The Protector's Lot

Prologue

They left Io Station behind, the Enterprise overhauled and upgraded. They dropped off supplies at a new colony, then continued outward again. After two days of uneventful voyaging, Admiral Forrest contacted Archer again.

T'Pol's eyes skimmed over the door of the Captain's ready room again. Seven minutes and 32 seconds had passed. She glanced at their armory officer, who was engrossed with the EM shield test he was running. He seemed indifferent to the conversation taking place behind the solidly closed doors. Yet T'Pol had a feeling it concerned him; not that she was one to indulge in 'feelings', of course.

She continued her work, mentally keeping track of the continuing length of the communication. She let another level of her awareness review her late night conversation with Lieutenant Reed when he had told her that the Admiral had asked him to find his son and a friend. The lieutenant hadn't told her what he had decided, but she felt certain she knew what his answer would be.

She glanced at him again, his dark head bent over his station, a constant low muttering of annoyance issuing from him as he keyed in more information. She pondered the resiliency of the human species, as well as their surprising capacity for keeping secrets.

T'Pol saw Hoshi swing her head around and look at him pointedly. He raised his head. T'Pol watched with interest as they made eye contact, his frown of vexation and concentration turning into a small smile. She saw Hoshi raise her eyebrows, then wink at him, smiling. He shook his head in long-suffering resignation, although his grin grew wider, then returned to his work, albeit silently this time.

She noticed that the Admiral had ended the communication and she waited for the Captain to emerge.

"Lieutenant! In my ready room. Now," Archer ground out, standing in the doorway.

"Aye, sir," Malcolm replied with his usual calm and shut down his simulations. He followed Archer through the door, avoiding Hoshi's inquisitive look.

As the bridge returned to silence T'Pol could hear the rise and fall of the Captain's voice, his tone argumentative. She continued her work, a majority of her attention focused on listening. Not that she would ever eavesdrop. Such an undesirable human trait. She couldn't help it if her shipmates seemed to forget that Vulcan hearing was superior to the human aural sense. She glanced at Ensign Sato and noticed that while the ensign's eyes were on her console, Hoshi's head was cocked in the direction of the ready room.

T'Pol thought that perhaps she'd been serving with humans for too long.

Chapter 1

An hour later T'Pol found herself waiting to enter the shuttlebay. A Vulcan cruiser hung off their bow and a shuttle from the ship was approaching the Starfleet vessel.

Captain Archer waited restlessly for the grappling procedure to begin, anger and worry clear on his face. Trip glanced at his friend, wondering why Jon was so upset. Trip then exchanged a look with T'Pol, who returned his gaze imperturbably, yet managed to convey her concern as well. She'd come down to Engineering to accompany him to the shuttlebay, informing him about the communication from the Admiral along the way. It occurred to him that she could have just commed him. That would have been the most logical and efficient use of her time. He looked at her again, smiling slightly this time and her expressionless face managed to look puzzled.

He glanced at Malcolm, who was standing next to Hoshi, their shoulders touching, both of them with their arms crossed and feet apart. Trip smiled a bit at the picture they presented. A mirror image of the other, same impassive gaze, same stance, same show of carefully controlled restraint. Two people pretending-one not to be dying of impatience, the other of curiosity.

The five of them stood there, not speaking, waiting to enter the bay. They got the green light and Trip watched as Jon realigned his face, smoothing it to a bland and calm countenance, then open the door.

***

Admiral Forrest exited the shuttlepod. Trip was shocked by how much older the man looked. There were bags and dark smudges under his eyes, two burning holes in his haggard face; even his hair seemed thinner and grayer. Forrest graced Jon with a pallid smile and gave Malcolm a look Trip didn't know how to decipher; it was a look of guilt, apology, and hope all mixed on his careworn face, making the Admiral look ancient.

Malcolm strode forward and shook the Admiral's hand. "Thank you," the Admiral murmured. "I'm sorry."

"There are a few leads I need to check. What's our schedule?" Malcolm asked, and then Trip's attention was caught by the other occupant of the shuttle, just now exiting it. Trip looked up and his eyes widened.

The man was big. Perhaps a few years older than Jon, but his musculature was impressive. Not an ounce of fat on him, his dark coffee colored skin highlighting the bulges of sinewy biceps and pecs, strong well-muscled thighs and barrel chest starkly apparent despite his nondescript clothing. Tall and broad shouldered, his powerful build was intimidating. Trip tried not to stare at the scar that twisted the man's handsome face, a rent from his mouth up to his eye, curling his lip into a permanent half smile, his eye dark and glaring.

Trip heard a deep rumble from the man as his eyes alighted on Malcolm. Malcolm looked up from the Admiral's answer and his eyes narrowed, his face growing cold. Malcolm looked back at the Admiral, and Trip could see the anger smoldering in his friend's eyes. "This is unacceptable," Malcolm said and Trip heard the fury in Malcolm's voice.

The stranger flung himself at Malcolm, the Admiral too slow to react, the rest too stunned at the sudden motion. He slammed Malcolm against the side of Shuttlepod Two, the impact echoing throughout the bay.

The Enterprise crew surged forward, but Malcolm lashed out and punched his assailant squarely in the face. Trip heard the crunch of bone and the man rocked back, hands flying to his nose. Malcolm pressed his advantage and kicked the legs out from under his attacker, sending him crashing to the deck. Malcolm landed knees first on the supine man's chest, and Trip winced, hearing the newcomer wheeze out painfully. Malcolm withdrew the knife from within his boot and straddled his victim, thrusting the knife point at the man's throat.

"Don't screw with me, Methuselah," Malcolm said, his voice soft and composed. "This is my territory, my shipmates. If you don't behave yourself, I swear I'll kill you."

Methuselah looked at Malcolm, his grin contorted into an ugly sneer now. "Still befok, boykie? I'm going to moer you stukkend if you try that again, doos," he hissed a little breathlessly.

Malcolm laughed unpleasantly at hearing the mixture of filthy Afrikaans and South African slang again. "Listen rugger bugger, jy pis my af and ek sal jou a snotklap gee, check? I'm bok for the jol, kak for brains. So gaan fok jouself."

Hoshi clapped a hand to her mouth, stifling a nervous giggle. Malcolm's pronunciation was flawless and she was sure the man was going to kill him.

"Malcolm. Let him go," Admiral Forrest ordered. Malcolm rose reluctantly.

"Fok jou, jou scrawny little moffie," Methuselah spat, rising, holding his broken and bloody nose.

"Fok jou, jou sklem poes," Malcolm replied mildly, replacing his knife.

Admiral Forrest sighed. "Zindzhi, speak English, please. Malcolm, we all need to talk." He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Methuselah, who used it to dab at his nose.

Hoshi looked at the newcomer and something clicked. "Zindzhi? Takiyah's name was Zindzhi wasn't it?" She looked over at Malcolm and he nodded, his eyes hooded.

"She was my sister, and that fokking killer is responsible for her death," Zindzhi replied, pointing at Malcolm.

Chapter 2

Trip cut his eyes back and forth between Malcolm and Zindzhi. He recalled Malcolm mentioning something about a lover named Takiyah while in the Admiral's office on Io Station. It seemed like ages since that revealing conversation, but, he noted distractedly, it was really only less than two weeks ago. Methuselah stepped forward and Malcolm tensed, then Trip and T'Pol moved simultaneously to impose themselves between the two men. Trip could see that Malcolm was furious, the accusation cutting him deeply. Malcolm crossed his arms and looked away, jaw tightening and hands clenched.

"You failed to protect her, didn't you, you pasty little gwarry. She loved you and you just stood by and let her die, didn't you? Dormouse should have timed your sorry ass out instead, you cowardly little bastard. And I should have killed you back when I had the chance." Methuselah stepped forward again, and Malcolm adjusted his stance, readying himself for another assault. Trip moved toward the man and put a hand out, meeting Methuselah's solid chest. Trip swallowed. Nothing but muscle there. T'Pol moved forward as well and Methuselah stopped. He looked at Trip and an amused smile crossed his face. Trip felt insignificant under that cold sneer. T'Pol arched an eyebrow and coolly gazed at the man. Trip had never seen her look so blasé, yet so threatening. Methuselah met her eyes, regarding her for a long moment, then backed down.

"You know what he is, don't you?" he asked her, and then looked at Trip. He looked over at Malcolm and grinned maliciously. "You know what kind of twisted lab rat he is, right?"

"They know," Malcolm answered in a low tight voice.

A flash of surprise shimmered across Methuselah's face, but he quickly covered it. "And you're trying to shield him from me?" He looked at Malcolm. "Your friends are either remarkably loyal or remarkably stupid—"

"Loyal," Trip snarled.

"Zindzhi! That's enough!" Forrest thundered. "You know Malcolm's not responsible for your sister's death. You volunteered to work with him on this. If you can't do this without cooperating, I don't need you and Adam certainly doesn't. Make a decision and make it now."

Jon decided to take charge of the situation. "Malcolm, get three of your security team to come down here and escort Mr. Zindzhi to sickbay so Dr. Phlox can see to his nose. Admiral, why don't we all meet in my ready room and talk this over."

Malcolm commed his team and they stood there in silence as the Admiral re-entered the shuttle. Hoshi moved to Malcolm's side and without thinking rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. She felt his tense muscles and could see him struggling to subdue his temper.

Methuselah noticed her movements and stared at her. "Your new tief, Cat?" Malcolm started toward him, eyes blazing. Hoshi caught his arm and tugged him back.

"Poephol," Hoshi said to Methuselah, a cherubic smile on her face. Malcolm looked at her in shock and Methuselah roared with laughter.

"You got yourself a lively one, eh Cat?" Methuselah chuckled. "You always liked them spirited." He looked at Hoshi, raking his eyes over her body lecherously, then met her eyes, measuring her. He said something in Afrikaans to her and Malcolm moved once more toward Methuselah, infuriated. Hoshi grabbed his arm again and she could see him trying to master his anger.

"Better hope you never have to depend on him. He's a heartless bastard. He only looks out for himself —"

"Don't push your luck, Thuse," Malcolm said, his voice low and ominous. He looked away, and Hoshi felt him inhale a long slow breath, releasing it leisurely. His muscles relaxed although he was still alert. She followed his gaze to the shuttle. Admiral Forrest had exited and was walking toward them, briefcase in hand.

"Still got quite the temper, don't you, Cat? Has it been getting worse? Finding it more difficult to control?" Methuselah taunted with an insinuating tone, stepping forward again.

"Same temper I've always had," he replied easily as he stared at Zindzhi again. Malcolm gave him a slight, menacing smile. "You'd do well to remember that, Thuse."

Zindzhi nodded. Hoshi was surprised when he stepped back, wiping at his bloody nose and gauging Malcolm.

Three security men arrived and Jonathan noted that they were the biggest and brawniest ones on the ship. They were armed. "Escort him to sickbay. Watch him. And when Phlox is finished with him, escort him to my ready room." They nodded and flanked the man.

"Shoot him if he gives you any problems," Malcolm added and flashed a humorless smile at Zindzhi. Admiral Forrest and the command team watched as they escorted the man out of the shuttle bay.

***

Hoshi and Malcolm followed behind the rest as the Captain nodded greetings to passing crewmen while exchange pleasantries with the Admiral. Hoshi could tell that Jonathan was ready to burst, his unease high, carefully regulating his usual rapid stride in deference to the older man's slower gait. She'd met the Admiral once, and had seen him when putting his communications through to Jon. But she'd never seen him look so disquieted. She glanced at Malcolm, wondering why the Admiral had apologized, and what on earth was Malcolm going to work on with Zindzhi. She felt her stomach flutter, a sudden feeling that none of this bode well. Malcolm's face was unreadable, even for her, until a brief smile sparkled across it and she followed his amused gaze.

Trip and T'Pol were walking ahead of them, murmuring quietly to each other. She noticed that Trip had shortened his stride, while T'Pol had lengthened hers, so that they walked in perfect synchronicity. Hoshi saw that T'Pol's usually stiff body language had relaxed, her arms swinging in time to Trip's, not as loosely as his, but not with her hands behind her back as she usually placed them. Hoshi smiled at the sight, completely oblivious to the fact that she and Malcolm were moving together in symmetry as well.

She looked over at Malcolm again and saw him absently rubbing his knuckles. She caught a glimpse of newly formed bruises between his massaging fingers and felt another flurry of agitation. He turned his head, eyes meeting hers. His smile weakened as he saw the questions in her eyes. He looked away.

He hadn't told Hoshi that Forrest had asked him to try to find Adam and Lita. What could he say? He knew she'd be upset. He knew she'd be angry. He knew she'd try to talk him out of it. And he knew she'd want to have an interminably long discussion about how he felt about the whole thing. He didn't want to have his feelings dissected, held up to the light and analyzed. He didn't want to have to admit that he was scared. And he didn't want to admit that he'd been sorely tempted to decline the Admiral's plea.

He was appalled by the fact that he had seriously considered turning his back on his two friends, the very people who had refused to leave him behind, who saved his life, the only two people still alive who he had been close to under horrific circumstances. He had wanted to forget all of it, especially now. Especially since his feelings for Hoshi had become so overwhelming.

Sometimes, when he'd watch Hoshi sleep, or when he was alone and with time on his hands, he couldn't believe it, that Hoshi loved him, even though she knew some of the things he'd done, what he was. And he was astonished that his feelings for her were so intense, so strong. He'd been convinced that he was incapable of ever feeling that deeply again.

He'd forgotten how much it hurt to love.

He'd forgotten that pressure in his chest, the ache in his throat, the electric energy sparking throughout his entire body when he was in the presence of someone he loved. He'd forgotten how he thought his feelings couldn't possibly get any stronger, and then the next week wonder why he'd ever thought that he couldn't love that person even more.

He thought about Hoshi, the way she made him laugh, her intelligence and determination, her acceptance and friendship. He savagely controlled an impetuous desire to pull Hoshi into the weapons' storage room and lose himself in her lips, the texture and smell of her hair, nibbling her elegant neck, slowing kissing his way down her beautiful smooth stomach, dipping his tongue into that petite hollow of a bellybutton, her body pressed against his as he caressed her ravishing, perfectly shaped...

Hoshi watched him as he appeared lost in thought, his eyes staring ahead and slightly downcast. At T'Pol's behind.

She nudged him. "Stop staring at her ass," she said, using Afrikaans so as not to be overheard.

His stride broke, but he recovered quickly, a slight blush rising to his cheeks. "I wasn't really looking at it..." he muttered back perfectly in the same language, and he heard her chuckle. He smiled at her despite himself, grateful for her teasing tone, for her sense of humor.

"Takiyah teach you?" she asked, her eyes sympathetic.

He nodded. "Using it with her daily for almost four years certainly helped."

"Yeah, your pronunciation's good. I'm surprised," she teased him again and he laughed.

He moved closer to her. "I love you," he whispered, and traced a finger down her arm.

"Love you too," she replied. "What aren't you telling me?"

He had the good grace to look embarrassed and, she noted unhappily, extremely nervous.

Chapter 3

"Admiral, no offense, but why are you here? And why did you bring that...gentleman?" Jon asked, masking his ire.

"You know that I've asked Malcolm to try to find my son. If he can locate Adam and Lita, Malcolm's agreed to...retrieve them. Zindzhi's offered to help."

Hoshi shot a surprised and displeased look at Malcolm. He gave her a feeble smile. Even T'Pol could read Hoshi's next facial expression. Later for you.

The Admiral opened his briefcase and withdrew several files, PADDs, and data chips. "This is everything I have, from archived information regarding the experiment to intelligence reports and rumors. As well as Adam's correspondences with other sources and friends. I thought it was best to deliver them personally to Malcolm," he said to Archer.

"How'd you find Zindzhi?" Malcolm asked. Last he heard Zindzhi was a mercenary, selling his services to the highest bidder.

"He found me. He's the one that told me that Adam had been taken," Forrest replied.

"And you believe him?" Malcolm's incredulity was evident.

"I'm not a complete fool, Lieutenant," Forrest snapped. "I verified Zindzhi's story through another source. Trust me on this." Malcolm nodded and wisely decided to keep any further remarks to himself.

"You seem to have lots of sources, Admiral. Isn't there anyone else willing to help?" Jon asked. He'd been troubled by Malcolm's decision ever since the Admiral had told him. An hour ago. He had pulled Malcolm into his ready room, seething that Malcolm hadn't informed him of his decision and argued with him, trying to convince him of the foolhardiness of this venture. Malcolm conceded that it wasn't something he wanted to do, but was equally adamant that he had to do it. Jon didn't like it. He didn't like it at all, and he let Malcolm know his opinion. Loudly. But Malcolm was stubborn. For the first time, Jon found himself wishing that Malcolm had a less rigid set of principles.

"Actually, I have very few sources, Jon, but I trust this one without reservation. I don't know most of the people who escaped and no one else has stepped forward. This particular source keeps tabs on each of the test subjects, even the ones that had their memories wiped. He's been keeping track of you since you were returned to your SAS unit," Forrest stated, looking at Malcolm.

"Who?" Malcolm asked, curious and a little perturbed. He suspected that those behind the whole experience kept tabs on him; that wasn't paranoia, it just made sense, considering the covert nature of the experiment. But to be told that someone else had been watching him for several years was disconcerting and it just fed his natural streak of wariness, making him uneasy.

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that, Lieutenant."

Malcolm cynically thought about trust, but refrained from commenting.

Jon spent the next twenty minutes trying to convince the Admiral that there must be another avenue to take, knowing he was reiterating his arguments from their last conversation, but making the attempt nevertheless. T'Pol made several suggestions and Jon was surprised when she offered to intercede on the Admiral's behalf with the Vulcan government to ask them for assistance. Trip asked a few questions as well, using T'Pol's comments as a springboard for new directions to examine. But the Admiral, for reasons he would not divulge, refused to consider any other alternatives.

Maxwell Forrest wasn't about to tell anyone that, ever since his son and the others had escaped, Forrest had fought to bring this whole episode to light. When he first informed his superiors at Starfleet, before he had become an admiral, he had been met with skepticism. But when he finally got someone in Starfleet to listen he was outraged to learn that person had commissioned a study on the viability of utilizing similar conditioning methods on command track cadets in Starfleet training. Forrest had been disgusted by the reasoning used to justify such a study; a few highly placed people in Starfleet felt that a comparable approach, but with more humane conditioning techniques of course, would ensure that the interests of Starfleet would continue to be served when Earth finally had a fleet of starships. Some were concerned that there would be very little control of the captains and higher officers, who would frequently be out of contact with Starfleet Command. When Forrest became an Admiral, he quickly quashed that line of research.

Malcolm listened silently to the arguments going on around him, browsing through the information on the PADDs, knowing that he would have to study all the materials thoroughly before leaving Enterprise. He tried not to think about Hoshi's reaction, knowing that he'd screwed up. As usual.

He should have told her. It was just so difficult not to fall back on old habits, old patterns of self-reliance and silence. It was much simpler to take the easy way out and say nothing, then offer a quick apology and run. As he always did. And she deserved something better than that. Someone better than him.

But he loved her so much.

Hoshi sat quietly, trying to digest everything. She stared at Malcolm, furious that he hadn't told her what he'd agreed to do, hadn't even told her that the Admiral had asked him! But she knew in her heart that he probably felt he had no choice but to consent to the Admiral's request and all the discussion in the world wouldn't have changed his mind. It was just the way he was. And she accepted that. One of the reasons why she loved him, the stubborn bastard, she thought ruefully. But, still, he should have told her.

She willed him to look at her, but he wouldn't. He kept his head tucked down, buried in a PADD. But she could see that his eyes were merely staring unfocused at the PADD, lost in thought.

She decided that, after she got off duty, she and Malcolm would have a long talk.

***

T'Pol was making another rational and logical argument as to why the Vulcans should be informed of this matter when Zindzhi was escorted into the room. His nose sported a large white covering and he scowled when he saw Malcolm. Malcolm suppressed a smile.

"Glad you could join us, Zindzhi," the Admiral said and proceeded to make formal introductions. No one bothered to shake hands with him.

"Matata, along with his sister Takiyah, were members of the Selous Scouts. Based in the South African Republic, the Scouts are very much like the SAS, or the US Rangers. Matata, Adam, and Lita are part of the handful of survivors who escaped that day."

The Admiral perched himself on the edge of the desk. "I don't know how much background everyone knows, so let me give you a quick summary. It started out idealistically enough. Top members from Earth's special ops forces were selected and volunteered by their organizations to form an elite world guard-the Terra Security Alliance. It was reported in the newsnets, all world governments knew of it, most of Earth's citizens did as well. I'm sure you all remember the accounts." The Enterprise command team, the human ones, nodded, each remembering reading or hearing something about it several years ago, but only now making the connection.

"The first few months were very successful. Non-lethal tracking and capture of terrorists, hackers, criminals-people who couldn't be controlled by ordinary means. The formation of the TSA made it a global force, with resources that individual countries and unions couldn't hope to match.

"Then somehow, I don't have all the details, the TSA was subverted. New people stepped in to administer it and started to use it for their own ends. That's when the experimentation began, and the coercion. The threats of killing family or friends if those in the TSA didn't cooperate."

T'Pol listened intently, a portion of her mind reviewing the rumors about who the group behind the experiments actually was. It was logical to hear the Admiral out before deciding whether or not to reveal her homeworld's suspicion of what organization was responsible for the corruption of the TSA.

Malcolm listened with only part of his attention; he knew all this. He quietly browsed through a thick stack of copies of newsnet headlines and articles. He recognized with a queasy feeling that some of them were reports regarding assignments in which he had taken part.

"Deadly force was the new model, elimination of these problematic elements of society, bypassing the justice system. Unfortunately several people high up in the world's governments turned a blind eye. The results were satisfactory and less time and money had to be spent bringing people to trial." Forrest snorted with disgust. "It was the easier, if not the most enlightened, route to take."

The Admiral continued, his tone even and calm now. "But it's highly doubtful that anyone in the governments knew of the conditioning being performed. There are now only seven survivors from the research, the eighth recently killed accidentally, and an additional four others whose memories were wiped. Malcolm's the only one of those four who's regained his, and now the people responsible for that experiment have been stepping up their efforts to capture the survivors, as oppose to killing them as they had in the past. We think that they're trying to re-form the unit, either to continue with their agenda or use them solely for a particular objective. My source isn't sure, but informed me that there are several critical diplomatic missions which are currently ongoing. The disruption of any one of them could have potentially disastrous consequences."

"What kinds of missions?" Jon asked.

Malcolm looked up from his study of the old newsnet headlines, his curiously piqued.

"There are a few classified ones which I can't tell you about. One regards the Klingons. Another the Suliban. However, I feel that, since it will become public soon, I can tell you that Earth and Starfleet are currently in talks with several other worlds regarding the formation of a United Federation of Planets."

Malcolm pondered that piece of information as he glanced at the next article. He kept the wave of shock he felt off his face as he read the headline reporting 34 civilians had been killed in a bomb blast meant for a small country's despot. He remembered that mission. The bomb he had built with such care and precision. The one Cain had taken and insisted on placing personally.

The memory of that assignment leapt with absolute clarity to Malcolm's mind. The squad had to go in for a quick execution, killing scores of the despot's personal guards along the way as they fought through the tyrant's stronghold. An old ache of grief and guilt flared as Malcolm remembered one young guard, a year or so older than himself. Malcolm shot him, ignoring the fear and pleading in the young man's eyes as he pointed his wavering rifle at Malcolm. When he checked the rifle lying in the dead man's hand, the safety had still been on. Methuselah had been on that assignment as well, a blend of Wonderland and Genesis. Methuselah had been in the rearguard and witnessed the confrontation, later recounting with much laughter about how funny it was, mocking him.

But the only reason they had to go in was that Cain had reported that the bomb had failed, which Malcolm had never really believed. He knew he had built it perfectly, right down to a redundant remote detonation system, complete with safeties. It had been foolproof, and Cain wasn't a fool. Malcolm put the file down, sickened.

"Adam kept in touch with all of the survivors, occasionally finding a safe haven for them whenever one's been endangered, helping when he could. Adam's very good at hiding and knows the value of staying in contact with people he can trust." Admiral Forrest looked at Malcolm. "I met Malcolm when he was at Starfleet training. He helped Adam and Lita escape when they were being hunted, helped them get out of the country." The Admiral laughed suddenly, lightheartedly, a surprising change. "You three were quite the wrecking crew, Lieutenant..." he continued to chuckle, shaking his head.

Malcolm flushed slightly. He would have been kicked out of Starfleet if the Admiral hadn't intervened on his behalf. Hacking into Starfleet computers, the test craft they had "borrowed" and crashed, the cadavers they'd taken from the medical labs, running not only from the assassins, but from various law enforcement agencies due to certain circumstances...not to mention missing classes and nearly failing one. His ethics gone to hell, again. Forrest continued to smile, a genuinely gleeful grin, eyes twinkling and Malcolm knew he was remembering the havoc they had caused with the plan Malcolm had masterminded. His half-arsed, lunatic plan. He felt his face grow hotter and he looked away. Well, at least it had worked.

"Sounds interesting, Malcolm," Trip drawled, wondering if he could pry the story out of his friend. Malcolm just rubbed the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

The Admiral shifted position, more comfortable now, more relaxed after his laughter. He felt as if a great weight had been taken off his shoulders and continued with his briefing. "Matata has connections. He believes he knows where Adam and Lita are being held."

Malcolm's eyes opened wide. "Where?" he asked, turning toward the man, who had been silent all this time.

"Can't tell you. You'll just have to trust me," Methuselah said with a nasty grin.

"Trust you!" Malcolm asked, his voice rising. "You spiked Noah with a thinline when his back was turned, just to step up —" Malcolm stopped himself, appalled that he had so easily slipped back into the lingo of his past. He didn't want to think that way again, to act that way; he wasn't that person anymore. He shook himself mentally and continued. "I can't trust you." He turned to Forrest, his accent getting thicker as he tried to rein in his unease. "Look, this will not work. I can't do this if you saddle me with him. I don't trust him, he doesn't trust me, and I can't help Adam if I'm looking over my shoulder to keep an eye on Thuse —"

Forrest interrupted. "Lieutenant, I'm sure that you will both be professional and work together to achieve your goal—"

Malcolm burst out with a cynical laugh. "I don't flipping believe this! He's a bloody mercenary! How much is he charging you for this? He's —"

"That's enough Lieutenant!" Forrest slammed his hand against the desk. Malcolm bit back a sarcastic retort and ran a hand through his hair, knowing that he'd overstepped the line. Again. Why couldn't something be easy for a change, he thought sourly.

"I won't kill you Cat, if that's what you're worried about," Methuselah said with another grin. "And I'm not being paid for this. I owe Adam. This is my way of paying my debt."

Malcolm took Zindzhi's words with a grain of salt.

"Well, unless anyone has any questions, I think we should end this," Forrest said, rubbing at his eyes. He looked fatigued. "Malcolm, you and Matata need to get together and formulate a plan. Jon, I'd like to stay here until they're ready to leave. If you could have some quarters assigned to me? And a place for Matata as well?"

Jon nodded and dismissed his crew. Trip and T'Pol left together, exchanging looks. Hoshi lingered at the doorway, then reluctantly returned to her station.

Malcolm helped the Admiral gather the information and place it in the briefcase. The Admiral closed it and handed it to Malcolm. "I'll arrange transportation, papers, and currency for you two when you're ready to leave," he said.

"Weapons?" Malcolm asked.

"Anything you want."

Malcolm smiled.

Chapter 4

Jon told Malcolm that, as requested by the Admiral, he was on a leave of absence starting right now, and Malcolm walked back to his quarters alone, briefcase in hand. Hoshi was still on duty and as he left the bridge, he caught her look. He knew it was going to be a long evening. He wondered where he could find something to appease her; chocolates, or flowers perhaps? He sighed, knowing that it was hopeless. She'd mostly like cram the chocolates in his face and the flowers up his nose. He wondered again why he never seemed to get involved with women who were demure, docile, easy-going. Tumultuous relationships indeed.

He spent close to three hours organizing and skimming through the information Forrest had given him until he thought he was going to jump out of his skin. He was too wound up to concentrate any more. Seeing Zindzhi, reading accounts of past assignments stirring memories of what he had done, going over disturbing medical reports on the overstimulation of nuerochemicals, trying not to worry about what he was about to do, thinking about Hoshi's anger when he saw her tonight-it was all too much. He changed and went to seek refuge in the gym, hoping to release some tension and to get away from his thoughts which had grown dark and bleak.

He was just completing a Tai Chi warm-up when the gym door opened and Zindzhi walked in, dressed in workout clothes as well. Malcolm relaxed his posture, shifting his stance in case Zindzhi decide to try anything. But Methuselah merely nodded at him, looked pointedly at Malcolm's bare feet with a knowing smile and began to stretch.

Malcolm sat down, eyeing him warily, then began to tape up his hands, preparing for a nice round with the punching bag.

"Need a sparring partner?" Zindzhi asked as he removed his shoes and socks.

"Sorry, don't feel like having you pummel me to death," Malcolm replied without looking up from his task.

"Afraid?" Zindzhi grinned and threw his balled up socks at Malcolm.

"No, just not into pain," Malcolm said lightly as he batted the projectile away.

"I won't hurt you, you little naff," Zindzhi laughed.

Malcolm thought for a moment, then ripped the tape off his hand. "Fine. Let's go, you great gatgabba." He stood and removed his shirt, then walked toward Zindzhi. He stopped and raised his arms in a defensive position, shifting his feet slightly, knowing what was to come.

He wasn't disappointed. Zindzhi darted toward him and Malcolm began to use his martial arts skills in earnest.

***

The two men sparring in the gym didn't notice the door open. They didn't see Captain Archer's eyes widen in concern, then narrow in surprise as he heard Malcolm laugh wickedly after landing a particularly vicious roundhouse kick to Zindzhi's side.

Jon watched as Zindzhi unleashed a flurry of slashes that Malcolm was hard pressed to parry, wincing when Zindzhi landed a nasty blow to his armory officer's chest. It was Zindzhi's turn to laugh as Malcolm flew back a good meter and a half, falling hard to the floor. Zindzhi leapt toward him, but Malcolm rolled quickly to the side and Zindzhi landed on the ground, his prey gone. Malcolm arched his back and sprang to his feet, moving in to attack again, that little half smile on his face.

Jon observed the two men fight, impressed with their speed, the litheness of his tactical officer as he dodged and twisted away, and a bit nervous about mercenary's size and apparent strength. He watched as Zindzhi started to back Malcolm up into the corner, all the time both lashing out and blocking the other. Jon's mouth hung open as he saw Malcolm turn and ran, scrambling up the wall, pushing off and catapulting himself over Zindzhi to land on his feet behind the man.

Zindzhi whirled and Malcolm kicked him hard. Zindzhi staggered back but remained standing. He held up his hands, laughing. "You're still a befokked little boykie, Cat! Never thought I'd see you climbing the walls again..."

Malcolm stood there a moment longer, breathing heavily, sweat streaming down his back and chest, his face flushed and hair slick with moisture. He dropped his defensive stance and they both walked over to retrieve a towel, backs to Archer. "You would have been down if you weren't built like Mt. Kilimanjaro," he panted.

Zindzhi dabbed at his brow, barely sweating, breathing easy. "You're out of shape, Cat. Starfleet's made you soft. Good thing you let Takiyah die; she'd be disappointed."

Malcolm wiped himself down and shot the older man a look from the corner of his eye. "I loved Taki. I would have died for her. I would have saved her if I could."

"Then why didn't you?" Zindzhi snarled, throwing his towel on the bench and facing Malcolm.

Malcolm tilted his head up to look Zindzhi fully in the eye, his voice lowering. Jon could barely make out the words. "I wasn't close enough. I was turning toward them when Mike shot her. I didn't expect it, didn't dream Mike would have betrayed us..."

Malcolm pulled in a breath and continued. "And then I killed him and I was so very glad when I did." He continued to stare at Zindzhi, as if weighing something. The big man was listening, his face still, his eyes on Malcolm's intently. "You ever liked killing someone, Thuse?"

"I enjoy killing, Cat. It's what we're trained to do. Nothing wrong with enjoying your job." Zindzhi smiled, his crooked eye leering.

Malcolm shook his head and looked down. "It's wrong, Thuse. It's not the way I'd choose to honor Takiyah's memory. It shook me, Matata. It was vengeance for Taki and I liked it. That never happened before. It's happened once since though..." he added softly. He wiped his face again and then tossed the towel on the bench.

He reached for his shirt and Zindzhi grabbed his wrist. "You were fast. You were good. Best goddamn shot I've ever seen when you were on. But you did nothing!"

Malcolm looked at the large hand encircling his wrist and raised his head to stare at Zindzhi.

Jon held his breath. He didn't like the bitter icy look on his tactical officer's face.

"I loved your sister very much," Malcolm said evenly. "I know you didn't like us together, I know you don't like me. And I don't give a damn what you like."

He drew closer to Zindzhi, his soft tone menacing. Jon strained to hear, fascinated, and unable to keep himself from eavesdropping.

"But so help me, don't you ever tell me again that I stood by and did nothing. Don't you ever blame me for her death again. Mike killed her. I killed him. A part of my soul died with her and I don't need you in my face trying to claw open that wound again. We have to work together and if you start on me, I will kill you without hesitation. And I will enjoy it. Check, boykie?"

Zindzhi stared down at the smaller man, and saw something in Malcolm's eyes. Something that made him nod his head slowly. "Check."

Jon backed silently out of the room, unsettled, his question for Malcolm forgotten.

***

Malcolm, still trying to lock his anger back down, made a detour to sickbay, his chest aching and bruised, his back sore from being slammed into the shuttlepod earlier. He hoped he could get a couple of aspirin, uncomfortable with the thought of anything stronger, his unease of sickbay still potent after all these months.

He didn't want to admit that Zindzhi's answer had rattled him. He controlled a shudder as a surge of repugnance flailed at him again; self-hatred at the pleasure he had taken in killing, twice now. He didn't want to be like Methuselah. He didn't want to be like what they had accidently made Cain.

A killer who enjoyed his work.

He suffered through Dr. Phlox's tut-tutting as the doctor examined him. Phlox insisted on giving him a stronger analgesic and gave him some cream to apply to the bruises. Malcolm opened the jar and sniffed cautiously. He was thankful it was odorless, unlike some of the good doctor's concoctions. Phlox asked Malcolm to come in later; he had a new scan he'd like to perform. Malcolm said he would and escaped, thinking that the man was more tenacious than a pitbull.

Malcolm returned to his quarters and stripped, climbing into the shower and turning the water on as hot as he could stand. He felt his muscles begin to loosen, the pain fading, his temper receding. He braced himself against the shower wall, arms out and head down, and let the water pound down on his back. Hoshi would be getting off duty soon and he wondered if he should just hide in the shower until she went to bed.

He stood unmoving, not thinking, just feeling the heat of the water, letting it run, enjoying the steady downpour, knowing he would likely use up his ration for the next few weeks, but thinking it didn't matter. He wouldn't be here.

He lost track of time and reluctantly shut the water off. He dried himself, barely toweling through his hair, not bothering to comb it. He was tired. He opened the jar Phlox gave him and gingerly rubbed the cream into the bruise on his chest. He tried to reach his back and gave up on trying to hit the right spot. He opened the bathroom door.

Hoshi was sitting on his bunk, studying the information Forrest had given him. He stifled a sigh. She looked up, took in the bruise, the towel around his waist, the unruly hair; she rose and moved toward him. He looked at her guardedly, wondering if he'd have to duck. But she kissed him gently and he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm sorry. I should have told you. I'm an idiot."

"Yes, you are." She kissed him again and wriggled out of his grasp, walked over to his dresser and threw some clothes at him. "Get dressed. I brought some food. We'll eat, and then we're going to have a nice long talk."

This time Malcolm sighed out loud.

Chapter 5

Trip woke early, grabbed a cup of coffee from the messhall, and headed for the Observation Lounge. He knew no one would be using it at this time and he wanted the quiet to study the EM field array installation schematics that his team had worked out. He entered the lounge, then shook his head.

Malcolm was on the floor, sprawled out on his stomach, surrounded by neat piles of PADDs, data chips, and files, all arranged neatly. He was studying one file, making notes on a pad of paper. A thermos sat next to a half empty cup of thick black coffee, and Trip wondered how much of it was left, considering the rate at which Malcolm's leg was jiggling.

"Hey, Malcolm," Trip greeted quietly, and then noticed the headphones. He smiled. Trip walked over and stood near Malcolm, who suddenly looked up and favored him with a small grin. He took the headphones off and Trip could faintly hear an unworldly beat issuing from them.

"Nijijin?" Trip guessed.

"SqueakyLightfoot," Malcolm replied, smiling wider. "They're relaxing."

"Uh huh," Trip uttered skeptically, glancing at Malcolm's leg. Malcolm noticed and stopped moving, his smile turning sheepish.

"Is that the stuff the Admiral gave you?" Trip asked as he sat down next to his friend, eyes raking over a pile of orderly arranged copies of old newsnet headlines. //"Assassination of Seven Drug Cartel Leaders", "Murder of SouthAsia Head of State", "Hit Suspected in Slaughter of Eight Mob Family Members", "European Terrorist Cells Exterminated", "Mongolian Despot Killed, Compound Raided."//

"Yeah," Malcolm said. "Hadn't seen these before. We didn't get a lot of outside news..."

"They all true?" Trip asked, concerned. Some of the headlines were shocking.

"Most of them."

"Then why the hell didn't anybody know what was going' on?" Trip asked angrily. He looked over at the PADDs lined up. The closest one had titles from medical articles, //"Human Adrenaline Studies", "Serotonin Accelerators", "GABA Inhibitors and Sleep Deprivation", "Dysfunctional Brain Chemistry and Mental Illness", "Dopamine D-4 Levels in Mania, Addiction".//

Malcolm shrugged. "Guess it's all a bit too unbelievable. Maybe we don't want to think about what our governments are capable of, what they'd sanction in the name of world peace."

"You're really gonna go after them?"

"Yes."

"With that big S.O.B. who can't wait to strangle you?"

Malcolm snorted a small laugh. "I really don't have a choice. I think I can handle Thuse, even if I don't trust the bugger."

"Jesus, Malcolm..." Trip didn't know what to say. He wondered if Malcolm had thought everything out; his friend was a bit impulsive at times. "I don't like it."

"Welcome to the club, Commander." Malcolm fiddled with the data chips nervously.

"I'll go with you," Trip said abruptly, then wondered where that came from. But Malcolm might need help...

Malcolm looked at him. "No. Absolutely not." He smiled a bit. "Thanks for the offer, but it's not your problem. And to be honest, I'd go mad if I had to watch out for you and Thuse at the same time."

Trip chuckled. "Yeah, I could see you trying to watch your back and mine." Trip paused. "What did Hoshi say?"

Malcolm sighed deeply. "My eardrums still have blisters." He quirked a half smile. "She understands, but she's none too happy about it. I don't blame her either." He sat up, cross legged, and rolled his head, then raised his arms, back arching, and stretched as he spoke. "I mean, I don't want to leave her...but I can't ignore Adam and Lita. I wouldn't be here if they hadn't brought me back..." he trailed off, not wanting to think about that last mission anymore. He let his arms drop and started to play with the data chips again. He thought about Hoshi instead, but that train of thought brought a whole new set of worries. Away teams. Hostile aliens. Unpredictable space anomalies...

"Will you watch over Hoshi?" he asked Trip, looking up, his eyes intense, entreating.

Trip studied his friend and nodded solemnly. Malcolm seemed relieved.

"You'll be careful, right...Cheshire Cat?" Trip said, trying to lighten the mood.

Malcolm looked down. "Please don't call me that," he said softly. He fidgeted with the data chips, passing them through his fingers, gently dropping them in one palm and then the other, listening to the soft tinkling sound they made as they cascaded downwards and landed on top of each other. "I suppose it's futile, trying to banish the past. I tried to reinvent myself. Tried to run from it, hide it, forget it. But things have a way of catching up with a person..."

Trip looked at his friend's bowed head, registering the faint emotional hitch in Malcolm's voice. He took in his friend's nervous fretting. And Trip could see that there was something else troubling him. He touched Malcolm's arm. "You scared?" he asked seriously, an invitation to talk.

Malcolm looked at him, then cast his eyes back down. "Petrified." He shook his head and watched the data chips play through his fingers.

"A year ago, I wouldn't have been. But I've got too much, now." He lowered his voice, a mere whisper. "I didn't think I'd ever love anyone again. That anyone would ever love me again. Never thought I'd get a second chance. Not with what I am..." Trip punched Malcolm lightly in the arm, a warning. Malcolm exhaled a small chuckle.

"And I found a home here," he looked up and met Trip's eyes, "Good friends. I don't want to die," and they both smiled slightly, remembering the last time Malcolm had uttered those words. He lowered his eyes again, his soft tone confessional. "But...I'm more terrified of being...being used again, forced to go back to that...emptiness." He watched the data chips fall into his palm, letting them tumble and spin. "I don't mind fighting, knowing I'm able to defend others and myself. I suppose it's scandalous, but I rather enjoy the action," he said matter-of-factly. His voice dropped again, "But I'm sick to death with killing..."

"Aw hell, Malcolm..." Trip breathed out, unable to think of anything to say. Everything sounded like a trite platitude. He wrapped an arm around Malcolm and hugged him instead.

Malcolm stiffened, startled and uncomfortable, then Trip rubbed his knuckles vigorously on top of Malcolm's head. "Ow!" Malcolm exclaimed, and broke away, laughing. Trip tried to grab him again, grinning and feinting with one hand, while reaching out quickly with the other. Malcolm twisted away easily, both of them laughing now and when Travis walked into the observation room, he saw his superior officers wrestling on the floor like two little boys, giggling madly.

Chapter 6

Jon had his command crew, Zinzhi, and Forrest join him for dinner, wanting one last brainstorming session. Jon insisted on exploring all possible alternatives, his uncertainty about this endeavor making him question the Admiral at every turn.

Jon had a bad feeling about the whole situation. Bad enough that the Admiral, a person whom Jon considered a friend and supporter, had asked someone to go into a dangerous situation for a personal reason, but Jon felt that, perhaps, Forrest was using his rank to coerce Malcolm into complying.

Malcolm had assured Jon that Forrest hadn't ordered him to do this, that he had just asked him. But Jon didn't feel so sure. He'd been there, that first communication in his ready room, and he thought that he heard a subtle order in the request. Forrest had spoken about the larger picture, about the security of Starfleet. And Jon thought that the way Forrest had made his request was manipulative, pushing Malcolm's buttons, playing upon his sense of duty and fealty.

Jon was torn. Forrest had made a convincing argument, but this was Jon's crewmember, his fourth in command, and a man he had grown to appreciate and like.

It made him feel old, the paternalistic instinct that had suddenly risen in him as he had watched Malcolm tell the Admiral he'd consider it. Jon cared about each of his crew members and his natural impulse was to protect them. He was their Captain. They were his responsibility. If he expected their loyalty and trust, then he must give his in return. He had to watch out for them, safeguard them. He felt that he had failed Malcolm, twice now, in the last few months, failed to keep him from harm. Sandaran, TayNor. Now this. Regardless of Malcolm's insistence that it was part of his job, what he'd signed on to do, eyes open and fully knowing the risks, Jon nevertheless felt that he had let Malcolm down.

Dinner was served and the conversation turned towards the mundane, gossip from Earth, politics, scientific breakthroughs, sports. Zindzhi contributed to the conversation and Jon was surprised to find that the man could be quite charming. It made Jon feel even more suspicious.

As T'Pol lectured the Admiral on micro singularities, Jon let the conversation flow over him, watching the mute signals which Malcolm and Hoshi had been exchanging throughout the evening. He smiled slightly as Malcolm turned to reply to a question from the Admiral, passing the salt shaker to Hoshi. Hoshi was talking to Trip, eyes on his face, her hand outstretched to meet Malcolm's. He watched as their fingers touched, lingering, although neither of them were looking at the other. He saw Malcolm's finger run along Hoshi's, hers responding with a light caress in turn, and then the shaker was in her possession, and she performed a light sprinkling over her food before returning it to the table.

Jon watched them throughout dinner, hiding a grin as Hoshi would complete Malcolm's sentences. Malcolm would make hushed asides to Hoshi, for her ears only, causing her to smile or laugh quietly, and Malcolm's eyes would shine, his customary half smile on his lips, delighting in her reaction.

Jon redoubled his efforts to argue against this attempt.

Chapter 7

She sat on his bed, watching him pack a small duffle bag, stuffing clothes into it.

"You won't change your mind?" she asked, trying to hide her distress.

"No," he responded, desperately wishing he could. But he couldn't. How could he live with himself? Besides, it would be safer for Hoshi, his crewmates and the ship if he left. Whoever they sent would now have no cause to target his friends. His duty to protect them would be met by departing, the promise of their safety adding to the reasons why he had to undertake this project.

"Wish you weren't so pigheaded," she said, lightening her tone. He was leaving early in the morning and she didn't want to fight.

