The Protector's Lament

Chapter 1

Malcolm Reed felt that phantom itch again, growing stronger, the one between his shoulder blades. The first time it had occurred, years ago, his team had walked into an ambush. At the time, he had brushed it off as coincidence. After the fourth time it happened, he learned to listen to it.

A trickle of sweat ran down his back. His eyes darted constantly, taking in everything. Colors were brighter, sounds were louder, smells sharper. He could smell Hoshi Sato's hair, scented with mint and rosemary. He could detect the scent of the light oil used on engine parts on Trip Tucker's jacket. And he caught the aroma of Porthos and a faint whiff of cheese from the captain. Of course, he could smell the tangy alien scent of Gv, Jrtd, and Trel, the tall, thin Sandarans who were walking alongside them as they led the landing team through the bustling marketplace.

Captain Jonathan Archer was talking and laughing with their hosts as the Sandarans pointed out interesting or exotic items. Three days ago, Enterprise had found this planet, with ships from several alien worlds orbiting it. Scans indicated that at least a dozen different species were down there, and Archer couldn't pass up the opportunity to investigate. After many exhausting hours, Hoshi had managed to translate enough of the Sandaran language to begin talks, and each member of the landing team was equipped with a universal translator programmed with Sandaran. Accepting the government's invitation to meet, the first landing team was received peacefully, and Archer had begun diplomatic talks.

Well pleased with his progress, Archer had accepted Trel's invitation to explore their capital city. Their escorts were junior aides in their government, personally selected by Gatok, the Sandaran First Counsel, and they were thrilled to have such unusual aliens as their first assignment. T'Pol had elected to remain on board, going over the scans and documents that they had acquired, and keeping an eye on the alien ships that were parked in orbit, for among them were Nausicaans and Andorians. Hoshi had wanted to come along in case they encountered any of the different species so that she could add their languages to her data banks. Trip just wanted to get out and see something, and Reed insisted that the captain take some security along. Jonathan had laughed and told Malcolm he was a mother hen and was welcome to tag along, but he reminded Malcolm that phase pistols or any type of projectile weapons were not allowed on the planet according to Sandaran law.

"Come on Malcolm, lighten up," Trip had teased him. "You worry more than a steer in a steak house."

Malcolm opened his mouth to respond, then gave him a double take. Once again, the engineer's "Tripism" had rendered Malcolm temporarily speechless as the image of a large bull in a restaurant sprang into his mind. "But we don't know anything about their customs, or their laws," Malcolm shot back after collecting himself. "A gesture common to us could lead to a misunderstanding, or worse."

"Now, Malcolm," Jonathan said, "I've covered that in my meetings with Gatok. He's sent us that type of information, as well as their planetary history, music, literary works—everything we need to understand them. T'Pol's studying their records and will contact us if we need to know anything. Starfleet's authorized us to give the Sandarans documents about Earth. Just don't stick your finger in your ear in front of any of them; it's considered rude."

"That's what I'm talking about!" Malcolm exclaimed. "How do we know what might set them off? I…"

"Lieutenant, relax." Jon smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Gatok assured me that there is nothing any of us could do to radically offend anyone. We're not anatomically equipped for it."

The shortest of the Sandarans stood about 15 centimeters taller than Jon. The aliens had six-fingered hands; a short, three-pronged tail; small, dark red scales covering the body, and small bumps along the tops of the head. Their necks had fringes, like earth lizards, that darted out and flapped when they laughed. Jon had found this very off-putting at first, but after three days of talks, he had become accustomed to their ferocious appearance. "They're really pretty gentle people. They're all vegetarians! There's nothing to worry about, Malcolm."

"Yes sir," Malcolm said, shifting his eyes to the floor and sighing internally. Civilians, he thought. None of his crewmates had ever seen any military action before being on the Enterprise. He had. He knew that he had to protect them. That was his job, and he'd do it whether they liked it or not. Then again, if left to the military, no one would ever had gone this far, he thought. The dreamers like Captain Archer's father made it possible to be out here. Malcolm raised his eyes to his captain and offered a small smile. "Just as long as they don't make us eat the local equivalent of lima beans, sir."

Chapter 2

The lunch they had been invited to before heading to the marketplace had a side dish that looked suspiciously like lima beans to Malcolm. Trip grinned and took a heaping spoonful before offering the bowl to Malcolm. "Help yourself, Lieutenant," Trip drawled with a mischievous gleam in his eye. Jon stifled a grin and Hoshi smothered a laugh as Malcolm looked daggers at Trip and then glanced toward their hosts' plates. The Sandaran custom was to serve yourself first so that your guests knew that the food was pure. Malcolm noticed that Jrtd did not have any of that particularly nauseating vegetable on his plate. Malcolm decided that it would be all right to decline and, with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, said "no thank you" to Trip and passed the bowl along to the captain. Jon could barely suppress his mirth as he took the bowl, and the conversation drifted toward their itinerary.

