a little, but continuing to pedal in brisk synchronicity with her.

"That would not be advisable," she stated, her voice a little quivery. The road was no longer smooth pavement beneath them, but rather a bumpy and uneven stretch of hard mud.

"Why?"

"Because we are being pursued."

Trip looked over his shoulder. The two big eared aliens were behind them. In something that looked somewhat like a miniature golf cart. That would be driven by a Shriner. In a small town parade.

Trip thought that all the two aliens needed was a fez atop their heads to complete the impression.

Trip blew out a breath of frustration.

"Perfect. Dumbo and Horton are following us."

"Whom?" T'Pol asked. "Turn here," she ordered and Trip frantically looked to where she was pointing. He wrenched the steering wheel to the left.

"Dumbo. Horton. Didn't you ever read a kid's book or do they make y'all just read science texts once you hit the ripe old age of five?"

"Books for human children aren't high on my required reading list, Commander," T'Pol answered. "But perhaps I could borrow one from your personal library when we return." Trip thought she sounded sarcastic, but wasn't sure. He was starting to feel warm with the effort of pedaling. And with the effort of not snapping back at her.

"I don't have copies of those books on the ship with me; I read them when I was little. Dumbo and Horton are elephants."

"Elephants?" She sounded puzzled.

"Yeah, didn't you ever see a picture of an elephant when you were in Frisco, or did you just hang out in the Vulcan compound?" T'Pol detected the sarcasm in his tone with no effort.

"I know what an elephant is, Commander," she replied coolly. "Turn here."

"Where?"

"Here!" She placed her hand on the wheel and pushed it to the right. They cornered and were now back on a paved trail. The Ferengi showed up behind them a minute later.

"Could you be a little more specific next time?" he sniped.

"Perhaps if you could concentrate on my directions instead of children's books and elephants, you'd be able to respond in a more timely fashion," she replied.

They pedaled in silence for a minute, Trip controlling his temper, T'Pol's eyes on her scanner. "Turn left approximately point six kilometers from here," she said.

"Thanks for the warning."

Trip checked behind them. The aliens were gaining. Their vehicle apparently had a small engine in it.

"Why do you call them Dumbo and Horton?" T'Pol asked as Trip made out the turn ahead. She sounded curious.

"Well, elephants. Elephants have big ears. These guys, well, they have big ears," he replied as he turned. The pavement tilted downwards into a gentle slope.

"What is this fascination you humans have with ears?" she asked, a little vexed. When the captain had wondered what a Human-Vulcan child would look like, he had fixated on the ears. Soval thought that perhaps the humans were jealous. At the time T'Pol had brushed it off as a satirical remark on the ambassador's part, but now she wondered.

"It's just a joke. They got big ears," he said, mumbling a little. Trying to explain humor to a Vulcan was like trying to fill a bucket with a sieve. You could do it, but it took forever and you usually ended up all wet.

"Do you find my ears amusing, Commander?" she asked, her tone icy.

Trip glanced at her. She was staring at him much like a nun who's just caught one of her students shooting spit wads. And she was expecting an answer.

"Well, no...no, I don't think they're funny," he said, uncomfortable. He was starting to sweat with the prolonged pedaling. And being pinned under that displeased glare.

"Turn right at the bottom of this slope. We then shall be running parallel to our crewmates."

Trip made the turn, sending them skidding slightly around it. He was beginning to pant with the exertion. T'Pol of course was still breathing normally. He checked behind them. The aliens were closer yet. He pedaled faster.

And suffered through not only a lecture on the immaturity of judging physical differences of others, but also T'Pol's constant critique of his driving skills.

***

Travis shot a look behind him, still following Malcolm's meandering path through the host of Archollians on the trail. He saw the Klingons rush two food vendors, pushing them from their carts and then mounting them. The Klingons started pedaling, at the same time trying to figure out how to engage the small motors attached to their carts, and began to follow, moving fast.

Damn, Klingons had powerful legs.

Travis helped his flit board along, using his foot to push forward. He noticed Malcolm doing the same, trying to gather more speed.

Travis pulled up along side of Malcolm. "Do you know how to get to the dock from here?"

Malcolm glanced at him before looking behind at the now gaining Klingons. "Yes, but the shortest route has the most obstacles."

"Bring it on," Travis said with a smile. He was rewarded with an answering grin. Travis raised his hand and flashed several signs in quick succession.

Malcolm's smile grew even wider as he gestured in answer.

"What club?" Malcolm asked as they dodged pedestrians, pushing harder as they worked to climb a hill.

"Alpha Centuri Screaming Eagles. You?"

"Marrakesh Street Ruffians. Did you wing with Shia Sanders?" Malcolm asked, animated.

"Yeah! She was flair!" They jabbered away enthusiastically about top flitters they had known and ridden with, trying not to hit any Archollians in the way and one eye on the Klingons. They made it to the top, their boards idling as they looked about. The Klingons were now at the bottom of the grade, still trying to start the motors, continuing to pedal their food carts with a concentrated effort and scowling visages.

"Up for some skimmers and tweeters?" Malcolm asked as he surveyed the layout in front of them.

"Yeah. Deakies and toadies too, looks like," Travis replied sagely.

Malcolm pointed out the route that Travis should take, his fingers tracing the circuit. They looked at each other and nodded.

"You've got the scroll. I'll watch your back. Make a banzai run for the dock," Malcolm said with another look at the Klingons.

"Meet you on board," Travis said and flashed the Screaming Eagles sign right before pushing off and heading down the hill.

Malcolm briefly considered shooting both Klingons with the alien pistol he still possessed, but discarded the thought immediately. Too many civilians in the way and he still hadn't had time to determine if there was a stun setting.

He waited until the Klingons were almost upon him, the one in the lead swinging the Mek'leth blade overhead like a scimitar, before bellowing an insult in what he hoped was properly pronounced Klingon. He pushed off and headed toward the right, toward the first obstacle.

Chapter 32

Hoshi held her breath as she leaned forward, staring at the screen. That had to be Trip and T'Pol. And it looked like they were in trouble.

Hoshi grabbed Jon's leg and shook it hard. He muttered something about a tortoise. And a hare.

"Wake up!"

"Slow and steady wins the race," he mumbled.

She smacked his leg.

"Ow, Porthos..."

She let out a little shriek of irritation and shook him roughly. "Wake up, Captain Aesop," she hissed.

His eyes fluttered open.

"Hoshi?"

"Look!" She pointed at the screen, fumbling at the controls.

He followed her finger, squinting, and then his eyes widened in alarm.

"Holy—"

***

"Serpentine, Commander," T'Pol ordered.

"What?"

"Serpentine, serpentine, serpentine!" T'Pol repeated, raising her voice to an uncharacteristic volume. She made a snake-like motion with her hand.

"Oh. Yeah, okay." Trip jiggled the steering wheel back and forth, causing their little bubble vehicle to swerve erratically.

The big eared aliens were shooting at them.

Trip pedaled faster, panting now.

Several holes burned into the transparent top, melting those portions. The smell was unpleasant and T'Pol's mouth was set in a grim line. She consulted her scanner.

"Turn left, approximately two hundred meters ahead. That should bring us close to one of our crewmates."

"You think that's a good idea? What if these guys shoot him?"

She tapped her scanner with one elegant forefinger. "If we are lucky, this is Lieutenant Reed. He is armed. I'm sure he will be able to assist us."

"I didn't think Vulcans believed in luck."

"We don't. I am merely using human colloquialisms in order to better communicate with my crewmates," she replied primly.

"Well, I've got a colloquialism for ya."

Another beam passed through the top, narrowly missing Trip's ear, and he yanked the wheel hard to the left. The vehicle started down a steep slope.

"What is that, Commander?"

"Feet don't fail me now —"

***

Travis raced down the hill, wind in his face, taking the zig-zagging path with a speed and expertise that was breathtaking to witness. His flit board responded instantly to every movement he made, every minute shift of his body and he grinned, loving every moment of it. His route was burned into his mind; their vantage point from the top of the hill had shown him every obstacle, every avenue available to him. He had plotted the shortest way, knowing that he could maneuver through anything in his path.

The metal pipe, a little over a meter in circumference was his first challenge. He squatted down on his board, tucking in and making sure that the casing containing the scroll was protected, and aimed for the middle of the opening.

There was no way one of those Klingons could follow him through this. His smile grew wider as he plunged into the darkness, the point of light far away at the other end his only guide, his board's music reverberating loudly off the walls of the pipe.

***

Malcolm aimed for the rail, relaxing his stance and getting ready. He focused his concentration, his senses sharpening involuntarily. He could hear the Klingons behind him, and the sound of a motor start.

Out of his peripheral vision he caught a glimpse of a bubble-like vehicle and tore his attention away for a moment. It was Trip and T'Pol. Being followed closely by those aliens. Who were shooting at them.

He had only a moment to curse mentally before he crouched and lifted the board up and sideways. He landed with a thump on the handrail and felt the groove carved into the bottom of the board mold to the railing. He shifted constantly, trying to maintain a precarious balance down the entire length of the railing running adjacent to the stairs. A part of his mind subconsciously counted them as they flashed by.

Malcolm didn't dare take his concentration away to look, but he could hear the Klingon in the lead take the stairs. He heard the man's vendor cart rattling and bouncing with every tread.

Of course the steady bluster of Klingon swear words helped him pinpoint his pursuer's location.

Malcolm calculated the weight of the cart, and the Klingon. The distribution of said weight. The steepness of the stairs and the velocity of the transportation device.

Depending on how full the vending portion of the cart was, the Klingon should tip and crash around the two hundred thirty ninth step. Give or take ten.

Malcolm estimated that he would land just in time to see the Klingon quaff pavement.

He smiled and started to formulate a tactic to remove the big eared aliens from the chase.

***

"What the—" Jon stammered.

"Oh God," Hoshi exhaled.

They watched the little bubble containing their second and third in command break away toward a suicide run down a vast white stairway, scattering Archollians left and right.

Hoshi noticed a crazed food vendor bumping down the stairs ahead of their crewmates and moved the control to get a closer look.

That's when she saw a mud covered Archollian on a flit board gliding down the rail ahead of all of them, sparks flying from the bottom of his board. There was something about his oddly relaxed posture that made her zoom in on him.

The small grin on his face was a dead giveaway.

"Oh, God," she repeated, this time in resignation. She re-adjusted the camera for a full view of all of the action, keying in the automatic tracking command. She sank back into the couch and viciously grabbed a handful of the popcorn-like snack and shoved it into her mouth.

She handed the bowl to Jon.

Rubbing his stiff neck, he leaned back as well, plucking out a handful and eating as they watched the events unfold.

***

The Ferengi avoided the stairs, opting instead to cut across a grassy decline, sending revelers scrambling. They kept their prey in sight, unable to shoot now, the ground too uneven to aim properly, but pushing their little car to the limit to eventually head off the Vulcan and human.

They saw one of their Klingon employers diverge from his pursuit, allowing his comrade to follow the Archollian. The Klingon made a detour, a longer route, but one that would enable him to follow the man once he landed, if the Klingon was fast enough.

Perhaps if they shot the Archollian the Klingons were chasing, they could make up that ten percent of their fee.

***

Travis exploded out of the pipe and stood. He passed the scroll to his left hand, his right hand cramped. He hadn't realized that he had been holding it so tightly.

He groped around for his communicator, and with one deft flick of his wrist, opened it. He tried to contact Hoshi before he had to meet the next obstacle.

***

"Follow him," T'Pol ordered.

"Who?" Trip asked irately, panting, sweating, and pedaling furiously. He was getting really tired of her staccato directions, the lack of information and her tyrannical commandments.

"Malcolm. Follow Malcolm," she stated. Trip thought she sounded a little exasperated, but chalked it up to the exertion. She was breathing a bit harder now.

"Are you crazy? Down those stairs?" Trip glared at her.

"This vehicle will be able to withstand the rigors of the terrain."

"It's not the vehicle I'm worried about," he muttered as he veered toward the stairway.

"I'm sure your bum will be able to endure the hardship," she replied archly.

"What?" Trip's voice rose an octave. Bum?

"Has your hearing been affected, Trip? You are consistently asking me to repeat myself." She sounded puzzled, a hint of concern lacing her voice.

"No, I'm...it's...you said..."

Whatever Trip was going to say was left unsaid as they hit the first step.

***

Hoshi watched, not believing her eyes, as Trip and T'Pol plunged down the stairway, their tiny bubble vehicle careening up and down and side to side in a barely controlled descent. She shot a look at Jon.

His mouth was hanging open, a handful of the snack midway to it.

"They're crazy."

Hoshi thought that at least it confirmed what she was seeing. She was relieved her mental faculties were still intact. She nudged the control to focus in on Malcolm.

Jon and Hoshi watched as Malcolm flew down the railing, the Klingon hurling after him. Malcolm soared off the end of the rail and landed, veering sharply and off toward another pathway. He turned his head and looked at the Klingon.

At that moment the Klingon pitched forward and crashed, his momentum sending him and the vendor cart tumbling down the steps. Hoshi and Jon winced as the Klingon continued to roll out of control down the hill and out of sight.

"Ouch," Hoshi muttered.

"Yeah, damn good thing their heads are hard," Jon replied without pity. "Got anything to drink?" he asked before shoving the popcorny snack into his mouth.