"Me too," he replied quietly. He selected a few knives from his arsenal on the wall and placed them on the desk, hefting them, testing them, trying to determine which ones he wanted to take. He finally selected four of them, all from Sandaran. The knife with the Lament inscribed upon the blade; the knife that fit so well in his boot; the spring loaded handle with its deadly hidden blade; and an elegant stiletto which he had taken from Kiv's that rainy night. He studied the first knife, running his finger over the inscription. He remembered the way it felt in his hand the first time he killed with it, how he had savored, actually enjoyed, gutting the Nausicaan, and it made him feel slightly ill. The memory of the satisfaction he felt when he killed Mike sprang unwelcomed to his mind.

He put it back on the wall. He wouldn't take it on this venture; the memory of how good it had felt to kill was something he didn't want to examine, a part of his essence that had been twisted and molded, ugly and dark. He closed his eyes and swallowed, trying to choke down the ache in his throat. How could she possibly love you, he thought with despair. You'll only drag her down to your level.

Hoshi saw the wave of self-loathing flicker across Malcolm's face before he could control it. She stood to go to him but he turned abruptly and went to his closet. He unlocked a small foot locker and Hoshi craned her neck to see its contents. She caught a glimpse of what looked like equipment, some papers, and a stack of photographs before he closed the lid and locked it again. He returned to his bag and tossed in a sleek black pistol, ammunition clips and a small leather sheath. Hoshi dug that out and looked at it.

"What's this?" She held up the leather sheath with the thin straps.

"A SOB."

She looked at him, puzzled. He took it from her and showed her.

"Small Of Back. That's where you wear it, under your shirt." He pulled out the two small knives. "They're perfectly balanced for throwing." She reached for one of the knives. "Careful, they're very sharp." She withdrew her hand and looked away, her gaze resting on the pistol in his bag. He watched her, seeing the look of apprehension on her face as she turned her head again, trying to find something to look at that wasn't lethal. He resheathed the knives, threw the SOB in his bag and sat on the bed.

"I'm sorry." He gazed at his hands, inspecting the fading bruises on his knuckles. "I can't change my past. I can't even run from it anymore..." He met her eyes. "I love you." He looked down again. "I don't want to hurt you. You mean too much to me."

He drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. "I know you don't like this...situation. I don't either. But I don't think I've much of a choice, really. But you don't have to put up with it. With me. So, while I'm gone...just do whatever makes you happy, Hoshi. If you find someone...I just want you to be...happy. And if you want to pick up where we've left off when I come back, I'll be there...and if you don't..." He shrugged, a disconsolate expression on his face.

Hoshi stared at Malcolm, an indescribable look on her face. She suddenly smacked him on the side of the head.

"Hey!"

"How did you ever manage to survive to adulthood? You're an idiot, you know that?" she glared at him.

"I believe you've told me that once or twice...or a hundred times..." he muttered, rubbing his head.

"Do you think as soon as you leave I'll want to suddenly take up with someone else? As if I can't wait for you to get off this ship?"

"No...I...I didn't mean it that way—" he sputtered.

"Oh, so you think just because you're the most infuriating person I've ever met, the most stubborn, blind, maddeningly uncommunicative, and relationally-shipped challenged—"

"I don't think that's even a proper word," he objected. She smacked him again.

"Ow."

"You can't wiggle out of this so easily, Malcolm. I love you. Everything about you. Including your past, present and future. Is that so hard to believe?" She looked at him, hoping he would understand.

He looked away. "Yes," he said softly.

She hugged him, rubbing the side of his head where she'd swatted him. She kissed him and pushed him down onto the bed. "Start believing," she said quietly, kissing him again.

***

When she woke up that morning, after a tender night of love making and her gentle whispered words of all the reasons why she loved him, he was gone, a red rose on the pillow beside her and a note which read, "I believe."

Chapter 8

Hoshi scanned her surroundings, Trip solicitously guiding her to a table, his hand pressed firmly against the small of her back. They sat in the crowded bar, far enough away from the small stage so that they could hear each other over the band, but close enough to enjoy the music. The room was packed, smoky, numerous beings either dancing or swaying or merely sitting, talking and drinking, or indulging in other substances.

Trip had insisted on Hoshi coming along with him, telling her that no matter how gentle and kind these people were, this was still an alien planet, only recently discovered by humans and they should stay together. Starfleet had sent Enterprise here for a week long cultural exchange, and to show off the finest exploration ship in the fleet.

Jon had thoroughly briefed the away teams on all the information Starfleet had given them. First contact had been made five months ago and the reports were extensive. The Pachaas were touch telepaths, with an empathic ability as well. Both the Vulcans and Betazeds had sent representatives to Pachaa, finding their peaceful philosophy and world views very similar to their own.

Hoshi had studied the language during the eight days it had taken Enterprise to voyage here. It was quite simple, really, after you got the hang of it. Almost like pig-Latin actually, which had tickled her to no end. Trip was fluent in it and they'd only been here three days. She smiled sadly as she thought that even Malcolm would have been able to pick it up. She missed him fiercely and prayed again that he was all right. She hadn't heard from him since he left the ship almost three weeks ago, although Admiral Forrest had assured Jon that Malcolm was alive and well according to Malcolm's last sporadic report. The Admiral wouldn't go into any more detail, no matter how much Jon had pushed.

She listened to the music and sipped the drink Trip had ordered for her, thinking about Malcolm. Thinking about how much he'd like this music, how this planet would probably fascinate him. How the Pachaa were such a interesting race, and how the engaging creatures that shared this planet with the Pachaa would delight him.

The Pachaa came in as many different shapes and sizes as humans, although most were average height, wiry and strong. Their expressive orange and jade flecked eyes with goat-like horizontal pupils were mesmerizing, standing out prominently in their uniformly attractive faces. Their ears came to a graceful tip, not quite like Vulcans, but smaller, human sized and elf-like. The designs which ran over their chests down to their hips and the thinner ones that banded around their upper arms were natural, as hard as it was to believe. The intricate mandalas covering their skin were almost tattoo-like, and very beautiful. The weather here in the lowlands was always a perfect temperature and no Pachaa wore a shirt, not even the women. Their markings clothed their upper bodies. Hoshi was grateful that the Pachaa didn't mind other species' preferred state of dress.

Hoshi eyed the table next to them, admiring the hair on the group of Pachaa sitting there. They had thick hair that some wore straight, others curly, some long, some short, others spiked out in a glorious dandelion-like crown, small feathers sometimes adorning all their different styles. And the colors. Every color of the rainbow was represented, all natural hair and skin colorings for this race. Some even sported two different hair colors, dark purples, or deep reds or blues, lightening at the ends to bright neon complementary colors. She looked at the man across from her, his hair a deep blue-black, spiked out, the tips a bright violet, and red feathers strategically placed for the most aesthetic look. Yes, the Pachaa were a very handsome race, and she sighed, lonely.

Trip finished his drink and ordered another, looking at Hoshi and trying to think what he could do to cheer her up. He knew she missed Malcolm terribly, and that she was worried.

The crew had been told that Malcolm had been re-assigned temporarily, and Trip and Jon had done their best to keep Hoshi's spirits up. Trip knew that even T'Pol had spent time with Hoshi, those early hours in the morning when Hoshi would roam the ship, sleepless and fretful. T'Pol had recently given the ensign simple lessons in Vulcan meditative techniques and Trip had seen the improvement in Hoshi's sleep habits. And Hoshi let her friends know that she appreciated their care and concern.

Trip watched the people dancing and suddenly grabbed Hoshi's hand. "Come on. You need to cut the rug with me, darling," and he hauled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. Hoshi allowed herself to be dragged out to the middle and started laughing as Trip strutted his stuff. He smiled at her, exaggerating his moves, until she was laughing so loudly that the people around them started smiling. He did the Cinmbria Slide, the Vulcan Vesper, the Kylielee Swing, and scores of other dances, and by the end of the evening, had taught the whole place the Funky Chicken.

Chapter 9

Trip leaned heavily against Hoshi, trying to place one foot in front of the other and not get them tangled up. Hoshi half carried him along the street, back to their rooms, wishing he weren't quite so tall. She was lodged in his damp armpit, his arm over her shoulder, her arm around his waist.

"Sorry, Hosh, guess I had a little too much," he slurred at her, grinning. "Didn't wanna be rude, but I didn't realize that half the bar was buying us drinks..."

She laughed merrily. Trip had made many friends, all eager to learn how to dance like a human, and all showing their appreciation by buying them round after round.

Trip continued to chatter, making Hoshi giggle as they made their way through a deserted park, a short cut they had discovered prior to the evening's entertainment. Partway through he stopped. "I gotta visit the little boys' room," he said, a mixed smile of embarrassment and good humor on his face. She rolled her eyes and looked around, leading him to a stand of trees.

"Just like Porthos," he drawled and Hoshi laughed.

"God, Trip! Just do your business," she chuckled and walked away. She could hear him whistling off key and she sat down on a nearby bench out of view.

She leaned back and gazed at the stars, wincing as Trip hit a particularly bad note. She heard voices and saw a Pachaa couple walking slowly through the park hand in hand, stepping off the path and disappearing into the trees. Her head was just a touch foggy; the fruity alien drinks had been delicious and she had worked up quite a thirst trying to keep up with Trip. She smiled as she looked into the sky. She'd had a good time she reflected, warmed by the fact that Trip had been going out of his way to make sure she wasn't alone.

Trip staggered back to her and sank down on the bench beside her. "My dogs are aching me," he complained, trying to rub his feet through his boots.

"That's what you get for dancing all night long," she teased, letting him lean against her.

"You know, Malcolm's one lucky son of a gun, having you as a...girlfriend." He grinned as he ended the sentence lamely and she smiled at his quaint term.

"Jealous, Trip?" she kidded him again.

"Hell, no! He's kinda cute, but you can have him," and they both laughed, elbowing each other in the ribs.

"Oh, Trip. I miss him. I worry so much," she sighed and Trip struggled to sit up straighter, putting his arm around her.

"He'll be fine. He can take care of himself. And he loves you. He'll come back okay."

"But Zindzhi...I mean, I don't like him and Malcolm doesn't trust him."

Trip thought about what Jon had told him about the conversation Jon had overheard in the gym, thinking again how nothing's private on the ship. "Yeah, well, I'm sure Malcolm can handle him. Zindzhi probably doesn't want his nose busted again." He didn't want to tell Hoshi that he thought Malcolm would kill the man if forced, the enmity between them seemed to run so deep.

Hoshi leaned into Trip comfortably. This was such a beautiful planet. The night was balmy, the twin moons mere slivered arches of soft white in the night sky. She looked at the stars, bright in the clean air, and she could make out high fluffy clouds billowing slowly across one of the moons. They sat quietly in the dark, and Hoshi looked at the moons, wide Cheshire Cat smiles in the sky. She felt the ache of his absence again.

She thought she heard something again further away and looked around.

"What's a matter?"

"Thought I heard people talking..." She listened, but didn't hear anything again.

"Hell, probably some more late nighters going home and cuttin' through like us." He rose to his feet, gallantly offering Hoshi his hand. She took it and he leaned into her again.

"Damn. I'll be glad to get to my bed." Trip commented. He hadn't realized what a punch those drinks had packed and was worn out, relieved he didn't have to get up early in the morning. They slowly walked along the path, stopping and smelling the blooming night flowers, talking quietly and laughing, taking their time in the tranquil darkness, when Hoshi spun around and looked through the thick trees.

"What?" Trip peered around, trying to make out what Hoshi was looking at. Then he heard it. Something similar to the whine of a phase pistol. He heard a crashing through the trees, and running.

Trip saw them first, shadows moving among the branches. A slender Pachaa male was sprinting full out. Two men were pursuing him, one of them the largest Pachaa Trip had seen so far, the other tall and thin. They had weapons, and the tall one fired again. The pursued man veered behind a tree, the shot narrowly missing him. He cut across the wooded area, toward the path which would lead him out of the park, running faster, head down and legs churning, his escape imminent.

The tall man looked ahead and saw Trip and Hoshi. "Rapist! Help, stop him!"

The only thing Trip thought was that they'd never catch the scum, so he acted. He intercepted and crashed into the smaller Pachaa. They fell in a heap, Trip lying heavily on top of the struggling alien. Hoshi ran over to help Trip when she heard vile cursing coming from Trip's captive. In English. With a distinctive accent.

"Malcolm?!"

He pushed Trip off him and raised his weapon. "Hoshi?! Trip?!" He cursed again and started firing at the two men who had been pursuing him. "Get out of here!" he snarled. He grabbed for Trip, trying to get him up, still firing.

Hoshi saw the men dodge the weapon's fire. Dodge it, in that eerie fashion in which Malcolm had done on TayNor.

Malcolm pulled Trip to his feet and pushed him toward Hoshi. "Run, goddamn it!"

Malcolm stood his ground, firing, trying to cover his shipmates' retreat. They ran and Hoshi stumbled, bringing Trip to the ground with her. Malcolm whirled to look at them, his bright orange and jade eyes glittering in the dim lighting of the night, and he cursed again. He turned and hurtled himself at the two men.

By the time they had regained their feet, Zindzhi was standing there, weapon pointed at them. He looked like a Pachaa, his hair short and bi-colored, his eyes orange and jade, markings across his chest and upper arms, ears delicately pointed. Just like his companion. Just like Malcolm.

"Nice to see you again," he said tonelessly and with no humor.

Hoshi saw that the tall man had his weapon trained on Malcolm. "You know the drill," he said, ignoring the blood from his freshly split lip.

Malcolm raised his hands slowly, interlacing his fingers and placing them behind his neck. The man stepped in front of Malcolm and pistol whipped him across the face. Malcolm's head snapped to the side and he grunted, staggering back. The man, vicious smile still on his face, stunned Malcolm.

Chapter 10

Zindzhi shot Trip and turned his weapon on Hoshi. "I won't stun you if you cooperate." Hoshi nodded slowly and Zindzhi bent over and hauled Trip up and over his shoulder easily. "Start walking."

"What are you doing? Kill them," the other man said as he pulled Malcolm over his shoulder.

"These are his shipmates, Cain. She's his lover. I think they'll provide us with the incentive he'll need." Hoshi shivered at the expressionless tone and face of Zindzhi. And she knew. He was using his training. But the other man-he was cold and blank faced as well, now. But that brutal smile as he hit Malcolm. Hoshi could tell he had liked doing it. He had liked it very much.

***

Hoshi walked in front of Zindzhi and Cain, her mind racing, frantically trying to think of a way out of this. If she ran they'd shoot her, she had no doubt about that. Besides, she couldn't leave Trip and Malcolm behind. So she let them lead her to a shuttle and she stood quietly, wincing when Cain dropped Malcolm to the floor then took the pilot seat. Zindzhi lowered Trip more gently and indicated for Hoshi to sit.

She ignored him as she knelt next to Malcolm instead. Zindzhi approached her and she flinched but remained by Malcolm's side. He merely looked at her, then stripped off Malcolm's boots and socks. He withdrew a knife from each of Malcolm's boots, patted him down, and found a few more weapons. He took them and then sat down to watch her, phase pistol at the ready, covering her. Cain started the engine and then they were aloft, rapidly leaving the city behind and headed toward the mountains.

She wiped at the blood on Malcolm's face, the gash from Cain's pistol ragged and long. She asked Zindzhi for something to stop the bleeding with but he shook his head. "They'll fix him up later."

She held back an angry retort. She quickly checked on Trip. He was fine, his breathing quiet and regular. She returned her attention to Malcolm.

His disguise was very good; he really did look like a Pachaa. The intricate lines running down the front of his body were a delicate tangle of geometric and free flowing designs, fine henna-colored lines staining his pale skin, intertwining threads forming complex shapes. The design banding his upper arms was beautiful. Oddly, she'd seen similar patterns on some of the tribal people in Brazil, but they were well within the norm for the Pachaa, indistinguishable from the species' organic ones. His hair, she noted, was a dark violet, a spiky crown with blood red tips, just a shade longer than he usually wore it. She ran a hand through it, liking the way it felt. His ears looked natural, coming to dainty points. She traced a light finger down the tip of his left ear; it felt real as well. She lifted an eyelid and wondered if the contact lens was grafted onto his eye, it was so realistic. She settled herself next to Malcolm, hand on his chest, feeling his slow heartbeat, reassured that he was warm, alive and breathing.

She studied Zindzhi and saw that his masquerade was uncommonly good as well. They must have spent a lot of time and trouble to get such a detailed job. She looked at the mandalas on Malcolm's chest and arms and wondered if they were permanent. She licked her finger and rubbed at a line. It didn't come off.

"They're drawn on with a semi-permanent dye. Should last another six, eight weeks," Zindzhi said. He looked at her, his Pachaa-like eyes unblinking, tone mild and inflectionless. "Cat did them. Took him hours. Stood in front of a mirror to do his."

She looked at Zindzhi's markings, drawn to them, getting up and walking to him to inspect them more closely. Different than Malcolm's; bolder and darker, angry serpentine webs and knots. She peered at the ones banding his arms. Again, she was struck by the similarities to Earth's people, this one an African motif, but still well within the norm for the Pachaa.

Zindzhi's eyes burned into her, studying her, assessing her. She looked at him nervously, feeling his gaze upon her, looking into his orange and jade eyes.

"What do you see in him?"

She looked blankly at him, the question surprising her, coming out of nowhere. "What do you mean?"

"My sister loved him. I never understood why."

He looked over at Malcolm dispassionately. "He said he couldn't get to her in time to save her. I didn't believe it. But..." He paused and stared at her until she was uncomfortable and looked away. "Do you think he was telling me the truth?"

She faced him and looked him in the eyes. "Yes. I know he would have done everything he could," Hoshi said firmly without hesitation.

"I watched you two. He looks at you the same way, acts the same way. Like he did with Takiyah. More even. Now she's dead and he's alive and happy."

They sat in silence for a while, Zindzhi staring at her, Hoshi checking Trip and Malcolm, becoming more anxious under Zindzhi's emotionless gaze.

He looked at Malcolm again. "Never did like the cocky little bastard," he said suddenly, breaking the long silence. "Not from the moment I met him. Just a snot nosed punk who wouldn't show his betters the proper respect. When my sister decided to take up with him I tried to dissuade her. She wouldn't listen. Then I tried to persuade him to back off. He wouldn't. I couldn't intimidate him, couldn't bribe him, couldn't beat him into submission...never could put him in his place..." Zindzhi trailed off and met her eyes.

Hoshi could feel the shuttle starting to descend and she glanced out the front window. They were in a mountainous region and she wondered where they were landing. Cain was talking to someone over the comm and she saw a sudden shimmer and then lights below them. A huge complex appeared out of the darkness and she realized that it had been cloaked, using technology very much like the Suliban ships had. She felt the shuttle touch down and Zindzhi rose.

"They'll put him in his place now, I think."

Chapter 11

Four men met them, as cold and emotionless as Cain. Cain ordered them to take the three prisoners to the barracks, then he and Zindzhi walked away.

Hoshi walked through the corridors, her silent guards marching in time, flanking her, two in front, two in back. She kept up, not liking being prodded from behind with the point of a rifle. Her eyes continuously surveyed her crewmates, each guard in front of her carrying one of her friends slung face down across a broad shoulder. Trip was snoring lightly. Malcolm was completely limp, the blood from the laceration dribbling up to his temple and into his hairline, working its way down the dark violet-black of his dyed hair, blending in perfectly with the spiky blood-red tips, then dripping off, gravity pulling it away from him. She watched a drop fall to the immaculate floor as they stopped in front of a door, waiting until the man bearing Trip released the lock. She looked at that bright red spot, studying the splatter pattern it made, an abstract blob of crimson staining the stark white flooring. She set her face in grim determination, not allowing the trepidation she felt show.

She entered the barracks, quickly noting the beds, the bare walls, several doors on the opposite side of the room, tables and chairs. She was startled to see it was occupied by several people scattered about the long room.

A tall man with a pleasant and open face, sandy brown hair and hazel eyes was sitting on a bed, strumming a guitar. In front of him stood a petite Vietnamese woman, juggling three oranges. Her pretty face swung toward Hoshi, a look of puzzlement on it, still keeping the objects airborne. Both of them stared at her, then eyed the guards, frowns creasing their brows as they tried to determine the identity of their unconscious guests.

On another bunk sat a woman, tall and willowy, a face like a Botticelli painting, her hair a tawny mass. She smiled at Hoshi in sympathy and rose to greet her. On the other side of the long room, a strongly built Hispanic man, black mustache, black goatee and a twinkle in his dark eyes, winked at her as he continued shuffling the deck of cards he held in his hand, cutting them one handed, then performing sleight of hand tricks. His table mate didn't bother to look at Hoshi; he just continued to stare numbly at the cards in the other man's hand, a blank look on his pinched basset hound face, his watery brown eyes unblinking.

The guards dumped Trip on one of the empty beds and Malcolm on another, then left the room. The sandy haired man stood in alarm and he and the Asian woman went to Malcolm. The tawny haired woman gazed over, taking in Trip, then Malcolm and an incredibly sad look passed over her face, which she quickly wiped away, replacing it with a gracious smile, extending her hand toward Hoshi.

"Hello, I'm Yaffa Tamar. I'm so sorry that you and Malcolm and your friend are here. Would you care to sit down? Can I get you anything?" She spoke with a slight but charming Israeli accent, her voice sophisticated and smooth. Hoshi shook her hand and introduced herself, feeling unsettled; the calm, solicitous greeting out of place considering the circumstances.

Hoshi looked at her crewmates. The small dark haired woman was examining Malcolm, taking his pulse, using an old medical scanner to take other readings. She lifted his eyelid and smiled at the sight of his Pachaa-like eyes. She slid a finger across the lens and it moved. She carefully removed it, then the other and checked his real pupils. The sandy haired man was cleaning the gash on Malcolm's face and the woman inspected it scrupulously when he was done, then proceeded to close the wound with a single-use dermasealer.

Yaffa introduced Hoshi to the two men at the table.

"Ms. Sato, this is Cristobal Trillijo." The Hispanic man stood and bowed slightly, taking Hoshi's proffered hand, bending over it and kissing it with a continental flair. He smiled widely at her and murmured a polite greeting.

"And this is Bob Walters," Yaffa said as she moved to the silent man. She bent down next to him. She placed her hands on his face and drew his unyielding head up. She spoke quietly, enunciating clearly. "Bob. We have a guest."

He looked through her and then blinked slowly, focusing on her. "Aravis?" he muttered.

"Yes, Bob."

"Aslan. I'm Aslan. That's my tag."

"Pleased to meet you," Hoshi said hesitantly. He ignored her, nodding his head and repeating his tag once more.

"Please excuse Bob, he's been here for a while," Yaffa said as she stood and ushered Hoshi back to the other two people, the woman now examining Trip while the man sat on the bed next to Malcolm, using a damp wash cloth to wipe the blood out of the armory officer's hair. He looked up at Hoshi. "Malcolm never did like having blood all over him," he offered and continued his task.

"Hoshi, this is Adam Forrest, and our doctor there is Lita Nguyen." Yaffa said with a smile aimed at the small woman scanning Trip. "Would you like something to drink? A cup of tea? Water? Perhaps something to eat?" she offered.

"Tea would be fine," Hoshi replied, struck again by how things appeared to be a bit off kilter. She sat down on the other side of Malcolm. She brushed the hair off his forehead, caressing the side of his face. "Is he okay?" she asked worriedly. "And Trip?"

"Yes, they're both fine," Lita said, finishing up with her examination of Tucker. "This one's just sleeping off the combination of a stun effect and whatever alcohol he consumed earlier." Lita rose, walked over and sat next to Adam, taking his hand and squeezing it slightly. "And Malcolm should come around in about 30 minutes. No concussion; whoever hit him didn't do any real damage."

"Cain did it." Hoshi looked at the Adam. "You're Admiral Forrest's son. White Rabbit. You're Tigger," she said quietly, looking at Lita.

"Yes," Adam replied, surprised. "How—"

"Malcolm told me. Zindzhi was with Cain. Your father asked Malcolm to...find...you and Lita. The Admiral made Malcolm work with Zindzhi because he claimed he knew where you two were being held. Malcolm didn't trust him. Looks like he was right," she said bitterly.

"Yeah, Thuse is working for Tarque." Adam looked at her. "Just how much do you know?" he asked, his tone curious and friendly. He put the wash cloth aside and then ruffled Malcolm's hair almost playfully.

"I know about the TSA, the experiment, what they did to all of you," Hoshi answered, meeting Adam's watchful gaze straight on.

He nodded thoughtfully, sizing her up, noticing her hand on Malcolm's thigh. "I'm surprised he told you."

"Your father pretty much forced the issue..."

Adam sighed as Yaffa brought a cup of tea over to Hoshi, who took it gratefully. Hoshi suddenly realized that she hadn't heard Yaffa approach. These people all moved so quietly. It was another odd item in a list of bizarre behavior. She then noticed that they were all barefoot, another eccentric detail to this little nightmare. She looked at Malcolm's bare feet.

"Why doesn't anyone have shoes?" she asked, puzzled and curious.

Adam laughed. "It's his fault," he said, tilting his head toward Malcolm. "If he hadn't kept trying to smuggle things back in his boots, they'd probably let us keep them."

Lita beamed. "Remember the booby trap he made? Knock the heels together, 5 second delay and then boom! Damn near blew Tarque up with them! Oh, I taught him well..." she chuckled at the memory.

"They kept him on the table for two hours because of that. Then they broke all of the fingers on his right hand, if you recall," Yaffa said quietly to Lita. "Slowly. They wouldn't let you set them. You had to break them all again to straighten them later."

Lita sobered quickly and stood, picking up the oranges and starting to juggle them again in agitation. "Thanks for reminding me, Yaffa," she said sarcastically. "Do you have to remember everything? Do you have to keep telling us?" Lita's voice began to rise, a hysterical pitch creeping in and Adam went to her. He stroked her back, murmuring low words of comfort. She hurled an orange at the wall, watching it split and slide down to the floor, then turned and buried her head into Adam's torso.

Yaffa looked at Hoshi, continuing as if nothing was amiss. "I believe that's when he became ambidextrous. Very hard to pull a trigger with broken fingers." Yaffa looked away. "Does anyone want anything? Toast perhaps?"

Yaffa looked back at Hoshi. "I can make some canapes..." she offered.

Hoshi shook her head, flustered by the aberrant behavior surrounding her. Hoshi looked at Bob, who was nearly catatonic, and Chris, who just ignored everything and continued to perform card tricks for his unmoving audience of one. They all seemed a bit off. Especially Bob. But he'd been here a while, she mused, her unease growing. She looked at Malcolm again, and her finger moved to lightly trace the markings on his stomach; touching him comforted her.

"Are you his lover?" Yaffa asked, eyes bright with curiosity.

Hoshi colored slightly. She supposed she had been rather obvious. She nodded, thinking that she must have been subconsciously marking her territory.

"He must love you to have your name incorporated into the design," Yaffa noted absently.

"What do you mean?" Hoshi asked.

Yaffa traced the lines over his heart. "Here. 'Hoshi', in Japanese characters. It's a mirror image, difficult to read at first glance, plus it blends so well with the other symbols."

Hoshi looked at the woman's hand as she outlined the characters, her fingers lingering over Malcolm's skin. Hoshi felt a prick of jealousy.

"I suppose he won't sleep with me now," Yaffa said sadly. "He wouldn't sleep with me when he was with Takiyah, either." Yaffa rose and walked over to Chris. "But you'll sleep with me, won't you, Chris? Adam and Bob won't sleep with me, but you will, won't you?" she appealed to the man.

He nodded and put the cards down. He stood up and gently took her hand. "Of course, Yaffa." He led her to another bunk and they spooned, Chris holding Yaffa close, caressing her arms. She closed her eyes and Chris raised his eyebrows at Adam, looking slightly worried.

Hoshi looked over at Adam. He shrugged. "Yaffa's been here a while," Adam said.

"What's wrong with everyone?" Hoshi asked tactlessly, not caring. Her anxiety was beginning to become overpowering. She stroked Malcolm's arm, trying to calm herself, wishing he'd wake up.

Chapter 12

Lita looked up at Adam and giggled. She hugged him tightly and then nodded. Adam released her, then started pacing.

"They've been conditioning us differently this time," Adam said. "Important assignment coming up. Then the big one. Malcolm tell you about their training methods?"

"Not really," Hoshi replied. "Only that it was uncomfortable." Malcolm hadn't gone into detail and she had mainly asked about the effects of it, not the techniques that were used.

Lita breathed out a small laugh, exchanging a glance with Adam. "Typical understatement." She shook her head and sat down on another bunk. To Hoshi's relief, Lita seemed much calmer.

"The conditioning hurts like hell. The human body can only take so much pain, so much tampering before something gives. And Bob's been here for close to four months. Yaffa nearly three. Chris and I were taken about, what, five, six weeks ago?" She looked to Adam for confirmation.

He nodded. "I've been here 33 days," Adam said, still pacing. "Not long enough to manifest too many symptoms..."

"Symptoms of what?" Hoshi asked, not liking this conversation. She held Malcolm's hand, lacing her fingers between his slack ones.

"Hoshi, they're playing with our brain chemistry. This is...deeper, more intense than before." Hoshi caught the desolate look that flashed across Lita's face.

They were interrupted when the door opened and Zindzhi walked in with Cain and a cadre of guards armed with phase rifles. An innocuous looking bald headed man, stout and dressed in grey, trailed behind them.

Cain made eye contact with everyone in the room impassively. He approached Hoshi and she stood up, backing away. He ignored her to lean over Malcolm. He slapped him hard. "Wake up," he said quietly and Hoshi moved instinctively, catching his arm. Cain stared at her, a chilling look, dead eyed and composed. She shuddered and he removed her hand from his arm. He slapped Malcolm again and shook him roughly, a slight smile now appearing on his face.

Hoshi heard Malcolm groan and he opened his eyes a slit. His eyes widened and he sat up suddenly, grabbing Cain's shirt and pulling Cain forward quickly onto the bed then flipping them both off the bunk and onto the floor. He straddled Cain, hands around the man's throat, Cain's hands clutching Malcolm's arms. Malcolm froze when he heard the sound of weapons being charged and readied behind him. He carefully removed his hands and raised them, then got off Cain. Cain picked himself up from the ground.

"Excellent, Cat! You still have the reflexes. I'm delighted you were able to join us. Your presence will greatly enhance this next mission."

Malcolm turned his head slowly to face the man who had spoken and stopped when he saw Hoshi.

Hoshi saw the rush of fear and despair at seeing her before he shuttered his expression. He turned around, not making any sudden moves, to face the man.

"Dr. Evil lives," Malcolm said dryly, a smirk twisting his lips.

Hoshi stifled a nervous giggle. Adam and Lita laughed loudly outright and Zindzhi smiled slightly.

The bald man's face mottled in anger. He nodded to Cain, who smiled and punched Malcolm.

Malcolm doubled over. He straightened painfully, panting slightly, his eyes angry and dark.

"You shouldn't be rude, Cat. Not when I can control you. Not when I have hostages right here to keep you in line. I have plans for you and you will comply."

"What plans, Tarque?" Malcolm asked, his teeth clenched, his hands balled into tight fists.

"You do remember me. I'm touched. Your captain's report was very interesting. We'd like to study how you fooled our tests and how you regained your memories. Perhaps we'll have time to delve into that, if you survive this mission."

Tarque sat down at the table. Cain stood behind him, the rest of his men stood quietly in front of the exit door, guns still out and ready. "Sit down, Cat. You too, Ms. Sato. You and Mr. Tucker will be our guests for quite a while."

Tarque flashed his even white teeth, the smile of a man who knows that he holds all the cards. "Methuselah has told me much about your shipmates. Ms. Sato is even more enchanting than he described. It's nice to see that Starfleet hasn't ruined your taste in women."

Malcolm shot Zindzhi a look of pure hatred, then moved with Hoshi to the table. They sat, Malcolm facing Tarque, Hoshi at Malcolm's side. He grasped Hoshi's hand under the table and held it tightly.

"Methuselah, go get us something to drink. Cat and I have a few things to discuss." Zindzhi nodded and exited out one of the doors on the opposite side of the room.

"Rabbit, fetch a shirt for Cat, please," Tarque requested. He turned his attention to Malcolm. "You must remember you're part of an elite group and I wouldn't have you running around like some barbaric alien."

Adam went over to one of the doors, opening it and pulling out a plain black tee shirt. He handed it to Malcolm. Malcolm put it on and reached for Hoshi's hand under the table again. She grasped it firmly; his hand was damp with nervous sweat and she squeezed it. He responded in turn; no one noticed.

Zindzhi returned, a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses in his hand. He placed them on the table and sat down next to Hoshi.

Tarque poured out a shot for each of them, pushing a glass toward Malcolm. "Not your usual, but we'll have your favorites stocked for you soon. We still have your preferences on file."

Tarque toyed with his glass, taking a sip before speaking. "You're our lead shooter now; Tigger and War are good, but neither are as accurate as you. You'll be up against 35-40 genetically enhanced Suliban. The team's to terminate all of them. They're fast, but we'll make you faster. We'll also need several bombs, as many as you think you'll need to completely destroy a large facility. You'll need to get around a repulser field as well without alerting the Suliban. War can help you. He has the schematics."

"Why?" Malcolm asked, interested despite himself.

Tarque chuckled. "Curiosity killed the cat, Cat." He laughed harder, pleased with himself. Malcolm rolled his eyes.

"Relax. Have a drink." Tarque raised his glass to his lips and swallowed a sip. Malcolm merely glared at him.

Hoshi shifted uneasily and Malcolm released her hand, stroking the inside of her wrist, trying to soothe her. She could tell he was tense, alert, his left leg moving against hers, jittering away nervously, that energy pent up and looking for a release. She studied Tarque.

He was an unassuming man, pleasant in a grandfatherly way. About 60 years old, he spoke English without a trace of an accent, and Hoshi couldn't quite place where on the North American continent he came from. His body language spoke of self assuredness, his eyes were intelligent. But there was something about him that set off a tremor of fear in Hoshi, something about that gleam in his eyes, which she had seen before in people who were self righteous and convinced that they had the answers.

"Go on, you'll need a little intestinal fortitude for what awaits you." Tarque pushed the glass toward Malcolm.

Malcolm darted a look at Adam, who nodded slightly. So Adam had no idea what the purpose of the assignment was either, Malcolm thought. The sooner they knew about it, the sooner they could start planning their escape. He downed his shot and placed the glass on the table gently.

"Good boy. Methuselah says that Admiral Forrest told you about the upcoming conference regarding the formation of a United Federation of Planets?" Tarque asked, taking another sip of his drink.

"Yes."

"The Suliban Cabal is trying to prevent that from happening. They plan on killing several people who will be attending. But instead of targeting just the ones they want to eliminate, they will be planting a deadly nerve toxin which will kill everyone in attendance. We can't let that happen. Not at this time." Tarque added with a smile. "So we're sending in a team to eliminate the Suliban in their stronghold, which happens to be on this lovely planet. Cloaked as we are."

"Why not just warn the people attending this conference?" Malcolm asked, willing himself not to fiddle with his empty glass. Going into a hostile Suliban installation was not on his list of pleasant ways to commit suicide...especially genetically enhanced Suliban.

"Ah, but we need this conference to meet. The squad's second assignment will be to go in and eliminate the right people who will be attending. Can't have the Suliban killing the wrong people by mistake. The team will execute the ones we've targeted." Tarque stood and downed the rest of his drink. "I'll give you a full briefing later. We might need some of your tactical input to refine the operation. Your training starts soon. You may find it unpleasant, but it can't be helped. You have a lot of catching up to do in order to come as far as the rest." Tarque smiled at Malcolm again.

"You know that Captain Archer will be looking for the Ensign and Commander, and he will find them. You might as well let them go now. Besides, you don't need the full weight of Starfleet coming down on you," Malcolm said reasonably.

"We'll arrange a credible excuse for their absence. And Enterprise will be called away in the morning. They'll be ferrying the delegates to the UFP conference. Which happens to be taking place here on Pachaa. By the time Enterprise returns, your first mission will be completed and they will be too late to prevent the second." Tarque laughed a bit. "I just love coincidences, don't you, Cat? If Zindzhi hadn't lured you here, then Enterprise would have brought you. It's your fate, son. It's good to have you back," Tarque said warmly.

Malcolm placed both hands on the table. Hoshi saw him relax and shoot a look at Adam. Adam shook his head in negation and gave him a warning glance.

I won't do it," Malcolm said quietly, and he flicked a look at Adam again.

Hoshi couldn't interpret the look, but saw Adam sigh silently. Adam looked at Lita, and she moved to stand next to him. Chris nudged Yaffa and sat up. Yaffa looked around, then rose, leading Chris by the hand to stand beside Adam and Lita. Hoshi could see them all tense, waiting.

"Oh, but I think you will. We have two hostages against you. I don't think you want anything to happen to them, do you?" Tarque flashed him another smile and started to walk past him. Malcolm reared up and reached across the table, grabbing the bottle and smashing it against the tabletop, shattering it. He grabbed Tarque by the front of his uniform and raised the jagged end to the man's neck.

There was sudden movement and Hoshi had a hard time keeping up with the melee. Adam and Lita each had rendered a guard unconscious and were struggling with two more, while Chris and Yaffa were stepping over two more downed guards, rushing the rest. Hoshi saw Yaffa go down, stunned by a shot from a guard; at the same time Chris dove and came up with a rifle. Cain pressed a pistol against Malcolm's head and everyone froze.

Malcolm ignored it and smiled coolly at Tarque. "Apparently you've been misinformed. They mean nothing to me. Commander Tucker is simply an annoying, loud mouthed, inbred hillbilly. And Hoshi's convenient, but I can always find another piece of tail."

Hoshi rose. "You bastard! How dare you!" she screamed at him. She threw a shot glass at him, missing and hitting one of the guards in the temple, knocking him out. Lita's snicker quickly died when one of the remaining guards swung his weapon at Hoshi.

"Shut up, you bloody nag!" Malcolm shouted back. He nestled the ragged glass against Tarque's throat, just hard enough so that Tarque could feel the points of it bite into his skin. Hoshi sat down, cursing him under her breath.

Malcolm returned his attention to Tarque. "I might be willing to help you if you let them go. Frankly, I don't need her bitching at me constantly and I'm still very angry at Commander Tucker...I might be forced to kill the bugger if he starts prattling on."

Tarque pushed at Malcolm's unyielding hands while he studied Malcolm's eyes and face. Tarque looked at the cold, uncompromising man in front of him. Reed seemed hard, more closed and contained since Tarque had last seen him. Tarque thought that perhaps that those years of conditioning had started the job he intended to finish...

Malcolm stared back at Tarque frostily, a small menacing smile on his face.

"I think you're bluffing," Tarque said smugly, his smile returning. "I think your friends mean something to you."

Malcolm didn't blink. "I don't have friends. You burnt that out of me a long time ago. The Admiral ordered me to do this. I follow orders. I don't give a damn what happens to any of them." He ground the bottle into Tarque's neck again and Tarque flinched, a trickle of blood appearing.

Hoshi could see a hint of uncertainty on Tarque's face. If she hadn't known Malcolm so well, she would have had doubts too. Although she knew Malcolm was bluffing, it was still frightening to see him slip into this icy persona so easily.

The bottle didn't waver as Cain pressed the gun harder into the side of Malcolm's head. "I'd advise you to release Mr. Tarque," Cain said softly.

"If you're so intent on having me, you won't kill me," Malcolm replied in kind, pressing the bottle into Tarque's neck a bit more. Tarque winced, his smile fading. Malcolm skirted around the table, pulling Tarque with him. Cain followed, still keeping the gun against Malcolm's head. "We're going to take a little walk. Adam, would you get Tucker? "

The remaining guards each swung their guns to cover a different person. "If they try to shoot any of us, I'll slit your throat," Malcolm said calmly to Tarque as he yanked him toward the exit.

Zindzhi had remained sitting the whole time, a thin smile on his face. He watched Malcolm carefully, assessing him. He bided his time, watching, ready to move. He knew Malcolm's weakness and he waited.

Chapter 13

When Adam lifted Trip, Hoshi stood up. Zindzhi reached out a lightning fast hand and grabbed her around the wrist, pulling her down onto his lap. He wrapped one large hand around her neck, his arm other around her, pinning her arms to her sides and spoke up.

"I'll break her neck, Cat. Let him go."

Malcolm whirled, bringing Tarque around with him to face Zindzhi. Hoshi was held immobile on Zindzhi's lap, her unwilling bodily contact with the man made her stiffen with distaste, her anger at Zindzhi and at herself for being so careless sparked across her face.

She watched as Malcolm's cold facade crumbled; his eyes filled with dismay and desperation as he gazed at her. "Sorry," he mouthed to her before he closed them briefly, letting his arm drop, releasing Tarque, who quickly moved away. And when he opened them, Hoshi saw a look of hopelessness in his darkened eyes.

Adam sighed, and lowered Trip back down onto the bunk. Chris shook his head and grinned at Malcolm. "Nice try, compadre," he said and handed the phase rifle to a guard, then bent down to pick up Yaffa.

Tarque rubbed his neck, bringing his hand away and inspecting the blood on his fingertips. He was no longer smiling, his face full of anger. "That stunt will cost you, Cat. You're still a devious little bastard. But I'm sure we'll be able to eliminate that defiant streak of yours this time." He nodded to the guards and one took the broken bottle from Malcolm's hand while another unlocked the door. The others went to their unconscious colleagues and dragged them out into the corridor. They came back in and flanked Malcolm, two grabbing an arm, another behind him, placing him in a choke hold.

"I have your conditioning scheduled for the morning and I was going to let you stay here tonight to catch up on old times with your friends, however, I think you'll need that time alone to think about your actions." He paused and looked thoughtfully at Malcolm. "It's going to hurt so very much," Tarque said softly with a smile. "I'm going to enjoy watching."

Tarque walked toward the exit. Cain followed him and Zindzhi released Hoshi and rose from the table to leave as well. "Methuselah, you've been very helpful. I know we had an agreement, but I'm afraid I must change it. I've decided that we'll need you on these assignments. I'm afraid that we'll have to have you submit to the same training and drills as the others."

"Wait! That's not-—" Zindzhi was enraged and started toward him. Cain moved fast and cut him off. He struck the larger man hard, sending Zindzhi crashing back onto the table, then raised his gun and pointed it at Zindzhi.

"Come along, Cat. You'll need some rest before your first session," Tarque said cheerfully. Malcolm struggled wildly against the guards and he looked up at Hoshi.

She nearly went into shock when she saw the look of terror in his eyes as they dragged him out.

Chapter 14

Zindzhi was angry. Furious. Pacing and snarling, he cursed loudly in Afrikaan, heaping invectives against Tarque. He exited one door and then came back, several bottles of beer in his hand. He opened one and drank from it, still cursing, and sat down on one of the bunks.

Hoshi moved numbly to where Trip lay, oblivious and sleeping deeply. She sat on the bed next to him and studied his face, so innocent in repose. So peaceful.

So unlike Malcolm's had been. She'd seen fear on Malcolm's face before; fear for her, for his shipmates. But not for himself. And never that look of abject terror and panic. It scared her.

Chris sat on the bunk he had placed Yaffa on and started to smile. "Ahhh, Thuse. It's karma you know." Zindzhi turned toward him, face twisted in rage. "You're in the same boat we're in, now. Think about throwing your lot in with us." Chris' soft accented tones were mild, seductive.

"I don't trust him," Lita stated flatly, giving Zindzhi a hard stare.

"Then we should kill him," Chris said with a thoughtful look and Zindzhi tensed.

"Sounds good to me," Lita replied, a savage little smile on her face.

"No," Adam spoke up. He walked over to Zindzhi. "I don't think you have much of a choice. Help us or stay out of our way. But choose Thuse. Give me your word that you'll work with us to get out of here, or at least you won't hinder us."

"I won't stop you," Thuse said sullenly.

"Good." Adam offered his hand and Thuse stared at it for a moment, then shook it with an insolent smirk. Adam gave him a hard look before walking over to Hoshi and sitting on the bed opposite her.

"You better turn in now; we don't need to sleep as much anymore, but I'm sure this has been very wearing on you."

"What are they going do to Malcolm?" Hoshi asked, her stomach churning.

Adam hesitated and looked at Lita. Zindzhi laughed loudly and lounged on his bunk, leaning against the wall. He smiled a lewd grin at Hoshi. "You can write him off, dolly. But you just stick with me; I'll take care of you."

"No thank you, Zindzhi." Hoshi replied softy, trying to control her voice so that it wouldn't tremble.

He turned to Adam. "What do you think, Rabbit? Think they'll give him the full treatment all at once?" Zindzhi looked at Lita and winked. Lita glared at him.

Adam gazed at Zindzhi steadily. "No, that would probably kill him." The sorrow in his quiet reply raised goose bumps on Hoshi's arms.

Adam rose, going to Hoshi and placing his hands on her shoulders. "They've been conditioning us slowly. But Tarque wanted Malcolm on these assignments so bad, he can taste it." A doleful little smile crossed his face. "Malcolm was always our best shooter..."

"Top kill rate in the whole camp," Zindzhi added, almost proudly. "Little SOB was good, I'll hand him that. I should tell you the time we were disarmed and trapped; Cat had us lay in wait in the corridor, and what he did to those men-—"

"Shut up, Zindzhi," Lita interrupted, rising to walk over to him. He scuttled back slightly and she looked Zindzhi in the eyes, studying them carefully.