"First Counsel Gatok would like you to purchase anything you like at the marketplace. He has provided each of you with some of our currency," Jrtd said, placing a small leather pouch in front of each of his guests.

"Jrtd, that's really unnecessary…" Jon started.

"But much appreciated," Trip finished, reaching toward his bag and opening it.

"Trip!" Jon said in an aggravated tone. Trip flashed him an impish smirk.

Hoshi was happy that they would be able to bring back a souvenir or two from their visit. Liz Cutler's birthday was coming up next month, and Hoshi would love to get her something really unique as a present.

Malcolm turned to Jrtd. "Could I get a knife like yours?"

Jrtd chuffed nosily, his neck fringe shooting out and flapping. "You could get a knife, but not like mine," he said and unsheathed it from the holder under his arm. He leaned closer to the armory officer and flashed the blade in the light. "Our forefathers pass down the knives of their family, each stained with the blood of the enemy. Mine has seen the blood of 119 foes of my family in the past 37 generations. These markings here on the handle, they tell of the history of the blade. My knife has not tasted blood in over 12 generations. But we keep them, in memory of our heritage." He handed the knife over to Malcolm, who took it respectfully, admiring the heft and balance. "But you could purchase any type of blade at the marketplace. Knife, sword, chuta sticker, anything."

Malcolm looked up with a frown. "But I thought weapons weren't permitted on Sandaran. We couldn't bring our phase pistols."

Gv answered, "Only our security forces are allowed those types of weapons. It causes less problems, and our laws are thorough and strict. We have a very safe and open world. There is little to fear."

"We're not afraid, Gv," Jonathan replied.

"Malcolm's just an old worrywart," Trip stage-whispered to the trio of Sandarans, winking at Malcolm to show he was just teasing. Malcolm offered Trip a slight smile and handed the knife back to Jrtd.

Chapter 3

Malcolm bought a knife and hip sheath for it at the first stall he saw at the marketplace.

"You just feel naked without anything to shoot with, don't you? I bet you sleep with your phase pistol, just like a teddy bear," Trip joked.

Jon laughed. "Now, Trip, I hear you sleep with a tool box and a microcalibrator!"

Hoshi turned from her study of the knives on the table in front of her. "Oh, I can see that! Curled up and sucking your thumbs!" Hoshi started laughing merrily.

Malcolm and Trip looked at each other, picturing the other with their respective "teddy bears," and burst out laughing. Malcolm murmured, "Winnie the Tool Box?" to Trip. Trip replied with "Mr. Boo Boo Pistol?", and they started to laugh again. Malcolm completed his purchase, and their party continued down the paved street, looking at the colorful stalls and diverse group of beings.

Jon smiled fondly at his crew, listening to Gv ramble on about the different vegetables offered at the food stalls lining the road. Watching his people gave him an almost paternal feeling: Trip, his jacket slung over his shoulder, tugging at Hoshi's arm to have her look at some exotic plant or piece of art; Malcolm, a step behind and on the other side of Hoshi, quiet and contained as usual, making a dry aside or two now and then, causing his crewmates to laugh. At least Trip and Malcolm aren't arguing, Jon thought as he watched them, while listening to Gv with half an ear. God, they're like cats and dogs when they go at it. He mentally laughed at the thought. Watching them, Trip reminded him of a golden retriever, grinning and excited as he bounded enthusiastically from stall to stall, periodically brushing against Hoshi and others, stopping at whatever caught his interest and quickly moving along to the next unique booth. Malcolm was like a cat, sure-footedly weaving through the narrowest gaps in crowd, never touching anyone, neat and alert, scanning the surroundings constantly as he followed the other two.

Trel stopped suddenly in front of one stall. "Ah, Captain Archer. I believe you and your people may find this enjoyable. They sell the finest Mojatar in all of the city here." The universal translator sputtered.

"What's that?" Jon asked and called Hoshi over to see if she could understand what Trel had said.

"It's a local drink, Captain." Trel spoke to the proprietor, who swiftly produced several tiny glasses and a bottle of a whitish liquid. "Here, try some," Trel said as his poured a splash of the liquid into the glass.

Archer sniffed it cautiously. "Alcohol?"

Trel looked questioningly at Hoshi, who spoke to him in Sandaran. Trel nodded to Hoshi, and answered. "Yes, it contains an intoxicant, but this small amount is negligible." He spoke a few more words to Hoshi.

"Trel says its effects in this volume would be like…I guess…a sip of whisky," Hoshi clarified.

"Well, I'm game, Cap'n!" Trip said and reached for a glass. "Bottom's up." Trip saluted and sipped it. He nodded his approval. "That's pretty good; goes down real smooth, too." He drained the rest of the glass and gestured to the proprietor. "I'll take three bottles."