Hoshi saw Malcolm throw his head back with a disappointed look. He said something to himself before darting off again, tracking the big eared aliens.

"What'd he say?" Jon asked as he reached for Hoshi's drink. She slapped his hand and pointed to the refrigeration unit in the corner.

"'Damn, off by three'," she replied with a shrug.

***

"Hoshi, come in please," Travis commed, his eyes searching his surroundings. The next part of this course would be difficult and would require all his concentration.

Hoshi started as Travis' voice came over the comm which she had left sitting on the low table in front of her. She'd forgotten she'd left it open, the frequency tuned to the others. She snatched it and responded eagerly.

"Travis! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine; I've got the other scroll and I'm heading your way, ETA about fifteen minutes if I don't run into any complications."

Jon fiddled with the controls of the video equipment and managed to produce a split screen. He tinkered with one of the knobs, trying to locate his helmsman.

"Where are you?" Hoshi asked.

"Nearing a footpath by the waterfall. Malcolm's coming, but I don't know where the commander and sub-commander are. I know they've got the other comm— "

"We know where they are. Looks like everyone's on their way."

"I gotta go, but I'll see you soon. I'll look for the captain's pants—"

"What?" Jon asked, looking up from his task, a perplexed expression on his face. He then looked down at his clothing, taking them in for the first time. The look on his face turned to one of mortification.

"We'll be there, Travis. Be careful," Hoshi responded, ignoring Jon for the moment.

"Yeah, I sure will. Out."

Travis closed the comm and shoved it back into his pocket. He adjusted the scroll in his grip one last time and poured all his energy into focusing on the task at hand. His attention narrowed down into a fine tunnel vision of just the path ahead, his board, and his body's movements.

***

"What happened to my clothing?" Jon sputtered.

Hoshi turned on her best sweet and innocent smile. She also grabbed the video control, busying herself with trying to home in on Travis so that she wouldn't have to look at Jon.

She didn't think that laughing at him would improve his mood.

"They were a mess from the pie factory and attracting bugs. We thought it would be better to clean you up and put you in something...fresh," she ended lamely.

"This is...this is...grotesque!" Jon exclaimed, a hint of a whine entering his otherwise shocked tone.

"Well. Songar told me that Archollians don't have much design talent—"

"Songar?"

"The nice young man I rented the boat from."

Jon noticed her smile had become a bit dreamy.

"A nice young man, huh?"

She looked up at the change in his tenor. He was looking at her with a waggish smile.

"Well. Yes. Very nice," she said, a little defensive.

"Nice looking, I bet," he persisted and she heard the smarmy quality in his voice.

She blushed.

"I'm allowed to look," she said in a small voice. She looked at the screen and zoomed in on where she thought Travis was located. "As long as I don't get caught," she added under her breath.

Jon laughed and then inhaled sharply.

They saw Travis approaching the waterfall. He went around the barrier that closed the access to pedestrians and hit the uneven path at full speed.

The path was just wide enough to accommodate his board and too slender to put a foot down without it slipping off the edge. The edge which dropped off, on both sides, into a ninety meter plunge.

Chapter 33

T'Pol and Trip flew off the stairs in one piece, bodies shaken and bruised by their willy-nilly descent. T'Pol pointed and Trip jerked the wheel to follow the direction she indicated. They entered a large plaza, Archollians dodging out of their way, Trip weaving to avoid them, a foreboding squeaking sound emanating from the wheels.

They saw Malcolm coasting along ahead and the big eared aliens coming off the hill, approaching from the side to intercept him.

Malcolm had the aliens' weapon clutched in one hand and Trip supposed he should have been surprised when Malcolm darted his other hand out and grabbed the flagpole in the middle of the plaza.

He supposed he should have been startled to see Malcolm slingshot around the pole and charge toward the aliens head on.

And he supposed he should have been astonished when Malcolm fired several times, hitting Dumbo and Horton's vehicle, causing the engine to drop out suddenly. The cart got hung up on it and stopped abruptly, flinging the aliens out and onto the soft spongy grass. Malcolm veered away at the last moment, onto another downhill path, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

But Trip merely kept pedaling, breathing heavily, legs aching, and ran a tired hand down his face.

***

"Ooooh," Jon said mildly.

"That had to smart," Hoshi agreed.

They watched the big eared aliens try to rise, a group of Archollians running over to help. Within moments the Archollians had the aliens securely wrapped in some sort of dressings and were trying to carry them over to a first aid station, the aliens protesting but unable to move.

Hoshi, keeping her eye on the screen, wandered over to the refrigeration unit and freshened her drink. She poured one for Jon as well. She sat back down on the couch, and had some more popcorn.

***

Travis breathed again when the path widened out and slanted steeply downhill. He had one last obstacle to clear and he'd be home free.

He swooped down the incline at an angle, entering the concrete channel, the water in the middle a fast flowing stream, the slopes of the walls steep. He rode the walls, cresting up and down, keeping the board moving, trying to avoid the churning water that could drown and carry him away toward the sea. Trying to maintain his momentum so that he could make it back up and out of the banks of the passage and over the boardwalk streets, to the dock.

This was almost as much fun as flying the ship.

***

"Hmm. He's good," Jon said thoughtfully, watching as Travis undulated through the channel. He stood and stretched, inhaling sharply as his neck twinged. He yanked down on his bright orange pants as they rode up a bit. A repulsed look passed over his face as he noticed the orange hat lying on the floor next to the couch.

"Yeah. Growing up, his dad set up a flit course for him and the other kids. I guess he started extreme sports early," Hoshi commented.

Jon glanced at the other section of the screen. Trip and T'Pol were still pedaling down the path, toward the dock. They had slowed a bit and he zoomed in on their faces. It looked like they were arguing. In between panting for breath.

He played with the controls again and managed to split the screen a third time. He sipped his drink while trying to find Malcolm.

***

Travis saw the wall rise sharply and he knew he'd never make it up and over it. He had miscalculated, but put his disappointment aside. It was an understandable mistake, the walls deceptive from the distance. He braced himself and aimed for it anyway.

He stomped on the button that engaged the rocket boost and the board flew, Travis nearly falling off, but catching himself in time. He soared up the embankment, and was airborne for several seconds before making a solid landing on the sidewalk and shooting across the deserted street. The thruster cut out, spent, and he rode the board all the way down the empty dock, coming to a gentle stop at the very end.

He dismounted and tromped on his board. It flipped up and he caught it. He brushed the sweat from his forehead and caught his breath, his sore chest aching.

A young Archollian woman dressed in the ugliest, but tightest skirt he'd ever seen approached him.

"Ooooh. That was so nice. Did you need a tender?"

Travis thought he could use a tender something right about now. But he erased that thought. He was an officer and a gentleman after all. He nodded instead and she led him to a small craft.

"Which is your boat?"

Travis examined the boats just off the shore. He saw one with a pair of pants and a shirt waving blithely from the flagpole.

"That one."

"Ooooh, pootachuk, that's a nice boat! Nice flags!"

Travis grinned as he got into the tender. She started the motor and they headed out.

When they pulled up to the side of the boat, Travis received a kiss. And her calling unit number.

***

Hoshi and Jon watched Malcolm sweep through the pillars, slaloming with an ease borne of long practice. Hoshi smiled fondly as she read his lips. He was breathing lyrics to himself and she wondered if he was trying to calm himself down because he was excited or because he was nervous.

They looked up from the screen as Travis joined them, bright yellow lipstick smeared across his cheek. He placed the metal case with the scroll on the table and Jon rose and poured him a drink, handing it to their fatigued helmsmen. Travis gulped half of it, enjoying its fruity flavor, the bubbles tickling the back of his throat and nose, and he sank down on the couch next to Hoshi.

"You're filthy," she noted as she eyed him, then turned her attention back to the screen.

"Been digging," he replied, and tipped the bowl, letting some of the popcorn-like treats dribble into his dirty hand.

"There's a full bathroom with a shower below deck. Huge bed if you want to sleep. We'll make dinner when everyone arrives. Oh, and I've got some clean clothes for you."

"Thanks," he said uncertainly, studying Jon with a skeptical eye. Jon sipped his drink and fiddled with the control unit, trying to locate the second Klingon. Travis looked around. "Nice boat."

"Want to pilot it later?" Hoshi asked with a grin.

"Sure!" He sipped his drink again, absently rubbing his aching chest, and watched the antics of his crewmates.

***

"Can we slow down a little more?" Trip panted. The woman was a slave driver.

"We are nearing the last hill. We can use the grade to coast and conserve your energy."

"Thanks so much," he drawled. The squeaking sound had gotten louder, now combined with a scraping noise. Their little bubble vibrated.

"Your stamina is impressive, Trip. Although your driving skills have much room for improvement."

He gritted his teeth, and counted to fifty this time.

***

Malcolm swung left and took the crooked trail down the hill. He could see the vehicle containing Trip and T'Pol ahead on a separate, straighter path and he scanned the area, looking for the other Klingon.

Not knowing the location of their last pursuer was making him uneasy. He hit the booster button, and his board accelerated with a jerk and he rocked forward to compensate, almost losing his balance. He flew toward Trip and T'Pol's vehicle, taking the turns tight, murmuring the chorus of the song that had been playing in a continuous loop, slaughtering the Archollian words.

***

T'Pol pedaled like an automaton, constant, steady, breathing evenly and hard. Trip's breath came raggedly and she could feel him easing off a little.

"Approximately eighty meters further, Trip. Then you can stop and concentrate on steering," she said. Trip thought she was trying to sound kind.

He nodded, too winded to speak, and he shot a quick glance at their surroundings.

He saw Malcolm approaching fast, from the left, down a sharply winding passage. He nudged T'Pol and indicated to his crewmate with a tilt of his head.

She looked over and calculated that Malcolm would swing around to their path and in back of them, only lagging behind by roughly twenty meters. She did not allow herself to feel relief that he would be guarding their rear, the whereabouts of the last Klingon still unknown. She concentrated instead on continuing her steady pace, and restrained herself from urging Trip on faster.

The scraping sound grew louder.

***

"Oh, shit," Jon said with an intensity that startled Travis and Hoshi. They'd never heard him say anything that strong before.

They drew their attention from watching the screens which showed their crewmates and instead looked at the one that Jon was using, zooming in and out of focus. The scene crystallized, and they saw the second Klingon, Mek'leth drawn, on a separate pathway, and bearing down behind Malcolm.

Hoshi lunged for the comm.

"He doesn't have one," Travis said softly.

She looked at him, stricken, and called Trip and T'Pol.

***

Trip started when T'Pol's comm crackled to life. But he didn't stop pedaling. At this point he didn't think he could, his leaden legs moving on their own accord. He was certain he'd be dreaming about this never ending effort for the next week.

T'Pol withdrew her comm and opened the channel. "Go ahead, Ensign."

"Klingon! Behind Malcolm!" Hoshi exclaimed in a furious shorthand.

Trip and T'Pol both twisted and looked.

Malcolm was trailing behind them, having intersected with their path just as T'Pol had anticipated.

Trip waved and pointed frantically and they could just make out the perplexed look on his face. He raised one hand and gave a half-hearted waggle of his fingers back at Trip.

"No!" Trip howled, and gesticulated again, making a 'turn around' motion with his forefinger.

"TRIP!" T'Pol said, raising her voice, her utterly foreign outburst startling the engineer.

He whipped his head around just as their vehicle began its descent down the last precipitous slope.

***

Malcolm watched his crewmates dip out of sight and tried to puzzle out Trip's odd behavior. He heard something in the silence left by the bubble vehicle's absence and looked back.

He ducked just in time to avoid having his head separated from his shoulders by the Klingon's Mek'leth.

***

Trip and T'Pol plummeted down the hill, feet off the pedals, the vehicle shivering and shuddering, the squeaking, grating, rasping sounds growing louder.

Trip tried to control their plunge, the steering wheel quaking underneath his hands.

He was very upset when it simply fell off.

T'Pol muttered something under her breath.

He wondered if Vulcans prayed.

***

Malcolm crouched and faced forward, eyes wide and body tense. He quickly withdrew the pistol he had shoved in the back of his waistband, all the while snaking his board back and forth erratically. He heard the blade whistle through the air, right behind his back and he leaned, arching and contorting. He felt the blade slice through his shirt, his skin unscathed and then he was diving down the hill, picking up speed.

He castigated himself for being so stunningly stupid.

He'd never had any luck with Klingons. Especially ones that came swooping down on him from above or behind.

Malcolm saw his crewmates' vehicle's eccentric maneuvers and he was grateful that he wasn't in the passenger seat. It looked like Trip's driving left much to be desired.

He heard the Klingon behind him, the weak motor louder as the man pedaled harder, trying to catch him and doing a damn fine job of it.

There was no way Malcolm was going to try a reverse woofle. On flat ground, maybe. After months of practice, perhaps. With a lobotomy and bombed out of what little mind would be left, possibly.

The Klingon was getting closer.

Malcolm weighed his choices. Getting sliced to ribbons, bleeding to death while falling off the board, rolling down the hill, and ending up as pavement pizza, or attempt a woofle, which would most likely send the board careening out of control, then falling off, rolling down the hill and ending up an asphalt zombie.

Decisions, decisions.