"They condition you recently?" Lita asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

Zindzhi nodded. "Yeah, I used the training to help me net Cat."

Her face hardened. She moved suddenly and he flinched. Lita smiled tightly. "Nice side effects. Well, this is your own doing then, isn't it? You just wouldn't let go of your misguided vengeance. Wouldn't accept the truth and look where it's got you. Here with us. We should freeze you, but we won't. Some of us still hold on to our humanity." She turned away. "Sleep it off. You know we won't harm you. Do you need a music chip?"

"No, that never bothered me," Zindzhi said, relaxing as she moved away.

"Lucky," Adam murmured. He turned his attention back to Hoshi. "Tarque will most likely try to push the training faster with Malcolm. They're trying something different. You've met Cain. Did Malcolm ever tell you about him?"

"I assume he was with the Genesis squad?" Hoshi asked.

"You'd assume correctly," Adam smiled.

"He was one of the best," Zindzhi put in. "He cracked you know. I bet Cat cracks on this session." He yawned widely, and rubbed his eyes.

"Shut up, Zindzhi," Lita repeated wearily. He looked at her and twirled the bottle nervously in his hands, then drained it, and reached for another.

"Malcolm said someone from Genesis couldn't feel anymore, except when killing..." Hoshi said, eyes widening in alarm, thinking about Cain's casual brutality and his dead eyes.

Adam squeezed her shoulder lightly. "The conditioning went wrong somehow with Cain and when we escaped, Cain fought for them, not us."

"He enjoyed himself though, didn't he?" Zindzhi chuckled. "Really came alive in the middle of that glorious battle. He gave me this," and he pointed to his face. "You could see the joy in his eyes, the thrill he felt as he killed." Zindzhi took another swig of his drink and fell silent, gently tracing the line of the scar.

Adam looked at him, and Hoshi thought she saw a brief glimpse of sympathy in Adam's eyes. He turned to her and it was gone, and Hoshi wondered if she had imagined it.

"You can't have your soldiers obey orders without thinking; things change so much in the field. You might as well have troops like those of the post nuclear horror and we know that didn't work. You've seen Tarque's men. Excellent fighters, but you can't send them out on their own for a mission. They need orders too often."

Adam chuckled a little, an embittered sound. "They're Tarque's test runs, trying to re-create the same 'accident' that shaped Cain. And now, through trial and error, he thinks he's perfected the process."

Adam stood suddenly, pacing, his movements nervous, his voice becoming strident. "So now he's using us as his guinea pigs. He's been moving slow and easy, with us, very careful. Our prior conditioning laid the groundwork, which ironically, is probably why it's working."

Lita strode over to Adam and wrapped an arm around his waist, stilling his footsteps. He smiled down at her and kissed the top of her head. She leaned against him, and Hoshi thought that she looked tired and drawn. Lita lowered her head, gazing at the floor.

He spoke to Hoshi again, less agitated now, but still fervent. "Cain's his best operative. Absolutely loyal and obedient, yet still capable of making independent decisions. But he only comes alive when he's violent."

Hoshi was thankful she was sitting down; she didn't think her legs would be able to hold her. "They're going to do that to all of you?" she asked, hoping she was wrong, but knowing it all made some horrible sense.

Lita looked up at her, misery shining in her glistening eyes. "Yes."

Chapter 15

He paced his cell, waiting. Knowing what was ahead. And he could feel the terror trying to devour him. He thought about Hoshi and saw Thuse's massive hand around her neck and suppressed a shudder. And she was locked up with him.

Adam will watch out for her, he told himself. Chris and Lita will too. Malcolm smiled a bit as he continued stalking around his cell. Hoshi and Yaffa should get along fine, once they found out that they shared a linguistic bond. Both prodigies, both fluent in a myriad of languages.

Bob disturbed him though. Bob and Yaffa were from Narnia, and they'd teamed up with Wonderland for a few assignments. Bob could hotwire and drive or pilot anything. Malcolm remembered Bob as a talkative Yank with a broad New York accent, able to ramble on for hours about different modes of transportation, engines and shortcuts; maps of every route in his head, specs of anything that you could steer buried in his brain. An enthusiastic teacher, Bob had taught Malcolm some very interesting little tricks and given him countless tips and lessons. But the silent, non-reacting man was nothing like the Aslan from Narnia Malcolm had come to like. It must be the conditioning. He'd been here the longest.

Malcolm continued his restless circuit of the cell, unable to calm himself, unable to arrest his thoughts. He tried to review all of the information that Admiral Forrest had given him, the information that he had studied and memorized, the information that could help him get out of this, with his friends and shipmates intact. But the ordeal to come kept intruding, kept slipping into his ruminations and he had to fight down the panic and fear.

Soon Malcolm was just prowling mindlessly, blindly, thoughts of the table consuming him, waiting for dawn.

Chapter 16

They strapped him down, spread eagle, palms up, the plastiflex bindings tight against his wrists and ankles. He trembled, the fear beginning to take over when they secured another band around his neck to keep his upper body immobile. They attached the electrodes to his temples, using the scars as a guide for the proper placement. They injected him and a few moments later he felt his nerve endings ignite into flame, ready to receive the stimuli.

He shivered in horror, in panic, in fury and rage. The old nightmare was happening again and he suddenly struggled madly with a frenzied strength against his bonds, ignoring the sharp edged bindings biting into his flesh, slicing into his skin with razor-thin lines, ignoring the slick warmth of his blood as it dripped slowly down his clenched fingers. The choking sensation as his body arched in response to the first shock, the band around his neck cutting off his air supply, caused him to gasp painfully and sink back into the table, trying to breathe. Already sleek with sweat, his shirt clung to him, the perspiration dripping into his eyes, making them burn, the wounds from the plastiflex around his wrists and throat allowing the saltiness to sting mercilessly. And when the prolonged jolts of electricity continued he lost track of time, the pain encasing him, its acidic torment the only focus of his awareness.

When the alien, Tivet, the very same "doctor" from his past, entered the room, Malcolm bit his lip until it bled, trying not to whimper.

***

Trip woke with a start, not knowing where he was and what had woken him. He heard something and listened. It sounded like screaming. He held his breath. The sound came again. Definitely screaming. Hoarse and pain wracked. The howl of a person in agony, the sound uncontrollably wrenched from a raw throat, the cry drawn out and steady, until it finally collapsed into a ragged sob as the person ran out of breath. A beat, just long enough for an uneven inhalation, and then it started again.

Trip looked around and saw Hoshi, her face a paralyzed mask of grief and horror, silent tears running down her cheeks, then noticed the other occupants in the room.

"Sounds like Cat's caterwauling again," Zindzhi remarked airily to Trip, but he grimaced slightly when the next harsh shriek came.

***

They dragged him through the corridor because he was unable to make his legs obey what his pain-clouded mind tried to tell them. He remained limp, feeling the unpleasant involuntary twitching roll through his body. He couldn't control that either. He breathed through his mouth, trying not to vomit. He licked his cracked and swollen lip, tasting the blood which was slowly dripping from his nose. He vaguely remembered one last incredibly excruciating detonation of fire sweeping through his head, so strong and intense that Tivet had to quickly back off, overloaded and over satiated. He swallowed, and then wished he hadn't. His throat was raw and he fought to stifle the cough he knew would hurt terribly if he let it out. He didn't think he could take any more pain right now.

They hauled him through the doorway and released their hold. He dropped hard to the floor, unable to catch himself and too exhausted to care. He hit the ground with a loud smack and winced. Then he felt hands upon him, turning him over, and he saw a double image of Hoshi hovering above him, her eyes wet and wide. He tried to say something, but all he could manage was a quiet moan. His stomach protested and he struggled to turn away, just barely able to turn his head as he expelled what little was left from his last meal. His throat burned and he convulsed again, bringing up a thin watery bile. A wave of heat enveloped him, his head exploding and his body trembling. So when the edges of his vision began to fade and telescope down to a dark haze, he waited wearily and gratefully for it to enshroud him completely.

Chapter 17

He felt her hand slowly rubbing his head before he was aware of anything else. He could feel the gentle touch, the calming rhythm she made as she stroked through his hair. Then he recognized the sound of several voices, murmuring quietly in the background. He thought he heard Trip's distinctive accent, but the next thing he noticed was a sharp pain in his head, one that flared and ebbed in time to his heartbeat. It made him feel dimly nauseous and he gagged slightly.

"Malcolm?" He heard Hoshi's concern and felt her hand on his face. He felt a warm rush of emotion at the sound of her voice, her touch, and held back the desire to weep as a wave of relief that he could still feel swept over him. He forced his eyes open, appreciating the dimness of the room and tried to focus on Hoshi.

"Oh God, Malcolm! Are you okay?" Hoshi exclaimed softly, studying his eyes carefully. They were warm and alive, although she could see pain in them, she could see Malcolm, his soul intact. She waited, almost fondly, to hear his automatic response of 'fine'.

"Head hurts," he rasped, barely audible. Hoshi leaned forward in alarm, hands on his shoulders, fingers tightening.

Malcolm saw something move within the field of his peripheral vision and started to turn toward it, but a wave of nausea crashed over him, the pain in his head erupting, and he clamped his eyes shut and held still.

Lita knelt beside the bed. "I'm going to give you a painkiller," she said as she adjusted a hypospray.

"Strongest, please," he mumbled before gagging again. Lita injected him and he felt his head dim to a dull ache. The last thing he was aware of before tumbling back into the comforting darkness was Hoshi's hand brushing over the side of his face.

Chapter 18

Hoshi sat on the grass with Trip, watching the squad run through the obstacle course. A few hours after the guards had brought Malcolm in, Cain and his men had returned.

Cain inspected Malcolm's pupils, then left him where he was, sprawled dead to the world on a bunk. Lita had bandaged his wrists and dressed the cuts at his neck, while Adam had stripped off Malcolm's drenched shirt. Hoshi had cleaned Malcolm, washing away the blood and sweat. Sleeping deeply, he didn't respond throughout their careful ministrations. Hoshi had run light fingers over her name drawn on his smooth chest, trying not to give into her fears. Zindzhi merely stared at them while Trip, Chris, and Yaffa consulted quietly at the table where Bob was sitting silent and placid.

Cain gathered everyone together then led them through the doors in the back of the barracks.

Hoshi scrutinized everything she saw as they were taken out of the barracks. There was a kitchen, well supplied and stocked with everything imaginable, although she noted there was no glassware. The guards had replaced those items last night with non-breakable ones. And of course, there were only plastic utensils. Beyond the kitchen they walked through a door which led to a fully furnished gym, then a conference room, and then a door leading outside, into a large grassy field. The firing range lay beyond that with an obstacle course adjacent to it. Several hills rose along the grounds, some grassy, others rocky and dirt covered. The whole complex was surrounded by metallic poles every few meters, and the constant low hum they gave off grated on Hoshi's sensitive hearing. The shimmering effect between the poles, like heat rising from blacktop, wavered constantly, making the outlying areas difficult to see.

Trip looked at the poles with interest. Chris had explained that they were the cloaking screen, coupled with a powerful field that would incinerate anyone trying to walk through it. He told Trip where the power source was located; that he, Adam, and Lita were trying to get to it to sabotage it and break out, but so far had been thwarted at every turn. Trip studied the poles, his engineering mind working, trying to figure out how to damage or overload them, his thoughts ripe with plots to escape.

Hoshi and Trip talked quietly to each other as Cain grouped the squad together. Hoshi watched, engrossed, as a small Pachaa male came onto the field. She observed the reactions of the squad members, ranging from fear to resignation as the Pachaa approached Adam first. The Pachaa placed his hands on Adam's head and merely stood there for a few minutes, while Adam trembled, frozen in place. And when the alien broke away and moved onto Lita, Hoshi and Trip exchanged troubled looks.

Adam's face was calm, eyes dead, stance relaxed and careless. Cain nodded at him and Adam took off through the obstacle course, swinging through the ropes, flying through tight spaces between barriers without touching them, climbing quickly up high walls and jumping wantonly from them, twisting and landing on his feet, then running off again.

"Oh my God," Trip whispered as Lita set off, the same detached look on her visage, the same speed and dexterity, the same careless manner as she whipped her body through the course. "If I wasn't seeing it, I wouldn't believe it..."

The Pachaa came to Bob last, the others responding as Lita and Adam had; the emotionless expression, the same quick and supple movements, the same cavalier manner. The Pachaa didn't focus as long on Bob as he had the others; after a minute Bob reacted suddenly, with more vigor than Hoshi had seen before. He let out a loud whoop and smiled hugely, then recklessly ran full tilt at the course. Hoshi was astonished. For someone who had been practically catatonic he was racing, with even more speed and agility than the others. And he was enjoying it. He finished the course quickly and joined the others at the target range, grabbing a rifle and letting loose a savage barrage of fire, a grin on his face as he mowed down target after target.

"What the hell's wrong with that guy?" Trip asked Hoshi.

"He's been here a while," Hoshi replied, wondering too.

***

They watched as Cain ordered the squad through a hand-to-hand combat drill. Bob was teamed with Zindzhi and both Trip and Hoshi watched in stunned silence as Bob went ballistic. Zindzhi couldn't keep up, unable to defend himself as Bob moved and feinted, then battered Zindzhi as if the huge man was nothing more than a paper tiger. Bob smiled throughout, laughing occasionally, taunting, joking and talking constantly. Hoshi actually felt sorry for Zindzhi who endured the punishment silently until Cain ordered them to stop.

At Cain's order they all stopped simultaneously, lined up at attention, perfect soldiers in a precise row. Hoshi glanced at her chronometer. They been out here for two hours, yet no one in the squad was panting, sweating, or showed any sign of fatigue. All of them, except Bob, had the same cold, blank look and Hoshi was reminded of Malcolm's demeanor on TayNor. She tossed a worried glance at Trip and he put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be okay, Hoshi." But even Trip had to admit that he didn't sound convincing.

Cain barked out one last order, and they saw the members of the squad close their eyes. After a few moments, they opened them, and Hoshi could see the warmth and humanity back in their faces, the troubled looks, the weariness of their body language now. Cain ordered them to fall out and they were all marched back to the barracks.

Chapter 19

Hoshi went to Malcolm as soon as they re-entered the barracks. When Trip sat down on the bunk next to her, Malcolm stirred and opened his eyes.

"How do you feel?" Hoshi asked tentatively.

"Slight headache," he replied, his voice hoarse. His head was pounding and he tried to ignore it. He looked at Trip. "Hey. How are you?" he asked, and Trip heard the concern in his tone.

"I'm fine-a little hung over, but better than you were this morning." Trip inspected Malcolm carefully, but he seemed to be okay. Then again, you could never tell with him, Trip thought cynically.

"I fancy our heads feel the same, but I'm sure yours was more enjoyably obtained..."

"Well, now you know how us loudmouth, annoying, inbreed hillbillies feel like after a snoot full," Trip grinned. Malcolm groaned, blushing slightly.

"It was just an act, Trip..." He shot a look at Hoshi. "Why'd you tell him?" he practically hissed as he levered himself up.

"Hey, I'm just a convenient piece of tail, Lieutenant," and Hoshi smirked at him.

"Never convenient, Ensign." The warm look on his face belied his sardonic tone. "By the way, nice throw. I always reckoned you for a crockery hurler." He brushed a light kiss on Hoshi's forehead and gingerly stood up.

"Feeling better?" Lita asked as she walked over.

"Yes, thank you," Malcolm replied as Lita hugged him and Adam clapped him on the shoulder. Malcolm saw Chris and Yaffa enter, Bob trailing behind them.

"Yaffa, Chris. Sorry to see you, but good to see you," he said with a slight grin. "Bob."

Yaffa went to Malcolm and hugged him, Chris ruffling his hair before Malcolm could push his hand away. Bob wandered over to the table and sat down, not acknowledging anyone.

"Nice rescue attempt, cabron," Chris teased, smiling to take the sting out of his words.

Malcolm looked embarrassed and disentangled himself from Yaffa's embrace. "It wasn't exactly what I had planned..." he said as he moved closer to Hoshi. She could see the anger in his eyes as he shot a look at Zindzhi, who had come in and was standing awkwardly off to one side. He wrapped a protective arm about her and she could feel him tense.

Adam noticed and squeezed Malcolm's shoulder. "He's given us his word he won't try to impede our efforts to escape," and Malcolm merely snorted. "He's in the same fix we are now. You know, you gotta start trusting people sometimes."

Malcolm laughed. "Right. May the Lord save us from the optimists."

"God save us from the pessimists," Adam shot back. Malcolm rolled his eyes and Lita stepped between them.

"Boys," she warned.

"Are we tapped?" Malcolm asked, changing the subject. He was in no mood to continue their old debate about the values of pragmatism and realistic expectations versus Adam's rose-colored ideals.

"Not as far as I know. We've searched," Adam replied. He turned towards Zindzhi. "Do you know?"

Zindzhi shook his head. "No, they didn't bother to wire it this time. Cain told Tarque it wasn't worth it. By the time they had all of you, there wouldn't be enough time for you to plot an escape before the final conditioning session."

"And what does this final session entail? What's Tarque's ultimate objective?" Malcolm asked, a sudden foreboding prickling at him. He hoped he was wrong. He prayed he was wrong.

Hoshi heard the apprehension in his voice. It startled her. She placed a hand on his chest, stroking lightly. She felt his posture ease in response.

Adam sighed and sat down at a table. The rest followed, except Zindzhi who laid down on a bunk, hands behind his head and simply stared at the ceiling, listening.

"We can't even control the change ourselves anymore," Adam said softly, not answering Malcolm's question. "An order from Cain releases us and Tivet still has to set us, but they'll correct that." Adam's hands moved anxiously over the surface of the table. "Tivet will adjust us somehow, either to respond to an order, or the training will automatically kick in. I'm not sure. And then—" Adam stopped and swallowed. He shook his head.

"You can't control it?" Malcolm asked with a hint of confusion. "You can't just...push...through?" he asked, unable to put into words the amorphous mental technique used to initiate the process. "You can't get...back...on your own?" Hoshi could hear the desperate denial in his voice and she rubbed his back, trying to comfort him.

"No, we can't control anything anymore," Lita said. "And we've all been primed for the last session. It takes about a month of conditioning to establish the parameters and constraints. They don't have to subject us to the table now. Tivet just instigates it for the time being.

"But Cain said something about using a stimuli to trigger the reinforcement during an assignment. I'm not sure what that means, he was being cryptic, as usual. Then fine tuning sessions afterwards, until we react within their expectations."

She paused, then continued, a circumspect look in her eyes. "None of us have used our training since we escaped. But Matata has and he'd been cooperating, willingly, with them. They conditioned him easily."

She studied Malcolm candidly. "You used it recently, didn't you?"

Malcolm nodded, and Hoshi could see the guilt and agitation.

"The only time since they tried to wipe your memory?"

He nodded again.

"Was it different this time?" she asked intently.

Malcolm stared at his hands, thinking. It had been different. "It was harder to...maintain. I...it cracked a few times. I had to reinitiate it twice. I..." he looked at Hoshi. "I...I didn't want anything to happen to Hoshi..." he looked down again. "It wasn't the same as before. I just wanted to get the job done, but I needed to...protect...my team." His friends. Hoshi.

"Did you feel anything?" Lita asked.

"No," Malcolm replied, his voice soft. "Nothing."

"How did you lose it?"

He looked up at Lita. "The first time, the Captain wanted to take Hoshi with us...and I argued with him because it was too dangerous. He ordered me to comply with his decision. It kicked back in on its own then, when he ordered me. But after that, I had to re-establish it consciously." This wasn't something he had told anyone; he hadn't wanted to re-live the nightmare of what he had done on TayNor nor remind his friends that he was barely one step up from a lab animal. He noticed Trip and Hoshi listening intently and shifted uncomfortably, feeling like one of Dr. Phlox's alien sickbay creatures. Or a side show freak. "The first time T'Pol, she our Vulcan Science Officer, she...she touched me and sensed there was something...different...and she said she tried to do a mind meld—"

Lita inhaled sharply. "A mind meld? What happened?"

"Wait, what's a mind meld?" Trip asked.

Lita quickly explained the Vulcan mind meld, their touch telepathy. Trip listened, a bit rattled. He wondered if T'Pol had been reading his mind. Oh God, if she had, she'd know how he felt about her. He almost missed the rest of the conversation, his thoughts were so divided.

"Did she meld with you?" Lita asked, eyes intense and alert.

"I don't know. She said her 'mental shields' were down and she...I don't know. It's hard to explain. I don't have a frame of reference, really. I could feel something forcing its way and then it broke through. Then the emotions were there and I had to induce the training again...the mission wasn't complete..."

"And the second time?"

He looked over at Hoshi and placed his hand on her arm, watching his fingers nervously tracing a light pattern over it. "Hoshi touched me. I lost it again as soon as she did..."

Hoshi remembered lifting his chin in the corridor, the shiver that ran through him. The shame and anxiety in his eyes.

She rubbed his thigh and murmured a few words of comfort to him. He placed his hand on top of hers, threading his fingers through hers.

"I don't know why it happened. Perhaps because my control isn't the best. I hadn't done it since..." he trailed off and Lita nodded sympathetically. Since their last assignment together.

"And you couldn't do it when they tested you afterwards," Lita stated.

"No, it wouldn't work."

"Then how'd you know it would work on TayNor?" Lita asked, curious.

"About three months after I...remembered everything, I could feel it." He continued to stare at his fingers, twined with Hoshi's. He felt himself growing angry at this interrogation, angry at himself, this botched rescue attempt, and his voice became harsh. "I could feel it, sitting in my head, like a great poisonous spider, waiting. And then I didn't have a choice on TayNor; we couldn't retrieve Trip and T'Pol successfully otherwise." He exhaled loudly and Hoshi felt his leg start to bounce.

"How'd it feel, the first time you did it?"

"It hurt," Malcolm mumbled and Hoshi squeezed his hand gently.

"Not the usual initiation?"

"No. The subsequent ones twinged less than usual, but the first one..."

Lita continued her scrutiny of him until he fidgeted uncomfortably again. "What's this got to do with anything? You haven't answered any of my questions yet," he said crossly, and Hoshi could see his temper rising. She started stroking his back again, hoping to ease his tension. She felt him relax slightly into her touch once more.

"Since the last we saw each other I've devoted most of my time to studying neuroscience, trying to understand this, trying to see if there would be any long term effects from what they did to us." She took Malcolm's hand and stretched his arm out, running her fingers over the now unmarked skin. "I heard about what happened on Sandaran—"

"How'd you hear about that?" Malcolm asked, cheeks burning and pulled his arm away from her. Hoshi gently took his hand and he held it tightly.

"My father sent me the report," Adam interjected.

"Damn it! Don't I have any bloody privacy!" Malcolm released Hoshi's hand and stood up, pacing furiously. "Your father reads my mail, reveals personal and classified information to my crewmates, his 'mysterious' source has been keeping tabs on me, and supposedly sealed reports are being read by every one and their bleedin' mothers...God damn it!"

"Your temper worse?" Lita queried calmly.

"No!" Malcolm responded explosively.

Hoshi burst out laughing and Trip started to chuckle. Malcolm glared at them, making Hoshi laugh even louder.

"You seem kind of irritable," Trip remarked casually, still smiling.

"Oh, right. I've been stunned, imprisoned, had a rather nasty morning, my head's throbbing and I'm starving; and you expect me to be congenial?" Malcolm fired back dourly.

Yaffa rose and went into the kitchen.

"We didn't have headaches afterwards," Adam mentioned, "or nosebleeds." Lita retrieved the medical scanner and ran it over Malcolm. He squirmed away, annoyed.

"What did Tivet do to you this morning?" Lita asked, checking the readings.

"The usual preparation." He crossed his arms across his chest, holding himself tightly. "Then he slithered around inside my head for a while, making me adjust a few levels. Mostly the dopamine, the nociceptin, norepinephrine, and phenylethylamine. Played with my adrenaline a bit..." He turned away. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered. It had made him feel wild and out of control, a combination of euphoria and aggression, and a small, albeit very small, portion of him liked it. And that scared him more than anything else.

Lita showed him the readings. "They've changed since you were brought here. He pushed you in one session the equivalent of three days with our sessions." She placed a hand on his arm. "Malcolm, did he get to any of your emotional responses?"

Malcolm stood still, a look of introspection on his face. "No...he tried to...yank...at some, but he couldn't...hang onto them." He started pacing again abruptly. "Look, I've had enough with people prodding about in my head today, alright? Can you just answer my questions? What is Tarque's final objective in doing all this?"

"The final conditioning session will leave us all like Cain," Adam said bluntly. "Look at Bob. He's been subjected to it the longest. He really only reacts now during physical situations. His...withdrawal...is one of the side effects. Everyone's reacting to the high levels of neurochemicals they make us release. We're all getting a little squirrelly. Lita gets a little hysterical sometimes, Yaffa is becoming some sort of mothering socialite, Chris is..." Adam looked at Chris, questioning.

"Apathetic," Chris smiled. "I really don't give a shit anymore. And Adam here is getting more jumpy and harsh by the day. You sleep, what? Three hours now? We're all down to about 4, 4-1/2," Chris said to Malcolm. "And look at Matata. Bob beat the crap out of him this morning," Chris continued, smiling a bit smugly.

"Shut down, War," Zindzhi said mildly.

"Yeah, well, look what's it's done to you," Chris replied, looking at the huge man. "You back down when confronted strongly enough. They were just priming you to be second to Cain, so you'll do what he tells you. Didn't think about that when you let them condition you before going off to double cross Malcolm, did you?" Chris sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Well, what the hell. Doesn't matter."

Hoshi exchanged a worried glance with Trip. What would it do to Malcolm? They both studied him carefully, trying to see if there was any change from his usual demeanor.

Malcolm noticed. "Would you two stop that?" he snapped. "I'm fine." He sat down again at the table, leg jittering away.

Yaffa returned and handed Malcolm a plate with a sandwich, an apple and a glass of milk. He thanked her and examined the sandwich, an odd look on his face. She had removed the crust from white bread, and cut out the middle in a heart shape, replacing it with a rich dark brown bread, slotted perfectly into the cutout. She had garnished it with several tomato peel florets.

He looked at her, eyebrows raised and mouth pursed, trying not to laugh. She smiled at him. "Can't help myself..." His laughter finally escaped and he touched her arm briefly in reassurance and appreciation, then took a huge bite out of the sandwich, smirking as he marred her impeccable creation. She gave a musical laugh and the rest of the group couldn't help but smile.

"We need to think about how to get out of here. If we can contact Enterprise, we can risk transporting up," Malcolm said, his words muffled through a mouthful of food.

"Enterprise won't be there; Tarque's taken care of that," Adam replied reluctantly, nervously twisting his fingers.

"How? They'll be looking for Hoshi and Trip," Malcolm stated.

"No." Adam looked down at the table, drumming his fingers on it. "He talked to me this morning, early. He was very proud of himself. He had Cain set fire to that nightclub you two were at last night." He glanced at Hoshi and then Trip. "They've had the Pachaa authorities contact your Captain to report your deaths in the fire."

"Oh no," Hoshi breathed out.

"Jon will insist on seeing our bodies, or ashes, or something," Trip protested.

"I'm afraid Cain was quite thorough. Ten Pachaa died in the blaze, all the bodies burnt beyond recognition," Adam said with regret. "Some were nothing but ash."

"But Phlox will know, our DNA—" Trip started.

"Tarque's arranged for 'witnesses' to tell your Captain that they saw you die. That there are no bodies to recover."

Trip closed his eyes, thinking of the pain that Jon would be in and his anger at Tarque grew. "So how the hell do we get out of here?" he asked, looking at Adam.

Adam looked at Malcolm.

"I suppose I'll have to get my hands on a communicator," Malcolm said, but Adam shook his head.

"Enterprise will be out of range. They've been ordered to pick up delegates for that UFP conference."

"Bloody marvelous," Malcolm spat. He ran his hand through his hair. "Look, why don't you fill me in on what's going on and then we can start planning. I need a time frame, the layout to this facility, everything you can tell me."

Adam began to talk.

Chapter 20

Hoshi sat quietly and listened as the rest of the squad filled them in on everything Malcolm wanted to know. After an hour Cain entered with his men, and ordered them to the gym. She and Trip watched as the rest went through a circuit of weight lifting, gymnastics, and sparring. Chris asked Trip to spot him while he lifted some free weights. They talked quietly, both engineers intent on working out some way of bringing the cloaking field down. The other squad members rotated among the equipment and Hoshi watched the squad work out.

Cain finally called a halt to the session and told them that they had two hours of free time before a strategy meeting. He left and most of the squad filed out, except for Trip and Chris, still in a deep discussion. She sat with Malcolm while he removed the tape from his hands, the punching bag still swaying from his attack upon it. She told him how she and Trip had come to be on Pachaa as he listened silently, head down and slowly unwinding the tape around his left hand.

"How are you doing, love?" he asked quietly after she had finished, then looked up at her, attentive and concerned.

"Fine."

He laughed. "That's my line, Ensign."

She smiled at him and he nuzzled her, trailing light kisses down her neck, making her shiver. He hugged her, then pulled back, his lips brushing hers in a gentle kiss. "No, really," he asked, his tone serious, his eyes brooking no prevarications.

She looked at him and then bowed her head. "I'm scared, Malcolm." Her voice trembled and she felt a stab of self-disgust for being so weak.

He drew her close, holding her, comforting her, ignoring the remaining guards' stare. He didn't care. It didn't matter; they already knew she was his price, that he'd do whatever they wanted him to as long as they didn't harm her.

"It's all right to be scared, Hoshi. It's normal. It's human," he said with an ironic smile. "Besides, you're one of the bravest people I know." He wiped a tear off her cheek; one she hadn't realized had escaped, and massaged his thumb over the spot.

She snorted a scornful laugh. "You're a poor liar, Malcolm."

He became very serious. "I've never lied to you, Hoshi. I never will. Now it's your turn to believe. As long as I've know you, you've always faced your fears. And you may tremble and shake, and want to cry like a newborn babe, you may even shed those tears, but you stand your ground. You've never let the crew or the Captain down. And you could never, ever disappoint me." He kissed her again, rejoicing in the feeling of the warmth of her sumptuous lips, his love for her arcing throughout his body, his throat aching because he didn't think he could contain the burst of overwhelming feelings he had for her.

He straddled the bench and pulled her close to him, swinging her around and wrapping his arms around her. She leaned back into his chest, warm in his embrace, feeling too relieved, and buoyed, by his words to speak. He nuzzled her again. "I love you, Hoshi. Always will..." He wished he could say something more eloquent; tell her exactly how he felt, but coherent declarations of his feelings had never been his strength. So he caressed her, letting his lips, and his hands, his body chastely show her how he felt.

"Love you too." She relaxed, nestled snugly, feeling better for the first time since arriving here. She luxuriated in his embrace, feeling him trace light kisses down the back of her neck, the warmth of his body pressed against her, his hands holding her. She felt encompassed by his love, his protection and devotion. She'd had other lovers. Men who spoke of loving her, with high levels of skill and flowery words. But no one had really showed her the way Malcolm did. And with him, for the first time, she felt wholly loved. Flaws and all.

She remembered her conversation, about regrets, with Malcolm and Trip a few days after the two had almost died on Shuttlepod One. Malcolm had told them that he had regretted not telling someone that he loved her often enough. And Hoshi realized that Malcolm made a point of telling her that he loved her every day. Not thoughtlessly tossed out, an automatic response or reflexive remark. He would look at her, his eyes intense and searing, and tell her.

She felt a swell of pride in herself that she would meet his gaze, matching his fierceness and just as heartfelt, when she would say she loved him too. And she knew she meant it just as fervently as he did.

She reflected again how he was not her type. Not at all. Viva la difference, she thought with a grin.

She settled further into his chest, trying to touch as much of him as possible, making as much contact with him as she could. She knew they both craved the physical touch of the other for reassurance and communication.

"Seems like we keep winding up locked up together," she said dryly, but her hands stroked his, then held them tightly, sending her love to him.

"No one I'd rather be incarcerated with," he replied, slipping one hand out from under hers and twining his fingers through her hair. She turned her face to look at him, then impulsively raised a hand, running a delicate finger along his ear.

"You look like a pixie." She smiled at his puzzled look. "Or an elf." He touched his ear and felt the point then smiled, his eyes crinkling.

"Lord, I'd forgotten about those," he laughed. "Think T'Pol would find them sexy?" he asked slyly, eyebrows arched and with a small smile.

She slapped the arm still about her waist. "You're such a dog, Malcolm," she laughed. He growled, then barked, first a deep Great Dane of a sound, then a small Porthos sounding yip, making her laugh harder. He hugged her tighter, rocking her slightly.

"Adam and I will come up with something. Plus we've got Trip's skills. He and Chris will make an excellent team. We'll get out of here," he whispered to her. "It might get ugly, but I know you can do it."

"You have a plan?" she whispered back, surprised.

"More like a half-arsed idea. Depends on the Suliban assignment, and when Enterprise comes back. I need more information. Adam and I will work on it after the strategy meeting." He struggled to keep his fears and pessimism cornered in that recess of his mind which always calculated the odds and insisted on a realistic assessment of any given situation.

He wanted to tell her that he was afraid. Scared to death. The table. The pain. An alien scouring through his mind, tampering with his very being. His soul. Twisting him, warping and misshaping him, molding him into something that he could not bear to live with again.

And he couldn't prevent it. They would kill Hoshi or Trip if they failed to escape on the first attempt as punishment. But they would kill them both if Tarque and Tivet succeeded in perverting him, no longer needing hostages against him to guarantee his cooperation. And if he allowed himself to get killed on the Suliban mission, they would still kill Hoshi and Trip, their usefulness over.

So he didn't say anything, because he couldn't. Wouldn't add to Hoshi's already justified fears, wouldn't scare and worry her further. All he could do was offer her comfort. And his unconditional love, which grew every day. He sighed deeply, still holding her. "I'll always love you. Don't let me forget that, no matter what."

"You better not forget or I'll have to smack some sense into you again," she teased. "Maybe chuck a dinner plate or two at you."

He laughed loudly. "Now, if your aim with a phase pistol was as good as with a shot glass-—" and she swung around and kissed him, hard and passionately, cutting him off.

When they broke apart, they were breathing quickly, their minds no longer on touching each other quite so innocently. She stood and grabbed his hand, pulling urgently, a wicked grin on her face. "Come on. You need a shower. I think I do too. Let's conserve water..."

***

They took him away again that evening and Hoshi listened to him scream while she cried silently against Trip's chest.

***

For the next few days, Malcolm's routine didn't vary. Up in the morning with the rest of the squad then out for hours of calisthenics, obstacle course runs, and defensive training; tactical meetings to refine the assault, target practice, meals, building bombs, and downtime. And in the early evening off for intensive conditioning, being dragged back to the barracks, throwing up and passing out, then waking, freshly bandaged and head blazing, trying not to beg for a more potent dose of painkiller beyond which Lita could safely give him.

At least his friends caught him before his guards released him and he didn't have to land on the hard floor anymore.

Chapter 21

Hoshi and Trip settled on the ground as Malcolm lined up with the rest of the squad in front the building. They'd be running through their approach to entering the Suliban compound-scale the side of the building to reach the roof then down through the vent ducts.

Tivet moved down the line, forcing the chemical changes and Hoshi watched all of the squad members respond. When Tivet approached Malcolm she saw him edge back, trying to pull away from the Pachaa. Cain sent two guards to pin him against the wall and Tivet grabbed Malcolm's head and concentrated.

Malcolm refused to submit to the triggering. He fought against Tivet's intrusion, lowering his neurochemical levels just as quickly as Tivet would raise them. Ten minutes passed as Tivet and Malcolm engaged in a silent battle of wills.

Trip cheered silently each time Tivet pulled back in aggravation, the alien's face twisting in annoyance and to Trip's eyes, a bit of pain. Good for you Mal, stay as stubborn as a mule and kick him twice as hard, he thought.

Tivet scowled again and broke away as Malcolm stared at him in defiance, a trace of a smile on his face and a malicious glint in his eyes as he leaned against the wall, still in the guards' grasp. He shot a look at Hoshi, who had her head down, fingers pulling out blades of grass around her with a meticulous abusiveness that belied her still features.

Malcolm then gazed at Trip and his smile grew lopsided and smug. Trip grinned back at him and nodded, putting as much support and encouragement into it as he could. Tivet angrily clutched Malcolm's head again and the clash of determined resolve started again.

A few minutes later Trip looked up, startled, as a silent shadow fell across him. Cain yanked him to his feet, marching him over to where Tivet and Malcolm were standing, Malcolm glaring balefully at the Pachaa, the alien breathing hard in exasperation.

Cain pressed a gun against Trip's head. "Stop fighting it, Cat. I'll kill him. And I'll still have another hostage against you."

Malcolm exhaled loudly, cursing Cain. Malcolm met Trip's eyes and then looked away. He braced himself against the building, head bowed and Tivet placed his hands on Malcolm again.

Trip watched as Malcolm trembled hard, a flash of pain crossing his face. They stood there for several long moments, then Tivet removed his hands, a look of triumphant on his features. Malcolm raised his head.

Trip clenched his jaw so that he wouldn't make a sound. He didn't want to give Cain and Tivet the satisfaction. Malcolm's eyes were dead and cold, face blank and he stared at Trip with no acknowledgment. Cain released Trip and pushed him back toward Hoshi.

Trip returned slowly to Hoshi's side and sat next to her. He grasped her hand.

"They forced him?" she asked, knowing the answer. She could see the change from where she sat.

"Yeah," he replied bitterly and he could feel himself trembling with rage.

Hoshi leaned against him, putting an arm around his shoulder and hugged him tight. "You know he won't blame you. If they didn't have us, they'd be threatening to harm his sister, or someone else."

"I know," Trip said mournfully, feeling responsible for Malcolm's coerced acquiescence, for inadvertently causing them to be hostages used against his friend. Trip was grateful for her understanding and tried to keep the anger he felt from traveling to the hand holding Hoshi's. He didn't want to crush it.

They watched in silence as the squad was put through their paces, getting the ropes in place, scaling the wall of the building repeatedly, going through the motions as Cain timed them. They watched as the team flew up the walls and then rappelling back down. Hoshi held her breath as Malcolm nonchalantly jumped off the roof backwards, letting the rope slide through his gloved hands until he was almost halfway down, then catching the rope and pushing off against the side of the building, sailing down almost to the bottom before catching himself again to gracefully drop the few meters to the ground. He waited for the rest of the team and they started up the side again, Zindzhi's biceps bulging and Bob scampering nimbly up the rope as if born to it. Yaffa and Lita moved just as rapidly as the men, their hands flashing, legs pushing them upward. Adam, Chris, and Malcolm were moving in unison, hand over hand, their timing perfect. They reached the top and descended again, Malcolm jumping out and away from the building, waiting longer to catch himself this time.

Trip and Hoshi exchanged uneasy looks each time Malcolm jumped off, as he would fall further every time, until he was eventually catching himself nearly three quarters of the way down. They could see his arms jerk as he grabbed the rope then push off swiftly, barely touching the side of the tall building, the rope snaking through his hands before he'd release it and drop the rest of the way. He was always the first down and he'd stand there, unmoving and silent, waiting.

Cain called for one last run, finally satisfied with their time, and Hoshi stood. She watched Malcolm jump off the roof again and make it to the bottom far ahead of the others. She walked over to him as he stood there watching the rest of the team. She looked over at Cain, who merely glanced at her, then returned his frosty gaze to his charges.

Hoshi moved in front of Malcolm and studied his eyes as he stared upwards. She didn't let her sorrow overwhelm her. She touched his face, drawing his head toward her and she felt him shiver. He looked at her, confused, then his eyes warmed, and a small smile of pleasure at seeing her appeared. He flicked a nervous look at Cain, whose eyes were still intent upon the others.

"Sorry," he murmured, "Can't let him see me break training..." He looked at her once more. "I love you," he whispered before closing his eyes. He rubbed his temple and grimaced, then reopened his eyes. They were icy and distant. Hoshi returned to Trip's side, unsettled.

But she felt a small sparkle of hope and a deep satisfaction.

Chapter 22

Hoshi would check Malcolm's eyes each night he was brought back after a conditioning session, relieved to find that warmth and connection still apparent, no matter how much pain was in them. While he was unconscious, they bandaged his sliced up wrists, caused by his involuntary spasms as the electricity was sent through his body, generating the pain Tivet used to force the training-the pain the Pachaa would gleefully feed on. The cuts on his neck were healing, Malcolm now careful not to strain against the binding, no matter how afraid he was or how much it hurt. He confessed to Hoshi that the memory of that binding was the reason why he could never stand having anything around his neck and his odd comment in sickbay after their return from Sandaran now made sense to her.

And he fought the conditioning. He fought with all the frantic panic it evoked in him, the terror and agony, using it to overload Tivet, fighting him with a vehemence and hatred and anger that made the alien unable to usurp Malcolm's emotional responses. Malcolm would change for him, would release and control the neurochemicals, letting Tivet fine tune him, permitting Tivet to tamper with his glutamate, oxytocin, acetylcholine, GABA, and numerous other chemicals, allowing Tivet to push his adrenaline levels up until Malcolm thought he could fly.

But he fought with everything he had to keep his emotions away from Tivet.

Tivet wasn't simply helping them to bypass the emotions in order to perform as they had in the past. This time he was trying to capture them, seizing them and locking them away, only to be unleashed when executing their duty. Using their own emotions as an enslavement, allowing them out only when terminating a target, making them willing to accept an assignment just to feel that release.

Tarque would no longer need to threaten or keep hostages against his new squads; each member would be willing, gladly, to volunteer for a mission, the reward of feeling again becoming a compulsion, an urge driving them to jump at the chance to feel.

And the neurochemicals which Tivet focused on were the very ones that caused pleasure, the human body's own opiates. He concentrated on increasing the speed of the nuerotransmitters, increasing the release and levels of those excitatory chemicals.

Adam had admitted to Trip and Hoshi that he was worried. The headaches, the bloody nose, the vomiting; these were not normal side effects to the conditioning. Although Tarque was having Tivet push Malcolm faster and farther than the others, the whole squad had gone through it without these manifestations. Adam thought that the accelerated conditioning played a part, but he also knew, somehow, it was exacerbated by Malcolm's refusal to relinquish his emotional control. The rest of the squad had fought at first, but had finally been worn down and were now primed, knowing that the last training session before the conference would eliminate their emotions, not to be reclaimed, except in action. Their conditioning was complete, save for some fine tunes before the Suliban mission which would lay the groundwork for the final severance of their emotional mastery before the key assignment. When they'd be twisted into model soldiers, like Cain.

Malcolm didn't know how he managed to resist. Lita continued to scan him after each session, monitoring Tivet's progress. Malcolm was very close to the rest of the squad's level, and would surpass it by the time of the mission.

Tarque wanted Malcolm to re-take his place as their prize shooter, his accuracy and lethal efficiency necessary for the UFP mission; and Tarque needed Malcolm to perform at his highest capacity to take on the enhanced Suliban. Tarque would occasionally come out and watch the drill sessions, visiting the barracks daily to chat with his sullen charges. And he never missed a conditioning session. He especially enjoyed attending Malcolm's.

That mission would be in three days and Adam told Lita he was worried that if Malcolm didn't capitulate, their captors would kill him. Lita told Adam she was worried that the conditioning would kill him before that.

***

Tivet forced the specimen he was currently working on to increase the dopamine a little more, and he felt the human respond with pleasure, then fight against him with rage and hatred. Tivet broke off and shocked the defiant man again, barely waiting for him to stop screaming before plunging into his mind once more and snacking off the pained mental echoes. He nudged the serotonin level up and felt his subject respond positively once more. Tivet reached for that emotion and felt the man slam down a wall of anger so strong that Tivet flinched and withdrew quickly, his mind pinched, like fingers caught in a door.

Tivet disciplined him again.

***

Cain was putting the squad through another 10k night run when the guards dragged Malcolm back to the barracks. Trip and Hoshi caught him and Trip watched as Malcolm tried to focus on Hoshi's face before he started to dry heave. After the fourth day he wouldn't eat for hours before his session, darkly joking that it was less fuss for everyone.

Trip felt that customary mix of outrage and helplessness as Malcolm's eyes rolled back and then his body went slack, muscles still twitching as Trip carried him to the bunk. Hoshi efficiently stripped off his sweat soaked shirt before Trip gently lowered him down on his back, and Hoshi proceeded to wipe Malcolm down as Trip cleaned and bandaged his wrists. They had become quite adept at performing these little rituals now.

Hoshi skated her fingers over the markings on his chest, touching the characters of her name. A single tear fell on his stomach and Hoshi ran a hand across her eyes, then studied the droplet before brushing it away.

"You're the only reason he hasn't given in yet, you know," Trip said, not looking up from his task. "You're the first thing he looks for when they haul him back here; the first thing he reaches for when he wakes up." Trip gently placed Malcolm's unresisting arm on the bed and started on the other. "You're the only one who can make him break that ever-loving training." His accent grew thicker, slipping into a lazy pattern of speech, and Hoshi could hear the barely contained anger in his voice, a sharp contrast to the tender touch Trip was using to disinfect Malcolm's wrist.

She smiled slightly. Trip was too much of a gentleman to curse strongly in front of her and she found it sweet but amusing. She idly thought that she must have shocked him so much when she had let loose a few choice words in the past.

"Those sons of-how can anyone do this to another person?" Trip started to wrap Malcolm's wrist and he looked up at Hoshi, a serious look in his eyes.

"You're keeping him connected, you know. Keeping him sane. I think that's why he's fighting it this time." Trip looked down at his work again, his tone hushed. "He told me once that he could never get close to anyone. Maybe that made it easier for them to do this the first time around. But this time, he's got you." He paused, then decided to say what he thought. "And I know he's finally found a real home on Enterprise. I don't think he's so willing to give up on all of that." He almost chuckled, thinking about his friend's grim and sometimes defeatist nature. "At least not now." Not when he loves you so much, Trip added silently.

She watched Trip's practiced hands skillfully continue their task, noticing the gentleness of his calloused fingers. "He loved Zindzhi's sister. Obviously it didn't help." She managed not to let the note of jealousy she felt enter her voice. She chided herself immediately for being foolish. The woman was dead after all. But that little voice of self-doubt and instinctive rivalry, the one where she always had felt herself on the losing end when it came down to a lover's choice between her and someone else, stirred. He had said he had loved Takiyah, practically telling her that they were 'soulmates'. How could she compete with a memory?

Trip looked up at her again, surprised. "That was different," he stated with authority.

"Really?" Hoshi asked, eyebrow arched. "He tell you that?"

"No, but..." Trip stirred, uncomfortable. Trip took a peek at Malcolm, checking to see if he was still out and gathered his courage. "It was probably psychological." He looked Hoshi squarely in the eye and soldiered on. "Harsh conditions often make people form exceptionally strong emotional attachments. Ever heard of Stockholm Syndrome? Where hostages bond with their captors?" Hoshi nodded. "Well, I think what they went through, that it was more like...like clinging to each other to stay sane. Don't get me wrong. I think they loved each other. But not like he loves you."

Trip finished his task and replaced Malcolm's arm on the bed. He busied himself with putting the first aid supplies back into the cabinet. "He's crazy about you, you know. I could tell he liked you even before you two were thrown together at Del'Exantu. Used to make me laugh seeing him get all flustered talking to you sometimes."

Trip returned and sat down next to Hoshi. "And that's what makes it different from what he and Zindzhi's sister had...he really tumbled hard for you and not because it was..." he groped for a word.

"Convenient?" she supplied, smiling slightly.

"Yeah, not just something you fall into, trying to keep things normal." He smiled at her. "And I hear you're not very convenient anyhow."

They laughed and Hoshi felt a little better, wondering how she had gotten so lucky to have such a good friend.

Chapter 23

When Malcolm came around later that evening Lita injected him, increasing the dosage again, knowing that Malcolm's system needed more to tame the pain to a tolerable level. She scanned him and noted that this session had pushed his levels past those of the rest of the squad. She wondered what those levels would be like after tomorrow's session before their assignment.

Malcolm sat up, head still hammering faintly, and permitted Hoshi to lead him to the showers, needing the mollifying heat and sound of the water to calm him. He let Hoshi start the water and help him strip. He watched as she removed her clothing. She led him into the stall and began their routine of washing his hair as he leaned tiredly against the wall. She scrubbed him down, speaking soft words of encouragement, of love. He replied as usual, with words of love and gratitude, her hands quieting the nervous responses induced by the neurochemical changes. They made love as they did every night, letting the water swaddle them in its comforting embrace. Malcolm concentrated all his attention on Hoshi, lavishing all his energy on her, losing himself in her pleasure, marveling at the depth of love he felt for her, overwhelmed that she could love him. He listened, thrilled, to her low moans and muffled cries, reveling in the feel of her body, slick with the warm water, her skin silky and smooth. He rejoiced in being able to please her, to make her happy.

He loved her so much.

That's why he fought the conditioning. The thought of not being able to feel anything for her, or to appreciate her love for him, made him fight as hard as he could. Second chances were rare.

And Hoshi made love to Malcolm, easing the pain, holding him, soothing him. She loved his talented hands and mouth, fingers and tongue. She loved the way he threw himself into pleasuring her with a single minded focus which never wavered, that peculiar intensity that she had always found so fascinating. And when she'd cry out, the pleasure exquisite, her release shattering, she'd open her eyes to see him watching her, that small crooked half smile on his face, his eyes wide, the love shining from them. She had never felt so cherished. So wanted. Needed and cared for-respected. She could feel the fierceness of his love and then would seize him desperately, unable to help herself. She'd kiss him deeply, her hands roaming over his lean body, delighting in feeling the contrast of that soft pale skin over those hard muscles, making him shiver as she caressed those places where he was most sensitive, running her nails lightly down his back. And he'd lean into her, hugging her tight, nuzzling her. She'd nibble along that erogenous juncture between his neck and collarbone, licking the water drops along his skin, down to his shoulder, her hands busy and delicate, delighting in his reactions and sounds. Who would have guessed that their reserved and quiet armory officer was such a sensualist?

And she'd watch, waiting for him to relinquish his control, watching him throw his head back and let out that small growl, drawn out and hushed so as not to be overheard, knowing that this was just one facet of the Malcolm she loved. She'd gazed into his eyes afterwards, the colors a turbulent mix, his emotions on the surface, unguarded and relaxed. His lovemaking reflected him, a mirror to the personality that lay deep within. Through it she knew his wild side, his quiet side, his boisterous and hedonistic side, his inventive and bold side, his silly and fanciful side, his explosive passion.

They would embrace each other, letting the water pour down upon them, whispering their love to each other. And then they would reluctantly leave this private haven, dry off and dress to face the reality of their imprisonment again. They would sleep curled up together, as they used to on Sandaran, Hoshi drawing Malcolm in close to her, feeling that consoling heat radiating from his back, her leg possessively flung across him, her arm draped over his waist, his hands holding hers. Malcolm would sleep, dreamless, secure in her arms and in the knowledge that he was loved. And in the morning Hoshi would awaken, their positions having shifted in the night, her head on his chest, his arms around her, safeguarding her, a precious treasure he kept close to his heart.

Chapter 24

Hoshi and Trip sat on the grass, watching Tivet prep the squad. Hoshi turned away as he approached Malcolm.

"Chris and I've figured out a way to get to the generator for the cloaking and electrical field, how to shut it down for good. We just need to get there," Trip told Hoshi as he watched Tivet place his hands on Malcolm's head. He saw Malcolm shudder once and then still.

"We can't even get out into the corridor to approach the generator," Hoshi said, plucking at a blade of grass. She would not watch Tivet trigger Malcolm's conditioning and the shunting aside of his emotions.

"Adam told me that he and Malcolm have something worked out," Trip muttered out of the side of his mouth, eyes on Cain and the guards. "The bad part is they have to do the damn Suliban mission so they can get what they need to bust out of here."

"But they're all to receive an extra dose of the conditioning before that!" Hoshi protested. "Lita said it's to ensure they'll follow orders and to do something to them to prepare them for the final session. Where...where they'll make them just like Cain," she said bitterly, a catch in her voice.

Trip placed his hand on hers, stilling them as they furiously tore away at the grass in front of her. He looked at her, seeing the despair on her face.

"Malcolm told me that he's working on something else. Wouldn't tell me anything about it, said it was just a notion, but he seemed pretty sure of himself." He put a comforting arm around her. "He'll figure something out," he said with conviction.

"I hope you're right, Trip."

***

They watched as Bob animatedly explained the two wheeled cycles they would use to travel to the Suliban base. A shuttle would be detected and the base was located in a mountainous region, inaccessible to other vehicles. The squad members started the engines and took off, racing back and forth, making sharp turns, practicing climbing the steep hills set back from the fence. They'd have to scale sharp grassy rises, staying off roadways to remain undiscovered.

Malcolm raced the cycle from one end of the field to the other, sending it into a sliding turn each time, righting it and taking off again as he waited for his turn again and again. He'd raced velocity cycles before; they were harder to handle and this was an exercise in futility for him. He watched his squad mates ride, bent so low over the sleek machines they were practically lying down, the powerful engines silent. He idly calculated the wind resistance and wondered how fast he could go.

He had learned not to fight against Tivet's triggering when they were merely running through exercises. In fact, it helped him think clearer, helped him plot their escape. He didn't worry about Hoshi, or Trip. He didn't worry about the upcoming missions. He couldn't feel anything and he could focus on what he and Adam were planning. He had figured out how to smuggle the items he needed back but he could only get them if he went on the Suliban assignment. So he trained with the rest of the squad; emotionless, passionless, empty inside.

He was beginning to get used to it again.

He watched, impassive, as Bob raced up the side of the hill, launching his cycle upwards then flipping it into an airborne circle before landing smoothly near the bottom of the hill on the other side.

Malcolm distantly wished he could fully appreciate witnessing such a beautiful stunt.

It was his turn again to climb the hill and he felt a sudden mad impulse, one he could not control, nor one he wanted to. He swung the cycle around and approached the hill from the wrong direction, straight on, not caring if he made it or not.

He took the hill fast, gunning the engine to go even faster, intent on his experiment. He could make it. He believed it with all his will. And he made the cycle fly.

Trip watched as Malcolm took off at a jackrabbit start, accelerating up the hill and toward the fence. He shot to his feet in alarm and watched, heart in mouth as the cycle rose in the air, aimed at the deadly barrier. At the last moment he saw Malcolm jump off his speeding mount, watched as his friend contorted gracefully in the air and drop to the ground, landing on his feet, then calmly turn to view the cycle soar high over the electrical field and through the cloak. He saw it land on the other side, barely able to make out its wavering outline from behind the cloaking field as it sailed a good 20 meters on the ground and then crashed, no one to guide it.

Malcolm watched the cycle land safely on the other side. Thoughts of Hoshi had filled his mind and he had abandoned his attempt at flight, at freedom. He felt a small stab of satisfaction; it could be done. He traced the trajectory, mass ratios in his mind and came up with an absolute weight limit and launch vector. Zindzhi and Adam were too heavy to get over the fence within a safe enough clearance. He doubted that Hoshi or Trip would be able to make the approach correctly and without a second thought struck this escape plan from his mind. He tried to hold onto that feeling of satisfaction. That feeling for his friends, for Hoshi. He tried to nurture it, fan that faint ember. He closed his eyes and thought of Hoshi and he felt something deep within flutter.

Cain stalked over to Malcolm, eyes blazing with rage. Malcolm faced him calmly. "Sorry," Malcolm said softly. "Lost control."

Cain gave the order to release him from his training, and told him to return to the barracks.

***

A few hours later they dragged him away again and strapped him down. They injected him and sent the charges throughout his body. He saw Tivet enter and he changed quickly for him, letting Tivet push all his neurochemical levels up, always higher each session, until Malcolm felt as if he were going mad. He wrestled his emotional responses away from Tivet again, using every positive emotion he could. Trip's friendship. His life on the Enterprise. His sister. He fought it with his anger, his hatred. And through the pain and fear, he clung firmly to Hoshi, holding onto the love that he felt for her, her love for him, her trust and closeness. He knew that his feelings for Hoshi would be enough to get through this session again.

Tivet backed off, head whirring from the feeding, frustrated that he couldn't break through and rip at those emotions his subject held onto so tightly. He needed to box those emotions behind an impenetrable wall and his unwilling subject had been making it very difficult.

Tivet huffed noisily. He did so enjoy this particular human though. The others all acquiesced so quickly now; there was nothing really to feed on. But this one. A gourmet meal, rich in the deep and complex feelings. And the pain was exquisite, this one fought so hard, even though he knew it would prolong the agony. Tivet enjoyed reaching into this one's mind, stabbing at it, trying to wrench it into the shape Tarque required.

They had learned so much from the data from their experiments and he thought he had finally perfected his technique, discovered accidently on the human called Cain. He had focused on the nucleus accumbens, the region of the human brain involved in functions ranging from motivation and reward to feeding and addiction, zeroing in on the primary output neurons, the medium spiny neurons. Quiescent at rest, they depended on the relative input of excitatory and inhibitory synapses to determine when they fire action potentials. Those synaptic inputs, regulated by a number of neurochemical signaling agents, would ultimately influence information processing.

Tivet had primed the others from the old experiment, ready for the ultimate session, their emotions now ripped from their moorings and ready to be locked away, with only Tivet holding the key.

So tonight's assignment would be a test of Tivet's training techniques. The emotional sublimation would take place as usual. But then the emotional response to the stimuli would assert itself, releasing a flood of excitatory postsynaptic currents and opening micro-opioid receptors. It would make these humans react with pleasure; a pleasure so powerful that they would willingly continue to assist Tarque, just to be able to access those feelings that could never be unlocked again without a murderous incitement.

Tivet was proud of the fact that he had found out how to decrease the time the emotional repercussions would last; not that they'd have to worry about it for much longer. They'd soon be enjoying their work.

And instead of hours of magnified reactions, Tivet had discovered how to tamper with the humans' brain, resulting in only about an hour of a volatile outpouring, and then, instead of days of sleep to mend, only 8 to 12 hours, depending on the human. He was delighted that he had cut the recovery time to such a small margin. They could now perform more assignments, more often. Cain had proven his theory correct, and Tivet was eager to try it on the rest of his test subjects.

Tivet looked at the subject on the table as he sent another jolt of electricity through the human's body, ignoring his cry of pain. Tivet felt a brief flare of frustration again as the human writhed. Tivet had to have him ready for tonight, and he hated being rushed.

Tivet thought about the other guards in the building, the ones on which he had performed variations of his techniques before hitting upon the right combination of factors. Those men were efficient, but couldn't manipulate their neurochemicals at will, Tivet had to be the catalyst. It was much easier to keep them at the ready at all times, their emotions gone; but that meant lower levels of the chemicals that would make them better soldiers. Besides, they needed orders regularly, their independent thought not the best at times. No. The old squad was a better choice. New recruits would be nice, he thought, grateful that Tarque had promised him more humans if his procedures worked well, proving that Cain wasn't a fluke.

He shocked the human several times in quick succession, just to break up the monotony. His empathetic ability could perceive the pain so very clearly now, and he smiled as he thought about how delicious it would taste when he entered the subject's mind again. He smiled fondly at the human, wishing he had a few more weeks to work with this particular subject. But, time was of the essence and he had to take a more drastic step to speed this one along.

He signaled to the mirror that covered the wall opposite the table and moments later another Pachaa walked in. Tivet ran a powerful jolt of electricity through Malcolm's body and let his subject scream for a long time. Tivet and the other Pachaa then placed their hands on Malcolm's head.

***

He felt a piece of him fade slowly, like the gradual dimming of the sun as it sinks slowly below the horizon. He wanted to snatch it back, but felt apathetic. He realized with a bitter stab of irony, that the piece of him that had slowly extinguished was his empathy, his passion, his ability to care. He wanted to mourn the loss of this essential part of his soul, but he just didn't give a damn.

***

He managed to walk unaided this time, acutely feeling the pain in his head. He wanted to stop and adjust his nuerochemical levels, but he continued to move in tandem with his guards. He quickly boosted his Substance P so it could bind to an NK1 receptor, wincing as another stab of pain flared in his temple, his gait stuttering. He waited for the neurons to transfer it along his spinal cord, waiting for his brain to dispatch another dose of seratonin, norepinephrin, zinc and opioids in reaction to the release of the Substance P. He felt the pain lessen only marginally. He tried one last tinkering, releasing a flurry of catecholamines, but trying not to affect the Dopamine D-4 receptor-he didn't want to get hyperactive and careless in response to the thrill seeking chemical. It didn't work; his head still hurt, so he ignored it, unable to care about it any longer. He could always use a painkiller. He was already thinking about the upcoming mission. He went over the briefing, crystal clear in his mind thanks to this last training session. He thought about the Suliban, but he'd be able to take them out easily enough. He stared at his feet, watching them move in steady, measured strides as he continued going over the basics of tonight's mission, finessing the plan using his tactical knowledge, reviewing their entrance and escape routes, selecting the weapons he'd need.

He stopped abruptly in front of the closed door of their barracks and waited impassively while his keepers disengaged the lock. He stepped through the open door and heard it close securely behind him. He looked up, eyes meeting the startled gazes of Hoshi and Trip.

And he didn't feel anything.

Chapter 25

Hoshi was surprised to see him upright and moving. She hesitated as Malcolm flicked a listless glance at them and then continued to the supply cabinet. She went over to him as he withdrew a hypospray and set it for the highest dosage. He injected himself, tossing it back into the cabinet carelessly and began to strip off his clothing. He balled up his shirt and used it to wipe the blood off his face, then swept it haphazardly across his wrists. He threw it into the recycler.

"Malcolm?" Hoshi asked as she placed a cautious hand on his face and stared into his eyes. He was covered in sweat and she could see blood stains still on his pale features. He looked at her blankly. "Malcolm?" she whispered again, stroking the side of his face. His eyes were empty, the blend of colors that captivated her so now drab and faded. He stared through her and then moved away to fetch something clean to wear.

Her face folded into a sharp look of pain. She knew.

"Malcolm," Trip said, a little harshly, voice tight with dread. He grabbed his friend's arm to stop him. Trip studied Malcolm's eyes, feeling slightly nauseated when he saw that they were flat and lifeless. "Aw, hell Malcolm," he moaned. Malcolm shook him off and pulled out some clothes, then disappeared into the showers.

Hoshi sank down on one of the beds. "Oh, God. They did it to him. Oh, Trip. He's gone..." She felt her eyes well with tears and Trip wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She leaned her head against him.

***

Hoshi and Trip sat together on the bunk, huddled against each other as one by one the squad members were led back to the barracks, conditioning activated and dressed in black. Black uniforms, black gloves, black boots, their garb appropriate for the funerary air that filled the room. Their booted feet made little noise as they moved silently to their bunks, waiting patiently, not talking, eyes distant, all their quirks and personality ground out of them.

Cain and Zindzhi entered and the squad rose as one and lined up, perfect and precise, standing stock still at attention. Cain looked around and Malcolm entered the room, his hair still wet, dressed in black, the same sleek uniform as the rest. Zinzhi handed him a pair of boots and Malcolm tugged them on swiftly with a long practiced motion. Cain jerked his head and Malcolm joined the line, face impassive, eyes numb, just like the rest.

Cain started his final briefing, detailing the role each would play. Hoshi closed her eyes, sick, as Cain ordered Malcolm to go point, reiterating to leave no one alive. He told them that Zindzhi was XO for this mission, his orders to be obeyed. Trip listened with interest, mindful of Malcolm's hurried explanation of his "notion" prior to being taken away for this last conditioning session.

"Aravis, you're to retrieve the information disks Mr. Tarque wants. You know where to find them. Tigger and War will cover you. Aslan, you and Thuse will be the secondary team. You're to assist in the elimination the opposition. Rabbit, you're with Cat. Scan for targets and make sure that Cat gets to them. Keep the comm lines to the team clear, all communications go through you. Open any locked doors along the way. Make sure you keep the mission within the time limit as planned."

"Now, to the armory for weapons. Cat, select what the team will need to get the job done. Take just as many explosives as you'll need to blow the building. Make sure nothing's left. Tigger, work with Cat, assist him with the selection of weapons. Phase weapons first. When the element of surprise is gone, you're to switch to automatics. It will reinforce your training. Cat, make sure everyone has enough ammunition.

"Methuselah, keep your eyes open in case there's any indication that the training is breaking. If that happens, kill your squad member, destroy the body. Your discretion." Cain looked at Malcolm as he said this, searching his face. Malcolm stared straight ahead, immobile, eyes sterile.

"Orders understood?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the squad shouted in unison.

"Left face!" Cain barked.

The squad pivoted, again perfectly timed, frightening in the mechanical precision of their movements, tin soldiers made with an engineer's care.

"Forward, march!"

They moved, arms swinging, boots stomping, the footfalls echoing as if made by a single unit, one mind controlling their movements. A unified force of automatons.

Cain smiled thinly at Hoshi and Trip. "I don't trust Cat. If he's faking, I'll take him out personally. You'd better hope he isn't, because if I have to kill him, we won't need you two anymore." He spun on his heel and then paused. He faced them again.

"Then again, perhaps I should take a little insurance with me." He latched onto Trip's arm with an iron grip. "I think you'll come with us. If Cat shows signs of duplicity, I'll kill you. That should keep him in line." Cain's eyes warmed momentarily at the thought, then became hard again. "Of course, I can always use you as a test of his training as well," and this time Trip shuddered when he saw the heat in Cain's eyes.

Chapter 26

Tarque entered the barracks minutes after Cain dragged Trip out. He escorted Hoshi to the grassy field and they watched them leave, roaring off on the cycles, Trip reluctantly clinging to Cain. She tried not to think about all of the things that could go wrong, how Trip could get killed by accident, or how Malcolm could die. She would not cry in front of Tarque and she steeled herself against the onslaught of her fears.

Tarque turned to her and she held herself in tight control, her desire to strangle the man was so strong and so savage she felt a rush of nausea.

"Why are you doing this to them?" she asked instead.

"It's for the greater good, my dear. We can't let the Suliban kill those people at the conference and we can't warn those attending. We must eliminate only those Vulcans and the humans in league with them. You can't offer alien species concessions, which is what they want to do. History has shown us that appeasement never works."

"But how can you torture and force people to do this?" she said quietly.

"The greater good. Humanitarian causes. There are billions of human lives and the balance of eight or so makes the sacrifice worth it."

"But you did this to innocent people and almost all of them are dead. That's not humane at all," she spat out, her anger making her bold.

Tarque exhaled slowly. "Yes, I regret that we couldn't keep them in line. It was a glorious task force, you know. We solved so many problems—"

"Murdering people, coercing and threatening people to fulfill your agenda. What right do you have to decide what is the greater good? What makes you the judge and jury? It was immoral and evil," Hoshi said vehemently. "You disgust me."

"You're too young to understand," he said condescendingly. "Earth can't fulfill it's potential when there are those who work against the majority who wish for peace and prosperity for all. Earth can be a utopian world; a Garden of Eden for humans. We will always have to be vigilant against people who refuse to conform to our world order. Terrorists, criminals, aliens who wish to interfere and thwart humanity from realizing our promise. They need to be eliminated, not placated with compromises, or imprisoned and 'rehabilitated'. You can't rehabilitate an animal, and that's what those we hunted down and executed were." Tarque grew bright eyed and excited, his intensity zealous.

"You remove the weeds from the garden so what you wish to grow flourishes. That's not murder, that's common sense. And we will be encountering more species and we have to show a strong hand to let them know that we are a force to be respected. With this last round of experimentation I'm sure I can rebuild a task force to help Earth claim it's rightful place in the universe. Cain is an exceptional man; he's an agent for change and peace. And with a front line of soldiers like the two dozen men I have now, and the addition of the surviving squad members, my backers assure me that they will help me to build an army that will defend Earth, and push out with first strike capabilities." Tarque smiled and Hoshi was repulsed.

"The greater good, Ms. Sato. You're an explorer. You've encountered all sorts of aliens who don't share our values. We must protect ourselves from beings like them. And if it means eliminating them before they can harm us, well, then, so be it."

Hoshi remained silent. The man was insane. He fully believed what he said and there was no point in arguing with a fanatic. She silently cursed again those who let a madman experiment with so many lives.

He sighed. "I remember when Cat first came to us. So naive. Spirited. So young. Second youngest in fact; Noah was a few months younger. As I recall Methuselah literally stabbed Noah in the back with a knife during one assignment. They brought him back, but we had to wipe his memory; his injury was rather severe. Couldn't have him lying around for months out of action. We punished Methuselah for that, but it turned out well. Thuse advanced in the ranks because of his actions, became one of our best. Not that anyone wanted to work with him after that." Tarque chuckled slightly. "Thuse was our oldest member, but he's still a prime specimen, isn't he?" He looked at her appraisingly. Hoshi remained still.

"The younger ones were always easier to condition. Better reflexes, naturally higher levels of neurochemicals. Not as much experience at controlling their emotions, making them easier to manipulate. High tolerance to pain also; conditioning sessions could go on longer, more thorough. Faster recuperation time as well. Cat was our best. He was a superlative soldier. If I had a dozen men like him, I could do almost anything. He made killing a high art, really. His precision was beautiful to witness."

Hoshi suppressed a moan of despair, her stomach churning.

"Thuse never liked Cat. I suppose it was because of his sister's involvement with him. Red Queen was quite the hardcase. I never did see what the attraction was between those two." He studied Hoshi intently. "I can see what he likes about you though. You're warm, where she was cold. Kind, where she was cruel. Soft, where she was hard. I'd watch them together, rutting like animals after an assignment, sustaining each other through the emotional backlashes. We did have everyone under surveillance at all times after all. He brought out the tenderness and compassion in her. If she had survived, I believe he could have redeemed her."

He moved toward the barracks, indicating for Hoshi to accompany him. She walked silently a few feet away from him, not wanting to be near him.

"I think Cat's changed quite a bit since I last saw him. We've kept tabs on him you know. He's now very much like Red Queen was. You would have found that out eventually. You should be grateful I've saved you from such a heartache, my dear."

Hoshi felt anger at Tarque's words. He was completely wrong about Malcolm.

Tarque looked her up and down. "We won't be needing you and Mr. Tucker for much longer. Tivet assures me that Cat is absolutely ours now. Cain isn't so sure, but he's is a bit too cautious at times. Cat doesn't need you any more. However, I'm sure you and I can work out an arrangement to our mutual gratification." He smiled at her as he led her into the squad's quarters.

Hoshi controlled the disgusted shudder that threatened to engulf her. As Tarque bid her goodnight she fervently hoped that Malcolm's and Adam's half-baked plan to escape would work.

Chapter 27

The ride had been long and Trip was glad to finally stretch his legs. He rubbed at the sore spots on his body, feeling as if they'd hit every rock and bump the side of the mountain had to offer. The last half hour or so was a frightening ride in inky darkness up a steep slope, hanging on with distaste to the gaunt frame of Cain. The visor of the helmet acted as an infrared screen allowing Trip could make out the team members. He had spotted Bob, Malcolm, and Adam moving steadily up the mountain, unerringly choosing the straightest and easiest way through the trees and boulders. He wished Cain had followed them instead of making his own crude path.

They walked their cycles to the installation for the last two kilometers, the squad silent and tireless, hiding their cycles and helmets in a densely wooded area just outside of the cloaked barrier which Chris' scanner detected. Without the infrared, Trip could barely see, but the group moved accurately through the night, making no noise. Trip felt clumsy as Cain had to lead him out of the forest.

Chris moved slowly, scanning the area, finding the height of the field. He let Malcolm look at the scanner before passing it to Bob, who sprinted to an enormous spreading tree and shimmied up it quickly. Chris signaled to Malcolm, holding up three fingers, and Malcolm gave an abrupt nod. Trip could scarcely make out the rope Bob threw down, then Cain pushed him forward and indicated for him to start climbing. Trip had only ascended about five meters before he felt a weight at the other end. He looked back and guessed that Malcolm was behind him, climbing smoothly, catching up to him. He hauled himself up faster.

As he neared the top of the rope Bob leaned down and helped pull him up. Trip was surprised at the strength in the man's arm and hand. Bob shucked off his field pack and handed it to Trip. Bob withdrew a crossbow and fastened a thin steel cable to the modified arrow it carried. Malcolm joined them and removed his pack, fishing out a pulse rifle and assembling it quickly. He moved assuredly out across the sturdy but narrow tree limb and sighted, using the night scope attached to the rifle. Malcolm waited patiently, a frozen statue, rifle unwavering. Trip was just thinking that Malcolm would stand there all night if he had to when he heard the quiet whine of the rifle. He saw Malcolm snap the weapon about twice more, firing, then lower it, face expressionless.

Malcolm sauntered back across the branch, breaking down the rifle, and Bob took his place. He fired over the fence, the cabling whispering through the night air, and Trip heard a dull thunk as the arrow hit its target. The other squad members were rapidly climbing up to their treetop perch now and Thuse came up behind Trip.

"You stay with me until we get inside," Thuse told him. "Do as I say or I'll kill you. And don't slow us down."

Trip nodded, not bothering to hide his loathing. Bob tugged mightily at the cable, testing it, then nodded to Thuse.

"Cat, you first. Get the ropes up," Thuse ordered.

"Yes, sir." Malcolm stowed his rifle, withdrew something that looked like a pulley and replaced the pack upon his back. He attached the pulley to the cable, his gloved hands gripping it tightly, then ran full tilt out onto the branch and off it.

Trip watched him disappear into the darkness and Thuse attached a pulley to the zip line. "I'll carry you down. Wrap your arms around me. Don't let your legs dangle; you'll hit the repulser field. Put them around my waist. Hold on and don't move."

He turned around and Trip hesitantly wrapped his arms around Thuse's neck and then jumped up and hooked his legs around the man's waist, feeling silly being carried piggyback. Thuse made his way out onto the limb and stepped off it. Trip felt the air rush past him as they sped through the night, the hushed thrum coming off the zip line the only sound.

Trip hung on tight; he felt the prickling of his skin as they passed through the cloaking field and heard the snarl of the Suliban energy field as they passed over it, and then they were on the other side. Thuse let go a few meters from the end and Trip felt himself falling and clutched at Thuse even tighter. Thuse managed to land upright, staggering with the live weight of Trip on his back, then told Trip to let go.

Trip exhaled explosively, stomach knotted and feeling slightly shaky. Thuse pushed him toward the building. Trip moved tentatively in the dark, just barely able to make out the outline of the structure. His foot hit something and he stumbled, forcing himself not to cry out as something soft broke his fall. He rolled away quickly as he realized he had tumbled over a body. He could smell the singed flesh and he ground his teeth as he hurriedly regained his footing. He moved more carefully, knowing that there were two more bodies out here, somewhere, and let out a small noise when a hand painfully grabbed his arm.

"Shut up. Follow me. Quietly." Malcolm's soft accented tone hissed near his ear, but his voice was cold, deadly serious and full of disdain.

Trip began to doubt that Malcolm's 'notion' would work.

Chapter 28

They moved silently down the stairs. Trip found it hard to believe that so many people could move that quickly and that noiselessly. Cain had put Malcolm out in front; he and Trip toward the end, with Adam bringing up the rear. The rest of the team was spread out, each member leaving the same exact amount of space between them. They moved with precision and stealth, Malcolm flashing swift hand signals, too fast for Trip to catch all of them. But the team understood and suddenly Yaffa, Lita, and Chris veered off, Chris and Malcolm signing quickly to each other before Chris followed the women out an exit.

Bob and Zindzhi exited four floors lower and the rest continued to descend. Malcolm stopped finally and listened at the exit, then signaled to Adam and Cain. They nodded and entered the corridor.

Trip watched as Malcolm moved, relaxed and easy, eyes dead but alert, listening intently. He suddenly cocked his head, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, and he looked back at Adam, flashing another hand signal before breaking into a silent run. Adam dashed past Trip and Cain. Trip flinched when the muted sound of weapons being discharged suddenly filled the stillness and Cain dragged Trip hurriedly down the corridor.

Trip caught a glimpse of Adam and Malcolm as they moved forward swiftly, firing. Cain tugged at him harder, urging him to move faster. Trip rapidly sidestepped the body of a headless Suliban and his eyes widened in horror at the still smoldering neck. The stench filled his senses and he fought the urge to vomit. Cain towed him past three more corpses, two of which were headless as well, the other merely having a large hole burnt into his chest. Trip looked up in time to see Adam kill another Suliban, firing straight into the man's chest at close range.

Cain pushed Trip against the wall and watched as Malcolm aimed at the head of a fleeing Suliban. Trip closed his eyes quickly, knowing what that weapon would do.

The hallway was silent; then Trip heard a ragged inhalation and he opened his eyes quickly.

Malcolm was leaning against the wall, arms extended rigidly to support himself, rifle still tightly gripped in his hand. Trip could see his whole body shaking hard and Malcolm began to pant, a grimace of pain marring his formerly placid features. He gagged silently once, and then he suddenly relaxed, and his breathing slowed. Adam was against the other wall, going through a similar display and then stilled just as quickly.

Malcolm raised his head, a small smile on his face. He turned towards Adam, and they locked eyes, and both grinned widely. The adrenaline, the testosterone, endorphines and enkephalins, norepinephrine and acetylcholine; the levels were immense and pleasurable. The dopamine D-4 receptors were flooded, the primary excitatory neurotransmitter for glutamate was wide open and he couldn't shut them down, nor lower the levels.

Not that he wanted to. Malcolm felt wonderful. He could even ignore the pounding in his head.

Trip felt sick. Malcolm's eyes were huge, his pupils mere pinpoints, the grey swallowing the blue. He looked high and Trip supposed he was. Adam looked the same.

Cain nodded. "Rewarding, isn't it?" he asked softly. He was interested to see that the conditioning had been triggered by the close proximity of their targets. He made a note to tell Tarque that a mere sniper attack hadn't activated it.

Malcolm looked at the carnage about him and he felt another unmanageable burst of pleasure and excitement. His smile was vicious as he nodded his agreement and they stealthily set out again.

***

Trip hung back with Cain as Malcolm and Adam rushed forward silently and the slaughter began. The Suliban never had a chance. Trip couldn't turn away as he watched Malcolm kill two of the aliens, knife slashing and a malevolent smile on his face. Savage. Feral. Enjoying it.

The room was still and Malcolm placed his hand on the chest of his last victim and yanked his blade out. He looked at his knife, studying it, then his hand, the Suliban's blood still warm on it. He smiled wider and he reached out to Adam's face and sketched three fingers across each of his friend's cheeks, leaving streaks of his enemy's lifeforce behind.

Adam laughed and dipped his hand into the gut of his victim then stroked his fingers across Malcolm's face, leaving behind a thick unbroken trail of blood from one cheek, under Malcolm's eyes and across the bridge of his nose, then on the other cheek. "Warpaint," Adam said quietly and laughed. Malcolm grinned madly and looked at Cain.

"Plant as many of your bombs as you can and meet us at Checkpoint Four at the appointed time."

"Yes, sir," Malcolm replied softly, his eyes lighting up. He left the room without even looking at Trip.

***

They met up with Bob and Zindzhi, the two also splattered with Suliban blood. Zindzhi reported three dead, adding to the ones that Malcolm and Adam had dispatched and the two Cain had killed. Bob was exhilarated, wanting to continue, but held in check by his orders from Zindzhi to wait for Malcolm.

Trip couldn't believe the change in their demeanor. From emotionless puppets to this, these barbarians, barely reining in their eagerness to kill again. He had watched Cain dispatch two Suliban, the man finally coming alive, smiling and laughing easily with Adam. Cain bantered with them as he sadistically killed the last man, slowly shooting burning holes in each limb, listening to the alien gasp in pain and fear, then training his weapon on another exposed part of the Suliban's body. It had taken the man a long time to die and Trip had turned away, but still he watched Cain's eyes. They had smoldered with a life and vitality that hadn't been there before. And for the first time Trip's inherent optimism failed him.

Adam looked up suddenly from his monitoring of the small comm system. "Team Two is in the ops area. Aravis is retrieving the information. Cat's on his way down. He still has two more bombs to plant, but wants Tigger's help." He listened again and smiled. "Add one more to Cat's tally."

They waited a few more minutes and Malcolm trotted up to them, eyes bright and alive. Adam greeted him. "You're in the lead with six. Aslan's losing with only two. Give me some of that Cat luck..." and Adam ruffled Malcolm's hair.

"Skill, Rabbit, not luck," Malcolm said dryly as he scanned the corridors, still on the alert for more targets. "And it's nine. You forgot the three outside."

Bob bounded over and scrubbed a hand through Malcolm's hair, grinning. "Wanna see how many we can get within a set time limit?"

Malcolm batted Bob's hand away. "No challenge there. You know I'll win. I just want to blow the bloody place up as soon as possible," he replied quietly with a cheeky smile and started moving down the corridor. The rest followed along silently, all listening hard. The only thing Trip could hear was his own harsh breathing. He couldn't help it. He was scared. He preferred the ice cold Malcolm he saw on TayNor rather than this malevolent, swaggering killer.

They heard the whine of a rifle and then an alarm sounded.

"Automatics," Cain ordered. The sound and results from the projectile weapons would reinforce the training according to Tivet, and since they had been discovered, the element of surprise was gone.

Malcolm withdrew one of his pistols, checking the rest of the squad, using hand signals to delineate their placements. He went point and they moved, swift and quiet, toward the operations center, the source of the fire fight now raging.

Malcolm listened hard outside the door, then signed again. The squad nodded once in unison and Malcolm burst into the room first, firing and dodging to the side, the rest of the squad following. Cain pulled Trip through the doorway and pushed him over to the side and down behind a piece of equipment as deadly energy beams passed overhead.

The room was huge, hangar sized and full of crates, equipment, control panels, computers, and other items, making labyrinths along the sides. Lita and Chris were hunkered down, firing at the Suliban, while Yaffa was calmly going through disks, gathering the information Tarque wanted, ignoring the combat surrounding her.

Trip watched the four silent black forms of the squad members rush forward, pistols blazing as they ran to meet the aliens.

It looked like a predatory hunting pack, jostling each other for position, streaking towards their startled prey. Trip saw them split up and dodge the Suilban beams, diving for cover and rising to their feet, moving forward again. Bob suddenly let out a long victorious ululating cry as he killed two Suliban who were climbing along the ceiling. Their bodies thumped to the floor and Bob sidestepped another beam, then dove for cover, grinning maniacally.

Trip heard Adam laugh and answer Bob's cry and soon the whole squad had taken it up, a thunderous triumphant call. It made Trip shiver, his flesh crawling. Their silent attack had been unnerving, but this malignant outpouring of bloodlust was worse. He numbly bore witness as the genetically enhanced Suliban fell, the barrage of fire overwhelming as the squad reacted, pushing forward and dominating the aliens.

Malcolm was welding his knife again in one hand as he fired with the other, a cruel smile appearing on his face when he slashed through the throat of one Suliban, partially decapitating him. He evaded the attack of another one and whirled on his adversary and kicked him hard, sending the alien crashing into the wall. Bob grabbed the disoriented man and finished him quickly, then ran off to find more targets.

Two more Suliban converged on Malcolm, bringing him down with force, and they rolled, his pistol knocked away. He lashed out with his knife, the blade connecting and embedded it deep within the chest of one alien. Malcolm shoved the body off him. The other Suliban fired, but Malcolm contorted quickly, the beam slicing into the deck where his head had been moments before. He sprang to his feet and the Suliban fired again at close range. He twisted frantically and then uttered a wrathful curse as the beam grazed the top of his shoulder. He grabbed a meter long metal rod protruding from an open crate and swung it wildly, knocking the weapon from the alien's hand.

Malcolm's eyes narrowed, and he adjusted his grip. Trip turned away, but he could not block the sounds. Malcolm then moved past Trip fast, faster than Trip had seen anyone move, charging another Suliban who had flanked Trip while his attention was drawn away. The malevolent smile was back on Malcolm's face, his shirt still smoldering, the metal rod in his hand gleaming wetly. Trip clambered to his feet and lunged behind a crate. He peeked out, then looked away. He couldn't stand to watch what Malcolm was doing.

Zindzhi had holstered his pistol and broke the neck of one alien, his face alight with elation as the bones snapped audibly. Cain was an insane flurry of movement and brutality, glorying in the butchery. Chris was slamming a Suliban's head against the wall over and over again, a grin on his face as Lita covered his back, picking off another man. Chris ignored the blood dripping from his thigh, his leg scorched and burnt by a Suliban weapon. He didn't seem to feel it, and Trip didn't think that Chris was aware that he'd been shot. Yaffa, serene and precise, continued her work, not even flinching when Adam and a Suliban crashed next to her, grappling. She pulled out her pistol and shot the Suliban in the back and Adam sprang away, knife out and racing toward another alien.

Trip curled up behind the crate and finally closed his eyes, unable to stomach it any longer. The sounds were frightening enough.

He stayed, paralyzed, behind his refuge, waiting for an eternity. Eventually he noticed that it was silent, the sudden absence of the terrifying noises finally sinking in, causing him to opened his eyes. He wished he hadn't. Sulibans were scattered throughout the cavernous room, the squad members checking each body to make sure that they were dead. Yaffa was still calmly going through disks, ignoring the two corpses at her feet. Trip looked for Malcolm.

He was talking rapidly to Adam, still with that wide smile but with a discordant look of agitation furrowing his brow as they examined the bodies. Malcolm shot a still moving Suliban in the head in an offhand manner, not stopping his breakneck conversation, too low for Trip to hear. Adam placed a hand on the back of Malcolm's neck and shook him roughly. Malcolm struck Adam's hand away and continued to talk, the words tumbling together, his eyes searching through the bodies lying on the floor, his gun out, fingers twitching. Adam grabbed Malcolm coarsely by the jaw and tilted his head up to meet his eyes. Adam spoke, eyes boring into Malcolm's, a cold and unsympathetic smile on his face, and Trip saw Malcolm nod once, his smile an arrogant smirk now. "Try it again. Concentrate harder," Trip heard Adam say louder, his tone harsh and insulting. Malcolm nodded once more, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Cain was over by Chris, checking his wound, and ordered Lita to tend to it. He looked around and saw Adam and Malcolm. "Rabbit. Open that," and he motioned to a locked drawer near Yaffa. Malcolm opened his eyes and Adam looked at him. "I can't. I can't control it," Malcolm informed him, then uttered a high-strung laugh.

Malcolm moved away to check more bodies. "Enjoy it then, while you can," Adam called to him.

Zindzhi was covering the doorway, scanning for more lifeforms, but Trip saw him look up with interest at Adam and Malcolm. Then Trip's attention was taken away from the odd conversation by Cain, who yanked him to his feet. Trip bit back his anger at the rough treatment and pulled his arm away from Cain's grasp.

"Cat. Over here," Cain ordered and Malcolm obeyed quickly.

"Problem?" Cain asked, examining him closely. Cat looked much too alert.

"Amped, sir," Malcolm replied softly, his voice slightly higher pitched than usual. "Need to crease a few more trogs." He laughed a bit wildly, his eyes distressed.

"Tivet pushed you hard, didn't he?" Cain asked, a note of interest in his flat tone. He had heard Tivet arguing with Tarque that the conditioning could lead to certain problems if performed too fast and too rigorously. Brain hemorrhage, mania, possibly insanity. Tivet hadn't been sure. But Tarque had wanted him ready for tonight's operation, fully confident that the Cat could handle it. Tarque had said he wanted their best.

Cain hadn't been pleased. He was their best.

"I suppose so, sir." Malcolm played with his weapon, twirling it like an old fashioned cowboy, shoving it into his holster and drawing it quickly, the same precise repetitive movements, hands nervous and anxious. His senses were razor sharp and crushing him, and it was difficult to resist the pressure to continue his assignment. He needed to do...something. Only his training to respond to orders, his conditioning, kept him rooted to the spot in front of Cain. He wanted to bolt out the door, hunting, stalking. Killing. He hoped there were more Suliban. His head hammered more insistently now, stronger than before. It didn't hurt though, nothing hurt. That was a comforting familiarity among the inundation of all the new sensations.

He continued to manipulate his gun, forcing his hands to move faster. He waited for orders, not feeling quite right. He wasn't supposed to feel anything. He never thought he'd prefer that barren void.

Cain observed him dispassionately. He had slipped back into his usual impassive demeanor the moment the stimuli had ended. But clearly, Cat hadn't. Cain could see the heightened responses, the need for more. He remembered what his first assignment was like years ago when he had first felt the sublime transfiguration. Tivet had...splintered... something accidently before a mission and the shock of pleasure Cain had felt as he eliminated target after target was invigorating. Addictive. Canaan, his squadmate on Genesis, had informed Tarque of Cain's behavior and Cain had found himself back on the table, Tivet inside his head for hours, sifting through Cain's very being. The violation was extended and painful, but the reward had been transcendent.

Cain wondered briefly if he could overload Cat, make him unsuitable for Tarque. Make sure he wouldn't be replaced by the upstart. Perhaps after the next mission. Then again, he didn't mind experimenting a little himself...

"I'll help you. Kill him." And Cain pushed Trip toward Malcolm.

Malcolm froze and then beamed.

Chapter 29

Adam's head snapped up from his work. He stood, and looked at Lita. A nod passed between them and Adam looked at Trip, smirking and raised his eyebrows. He mouthed, "Better try it now."

Malcolm withdrew his gun and aimed it at Trip's head.

"No, Lieutenant! Don't kill me! That's an order!" Trip snapped out. He saw Malcolm's eyes flicker briefly.

Cain could smell the hostage's terror and it made him laugh. "Oh, Commander! As if your orders mean anything. Such a fruitless epitaph." He continued to chuckle.

If anything Malcolm's grin grew wider, the Cheshire Cat fully engaged and ready to obey his orders. He shot a glance at Adam, his eyes wild, but the gun didn't waver.

Lita fired off a shot, and everyone's head swung about. "Suliban moved," she explained with a leer and went back to treating Chris' leg.