***

Hoshi, Jon and Travis watched, transfixed and horrified, as a back wheel came off Trip and T'Pol's vehicle. Immediately followed by the other one.

Clouds of smoke rose from under their bubble as it ground along the path, the front wheel still turning.

It looked like Trip and T'Pol were arguing again.

The vehicle shimmied and fishtailed, reaching the bottom of the hill and darting across the empty street.

The front wheel fell off. The little bubble spun in a circle all the way down the dock, flying off the edge and landing with an enormous splash in the sea.

Hoshi, Jon, and Travis were very surprised to see the little bubble bob up and then float gently on top of the water, its momentum carrying it toward their boat.

***

He zigged and the Klingon zagged, bringing them parallel to each other. The Klingon swung his blade again and Malcolm reacted instinctively, skittering the board into a sideways slide and out of reach. He straighten it then leaned with all his might, turning sharply and just making it to another offshoot from the hill.

This path led downward to the old pier, ancient and in disrepair, now abandoned in favor of the new one. At least it was a nice long stretch, although it was uneven and slanted sharply.

Of course it ended fifteen meters above the ocean.

***

Jon and Travis sprang from the couch and raced to the deck.

They could see the little bubble cheerfully drift toward them.

They could hear the indistinct but loud voices of their crewmates.

Jon and Travis helped Trip and T'Pol out of the vehicle when it lightly bumped to a stop against the hull.

Their crewmates continued their quarrel unabated.

"If you had paid more attention to my directions, you would not have overstressed the vehicle with your abrupt maneuvers," T'Pol ended, a little cantankerously. She was mud covered, glistening with perspiration, and looked bone tired.

Trip exploded.

"Sweet Jesus, woman!" He turned to Jon, red faced, dirt encrusted, clothing sweat soaked and stained. "I've been driving Miss Daisy here for longer than a month of Sundays and I'm 'bout ready to turn a phase pistol on myself!" He spun back to T'Pol. "Not another goddamn word outta ya! I swear to God, if I kill ya, no jury in the universe will convict me! And if you don't want to be in more trouble than a June bug in molasses, you'll quit nagging me and go meditate or somethin', 'cause as God is my witness, I'll push ya off this boat and see if Vulcans float!"

T'Pol opened her mouth and he gave her a murderous look. She closed it.

Hoshi burst out the doorway and ran as fast as her ankle allowed her to the wheel. She started the engine and sent the boat speeding toward the pier.

"What?" Jon asked.

"It's Malcolm!"

Jon and Travis hurried back to entertainment room; Trip and T'Pol followed silently.

Hoshi accelerated.

***

The Klingon followed, slightly behind now. Malcolm shifted his weight, urging his board forward. He held the pistol tightly, but the angle of the hill took all his concentration. As well as trying to move in an unpredictable pattern to prevent the Klingon from actually slashing him.

They blew across a rickety old bridge and onto the crumbling and aggressively sloped pier, the Klingon now just behind and parallel to Malcolm again. The man swung again and Malcolm felt another blast of air as his shirt fell away, shredded.

Damn it. The breeze was making him cold.

Malcolm felt his temper crank up again and he reacted.

He woofled. And made a spontaneous decision to throw in a Benhur for good measure. Just to assuage his sense of vengeance.

***

Travis watched as Malcolm jumped, pirouetting and landing back on the board, now facing backwards. He then stamped one foot down on the end behind him, causing the opposite end to rise and the board to scrape along the ground, slowing its breakneck speed just a trifle.

"Hey! He's reverse woofling! On a hill! Oh man!" Travis shook his head, eyes popping.

He watched as Malcolm slammed the board back down, crouching low and adjacent to the Klingon now, then thrust his arm out, leading with the pistol.

Travis' jaw dropped when Malcolm sideswiped the Klingon, shoving the pistol in between the spokes of the man's front wheel and releasing the gun quickly.

"He Benhured him! I don't believe it! Oh, that's dirty," Travis exclaimed.

Malcolm bounced off the Klingon, his board reeling away and he tilted the board up again, bringing it around in a tight pivot to face front once more to complete the woofle, fighting for control.

The Klingon's forward momentum had stopped dead, and the man went flying off his cart. Unfortunately he landed on a rotted out section of the pier and broke through, dropping out of sight.

Malcolm stood again, trying to avoid rough and broken regions of the pier, and looked ahead.

He knew he couldn't stop in time.

***

Hoshi cut the engine and let the boat coast toward the pier. She could see a figure soaring toward the end of the rotting structure and she twisted the wheel, bringing the boat around to face the landing. She ran to the bow, waving frantically and shouting.

***

Malcolm considered his limited options. Plunge off the pier at a high speed and be dashed to pieces on the rocks below, because of course, every pier ended near rocks and other unpleasant things, or plunge off the pier at an even higher rate of speed further out, and try not to drown in the deeper water. If the fall didn't kill him first.

He stomped on the booster and shot forward.

That's when he noticed a boat off the end of the jutting structure and a woman waving frenetically. She was joined by four more people beckoning and he had just enough time to realize that their flag consisted of a pair of trousers and a shirt.

He suddenly realized he was famished, and wondered idly if Hoshi would make pancakes for him.

Chapter 34

The Enterprise crew scattered as Malcolm came hurtling toward them. Trip registered the fact that Malcolm was screaming, but didn't know if it was in terror or exhilaration. His friend was funny that way.

Trip watched as Malcolm shot past them and Trip heard one of the most unique curses ever to leave his friend's lips. He landed with a great thud on the metal deck, a shower of sparks trailing behind him, arms pinwheeling, and Trip watched in astonishment as Malcolm flew off the board, losing his battle to stay put. The board continued onward, music blaring and then slid beneath the railing, off the back of the boat and sank.

Malcolm was propelled into the decorative netting strung between the railing and the eaves at the stern of the boat, his momentum snapping the strong cords of rope at three of the corners which held it in place. Trip saw Malcolm grasp the netting as the whole thing billowed outward over the ocean and then rebound violently back over the deck.

It bounced and swung as if on a powerful spring, whipcording back and forth while at the same time spinning and whirling in a demented vertiginous spiral, Malcolm entangled within it, curled up, trapped and helpless.

And when the net's riotous spasms died down to a gentle swaying, the one corner still attached to the overhang, Trip joined the others in coming to the aid of their crewmate.

"Looks like we caught the damn ugliest fish I've ever seen," Trip said, grinning madly.

His grin disappeared when Malcolm threw up on him.

***

Hoshi finished tucking Malcolm into the enormous bed while Trip showered. T'Pol had suggested that the engineer go first and the rest agreed with alacrity. Except Malcolm. He had merely hugged the deck, softly whimpering, and asked Jon to make the boat stop twirling.

Hoshi ran her fingers through his stiff and muddy hair, rubbing his head and he purred a contented sigh before passing out in sheer exhaustion. Hoshi again thanked whatever deities looked after foolhardy armory officers, her gaze sweeping over him once more, still finding it hard to believe that there wasn't a scratch on him.

T'Pol entered the room and Hoshi was struck by how completely wiped out the woman looked. T'Pol nodded to her and sat at the foot of the bed, slowly and painfully bending to remove her boots.

"Are you okay?" Hoshi asked, voice laced with concern.

"I am somewhat battered and extremely fatigued," T'Pol answered honestly. "However, I am gratified that circumstances worked out to the best possible outcome."

Hoshi continued to rub Malcolm's head, unembarrassed by the intimate display of her affection. T'Pol perched on the edge of the bed, one boot off, the other still in her hand, and closed her eyes, letting her body sag.

"Why don't you lie down while you wait for Trip to finish up?" Hoshi suggested, not liking the pallor underneath T'Pol's artificially lightened skin.

Hoshi was surprised when T'Pol merely nodded and reclined on the opposite end, close to the edge.

"He won't bite," Hoshi murmured with a slight smile.

T'Pol kept her eyes closed, and her lip twitched upwards. "I know. I believe that a brass band and three phase cannons wouldn't disturb him at this point."

Hoshi chuckled softly, and glanced over when T'Pol allowed herself a deep exhalation. She'd never seen their science officer look so drained.

They sat in silence for long minutes, until T'Pol spoke quietly.

"He loves you very much. You are good for him."

Hoshi smiled. "Well, you know what they say, 'opposites attract'."

"I would think the contrasts inherent in such diversity would only exacerbate the conflict between two people," T'Pol responded, her voice low.

Hoshi looked at her. T'Pol's eyes were shut, her body limp, and her hands resting across her bare stomach covering the scrapes and bruises.

"I prefer to think of it as completing one another," Hoshi answered in the same soft tone. "Like yin-yang I suppose."

T'Pol nodded. "Ni'var—the Duality of Things. That is a logical viewpoint."

"It's funny how you'd never think you could be happy with someone who's so different from yourself. How you look for a person who you think is your type, only to discover that your preconceived notions, the things your background, your culture, what your family tries to pressure you to seek, really doesn't matter once you find someone you're comfortable with."

"I'm beginning to open my mind to that possibility, Ensign..." T'Pol replied and then turned her head away.

When Trip walked into the room, fresh from the shower and still toweling his hair, he smiled slightly at the sight of T'Pol breathing deeply and regularly, head toward him and face peaceful.

He looked at Hoshi, who gave Malcolm a quick peck on his grimy temple before she rose to join him.

"They look like a couple of scarecrows after a hurricane," he said quietly, his smile a little wider. He moved to brush away a dried piece of mud from T'Pol's forehead, then stopped and let his hand drop to his side without touching her.

Hoshi wrapped a comforting arm around his waist and hugged him to her. "They're alive and in one piece. Not bad, considering."

Trip placed his arm around her shoulder and returned the hug.

"Come help me make dinner. Travis needs to hit the shower and then I'm going to show him how to pilot this boat," Hoshi said with a grin and a wink.

"Yeah, better make a little extra for Malcolm, seeing how his last meal ended up on me."

Hoshi chuckled and they moved to the stairs leading back up to the deck.

"Hey, you know, I really like this shirt," Trip commented.

Hoshi stifled a snicker. "Yeah, I thought you would."

Chapter 35

He felt someone shaking him.

"Wake up," a gentle voice whispered in his ear.

"Sod 'ff," he mumbled and turned over.

The shaking continued and the voice grew louder. "Malcolm, you have less than an hour to shower and eat before we arrive."

"Bugg'r sho'er," he muttered, scrunching down into the blankets.

"Get up, Malcolm," the voice said, a little more demanding.

He then said something that even Hoshi couldn't interpret, the syllables disappearing under the wave of his sleep thickened accent. He scooted away from the persistent voice. It chased him.

"Get your sorry ass up and out of bed, Lieutenant. I'm not going to listen to you whine about being filthy and hungry all the way back to Enterprise," Hoshi ordered.

On the other side of the bed, Trip was trying to wake T'Pol.

"Come on, T'Pol, better get up now."

T'Pol muttered something in Vulcan. It didn't sound complimentary.

He shook her lightly. "Aren't you hungry? We've got some real nice purple veggies waiting on you."

She uttered an unladylike grunt and turned over, scuttling away from the voice. She ran into something warm and solid. It squirmed against her and she reached out a hand to still it. Her fingers found something firm and pleasantly warm, and her hand curved down it.

The combination of touch and the dueling trenchant aromas caused Malcolm and T'Pol to open their eyes at the same time. They were nose to nose and they simultaneously noticed where T'Pol's fingers were. She closed her eyes again and removed her hand with a controlled haste.

"Glad to know I'm not the only one with a bum fixation," Malcolm murmured for her ears alone. Not that Hoshi and Trip would have noticed. They were too busy giggling.

T'Pol's eyes opened just wide enough to see that he was smirking at her, a slight blush coloring his face.

"You are odoriferous, krenath," she stated flatly and drew away.

"You're a bit pungent yourself, Duchess," he replied, smirking still.

"Why don't one of you take a shower while the other eats?" Trip suggested, swallowing another laugh.

"Ladies first, Duchess," Malcolm said and sat up, yawning.

"Apparently, krenath, chivalry is not dead," she replied tartly as she rose.

"No, it just smells that way," he replied, straight faced.

***

Hoshi watched Malcolm eat, fascinated. She'd seen a British soccer team in a restaurant after a game once and was reminded of that disturbing sight. Good thing Trip and Jon were on deck, watching Travis pilot the boat. She didn't want her crewmates to witness this spectacle.

T'Pol entered and Hoshi acknowledge her with a nod and kept her face carefully neutral.

Malcolm didn't bother. He almost choked when he laughed. He drained half his drink trying to wash it down.

T'Pol glared at him frostily.

"I believe your new attire will cause as much or more jocularity, Lieutenant." She raised one smug eyebrow.

Hoshi made herself very busy while Malcolm scowled at her.

***

Malcolm couldn't put it off any longer. Their ship had docked and his crewmates were waiting for him.

He climbed the stairs slowly and slunk onto the deck.

He bore the laughter with ill-concealed sourness.

"Hey, Malcolm! Looking slick," Travis smiled. Travis' own attire was a bright mishmash of contrasting colors, the tight thigh length shorts showing off muscular legs, the checkered socks up to his knees. He had forgone the suspenders. And the hat.

"Yeah, real slick, Lieutenant," Trip drawled. "Slicker'n snot on a doorknob..." Malcolm winced at the Tripism, the imagery it presented making him slightly nauseous.