Cain returned his attention to Malcolm. Trip saw that Malcolm had switched hands, the gun now in his left hand, still pointing at Trip's head.

Malcolm's head stopped thundering.

"Cat," Cain commanded quietly.

Malcolm pulled the trigger without hesitation.

***

Click.

The hammer hit quietly.

The gun was empty.

Trip seriously considered fainting. After he started breathing again. He tried to remember how.

Cain looked irritated.

Malcolm was grinning like a madman. "Damn." He actually giggled. His head started hammering again.

Cain looked at Malcolm. "You usually know how many rounds you have left," he stated suspiciously, mildly disappointed that Cat had obeyed. The willingness to kill his friend hadn't pushed him over the edge, nor had he fought it, allowing Cain to kill Cat instead. He had already thought how he would explain to Tarque that Cat had become unstable and therefore unusable.

Malcolm holstered his weapon carelessly. "I usually don't have my D-4 level up this high. Makes one rather...distracted..." He started laughing again.

Zindzhi called from the doorway. "I've located six more lifeforms two stories up. They're making their way down here."

Bob bounded into view. "Let me! Let me!"

Cain shook his head. "Cat, go with him. And try not to get distracted. Remember to reload." He walked toward Zindzhi to discuss the next step. He made another mental note to tell Tivet to regulate Cat's dopamine D-4 levels. His charge looked like he was on the edge of mania, an unfortunate side effect to that particular neurochemical. And maybe to adjust the adrenaline as well, he pondered. Cat was too engaged. He was in overdrive, which made him faster than the enhanced Suliban, but wouldn't help on the next assignment.

Or maybe there wouldn't be a next assignment for Cat, if he got too careless going after these last targets. Cain thought that would be the most satisfactory solution.

"Yes, sir." Malcolm looked at Adam, then playfully winked at Trip before he moved out.

"What do you know, his idea worked," Chris said sotto voce to Lita. They grinned at each other. They just might get out of this.

***

Trip leaned against the wall, trying not to shake. He still didn't know if Malcolm had intended to kill him or not. He wasn't sure if Malcolm's idea had worked or if luck had intervened. He let the minutes tick by, trying not to think, trying not to look at the death around him, trying not to worry about Malcolm. Or Hoshi. Or himself. He was unsuccessful on all counts.

Trip glanced at Cain, who was speaking to Zindzhi, and he labored to hear their conversation. He sidled over a bit, trying to pick up what he could.

"I'm going to suggest to Mr. Tarque that Cat needs some adjusting. I want you to back me," Cain was saying and Trip moved closer.

Zindzhi didn't look up from his scanner, but nodded.

"You and I are a superlative team. We don't need a third CO, and I'm fairly certain that's what Mr. Tarque has in mind. We can perform the next assignment without him. If Tivet pushes Cat hard enough, he'll break; he's right there on the edge now. "

"Yeah, I can see that." Zindzhi paused, contemplating his next words. "You know, he could be useful, if properly motivated."

"I don't trust him."

You'd do well not to, Zindzhi thought. He was certain he was the only one who had seen what Malcolm had done when everyone's attention was diverted by Lita. Zindzhi couldn't help but admire the smooth sleight of hand, switching the clips, Malcolm swiftly palming the full one then dropping it into his holster. Zindzhi smiled just a whit, thinking that Malcolm had learned quite well from Chris' tutelage.

Then again, he would be happy to see the little SOB die.

"I'll back you, Cain." He finally found what he had been seeking on the scanner and showed it to Cain.

"Tigger." Lita and Chris looked up at Cain. "We've got the last two targets moving toward our position. Eliminate them. Contact Cat when you're done and help him get those last explosives in place. Leave a few tapers with Rabbit in case he needs to blow anything he can't crack. We're leaving in ten minutes. Tell Aslan to join us. You and Cat have an additional 15 minutes to plant what you need. Meet us when you're finished. You know what will happen if you don't." Cain smiled thinly at Lita and she nodded. He'd kill Adam. She knew that. They were hostages for each other.

She dug into her field pack and withdrew several wire thin, finger length explosives and handed them to Chris. She started out and Cain stopped her. "Tell Cat that if he's planning anything, I'll kill both his friends." Lita nodded sharply and left.

Cain walked over to Trip and pulled him close. "He might not care about you, but I'm sure he won't let anything happen to his woman. At least not until after the next assignment. I believe your usefulness is coming to an end." He smiled at Trip.

***

Malcolm and Bob raced along the corridors, looking for the rest of the targets, Bob giggling and joking, not trying to be quiet.

Malcolm felt out of control, but didn't care. His half-arsed notion worked, luckily for Trip. He didn't think about what he would have done if it hadn't. He briefly tried lowering the levels again, but couldn't. He'd just have to ride it out. He suddenly hushed Bob and listened hard, trying to find someone to kill.

***

Trip waited in the damp grey fogginess of the dawn, standing with the rest of the squad, quiet now that their work was done. Waiting for orders to leave. Waiting for Cat and Tigger to return.

He didn't want to get on that cycle again, behind that cadaverous sadist. Didn't want to hold on tightly to the man who had coldly, and with enjoyment, ordered Malcolm to kill him. Didn't want to be reminded that this was the fate that awaited his friend and these people he had gotten to know over the past few weeks.

What was he going to tell Hoshi? He knew she'd ask him. She'd pump him for information, her concern and worry and relief would make her indefatigable.

God, he was so tired.

He waited, silently, with the rest of the squad, wanting to talk to Adam, wanting to speak with Lita. But most of all, wanting, and dreading at the same time, to talk to Malcolm.

Chapter 30

"You didn't need my help," Lita laughed as she watched him attach the last bomb to a major structural beam.

"No. I needed to do a bit of smuggling." Malcolm smiled back, absently rubbing at his face, not noticing the dried blood that flaked off at his touch. He didn't notice that his hand was trembling slightly either, but Lita did. However he seemed to be much more...grounded...now than when she had first found him and Aslan.

She had ordered Aslan to leave and he had obeyed, albeit with disappointment. She stalked their prey with Cat, wounding the last three Suliban. She had taken out one of them, leaving the other two to him.

He had watched as she had killed hers with a vicious joy.

They followed the other two and he had left her behind; she was unable to match his speed. But then, she hadn't been conditioned to the same level.

She found him toying with his last target. Cat and Mouse.

"Tivet really did a number on you, didn't he?" she chuckled, a small part of her appalled that she could take pleasure in her friend's predicament.

Malcolm laughed as he checked his chronometer. He couldn't help it. "Oh, lord, yes...I felt like I could de-rezz a battalion of Klingons." He supposed he should feel horrified that the thought of turning on Tigger, just for another delectable jolt of pleasure, had flashed through his mind. He had instead channeled that desire into acquiring his final target as ferociously as possible.

He had savored that termination, knowing that it was the last.

He unsheathed his knife and took his shirt off, carefully peeling the embedded fibers out of the burnt score mark on his shoulder. He handed the knife to Lita.

"Let's just slot and run. All I have to do is set the timer and then this whole place will glory blossom in about ten minutes," he said, unaware that he had slipped into their slang. His old life blended with his new life, and he wasn't at all perturbed by it. He vaguely thought he should be.

She withdrew several of the taper explosives from her pack. She examined the markings drawn on his body, still prominent and unfaded. She traced the lines with an aloof finger, probing.

He stood there, trying not to jitter in response to his elevated adrenaline, watching her with a clinical detachment. His last two targets had been difficult; their enhancements had been unusual. He had watched as they had tried to escape, shifting somehow and squeezing under a door. The sight of his prey, wounded and fleeing, had stimulated certain neurotransmitters, releasing another flood of adrenaline, the norepinephrine making him violent and aggressive, the nociceptin making him fearless, the dopamine exciting him to the point of recklessness.

He had pursued them with a cheerful determination, feeling alive, head throbbing and heart beating strong.

Unfortunately for the Suliban, their genetic augmentations hadn't helped them.

Lita made her selection. The ones around his ribcage. She sliced through his flesh, using the lines as a guide.

"Hurt?" she asked, grinning, using all her willpower not to plunge the knife in deeper. The smell of his blood was tempting.

He snorted softly. "You know it doesn't..." She had removed her gloves and he noted the brightly colored polish neatly applied to each nail. It struck him as so feminine and dainty; and incongruous, considering the way she had terminated that last target.

He hummed under his breath as he watched her, and she listened. The tune was familiar; the squad used to sing it ages ago. She tried to think of the lyrics. She separated the skin and reached for a taper, slipping it inside the incision, under the epidermis. She pressed the skin down and rubbed her fingers over it. She couldn't tell it was there; all she could feel was his rib.

"It'll hurt later," and she laughed, a slight hysterical edge to it. His blood was warm and slippery, skating along her fingertips, a silky emollient that tantalized her sense of touch. She tried to stifle the urge to shed more.

She wished there were extra Suliban about, but they had killed them all...

He watched her slashing into him, feeling himself relax as the phenylethylamine, Substance P and serotonin released in response, eliminating the pain and leaving behind a small feeling of bliss. Planting the last two bombs had also helped him focus; selecting the right locations for maximum impact had taken some concentration. He had forced himself to fixate on balance and harmony; the hard, precise geometric symmetry of the explosion, the mathematical equations to achieve that level of concordance whereby the destruction of the building would be absolute, leaving nothing but a smoldering hole in the land.

That cold deliberation had alleviated the desire for more bloodshed.

"Did War get the transflakes?" Chris. War. Tigger. Cat. Doesn't matter. What's in a name? He realized that he couldn't remember Cain's real name.

"Yeah. He found them where you stashed them." She suddenly recalled the lyrics and smiled. She found herself comforted by the familiar melody, one from their shared past, a different life. This same life. She hummed along with him.

She repeated her actions eight more times, unable to resist making each cut deeper, mesmerized by the sight and satiny sensation of his blood. She carefully smoothed the skin down over each explosive, her last cut deep, the blood trickling down her hand. She couldn't help herself.

But she felt him calming beneath her practiced fingers, his body no longer trembling, both of them murmuring the song quietly. She wondered idly if he was able to control the training again. Or maybe it was the song; he always did like music.

Or perhaps he had gotten used to the conditioning.

When she finished she absently licked her fingers clean and drew her gloves on.

He put his shirt back on, and used the knife to cut the fabric in the same places. "In case they wonder," he said. He expected the customary post assignment treatment. He was used to it. It was familiar.

He reached into her pack and withdrew several tapers, shoving them into his boot.

"They'll find those, Bakebrain." She frowned at him.

"That's the point, Choob." He smiled slightly at her. He could feel his neurochemical levels evening out now, others being released to compensate for the flood of the excitatory ones, different receptors shutting down. He slowly began to sink back into that passionless mode.

It was like going home.

He set the timer in synch with the others he had already placed and they took off down the hallway, racing to get out of the building and meet the squad.

"Think Thuse will drig us? He's a Ronin after all," he asked as they loped easily through the structure, the seconds ticking by in his head, matching the pounding that had plagued him since coming off the table earlier this evening. The sound of a pale horse galloping monotonously in his skull, riderless, untiring, the steady thunder of its hoofbeats intimate and constant.

"Rabbit doesn't think so," Adam, Lita thought, his name is Adam.

"Shoulda shoved him off the roof when I had the chance," Malcolm commented as they burst through the stairwell door and headed downwards. "He'd of died of pavement poisoning and no one'd be the wiser."

Lita nodded as they flew down the stairs, leaping to the landings. "Then why'd you reconfig the trog about to fuse him during that furball?"

"Have to protect the squad."

They crashed through an exit door and outside, not speaking now, running hard to make it to the rest of the team. They didn't want to keep Cain waiting.

Chapter 31

By the time they arrived, Malcolm felt nothing. He remotely speculated that the full out run had helped burn off the excess adrenaline. His D-4 level was back to normal, the glutamate gone, and he knew the other chemical levels were falling. Perhaps they rose and lowered in response to the new conditioning; to the stimuli. He glanced at Tigger. She was impassive again as well.

He could think clearly now.

He reported to Cain that the building would be destroyed in two minutes, 13 seconds. All targets had been neutralized.

He waited for his orders.

Cain nodded and shoved Trip towards Malcolm. "Take him. Thuse, War, Aravis, Cat-you go together. Tigger, Aslan, Rabbit with me. Meet us back at the complex. Don't be late." Cain mounted his cycle.

"Hey, what about my helmet?" Trip asked, moving to retrieve it from the back of Cain's cycle.

"I'm sure Cat will see you safely home," Cain replied and rode off, his team following.

Thuse ordered them to go. Malcolm gave Trip his helmet and handed him the field pack. Malcolm climbed on and started the engine. Trip adjusted the helmet, slipped the pack on and tentatively slid behind him. Malcolm sat fairly upright, and since there were no hand holds, Trip wrapped his arms around Malcolm's ribs. He could feel a sticky dampness saturating Malcolm's shirt.

Malcolm pushed Trip's arms down a bit; he knew it'd hurt later and he wanted to minimize the damage. They sped off, and when the building blew, Trip could feel the concussion at his back. He looked back, amazed as a fireball reached into the sky, roiling clouds of smoke, flame and dust erupting into the chilled air.

"Jesus, Malcolm...how many bombs did you use?" Trip spoke up, louder than his usual tone, trying to talk over the wind and through his helmet.

"Enough to do the job," Malcolm replied shortly. He hadn't turn to look and that worried Trip. He knew how much Malcolm enjoyed explosions.

"Are you okay?" Trip asked. He had examined Malcolm closely when he and Lita had returned. He'd watched as Malcolm gave his report, how Malcolm had tumbled back into that cold, impersonal guise, eyes dead and soulless again, a startling change from that manic, barely restrained--Trip cut his thought off. Malcolm was his friend. It wasn't his fault.

Malcolm ignored him and Trip clutched Malcolm a little tighter as they roared out of a tight turn; their speed increasing. Trip hung on for dear life as they accelerated down the winding road.

***

Trip shakily got off the cycle and removed his helmet. Never again. He'd rather have ridden with Cain. He didn't think ground vehicles were supposed to go Warp 5. Downhill. Through hairpin curves.

Malcolm dismounted and calmly removed his gloves, waiting as the rest swept in. Trip wiped his hands on his pants; they felt tacky and cold. He fought down the nausea at the blood stained smudges he left behind. Malcolm's shirt had been permeated with it. Trip didn't think it was all Suliban. He inspected Malcolm, but his friend was unmoving and silent. He hadn't spoken to Trip the whole way back and Trip's apprehension had steadily grown.

The squad lined up and Cain marched them all inside. They were taken to another locker area, Trip noticing their route, marking the generator room as they passed. Cain ordered them all to disrobe and told Trip to do the same.

They were all searched thoroughly, their clothing confiscated and scrutinized. Trip suffered the impersonal touch of Cain's soldiers as they examined his body, looking for concealed or missing items from their arsenal. Cain made one last check, running his hands through their hair, ordering them to open their mouths and peering in, checking their ears, then dismissing them to the showers after his inspection.

He stopped in front of Chris and ripped the dressing off his thigh, checking it completely. He ordered Chris to the shower and moved on to Malcolm.

He probed the wound on the top of Malcolm's shoulder, digging in a little, watching for a reaction. He received none. Trip stood nervously next to Malcolm, wincing. Cain ran his hand through Malcolm's hair as Malcolm stood impassively. He then ran his hands down Malcolm's sides, pushing against his ribs.

"How'd this happened?" Trip looked and saw that there were several lacerations across Malcolm's ribcage.

"Suliban, sir."

"Both sides?"

"It was an interesting weapon, sir."

"We found the tapers in your boot, Cat. Trying to smuggle a little something back, eh?"

"No, sir. Just a convenient place to store them."

Cain cuffed him hard on the side of his head. "No, Cat. You know better than that. You replace your equipment properly. How many did you use?"

"Twenty seven, sir."

Cain struck him again and Trip could barely contain himself.

"Wasteful. Next time, do the job more efficiently. Hit the showers."

Malcolm pivoted, grabbed a towel and a set of clothing, then disappeared into the shower room.

Cain inspected Trip, not bothering to speak, then ordered him to the showers. Trip couldn't wait to wash off the feeling of Cain's dry hands.

Chapter 32

They dressed in the dark grey cotton pants and tee shirts and lined up again, then were marched back to their barracks. Tarque and Tivet were there to greet them. Hoshi sat, pale and quiet on a bunk, unable to hide her relief when she saw Trip and Malcolm.

Trip looked exhausted and waxen, and although he was trying to hide it, she could see the emotions right under the surface. She gave him a wan smile and he smiled briefly back at her, his relief that she was unharmed apparent.

Then her eyes were drawn to Malcolm as the squad automatically lined up at parade rest, eyes front and center, eyes dead and lackluster.

She wanted to go to him, wanted to touch him, but fearful. Afraid that she'd break his damnable training in front of Tarque and the others.

But she was more afraid that the training would not break, and that kept her immobile.

"Ah, Mr. Tucker! I see you survived. Well done. How did you enjoy our little warm up exercise?" Tarque was jovial and in an expansive mood. Hoshi didn't bother to hide her disgust.

"It was...educational," Trip replied in a low voice. Tarque clapped him on the back and chuckled.

"So, they performed well I hear. Very good." Tarque moved to inspect his force. He turned to Cain. "What was the final tally for everyone?"

Cain faced the group. "Squad. Report your tally to Mr. Tarque."

Each member sounded off their final body count and Tarque laughed with delight. "Excellent! Aravis, looks like you need a little more practice. Well done Tigger, close second." He cupped Lita's cheek, hand lingering then sliding down her face. He moved on to address Malcolm.

"Cat. Splendid. High score, but I knew you'd come in first. Excellent job, son. Very well done." He patted Malcolm on the shoulder and beamed at him. Trip winced again, hoping it wasn't the injured shoulder.

"Cain, you can release them from the training now. Should we post guards in case they try to injure one another?"

"No sir. Thuse is the only fighter. The rest cope differently."

"Ah, good. I appreciate you verifying their records." Tarque slapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "Excellent job. All of you. I'm very, very proud of each of you." He turned to leave and Cain spoke up.

"Sir, I need to talk to you about fine tuning the conditioning for a few members. I'd like Thuse to accompany us."

"Certainly. Thuse, come along. We'll release you later," and Tarque left, Tivet trailing behind.

Cain gave the order which disengaged them from their training and the whole line sagged. He smiled at their exhausted, dazed faces and left.

Yaffa groaned and put a hand to her mouth, then ran for the bathroom. Chris started to go after her and cried out in pain, grabbing his leg and sinking to the floor. "Madre de Dios!" He started cursing in Spanish and Lita hurried over to him, hands shaking, eyes leaking tears, her quivering voice calling to Adam to get a hypospray and some dressings. Bob burst into tears.

Hoshi and Trip went to Malcolm, who stood there, head down, studying his hands, muttering to himself. "Malcolm?" Hoshi said softly, uncertainty lacing her voice. She reached out and he recoiled from her.

"Don't."

"Malcolm, please. Are you okay?"

"Twenty one," he mumbled, still contemplating his hands, turning them over, scrubbing at them. "There were 49 of them, more than anticipated. I killed 21 people." His voice wavered and he wiped at his hands harder. "I liked it," he whispered. "My God, I loved it..."

Hoshi tried to gather him in her arms but he flinched away from her, turning and made his unsteady way toward the kitchen. He got as far as the wall near the door when he put a hand to his side and let out a hiss of pain. "Ah...damn it..." he moaned softly, and sat down on the floor suddenly.

Hoshi and Trip were beside him immediately, flanking him protectively.

"What's wrong, Malcolm?" Trip asked, concern infusing every word.

He wouldn't look at them. "I would have killed you...oh Christ, Trip..." He slumped forward and rested his head on his knees. "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

Hoshi looked at Trip in alarm, shocked. Trip shook his head at her, then knelt next to his friend. "You didn't though. You followed my orders, just like you planned...Malcolm, your idea worked...don't fret over that."

Chris looked up from watching Lita tend his leg, his face pale and drawn. "You switched the clips, Malcolm. Cain didn't see you. You did good, okay, cabron? You beat the rulacho."

"Adam, finish Chris up, please," Lita requested, her voice trembling. She stood and made her way over to Malcolm, her eyes streaming, breath hitching. Trip moved aside and she knelt down.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. I didn't want to hurt you. But I couldn't help it..." She pushed against his shoulders, leaning him back against the wall, and started to lift his shirt.

"I know. For a moment there...I wanted to kill you too," he murmured, unable to meet her eyes.

She inspected his sides then told him to stand. He allowed Trip to help him.

Malcolm removed his shirt, wincing and gingerly easing it over his head, his face creasing in distress as he heard Hoshi's intake of breath. Hoshi touched him and he moved beyond her reach.

"Don't. Please." His voice broke and he looked away.

Lita ran her fingers over her handiwork, trying to ignore her tears. She had an obligation to fulfill first. She set the hypospray and injected him, then told him to turn around and brace himself against the wall. She asked Trip to get a dish and waited until he returned.

Yaffa came out of the bathroom, wiping her mouth and eyes. She went to Chris, who assured her he was fine and told her to check on Bob. Adam helped Chris to his feet, then disappeared into the kitchen. Yaffa moved to the bunk where Bob laid curled up. She reclined next to him and drew him close, rocking him gently, the sound of their quiet weeping carrying to Hoshi's sharp ears.

Lita removed the first taper, using her long nails, the only tool available. Malcolm inhaled sharply and shivered. He ground his teeth, letting his head hang, unwilling to look at his friends. Lita dropped the taper on the plate and Trip turned from it, sick.

Lita started to withdraw the second taper and Malcolm moaned involuntarily, flinching as her nails delved under his skin, the nerve endings flaming. His hand flew out blindly, searching for Hoshi and she grabbed it. He bit back another sound.

He suffered through Lita's expedition seven more times, holding Hoshi's hand while clawing at the wall with his other hand. Hoshi rubbed his head and spoke to him in low tones. He breathed incoherent apologies, his voice catching.

When Lita finished, Trip helped him to a bunk, his hands carefully supporting Malcolm's sweat slicked frame. Trip eased his friend down gently, propping him up as Lita cleaned and dressed his ribs and the burn on his shoulder. Malcolm hadn't let go of Hoshi's hand and she sat next to him. Lita wiped at her eyes again and stumbled away to the kitchen, carrying her plate of slippery red tapers.

Malcolm leaned into Hoshi, burying his head against her shoulder. "Oh my God, Hoshi..." He shuddered hard. She hugged him tighter, murmuring soothing words to him. "I'm an animal. What I did..." He continued his disjointed outpouring of self-loathing, ignoring his friends' reassurances, flaying himself with raw words of hatred and remorse. His voice finally broke and he stopped talking. His trembling increased and he clung to her fiercely, then abruptly apologized for being selfish and loving her. He slipped back into silence again. Her neck grew damp.

She couldn't tell if it was sweat or tears.

***

Trip felt useless and wiped at his eyes, internally cursing his soft hearted nature, wanted to go somewhere private and fall apart. But he didn't dare leave Malcolm unguarded, mindful of Chris' explanation of the powerful and erratic emotional release. He figured that Malcolm must have gone through something like this after TayNor and that just added another level of distress, gnawing at him that he had withdrawn from his friend at the time. He breathed deeply several times trying to quiet his feelings, but couldn't. He thought that he would have a better chance of composing himself if he wasn't so drained, the horror of their night's work oppressing his soul.

Trip checked his chronometer. Another twenty minutes perhaps, and then they would sleep. He rose from the bunk and wandered over to talk to Chris who had settled himself carefully on a chair, leg bolstered upon the table. Chris had been far too quiet, his face haunted. Trip sat down next to him, keeping a hawkish eye on Hoshi and Malcolm, exhausted and bone tired from his nerve-wracking excursion with the squad. Chris started to talk and Trip listened, doing his best to help.

***

Hoshi shifted on the bunk, cradling Malcolm, stroking through his hair, rubbing his back, trying to console him. His quiet outburst of self-destructive condemnation had hurt her. All her words of comfort and love had no meaning to him, his abusive monologue simply continuing, unheeding.

And now this silence frightened her.

So she filled it with words of devotion. Words of encouragement. Words of logic and faith, friendship and warmth, support and comfort. She felt him breathing, his heart beating, strong and steady, his body shivering even though a sweltering heat radiated from it. She ignored the sounds coming from the kitchen, could hear Lita and Adam making violent love, could hear Lita weeping softly and Adam slurring to her in drunken tones. She continued to speak to Malcolm, knowing he liked the sound of her voice. He had told her once.

Malcolm finally lifted his head and kissed her, brushing her lips with his, caressing her face and averting his dry, bloodshot eyes. He made to rise and she stopped him.

"Malcolm. Stay here."

He shook his head. "I...I best keep my distance." He paused and looked even more uncomfortable. "I can hear them." He glanced toward the kitchen and immediately dropped his eyes again. "It's better if I stay away from you."

Tarque's comment came back to her. How Malcolm and Takiyah would cope.

"Malcolm. If you need-—" she started to offer and he moved off the bunk quickly.

"No! You're not...I won't use you like..." he drew in a breath and tried to steady himself. "I don't want you to be her. I never wanted you to be her. I love you. It's different. You're different. I—" He felt his brittle emotional control fracturing again and he turned away, each movement painful, the analgesic not strong enough. He mentally cursed the heightened conditioning he had received, the new results and consequences throwing him, making him more inarticulate than usual. He began to curse himself, his depraved nature-what he wanted to do to her. His thoughts began to spiral down into a bleak round of self flagellating loathing again. "I love you," he whispered, not trusting his voice to speak any louder and bolted out the door, heading for the field.

***

Hoshi stood to go after him but Trip stopped her. "I'll go watch him. Make sure he doesn't do something stupid." He was bigger and stronger than Hoshi, it made sense. Of course, some of those Suliban had been bigger and stronger.

Trip left and Hoshi sat down at the table with Chris. He smiled at her and then dry heaved several times. Hoshi stood in alarm, knocking her chair over, and looked for something to hold in front of him. He smiled wider and shook his head then spit into his palm.

Four transmitter chips lay glistening in his hand.

Chapter 33

Malcolm stood in front of the fence, arms crossed tightly across his chest, listening to it snarl and sizzle. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood up, the energy from the field strong. He tried to see the surrounding area which lay outside the field. More dark thoughts were rapidly adding to his already dead-black musings and he tried to rein in his surging emotions.

Trip approached Malcolm with caution. "It'd be a painful death, Malcolm..." He looked at the fence.

"I wouldn't do it."

"I know. You wouldn't leave me and Hoshi here."

Malcolm breathed out a mirthless laugh. "Can't even be the master of my own fate. Just another fucking lab animal in its cage."

"I told you, you're not a lab animal. You're a person, Malcolm. A damn good one, too. Don't make me come over there and knock some sense into you."

"I could kill you before you touched me. I've been trained well, you know." The bitterness in his voice made Trip blink.

Trip swallowed. "Might give you a run for your money, Malcolm." He put all the bravura he could into his voice.

Malcolm laughed, a genuine one this time. He looked at Trip, a small half smile on his face and an amused twinkle in his weary eyes. "Is this where we beat our chests and bare our teeth at each other, Commander? Lord, we're such macho men, aren't we?" Trip laughed at that odd British pronunciation.

"Well, just didn't want you to hurt yourself."

"I don't know why everyone thinks I'm such a bloody lemming..."

Trip laughed again and moved closer, hairs on his forearms rising in response to the field. He carefully put an arm around Malcolm's uninjured shoulder to guide him away from the fence.

Malcolm stiffened and slid out from under Trip's touch, indicating with a nod of his head to the pole at his left. "If we can't get to the generator room-I think if we blow that one and the surrounding ones it'll take out the whole field."

Trip looked at him in surprise and approached the pole. The sound from the field set his teeth on edge as he inspected the other poles in turn and he nodded. "Yeah. I think you're right." He did a few quick calculations, looking for structural weaknesses. "There." He tilted his chin at a spot. "And there. On each of them."

"Yeah. Couple of tapers each and I can bring the whole damn thing down." Malcolm looked at Trip and the memory of pointing a gun to his friend's head, the eagerness and desire to pull the trigger, the keen anticipation, caused him to draw in a shaky breath, and his flimsy control skittered away from him.

He turned away. "Sorry."

Trip heard the unstable tone in his voice and tried to put his arm around Malcolm again to draw him away from the fence, but Malcolm shrugged him off and hugged himself tightly, trying to steady his emotions.

"It's okay, Malcolm."

"I almost killed you," he said, his voice so low Trip had to strain to hear him. "I would have...and I would have liked it..."

"But you didn't. You figured out how to get around the conditioning."

"But what if it hadn't worked?" Malcolm's voice broke again, the anguish in it clear, and he ducked his head. He turned away from Trip, swearing under his breath, scouring at his hands once more. He started to pace and Trip stepped in front of him, stopping him with a stiff arm to the chest.

"What if doesn't count, Lieutenant. What if I hadn't gotten drunk at that bar? We wouldn't have been at that park at that time. What if I hadn't tackled you? You'd have gotten away. What if Hoshi hadn't stumbled? Hoshi and I wouldn't be here. What if doesn't matter, Malcolm. You didn't do it. So just let it go. That's an order. Concentrate on gettin' us out of here."

Malcolm nodded, head still bowed, and Trip waited in silence until Malcolm collected himself.

Trip tried to hold his battered emotions together as well, but it was difficult. The atrocities he had seen. The sheer physical and mental exhaustion. The constant worry and responsibility for the two junior officers under his command, who happened to be friends as well. The out-and-out feeling of uselessness in a situation he couldn't control.

He furtively skimmed at his eyes again, thinking with a modicum of humor that he was fitting in pretty well.

When Malcolm finally looked up again Trip saw the wretched desolation in his friend's weary eyes. Without thinking he drew Malcolm into a hug. He was heartened that Malcolm didn't flinch from the contact this time although he stood tensely, every muscle fighting his automatic reaction to the invasion of his space.

Trip was surprised when Malcolm suddenly embraced him before disentangling himself, looking embarrassed but far less bleak than before. They stood there for a few moments, words inadequate. Trip was exhausted but he felt more balanced than he had all night-he hadn't realized he'd needed that simple human contact so badly.

"Come on. It's chilly out here and you're running around half naked and in your bare feet. You'll catch pneumonia," Trip chided with his best imitation of his mother's slow Southern drawl. He suppressed a smirk when Malcolm rolled his eyes at him then gave in to an abrupt whim and flicked the top of Malcolm's pointed ear with his finger. "You look like a damn gremlin."

Malcolm chuckled and Trip grinned, then yawned hugely. Malcolm responded with a yawn of his own and they both burst out laughing, a bit giddy.

Trip walked with Malcolm back to the barracks, Malcolm rubbing at his eyes and yawning, Trip retaliating with his own exhalations, both giggling at the other.

Malcolm shot him a sideways glance, then politely averted his eyes. "You okay?" he asked. "It must have been horrifying for you."

"Yeah, I'm fine now. Just beat. Makes me a little...aw, hell, you know I cry at sad movies. I can handle it. I'm used to this." Trip gave a small self-deprecating laugh.

Malcolm nodded and gave Trip a friendly tap on the upper arm with his fist, then rubbed through his hair vigorously, trying to keep himself awake.

Trip look at him. "Why the hell did you pick purple hair, Malcolm?"

"Well, Thuse said it brought out my eyes..." and they laughed.

Chapter 34

The barracks was noisy. Music played, Adam was talking loudly, obviously drunk. Lita was trying to get him into a bunk, yawning non-stop and almost dead on her feet.

Yaffa was helping Chris to his bunk, both bickering in rapid-fire Spanish, their fatigue apparent. Chris threw a pillow at Adam and told him to shut up.

Bob was snoring lightly already.

Hoshi felt as if she was in an asylum. Or a dorm room.

Chris had told her that along with the compressed emotional time frame, the sleep that would follow wouldn't be as long as before. He also told her about the perverse side effect that their training years earlier had caused. If it was too quiet any little noise would cause him to wake with a start, in a defensive mode, ready to fight. Over three-quarters of the squadron suffered the same problem. They had solved that by playing music loud enough to mask any sounds. Which now would come in handy for their escape plans. They could cannibalize the player for parts to build comm units to contact the ship.

Hoshi looked up with relief when Trip and Malcolm walked in. She went to Malcolm, squeezing Trip's hand as she came to them, and asked if they were okay. Malcolm nodded, shame faced and eyes downcast. She lightly smacked his arm, then turning it into a loving stroke. He hugged her, apologizing.

She told him to quit apologizing.

"Sorry."

She smacked again.

He yawned in response.

Hoshi could see that Trip was drained as well. She'd wait to hear the full story of the mission once everyone had gotten some rest. Trip made his way to his bunk and burrowed into it, shoving a pillow over his head. He fell asleep almost immediately.

Adam struggled to his feet again, swaying and approaching Malcolm.

"C'mere, let's have another drin'..." He grabbed Malcolm by the arm and tugged at him, trying to drag him to the kitchen.

Malcolm's sigh turned into a yawn and he guided Adam back to his bunk where Lita lay spread out, restless and muttering.

"Sleep it off, Adam."

"Nah, come on, join me...can't feel anythin' this way..."

"Adam, Lita needs you. Lay down and hold her." Malcolm pushed Adam down on the bunk and Lita bolted upright.

"Sorry, Lita."

S'okay," she mumbled and flopped back down on the bed, out before she hit the pillow.

Adam floundered about, trying to get back up. Malcolm held him down, then Adam lurched upward and grabbed Malcolm by the back of the neck, pulling him down until they were face to face.

"Like th' music?" Adam asked and he snickered.

Malcolm listened, paying attention this time. Hoshi saw him blush.

"Where'd you get that?" Malcolm asked. Hoshi was amazed at the look of aghast embarrassment on his face.

Adam was sniggering wildly. "Tarque...kinda su'prise for you..."

"You bastard."

"It's Peege!" Adam said, voice full of glee.

"I bloody well know who it is, you wanking knob—"

"Who's Peege?" Hoshi asked and Malcolm turned a deeper red.

"Malcolm used to 'date' her—" Adam leered.

"Adam!"

Adam ignored him. He crooked a finger at Hoshi, beckoning her closer. Malcolm tried to push him back down onto the bed but Adam shoved him away and grabbed Hoshi's wrist.

Adam leaned into Hoshi, whispering loudly with a conspiratorial air. "When me and Lita had to run, Malcolm helped us out of the country. We stole a shuttle and, well, did a whole bunch o' other things, and we all stayed in Berlin for a few days with PJ, lying low."

"Oh bloody Christ." Malcolm attempted to push Adam down again, but Adam was holding onto Hoshi tightly. Malcolm tried to pry Adam's fingers off her wrist.

"You use to date her?" Hoshi asked, her eyebrows arched. The singer's voice was beautiful, but it was so...loud. And the lyrics were so...rude.

Adam answered while Malcolm stood there, mouth working and no sound issuing from it. "Yeah, she had a German Hardline Spastisch band. Her hair was a neon lime, well, part of it. Shaved off the rest...she had this big tattoo, right Mallie?" he asked, his expression serious, eyes trying without success to focus on Malcolm's.

"Don't call me Mallie," he snarled, fully red from the neck up. Only the tips of his fake ears remained pale. "I swear to God, Adam, go to sleep or I'll thump you into next week." He tore Adam's hand from Hoshi and pushed Adam down hard onto the bed. Lita turned over, draping herself across Adam, pinning him to the bunk.

"Mallie, Mallie, Mallie..." Adam crooned to himself and Malcolm let out a breath of exasperation and helped Hoshi to her feet.

They made their way to their bunk, his muttered curses interrupted only by a yawn so huge Hoshi could hear his jaw crack.

He crawled into the bed, not bothering to slip under the covers. Hoshi yanked the blankets out from under him and slid beneath them, cuddling beside him and pulling the covers up about them. He turned to rest his head in the crook of her neck, arm draped across her waist. He released a tremulous breath, his control failing again and he turned his face into her skin.

She ran her fingers through his hair and spoke soothingly to him. She felt him relax.

"So, you dated a musician?" He tensed and she kissed him. "Just teasing you."

His body loosened again, and she felt him nod. "I was stationed in Berlin for a while during my stint in the SAS. That's when I took up velocity racing."

"And...?" she prodded, knowing he was tired but unable to resist. He so rarely spoke about his past.

He sighed and yawned again, snuggling closer to her, his fingers tracing a random pattern on her side, careful not to tickle her. "Met PJ at a club. Found out we shared an interest in racing. Teamed up as partners on tandem races. She taught me a few things, we parted friends, end of story..."

"Did you 'date' date her?" Hoshi asked, knowing full well he'd know what she meant. It was a joke between them now. She made sure he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Sometimes..." she heard the smile in his voice. He nestled even closer, his hand now making slow circles on her stomach.

She chuckled and kissed the top of his head. He kissed her neck, nibbling a bit, then yawned again. "I love you. Always," he whispered, knowing she'd hear him.

"Love you too. Very much, Malcolm. Always." She continued rubbing his head, feeling his breathing slow and even out. "I just like knowing about you. I don't know that much about you, really."

"But you know my heart. All you need to know," he murmured before falling asleep.

Chapter 35

She stayed with him for a few hours, finally rising, the music too fast and turbulent, the others too agitated in their uneasy sleep, his twitching and low vocalizations too jolting and unlike him to allow her to rest.

She rose, careful not to disturb him. She entered the kitchen, but wasn't hungry. She wandered into the gym.

Zindzhi was there, a pillow and blanket on several mats. But he was awake and alert.

She merely glared at him and turned to go.

"So. Cat had the high score again. You must be very proud." He smiled, baiting her.

"He's a decent man, Zindzhi. They're all decent people. Despite what Tarque forces them do." She turned to go. "Obviously your sister saw that in him..." She knew she probably shouldn't goad him but she was tired of the insinuations and insults.

His faced clouded. "You didn't know my sister. She was —"

"Hard? Cold? Cruel? That's what Tarque said about her." A little dissension in the ranks might be helpful. Divide and conquer. She thought she had absorbed a few tactics from spending time with Malcolm. She didn't let the smile reach her face.

"She was kind. She was smart. She had a beautiful soul." Zindzhi's voice was gentle, but his body language was angry. "Yes, she could be hard. Sometimes, you have to protect yourself."

He moved over to a bench and sat down, his gaze challenging her to follow him. She accepted and sat on the other end.

"There are haves and have-nots still in the world, as much as our leaders don't want us to believe it. But it's true. Places where children still die of starvation. People are homeless or uneducated. Crime ridden areas. When our parents died I was 15. Taki was almost eight. And we became the have-nots. I raised her. Just the two of us. And I made sure she got an education. Learn to speak and dress and act properly. Made sure she was free to pursue whatever goals she wanted."

He spoke softly and Hoshi couldn't help but be intrigued. "She could be hard. Had to protect herself from those who thought she didn't know her place; she was just another orphan in an overcrowded, filthy township. But I knew she could have a better life. I could have a better life.

"And I was damned proud of her when she followed me into the Selous Scouts. She worked hard; her intelligence and willingness to fight for a better life for people just like us made her special...something more than your ordinary person. Her conviction, that desire to help."

He clasped his hands together and hung his head, studying them. "She was hard, but inside, she was a good person. Tarque didn't know that part of her, just the exterior she presented to the world. To survive those years.

"She was kind. Always taking in stray animals, spending her pay on people she knew needed the help. A birthday present for a kid whose parents' couldn't afford it. Covering the rent for people who couldn't make ends meet that month, going out of the way to check on the old lady down the block, make sure she was eating. Things like that. Small acts of kindness. But that means a lot to people, knowing someone cares, when no one else does.

"And we were proud to have been chosen for the TSA. We were the best of the Scouts. And we were with the best of the world's special ops forces. It was an honor; two kids from the streets to be among the best."

He looked at her, his handsome face solemn, the scar which curled his lip upward making him look as if he was grinning at her. "When Tarque took over, we were hostages for each other. I didn't like his methods," he laughed ironically, "But the missions were right. For the greater good of people, often people just like me and Taki. For people like you. Eliminating filth. Making the world better."

He stared at her and she saw rage smoldering in his eyes. She drew away slightly, unable to help herself.

"She was the only person I ever loved in my life. The only person I had, completely. She was mine. I raised her, looked out for her, gave her anything I could. And then she hooked up with Reed."

His mouth was curved into a smiling snarl now, his tone still quiet and even. "She loved him. They'd fight, both of them stubborn. But it wouldn't last long; he'd always made her happy again. He made her laugh. She'd talk to him, like we used to talk. He'd listen. She spent her time with him. She said he treated her very well, that he loved her. But he wasn't good enough for her. He could never be good enough for her. And when it came down to it, no matter what he claims, he didn't really love her. He let her die and saved his ass instead. He was a goddamn self-serving little bastard who just stood there and watched while his friend killed her."

He clenched his hands together tightly, the knuckles growing paler. He looked away from her. "I told you that you couldn't depend on him. He's the one's that cold, hard-cruel. Not Taki. She was the only bright thing in my life, and she's gone. And he's still here..."

Hoshi stared at his large hands, the hand that had been wrapped around her neck, threatening to break it. She remembered the pressure he had applied, the strength in those hands.

She placed her small, delicate hand on those hands.

"Matata."

He looked up at her, surprised by her gentle and compassionate tone.

"Malcolm told me what happened. He's never lied to me. He loved your sister very much. So much, that...well, I think I was jealous at first. But I believe him, with all my heart, that he couldn't do anything to save her. And I know him well enough that he would have, if he could."

She breathed out a small laugh, almost a sigh.

"I always wondered why he was so willing to sacrifice himself to protect our crewmates, the ship...I know it's his job and he's never shirked from it. But his commitment is scary sometimes. And I know that he's protected me, several times, at the risk of his own life. And that was long before we became involved.

"You're so wrong, Matata. He would have died for her, I know. He loved her that much. And if he says he couldn't have saved her, you have to believe that. He's not the type to stand by and not act. I may love him, but I'm neither blind nor gullible. I know his faults, and indifference isn't one of them."

He stared at her hand, so small and fragile compared to his own. His mind replayed the mission, the Suliban who had trained his weapon on him while he'd been busy with two other targets, unable to dodge away. And he knew that Malcolm had been nearby, too far from the ones he was scuffling with, but just close enough to spring upon the other one, ruining his aim and then killing the alien.

He knew Malcolm could have easily let him die and no one would have known.

But he still hated him.

Chapter 36

Trip woke to music, although not as loud as before, and to the undertone of a hushed masculine moaning coupled with a muted feminine laugh. He raised his head and his pillow fell off it. He checked his chronometer and was surprised that he had slept for so long. At least he felt refreshed.

Adam was holding his head, swearing softly, moans punctuating his words. Lita stood in front of him, a plastic tumbler of water in one hand and two pills in her other open palm.

She winked at Trip and laughed at Adam again quietly.

Chris and Yaffa were awake as well, Chris making a coin in his hand appear and disappear, Yaffa watching closely.

Bob was asleep, curled in a fetal position and tranquil.

Trip turned to check Malcolm. He was still sleeping, lying on his stomach at the foot of the bed, draped precariously on the edge of the mattress. One arm was trapped underneath him, cradling his ribs, his other arm and a leg dangling limp off the bunk, his head hanging over the side. It looked uncomfortable.

Trip rose from his bed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He started toward Malcolm and Lita stopped him.

"Let him sleep. He won't fall off."

"Yeah, he could sleep anywhere," Adam muttered. He shoved the pills into his mouth and drained the water. He handed the tumbler back to Lita.

"Remember that tree?" Lita asked, a smirk on her face.

"Hell, that scaffolding."

"The stairs on the Witting mission," Chris put in.

"The laundry chute on the Carson assignment," Yaffa said and Adam chuckled, then winced.

Lita smiled at Trip's puzzled look. "Sometimes you'd have to stay in position, waiting, forever. There was no point in invoking your training until it was time for action, so you'd sleep if you weren't on guard duty or find ways to entertain yourself."

Chris made the coin disappear and then pulled it out of Yaffa's ear. "Passes the time."

Lita grabbed her hairbrush and the nail polish lying on the stand next to the bed. She added those to Adam's plastic tumbler and started to juggle them, winking at Trip.

"See? It gets boring sitting around, waiting. Most everyone found something to do to keep themselves amused."

"Uh huh." Trip wondered where Hoshi was, hoping for someone normal to talk to, then quashed that thought as being uncharitable. These people had lived under some pretty stressful circumstances.

He looked at Malcolm again. "What was his hobby? 'Sides sleepin'..."

Chris was manipulating the coin, working his hand so that it ran over his knuckles, back and forth, slowly, then faster. He flipped his hand and the coin disappeared. "He's an avid student."

Chris looked at Trip and smiled, but his eyes were serious. "I taught him that trick that saved your life. Among others. He practiced hard. Said you'd never know when an odd talent could come in handy." The coin reappeared in his hand and Trip goggled at it. Chris was good.

Hoshi walked in, Zindzhi looming behind her, and Trip swung around, eyes questioning her. She arched an eyebrow at him and nodded her assurance that she was alright. She continued on toward Malcolm and knelt down beside his head, peering at his face, checking, without touching him.

Bob rolled over and sat up straight. Alert, bright-eyed. A startling change. He looked around. "Lita."