Trip actually liked his own clothing. The polka dot pants fit nicely, and he thought that the shirt, covered in drawings of fruit and vegetables, looked very sharp. The bonus was that each image, and the polka dots, glowed in the dark. He couldn't wait for nightfall.

T'Pol merely looked at Malcolm, her cheek twitching. She supposed she felt some empathy for him. After all, she had just made the remarkable discovery that she disliked pink.

Unfortunately she was clad head to toe in it. Although she had cut the ruffles and bows off.

But then again, he had laughed at her. "Very...shiny," T'Pol remarked and gave him a serene look.

Jon didn't say a word and just smiled, working hard not to laugh out loud. He didn't want a wrathful armory officer plotting revenge.

Malcolm studied Hoshi, ignoring the tight purple and lime plaid pants which hugged her every curve. He ignored her even tighter candy cane striped shirt, fastened precariously by a single button between her breasts, allowing a glimpse of black lace and exposing her delectable little navel. He ignored the bright yellow fingerless gloves which she was tugging on, up to her elbows, her movements sensuous without her realizing it. But he couldn't ignore the sinful gleam in her eye, or the smile that played over her exquisite lips. He looked at his crewmates instead.

"I despise you all."

Hoshi went to him, rubbing between his shoulders, and smiled wider as his tensed muscles loosened at her touch. "It's not that bad," she murmured.

The snug dark green and red pants, rough and patterned like snake skin, glittered with flecks of sparkling metallic flakes. Suede-like pale robin's egg blue boots came to just below his knees. His shirt shimmered, a golden and delicate chain mailed cobweb with slender turquoise threads that matched his colored hair woven through it.

"It's not very warm," he complained as he fussed with his trousers. They were slit along the side and then laced up again with those same turquoise strands, the flesh from his legs peeping out from between the tied fabric. Through his diaphanous shirt Hoshi could see the leather sheath he had for his knife securely around his waist, the Sandaran blade tucked neatly into it, lying sideways and flat against the small of his back.

"We'll take a couple of cabs to the space port. You can sit between me and T'Pol. That should keep you warm."

She smiled as a light blush spread over his cheeks.

"Hoshi," he softly reprimanded in a low growl. He lowered his eyes and examined his boots, shaking his head and she saw a faint half smile curl his lips.

"We better get going," Jon said, "it'll be dark soon and it looks like those are storm clouds rolling in."

"Yes, the capital city receives rain quite frequently," T'Pol informed him.

"At least we got some sunshine," Trip said as they disembarked.

"I like this planet," Travis said, "I mean, you get used to the smell after a while."

Hoshi smiled as she and Malcolm followed behind their chattering crewmates, down the dock and toward the street. Malcolm slowed and then tugged on her hand, stopping her. She looked at him, questioning.

"You are a wicked, evil woman, Hoshi..." he started, his voice soft and inviting. He cupped her face and kissed her with a tenderness that belied his words, languorously trailing more kisses down her neck, pausing to nibble, careful not to injure her skin with his canines. He let his hands drift, caressing her back, her sides, her hips. He brought his mouth to her lips again, his fingers innocently skating along, touching the least intimate parts of her body, proper and decorous. But what his touch did to her...

When they broke apart she clung to him for support, a limp puddle and breathless, and there was a devilish gleam in his eyes.

"...And if you ever decide to choose my wardrobe again, I shall have to punish you."

That rare wide and slightly mischievous smile on his face made her want to run out and buy him another shirt.

Chapter 36

They couldn't find a cab on the deserted streets so they walked to the nearest subway station. Malcolm unerringly pointed them in the right direction, and although the hike was a prolonged one, they didn't mind. Trip, Jon, and Travis were in high spirits, although moving slowly due to their various aches and pains, Travis either carrying his flit board, or riding it, showing Trip and Jon a few easy tricks and flashy moves. Even T'Pol seemed to be satisfied and relaxed. She traded gentle barbs with Trip, who had already apologized for his earlier outburst. He was surprised when she accepted it with good grace and offered one of her own in that typical not-quite-an-apology Vulcan way, although she had dryly gotten the last word in, vowing that she would do the driving in any future situation.

Hoshi and Malcolm followed a few steps behind, creating their own refuge of privacy as they murmured to each other, Hoshi's intermittent musical laughter reminding her crewmates that the two were still there.

They reached the station and Hoshi used a few bills of her remaining cash to purchase the automated tickets, while T'Pol muttered a comment in Malcolm's ear, making him chuckle.

They waited on the empty platform, talking, while Malcolm kept an eye on the entrance and T'Pol used her scanner to check their surroundings. They boarded the train, Jon leading them to the vacant last car, and they sat, Hoshi leaning against Malcolm's shoulder, his arm around her while the rest took seats that allowed them to stretch out.

At each stop Malcolm would rise and walk to the open doors, peering out and studying every straggling person on the platform, each person who entered the train. When his scrutiny was satisfied he'd return to Hoshi's side, and she'd snuggle into him once more, teasing him about his paranoia. He'd merely give her that half smile and say it was in his job description and she'd curl up against him, sore ankle propped up on the seat opposite them, and close her eyes, secure in his vigilance and letting the soft hum of the train lull her into a semi-doze. After the fourth stop Hoshi moved, stretching out on one of the extra wide seats in the back, half complaining that Malcolm kept rousing her each time he stalked to the doors.

T'Pol and Malcolm remained wide awake as their crewmates drowsed during the next few hours, immersed in a serious conversation. T'Pol told Malcolm about their remaining pursuers and their beliefs, culminating in her candid answers to the myriad of thoughtful, and occasionally metaphysical, questions subsequently posed by Malcolm. They subsided into a comfortable silence and T'Pol studied the metal case containing the scroll, trying to discover a way to open it without destroying the contents, once gently teasing Malcolm that if she couldn't breach it she'd let him take a crack at it with a phase pistol or an explosive as a last resort.

A half hour from their destination the train stopped at a station with an uncharacteristic jerk, waking everyone, except Trip who was still gently snoring. Jon stood, his neck so stiff and sore that he couldn't turn his head. Hoshi sat up, offering to rub it for him. Travis refrained from stretching, his chest dully throbbing with every movement and stood next to Malcolm, who was up and looking out at the platform with suspicion.

"Come on, Malcolm, subways break down all the time."

"Yes, but we've still got Vulcans and Andorians running about—"

"Malcolm, don't you think the Andorians have had enough—between Hoshi beating them half to death, Trip tranquilizing them, and T'Pol taking away all their weapons, do you think they want to mess with us anymore? Besides, they don't look that tough without their guns. I mean, they're pretty small guys—"

Malcolm looked up, eyes narrowed, and stared at him. Travis suddenly realized that those Andorians were about the same size as their armory officer. He felt his face beginning to heat.

"Um, I mean, ah, well, I know you can't judge how dangerous a person is by their height...short people can be tricky..."

Travis faltered as Malcolm glared at him, his eyes an icy grey, and his upper lip curled into a scowl.

"I mean, uh, cunning...yeah, clever...to make up for...well..." He floundered. Actually he was drowning, going down for the third time.

Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest and Travis jumped back, startled and a little rattled by the sudden movement. Malcolm laughed and punched him playfully on the shoulder—but not too hard, mindful of his friend's bruises. "I do believe, Ensign, that you have a hand-to-hand combat training session coming up with Collins. I think I'll personally supervise that lesson...just in case you run into any short, tricky people."

Travis laughed and punched Malcolm back.

"Ow."

Travis laughed again. "Relax, Malcolm. We're almost home free. Besides, what are the odds that any of them will show up here, now?"

Malcolm could quote him the odds. So a few minutes later, when the four Vulcans showed up on the platform, Malcolm wasn't surprised.

Chapter 37

Malcolm and Spork locked eyes as the Vulcans sedately inspected their quarry.

T'Pol came to stand at Malcolm's shoulder. Jon nudged Trip awake and he sat up, silently taking in the tableau before him. Hoshi moved forward, eyes searching for a weapon of any type.

Spork said something in Vulcan and T'Pol replied.

They spoke at length, and Hoshi translated softly.

"Spork wants the scrolls. He says although we outnumber them, they have united and are the superior force. He vows that they will not harm us if we surrender the documents peacefully. T'Pol told him that his offer in unacceptable, and she seriously doubts that his 'vow' is trustworthy. She knows of his sect, their history and teachings..."

Jon and Trip moved to stand behind their crewmates. Travis readjusted his grip on his board, ready to use it in defense. Malcolm stood stock still, watching.

"Spork says that if T'Pol knows of the sect's doctrines, then she should be familiar with the 'Ank Tor Mata'." Hoshi looked at Jon. "I can't translate that; it sounds like ancient High Vulcan."

T'Pol fell silent as she contemplated Spork. The man stood there, as if waiting for her to come to a decision.

T'Pol turned to Malcolm.

"I need your knife."

"Why?"

"He has challenged me to settle this matter. It is the one binding covenant that I know he will honor. The victor shall take the scrolls and the loser's party will not attempt to appropriate them again. Both groups will then walk away without further incident."

Trip placed a hand on her arm. "You can't do this," he said, his voice pitched low so their adversaries couldn't hear. "You're injured. You won't last against him."

She looked at him and saw the concern on his face. The fear for her in his eyes. She could feel it through his touch, so bright and overwhelming that even with her mental shields up, it came through.

"Trip..." she trailed off as his grip tightened on her.

"You can't," he said, almost pleading.

"Is it worth your life, T'Pol?" Malcolm asked softly. She looked at him. "Because he'll kill you to get it, won't he? Are two pieces of paper worth that? Worth taking a life? Worth losing yours?"

T'Pol met that intense blue-grey stare and felt as if he was trying to read her very soul. She closed her eyes against it and bowed her head. They didn't know what the scrolls meant to her people. To her.

"Yes," she replied quietly.

She heard Malcolm draw his knife from his sheath and she opened her eyes, raising her head.

He held it in his hand and it looked natural there, the alien inscription on the blade vivid in the light, the serrated edge brutal, the smooth edge deadly. She met his eyes and he smiled slightly.

She realized that perhaps he did know what it meant to her after all.

She held her hand out for it and he breathed out a small laugh. He turned and faced Spork.

"I accept the challenge in T'Pol's stead."

"Malcolm!" Hoshi cried and smacked him on the shoulder. T'Pol grabbed his arm without thought. "Lieutenant!"

He turned around to face them and noticed that Jon, Travis and Trip looked ready to strangle him. He blinked, surprised.

"Look, you lot are injured; there's no way we can win against four relatively healthy Vulcans."

"This is not your fight, Malcolm," T'Pol practically hissed.

"Listen to her, Malcolm," Hoshi warned.

"There's got to be another way," Jon insisted.

Trip opened his mouth and Malcolm cut him off.

"I don't intend to lose. Besides," he reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small device and shielding his actions from the Vulcans, handed it to Trip, "if they cheat or if it looks like he's going to kill me, blow the bastards up." He smiled.

Trip covertly examined the device. "How do you activate it?"

"Trip!" Hoshi sputtered.

"Just asking," he said, backing up a step.

Malcolm quickly explained.

"Aren't you forgetting something, Lieutenant?" Jon asked, emphasizing his rank. Malcolm gave him a perplexed look.

"Won't that blow you up too?"

"Jon!" Hoshi exploded.

"I expect Trip will give me some warning—"

"Like what?" Trip asked.

"I don't know, why not shout out 'run away' or the like before you bung it at us?" Malcolm replied sarcastically.

Hoshi uttered a mighty curse and the three of them looked at her in shock. Even Travis began to blush at her language.

"Why do you encourage him? Are you all crazy? I swear to God—"

T'Pol cut her off. "Ensign. While I disagree with the Lieutenant's foolish and impetuous actions, he has accepted the challenge and cannot renege on it now. They will kill us all for that offense."

"We're not Vulcans!" Hoshi exclaimed, her voice rising. "Screw their stupid customs!"

"Kroykah!" Spork shouted.

The Enterprise crew stopped arguing and turned to him.

"You have accepted. The contest begins now, human. Come out and make good your pledge."

T'Pol laid her hand on Malcolm's arm and leaned to whisper in his ear. She spoke so low that the rest of their crewmates couldn't hear, but Malcolm acknowledged her hasty instructions with a small nod. She removed her hand. "It is a certainty that he will make the attempt, therefore you must make him believe for the outcome to conclude favorably for all," she finished and with, for T'Pol, an encouraging look, she moved with Malcolm out to the platform. "A Vulcan's heart is located where a human's liver is situated," T'Pol said quietly. She spoke rapidly, continuing her anatomy lesson as rest of their shipmates followed them.

Spork indicated for Malcolm to step forward, away from his friends. Hoshi grabbed Malcolm's arm and he turned to her. He saw the dread and anger in her eyes. He kissed her lightly and murmured in her ear.

"Don't worry, love. I've got an edge he doesn't."

He turned away, not seeing Hoshi's eyes widen and the look of concern fill her face.

Spork withdrew an ancient traditional Vulcan knife, the hilt curving securely over his knuckles and fitting neatly in his clenched fist, the blade long and finely honed, its very appearance malignant and lethal.

The two walked away from their respective groups and faced each other, a few meters apart. T'vo stood between them and began to speak in the Ancient High dialect, the other Vulcans bowing their heads, listening attentively. Neither Hoshi nor the UT could translate it, but it sounded like a long-winded ritualistic invocation. The subway train pulled away, leaving the station deserted and no witnesses to be entertained.

Malcolm rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, his knife held loosely in his hand. He waited as patiently as he could, but started to fidget during the interminable oration. T'Pol shot him an unreadable look and he froze, then breathed deeply, bowing his head.

Hoshi clutched Trip's hand, a look of alarm on her face when she saw Malcolm rub his temple. Trip's own face clouded with anger and distress as he watched Malcolm calm, his stance changing and then becoming perfectly still.

T'vo eventually stopped talking and stepped back to join his allies.

"Kalifa!" T'vo roared and Spork lunged forward.

Chapter 38

Malcolm twisted away with reflexes that startled Spork. He countered with a thrust that the Vulcan managed to block, and Spork's free hand came up, aiming for the juncture at Malcolm's shoulder. Malcolm grabbed Spork's wrist and yanked hard, bringing the Vulcan in closer.

Malcolm flicked his knife and a rent appeared in Spork's shirt. Malcolm broke contact and moved away, dodging an answering jab.

This time Spork circled Malcolm warily, examining his opponent. Malcolm watched him impassively, body relaxed.

Hoshi gripped Trip's hand so tightly that his fingers were getting numb. She started and let out an involuntary cry when Spork moved again with a deceptive speed. His blade sliced through the air with a soft trill that Hoshi heard clearly. And when Malcolm ducked under it, whirling around and neatly evading Spork's knife, she stiffened, holding herself tightly and mentally cursing Malcolm.

Malcolm leapt and caught Spork with a powerful kick that sent the Vulcan flailing towards his compatriots. They caught him and steadied him.

Spork turned to see the human standing calm and alert. The Vulcan stepped forward again and watched.

Malcolm waited.

For a few long minutes no one moved. Malcolm finally smiled slightly, a mere glimpse of his canines, and crooked his fingers toward Spork, motioning him forward.

Spork approached cautiously.

He wasn't prepared when Malcolm pounced, knife slashing out; then the human was gone and Spork's chest was bleeding from another gash running across it. Spork savagely controlled his emotions and mastered the pain.

The Vulcan moved with no noticeable difficulty, passing close to Hoshi and Malcolm instantly took several steps forward to cut him off, his eyes narrowing. Spork saw his chance and charged, whipping his knife across his opponent's stomach, then reversed it to thrust it deep into the man's side.

But the human was gone again.

For the first time since coming to Archolli, Malcolm was thankful for the ludicrous clothing. His shirt not only looked like a gossamer sheeting of chain mail, but acted like one. Something he had suspected when he first put it on, but had now been proven.

Not that he had wanted to test his apparel.

It wouldn't take a direct stabbing blow, but he could breathe easier knowing that slicing cuts wouldn't penetrate it.

It may be gaudy, but he'd let Hoshi dress him for a fight any day...

He led Spork away from his crewmates, backing up and into the middle of the platform again. He tried to keep an eye on the other Vulcans, circling so that his back was to his shipmates. Then Spork rushed him, that Vulcan speed impressive and they began to fight in earnest; Malcolm had to focus all his concentration on parrying and dodging, attacking and retreating, his technique constantly shifting, his moves impossible to predict but precisely controlled. He wounded the man once more, a painful but non-lethal score to Spork's side. The conflict raged closer to the other Vulcans and Spork wheeled away, darting toward T'bet, hand out.

T'bet removed something from his coat and Spork snatched it, then approached Malcolm swiftly. Malcolm retreated backwards down the platform, away from his friends.

Spork stalked him then suddenly snapped a long piece of leather out, aiming for Malcolm's knife hand, and Malcolm dove, rolling away and springing to his feet again, only to have to tumble out of the way once more as Spork tried to wrap it around his legs. T'Pol started forward to protest the use of the anh-woon, since knives only were implied when the challenge was issued, but the other three Vulcans stepped toward her, poised in a battle ready position, and she stopped. Jon tugged her back as Trip held Hoshi tight, preventing the ensign from rushing forward as well.

Malcolm spun away from another attempt and dashed toward his friends. Hand outstretched, he neared Travis. "Your board," he demanded and Travis reacted immediately, holding it out.

The anh-woon lashed out and caught Malcolm by the wrist, jerking him away from Travis and nearly dislocating his shoulder. He hit the floor hard and then Spork was upon him.

They rolled and struggled, Spork finally landing atop Malcolm, pinning him and doing his best to plunge the knife into the armory officer's chest. "The board!" Malcolm ground out, his eyes darting to Travis'. He heaved upwards, barely able to halt Spork's knife while trying to maintain a hold on his own as Spork attempted to wrench it from him. His arms trembled with effort and then he heard the board coasting across the floor toward him. He stopped it with his boots, scooping it up with the top of his foot while using the other to secure it.

Malcolm brought his legs up, the flit board securely between his feet, and rammed it into the back of Spork's head. Spork fell forward, stunned, and Malcolm slipped out from under him, but Spork's hold on the anh-woon prevented him from moving very far. Spork recovered quickly and lunged again. Trapped on his back, Malcolm reared up onto his shoulders and used the board, twirling and maneuvering it with his feet, blocking each thrust.

Hapkido, Hoshi thought as she tensed and unconsciously moved toward Malcolm, only to be held in check by Trip once more. She remembered Malcolm had told her that Hapkido could be used on any form of attack, that you could defend and attack from the ground or sitting down, how different weapons could be utilized, from fans to sticks to chairs.

She had seen him do it this way only once, early in their mission, showing Williams' a few of the more flamboyant and advanced moves, using of all things, a mop. She had come down to the armory to retrieve a status report early one morning and had stopped at the doorway, watching the impromptu lesson with amusement.

Williams had a grin on her face as he lounged on the floor. She attacked him with a banana, obviously from her breakfast on the run, while humming the musical theme to Hitchcock's 'Psycho' between giggles. With a barely discernable smile, he popped the mop up and between his feet, twirling it like a baton and obstructing every move Williams' made for a minute or two. Latisha finally collapsed into full blown laughter and tossed the banana at him, which he failed to block, both chuckling too hard to continue.

While Malcolm rummaged around for the report, Hoshi had listened as the two had talked about various martial arts forms. And that's when they had agreed to teach other, Latisha's Kendo skills in exchange for private tutoring of the higher level of Hapkido than what the rest of the security team was being taught. Hoshi remembered thinking that the two made a cute couple.

But that was before she had gotten to know him better.

Spork attacked again, and Malcolm flipped the board and kicked it away, straight into the Vulcan's stomach. He doubled over and Malcolm yanked his arm back, the anh-woon still tightly wound around it, pulling Spork off balance and down to the floor beside him. Malcolm somersaulted backwards, using his knife to slice through the leather binding at the same time, and scrambled to his feet.

Spork rose smoothly, although he was panting heavily to catch his breath, and Malcolm turned and ran. Spork hesitated for a moment, apparently startled and then took off in a sprint that quickly cut Malcolm's lead. The rest of the Vulcans pursued them and the Enterprise crewmates followed.

Malcolm bolted down the length of the platform, ignoring the exit, and ran straight toward the wall at the opposite end where the huge map of the train lines was prominently displayed. Spork was only a few steps behind Malcolm, an eager hound on the fox's tail, knife out and arm cocked to plunge it between Malcolm's shoulder blades.

Malcolm ran out of room.

The wall loomed. And Hoshi saw him run up it and cartwheel, landing on his feet behind Spork. Spork tried to stop and turn, but a roundhouse kick from Malcolm shoved the Vulcan into the wall, against the display, and the glass covering it shattered. When Spork rebounded with an involuntary cry, Malcolm took him down, knife at the man's throat. Malcolm landed across the Vulcan's body, his torso pinning Spork's knife hand, his free hand securing Spork's other arm against the ground, over the Vulcan's head. Hoshi could hear the glass crackling and grinding beneath them as Spork tried to move.

"Yield."

Malcolm spoke the single word in a low, dispassionate tone. His face was impassive, eyes unblinking as he held the knife against Spork's neck.

Spork tried to buck him off and Malcolm sliced across the man's throat. Spork froze and a thin trail of blood appeared in a straight narrow line along his flesh.

"Concede. Or die. I don't give a rat's arse either way." Malcolm spoke quietly, knife pressed against the man's fragile skin.

The wait seemed eternal to Hoshi as she took in Malcolm's cold expression, his rock steady hand, the sharp smooth edge of the blade poised and pressing against Spork's throat, Malcolm's motionless body. She held Trip's hand in a death grip, her palm sweating and her heart breaking.

Spork tried to jerk his knife hand up and Malcolm nicked him again without hesitation.

"I can make it take forever for you to bleed to death, paralyzed, knowing you're dying while you watch me kill the rest of your friends," Malcolm murmured, his voice soft and detached. "Or I can make it so painful that no amount of mental discipline will help you." He played the blade against Spork's neck almost sensually, caressing the pressure points, the main artery, and when Spork tried to move again, Malcolm leisurely jabbed the knife tip into a nerve. Spork hissed, unable to control the pain.

"Don't tempt me," Malcolm enunciated slowly, his wide unwavering stare and sharp teeth lending a malevolent cast to his placid features.

Spork regarded him with an intense concentration for countless seconds and Malcolm felt a tickle inside his head. He flinched, feeling something probing at that wall he had erected on T'Pol's advice, that wall he used to lock down his feelings so his emotions wouldn't interfere with his actions or cloud his judgment. That wall he needed to protect himself, so that he could react without his conscience badgering him, impeding his resolution, slowing his reflexes.

And after what T'Pol had told him about Spork and his faction, Malcolm was never so glad to have that defensive barrier.

Spork blinked, but then jerked his hand toward Malcolm's face, fingers splayed and ready. This time Malcolm didn't flinch. With a delicate twist of his wrist, he sliced the man's cheek open. "Try that again and it will be the last thing you'll ever do," Malcolm said, the very absence of all feeling making his words even more ominous, the knife tip now poised under the soft flesh of the man's jaw, digging in and ready to be thrust upwards.

Spork's eyes held Malcolm's for a long minute and then that tickle was back, stronger than before. But Malcolm was ready for it and resisted; it was second nature to him by now.

Spork abruptly began to sweat, the veins in his neck and forehead visible with effort, still focusing his concentration. Malcolm gritted his teeth and moved the knife up a trifle, and a small trickle of blood appeared. Spork closed his eyes, and as his body relaxed he said something in High Vulcan. Malcolm didn't budge until T'Pol told him that Spork had surrendered.

Malcolm released the Vulcan, moving away quickly, knife still out, the remains of the anh-woon still wrapped tightly around his wrist.

They watched as Spork's allies helped him to his feet, blood flowing freely from several cuts. T'vo said something to T'Pol, and then the Vulcans left without another word. Malcolm followed their former adversaries at a distance as the Vulcans exited the building. He watched them walk down the street, supporting Spork between them.

"They will honor the agreement. We will not see them again," T'Pol called to him.

He nodded, eyes downcast and examining the green blood on his hand and knife, his face blank. He wiped his hand against his pant leg, then cut the leather band from his wrist. He sheathed his knife and walked back to the shattered glass, his crewmates still hanging back, seemingly rooted in place. He bent over and picked up the larger pieces of glass, and hands full, walked to the trash receptacle with his head bowed.

Hoshi broke the mass immobility and went to him. She saw his hands shaking as he deposited the glass in the container. She touched him, trying to tilt his chin up, bending to peek under those long lowered lashes. Then Trip was suddenly at her side, his eyes full of concern and his hand on Malcolm's arm.

"Are you all right?" Trip demanded, trying to keep the anger and worry out of his voice. But Hoshi could hear it.

"Yeah," Malcolm said softly, refusing to look at them. He turned to pick up more of the shards. "I'd best clear this away before someone hurts themselves—"

Trip stopped him, roughly pulling him back toward them, and he could feel Malcolm trembling beneath his grip. "You shouldn't have done it, Malcolm," he said flatly.

Malcolm raised his head and looked at him, brows creasing slightly.

"You know," Trip hissed softly.

Hoshi had been studying Malcolm's eyes and she suddenly laughed at the utterly perplexed look that crossed Malcolm's face.

Trip turned to her. "Hoshi!"

"He didn't do it," she whispered. "Oh, Malcolm, you idiot, you had me so worried!" She pulled him forward and kissed him and she could feel his heart beating fast, his body shaking from the adrenaline, his skin slightly damp with sweat.

"What—" Trip began and then Travis and Jon were there. Hoshi broke the kiss and Malcolm looked slightly dazed.

"Hey! Nice move! 'Singing in the Rain', right? Oh, man, I love that movie!" Travis exclaimed. "We used to try and do that as kids! My brother could do it, but he never got up that high!" Travis burbled on excitedly, his monologue segueing into a discourse about an old kung fu movie where the protagonist used a small end table to defend himself, using only his feet. Jon nodded along indulgently as he gave Malcolm's shoulder a gentle squeeze, although his questioning gaze was penetrating.

"You mean...you..." Trip sputtered quietly, darting a quick look at Travis. The ensign was still telling Jon about the movie and Jon walked him away to help clean up, giving his friends time to talk.