She put the items down and grabbed the scanner. She went to him and ran it over him. "This is odd. Some of the neurochemicals haven't receded back to your last levels. Some reuptake transmitters are working differently." She tapped the scanner impatiently against her palm. "Damn it. This thing's not specific enough. I can't get a detailed reading. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been stuck in neutral for the last month. But I felt really good earlier."

"Yeah, we all felt really good," she said with disgust. She ran the scanner over Adam.

"Your levels are out of whack too." She ran it over herself. "Hmm..."

She scanned Chris and Yaffa, muttering to herself. Trip thought that all doctors seemed to mumble under their breath just to unsettle those around them. Maybe it was for dramatic effect...

She knelt down next to Malcolm and scanned him. Hoshi watched Lita as she studied the readings. Lita's face gave nothing away.

"Well?" Hoshi looked at the results, but they didn't make any sense to her.

"Way off..." Lita said, a trace of concern in her voice. She put a gentle hand on Malcolm's head and he jerked violently, rolling to his back, his head still hanging over the side.

"What?" He looked at Lita, upside down, his alert eyes wary. He moved to rub his ribs and stopped before touching them, grimacing, then saw Hoshi. His expression softened as he smiled at her and he stretched, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Hey. Good morning." He then froze, and she saw self-doubt in his eyes. And worry. Her reaction.

Hoshi kissed him back and grinned at him. "More like evening. How are you?"

"Fine."

Hoshi cupped his face with both hands and shook it lightly, growling at him in mock frustration.

"What hurts?" Lita asked more directly.

He thought for a moment. "Sides. Bit of a headache. Couple of muscle strains." He pulled himself up carefully into a sitting position and faced Lita. Hoshi joined him on the bed. He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. "What time is it?"

"About 2130," Lita answered.

"I'm starving." Malcolm stood up and winced again. He made his way to the medical cabinet. He forced himself ignore the hypospray and shook out four aspirin instead, chewing them with a sour look, then shrugging apologetically at Hoshi's wrinkled nose.

Zindzhi spoke up.

"We're all having a formal dinner with Mr. Tarque at 2300. He'd like to show his appreciation. He'd also like to discuss the next assignment."

Adam stood up and groaned. Hoshi couldn't tell if it was from his hangover or not.

"Oh great. Dinner and the ravings of a lunatic. Just shoot me now."

"That can be arranged, Rabbit." Zindzhi sneered at him. Adam gave him a dirty look.

Chris rose with Yaffa's assistance. "We'd better get cleaned up and dressed. You know how fussy he is."

Adam and Lita nodded, then smiled at each other and made their way to the showers together.

"Right. Best not to antagonize him," Malcolm said. He returned to Hoshi, a bit hesitant and uncertain, gauging her, and she could see the insecurity reappearing in his eyes.

"Always love you, Malcolm," she murmured. "So, join me for a shower?" She held her hand out to him.

Malcolm grasped it tightly, drawing her close and flashed her a hopeful little grin. Hoshi laughed, then kissed him. She whispered in his ear and was delighted to see a blush start to creep across his cheeks.

Trip sighed and looked at Bob. "I ain't sharing my stall with you."

Chapter 37

Tarque sat at the head of the long, impeccably set and highly polished mahogany table. He had seated Hoshi on his right, Lita on his left and Yaffa next to Hoshi. Cain and Tivet sat with the rest of the group, the other end of the table empty. Guards lined the wall, rifles out and watching.

Tarque had provided elegant black dresses for each of the women and the men wore their black uniforms; even Trip was attired in the menacing garb. He felt uncomfortable in it, a part of the squad, dressed just like Zindzhi, just like Cain. Even worse, it fit him perfectly.

Malcolm was concerned when he saw Trip dressed as he was, an uncomfortable suspicion rising. Malcolm was seated between Cain and Zindzhi, not the most affable dinner partners.

Tarque briefed them on the UFP mission before dinner and then made small talk throughout the meal, the dishes exquisite and prepared with care. Malcolm had noticed that Tarque made sure that at least one or more items were favorites of the squad members, because of course, he still had their preferences on file.

Malcolm ignored the fresh pineapple in front of him as he sipped his Guinness. It was genuine and his unease grew. He studied Tarque, the animated way he spoke with Hoshi, his asides to Lita, joking with Cain and Zindzhi, the effusive praise he piled on each team member.

The meal ended and a fine brandy was poured for each guest. Tarque toasted the team. Malcolm looked at Adam and Adam nodded slightly and raised his glass to his lips. They followed Adam's lead.

"So, Mr. Tucker. You're an engineer. I understand that warp fields are your specialty?"

"Yes," Trip answered guardedly.

"Ah, very good. Tivet assures me that after the UFP assignment, your presence will no longer be required. This puts me in an awkward position. I can't allow you back to your ship with what you two know. You are considered dead though. I'd hate to make that a reality. I've grown rather fond of you both." He patted Hoshi's hand and smiled at Trip. Trip forced a small smile in return. They couldn't afford to irritate man.

"However, we could use a warp engineer. We'll be abandoning this outpost soon after the completion of our mission, and I have been given a small warp 3 ship. A better base of operations, don't you think? The speed and mobility will give us a greater advantage. It would be in my best interest to have someone who really knows warp engines on board. Of course, if you are reluctant, we can always provide the proper training..."

Trip's chest tightened in alarm. He looked at Malcolm. Malcolm met his eyes briefly and Trip could see the fear for him in them before Malcolm glanced over at Adam.

"He's not exactly a soldier—" Adam started.

"Yeah, I'm not real good in a fight..." Trip lied.

"I'm sure we could remedy that with enough conditioning. Mr. Tucker would make an excellent addition to our team, don't you think, Cat?"

"Bit of a waste of resources, that. You already have an engineer in Chris; his knowledge is much broader and more useful on assignments. There's not much use for a warp specialist in a combat situation and he'll most likely get killed on his first mission no matter how much you condition him," Malcolm said mildly. "Rather poor planning to waste his expertise in such a way, but then again, it's your prerogative, isn't it?"

Tarque studied Malcolm critically. But all he saw was what everyone else saw-Malcolm calmly looking back at Tarque, as if he didn't care one way or another. "Yes, I suppose you're right," Tarque sighed after a few moments. "He would be of more use kept safely on the ship. Although it would be an interesting experiment." He addressed Trip again. "Then again, we could wipe your memories and release both of you instead. Troublesome, but more to your liking I'm sure. We could come up with a credible scenario-injured in that fire, perhaps lying in a hospital somewhere with amnesia. We have the resources to make a plausible cover story," Tarque said pleasantly.

"That sounds good to me," Trip replied, unable to keep the relief out of his voice. Tarque laughed.

Tarque leaned back, a small smile still on his face. "Yes. We could do that. But I could kill you both and that would be no trouble at all."

Malcolm shifted to match Tarque's posture. "I get the feeling you're reluctant to do that. It's much harder to kill someone you've gotten to know, isn't it? Besides, you're an ethical man, Tarque. Nothing would be served by their deaths, just the blood of innocents on your hands. And, as we all know, you serve humanity. We respect you for that. Your goals have always been honorable. But the cold blooded murder of Trip and Hoshi, two good people of integrity, people you've gotten to know...well, I can't believe that's in your superior moral nature."

Trip wondered how Malcolm could swallow his disgust and keep a straight face in order to say such things so sincerely.

Tarque smiled more widely. "Yes. You're right, Cat. I am reluctant to kill them. Ms. Sato is charming, but you know that, don't you?" He stroked Hoshi's arm again and she managed not to shudder. Trip saw Malcolm's eyes narrow and his fingers twitch, but other than that, he kept his face expressionless. "And Mr. Tucker. I've so enjoyed our conversations. You're an intelligent and genteel man."

Trip nodded his thanks, keeping his loathing off his face. He had spoken to Tarque on several occasions, keeping his temper and agreeing to every crazy argument Tarque made. Tarque seemed to like Trip's easy going manner.

"I am not an evil man. I get no joy from killing people. I merely do what must be done to ensure that decent and righteous people can thrive."

"And Trip and Hoshi are decent and righteous, Tarque. The very people you strive to protect, the best in humanity that you've worked so hard, for years, to allow flourish. Killing them would weigh heavily on your conscience and it's not a pleasant feeling...which I think you know. It goes against every principal you hold dear." Malcolm crossed his arms and waited, hoping that he had pushed the right buttons.

Tarque had always angrily raved whenever a civilian had been caught in the crossfire, outraged at the lost of an innocent life, lecturing the offender for hours, then devising some torture as punishment. Tarque always let his minions handle the details when it came to carrying out the threats on the old squadrons' loved ones, and the hunting of the survivors down to eliminate them was not within Tarque's prevue. Malcolm remembered how Tarque had come to Sabra the night they killed her mother; the man had actually shed tears of remorse, claiming he'd no other choice but to carry out their threats. Tarque had gone on a long rambling rant about safeguarding the virtuous, but how sometimes it couldn't be helped, that the whole had to be preserved, even at the cost of a few. He had begged Sabra for forgiveness all the while promising that the loved ones of others who would resist would meet the same fate.

Malcolm felt slightly nauseous and tried to push away those crystal clear memories.

Tarque leaned forward, pleasant facade gone. "I'll make you a deal, Cat. It's come to my attention that your training needs to be refined; you seemed to have been too...excitable... during the mission. But Tivet tells me you've been uncooperative and he's concerned that forcing much more conditioning may cause some...damage."

Tarque's eyes blazed into Malcolm's.

"I'll let your friends go after the UFP mission if you stop resisting. I don't want you damaged and Tivet felt that your last session was a bit touch and go. I give you my word that I'll release them, safe and unharmed, memories wiped. Besides, I can't keep them as hostages forever."

He leaned back and took a sip of his brandy. "Malaysia is such a beautiful country. I hear your parents' home is quite lovely. I know you haven't seen it yet, but you should. Did Madeline send you pictures of it in her last package you received on Io Station?"

Malcolm fought not to drop his eyes, but he did. He couldn't help it. He didn't want Tarque to see the anger. The burning hatred. The fresh layer of fear added to the old. He felt his temper flaring and he tried to fight that too.

He was tired of fighting.

"I'll need a guarantee, a show of good faith," he replied instead, ignoring Tarque's question. "Let Hoshi go now, wipe her memory, make sure she gets safely back to Enterprise."

"Malcolm!" Hoshi and Trip protested in unison and he threw a warning glance at both of them.

"Your ship will be back in seven days with its distinguished passengers. I believe we could arrange something." Tarque sipped his brandy again, savoring it. And his victory. "There's to be a banquet that evening at the conference center. My backers inform me that Captain Archer will be present that night, along with your father, Rabbit," Tarque graced Adam with a smile. "The opening remarks and the first debate will take place the following evening. Everyone will be in attendance at that time and that's when we'll go in. The Admiral's on our list of targets, you know."

Adam's mouth opened in shock and he started to rise. A guard moved forward and pushed him back down.

"I am truly sorry, Rabbit," Tarque said with all sincerity. "But your father is a leading advocate for this misguided union. Ambassador Soval is also on our agenda. It's ironic, really. Probably the first time the Admiral and the Ambassador have agreed on anything." Tarque released a sigh. "They've managed to put aside their differences and have invited the Klingons to participate. Their deluded ideals are dangerous. Klingons are warriors, and they see this as another indication of Earth's weakness."

His tone became disgusted. "Men like your father unwittingly put our whole society at risk, extending the olive branch to those creatures. The Klingons will use this as an excuse to gather even more intelligence on us, lull us into relaxing our vigilance, then attack. They're untrustworthy barbarians and foolish people like your father will cause the downfall of our civilization.

"Cain will give you all an in-depth briefing, complete with a dossier on each of the eight targets. Cat's our lead shooter. Tigger, you'll be his back-up-we'll tweak your conditioning to assist you, my dear. The rest of you will make sure they get in and out cleanly. Rabbit, I'm sure Cat will terminate your father quickly and humanely."

Adam looked ill.

Tarque leaned forward again and stared at Malcolm, the smile on his face cold. "Now, I expect you to behave yourself, Cat. No plans, no attempts, no rebelling. I'll release Commander Tucker after the completion of the assignment. To show you my good faith, I'll release Ms. Sato the day of your mission. I'll have Tivet adjust your conditioning a bit as well; we need you to have a stable head on your shoulders for the next assignment.

"But if you don't live up to your end of the bargain, I'll have Mr. Tucker conditioned to join us and Ms. Sato killed outright that day instead. Cain would enjoy that, wouldn't you?" He looked at his model soldier and Cain smiled thinly at Hoshi.

"Very much, sir."

***

"You're not going to honor that deal, Lieutenant. That's a direct order from your superior officer. I swear I'll bust you down to—"

"Malcolm, don't you dare be a stubborn bastard and try to—"

"Malcolm, we can't let them kill my father! We've-—"

The protests started as soon as they returned to the privacy of the barracks, each trying to get their argument heard, volume rising. They only accomplished talking over one another, a babel of contentious voices which was rapidly causing Malcolm to lose his patience.

He whirled on them. "Stop."

Trip, Hoshi, and Adam stopped talking.

"I never agreed to anything. We escape the night of the banquet, when Enterprise returns. Trip, you and Chris start building those comm units; we'll need four, two for each team. And they'll have to be powerful enough to reach the ship as well. Bob, have you noticed the new transports they've got out there? They look like what we'll be using for the UFP mission. You'll have to hotwire them and find us the best route out of here. Hoshi, you know the capital city, you and Trip can work with Bob, let him know the layout. Yaffa, have Trip show you the weak spots on the fence; you'll plant the tapers there and we'll spark the bugger. Adam, you, Lita, and I are in charge of weapons; we'll make our way to the armory and take what we need. Our timing must be precise. We'll have to blow this door and the armory door if you can't open it, and that'll bring Tarque's men down upon us quickly."

Malcolm paused and started shaking his arms. A knife from their dinner settings fell into his each of his palms. Chris grinned at him and shook his injured leg. A carving knife fell to the floor.

Malcolm smiled back. "There are a few more details I have to work out, but I believe we have a good chance. We'll have communications, transportation, and we're armed." He gave the knives a fast little twirl, their blades glittering in the light.

"And we're pissed off," Chris said softly and grinned even wider.

Hoshi had to laugh when she saw Malcolm flash that rare full out Cheshire Cat smile.

***

Cain was not pleased. He walked with Tarque and Tivet, Zindzhi trailing silently behind them. He didn't like Tarque's bargain. He didn't trust Reed.

"Mr. Tarque, I think we need to make sure that the conditioning works properly before the assignment. I don't think I can control Cat if he gets out of hand and that would have disastrous results for our objective. He was sloppy on this mission. He used more explosives than he needed, he didn't return his materials properly. I caught him trying to smuggle again. He even forgot to reload his weapon. He was slovenly, deceitful, and reckless. I believe we'll need to test him beforehand."

"What kind of test, Cain?"

"I think we should give him the final session early, and then subject him to the triggering stimuli to see how he reacts. If it's within reason, we'll be assured that the mission will go smoothly. However, if he reacts poorly, then Tivet will still have time to nudge him in the right direction."

Tarque thought it over, then nodded his head slowly. "Fine. I'll leave it up to your discretion."

"It may affect your arrangement with him..."

Tarque looked at him. "I'm a man of my word, Cain. I don't renege on it once given." They walked in silence until they were at the door to Tarque's quarters. He unlocked it and stood in the doorway. "But the greater good of humanity is at stake, and I can't prevent anything that I don't know about. Be discreet." Tarque smiled slightly at Cain and entered, closing the door behind him.

***

That morning the guards took Chris away. He returned an hour later, no longer limping, newly formed pink skin in place of the burn. He told them that a Pachaa doctor had seen to his injury and used some unfamiliar, but apparently extremely effective, technology on it. Then Tivet, without feeding on him, had rattled around his head a bit, checking.

Chris wasn't sure what exactly Tivet had been looking for, but assured Lita that he felt fine.

They took Bob, and then Yaffa. They returned, apparently unharmed, both calm and coherent. They said that Tivet had performed only a mild conditioning session.

Adam and Lita were taken in succession, returning whole and seemingly all right, saying that Tivet had also done some checking.

They all seemed to be well. All had the same detached look in their eyes. They were calm. Placid. Docile.

The Enterprise crewmates exchanged troubled glances and Hoshi waited nervously for them to come for Malcolm.

***

They returned Malcolm, his injuries healed in the same manner as Chris'. He had walked into the barracks, eyes distant and a small trickle of blood dripping from his nose. He told them, in a voice indifferent and bland, that Tivet had dug around in his head for a short time.

Hoshi had cupped his face with both hands, staring into his distracted eyes, while Lita scanned him, her movements languid. Hoshi spoke to him in a low insistent tone, whispering intimate words of love, all the while caressing him. After a few minutes she felt him shiver and he looked at her, as if waking from a stupor.

Lita came to the conclusion that they'd all been set, able to slip into their training at will, eventually coming out of it as the neurochemicals receded back to norm, their old ability to control their levels taken away. They were being prepped for the last conditioning session.

Chapter 38

Trip and Hoshi sat on the grassy area with a close up view of the firing range. Trip noted that the grass around Hoshi had been almost plucked clean during the last three days.

Every day they watched the hours-long practice sessions, distressed to see that Tivet no longer had to set the squad, each member glided easily into their conditioning with Cain no longer bothering to release them. They'd gradually come out of it, each at their own pace, after their drills were completed.

Every day, one by one, they would escort the squad members to Tivet. Each would come back, just a bit different, parts of their nature manipulated, altered. And whenever they took Malcolm, Hoshi was terrified whenever she heard silence during his absence. At least when she could hear him, she knew what was happening. Knew what they were doing to him. Knew that he was fighting it.

He'd return, nose bleeding and eyes vacant, and Hoshi would touch him and talk to him, telling him her innermost feelings, telling him what he had said to her in confidence in the past, reminding him that they loved each other. She'd watch him wrestle with it, eyes flickering with the struggle to swim to the surface. And then she'd feel him shudder, eyes finally focusing, the life and spark back in them.

She wouldn't let him forget that he loved her, no matter what they did to him.

It took the squad longer each day to return to their true selves. And it was driving them all to despair.

Hoshi plucked at the remaining tuft of grass to her left, the ground barren now. She stood and moved to sit on the other side of Trip, and started her labor again on the fresh offerings next to him.

They watched as Lita and Malcolm shot target after target. Bull's eye after bull's eye. Head shot after head shot.

Lita aimed with a surgeon's skill, annihilating her Hippocratic oath with each hit, her face blank and eyes drab.

Malcolm shot with precision and finesse. His body language somehow managed to convey a cavalier attitude, his stance careless and relaxed as he hit each target with unerring accuracy and speed. Stationary or moving, the targets or he himself, it didn't matter; the results were always the same.

The worst was seeing his dull, dead eyes tracking each target while a smile of pleasure loitered on his face.

***

Those seven days flew by for Hoshi. Watching Malcolm devoid of feelings for most of the day, cold and uncaring, while running through Cain's endless practice drills. Seeing all of them heartless and empty as they performed for their keepers, or hotly excited as they sparred with each other, guards at the ready to stun them should anyone get out of hand. Waiting uneasily until the squad came back to themselves, she and Trip sitting pressed together in that barracks, shut in with silent, flat-eyed predators all dressed in the same drab clothing, all moving with the same enhanced grace and stealth, their faces expressionless shrouds. Identical and interchangeable, like Tarque's guards, personalities smothered and individuality gone. Anxiously waiting for their friends to slowly revert back to their true natures.

Malcolm knew she was worried about him; he knew the strain she felt, her anxiety of being held captive, the uncertainty of the future, her flagging hope, her unspoken feelings of guilt.

She had said to him that if she hadn't been careless that first night in the barracks, they could have escaped. If she hadn't stumbled while fleeing in the park, Trip wouldn't be here -

And he could tell she felt guilty for her unfinished thought...that she wouldn't be here, a hostage for him.

He couldn't formulate the words to assuage her feelings. He told her things just happen. Circumstance, twist of fate, chance. He told her that she wasn't to blame, there is no onus, no fault. It just was. He told her they'd escape, they'd make it, their plan good, their combined skills assuring success. He told her that she was his foundation, her strength and love sustaining him. He told her he loved her, unconditionally, absolutely, madly...

But she would listen to his attempts and shake her head, unconvinced, still fretful. She knew words were just words.

So he showed her until she believed.

They would make love every chance they could steal, and Malcolm would be aware of her every motion, every subtle indication Hoshi would make, every breath and moan and sigh. He'd shower his attention on her, paying heed to every centimeter of her skin.

And she felt what his words failed to evoke. He made her feel valued. A priceless and rare gift. Beautiful. Needed. Unquestionably loved and appreciated, despite her faults, her weaknesses, her culpability. It didn't matter to him.

His actions reinforced his whispered words of love, her pleasure the only center of his focus and she took what he gave gladly. She could see the joy in his eyes, felt it in every movement of his body, every touch. He showed her that he loved her. Everything about her, including her self-perceived flaws and imperfections, fears and shortcomings. Everything. No matter what. And she finally believed him.

He resisted, because of her.

He lived, because of her.

A potent and heady concept.

She loved him so much.

Three days before their planned escape, one evening after wearing themselves out, she lounged against his chest, nestled in the pillows and blankets he had brought into the conference room, table moved against the door and a chair propped sturdily under the doorknob to prevent entry. She felt the sweat drying on their warm skin, under a blanket and enfolded in his arms, protected and cherished, both sleepily chuckling over her suggestion that the conference room was very cozy and perhaps they should try out the observation lounge when they got back to the ship.

He relaxed against the wall, eyes barely open, mind cloudy and wandering; he ran his fingers through her hair. He parted the locks near the top of her neck, searching. He found the tattoo of the bird, and he traced the outline with a velvety touch.

She shivered as he skimmed over the design and he smiled.

"This is so appropriate for you." He kissed her neck, then held her closer, giving into the desire to close his eyes. It had been a long day, the practice drills harsh, the submersion in their training extensive and protracted. He was physically exhausted and didn't want to move.

And the conditioning session this morning had taken its toll on his psyche. When she had pulled him out of the training, he had felt its effects, pushing him right to the brink. Malcolm bottled his feelings, trying to secure them tightly, not wanting to upset Hoshi. But the confrontation with Adam earlier that evening, the random element of Thuse, the time Hoshi spent with the man...

She chuckled again. "What, fragile and flighty, Lieutenant?"

"Beautiful, graceful, inner strength and ingenuity, Ensign," he kissed her again, not bothering to suppress a yawn. He let his mind coast, his body sheathed in her warmth, her slight but reassuring weight comforting.

She rubbed his thighs, her hands moving in an indulgent rhythmic massage, touched and gratified. She snuggled in closer and she could feel his body become lax, his arms loosening from around her waist, his breathing deepening. She rested against him, thinking about the Harajadam Agile Cat.

"Yours is appropriate as well," she said, smiling, breaking the long silence, knowing that she should get him back to the barracks. It would be more comfortable than spending the night on the floor.

"Should be a lab rat instead," he mumbled, drifting in that surreal twilight between dreams and wakefulness.

"What?"

He laughed softly and rambled, barely coherent, his thoughts uncensored, and he muttered that he felt like one, wanting to push that proverbial lever repeatedly to the exclusion of everything, to experience that intoxicating excitement, being rewarded with actually feeling every time he obliterated a target. Savoring those emotions that he felt less and less as he was immersed in his training for longer periods of time.

Her sudden movement as she twisted around in consternation jostled him and he stopped, abruptly awakening, fully alert and on guard. As he stared at her, he realized that he had spoken out loud. What he had said.

What he had just divulged.

The shame and grief in his eyes were almost too much for Hoshi to bear.

***

So Hoshi worried throughout those seven days, the strain of the daylight hours, watching Malcolm and their friends drifting further and further away from their true selves, then a blur of covert operations within the barracks in the late evening, hurried and hushed conversations, her senses constantly on the alert for the danger of being overheard or discovered by Cain or one of Tarque's guards.

She had volunteered to distract Methuselah, to keep him out of the loop. Malcolm didn't trust him, but Adam felt that the man would either help or leave them alone. She had listened to the two argue, sometimes frightened by the intensity at which they would go at it, Malcolm's temper barely leashed and Adam going out of his way to needle and provoke Malcolm. They all knew it was another manifestation of the conditioning, and both tried to control their impulses, but Chris and Trip had to pull them apart the night of Malcolm's incautious confession before they did any serious damage to each other.

And Hoshi spending time with Thuse made Malcolm all the more on edge, but they had agreed that she seemed to have the best rapport with the man. She lured Thuse into talking; about his life, his parents, his sister. She listened, asking questions, honestly interested. He appeared to believe that most of Tarque's causes were justified, but she could also tell that Thuse hated being held against his will, forced into the same arrangement as the rest of the squad. Only an ersatz member of Tarque's hierarchy, good enough to be trusted as second in command, not trusted enough to be a full equal to Cain.

Language was Hoshi's specialty. She was an expert. She could not only speak well, she listened well. And she utilized all her talents to fan that resentment Thuse bore towards his plight.

She was certain that he wouldn't hinder them. She hoped she could convince him to help them and come with them.

She knew Malcolm would not be pleased when she decided she'd tell Thuse of their plans to escape.

So, she didn't say anything to Malcolm.

She supposed she learned the art of omission from her lover quite well.

Chapter 39

Trip and Chris sat at the table, working on their four makeshift communicators. Time was running out. They needed to make their escape tomorrow night and Malcolm and Adam had all the details worked out, the timing down, everyone's roles defined and rehearsed. Bob had the escape route mapped out, Trip and Hoshi giving him as much detailed information as they could remember about the street systems of the city. If all went well they'd arrive at the capital while the banquet was taking place, guaranteeing that Enterprise would be in orbit and available to pick them up. If they could get their communication systems working properly.

Trip stayed up late each night, foregoing sleep in order to force parts not intended to be used in such a way to conform to what he and Chris needed them to do. Trip wanted to get them out of there before the conditioning buried itself deeper into his friends.

Adam was on his bunk, playing his guitar quietly. Malcolm was sitting at another table, leg bouncing at a rapid pace while he honed the edges of the knives he had taken from their dinner with Tarque. Hoshi sat with him, talking to him in hushed tones while he listened intently. It had taken her twice as long to bring him out of his training this time and it disturbed them both.

Trip had told them they were lucky she could even get through to him, considering that the others couldn't be brought out of their training until it released its hold on them naturally. If you could call it natural.

And he wasn't helping any, even though he and Malcolm agreed it was the best back up plan and Malcolm didn't blame him. But he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of shame with a robust dose of guilt heaped upon it.

They had decided that before Hoshi would bring Malcolm out of his training, Trip would test him each time. Giving him orders, verifying that he would still obey his Starfleet commanding officer. Trip understood Malcolm's almost paranoid concern about being ordered again by Cain to do something terrible, especially in the midst of the conditioning's stimuli. And Trip could see the strain it placed upon his friend, could see it in the fraying temper, the mute despondency that seemed to blanket him, the walls and barriers Malcolm rebuilt every day. He could see it in Malcolm's brooding eyes, his tense and fidgety demeanor, eating away at his soul.

And it bothered Trip that the only times Malcolm seemed to be relaxed and at peace was when his was deep within his training.

So he'd order Malcolm to do harmless and illogical things. Juggle these. Do a backflip. Walk on your hands.

He then order him to do things Malcolm normally would never do, things that were contrary to his reticent nature, to make sure that he'd follow those orders even if he didn't want to. Play one of PJ's songs on Adam's guitar. Sing for us. Stand on the table and recite "Jabberwocky."

Trip felt even more reprehensible because Malcolm bore him no animosity. He seemed almost grateful. Trip would rather have Malcolm angry at him, yell, or punch him. But once Hoshi pulled him out of the training, Malcolm would smile and shake his head, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks, although he had laughed about the poetry recital. Malcolm assured him that he had survived worse hazing.

He tried to console Trip that it was their only recourse and their best hope to manage him in case the conditioning got too strong. Malcolm didn't want to hurt his friends. Or worse.

So Trip would order him. To see if he'd obey. To test him. To control him.

It made Trip feel unclean; sadistic. No better than Tarque or Tivet. Or Cain.

Trip couldn't wait to escape.

Trip sighed, and manipulated a delicate part into one of their improvised comm casings. He glanced at Chris, at his cut and swollen mouth from this afternoon. He looked at the squad members once more, and then at Malcolm.

He openly studied Malcolm. He reminded himself again that his friend was younger than he looked. Trip had been surprised to find out, at that first small birthday gathering, that he had a couple years on Malcolm. A brief smile flitted across Trip's face as he remembered how astonished Malcolm had been when they presented him with that silly pineapple cake. Malcolm just appeared older, acted more mature. Formal and proper. Always so closed and contained. Quiet. Serious. Wary. Trip could now understand why.

Trip had seen a scared young man underneath the seasoned exterior when they nearly froze to death on that shuttlepod. Following that experience, he had decided to chip away at Malcolm's guarded veneer; after all, Malcolm had pulled him down from that airlock and opened up a bit, awkwardly reaching out. And it looked like he could use a friend. Trip hadn't realized at the time what the rewards of that friendship would be. That fierce loyalty and protectiveness. The dry wit and humor. That simmering temper that was just too fun to poke at, like picking at a scab, or riling a sibling just because you could. It had taken Trip over a year to get Malcolm to unbend a bit. Draw him into a few hijinks. Risa. That creepy repair station. The little misadventure on...

Trip cut off that memory, blushing.

He looked over at Hoshi. She was still talking to Malcolm, who had put the knives down and was focusing all his attention on her, staring into her eyes with that unusual intensity which always surprised Trip.

Malcolm was good for Hoshi. She'd come a long way from that inexperienced ensign, practically afraid of her own shadow, at the beginning of their mission. There was a new confidence and composure in her since her return from that ordeal on Sandaran. She was getting to be a pretty darn good shot too, Trip thought wryly.

And Hoshi was good for Malcolm. The man had loosened up more in the last few months than in their whole mission so far. But now Trip could see him retreating again, withdrawing. Could see it in his friend's haunted eyes. If it hadn't been for Hoshi, Trip was certain that Malcolm would have given in by now. It was the logical and most pragmatic course of action, the most instinctive move for self preservation. Besides, Malcolm had reminded Trip that treacly optimism wasn't in his job description. He didn't think it was in Malcolm's nature either.

The thought of his friend as a cold, soulless killing machine like Cain weighed upon Trip.

Trip glanced at his other unwilling roommates. They made him feel like a lamb among predators, an alien among his own kind, vulnerable and exposed. Malcolm included, he thought with shame. From the way they moved, padding around the barracks with a soundless animalistic grace, to their empty eyes before emerging slowly from their training, to the way they performed their drills for Cain in an eerie and unsettling unity without communicating to each other in any way Trip could perceive; it all made him feel more powerless by the day.

And the incident in the gym today. Trip shuddered and Chris looked at him.

"You okay, Trip?"

"Yeah. You?"

Chris studied him. "Yeah. Lita fixed me up. The worst part is that the three of them don't even remember it. But everything's gonna be okay, Trip. I think what happened today was just a glitch in the conditioning and it looks like Tivet took care of that. They seem normal again." Both men looked around.

Bob had sat down with Malcolm and Hoshi, asking her a few more questions about the capital. She laughed at something he said and Malcolm smiled, his eyes on Hoshi's face. Yaffa was sitting next to Adam now, the three of them singing along softly to the tune he was playing. Yes, they all looked normal, now. But in the gym...

Chris and Lita had been sparring, Yaffa practicing on the balance beam, Adam lifting free weights while Bob was working out on the parallel bars. Hoshi was talking to Zindzhi as he mauled the punching bag. Cain was in the corner with Tarque, who had come down to watch his team workout. Tarque watched Yaffa while Cain spoke to him, guards posted silently around the gym.

Trip had been spotting Malcolm, talking to him, pleased to see that his eyes were warm and connected, to hear Malcolm respond quietly, both going over the escape plans, looking for flaws. Hoshi had taken Malcolm aside earlier to pull him out of the training again. Trip knew Malcolm would by necessity allow it to take over as soon as Cain or Tarque moved toward him, but Lita had recommended that it was healthier to keep Malcolm's neurochemicals at "normal" levels as often as possible.

Trip looked over when he heard a grunt from Chris. He was sprawled on his back, hand to his mouth, blood seeping through his fingers. Lita was standing there immobilized, staring at him. She licked her lips, her nostrils flaring slightly.

Malcolm sat up abruptly. He inhaled deeply as if trying to detect something and rose quickly to his feet, eyes searching, and Trip could actually see the training kick in. Adam and Bob froze, mouths slightly open, scenting the air. Then Trip saw the images that would trouble him for a long while, the whole event unfolding in absolute silence, making it even more chilling.

Adam, Bob, and Malcolm all snapped their heads toward Chris at the same time, their eyes rapacious and cold, small wolfish smiles on their faces. Chris had just risen, the blood dripping and Lita suddenly lunged at him, nails out and clawing. He dodged her and she attacked him in earnest, hands and feet flying. Chris parried furiously, backing up against her frenzied assault. As one, Bob, Adam, and Malcolm charged toward them and Trip once again saw that pack mentality at work.

Adam attacked Chris, swinging the free weight in his hand, trying to connect with Chris' head. Chris danced away and warded off several punches from Bob, shoving his squad mate back and down. Malcolm grabbed Lita, throwing her hard to the floor and then turned on Adam, punching him in the face. Adam rocked back and swung the weight at Malcolm. Malcolm blocked it and grabbed Adam's arm, jerking Adam toward him. Malcolm then twirled Adam around and tossed him into Bob. Bob and Adam went down in a heap and turned on each other, punching and kicking.

Malcolm kicked Lita, driving her to the floor again, then swiftly moved toward Chris. Chris raised his arms to defend himself but Malcolm merely stood to his side, out of reach, staring at the blood on Chris' face, biting his lip, trembling in excitement, and shooting quick glances at Lita.

The guards stunned Adam and Bob, then stunned Lita as she rose and tried to attack Chris again.

They aimed their rifles at Malcolm and he ignored them, his lifeless eyes staring at the blood on Chris' face.

Cain and Tarque approached. "I think that Tivet needs to remedy this, Mr. Tarque."

Tarque nodded and ordered the guards to take the three squad members, who were already beginning to stir, to Tivet. Cain ran his fingers over Chris' face, then pulled his hand away. He walked up to Malcolm and swiped the blood across Malcolm's mouth and cheek. Malcolm shuddered heavily, fighting himself, then licked his lips.

"You want to finish him off, Cat?" Cain asked quietly, tempting him. He held his still reddened fingers up to Malcolm. "Like to shed a little more of this?" Cain watched Malcolm's eyes, then opened his mouth to push him again, harder, trying to shove him over the edge.

Tarque spoke sharply, "Stop baiting him, Cain." He stopped in front of Malcolm and withdrew a neatly pressed handkerchief from his pocket. In an almost tender gesture, he wiped Malcolm's face, then tossed the handkerchief to Chris.

Chris held it to his mouth, letting it soak up the blood.

Tarque patted Malcolm and then ordered them to return to the barracks.

Trip drew himself back from the memories and continued to work on their make shift communication devices, trying not to think about lab animals and wild marauding packs hunting with a single mind.

Tomorrow night couldn't come fast enough.

***

"I managed to convince Mr. Tarque that we should still test Cat's conditioning. He didn't want to. He thought the episode in the gym proved that Cat was under control. I pointed out that Cat hadn't been the one to actually shed the blood, and he was merely protecting a team member.

"I'll arrange his final session with Tivet tomorrow evening, ahead of schedule and combine it with the target imprinting. He's met Soval before and his relationship with Admiral Forrest may make him hesitate. We can't afford that. I'd like you to bring his bitch to us when Tivet is finished. We'll see if killing her will unhinge him completely or if the training holds."

Zindzhi stopped walking and faced Cain. "Why the girl? Why not Tucker? He'd be a better test. We should keep her alive...besides, Mr. Tarque promised Cat that he'd wipe her memory and release her. That should keep him in line." Zindzhi kept his face expressionless, not letting Cain know that he was disturbed by the idea of Hoshi's death.

"Mr. Tarque has allowed me to proceed the way I see fit. I think the only true test of Cat's conditioning will be if he kills her. If the conditioning holds, there will be no problem; he'll be exactly what we've set out to accomplish. If he obeys his orders, I think the two of us can keep him subordinate to us. Until we can arrange for an accident. But if he refuses, then we have a perfect excuse to have Tivet push him as hard as possible, regardless of the consequences. And if he obeys, and then realizes what he's done, well, I'm sure that will drive him insane and then we'll be forced to terminate him and tell Mr. Tarque that he was unserviceable." Cain smiled at Zindzhi, his eyes briefly coming alive as he thought of various painful methods to prolong Reed's death.

"I don't think Mr. Tarque would be happy if we killed her—"

"What Mr. Tarque doesn't know won't upset him. He really doesn't want to know anyway. I have carte blanche to do what needs to be done to ensure that this operation goes smoothly. Tigger is ready and can replace Cat with War as her backup. Together they're both good enough and we'll still have enough time to do a quick target imprint on him." Cain started walking again and Zindzhi followed.

"Cat's session is scheduled for 1800. Make sure the woman is available around 1930. It shouldn't take much longer than that..."

Zindzhi noted the times, conflicting thoughts rapidly going through his head. He nodded and they walked the rest of the way to Tivet's in silence. By the time they reached their destination, Thuse had made his decision.

Chapter 40

Another long day of drills and exercises, target practice and workouts.

At the end they retreated to their barracks, Hoshi once more pulling Malcolm out of his training, waiting while each member slowly came out of theirs.

Trip and Hoshi watched Malcolm restlessly prowl the room, burning off nervous energy, too wound up to eat, silently going over the escape that would take place soon.

Everyone else ate dinner, the squad members joking and excited, anticipating their freedom.

Hoshi finally went to Malcolm and dragged him over to sit on the bunk with her and Trip. She leaned against the wall and pulled him backwards, her legs on either side of him, massaging his shoulders as she started an animated discussion with Trip. Trip responded, teasing her and being silly and they played off each other, trying to top each other in their nonsensical repartee.

They drew Malcolm in, making him laugh, his wry asides making them laugh in turn, and Hoshi could feel him relax for the first time in days. She continued to stroke him, planting a kiss on the nape of his neck, occasionally smacking him playfully after a particularly absurd comment. He finally leaned back into her and she wrapped her arms around him, swaddling him in her warmth and security. He kissed her fingertips, then released her hand as he rested his head against her and closed his eyes, laughing hard in response to another Tripism. His fingers traced a complicated pattern on her thigh and she watched them move, her skin tingling.

She looked at Trip and clasped his hand, conveying her gratitude and appreciation for his help. He grinned at her and nodded, then leaned into her, their shoulders touching, Trip invading Malcolm's personal space as his shoulder rested against Malcolm as well. Malcolm opened his eyes but did not move, his body still relaxed with none of the automatic defensive tensing Trip had learned to expect.

"'Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art . . . it has no survival value; rather is one of those things that give value to survival,'" Malcolm said softly. "C.S. Lewis."

"Who's that?" Trip asked.

"He wrote the Narnia books," Hoshi answered with a smile. She slipped her hands under Malcolm's shirt and tickled at his ribs, ever hopeful of getting a reaction. Malcolm tilted his head up and kissed her.

"Been reading fairy tales, Malcolm?" Trip teased.

"Well, it's better than what Oscar Wilde said, 'Friends stab you in the front'." Trip laughed and Malcolm suddenly twisted and tickled Hoshi. She squeaked and pulled his shirt up, trying to blow a raspberry on his stomach. Trip lunged for him, grabbing at his arms and the three toppled off the bed.

They rolled laughing on the floor, Hoshi trying to attack her squirming lover's undefended stomach while Trip pinned Malcolm's wrists over his head.

"Free-for-all!" Lita shouted and attacked Trip, going for his armpits and causing him to lose his grip. The other four squad members raced over to join the fray. A tangle of bodies thrashed about, giggling and snorting, squealing and laughing.

Trip, panting with laughter and warm with camaraderie, broke away to catch his breath. The huge grin on his face faded when he looked up to see Cain, Zindzhi, and several guards standing in the doorway.

Chapter 41

"Sorry to disturb your playtime," Cain said, his dead eyes taking them all in as they froze in place. He nodded and the guards yanked Malcolm to his feet, securing his arms and placing him in the usual chokehold. "Time for your last session, Cat. I know it's ahead of schedule, but I'm sure it won't matter to you once we've finished."

Adam rose to his feet, fists clenched and started forward. Two guards aimed their rifles at him and he stopped.

Cain smiled and turned to Malcolm. "You may say goodbye to your friends while you still feel something for them."

Hoshi scrambled to her feet, cold with fear despite the warmth from her recent exertions. She looked at Trip and then Adam, her eyes pleading. They looked back, helpless, their plans disrupted.

She turned to Malcolm. His face was pale, his eyes stormy with rapidly shifting emotions. Shock and dismay, rage and hatred. Vulnerable and scared.

She approached him and he tried to lean toward her, but the guards would not release him. She pressed herself against him instead, kissing him deeply, holding the tears back. They'd think of something, they had to. She couldn't let them rip his emotions away, couldn't allow them to turn him into another Cain.

He responded to her kiss with a bright passion until Cain nodded again and the guards jerked him away.

'I love you. Always. Don't let me forget," he said desperately, his voice hoarse. They dragged him toward the door.

"Love you. I won't," she replied, tears beginning to well.

"How touching," Cain remarked in that cold and detached tone. "But I'm afraid your words will all be inconsequential in about ninety minutes." He smiled thinly and told Zindzhi to remain, then turned on his heel.

Malcolm snarled something out in a guttural language before they hauled him out the door.

They heard the lock engage and Hoshi sank down onto the bunk.

Trip got off the floor and went to her. "Was that Sandaran?"

She nodded, no longer able to keep her tears at bay.

"What'd he say?"

"Go. Stay on schedule," was her soft reply.

***

They injected him, the electrodes secured to his temples. His wrists were already cut from his angry thrashing within his bindings. He twisted harder, trying to slice open a vein, hoping that if he started bleeding enough they'd release him to bandage his wrists before he did any further damage. He wanted to stall for time and postpone the session long enough for his friends to make their escape, to give them a good long head start just in case he'd be forced to hunt them down once the conditioning was permanently inculcated.

He prayed that they wouldn't try anything foolish and try to retrieve him, but faintly wished that they would.

He cursed his selfish nature.

Tivet entered and Malcolm braced himself for the increase in pain. But Tivet merely placed a gentle, loving hand on Malcolm's hair and waited. Malcolm froze, wondering at this deviation from the norm and then he felt a blaze of fire ignite in his head. It took him by surprise, his defenses down. Eight men-three humans, five Vulcans-their images burned and implanted into his mind. Anchored by his instinctual hatred and fear of Tivet.

When the shock and pain died down, he bucked against his restraints, defenses up again, fighting against Tivet's invasion and telepathic snacking. Tivet hung on, then broke away and sent several jolts of electricity through his body. Malcolm barely had time to scream before Tivet was upon him again.

Malcolm fought with all his innate obstinacy, stalling. Choking back screams to listen. Then Tarque entered the room, another man trailing behind him. Tivet backed away, a small smile of contentment on his face and he nodded to Tarque, confirming the other man's unspoken question.

Malcolm stopped moving and looked at his two visitors. He panted out a pained laugh, his suspicions confirmed, the irony and bitterness of being right galling to him.

"Stevens. You traitorous bastard."

Admiral Forrest's former and recently missing adjunct nodded to him. "Reed. Pleasure to see you again," he smirked. Stevens turned to Tarque. "Excellent. I'll contact the Section Administrator and tell him that we're ahead of schedule. I think he'll be pleased with your efficiency."

Tarque smiled radiantly and then leaned over Malcolm. "Remember our deal, son. Don't fight this last round of conditioning and I'll release Ms. Sato tomorrow morning. Otherwise I'll have Cain bring her here now. I'd hate to see anything happen to such a charming young innocent, but her death will be your doing, not mine. I'll release Mr. Tucker after the mission tomorrow night. I know it'll be difficult, but try to keep it in mind." He patted Malcolm's cheek and Malcolm restrained the urge to spit on him.

Tarque and Stevens moved aside and stood to watch. Tivet approached Malcolm, and smiled kindly at him, then continued his physical torment.

Malcolm arched and screamed, unable to hold it back, the pain searing through him, and Tivet sighed happily, his empathic senses titillated again, his appetite whetted, anticipating one last divinely gluttonous feeding session.

And while Malcolm screamed he knew that he couldn't allow them to bring Hoshi here to kill her, that he had to keep them away from the barracks so his friends could escape. So that she could escape. He knew he'd have to make that deal with the devil.

As Tivet inflicted another round of pain, Malcolm shrieked and continued his agonized dance to Tarque's tune.

***

Trip and Hoshi nodded once at Adam, knowing their roles in the hastily redefined plans, trusting the rest to perform theirs. They watched as the squad members immersed themselves into their training, watched their eyes grow hard and cold.