Trip leaned toward Hoshi and Malcolm. "You mean you didn't do your...mojo juju voodoo thang?" he asked, his voice hushed and waggling his fingers like a wizard casting a spell.

The oddly blended expression on Malcolm's face made Hoshi wrap her arm around his waist, giving him a little hug.

"No. No...oh, God, I'm...I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you think—" Malcolm stammered, and he automatically reached out to Hoshi, the contact comforting to him.

"But you said you had an edge—" Trip started and T'Pol interrupted. He hadn't even seen her approach.

"He did. While Spork's sect believes in the ancient challenges and practices with the use of weapons, it is more of a ritualized exercise, precisely choreographed. An actual encounter is much more unpredictable and one that Spork had most likely never engaged in before. The Lieutenant had the tactical advantage." As well as knowing specifically about Spork's abilities, whereas Spork had very little real knowledge of humans in general and their armory officer in particular, she thought with satisfaction.

Travis was still talking a mile a minute, helping Jon clean up the glass, and Jon tuned him out, ears straining to hear the muted conversation going on.

"But...but—I saw you! When they were spouting that stuff—it looked like—I thought you set yourself—" Trip argued, examining Malcolm's eyes, still not quite believing.

Malcolm looked flustered. "I was..." he hesitated and Hoshi got the impression that he wasn't being completely honest. "...getting nervous. Not the best frame of mind to be in when you have to fight...so I...I...ran through one of T'Pol's meditations to calm down," he admitted reluctantly.

Jon smiled in relief and shot the four of them a look. His smile grew slightly wider when he saw Trip standing there, mouth open and speechless.

Travis leaned in toward Jon. "You know, I once saw him in a knife fight on Jupiter Station. He didn't have to use that TSA conditioning then, either."

It was Jon's turn to stand there, mouth gaping and mute, eyes wide in shock.

Bingo, thought Travis as he bent to pick up more of the glass, the expression on Jon's face confirming his suspicions. He'd let his captain think he was psychic for a while instead of explaining his months of detective work, the things he had heard and observed.

Travis always did love a mystery. But he loved solving them even more.

Chapter 39

They caught the next train and Malcolm made his way to the empty last car. He opened the connecting door for Hoshi and she headed for the back row.

T'Pol stopped him at the threshold and he looked at her. She raised her splayed hand above the side of his face, silently asking permission. Jon halted and reversed direction, taking Travis with him to the front of the car. They sat and Jon was soon pelting the helmsman with questions.

Malcolm blushed slightly and consented, and T'Pol's placed her fingers lightly on his face, lowering her mental shields just a bit. She received the information she sought, and then conveyed her own explanation, and Malcolm nodded minutely. As she removed her hand she pushed a stray lock of hair back off his forehead. "I am gratified he did not damage you, krenath."

"Me too, Duchess." He moved through the entrance to the next car, and T'Pol closed the connecting door and turned. She could at least give him some privacy, some time alone with the ensign to talk.

T'Pol settled next to Trip and she began to explain exactly what had occurred. Soon they were arguing quietly.

***

Hoshi slid into the extra wide bench first, sitting sideways with her back against the window and opened her arms to him. Malcolm's solemn countenance eased and he gratefully stole into her embrace, her legs on either side of him. He lightly rested his back against her and she waited.

He drew an abstract design or two on her tightly clad thigh with his fingertip, and then scooted down, leaning his head against her shoulder.

"I didn't want to keep cutting him," he said, his voice low and tight.

"I know."

"He wouldn't quit."

"I know." She felt his body finally relax.

"I'm sorry."

"For going up against someone twice your strength?" she asked wryly. "Or for making me think you were using your training?" Or for worrying me half to death that you were going to slit his throat, she thought, but left it unspoken.

"If T'Pol hadn't been hurt, I would have let her settle it. But we both knew she couldn't win." He closed his eyes and turned his face, his nose nestled into Hoshi's neck. She raised one hand and began to rub his head and he inhaled deeply, then fell silent again. Hoshi waited patiently.

"I didn't think...I didn't think what it would look like to you. I didn't mean to upset you—and I wasn't nervous. I was excited. Afraid," he added so quietly that she almost missed it.

Her other arm was still wrapped around him and she hugged him, her fingers continuing to play soothingly through his hair.

"Of what?" she murmured.

"Afraid I'd lose my temper. That I'd lose control and kill him. Afraid I'd like it..." He laced his fingers through the hand holding him. "That's why I had to calm myself down..."

"Did you like it?"

He heard nothing but tenderness and empathy in her voice, her fingers still caressing his head, her arm still embracing him.

"I like the adrenaline rush of a good fight. I can't help it anymore," he said a little sadly.

The anger at the threat the Vulcans had posed to his friends, not quite trusting that Spork would keep his word, had fueled something that Malcolm couldn't quite put a finger on and didn't want to think about. Bad enough that the blood—the smell of it, the feel of it—had been stimulating. The shock of that reaction, of realizing that it would have been so easy to inflict a fatal wound if he lost control and actually wanted to kill, had revolted him and left him shaking.

"But killing like that again...God, no, Hoshi, I didn't like it," he breathed out. He crept down further and rested his head in her lap, her fingers following and continuing their placating stroking motion through his hair. "I didn't want it."

"I was afraid too. You were so cold, Malcolm," she said. "That's what scared me."

"I know. I had to be. T'Pol told me about Spork and his sect whilst everyone was sleeping. He's from a house of Vulcans that had been bred in what she calls 'the mind arts'. He supposedly comes from an ancient line schooled to kill with their thoughts, but a thousand years of peace has diluted that."

Lucky for me, he thought, that tickle inside his head still a vivid memory. T'Pol had warned him not to let Spork touch him; that while Spork's line could no longer kill from a distance, the Vulcan would have no problem doing so within a meld.

"I knew Vulcans were supposedly a warrior race far back in their past," Hoshi said, continuing to stroke him, fascinated by this chapter of Vulcan history of which she had never heard, "But this sounds almost mythical."

"Hardly. I could feel it. I could feel him easily reading everything I felt on the surface, so I had to bury it. He would have found out I wasn't going to kill him and then he'd never surrender. T'Pol says they're amoral, except for their strict adherence to ancient rituals. A bit like honor among thieves, I suppose."

He had locked his feelings away, as he always did whenever he had to fight, but he had felt Spork's attempt to invade his mind, trying to ascertain his resolve, as T'Pol had warned him the man would do. Spork had tried to see through the emotionless facade T'Pol had counseled Malcolm to present, trying to attack on a level that Spork thought would give him an easy victory. Luckily Malcolm's experience in putting up a wall of resistance had stymied Spork long enough for Malcolm to defeat him.

He sighed and shifted, then sat up, meeting her gaze for the first time.

"His sect believes in the inherent superiority of Vulcans, of logic overriding every action, the ends justifying the means, regardless of who gets hurt. Everyone else is substandard in their eyes, our feelings making us weak. And I think he would have forced me to kill him, unable to accept the fact that an inferior, emotional human had bested him. I didn't want to kill him, Hoshi. So T'Pol said we had to give him an out—an honorable and logical reason to surrender to someone just as cold and empty as he..."

He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I'm sorry I frightened you."

"I was more angry than scared, Malcolm." It was her turn to sigh. "Well...I was scared. Scared for you. Scared that you'd have no choice but to kill him...and I know how that would have made you feel."

"At least I didn't want to. I tried to make him think I would, though. Apparently I was convincing," he said and then gave her a tentative smile.

"Idiot." She smiled back, her fingers lightly brushing over his chest.

"Nag." He grinned, unsuccessful in mastering the shiver her touch caused.

"Bastard." The affection was clear in her voice. Her hand trailed up to caress his face.

"Angel." He kissed her.

"Uh, uh...don't think you're going to get away with—"

He cut her off with a second kiss. "Beloved." He kissed her again. "Cherished." Another kiss. "My heart, my soul, is yours...always," he whispered.

They disappeared down onto the seat and she allowed him to make it up to her for his grievous errors.

***

They strolled in the gentle rain along the deserted sidewalks to the space port, not a cab in sight.

Trip was delighted with his glow-in-the-dark clothing. Hoshi was amused, laughing now and then, as they followed the bright polka dots and fruits and vegetables that moved through the gloom. Travis and Jon joked with them, making awful puns and good natured complaints about not having the same illuminated apparel. T'Pol suffered their joviality, finally capitulating to the illogic of her human crewmates' incomprehensible ways of dealing with stress, vaguely feeling as if she was the unfortunate den mother to a group of unruly school children.

When Trip hung back to talk to Malcolm, she eavesdropped without guilt. After all, her ability to hear better than the average human was a natural attribute of her species and she could not help it if they forgot that on occasion.

Trip asked him if he was all right, and received the patented Reed answer of "I'm fine."

"Don't give me your stiff upper lip, Malcolm," he scolded quietly.

"Trip—" Malcolm protested, exasperation clear in his voice. He stopped and started again, this time with a conciliatory tone. "I really am okay, Trip. I appreciate your concern. If I need to talk, I know where to come." Malcolm gave Trip a lopsided smirk. "And I'm sorry I puked on you."

Trip laughed and then slung a wet arm around Malcolm's equally soggy shoulder, noting with a grin the scornful look Malcolm gave to the large cucumber-like vegetable glowing on his shirt sleeve.

"So. Breaking and entering, tight rope walking, sledding and flit boarding. I'm beginning to wonder if there's anything you can't do," Trip drawled loudly in a teasing tone. Malcolm rolled his eyes. Jon and Travis shortened their stride until they caught up to them.

"Charades," Travis stated with a smile.

"Travis—" Malcolm groaned, hoping the helmsman wasn't going to tell that story.

"Charades?" Trip asked with a gleeful tone.

"And Hangman. Oh, and you're horrible at badminton. Pretty lousy bowler too." Trip's grin grew wider as he felt his friend's shoulders slump at Travis' teasing. Malcolm hung his head, shaking it slowly.

"He's terrible at languages," Hoshi put in as she threw a wink at Trip. "Not much of a cook, either—"

"I can cook," Malcolm objected feebly.

"Sushi doesn't count," Hoshi retorted. "And neither does boiled monkey."

A chorus of 'ews' was heard from the human males.

"Damn! And you complain about what I eat?" Trip said in disgust.

"Did she tell you about eating insects?" Malcolm asked, and shot a smug look at Hoshi, "Termites and grubs? On purpose?"

Another refrain of revolted sounds were issued.

"He's not very good at small talk," Jon added his two cents and was rewarded by Malcolm scrubbing a hand down his face.

"While the Lieutenant has many shortcomings, he does excel in several areas," T'Pol stated calmly.

The distrust was clear on Malcolm's face as turned his narrowed eyes to their science officer.

"His ability to invoke creative and profane maledictions is remarkably impressive," T'Pol continued calmly. Her crewmates tittered and she continued. "As well as his exceptional perseverance in the art of whining and complaining, especially when cold and wet."

The laughter from her human companions caused Malcolm to bury his face in his hands. But when he looked up, Hoshi could see the sparkle in his eyes, with an answering twinkle shining from T'Pol's in her otherwise impassive face.

Chapter 40

The stood in front of the main entrance of the space port facility and watched Jon rattle the locked doors again, the structure empty and dark.

"Must be that damn holiday," Trip said with disgust, running a hand through his soaking hair. "What kind of planet has everyone just taking off to party."

"Come on, Commander. If we were here for shore leave, I bet you'd be in the thick of things, just eating it up," Travis remarked.

"Let's check around the perimeter of the landing field and see if we can find a gate or something to get into," Jon said and led his crew away from the building, back out into the rain.

"Can't we just blow the damn door off? I still have Malcolm's bomb," Trip grumbled, reaching into his pocket for it.

Malcolm held his hand out to reclaim it. "Just because we can't get in this way doesn't mean we should destroy half the lobby. Besides, it's not right."

"Weird time for your ethics to act up, Malcolm," Trip taunted.

"They haven't done anything to us; you just can't go about blowing up buildings because you're impatient."

"Ooh. Mr. Patience has spoken—"

"How would you like me to patiently clip you one round the—"

"Boys," Jon said, his command tone cutting them both off. He palmed the water off his face. It didn't help. "I understand we're all tired, wet, and crabby —"

"I'm not crabby," Travis chirped and Hoshi poked him.

"You're never crabby," Trip griped.

"Ooh. Mr. Happy Pants has spoken—" Malcolm mumbled. Hoshi elbowed him.

"Guys!" Jon raised his voice. "Let's just find another way in, okay?" He let Trip and Malcolm take the lead as they inspected the high cobblestoned wall ringing the landing field. He sighed as they started squabbling again. Travis wrapped his arm around Hoshi and supported her as she hobbled along on her now throbbing ankle. He said something to her that Jon didn't catch, triggering a round of giggling from the ensigns. Jon sighed again.

He hung back with T'Pol. "Why do I feel like I'm a den mother on a scouting trip with a group of ten year olds?"

"Because your species is young, as is your crew. And they all have their...eccentric...traits."

Jon looked fondly at his crewmembers, Travis attacking Hoshi's ribs, laughing hard at something she had said, while Trip was trying to shove a handful of mud down Malcolm's back. Malcolm spun and attempted to push Trip's hand up into his face. They were both snickering.

"Best damn crew in the fleet," Jon said with pride as the ensigns broke off their assault on each other and scooped up a handful of mud. They caught their superior officers by surprise and Jon and T'Pol gave the ensuing mud smearing a wide berth.

"I believe their trust in each other and strong camaraderie is due to your unorthodox command style. You have led by example and it has bonded your crew together in a way that few ships can match. It is a credit to your persistence in making every crewmember feel part of a...family," T'Pol said without a hint of shame.

Jon looked at her, surprised, and, he had to admit, touched.

"And what about you, T'Pol? Do you feel like a part of this family too?"

She gazed at him, her face inscrutable. Then her mouth twitched just a jot.

"Yes. I do and I have no other place I would rather be at this time in my life."

Jon put a tentative hand on her uninjured shoulder and she allowed him to rest it there for a moment. "I'm glad, T'Pol. Because the Enterprise wouldn't be the same without you."

They continued to follow their crewmates, Jon smiling as he watched the antics of his bridge crew, Trip and Malcolm still trying to find a breach in the wall, Travis and Hoshi helping, a good natured banter flying between the now slightly mud streaked foursome.

They came to an odd ninety degree angle in the wall, and then a chain-link fence. They could see a small station inside the barrier.

"Bet that's the control room for this," Trip indicated to the fence, walking toward it. Hoshi shot a hand out to hold him back.

"There's a strange sound coming from the fence, Trip. I wouldn't touch it," she said.

Malcolm looked about and found a stick. He threw it at the fence. It sparked and the stick fell back, smoldering.

Travis peered through holes in the chain link. "I can see the shuttle from here," he noted and they all drew closer, but not too close.

"Aw, crap. Couple hundred meters from getting out of here and we can't get in," Trip complained.

"I can try to get over the wall," Malcolm said reluctantly.

"It's pretty high and I don't think any of us are in any condition to give you a boost up," Trip countered.

"I'll take a running start." He went back to where the wall met at an angle, inspecting it, feeling the jutting stones, trying to decide on a path.

He backed up about ten meters and then sprinted toward the wall. His leap got him aloft about a third of the way and he scrambled up quickly, using the slightly protruding stones as foot and handholds, his legs pushing off the angle in the wall to brace and support himself. He made it to the top and looked down on the other side. He hesitated, cursing, then slithered over. They heard a wet splash and another expletive.

"You okay?" Hoshi called out anxiously.

"Fine," they heard the disgruntled reply.

They went to the chain linked fence and Malcolm walked into their field of vision, dripping in mud and slime.

"What happened?" Hoshi asked, trying not to laugh.

"There's a bloody moat on this side," Malcolm spat. "Who the hell digs a moat on the inside?"

"Archollians?" Travis said brightly.

Malcolm shook his head, muttering under his breath as he walked to the little station. He entered it and a couple of minutes later the fence began to move, opening wide enough for them to slip inside. It closed again as they approached the small structure. Malcolm came out, futilely trying to wipe the mud off himself, and they continued to the shuttle, all eager to be on their way.

So when they saw the three Andorians walk out from between two parked crafts, the chorus of profanity from the humans was met with a silent but solid endorsement by T'Pol.

Chapter 41

The three Andorians stopped dead in their tracks, their eyes taking in the six drenched aliens. The one with the broken nose gasped audibly when his eyes settled on Hoshi and he made a quick gesture with his hand. His companions did the same and they backed up a few steps.

"Please. Leave us alone. Do not set your Kana'ti on us." The UT sputtered on the word.

Hoshi looked at Jon in astonishment, but Travis immediately stepped forward.

"Then you better just turn around and leave right now, or else the captain will unleash the fury of our Hoshi-Kana'ti on you," Travis said, his voice deep and portentous.

His crewmates looked at him as if he had lost his mind. But the Andorians backed up further, hands gesticulating furiously. T'Pol joined Travis.

"I would recommend you hurry. Her powers are formidable and we have not been entirely successful at constraining her wrath," T'Pol said ominously. Well, as ominously as a Vulcan could manage. "You do not wish to know what she did to those Klingons," she added.

The Andorians turned and ran as if the hounds of hell were after them. T'Pol and Travis watched and a huge grin broke out on Travis' face as he began to laugh. "Good job, Sub-Commander."

"Very quick thinking on your part, Ensign. Extremely admirable."

"What the hell was that about?" Jon asked in confusion, disbelief lacing his words.

"Some Andorians are very superstitious," T'Pol explained with a note of distaste.

"Yeah, a Kana'ti is a wraith, an evil sorceress—someone back from the dead to wreck vengeance. Andorians have some really great ghost stories," Travis said happily and he started toward the shuttle to open it and begin the pre-flight check.

His crewmates fell in behind him, Jon and Trip flanking T'Pol. "You mean, they thought Hoshi was a witch or something?" Trip asked her.

"She did incapacitate the one with the broken nose. And before you shot him in the pie factory, he saw her fall over the railing. I'm sure he felt that her death was a certainty."

Malcolm tightened his embrace around Hoshi's waist as he continued to help her limp toward the pod. "I always thought you had a supernatural predilection." He whispered in her ear. "You have me utterly bewitched and haunt my dreams."

She hugged him, ignoring the sludge and muck adhering to him. "And you better toe the line, mister, or I'll have to use my evil powers on you," she teased.

"You already have, love."

***

Phlox scanned and cleared them, stating that decon was unnecessary and he merrily led the bedraggled six to sick bay. Porthos greeted Jon from a cushion in the corner with a small whine, a cone-like collar encircling his neck.

"You removed that cyst from his leg?" Jon asked, concerned, as he squatted down carefully to pet the miserable dog. He grunted in pain as he shifted his head, his neck twinging harshly.

"Yes, he's fine, Captain. Not very happy with his collar though. I don't want him nibbling at his leg. It will be tender for a day or two."

Jon tried to nod and grunted again.

"That doesn't sound very good. Sit down, all of you. Apparently there are some injuries here that need treatment," Phlox said in that cheerful tone of his, beaming at everyone. He chattered soothingly as he helped Jon to a biobed and began to scan him.

Trip eased himself down, his back aching and stiff from the ride. He was glad to get out of the wet weather and just wanted a warm shower and something to eat. They had turned the heat on high and wrapped themselves in blankets on the way back, trying to dry off. Malcolm had piloted, Travis' chest hurting too badly to sit for long.

T'Pol situated herself next to Trip on the biobed, tired but content with the conclusion of her archeological mission. Her thigh brushed against his and she let it remain there, too fatigued to move it. He looked at her, a question in his eyes, and she raised her eyebrows slightly in response. She noticed that he didn't move either.

Travis stood as Liz Cutler ran a scanner over him. "Oh, Travis! Looks like you have a small hairline fracture of your sternum." She clucked sympathetically and fussed over him, helping to remove his shirt, her hand lingering on one bicep. She blushed when he smiled at her and busied herself with getting the boneknitter ready.

Hoshi and Malcolm sat side by side, waiting for Phlox to get to them. They spoke in hushed tones to each other, an occasional laugh coming from Hoshi. Malcolm said something to her and she gently slapped his thigh. He laughed when her nosed wrinkled and she wiped her hand off on her shirt.

Cutler was talking to Travis while running the knitter over his chest. Travis smiled and asked her to come with him to dinner. She accepted with a smile. They continued to smile at each other.

Phlox told Jon he had a mild case of whiplash, and forced him to wear a nice white support to relieve the strain on his neck. Jon was red faced while he held Porthos, a matched pair in their unusual collars. Trip was laughing, until

Phlox prodded the bruise on his back. The doctor poked T'Pol's shoulder as well, but she did not react as loudly as Trip had. Just a little hiss from between her clenched teeth.

Phlox gave them identical jars of foul smelling cream, ordering them to cover their bruises three times a day with it, then suggesting that they assist each other in coating any unreachable places. It was Trip's turn to blush.

The doctor checked Hoshi's ankle and recommended staying off it for a day or so. He asked everyone to remain seated while he prepared analgesic hyposprays for them.

A collective sigh of relief and happiness from the four humans filled the room.

Phlox ran the scanner over Malcolm, the doctor's face growing more incredulous as he studied the readings.

"My scanner must be malfunctioning," Phlox muttered.

"Why?" Malcolm asked.

"According to this, you have no injuries. You're in perfect health."

"I didn't get hurt," Malcolm explained.

"Amazing. Are you sure you haven't been shot?"

Malcolm nodded.

"Impaled? Concussed?"

Malcolm shook his head.

"Allergic reaction? Head cold? Bruised?" Phlox asked, his skepticism becoming more pronounced with each negative head shake from Malcolm. "Scratched?"

Malcolm thrust out his palm. "I had a sliver," he said sarcastically. "But it came out."

Phlox looked at Malcolm's hand. "You're filthy," he remarked, as if noticing it for the first time.

"Yes. It's becoming my natural state. I'd like to go take a shower now, please."

"By all means, Lieutenant. I'm surprised you haven't caught some horrendous microbe, considering the condition you're in."

Malcolm slipped off the biobed with a smirk. "Perhaps my luck is changing, Doctor." He smiled that rare broad smile at Hoshi, his eyes gleaming as he looked at her. "I'll bring you dinner. I suppose I'll have to make sure you keep off your feet, Ensign. Doctor's orders." He winked at her before leaving.

Chapter 42

For three days with every spare moment she could wrangle, T'Pol worked on translating the scrolls. She had enlisted Trip's assistance in finally opening the container, almost two days wasted as together they tried various chemicals and devices to crack the metallic box. They finally struck upon an old fashion radio wave frequency. It unlocked the case, the sides simply unfolding and collapsing.

She sacrificed sleep, only remembering to eat when Trip would come to her quarters to either escort her to the mess hall or to bring her a meal. Each time he turned up, she was reminded of how she had missed his company, and each time they ate together and simply talked she was reminded of how comfortable she was with him. And each time he said goodnight, leaving her alone again in her room, she was reminded that she could follow her own path.

In the wee hours of the fourth day, she re-read her translation of the first scroll and then the second. She had reviewed and verified her work several times, unable to accept that she had translated the words correctly.

But she had not made an error. She wished she had.

She locked the scrolls in her desk drawer, her fatigue finally catching up to her. She changed, but she could not meditate, incapable of concentrating properly, still unable to believe what the scrolls revealed.

So she went to bed instead, in the dark, on her back and hands at her side. A human saying passed through her mind and she reflected that it was most likely true. So in response to her discovery she completely relinquished her emotional control for once.

For the first time in her life, she laughed.

***

They sat on the couch in the observation lounge, close together and relaxed, drinks in hand, waiting for T'Pol.

Travis' long legs were sprawled out in front of him as usual. "Wonder what she wants," he said, opening the floor for discussion.

Hoshi settled back onto Malcolm's shoulder, her foot propped up on his leg, his feet up on the low table he had dragged over. She sipped her glass of wine, watching his fingers dance over her thigh, making those abstract patterns. "I hope it's what the scrolls say. We meet with that Vulcan ship tomorrow morning and I'm sure they'll be taking them."

"I'm certain the Directorate has ordered her not to divulge their contents to any outworlders," Malcolm said, contemplating his beer. "Especially if the writings disturb the status quo."

Trip sipped his beer, his feet on the table next to Malcolm's. "She'd tell us, regardless of what they order her to do." He pushed Malcolm's foot with his boot. "You know that."

Malcolm's boot jogged Trip's foot back. "Yes, I know that. I was just saying that they probably told her not to tell us anything." He gave Trip's boot another prod for emphasis.

Hoshi rolled her eyes as a nudge war began.

Hoshi removed her foot from Malcolm's leg as Jon withdrew his feet from the table to avoid his subordinates' foot skirmish, although he did manage to give Trip's foot a small shove before doing so. Accidentally, of course. Jon saw his best friend's mock look of betrayal as Malcolm glanced at Jon and smirked.

Jon was just thankful that they each had a bottle in their hands so that it wouldn't degenerate into a wrestling match.

Travis said something to Hoshi and she giggled and poked him in the ribs. Travis retaliated.

The poking match commenced.

Jon sighed. He thought that likening his crew to a group of ten year olds had been too generous.

T'Pol entered and Trip sat up, causing a domino effect of untangling and straightening. She stood and faced them, now only seeing her captain and four of Starfleet's finest.

"I believe you are all wondering why I gathered—"

"— you here today," Hoshi and Travis finished with T'Pol and Starfleet's finest began to giggle. Including the captain.

"Sorry. It's just such a cliche," Trip explained.

"Ah. Another ineffable example of human...humor," she sniffed.

"Go on T'Pol," Jon said, and he wiped the smile from his face, encouraging his officers to do the same.

"I have translated the scrolls, and since you were all integral in assisting me in retrieving them, I believe that each of you have the right to know their contents."

She had their full attention now, their faces serious. She clasped her hands behind her back and reinforced that granite Vulcan control.

"Although Surak was the founder of the Vulcan way it was not until later in his life that he developed his ideology." She began to pace a little, unable to help herself.

"His life before becoming a philosopher and an instrument of peace was one of a businessman."

"What'd he do?" Trip asked the same question that all of his crewmates were thinking.

"In Surak's time, Vulcan was very much like Earth's twentieth century; concerned with material things such as commerce and trade, the pursuit of wealth, land, or power. Surak worked to coax his fellow citizens into parting with their wealth in exchange for commercial goods."