Hoshi glanced at Zindzhi and saw his callous eyes staring back at her. He inclined his head at her, and they followed Trip, Chris, and Bob out to the field, Malcolm's howls lingering in her ears.

***

He didn't notice Tarque and Stevens leave. He tried to listen for any sounds that indicated his friends had made their escape. An explosion, an alarm, gunfire. It was difficult to hear over the throbbing drone in his head, his ragged breathing, his own voice.

His time sense was severely distorted, but he thought he'd been here long enough for them to have started their breakout.

Tivet's steady application of the electrical current finally stopped and Malcolm laid sweating and breathing harshly, eyes closed tight against the nauseating pain in his head. He thought about Hoshi and fervently hoped that they were gone, but he just didn't know. He was fairly certain they were still here, because surely by now he would have heard some sound, some commotion.

He wouldn't fight it. Because Hoshi was most likely still in the barracks. And they would kill her if he fought.

Tarque had always been a man of his word.

He felt Tivet place his hands on him and he let the Pachaa feed off him again.

Passive and unresisting, he allowed Tivet to push his levels up, slow and steady, constantly rising as Tivet wrenched something deep inside Malcolm; and then his emotions were ripped from their deep and carefully entrenched foundations, unleashed and flooding him, making him ripe for Tivet's plundering mind touch. No pain now, just a blinding white sensation of manic elation. He felt reckless with hundreds of volatile impulses, some of them savage and conflicting, each one swamping him with giddy pleasurable speed. Skating rapidly along a thinly frozen pond of sanity, blades gouging into the ice as the surface cracked dangerously behind him, waiting for him to lose his tenuous bearings.

Something shattered and he fell in. Drowning in euphoria. Not caring and craving more.

He felt Tivet zero in on his potent emotions and Tivet began to pull. He could feel wisps of his soul being drawn away, a gradual tugging that became stronger, more compelling. He allowed himself one last self-indulgent thought of Hoshi.

How it felt to love someone.

How it felt to be loved, again.

Unconditional, total, absolute.

No matter what. Always.

A second chance.

And he tried to surrender. Tried to let go. Tried not to resist. He waged a fierce battle with himself. And lost.

He was a cold hearted, selfish bastard.

Hatred and loathing flared, aimed at himself, making him strong. He fought Tivet. He fought harder than before, laughing.

And he knew he was signing Hoshi's death warrant.

Chapter 42

The events unfolded rapidly, Malcolm not quite sure what happened. But he was preoccupied at the time.

He heard the door, saw Tivet lurch forward, then smelled the Pachaa's blood.

The next thing he knew he was sitting up, the plastiflex bands severed and Lita rapidly binding his wrists in immaculate white dressings.

He felt wonderfully alive, as if invincible. He saw the large carving knife Chris had stolen and watched as Adam withdrew it from Tivet's back.

Adam smiled at him, a joyful expression on his face. Malcolm laughed, a wild unbalanced sound. Lita ran a scanner over him quickly. "Your neurochemicals are escalating, Malcolm. Try to tone it down," she said sharply, her eyes still dead.

Malcolm couldn't stop grinning but he closed his eyes and made a serious attempt to comply.

He couldn't do it. He could isolate each one, could feel them, but had no command over the conditioning.

He was stuck in overdrive, Tivet's unfinished fine tune leaving the transmitters and receptors fully opened and activated. Interrupted by the Pachaa's death, they were left stimulated, their steady output increasing gradually, and he was unable to shut them down on his own.

He didn't care. He liked it. The thundering in his head didn't even bother him.

He jumped off the table, buzzing with excitement. Adam handed him a knife. Malcolm laughed again and looked at Tivet's corpse.

"Hatched, matched and dispatched," Malcolm giggled.

"Bagged and tagged," Adam smirked back.

"Time's running," Lita cut in, all business. "Armory, now."

The men nodded and they met Yaffa at the door and headed out.

***

Trip quickly applied the tapers to the structurally susceptible portions of the poles. The ponderous twin moons hung low in the sky, their stark light illuminating the landscape, making him feel exposed. The proximity to the deadly energy field made him jumpy. And Zindzhi towering behind him didn't help. Hoshi scanned the area, listening hard for any indication that they had been spotted. Bob was busy elsewhere, breaking into the second transport to hotwire it.

The transports were compact and fast vehicles with four heavily studded wheels, enabling them to dig in and climb almost anything. Solidly armored with a high clearance, built-in stabilizers made it almost impossible to tip over. Projectile proof safety glass encased the windshield and each window.

Chris was with Bob, making one last adjustment to the comm units, skilled hands unerringly tweaking the system to boost the range. Yaffa had its mates and he listened in case the other team tried to contact them.

Trip, Hoshi, and Zindzhi had just started to make their cautious way to the transports, tapers planted and waiting to be detonated, when Thuse saw a movement and Hoshi heard the muffled sound of bare feet racing over the grassy field. They stopped and four figures ran silently toward them, the one in the lead practically flying, rifle in one hand.

Malcolm skidded to a stop, blood flecked across his face and hands and clothing.

Yaffa, Lita, and Adam pulled up, blood splashed as well, all wearing savage smiles and airs of satisfaction. They seemed more stable than they had been on the Suliban assignment, but Trip shivered nevertheless, trying not to look at their blood splattered visages, knowing that their conditioning had been triggered to its fullest extent by the stimuli. The contrast in their demeanor compared to the detachment of Bob, Chris, and even Zindzhi was noticeable though.

"That was like kicking dead whales down a beach. Bleedin' lot of brain potatoes if you ask me. Their training's good though, for scratch monkeys. Tapers in place so we can frob this?" Malcolm asked, looking at the fence, his words rapid and spilling together. He reached around his back and withdrew two pistols from his waistband.

"Yeah...the explosives are in place," Trip said carefully, accepting a stun pistol and turning his focus on Malcolm, the high-strung exuberance in his friend's tone so peculiar, his bizarre idiomatic style so uncharacteristic.

Malcolm was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, scanning the area from where they came, jittering excitedly, that wide grin on his face.

Trip got an uneasy feeling and looked at Hoshi.

She reached out and tried to draw Malcolm toward her. His eyes were wild and he was skittish under her touch. He squirmed away, handing her the other stun pistol instead.

"I know you don't want to fuse anyone, but Tarque's wireheads are going to be hard to keep down unless you double tap them. Let's move out, shall we?"

Lita cast them an arrogant smile when she saw the puzzled looks from Trip and Hoshi. She explained, a bit condescending, as they began to jog toward the rest of the squad. "What he means is that the stun setting might not work very well. The build up of nuerochemicals in Tarque's men may prevent their bodies from responding—"

Malcolm suddenly stopped. The squad members spun, their attention drawn toward the complex. Malcolm fired toward the building and two silhouettes fell, more pouring out of the doorway, dodging and firing, heading toward them in a silent charge. The squad members returned fire and Malcolm pushed Hoshi and Trip in the direction of the waiting vehicles.

"Get in one and belt up," he spit out and made to head toward the guards. Adam pulled him back.

"Settle down, Cat," he said, as Malcolm tried to break away, eager to fight, the gunfire continuing around them. "Trip—" Adam prodded, amusement clear in his voice.

"Lieutenant! Blow the fence and get to the transports," Trip ordered and Malcolm's head snapped toward him.

"Yes, sir!"

Malcolm raised his rifle, his grin becoming lazy, and aimed through the infrared scope. Each rapid well placed shot hit a taper and the fence exploded.

They ran to the transports, Lita speaking quickly to Hoshi. Malcolm stayed behind, covering their flight with a heavy fusillade. He then broke into a sprint, stun beams flying past him.

They reached the closest vehicle and Zindzhi laid down a blanketing fire while the rest scrambled around the front of the transport for cover.

Adam was opening the passenger door when Malcolm ran up and boosted himself smoothly through the opposite window and into the driver's seat. He twisted and hung out the window, firing at the advancing guards.

"You driving?" Adam asked.

"Yeah, come on..."

"Never in a million years," Adam said, shaking his head and laughing. "Yaffa, give them a couple of comms." He quickly headed for the other transport while Malcolm continued to fire.

Yaffa flipped Trip two of the comms and followed Adam. Lita said a few more things to Hoshi then ran off, dashing ahead of Zindzhi and laughing at him.

Bob took off and Zindzhi squeezed his bulk in the back next to Trip, cursing in Afrikaan. It was so vile it made Hoshi blush slightly as she strapped herself in next to Malcolm.

They barely finished securing themselves when Malcolm gleefully told them to hang on tight. Zindzhi blanched. They took off in a squeal of tires and through the smoldering fence.

Chapter 43

Hoshi clutched at the safety straps, knuckles white, stomach churning. Trip hung on, a slight smile on his face. Zindzhi muttered furious curses under his breath.

The transport swayed, skidding around the turns and bends of the road, brakes squealing and smoking, then accelerating again as they caught up to the other transport.

Hoshi looked out her window and could see Bob next to them decelerating into another turn. Malcolm matched him, then sped up and pulled forward into the straightaway.

She glanced at Malcolm. His feverish eyes were dilated, a small half smile plastered to his face. He was talking to himself in a steady tumble of words, too low for her to hear, rocking slightly, left leg jittering rapidly. Mania, she thought, Lita's warning clear in her mind. Hoshi needed to pull him out of the conditioning as soon as possible. Lita had said she wasn't sure what would happen if the ascending flow of neurochemicals continued unabated.

He flicked a glance in the rearview mirror and smiled wider.

"Trip, tell Rabbit we've got a swarm wooing us." Malcolm said and checked the rifle lying on the seat between he and Hoshi. He winked at her.

Trip and Zindzhi turned around to see five transports strung out over a distance, approaching from behind.

Trip called Chris and then saw Adam and Lita lean out the windows, rifles ready. They began to fire.

Zindzhi grabbed his rifle and put his window down, the cool mountain air rushing in. He leaned out and started shooting as well.

Trip and Hoshi ducked down as they heard answering shots ping against the body of the transport. A shot cracked against the back window, the glass webbing slightly but not breaking. They decelerated into a turn again.

"Trip, think you can contact the ship?" Malcolm shot out as he sped up again. Hoshi saw that they were right next to Bob and the others. Bob glanced over and with a collected grin, gave her a little wave. She waved weakly back at him with an anemic smile. The transport lurched again as Malcolm slowed into another turn.

"I'll try," Trip answered and attempted to reach Enterprise.

***

Jon fastened the collar of his dress uniform then bent over to pat Porthos absently. He puttered around his room, not looking forward to the banquet.

He wasn't in the mood to socialize. With diplomats. Strangers.

He glanced at the door, expecting Trip to come waltzing in to tease him about the formal uniform before it hit him again.

He still couldn't believe Hoshi and Trip were dead.

These past weeks had been unreal. And miserable.

Ferrying various aliens, Earth and Starfleet brass, each with their own needs and requirements. Chef was about to tear his hair out with the demands of several vocal ambassadors.

Hoshi wasn't there to translate.

He even had to call a security team down to the mess hall at one point.

And that just reinforced the fact that Malcolm had disappeared. Admiral Forrest had received no further communications. Jon feared the worst.

He couldn't even talk to his best friend.

Three people under his command, gone. Three friends. Three people he cared about.

For the first time since taking command of the Enterprise, he felt totally alone.

***

"I can't get anything," Trip said, "I think these mountains are interfering or something..."

"Let Hoshi have it, she can keep trying, unless you want to shoot a few chods instead, love?" He darted a look at her, a lopsided smile on his face.

Hoshi shook her head.

Zindzhi withdrew from the window and sat back down.

"These vehicles are too well protected; it's just a waste of ammunition."

Malcolm hummed to himself for a minute, thinking about what Zindzhi had said.

Trip was handing the comm to Hoshi when Malcolm told them to brace themselves. He sounded very excited and before Hoshi could protest, Malcolm slammed on the brakes.

They all pitched forward violently and then were pressed into their seats as Malcolm threw the vehicle in reverse, arm across the seat, looking back through the rear window. Trip stared at his friend's delirious expression, the wide smile and glittering eyes. He noticed a few beads of sweat on Malcolm's forehead.

He never sweated when in his training. None of them did.

Trip could hear him singing softly to himself.

He tore his eyes away and swung his head around to look out the back.

Malcolm maneuvered the vehicle straight towards the lead transport following them. The comm unit in Trip's hand came to life.

"What the hell are you doing?" Chris' voice exclaimed.

Trip could faintly hear Adam laughing and Yaffa berating him.

The transport following them swerved aside and passed them. Malcolm slammed the vehicle into forward again and accelerated.

He drew up to the side of the transport.

"Here, you drive, stick your foot there," he said to Hoshi and grabbed her leg, then placed her hands on the wheel. He picked up his rifle. "Push the pedal down hard when I tell you."

He dangled out the window, aiming at the pavement underneath the transport beside them. Zindzhi leaned out his window, shooting at the guards to prevent them from hanging out their windows to return fire.

Malcolm fired rapidly, the projectiles ricocheting off the pavement and up under their pursuers' transport. The vehicle slowed slightly, a thick yellowish liquid dripping from beneath the vehicle.

"Now!" The wind tore away at his words, but Hoshi heard him.

Hoshi's eyes were huge, tendons standing out on her knuckles as she slammed her foot against the accelerator. Malcolm twisted and fired a barrage into the pavement under their pursuers again, sparks flying.

The transport exploded.

Malcolm threw his head back and howled in jubilation, an unearthly and long drawn out cry that floated eerily on the wind. He ducked back in, smiling so widely that it made Hoshi's face ache.

"That was bloody marvelous!" he hollered and whooped again, pounding his fist against the door. Zindzhi reached over and grabbed him by the back of the neck.

"Keep your mind on your job, Cat."

Malcolm knocked his hand away and snarled at him, a furious expression on his face. He lunged over the seat, yanking Zindzhi toward him as far as possible, fist clenched and drawn back. Hoshi clung to the wheel, steering frantically.

"Lieutenant! Eyes front, hands on the wheel. That's an order!" Trip snapped out quickly, using his best commanding tone. Trip leaned forward against his safety restraints and met Malcolm's eyes. Trip didn't like what he saw. Defiance, contempt, a hint of a baleful smile.

Malcolm blinked. "Yes, sir," Malcolm replied, his tone surly. He turned back around and grabbed the wheel, using one hand to pry Hoshi's paralyzed fingers off it. He gently nudged her leg aside, burrowing his foot under hers and lifting it off the pedal.

"Brilliant job, love," he murmured and he grinned, his confrontation with Thuse seemingly forgotten. He threw her a fast glance, then went back to scanning the road ahead, the vehicles behind. "Are you all right? You look a bit pale. Fancy a shag after this? I could certainly use one." He twined gentle fingers through her hair and then cupped her face. She covered his hand with hers, and felt the tremors caused by the adrenaline. He slipped his hand out from under hers to downshift again.

"Malcolm..." Hoshi started weakly, and then stopped as they careened around another curve, throwing her to the side.

"Sorry," he muttered, his body moving constantly, wild eyes darting as they accelerating down the hill again. Bob was in the lane next to them, slightly ahead, Tarque's guards still behind, but steadily gaining. "You're beautiful. Your lips. Sensuous, soft. They're perfect, crafted by the loving hand of a master artisan. Your bum. Enchanting." He grinned wider and looked at her, then looked forward again. "But you know what I love most? Your eyes. I lose myself in them. There's a boldness in them. I see your strength. Your intelligence. Your courage. Your spirit. I can hardly believe you love me."

They slowed again for another mad turn, Malcolm still speaking in a soft and rapid cadence, reeling off her attributes, his feelings for her, his appreciation and passion for her.

Hoshi was numb.

Part of her was enamored, his words of devotion and feelings cascading around her, the swift flow streaming out of his mouth, his accent pronounced, his voice low and sensual. His words were eloquent, strung together without hesitation and expressively sculpted, lyrical and verging on poetry. Such a difference from his usual faltering and shyly tongue-tied manner whenever he tried to verbalize his emotions. And she could tell he meant everything he was saying and it thrilled her.

The other part of her was terrified.

She stared at him, taking in the rabid glint in his eyes, the continuous jittery movements, her analytical mind ticking off the symptoms Lita had told her to watch for.

Pressured speech, that breakneck rush of words and thoughts, stream of consciousness. He was making sense, not yet incoherent.

An increased sense of energy and confidence with increased humor. Psychomotor agitation. Well, he certainly was hyperactive, she thought as she watched his never stilling motion. And his sense of humor was always quirky at best.

Impulsive, uninhibited, risk taking. She thought that all three counts applied.

Euphoria replaced by irritability, and in some cases, assaultive aggression. The rapid shift from his elation to anger back to that amiable excitability made her wonder if Trip could continue to control him.

Delusions and hallucinations. Oh God, not again.

"Malcolm, are you seeing things?" she asked in her most authoritative tone.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, bafflement clear in his voice. "Are you feeling okay?" He looked at her and she saw concern in his face.

"Are you hallucinating?"

"No," he laughed, "Why would I be?" He checked the transports behind them and accelerated again down the winding road, following Bob down the now narrowed highway, leaving just a few meters between them.

"Lita said—"

"Lita gets overwrought sometimes; she can't help it. I feel fine."

Hoshi didn't think he was fine. She leaned over and stroked his face and started talking to him quietly.

Trip couldn't make out Hoshi and Malcolm's quiet conversation as he hung on, the vehicle pitching back and forth in response to the meandering road, skidding around turns and hurtling down the straight-aways. It reminded Trip of the serpentine highway along the coast of Big Sur. Although he'd never gone this fast on those treacherous roads.

This was the most fun he'd had in months.

Hell of a lot better than those cycles. He just wished it was under better circumstances so that he could fully enjoy it. He handed Zindzhi one of the comm units and looked at him.

The man was sitting very still. Holding onto his straps with a death grip. He looked at Trip.

"I hate it when he drives..."

"Why?"

They lurched again and were pressed back into their seats as the vehicle accelerated suddenly up a rise and were airborne for a few moments before speeding back down the hill.

Zindzhi looked at him, eyebrows raised, as if Trip's question had been answered.

"Oh." Trip felt sorry for the man. He didn't look well.

Trip looked out the back. He saw a transport mere meters from their rear. "Malcolm! We've got one on our tail!"

"Yeah. I see him."

Their vehicle suddenly jolted forward, rammed from behind. Malcolm cursed as he steadied the wheel. "Thuse! See if you can AMF that bastard."

"He's too close to hit the undercarriage, you'll have to pull away—"

"Can't. Aslan's in the way."

They were rammed again and their vehicle swerved. Malcolm fought the wheel, letting loose a string of curses that Trip thought were very creative under the circumstances. Malcolm jerked their vehicle, sending everyone jolting to the right, then slowed. Their pursuers pulled alongside of them and he yanked the wheel again, only this time into the side of their adversaries' transport. The clash of metal sounded and they ricocheted off each other, then Malcolm sideswiped them again.

Hoshi's eyes widened as she looked over. A guard was hanging out of the window, rifle aimed at Malcolm. She opened her mouth to shout a warning and heard the projectiles impact against the glass. The window vibrated and lacework appeared, but did not break. Malcolm looked over and grinned, making an obscene gesture at the guard before twisting the wheel again, slamming into the other vehicle. This time he pushed them hard, driving them to the side and off the road. Their pursuers spun out. Malcolm turned the wheel madly, barely making it back onto the road before a steep drop off.

"Drigging bakebrains. Wish we'd got a missile launcher. That'd take them out. Didn't have time to get anything but these bloody rifles and a few stun guns. Got knives though. Did you want one?" he asked Hoshi as he caught up to Bob, pulling along side as the road widened again.

"No." She tried to calm herself. "Do you know where you're going?"

"Yeah. Aslan told me. There's another road ahead. It's a longer route though. This is the most direct one down the mountain. A bit tricky. Only thing faster is a straight drive off the side." He chuckled. "Aslan said this rig can do it too."

Hoshi began to stroke his thigh, murmuring to him, trying to break through the training. She felt him relax into her touch and his eyes flickered, his incessant movements slowing. He suddenly stiffened. "Hoshi."

"What?" she leaned toward him in alarm.

"I hope to hell I'm seeing things..."

Hoshi looked forward and gasped. The comm unit in Trip's hand squawked to life.

Chapter 44

"Cat! Down the side! Let's see what these babies can do!" Bob's excited voice came over the comm.

Trip and Zindzhi spun around from monitoring their pursuers and looked forward. "Shit!" they both exclaimed.

A huge vehicle, loaded with timber, was sprawled across the road in front of them, broken down. Two Pachaa were frantically waving them off.

Malcolm glanced over at Bob, who nodded and waved happily, then darted ahead, crossing in front of them and over the side of the mountain. "Follow the leader, Cat!"

Malcolm yanked the wheel and plunged over the side, muttering curses. The transport bounced and jostled madly, their restraints straining to hold them in place.

"Bloody idiots. Who the hell puts their secret base out by a logging road? And why are they out at this time of night? Don't these people ever sleep? 'Follow the leader' my arse. Just stunning. Absobloodylutely stunning. Let's drive over a cliff. It's his drigging wetware that needs checking if you ask me. Bloody lunatic..."

Malcolm steered with intense concentration, a steady stream of complaints issuing from him. The transport bumped down the rocky side of the mountain and he yanked the wheel hard to avoid a tree.

They were gaining momentum and Trip looked back. The other transports were following them. He could see the grimly smiling face of Cain behind the wheel of the vehicle closest to them.

Adam's voice came over the comm. "Cat. When we reach the bottom, we'll split up and meet somewhere to ambush them. When you can, call your ship, have them send down some help. Let's keep this away from civilians."

"Check."

"Trip, Lita needs to talk to you."

"Go ahead." Trip listened as Lita began to speak.

They hit a particularly rough patch and they flew high in their seats, the restraints slamming them back down. Malcolm suddenly laughed. Hoshi looked at him. He was sweating, but smiling. "This is actually quite fun, once you get the hang of it. Rather like one of those sim games..."

He darted a quick look at her, his half grin teasing. "Would you like to drive?" He jerked the wheel again to avoid a boulder and they slid sideways. He straightened them. "See? That's rather invigorating, don't you think?"

She closed her eyes and held on.

***

When they reached the bottom Trip let out an exhilarated rebel yell. Hoshi and Zindzhi glared at him. Malcolm flicked him a glance, grinning.

They pulled onto the road and split up, Bob waving a cheery goodbye to them. Hoshi secretly agreed with Malcolm that Bob needed his wetware checked. Whatever wetware was.

She glanced at Trip, who was still smiling hugely. She thought his wetware needed checking too.

She was relieved to feel smooth pavement under her again. Her body ached. Malcolm was humming to himself, singing a soft verse here and there, eyes constantly moving. He was fidgeting again and Hoshi placed her hand on his face and started to caress him. She spoke to him in a quiet voice and he stilled, listening to her. He felt warm to her touch, the sweat drying on his skin. She watched his eyes, hoping to see him respond.

Trip's exuberance from the electrifying ride died down as he tried without luck to contact the ship. He continued to broadcast, changing the frequency, one eye on the two transports far behind but still pursuing them. He shot a look at Malcolm.

What Lita told him just added to his worries. She had analyzed the scanner readings she had taken when they had freed Malcolm. She told Trip that if the neurochemicals continued to rise at the rate her scan had recorded, and especially if they had to fight Tarque's men, Malcolm would become uncontrollable. She suggested that Hoshi do everything she could to pull him out of the training.

Which was difficult, considering he was driving.

Trip glanced at Hoshi. She was still talking to Malcolm in a low, reassuring tone, her gentle hand tracing over his face. Malcolm looked calmer.

Thinking about what Lita had said, Trip wasn't sure how long that would last.

***

They sped down the road for a good ten minutes when Adam contacted them again.

"We've got a problem. We're leaking coolant and won't make it to the site. Get back here and we'll make our stand about 20 klicks from where we split up. I'm sure you'll see us. We'll take them into the woods. Bok for the jol, Cat."

Malcolm blinked and then skidded into a U-turn without hesitation. "Check, Rabbit. On our way." He accelerated back the way they came, the vehicle shuddering as he pushed it to its limits. The headlights of the other two transports loomed in their sights and Malcolm continued his straight approach. At them.

Hoshi scrunched down in her seat and closed her eyes again. It seemed the best option to her. She placed a hand on Malcolm's thigh and said a silent prayer.

"Don't worry, they'll move," he murmured to her and patted her hand.

Trip couldn't tear his eyes away from their impending collision. He felt as if his eyes were frozen open and he glanced at Malcolm.

His friend wore that little half smile on his face. Trip knew that he was enjoying himself.

Trip thought if they lived through this, he'd kill Malcolm the first chance he got.

Zindzhi shifted and sighed.

"I really hate it when he drives..."

Trip merely nodded and swallowed. They were meters away from the other two transports, close enough to see Cain's face and then they were past them, their pursuers moving out of the way.

"See, told you they'd move," Malcolm said to Hoshi. "They may be gonks, but they aren't daft." He looked at her and grinned.

Trip tried to contact the ship again, thinking about mad dogs and Englishmen.

***

"Tucker to Enterprise, come in. Tucker to Enterprise. This is an emergency. Come in."

Ensign Sparks heard the faint signal coming through. He listened in disbelief. Commander Tucker was dead. The Captain had told everyone.

The message repeated and he answered the hail.

"Enterprise here. Who is this?"

"This is Commander Tucker! Let me speak to the Captain; we need help!"

Ensign Sparks looked at the comm with suspicion. "Identify yourself. Impersonating an officer is a Starfleet offense."

"Goddamn it! This is Commander Charles Tucker the Third. Get me Archer now!"

"This is an official Starfleet channel. I advise you to get off this frequency."

Malcolm snapped his fingers at Trip and shot his palm out. Trip gave him the comm unit.

"This is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed. Get off your sodding arse, contact the Captain, and get the bloody pods ready to meet us, or so help me, Ensign, you'll be the target at the next round of phase practice. And the buggers won't be set to stun. Do you comprehend, crewman?" he bellowed.

Trip was reminded of a particularly vicious drill sergeant he'd had for Starfleet fitness training. Trip wondered if Malcolm had endured that man's instruction as well.

"Aye, sir!" Sparks squeaked.

Malcolm handed the comm back to Trip, smirking.

Chapter 45

They raced down the road, Cain and his men far behind and Trip spoke to Jon, asking for shuttles and backup. Jon would be down with security as soon as possible to pick them up, but had to wait for the return of the shuttlepods, which were already on the planet, ferrying dignitaries to the banquet. Trip cursed silently at that information. It would take much longer for Jon to come to their aid.

But Trip could hear the relief in Jon's voice. The elation that his people were alive. Concern was mixed with it though. Enterprise would have to pinpoint them by the comm frequency, since Trip had no idea where they were. Trip knew that would take time, the mountains and woods interfering with the signal, trying to find them while they were on the move, all in addition to the prep time it would take to ready the pods. But he knew that Jon would act as fast as humanly possible, probably taking a few shortcuts to speed the process.

Trip contacted Adam to tell him that help was on the way. Eventually.

Malcolm drove off the road and into the surrounding forested area. Navigating around trees and rocks, guided by directions from Adam, they met up with the rest of the squad.

Malcolm grabbed the rifle and bolted from the vehicle. He opened Trip's door.

"Take the transport and get Hoshi and yourself out of here. We'll take care of them. Meet the Captain and have him lock onto our comm frequencies to track us."

Trip met Malcolm's frenzied eyes. "Malcolm, I won't leave you all —"

Malcolm unfastened Trip's restraints, then grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him out. He pushed Trip into the driver's seat. "It's going to get nasty," he growled, his face twisted into an angry snarl. "They're as good as we are. Our ammunition is limited. I won't be able to protect you. Keep Hoshi safe."

He slammed the door shut and nodded to Adam. The squad melted away into the woods.

***

Trip looked at Hoshi. She returned his gaze, a shocked look on her face.

"We can't leave them," she said.

"We can't fight Cain's men. Hoshi, if they're anything like the rest of them—" He started to drive away, hating himself.

"Damn it, Commander! We can't leave them out there! They're outnumbered!"

"Ensign, you've seen what they're like! My God, Hoshi! You think Malcolm was scary on TayNor? You haven't seen Cain in action. You don't want to see that murderous son of a—"

"Exactly why we can't leave them! Trip, please..."

"Hoshi, you didn't see them at that Suliban installation. There is no way the two of us can fight against people like that." He continued driving through the trees, slow and steady, flogging himself.

Trip Tucker was not a coward. But he was a Starfleet officer. He had a responsibility to the Ensign under his command. And he was practical. Logically, they would only be in the way, a distraction to Malcolm. If Malcolm would even register their presence once the fighting began. And he didn't want Hoshi to witness what Malcolm was capable of. Didn't want to put her in the line of fire if Malcolm became uncontrollable. And based on what Lita told him, Trip wasn't sure that Malcolm could rein himself in. He hadn't looked too stable. They drove in silence for some minutes.

"Cain could just order them to surrender, then kill them," Hoshi said quietly. "They're trained to respond to his orders."

"Not if they don't make sense and from their viewpoint that won't. Besides, Zindzhi's still pretty independent. You told me he saw Malcolm change the clips. He didn't tell Cain. That means he can still countermand Cain. They're too valuable to Tarque to kill them outright."

"And if Cain focuses the attack on Jon and our people?"

Damn. Damn, damn, damn. He hadn't thought of that. He turned the transport around.

***

Hoshi and Trip ran through the woods, transport abandoned alongside the four others that had joined their team's broken down one. He had contacted Jon again, told him that they had to maintain comm silence, but to track them. Jon replied that he'd be there within forty minutes.

Too long.

They had no problem finding the skirmishes, the sound of weapons identifying the locations. Hoshi couldn't hear any voices though. No talking, no comm units, no screams or moans of the wounded. She clutched her stun pistol tighter. They worked their way around as quietly as possible to the outskirts of the fighting, trying to locate everyone. The twin moons had risen, their strong glow lighting up the forest with a soft radiance, the colors muted, the trees and flowering plants beautiful and alien in their glossy light.

The weapons fire died down. She could now hear metal jangling. They slowed. They scrambled over a fallen tree and saw bodies on the ground. She forced herself to look at their faces. No one she knew.

They continued toward the metallic echoes, creeping as stealthily as possible. They passed more bodies, and she again compelled herself to identify them. Still strangers. Tarque's men.

Trip kept count of the corpses they came across, swallowing his distaste and horror. He hadn't recognized any of them, sickened that he was relieved that they were Tarque's guards, not his friends. He saw several bodies along the way, all with one neat and immaculately precise fatal head wound, always in the same place, the death mark clean and true. He bit back his nausea. It looked like Malcolm's meticulous artistry.

Even Trip could smell the blood now.

Chapter 46

Adam was fighting one of Tarque's men, their blades flashing, bodies moving fast. Twisting and clashing, twirling and kicking, warding off the other.

Trip pulled Hoshi back and down around an outcropping. He aimed his stun pistol but couldn't get a bead on the guard. They were too close, too quick. The guard blocked a powerful thrust and knocked Adam off balance. Adam spun away, but not before the other man sliced him across the back. Adam reeled around, knife up and ready, when a shot rang out and the guard fell, a small dark hole in his forehead.

Adam looked back from where the shot had originated. Malcolm swung down from the tree, agile and fluid, a malevolent grin on his face as he bounded over to him.

"Poor sod drew the ace. But it was a clean double tap. That makes eleven." His voice was pitched low and he snorted a disdainful laugh. "You need 2020 hindsight, Rabbit."

Adam grinned at Malcolm, his smile as cold and sinister. "With a blitzer like you covering it? You missed your calling, Cat."

Trip winced and shot a look at Hoshi. He didn't want her to see this-arrogant killers enjoying their grisly work. Didn't want her to see Malcolm, fiery eyed and smiling, taking pleasure in the butchery.

Malcolm twitched hard, then flung his rifle aside and withdrew his knife. "I'm out of ice. Let's do some rat baiting." He twirled his knife through his fingers, flaunting his dexterity.

Adam laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeah, let's crease, binary time. I have to catch up to you."

"Not bloody likely," Malcolm chuckled as he shrugged Adam off, still whirling his knife absently. He cast rapid looks around the area, eyes wide and searching.

Trip felt Hoshi move and he placed a warning hand on her to keep her crouched behind their shelter. He didn't want to draw attention to themselves. He didn't like the eagerness his friends were exhibiting. He didn't want to be targeted by mistake.

Adam continued talking, his conversation incomprehensible to Trip, the obscure jargon strung together like an alien language. But Malcolm merely nodded, the smile on his face sadistic. He prodded the corpse with his toes, like a morbid and curious child poking at a dead animal, fidgeting, his constant motion disconcerting.

Hoshi stood with a suddenness that took Trip by surprise. Adam and Malcolm whipped their heads around in unison, knives ready and bodies tensed. She walked toward them as Trip scrambled to his feet to follow her.

Malcolm relaxed as she approached, his smile gone, his knife picking up the moonlight with his never ending fretting.

"I thought I told you two to go." His tone was soft and dangerous.

"Malcolm, we couldn't leave all of you—"

"Bad mistake, Ensign. We've a dozen more of Tarque's men scattered through this forest. You've just become fair game for them."

She looked into his eyes, so unmerciful now. She reached out to him and Adam swatted her hand away. "No. If you pull him out, the squad's chances of survival decrease. Stay away from him." He brought his knife up and glared at her. Malcolm grabbed Adam and spun him around, brandishing his knife in Adam's face.

"Mind your manners, Rabbit." His mild tone was a deceptive contrast to the seething rage in his eyes. He released Adam and shoved him back, then took Hoshi's hand, his hot and dry in hers, fingers restless. He shuddered when he touched her. "Come on. Back to the transport. You'll be protected in there. Archer should be here soon."

He brought his head up suddenly and looked over Trip's shoulder. He pushed Hoshi hard into Trip, knocking them both to the ground. Energy beams rushed past where they'd been standing and Adam dove behind a tree. Malcolm twisted away, a beam from an energy rifle narrowly missing him. He dodged another beam with a frantic contortion and flip, landing on his feet smoothly and moving fast. Eyes blazing and an anticipatory grin on his face, he charged. Adam sprinted out from his cover. They sped toward their assailants, weaving in and out of the trees for cover while advancing, evading the beams.

And then they were upon the snipers.

Trip disentangled himself from Hoshi and they regained their feet. He turned Hoshi around and held her to his chest, trying to cover her ears, but she struggled against him, worming her way out of his shielding embrace. She turned and saw a third figure running away. She fired after him, but the figure sidestepped it and escaped through the trees.

Adam took off in pursuit, leaving Malcolm to finish the job.

Which he did with a savage efficiency.

Hoshi and Trip could only watch, unable to shoot without hitting Malcolm.

It was a brief but violent confrontation, the three fighting with a zealous lust to kill. Tarque's men were fast and skilled, but Malcolm was faster.

Malcolm wiped his blade on one of the dead men's shirt while scanning the surroundings. Hoshi didn't like what she saw. His eyes were bright with excitement again, yet disconnected, his face a pale specter in the moonlight. He swabbed his hand across his chest, leaving a dark wet trail on his shirt. He picked up the man's pistol and adjusted the setting, absently rubbing at his temple with a shaky hand. She saw a trickle of blood begin a slow descent from his nose. He gagged once and then was silent, that small smile of venomous satisfaction still on his face. He rose, then paused, hands flying to his head, pain flashing across his face. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply and she could see him trying to maintain his frail control.

She went to him. Ignoring Adam's threat, she touched him. He opened his eyes and shuddered again.

"It's too much," he muttered, the grin on his face a glaring contradiction to the anxious tone.

She could feel him shaking beneath her hands, his breathing rapid, skin hot. His nose was bleeding steadily now and he laughed, an unsettled sound, and his eyes widened in distress.

"Malcolm, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, still smiling widely.

"I can't...God, my head...Hoshi, it's too much..."

She tried to draw him close to her but he wrenched himself away from her, stumbling backwards. "You can't, Hoshi. Rabbit's right. They're out here and they're good. I have to be ready." He laughed again, rapidly scanning the area, knife in one hand, the guard's gun in the other.

They heard an explosion and Malcolm startled, spinning toward it. His adrenaline rocketed and he inhaled sharply, dropping the knife. A spike of pain stabbed through his head, so bright and sharp that he fell to his knees, clutching it.

Hoshi knelt beside him, trying to quiet him, caressing and talking to him.

Eyes shut, he concentrated on her voice. He tried to do as she asked, as she told him. He tried bring his levels down; he could feel the dopamine, heightened in response to the stimuli, rewarding him for each kill yet creating such a level of wariness that he was rapidly beginning to regard everyone and everything with suspicion.

Except Hoshi. He trusted her.

He could feel the norepinephrine urging him to locate his prey and terminate it as viciously as possible, the nociceptin giving him an overweening confidence. It was all too much, and the adrenaline and catecholamines flooding into his body to quicken his reflexes and expand his senses just fed the firestorm.

He labored to focus on just the sound of her voice, the sensation of her touch.

As she touched him, as he listened to her voice, he felt a drizzle of phenylethylamine and serotonin, endorphins and opiates lethargically trying to respond to dampen the pain in his head. It eased, making it bearable again. He tried to release more, trying to control it as he used to. He fixed his attention on Hoshi, centering on her.

He remembered that he loved her so much.

He felt another minute release of the blissful chemicals and he started to calm, his adrenaline and noradrenaline lowering, the serotonin and dopamine balancing. He exhaled a shaky breath and opened his eyes.

Hoshi hugged him, still speaking to him, her hands rubbing his back, her touch gentle and loving. She could feel him quieting and she kissed him. He stared at her with that riveted intensity that always mesmerized her. She didn't realize that she met his look with an equal strength, just as emphatic.

She brushed the blood away from his face, worried. But she didn't let her distress reach her voice, her fingers and hands. She had read the medical reports the Admiral had given Malcolm to study. She knew what the chemical alterations could do. Had done. She had spoken to Lita at length about which nuerochemicals Tivet had been tampering with, the squad's own biochemistry betraying them.

She talked to him, gently leading him to a more collected and balanced state, appealing to all that he truly was, not the artificial creation into which they had tried to forcibly mold him.

She kept trying to break the conditioning that created a brutal cycle of stimulation and reward.

He let himself drown in her deep brown eyes, gave himself up to them. He could feel the control that had been ripped away from him by Tivet within his reach.

Trip watched them, watched as Malcolm started to settle down, fighting to regain his composure, watched Hoshi bringing him back from that last violation forced upon him. Trip breathed a sigh of relief and brought the comm out to contact Jon again to see what the delay was when his pistol was torn from his hand and a strong arm snaked around his neck. The muzzle of a cold gun was pressed against his head.

Chapter 47

"Cat."

Hoshi's head spun towards that chilled voice. Cain.

She gasped and raised her pistol, silently cursing that fear made her hand tremble.

Malcolm's head came up and the floodgate re-opened, his fragile bid for control disintegrating. His eyes lit up.

Another chance to kill. To feel that divine pleasure again, made richer by vengeance.

The virulent grin returned and he let his hatred and anger engulf him. The pistol he had taken from his last victim was already pointed at Cain's head, the conditioning surging through him, sweeping every thought away except for the sweet anticipation of the bloodshed to come.

"I wouldn't advise it, Cat. I'm sure you haven't changed the stun setting. However, mine is set to kill."

Malcolm's pistol didn't waver. He knew he had changed the setting. His fingers twitched, knowing that as soon as Tucker moved, he'd be able to kill Cain. The thought of Tucker's distaste for blood made him giggle out loud. Hoshi looked at him, her alarm rising.

His head starting pounding again, strong and steady, like a comforting second heartbeat. He didn't notice that his nose had started bleeding once more.

Malcolm grinned even more widely at Cain. "Stalemate. You kill him, I kill you. Half a loaf's better than none." He laughed again, feeling the excitement rising even higher, those chemical levels escalating rapidly in response to this new stimuli. He could do it. He was the best. Tarque had said so. He was better than Cain. Faster. He could kill him before his target pulled the trigger. He just needed Tucker to move out of range.

"Perhaps. How's your head, Cat? Does it hurt? You're hemorrhaging, you know. Tivet was afraid of that. Too bad your friends killed him before he could correct it. You'll be dead within hours."

Nonsense. He felt alive. He was looking forward to this. And he was going to enjoy it so very much.

Hoshi tore her gaze from Malcolm and looked at Trip. She could see the anger on Trip's face, and saw that he still held the comm unit, finger on the transmit button.

"I'll kill you now, Cat. You're already on your knees...."

Malcolm laughed and raised his hands, not releasing his gun. He stood. "I'd rather die on my feet. Let him go. Let them both go. I'll come back with you. Or you can kill me. Doesn't matter. Hoshi'll stun you and you'll end up a lab rat for the rest of your miserable life."

Trip felt Cain stiffen at Malcolm's lab rat comment. He took advantage of Cain's momentary distraction and pulled away. Malcolm fired.

Cain dodged, his reflexes yanking Trip with him. The beam seared the side of Cain's face. He fired, but Malcolm was a blur, already darting away and grabbing Hoshi. He flung them behind a massive tree. Trip tried to break free but Cain tightened his grip, choking Trip and pointed the pistol at his head again. He pulled Trip against him tightly, using him as a full shield, one poisonous eye peering out from behind his hostage.

Trip gasped for breath, the smell of Cain's burnt flesh invading his senses, and his stomach churned.

"Stupid, Cat. Come out. Bring the girl with you. Mr. Tarque wouldn't mind your death as much if I bring her and Mr. Tucker back with me. Mr. Tarque has taken quite a liking to Ms. Sato."

"We're quite comfortable right here, Cain."

"Come out now, Cat, that's an order."

Malcolm flinched. He'd been given orders. He weighed them against the good of the team. The good of the hostage.

He started to rise but Hoshi grabbed him and pulled him back down.

"Now, Cat!" Cain fired once, aiming at Trip and charring the engineer's thigh. Trip howled in pain, his leg giving way. Cain held him up with ease, a smile of pleasure lighting his face.

Malcolm shot to his feet.

"Malcolm, no!" Hoshi cried and tried to catch his arm. He slipped through her grasp.

"Drop it."

Malcolm opened his hand and watched his weapon fall.

"You know the drill." Cain smiled that frosty grin, his eyes alive with an almost electric intensity.

Malcolm placed his hands behind his neck, fingers laced.

Cain swung the gun away from Trip's head and brought his arm forward, aiming. Malcolm moved, pouncing on his gun and bringing it to bear on Cain in one swift unbroken motion.

And for Trip, everything happened in slow motion.

Chapter 48

Trip heard it.

He felt the jerk.

A jolt of surprise went through him when Cain's grip fell away from his neck. Trip staggered but managed to keep himself erect. His thigh was burning, the agony of the blast making him feel faint.

Trip saw Cain collapse, a neat entry and exit wound through his temples.

Zindzhi stepped out from the trees. He glared at Malcolm with that twisted sneer on his marred face.

Malcolm sat on the ground, frozen, staring up at Zindzhi, gun still aimed, undischarged. Synapse and neurotransmitters fired and misfired. Sensory impulses flared. Neurons and receptors surged. Conflicting chemical reactions were released.

Then a tremendous wave crashed over him, the roar in his skull deafening.

And something in Malcolm's head splintered.

***

"My debt's paid from the Suliban mission. Now it's Tarque's turn. It's been fun, Cat, but I'll most likely kill you if we meet again."

Zindzhi nodded to Hoshi, his gaze thawing and she thought she saw something warm in his eyes as he looked at her. "You best make her happy, Cat, because she deserves someone far better than you."

He threw the other comm unit at Trip's feet and stole back into the woods.

Hoshi stood there, stunned.

She didn't know who to go to first. Malcolm sat unmoving, a blank look on his face. She saw that he was physically uninjured so she went to Trip, who had stumbled away from Cain's body, his face contorted with pain.

"Are you all right?"

I'll live," Trip muttered. He was sweaty and sick to his stomach, but bent down to retrieve his stun gun. Black dots swam in front of his eyes and he decided that hadn't been the best idea. He willed himself not to pass out and Hoshi helped him upright, then wrapped an arm around his waist. He leaned into her, trying not to knock her over.

Malcolm sat there, gun now hanging limply from his hand, staring at Cain's body, face expressionless, eyes unfocused and devoid of life.

The next thing he was cognizant of was a woman talking to him. He didn't know how long she had been speaking to him. He listened, but it wasn't relevant.

Nothing was relevant, except his usual orders. Protect the team. Avoid civilians. Eliminate your targets and terminate the enemy. Fulfill your mission.

He knew his mission; his targets were seared into his memory. He knew the team.

Therefore, everyone else was the enemy unless proven otherwise.

Chapter 49

Malcolm stood, absently dragging the back of his arm across his face, further staining the dressings on his wrist. He studied Tucker for a moment, his expression vacant as he massaged his temple. He glanced at Hoshi. He picked up Cain's gun and shoved it behind him into his waistband. He handed the comm unit to Hoshi. He went to Trip's other side and slung Trip's arm over his shoulder. "Come on."

"Just go ahead, have them come back and pick me up-—"

"Trip, there may be more of Tarque's men out here," Hoshi protested.

"I'll just slow you down. I can hide."

Malcolm tugged at him, but Trip refused to budge. "Bring help here, Lieutenant. That's an order."

Malcolm flinched, but then his eyes hardened. "You don't leave anyone behind." He pulled them forward, forcing Trip to move.

***

They made their slow way through the woods, Hoshi listening hard, Malcolm surveying their surroundings, eyes in constant motion. Trip began to feel better, still hurting, but not as lightheaded. He could feel the heat radiating from Malcolm, the coiled muscles. His friend's body trembled, like a horse's withers on a sultry day.

"You okay?" Trip whispered.

Malcolm ignored him, still looking for something to kill.

Hoshi turned her head to look at Malcolm, her face apprehensive.

They continued toward the large clearing where Jon had told Trip they could land, the quiet beginning to work on Trip's nerves. His leg was aching and they had to slow even more. Leaving them exposed. Trip looked around nervously, straining to see any sign of movement. Hoshi listened, whole body tense, striving to hear the slightest noise. At least twenty minutes had passed without a sound.

They were meters from entering the clearing when a bolt of pain ran through Trip's leg. He tried to suppress a groan and he faltered, putting his full weight on his friends.

"You should just leave me —" Trip began when Malcolm's head whipped toward him, staring off into the woods beyond Trip. Trip saw a brutal gleam in his eyes erupt with a vehemence. Trip drew away in alarm, staggering Hoshi and Malcolm rushed in front of them, toward his quarry, a gun in each hand.

Adam came very close to having his head blown off.

***

Adam eyes widened slightly at the sight of two pistols aimed at his head.

Malcolm stared at him, and then slowly lowered his weapons. "You almost became a splat job. You should be more careful."

Adam raised his eyebrows.

The rest of the squad appeared. They seemed calm. Hoshi decided that they were in that penultimate state of their conditioning, disengagement imminent. Yaffa's arm was bandaged and Bob sported a blood stain at his shoulder, but neither seemed to be in any pain. They both walked over to Trip, helping Hoshi get him into the clearing and sitting him down. Chris came forward to stand at Adam's side.

"Cain's the only one unaccounted for- " Adam started and Malcolm interrupted.

"Thuse creased him."

Adam nodded and they joined the rest. Lita was examining Trip's leg. She pulled a roll of gauze from her pocket and began to dress the wound.

Yaffa sat down next to Trip and smiled at him. "We got the last of them about twenty minutes ago. Lita managed to take out several guards at once. Booby trap."

"Chewing gum and toothpicks?" Trip joked.

Lita looked up at him and he could see that her eyes were still cold. "Tapers and gauze," she replied and gave him a small icy smile.

Malcolm walked away from them, making an aimless circuit around the group, on edge and alert.

Adam and Chris looked at each other, then approached him.

"Relax, Malcolm. It's over except waiting for pick-up." Adam reached out a gentle hand to pull Malcolm over to the group, but Malcolm recoiled, eluding Adam's touch.

"Malcolm?" Adam's tone was suspicious and he caught Lita's eye. She finished wrapping Trip's leg while watching Malcolm's ceaseless motion.

She walked over to them, pulling the scanner she had taken from Tivet's conditioning room out of a pocket. She stood in front of him and he sidestepped her. She gripped his arm and tried to scan him. He jerked away from her and she pulled him back. She grabbed his chin, trying to hold him still in order to complete her scan. He pushed her and Adam came up and caught his arms, yanking them behind his back. Chris seized his shoulders, pinning him against Adam.

"Let her do her job, Malcolm," Adam said. Hoshi could hear just a hint of compassion in Adam's tone and could see he was slowly coming out of his training.

Malcolm stiffened but stilled the best he could.

"When were you last exposed to the stimuli?" Lita asked, her manner clinical.

"About half hour ago," he answered her, sullen and impatient, squirming again, not trying to break away, but unable to stop moving.

"Hoshi," Lita called to her. "Try to bring him out of it. His levels are off the scale..." Lita touched the blood that was still leaking from Malcolm's nose in a preoccupied manner, staring at it as it clung to her fingertips. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, and she ripped her gaze away from her fingers and used her shirt sleeve to brush at Malcolm's face. She consulted her scanner once more. "Does your head hurt?"

"No."

Lita nodded to Chris and Adam and they dragged Malcolm over to a tree. They pushed him down against it as Hoshi followed them, biting back a protest about their less than gentle treatment. She knelt beside him then cupped his face, assessing his eyes, so somber and harsh, that mix of colors she loved so lifeless now, dull in the bright moonlight. He tried to jerk away, but his friends held him.

She started to speak to him, whispering in his ear, embarrassed by the audience but continuing to tell him sweet words of her love. Reminding him. Not letting him forget.

He had told her not to let him forget, no matter what they did to him.

She felt him cease his attempts to shake off his friends' hold. He relaxed and leaned back against the tree, listening, his body still shivering, a fierce heat radiating from him.

She continued to try to break through to him until her world narrowed down to just the two of them, his eyes fixed on hers, his total attention concentrated on her. She threw his words of remorse and self-loathing after the Suliban mission back at him, telling him this wasn't his true essence, it wasn't his nature, he wasn't an animal, he wasn't like Cain or Thuse. She recounted the good he had done, the lives he had protected, the people he had cared for, his life on the Enterprise, those people who were his friends and family now. She told him to fight, to let that stubborn streak rail against what had been done to him. She told him she loved him. And why. And why he loved her.

She didn't even hear the shuttles land.

***

Hoshi. This was Hoshi.

He felt a frail burgeoning warmth kindle deep inside. He remembered his love for her.

He exhaled a deep breath, felt her caring touch, heard her melodious voice, listened to her words.

He remembered he loved hearing her voice.

He reached out a tentative hand and skimmed two gentle fingers through her hair. He trailed them down her neck, and traced her collarbone, staring at his fingers, watching the path they took on their own volition. He brought his eyes up to meet hers and he felt himself become lost in their depths. He saw comfort and security. Acceptance, total and unconditional. Friendship. Love.

Hoshi loved him.

He leaned forward, mouth parted to kiss those exquisite full lips.

Lita cried out.

"Cat! Target 6 in the clearing!"

He head snapped toward Tigger, his attention forced from Hoshi, the words triggering the indoctrinated information. He watched as his back-up, knife in hand, ran full out toward one of the men who had just exited a shuttle.

"NO!" Adam shouted and took off, Chris not far behind, chasing her down.

Captain Archer was startled by the lightning approach of a small and delicate woman, black hair flying and a demonic grin on her face. He had no time to react as she knocked out the two crewmen in front of the Admiral, using the butt of her knife to render them unconscious. He yanked Forrest back and went for his phase pistol when two men hit her with a flying tackle, bringing her down. They wrestled, the woman managing to throw the much larger men off her all the while screaming incomprehensibly about Target 6.

The dark haired man stunned her. Jon watched in disbelief as she seemed to shake it off and try to rise, intent on killing Forrest. She was hit by two more beams from the men before finally laying still.

He didn't see Malcolm streaking toward them.

***

Hoshi was jolted when Malcolm rose with a startling speed and brushed past her, Cain's gun in his hand. She scrambled to her feet and raced toward Trip where her stun gun laid. Trip was aiming his already.

"Freeze Lieutenant! That's an order!" he shouted but Malcolm ignored him and Trip watched that predatory acceleration with dread. He fired, missing, as Malcolm snaked away from the beam without breaking stride.

Cat assessed the situation. Target Number Six of the eight. Forrest, Maxwell, Admiral. Terminate.

He saw three civilians in blue jumpsuits and he thumbed his pistol into the stun position. He couldn't harm an innocent by mistake. Tarque would punish him. The thought of the table made him shudder as he shot two of them. The third civilian pulled the target aside, pushing him around the shuttle for cover. The man then raised a weapon and Cat barely managed to evade the beam, cursing that the enemy had fooled him. Cat stunned the tall blond man then set his weapon to kill in one fluid motion. He'd eliminate them later, after terminating his target.

He rounded the shuttle, skidding to a halt and cautiously poked his head around the edge, trying to locate his prey. He saw his objective round the shuttle at the other end and he pivoted, running back the way he came to cut the target off.

She stood in front of his quarry, stun gun out and aimed at him. He raised his gun, but then hesitated.

"Drop it, Malcolm."

The target was so close. His head started to thunder, the compulsion to follow his orders overwhelming.

He thumbed his weapon to stun and at that moment she fired.

Hoshi hit him square in the chest.

He looked at her, an astonished expression on his face, then he grinned and sighted her.

And hesitated again, his smile faltering.

She fired twice in rapid succession.

It knocked him backward and off his feet, and he struggled to his knees.

She fired one last time, her eyes wet and glistening in the lucent moonlight. She saw that last look on his face, before the stun beams' cumulative effect stilled him.

Hurt at being betrayed.

Chapter 50

Jon woke in sickbay, stretched flat out on a bio bed. Still slightly woozy, he remained unmoving and waited for his head to clear. He looked around.

Trip was sitting on a bed, clad in his blues, Cutler putting the finishing touches on a covering on his thigh.

A beautiful blond woman was being attended to by another medical assistant, who was smiling and laughing with her as he re-dressed the injury to her arm. A dark haired mustachioed man stood near her side, chuckling. Phlox was administering aid to a man who was speaking rapidly in a strong New York accent.

Admiral Forrest was next to a bio bed, talking to a sandy haired man who Jon assumed was his son, Adam; he noticed a small family resemblance. Adam was talking to his father, smoothing the hair of that petite Asian woman, who was laying there, eyes closed and still, restraints across her chest and legs.

He turned his head and saw Hoshi standing over the bed to his right. Malcolm was in it, obviously unconscious, restrained as well. Jon's brow furrowed as he looked again at his armory officer. Purple and red hair. Imp ears. Puzzled, he looked at Hoshi's back, noticing her fingers stroking Malcolm.

Jon sat up carefully, feeling better but worn out. He opened his mouth to speak to Trip, then simply swallowed, the joy of seeing his best friend alive and whole almost staggering.

They were alive. All of them.

He noticed something odd as he scanned the occupants of sickbay again.

"What happened to everyone's shoes?"

Trip smiled a weary but relieved greeting to him as all heads turned toward him. They all pointed to Malcolm and chorused, "It's his fault."

***

Hours later Phlox shooed all non-essential personnel out of sickbay after treating their injuries. He allowed Admiral Forrest free access though since Phlox really didn't have any choice. He let the Admiral's son remain, hoping to get further information on his unconscious patients. His scans had revealed frightening anomalies, readings that matched and far exceeded those that he had first discovered after the TayNor mission with his malfunctioning scanners.

But these scanners were in perfect working order.

He had to sedate both Reed and Nguyen. They had come around suddenly and had started struggling against the restraints in which Adam Forrest had insisted they be placed. In hindsight, it had been the correct procedure, as much as Phlox despised the idea.

The two had spoken to each other as they fought their bonds. Phlox was quite sure it was English, but he couldn't make heads or tails of it. The words and phrases were odd, strung together like a secret code. But Adam had no problem following it, trying to placate both of them using the same strange patois.

When the Admiral walked back into sickbay they had both gone into a frenzy, trying to free themselves, their urgent conversation staccato, and totally incomprehensible to Phlox. Adam had gone to Lita, trying to calm her, to reason with her.

The woman had spit on him.

The Lieutenant's anger had been as strong, if not stronger. But he threw his efforts into trying to release himself and Phlox had to sedate him when he had somehow managed to slip one arm free, wrenching at the restraint and almost unfastening it, trying to lunge at the Admiral.

The Captain and Ensign Sato now stood by Nguyen's biobed, with the Admiral and his son, the four of them deep in conversation. Phlox walked over and they looked up, questions in all their faces.

"They're resting comfortably. I had to treat Lieutenant Reed for intraparenchymal hemorrhage/cerebral contusion. It was a minor but chronic condition, until very recently. He's fortunate I treated him when I did. Six to eight hours more and it would have been fatal."

Hoshi exhaled loudly and Adam hugged her close. She rested her head against him and returned the embrace in appreciation.

"Has he suffered any blows to the head, concussion..." Phlox's questions trailed off as Hoshi and Adam shook their heads.

Trip limped in at that moment, T'Pol by his side, standing close enough to steady him should the need arise. "The sons of bitches tortured him. I bet the headaches, nose bleeds were a symptom of that intra...whatever you were saying."

"Intraparenchymal hemorrhage/cerebral contusion," T'Pol repeated. Trip rolled his eyes at her. She raised an eyebrow. He swore she gave him a slight smile.

"There are no physical signs of torture, beyond the wounds to his wrists and some abrasions on his temples. But there are some very disturbing neurological readings on both of them. What was done to them, Commander?" Phlox asked, interested and puzzled.

Trip looked at Adam, then at Admiral Forrest.

"We're not lab rats, Dad. I swear, we'll run if this gets out; we know how to disappear. I won't allow anyone to study us—" Adam was agitated and his father laid a hand on his shoulder.

"I agree." He swung towards Phlox. "Doctor, this information is classified. All records of your findings, your scans, and notes will be destroyed. No information is to leave this room, nothing is to be spoken of beyond these walls and then only among these people present. Is that understood?"

Phlox opened his mouth to protest, but he saw the looks in everyone's eyes. The distress in Hoshi's and Adam's, the plea in Archer's, the twin threats in Commander Tucker's and T'Pol's, and the decisive hardness in Admiral Forrest's.

"Agreed." He may not be able to keep records or discuss it with his medical colleagues, but he could do everything in his power to help. He was a healer after all.

Adam pulled a chair up next to Lita's bio bed. Hand on her arm, he started their story.

***

As Adam spoke, T'Pol gently touched the recumbent woman's forehead and dropped her mental shields just a bit.

She flinched. A chaotic swirl of savage emotions combined with an obsession so strong forced T'Pol to withdraw quickly. Trip noticed and followed her as she strayed over to Malcolm.

She touched Malcolm, bracing herself before lowering her shields, remembering the last mind touch she had felt with him.

She inhaled sharply, and drew her hand away as if burnt, dizzy and off balance. Trip caught her and she felt his concern and worry clearly. She allow herself to be steadied by his caring touch, then nodded her thanks and pulled herself up to her usual dignified stance, reciting the mind rules to re-center herself.

She was disturbed that she felt angry.

Anger at her government's silence, their refusal to share their intelligence reports, their suspicions and knowledge. Or even the courtesy of warning the humans of what was in their midst.

She was angry at herself, for her own silence. She should have told the Captain what she knew.

She interrupted Adam and faced the Admiral.

"They will try to kill you and they will not relent. I wish to speak to Ambassador Soval." She forced herself to continue to look the Admiral in the eye.

"He knows about these experiments. Ms. Nguyen and the Lieutenant have been manipulated by a telepathic species. However, I believe that the Vulcan government can offer assistance. Your only other choice will be to lock them away, or kill them before they are compelled to fulfill their programming."

Adam looked at his father, shaking his head in negation. "What, so the Vulcans can study us instead? No thanks."

"We will help, not subject you to the laboratory tests you fear. You have my word."

Adam shook his head again. "No. I don't think so, Sub Commander."

Jon turned to Admiral Forrest. "Trust her, Admiral," Jon said, his sincerity and conviction apparent. ""T'Pol's word is worth more than all those diplomats down on that planet put together."

"Adam, both Malcolm and I trust T'Pol with our lives," Hoshi added, then smiled. "And didn't you tell Malcolm that you had to start trusting someone sometime?"

Adam finally nodded and Admiral Forrest told T'Pol to go ahead and contact Soval.

Chapter 51

T'Pol fought Soval with logic and when he remained unyielding and refused to assist, she fought him with words which reminded him of his failings, his deceit, his lack of respect for the Vulcan code of ethics and his disregard for Surak's teachings. She even logically and coolly threatened to go over his head, obliquely referring to information that, in the hands of some of his political adversaries, would cause him some embarrassment. Not that Vulcans felt embarrassment.

She argued with the utmost icy politeness and respect, her demeanor proper and ultra Vulcan.

She steamrollered right over him.

An hour later a tall elegant Vulcan, her hair an astounding cinnamon, her coloring pale and fair, and her face a serene emotionless mask, followed Travis out of Shuttlepod One.

With a graceful incline of her head, she acknowledged T'Pol and Captain Archer.

T'Pol bowed with respect and spoke a few sentences in Vulcan. The woman replied, then asked a question. T'Pol looked away and said a few more words. Jon was hard pressed not to let his mouth hang open in surprise when he saw the woman smile.

***

T'Pol introduced the healer, T'thaylis, to the small gathering in sickbay. T'thaylis greeted Dr. Phlox, Jon, and the Admiral graciously in turn, her English flawless. She then moved to Lita's unmoving form and lightly placed her hand on the young woman's face, the Vulcan's fingers splayed out.

A look of compassion passed over T'thaylis' face and she removed her hand. She then went to Malcolm and touched him in a similar manner as well. She exhaled slowly as she took her hand away.

"I will need them awake to performing a healing meld." She turned to Admiral Forrest. "I would ask that I may examine each of the others that have been affected by this mind touch. It would assist me in ascertaining the best approach to mending these two, and I suspect that I can aid the other five in laying their violation to rest."

"Four. One of them didn't return with my son and his friends."

T'thaylis raised an interested eyebrow.

Adam, Bob, Yaffa, and Chris were asked to return to sickbay. They filed in, Adam's misgivings put to ease by T'thaylis' manner. She assured all of them she had no desire to study them, that she only wished to use them as guide and to possibly undo the conditioning to which they had been subjected.

Chris volunteered to go first, telling her he'd be happy to get the echo of Tivet's tampering out of his head.

T'thaylis directed him to a biobed and asked him to recline upon it. Chris did and she explained that she would touch him and that they would be one. She assured him that there would be no pain and that all private thoughts would remain private, that she would only focus on the damage that had been inflicted upon him.

Chris relaxed, not really caring. It had been awhile since he had cared much about anything. T'thaylis touched him and they both stilled.

Jon watched them but nothing seemed to be happening. Phlox was watching with rapt attention, while the rest stood uncomfortably, with Adam pacing the confines of sickbay.

After twenty long minutes, T'thaylis broke contact and Chris' body slackened, head rolling to the side.

"He'll sleep for several hours. I was able to remove the triggering and re-anchor his emotional responses. Unfortunately the conditioning was ingrained too deeply, but he will be able to control it now. Only he can activate it and no amount of tampering by others will be able to unlock it."

She turned and looked at the remaining three squad members. Jon could swear she had an amused gleam in her eye.

"Next patient, please?"

***

T'thaylis repeated her actions with Bob and Yaffa, announcing that both of them were more responsive than Chris, the conditioning totally eliminated, their emotions centered and aligned. Adam looked at his sleeping squad mates, the friends he had been through so much with, making the best of a bad situation, the bond of a secret shame, and he wondered again how they had all managed to persevere. He willingly submitted to T'thaylis' touch, seeking release and his last conscious thought reverberated with optimism and hope.

***

T'thaylis requested that the Admiral and Jon leave, as well as Phlox, so as not to agitate Lita further when T'thaylis roused her. She assured Phlox that the rest of his patients would be fine, waking when their minds and bodies were ready.

She asked T'Pol to stay.

T'thaylis brought Lita to consciousness and watched the woman struggle. The Vulcan placed her hands on Lita's face and held Lita's head down.

T'thaylis started to gently explore, locating the damage, and although Lita fought hard and long, the Vulcan healer circumvented Lita's attempts to ward her off. T'thaylis guided Lita through the shut down of the chemical reactions and Lita submitted, her resistance and struggles slowing, then finally ceasing. Lita calmed and allowed T'thaylis to repair the corruption done to her. T'thaylis couldn't remove the conditioning fully, so she secured Lita's control, as she had done for Chris, and Adam.

When Lita fell into a natural sleep T'thaylis sat down, tired but satisfied, resting for her last bout of healing. T'Pol offered to fetch her a cup of tea from the messhall and T'thaylis agreed.

T'Pol informed the Captain of T'thaylis' success with Nguyen. She then contacted Hoshi to tell her that the healer would treat Malcolm next.

Hoshi told T'Pol she appreciated the courtesy of being informed.

T'Pol returned with a pot of tea, mugs, and a plateful of lacy cookies on a tray. Commander Tucker had introduced T'Pol to these delicacies and T'Pol found them pleasing.

T'thaylis thanked her and they spoke for a bit, the healer gathering her strength and centering herself. When they finished, T'thaylis requested the cookie recipe.

Chapter 52

Cat was so tired of fighting. So tired of having someone in his head. He rallied his anger again and reinforced the barrier against the invading shreds of the alien consciousness, then pushed back, opposing and blocking each attempt, letting his temper blaze with a fury that gave him great satisfaction. He had a job to do and he tugged at his restraints. He needed to escape in order to fulfill his mission.

T'thaylis removed her hands from Malcolm's face and stepped back, crossing her arms across her chest. He watched her as he twisted and squirmed, and she could feel his animosity radiating from him.

"Stubborn," she said to T'Pol in Vulcan.

"Very."

"Worse than the other," T'thaylis said, nodding toward a peacefully sleeping Lita. She looked at Malcolm again. He smirked at her and closed his eyes, collecting himself, readying for another attack.

"Not a very trusting soul," T'thaylis continued with a small hint of a smile. She looked fatigued.

"I believe it's part of his job description," T'Pol replied dryly.

"He fights it."

"Yes, Ensign Sato told me that he tried to resist."

"Hoshi?"

T'Pol nodded. To her knowledge T'thaylis hadn't meet the Ensign.

T'thaylis gently massaged her temple and looked at T'Pol. "His will is substantial and his emotions run deep, especially where the Ensign is concerned." An image of a beautiful young woman, with long black hair, dark almond shaped eyes and ripe red lips flashed through her mind, the accompanying emotions and sensations still reverberating throughout her being. The intensity of the emotions, the sheer breadth and strength of them had almost made her falter, had almost sucked her into a radiant abyss that she had to struggle against so as not to get lost. It had been so tempting though, to experience that, to feel that potency.

She appraised T'Pol with a speculative look. "He's very disciplined. I believe I may need your assistance."

"I have no training in the mind arts; my abilities are negligible," T'Pol protested.

"I believe I have broken through enough so that you will be familiar to him; it may help gain his trust."

T'Pol exhaled softly, then nodded. She allowed T'thaylis to arrange her hand in the proper position on the side of Malcolm's face, using her other hand to keep his head still. T'thaylis took a deep breath and placed her own hands in the correct locations. She nodded to T'Pol to lower her mental shields.

T'Pol was buffeted by an emotional storm so unrestrained, so profound, so single-minded that her mind recoiled and hid behind T'thaylis.

//You're hurting her// T'thaylis sent. //She is not your enemy//

Cat stopped, trying to examine the obscured newcomer. He thought he knew her, but it could be a ploy. He rallied himself again, furious that they had sent two against him now.

T'thaylis urged T'Pol to come out. T'Pol peered around the safety of T'thaylis' strong presence.

//Lieutenant...// T'Pol sent. She was sure that T'thaylis would forgive her hesitant manner. After all, she was new at this.

T'Pol and T'thaylis felt/smelled/saw a glimpse of a catsuited woman moving with an ethereal grace, could feel the heat of the African savannah, could smell the hot dry air pungent with T'Pol's meditation incense.

Both were surprised by the strength of the impression they received. Then a fleeting thought, almost too swift to catch, and T'thaylis laughed in the mind meld.

//Sub Commander?// Cat thought/felt/sent, his doubt and confusion clear.

//Yes, Lieutenant//

He viewed/felt/sensed her, trying to see if it was a trap, poised to fight but staying his hand, although prepared to attack just in case.

//Where's Hoshi?// Suspicion. Testing. Looking for verification that this wasn't some elaborate ruse to deter him from his mission.

//She is here, on Enterprise//

//Prove it//

//We'll bring her here if you allow us to help you// T'thaylis sent.

//Let me go then, I have to finish my assignment// Both women could feel his eagerness, the euphoric wave that cocooned him as the targets flared through his mind. T'Pol flinched, uncomfortable yet fascinated.

//We cannot allow you to do that//

Cat slammed up a wall so thick and strong that both women jumped. His frustration and rage flailed at them and T'Pol jerked her hands away.

//If you continue, you'll injure her// T'thaylis removed her hands and waited.

Malcolm froze and opened his eyes. He looked at T'Pol.

"T'Pol?" His voice was a question, hope threaded through it, his certainty wavering.

"Yes, Lieutenant. It is I," she said.

He smiled a bit at her formal tone.

"Where am I?"

"In sickbay, Lieutenant."

"Who's she?" he tilted his chin toward T'thaylis. He studied the other woman's eyes. Not a Pachaa. He focused on the ears. Not the same. Vulcan. But she could be wearing prosthetics...it could be a trick.

"A healer. We are attempting to disable your conditioning."

He stared at her. She looked like T'Pol. It had felt like her. He indistinctly remembered that one brief touch on TayNor, the feeling of the strength of her resolve and that luminous curiosity that had pushed through his defenses.

He wavered on the edge of a leap of faith, that this indeed was T'Pol, the crewmate whom he respected, whose intentions and devotion to the ship and its people had always been honorable.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No."

He closed his eyes again. "I'm glad. I don't want to hurt you."

"I know...Malcolm." She pronounced his name with an Old Vulcan accent and he opened his eyes.

She saw him smile again, surprised and pleased. She knew that he remembered their conversation in the observation lounge.

He took that leap and jumped off the edge.

"I trust you. I won't fight it." He closed his eyes again and stilled, waiting.

T'thaylis nodded to T'Pol and they laid their hands upon Malcolm for a final time.

Chapter 53

Hoshi watched Malcolm stir, a hint of a smile on his face. He reached up and found her hand, pulling it away from his head, then kissed her palm, eyes still closed, ribbons of half-remembered dreams still clinging to him.

He opened his eyes and she saw the joy at seeing her in his drowsy gaze.

"Morning," he greeted softly.

"Evening," she chuckled.

"Hmm. We must do something about my rather nasty habit of sleeping in..." His tone was warm, but his eyes held a sudden uncertainty as he became fully alert. He released her hand and sat up, his body tense. He tentatively reached out, stopping just before touching her.

She moved without hesitation into his arms, pressing up against him. He embraced her and twined his fingers through her hair. She felt him relax. He kissed her, then just held her, basking in her acceptance, in her touch.

"Thank you," he whispered in her ear. "Thank you for saving me. Again." He kissed her temple. "Thank you for shooting me," he laughed. "Are you sure you don't want to transfer to security?"

"Only if I get to work with Collins," she teased.

He laughed again and she kissed him, tender at first and then with more passion. She hugged him then started to tell him what had occurred-T'Pol's intercession on their friends' behalf, T'thaylis' arrival, the mind melds with Adam and the others.

He listened to her, he listened to her voice, he watched her eyes, her face, her mouth as she formed the words. He asked a few questions, and he listened to her answers. He let her voice caress him. He leaned into her again and she met his lips, her fingers roving through his colorful hair.

Hoshi whispered to Malcolm, "I'm sorry I shot you."

He gave her a mischievous grin, and then whispered back. "Nine lives, love."

Hoshi smacked his thigh, laughing, then pulled his head forward and kissed him once more.

T'Pol approached them.

Malcolm looked up and Hoshi backed away, but he caught her hand and held it.

"Thank you Sub Commander. I can't tell you how much I appreciate what you, and T'thaylis, did, everything, for me, for all of us..." He indicated to the rest of his friends in the room. Lita was being scanned by Phlox, a look of disbelief on her face. Jon and the Admiral were talking to Adam, who had his arm draped around his father's shoulder. Bob, Yaffa, and Chris were all sitting up on their beds, laughing and joking with Trip. Ensign Cutler was scanning Trip's leg and pronounced that it was healing nicely.

"It was only logical, Lieutenant. You are a competent armory officer and it would have taken time to replace you. Not only would it have been inconvenient, but it could have delayed our ongoing mission."

T'Pol looked at him, her dark eyes meeting his. "T'thaylis asked me to tell you that she regrets that she couldn't excise the conditioning fully. But she has locked it away, leaving only you with the key."

He nodded and looked away. He focused inward, toward that shadowy catalyst. He felt it.

He recoiled from it.

"She could only fix Bob and Yaffa..." Malcolm murmured.

"Yes." T'Pol arched an eyebrow, the only indication that she was surprised.

Malcolm looked at her. "Erm...some things...leaked...through," he said, fumbling for the right words.

"Interesting. However, no one will be able to tamper with it. And she was able to address some of the...emotional... factors that had plagued all of you..." T'Pol's voice and face did not convey her unease with discussing such concepts.

Malcolm nodded. He realized that much of the remorse and shame, that soul devouring guilt, while still there, was tempered with an overlay of logic and acceptance. His eyes wandered over to his friends.

Phlox finished his scan of Lita.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Quite sure," he smiled.

"You're pregnant!" Malcolm blurted out.

All heads turned toward him.

Hoshi glared at him, surprise and suspicion mixed.

He looked like a rabbit about to be run over by a tank.

"It bloody well wasn't me! It's Adam's..." he stuttered. He slid off the biobed, edging away from Hoshi.

"How did you know? The doctor just told me!" Lita exclaimed. Adam regarded Malcolm with mistrust then stared at Lita.

"Um...T'thaylis felt it...sorry...I don't think she meant...it just popped out..." he stammered again, "It's unaffected by the chemical changes though...it's healthy," he finished, then smiled and shrugged. He wouldn't tell them the gender, in case they wanted to be surprised.

Adam whooped and swept Lita up into his arms. Jon clapped the Admiral on the shoulder and told him that grandpa had a nice ring to it. The others hopped off their beds and gathered around the new parents, talking excitedly, laughing and teasing.

Trip stood and made his way to Hoshi and Malcolm. He stopped, standing very close to T'Pol. She didn't move.

"So, Lieutenant. Where'd you learn to drive? A sim game?" Trip asked.

Color rose in Malcolm's cheeks. "Well, I noticed you seemed to enjoy it, Commander."

"Yeah, I actually did." Trip smiled and gave him a little push. Malcolm pushed him back, grinning a little, and T'Pol looked at Hoshi, a question in her eyes.

"Guy thing," Hoshi explained. Malcolm and Trip looked at Hoshi. They both gave her a little push at the same time.

"You ever go to that track where you can drive real antique Formula One cars when you were at Headquarters?"

"The one outside of Sausalito?"

"Yeah."

"That was an absolutely brilliant place! Missed the track record by three and a half seconds." Malcolm thought for a moment. "The record was held by someone named Kent, I think."

"C.J. Kent," Trip supplied. "Clark Joseph Kent." His smile grew wider. "You're lookin' at him."

Malcolm stared at him. Trip winked and nodded.

Malcolm's eyes lit up and he broke out in that expansive smile, excitement thickening his accent. "Next time we're on Earth, Commander..."

"You're on, Lieutenant. But I'm going to kick your sorry 'bum'," Trip replied, clipping the word in a passable English accent.

"What is a 'bum'?" T'Pol asked. Malcolm felt his face grow warmer as Trip waggled his eyebrows at him, a devilish gleam in his eyes, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Please, please, please, Trip, don't tell her what I said that time in the shuttlepod, oh please, please, please... Malcolm silently prayed.

Hoshi laughed. "Bum is an English term for...buttocks."

"I see. I was wondering..." T'Pol looked at Malcolm and Hoshi swore she saw a twinkle in the Vulcan's eye. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I find your 'bum' aesthetically pleasing as well."

Trip bellowed with laughter, pointing at Malcolm. He managed to wheeze out the words "mind meld" before collapsing into laughter again. Hoshi erupted into peals of giggles and poked Malcolm in the ribs repeatedly.

T'Pol noted with clinical interest that she had never seen a human's face turn so red. The blush response was fascinating.

Malcolm crawled back onto the biobed and burrowed under the pillow, the faint sound of T'thyalis' mental laughter echoing in his head.

Hoshi could hear his muffled cursing. It made her laugh louder.

T'Pol realized that Commander Tucker's previously uncomprehensible explanation about the 'fun' of 'teasing' friends made a modicum of sense now. Intriguing. Not that Vulcans would stoop to such a tactic for personal diversion of course.

She looked at the engineer, flushed with mirth, his hair slightly tousled, his blue eyes ablaze with delight.

She had been comfortable with him before. She had mourned the loss of his presence when she thought he had been killed on Pachaa. She admitted she felt relief and something else when she heard that he was alive.

She pulled up another images from the mind meld.

The warmth of friendship. The knowledge of the depth of caring Trip possessed. His gentle nature and steely determination. The joy of teasing and baiting him to get a reaction, knowing that he gave as good as he got. Knowing that the man would be there for you, regardless.

And she saw him through Malcolm's eyes for a brief moment, saw the way Trip looked at her, the way he acted around her. She saw herself and Trip, through Malcolm's eyes, walking together in synchronicity, sitting side by side in the mess hall, talking over a late night snack. She saw through his eyes, the affection and regard that Trip had for her.

She looked at Trip, through her own eyes now, and saw things she hadn't really seen before.

And she liked what she saw.

Chapter 54

Phlox, under the watchful eyes of the Admiral and the Captain, destroyed all his scanner readings and notes, albeit with great reluctance. He was changing the dressing on Bob's shoulder when he announced that everyone was healthy and to please leave his sickbay. He sounded a bit peeved.

The Admiral and Adam left with Lita in tow, one on each side, both solicitously holding her hands, guiding her out. Her indignant protest that she was pregnant not an invalid drifted back through the open sickbay doors. Chris and Yaffa left together, accepting Ensign Cutler's offer to show them to their quarters.

Jon hugged Hoshi, the jubilation and relief that she was alive and unharmed still apparent on his face. He clapped Malcolm on the shoulder and gave it a squeeze, then told his armory officer to report to Phlox tomorrow morning to get his ears bobbed. T'Pol nodded her agreement, stating that while she found other parts of the Lieutenant's anatomy acceptable, the ears were unsatisfactory in appearance.

Trip swore he saw her mouth twitch upwards as she watched Malcolm's cheeks flush and his gaze drop to the floor.

Hoshi laughed and put her arm around Malcolm's waist. He drew her close as they walked out of sick bay, Hoshi's gleeful stage whisper of "I guess she doesn't think the ears are sexy" and Malcolm's strangled "Oh, Lord, Hoshi, please, don't-—" wafted back to the remaining sickbay occupants.

T'Pol nodded to the Captain and looked at Trip.

"I'm...happy...that you've returned to us, Commander," she stated, her eyes meeting Trip's. He thought he read something more in them and she nodded slightly, then left.

Jon faced Trip and then embraced him briefly. "I'm happy too, Trip. I thought I lost you. Lost all of you. I'm so glad you're all right."

Trip could see the emotion in Jon's eyes, hear it in his old friend's voice. He swallowed the lump in his throat, feeling blessed to be home, among friends and his surrogate family again. He returned the hug. "Glad to be back, Jon," he said, his voice husky.

They separated, both clearing their throats, and fidgeted a bit. Jon nodded. "Let's talk, okay? You're off the next few days. So take it easy and I'll meet you for breakfast tomorrow. Since I missed the banquet, I have to go to that damn conference. The Admiral says it'll take years for them to agree to forming a United Federation of Planets, but this is a step in the right direction."

"Yeah, I hear the Klingons will be there."

Jon stared at him. "That's classified! How did—"

"I'll tell you in the morning." Trip smiled at him and Jon shrugged, then left.

Trip waited while Phlox finished with Bob, then asked for something to ease the pain in his leg. Phlox injected him as Bob pulled his shirt back on.

Trip looked at Bob. Bob grinned back at him.

"Come on," Trip said with a smile. He slung his arm over Bob's good shoulder. "I'll show you where your quarters are and you can help me to mine. But I still ain't sharing a shower with ya."

***

Hoshi woke slowly, warm and snug under the covers of Malcolm's bed. Still half asleep, she let her mind wander over their love making, grateful she was off for the next few days. She sighed with pleasure, thinking how they had worn each other out. She smiled as she thought how it had been worth it though.

She reached over to nestle against him and realized the bed was empty.

She opened one eye and looked at the clock. 0240.

Damn.

She tried to go back to sleep, but her curiosity worked on her. She had hoped he'd sleep longer. But she figured that between everyone's extended slumber in sickbay, combined with the whole squad's inability to sleep for more than a few hours a night over the last few weeks, Malcolm would be up, his internal clock needing time to adjust.

Hoshi rose and threw on some clothes, wondering where he'd be.

She checked the armory and the gym without luck. She was outside of the mess hall when Trip and T'Pol exited.

She nodded to them.

"Ensign," T'Pol acknowledged. "Good night, Trip," T'Pol said.

"'Night T'Pol," Trip replied and T'Pol headed to her quarters. Hoshi watched her leave.

"First name basis now, hmmmm?" Hoshi teased him. She was surprised to see him blush slightly.

"She was glad to see me back," he said, then started to smile.

"Uh huh..." Hoshi looked at him, grinning. "Come on. Give, Trip."

"Aw, hell, we just talked. And shared some apple pie and pistachio ice cream," he added, smiling more now.

"Details, Trip! I need details!"

He started walking and she followed him.

"A gentleman never gossips about his lady friends," he said primly.

Hoshi laughed and poked him. "Lady friend?" she asked, her tone suggestive.

"A friend who is a lady," he corrected her with a sly grin.

"You dog."

"Arf."

They giggled. They walked slowly in deference to Trip's limping gait, and chatted, Trip still wide awake and offering to help her find Malcolm. They passed the closed doors of the observation lounge and heard music coming from it. Hoshi could detect the faint sound of laughter.

"Think we found them," Trip said.

They entered the lounge, the music louder. They noticed a pile of shoes and socks haphazardly tossed in one corner and they smiled at each other. Trip shrugged and eased himself down to the floor. He began to strip off his boots. Hoshi joined him.

The two large couches were pulled up by the window, Chris and Adam sitting on one, debating something, drinks in hand. Yaffa and Bob were standing, conversing, laughing, looking out the window and pointing to different stars.

In a corner, Hoshi saw two dark heads close together, almost touching, as Malcolm and Lita sat on the floor, laboring over identical objects, an easy banter flying between them, their actual words just out of range of Hoshi's hearing.

Hoshi watched as Malcolm picked up his glass and saluted Lita. They touched glasses and drained their milk, then nodded to each other and rose. Lita counted to three and they both whirled, their arms rising and aiming the device in their hands.

Hoshi heard a low noise cutting through the air and she followed the speeding sound with her eyes.

She heard two thunks. Darts. A dartboard was hanging on the opposite wall, one dart in the bullseye, the other barely missing the red zone.

"Damn it!" Lita cursed.

"Maybe your launcher's off a tad," Malcolm offered.

"Maybe I'm losing my touch," she complained.

"I hear those hormones will do that do you." He easily moved out of the way of Lita's attempt to smack him.

"Stop harassing the mother of my child," Adam called out. Chris rose to go to Yaffa and spotted Trip and Hoshi. He grinned at them and rolled his eyes.

"Then get your ass over here and keep the mother of your child safe from English dart players," Lita replied.

"You're the one who wanted to make launchers and play," Malcolm protested.

"I forgot about that genetic predisposition you Brits have for hanging around in pubs and throwing darts," she retorted.

"I hear being pregnant does that to you as well. You'd best watch over her, Adam, before she forgets anything else."

She cursed him in Vietnamese. He responded by mangling several phrases in the same language.

Lita roared with laughter and Hoshi joined her. Malcolm looked over and smiled when he saw Hoshi and Trip.

Hoshi translated. "You just told her that her dog was ugly, that your mother dressed you poorly this morning, and that-—" Malcolm shook his head in mock despair and cut her off.

"I don't know why I even try..." he muttered as held out hand and helped Hoshi to her feet. They both hauled Trip to his, mindful of his leg.

Adam waved them over to the couch and offered them a drink. Trip accepted and plopped down next to Adam. Lita sat on the other side of Trip and Yaffa joined them. Bob and Chris refreshed their drinks and sat with Hoshi and Malcolm on the other couch.

That's where Jon and Admiral Forrest found them after returning from the conference, tired yet excited by the possibilities of the future. They stood in the doorway, smiles on their faces as they observed the whole group comfortably lounging against each other, laughing and talking.

Trip looked over and nodded to Jon, then tried to rise to his feet, signaling to Hoshi and Malcolm. But Forrest cleared his throat and motioned them to sit down.

"This isn't an official visit. Just dropping by to see my son and his friends."

Adam invited them over to the couches and they sat, both accepting a glass. The Admiral looked around and Trip was startled to see that the man was misty eyed.

The Admiral noticed Trip gaze and smiled warmly. "I never thought I'd see them all together...like this..." and he shook his head, unable to continue.

Lita didn't move from her comfortable position against Trip, but she grabbed the Admiral's hand and held it, patting it reassuringly. "We can do this more often now. I don't think we have to run any longer. There'll be family gatherings with your new grandchild."

Forrest nodded. Adam and his friends had destroyed the infrastructure of the experiment, and Forrest had Jonathan's security team go into Tarque's complex to remove every scrape of documentation and records, which were now securely locked in his cabin. Soval had his assistants recover all the bodies and other evidence. Together, they had made sure there was nothing left.

Forrest had people looking for Tarque. Forrest admitted to himself that he hoped Zindzhi would find the man first.

They were looking for Stevens as well.

Forrest leaned back and sipped his drink, this time smiling contentedly.

Trip couldn't help himself.

"Admiral," he began, a grin creasing his face, "You said before that you should tell us about the time Adam and Lita had to run, and Malcolm helped them escape..."

Forrest started laughing and Malcolm whipped his head around, his eyes wide and embarrassed. He shot a dark look at Trip, who smiled angelically back at him.

"I don't think that—" Malcolm began and Forrest cut him off.

"Don't worry, Malcolm, it won't go further than this room."

"I thought it was classified, sir," Malcolm responded, trying to hide behind regulations.

"Hell, Malcolm, your whole damn record's classified," Forrest retorted.

"Bloody fat lot of good that did," Malcolm muttered sourly.

"Don't you trust your friends?" the Admiral asked, teasing him.

"Oh, I trust them, sir. I'll just never hear the bleedin' end of it."

Forrest laughed and Adam piped up. "Remember, the whole plan was Malcolm's idea."

"And remember, he did the piloting, and the driving—" Lita chuckled as Adam and his father went off on a round of laughter.

Malcolm cursed and grabbed Chris' drink. He drained the glass and scrunched down into the couch, head buried in Hoshi's shoulder.

The Admiral launched into the story.

Epilogue—Three months later

Stevens walked into the nondescript building in San Francisco. It had taken him ages to return to Earth, fleeing that debacle on Pachaa, his cover blown and his years of carefully insinuating himself into Maxwell Forrest's trust, gone.

But if it had worked...well, he supposed they could try to rebuild the program. After all, they could still hunt down the survivors again.

He waited to see his superior, ignoring the two men sitting in the outer office, impatiently going through his briefing mentally until he was ushered into the room. He knew where to place the blame.

Stevens stopped short when he saw the man sitting behind the desk, a small stack of files in front of him.

"Where's Charten?"

"I'm afraid he's no longer part of this organization, Stevens. There have been a few changes in your absence."

"Such as, Douglas?"

"Such as I'm running it now and the direction this agency's been going has changed. You and your ilk have debased the intentions of this organization. I shall bring it back on track. And I have the backing and clout to do it." He sat back and hit a key on his console. The door opened and the two men from the outer office appeared. They were armed, and stood on either side of Stevens.

"Wait a minute, Douglas, I can still be very useful to you. I have information about Forrest and his interactions that could help you—"

Douglas laughed. "Stevens, you're unnecessary. Maxwell and I are old friends. I've been a trusted advisor to him for years. In fact, you could say I'm one of his most valuable sources." The man smiled at Stevens and nodded to the other two.

They grabbed Stevens and dragged him out. Douglas ignored his desperate offers and pleads.

He resumed his perusal of the files on his desk.

He glanced at Cain's file, the word Terminated stamped across the photograph. He threw it in the same pile as Stevens' and Tivet's files.

He tossed Tarque's and Zindzhi's dossiers into another pile, the word Missing imprinted across their pictures.

Bob Walters' file and Yaffa Tamar's both went into a third pile. Released written across theirs.

Cristobal Trijillo, Adam Forrest, and Lita Nguyen's files went into a final pile, the words Surveillance boldly inscribed on them. All three of them had settled back down into their nice quiet civilian lives, not really suitable for the direction he wanted to take the agency in, although their abilities were still intact according to Maxwell. Unreachable by others, but still there. It would be prudent to keep them in mind should those capabilities be needed in the future. Plus the offspring would need to be observed in case the conditioning affected it in some way that could be of value when it reached maturity.

Of course, he'd just watch them all. Wouldn't interfere with their lives. Wouldn't jeopardize them or harm them. That was not the intent of this organization.

Douglas studied the last file, trying to determine what to do about Malcolm Reed.

Douglas had always kept tabs on this one, more so than the others. He had chosen Starfleet and unlike the rest, continued to hone his skills every day through his service. He could be a valuable addition to the agency, but seemed to be quite devoted to his career. Douglas had the feeling it had something to do with his shipmates, his friends. Hoshi Sato in particular.

Douglas smiled as he thought he'd need another stamp made up. Potential Recruit. He tossed Malcolm's file off to the side.

Section 31 always was on the lookout for talent.