"He was a salesman?" Jon asked dubiously.

"In a sense." T'Pol stopped pacing and faced them. "He used his intellect and powers of persuasion to...extol...the virtues of specific goods and products."

"He created adverts?" Malcolm asked, his face incredulous. His crewmates' expressions echoed his.

"If you mean advertisements and scripts for visual announcements...yes."

"So what does this have to do with the scrolls?" Hoshi asked.

"They appear to be drafts for several advertising campaigns for a highly popular beverage," T'Pol said, a bit rushed.

The silence was thunderous.

Malcolm made a choking sound and Hoshi looked at him in alarm.

Malcolm clapped a hand to his mouth, shoulders shaking. A slow smile formed on Hoshi's face.

"We almost got killed to recover a heap of scribblings for some stupid commercials?" Trip asked, outrage and disbelief clear in his voice.

Malcolm bravely tried to maintain his control.

"So, was it a successful campaign?" Travis asked innocently, but the broad grin on his face repudiated the guileless nature of his question.

Malcolm looked at Travis and started to snicker.

"Great taste or less filling?" Jon asked, a strangled giggle bubbling out despite his best efforts.

A high pitched cackle escaped from Malcolm and he started laughing like a hyena on nitrous oxide. Hoshi stared at him, and then began chuckling. He met her eyes and the dam burst, both now howling, laughing so hard tears were forming. Travis collapsed onto Hoshi, chortling insanely, and they clung to each other, too weak to sit up properly. Jon roared when he saw the look of stunned surprise on T'Pol's face at her crewmates reactions, and he leaned into Trip, body shaking helplessly.

"You people are lunatics!" Trip exclaimed, causing his friends to convulse harder. He stood and Jon, gasping with laugher, tipped over onto Malcolm. Trip gave Jon a little smack on the back of the head. "Idiots." Jon just laughed harder.

"God is an iron," Malcolm panted out.

"What?" Hoshi wheezed.

"Spider Robinson. 'If a person who indulges in gluttony is a glutton, and a person who commits a felony is a felon, then God is an iron.' It's the universe having a giggle at us, Mister Tucker." Malcolm started laughing again.

Trip threw his hands up in disgust and stormed out, the renewed laughter of his crewmates following him to the corridor.

He didn't hear her footsteps until she was right beside him.

"You should not be angry with them, Trip. Although it is an...odd...reaction, I'm sure it's a healthy response to the stresses that we experienced."

He stopped and her dark eyes met his light ones. "I have been told numerous times that 'laughter is the best medicine'. And I must admit that, for once, I completely understand the humorous implications of the situation." One side of her mouth twitched a smidgen upwards and Trip looked surprised. His expression caused the other side of her mouth to curve slightly.

He stared at her upturned lips and suddenly felt warm, his feelings jumbled. He tore his gaze away and started walking, unsettled. She fell in beside him.

"Yeah, I can see the humor in it T'Pol. But..."

He trailed off and she reached out a tentative hand, placing it on his arm. He stopped again.

"But what, Trip?"

Her face was serious and impassive, but her voice held a tenderness that he had heard before. Several times before, he realized, when she had talked to him.

"Those Vulcan fanatics were after you. Not to mention all those other guys. You could have been killed." His voice broke and he was horrified. He turned and walked away quickly, but she caught up to him, pulling him into an unoccupied room with that Vulcan strength he always underestimated.

"I was not killed. I am fine. And, overall, this is the best outcome for my people. An ideological crisis has been averted on my world."

She leaned closer to him, her next words a confession. "Someone I respect told me 'There's no shame in admitting to enjoying yourself'. I had fun, Trip. Another failing on my part, I suppose, but I have decided to 'screw the rest' and live my life the way it satisfies me."

Trip was stunned as she repeated his words back to him.

"And what would satisfy you?" he asked gently, hoping.

"I have found your presence satisfying. I believe I would like to explore what Mister Reed has termed 'interspecies relationships'."

He leaned forward in response, studying her face. Their eyes met and he moved closer, lips ready to kiss her. She pulled away, breaking eye contact.

Trip reflected that love really hurts.

Chapter 43

"Vulcans do not kiss. While humans may find the topical application of their lips pleasurable, it is an unhygienic and distasteful practice."

Trip's heart sank further. She was just so...alien.

Then she looked at him again. "Vulcans do, however, have a way of showing their...affinity...for someone." She extended two fingers toward him, eyebrow raised, almost daring him to copy her.

He stretched out his hand, his fingers mirroring hers. She gently drew her fingers up along his, over the top and then downwards.

He felt something. Something beyond the heat of her normal body temperature. She reversed the motion and he felt a...tingle. Not a simple sexual stirring, but something that touched him, deeper, reverberating in his chest and stomach, spreading throughout his body. He slowly swept his fingers up and along hers. And then he felt it.

Her affection for him. Her respect. Her approval. Her luminous curiosity, burning her from the inside out. Her willingness to explore and learn. That alien mindset, those suppressed emotions that she had been born and raised with, those otherworldly sensibilities that he thought he would never understand.

Then a layer of heat and tightly leashed emotions, too volatile to ever be set free, too dangerous. The iron layer of logic, order and calm imposed upon them, protecting her, and others, from that volcanic activity. That deceptively quiescent exterior, hiding a molten core.

She withdrew her fingers and gazed calmly at him. "Do you understand now why Vulcans sought the way of Surak?"

He nodded, his utter surprise making him mute.

She extended her fingers again and this time he brushed his along hers without hesitation. And he knew she was seeing what he was feeling as well.

He let his hand fall. They were just too different.

"No," she said. He looked at her.

"Logic can overcome differences. And I have been told that people are people, under the skin." She raised an eyebrow at him and he smiled. The corner of her mouth moved.

"But...no kissing?" he asked plaintively, teasing her.

"I'd rather let Porthos lick my face; a dog's mouth has less bacteria than a human's," she retorted and brought her fingers up to his again. He let them touch his.

I just might make you change your mind, he thought.

He was shocked when he heard her voice in his head. //I doubt it. But I look forward to the challenge.//

Epilogue

She found him in the Observation Lounge, engrossed in a PADD, headphones on and a glass of milk forgotten on the low table. A plate with the remains of an unidentifiable snack sat next to the milk, his bare toes tapping the plate rhythmically, making the crumbs jump slightly.

She plopped down next to him and he startled slightly, then smiled that wide grin reserved only for her, the one that reached his eyes and let her see how much he loved her. He immediately pulled her into his shoulder, laying the PADD aside and removing the headphones. He placed a light kiss upon her temple.

"What are you reading?" Hoshi asked.

"Barbara Tuchman, 'March of Folly'," Malcolm replied.

"Any good?"

"Quite. As interesting as it is to read about battles won, it's even more enlightening to read about when things go pear shaped."

"Learn anything?" she asked with a teasing tone.

"Never get involved in a land war in Asia," he intoned with a grin.

She slapped his knee and chuckled and he hugged her, still smiling.

Hoshi relaxed into him, basking in his warmth, his touch, his company. They sat, hands and fingers skating over each other's limbs as they talked and laughed and were engaged in a bit of hushed gossip when the doors slid open once more.

The objects of their quiet speculation entered and were welcomed by identical cat and the canary grins.

"Trip, T'Pol," Hoshi greeted.

"Hoshi, Malcolm," Trip answered and T'Pol nodded her acknowledgment with an arched eyebrow just as Malcolm nodded, smirking slightly. Trip and Hoshi exchanged a look, amused by the odd mirroring of their lieutenant and sub-commander. Malcolm had told Hoshi he was sure T'Pol used her eyebrows to smirk, and Hoshi had mentioned it to Trip.

Trip and T'Pol sat at the other end of the couch, close but not touching, T'Pol primly upright. Trip put his feet up on the table and sunk back into the couch.

"I noticed you got a communique from the Directorate this morning, T'Pol," Hoshi remarked casually, trying not to allow the overwhelming inquisitiveness she felt to enter her voice. Malcolm's thigh bumped hers and he mouthed the word 'yenta' to her with a roll of his eyes.

She nudged him back, knowing he was just as curious as she. He just hid it better.

T'Pol blandly ignored their silent discourse. "Yes. Several authorities have been studying the scrolls—"

"Yeah, the blockheads didn't believe what T'Pol told them," Trip interrupted, outraged on T'Pol's behalf and about to embark on a tirade about the collective stupidity of the Directorate's specialists when T'Pol cut him off.

"Trip. The Directorate gathered experts from every area of study, from the Vulcan language to Surak's life. They are neither 'blockheads', 'idiots', or unable to distinguish 'their backsides from a hole in the ground'," she quoted calmly, permitting a barely perceptible tinge of Trip's accent to color her last words.

Trip glowered at Hoshi and Malcolm as they both snickered.

"What did they conclude?" Hoshi asked as she patted Trip's knee in an attempt to placate him.

"That I was correct in my interpretation," T'Pol answered. Although there was no inflection in their science officer's voice or expression on her face, there was something in her eyes that gave Hoshi an impression that T'Pol was feeling smug.

"Well, Duchess, I'll wager you'd have loved to been a fly on the wall during that debriefing," Malcolm said, his finger busy tracing a pattern on Hoshi's thigh.

"Why would I wish to be a winged insect, krenath?" T'Pol asked, puzzled.

"Human colloquialism," the other three chorused.

"I see. A rather disquieting image, considering last night's movie..."

The humans laughed and they settled into a comfortable silence until Hoshi broke it.

"What does krenath mean?" she asked. "I can't find it in the database."

"It's meaning has changed over the millennia. Its original meaning was 'illegitimate offspring' and was considered a grave insult before Surak's time, when houses and lineage were vitally important. But the connotation has changed with our advancement from those emotional times. It now is interpreted as 'shamed ones', referring to the parents of a person who was born out of wedlock. The fault is properly placed on the parents, not the child."

Hoshi looked at Malcolm, who was grinning again. "She's calling you a bastard?" Hoshi laughed, then darted a disbelieving look at T'Pol. Trip was laughing and T'Pol met Hoshi's gaze calmly.

"At the time, he had been...trying my patience," T'Pol answered with a spark in her eye and Malcolm chuckled, knowing they were both remembering those first lessons.

Hoshi laughed and settled in closer to Malcolm, who tightened his hold around her.

"Besides, it is an accurate description," T'Pol added.

"Oh, come on now, T'Pol. I'm not that bad," Malcolm protested.

"No, but you are a product of an unmarried liaison," she replied.

"I beg your pardon?" Malcolm asked in disbelieve. "My parents have been married for ages."

"They married one year, four months and sixteen days after your birth," T'Pol stated calmly.

Malcolm sat up straight, surprise and a bit of shock on his face. "What?"

T'Pol managed to look surprised herself. "You did not know this? You haven't seen the documentation?"

Malcolm's mouth worked a bit before he could spit out an answer. "I...I haven't seen their marriage certificate, but...but they've been...how would you know?" he asked, on the offensive and suddenly skeptical.

"Before joining Enterprise I read all of the information on the command crew to familiarize myself with the bridge crew."

"And our parents' marriage certificate is in our files?" Trip asked, incredulous.

"No. That information is part of public records. Family connections are still very important on Vulcan. It was a natural part of my research to investigate the lineage of the people with whom I would work closest."

Malcolm collapsed back into the couch, stunned. Hoshi gave him a worried look and placed her free hand on his face, stroking lightly. He gazed at his fingers still entwined with her. "It would explain so much. Oh, Lord," he murmured.

"I ask your forgiveness, Malcolm. I did not realize—" T'Pol began and Hoshi thought she heard a genuine note of regret in T'Pol's voice. But Malcolm cut her off.

"It's all right." He looked at her and smiled. "It's perfectly all right, Duchess." He released Hoshi's hand and stood, collecting his things, placing the glass on the plate and chuckled, shaking his head. "It's delicious, actually." Hoshi rose and took the PADD, then slipped her hand into his. He gave it a squeeze.

"It appears I have some letters to write. Aunt Sherry for the polite, official story, and Uncle Archie for the scandalous bits," he said, his grin growing wider and eyes gleaming. "And of course, Maddie. It'll knock her for a loop, but we'll have a grand laugh over it." He paused, a sudden thought hitting him and he looked at T'Pol. "Is there any chance he isn't my father?" he asked hopefully.

"Malcolm!" Hoshi admonished. "You're talking about your mother!"

"Well..."

"No, Lieutenant, you are his biological son according to the records."

"Hmm. Pity, that," he muttered. Hoshi released his hand and smacked him.

"Just thinking of the gene pool, love. I'm afraid if you want children, you'll have to put up with the Reed DNA."

"Children?" Hoshi spluttered as he walked toward the door.

"Or not. Up to you, love." Hoshi scrambled to catch up to him. He stopped abruptly and she saw that impulsive and reckless glint in his eyes. He startled her when he pulled her into an embrace, free hand drifting. He kissed her, slow and sweet.

Between her utter shock at his brazen public display and that bone-melting kiss, she could only stand there mutely as he released her. "Besides, sometimes pregnancy adds a little something in just the right places," he murmured, giving her backside a little smack before diving out the door with a wink and a wicked grin. She let loose an outraged screech and followed him.

Trip and T'Pol heard Hoshi's exclamation as the door slid shut.

"Malcolm Reed! You really are a bastard!"