Jonathan shrugged and sipped his drink. It was smooth all right, and it tasted slightly milky. Trel, Gv, and Jrtd all knocked back their shots and murmured appreciatively among themselves.

"Try some, Malcolm," Trip said and extended a glass toward him.

"Sorry, Commander, I'm on duty," Malcolm replied with a ghost of a smile.

"Your loss, Lieutenant." Trip offered the glass to Hoshi.

"No thanks, Trip. It's a little early for me."

"Okay, but you don't know what you're missing," Trip replied and sipped down the contents. "Damn, that's good! Make that six bottles, and could you send that to me?" Trel gave the proprietor an address to deliver the Mojatar to, Trip paid, and they went on their way again.

"What's that mixed with Trel?" Trip asked.

"The milk of a Taajak."

"Taajak," Trip repeated, rolling the word off his tongue. "What's a Taajak?"

"Come, they should be selling some further down, and you can see for yourself."

Hoshi lingered behind alongside Malcolm. "It's probably some smelly goat-like creature," she whispered to him and was pleased to hear him chuckle. They followed along in companionable silence, taking in the sights and sounds. "They had so many different knives back there; why did you pick that one?" Hoshi asked abruptly.

Malcolm thought for a moment. He could tell her that he liked the way it felt in his hand. He could tell her that the heft and balance were perfect, the blade sharp, one side smooth and razor-like, the other side viciously serrated and shaped for maximum damage. He could tell her that he felt uneasy without a backup weapon to use in order to protect their party. Although these reasons went into his decision, he told her the truth.

"I thought it was…pretty. The craftsmanship is incredible. It's a work of art, really. Did you see the designs on the handle? And the writing on the blade? The shopkeeper told me what it said…" He couldn't finish, couldn't say that the words on the blade felt very personal and touched something deep within himself. He glanced down at his feet and then stole a look at Hoshi. She was looking at the knife secured to his hip. He unsheathed it and handed it to her. She stopped, studying it carefully, tracing the patterns etched into the blade with her fingertips, reading the alien script, translating it.

As I shed your blood, I condemn myself to damnation. Without reservation, I accept my fate. With my body and my soul, I will protect the ones I care for from harm, as is my duty. Forgive me, brother, for taking your life.

Malcolm, keeping Archer and Trip in sight, lightly touched Hoshi's arm to get her moving again. She started walking, still examining the knife. She looked up at Malcolm and handed it back to him. As he resheathed, she said, "Yes, it's very beautiful. I can understand why you liked it." Malcolm saw that there was no taunt, no scorn behind her words. He relaxed marginally and steered them toward the rest of their group. Five minutes later, he felt an unwanted but familiar itch between his shoulder blades.

Chapter 4

Malcolm herded Hoshi back toward their group and scrutinized the crowd. He saw hundreds of Sandarans milling about, shopping and talking; three Andorians stood on a corner, looking lost. He noticed a noisy group of small, fuzzy purple aliens, walking on their thin chicken-like legs and trilling to each other sharply as they pointed out items of interest. He glanced behind him and saw five Nausicaans about 200 meters back, talking to two Sandarans. He observed a couple of aliens he'd never seen before, arguing with a stall keeper. Malcolm and Hoshi caught up to Jon and Trip as Gv was showing them some ordinary-looking crystals, ranging in size from mere pebbles to one the size of a bowling ball.

"Hold one," Gv said, picking one up off of the table and offering one to Archer. Jon took it, and a melodic humming filled the air.

"It's singing!" Jon exclaimed with a look of delight. Hoshi and Trip each picked up a crystal and as theirs started to hum, the melody changed. Their Sandaran guides had their neck fringes out and fluttering, amused by the humans' enchantment.

Malcolm's back itched more intensely and his perception began to widen. He felt a trickle of sweat slowly make its way down his tense spine. He hated this jittery feeling. Everything was bright and loud, and the different scents were almost overwhelming. Malcolm looked back and saw that the arguing aliens had moved along, walking to the left of their party and turning down a street. The Nausicaans had moved about 100 meters closer and were talking to another group of Sandarans.

Jon and Trip started to experiment with their crystals, testing the proximity they needed to get them to sing in concert, listening to the unique sounds each made, waving them around to make them change tones. Hoshi put her crystal down and wandered toward a stall selling fabric. Malcolm checked the captain and Trip, who were still playing with the crystals, with Gv, Jrtd, and Trel crowded behind them. At least their backs are covered, Malcolm thought as he hurried toward Hoshi, uneasy that she had separated from their party.

"Hey, Malcolm. Look at this fabric. I think it would make a really cute skirt for Ensign Cutler's birthday gift," Hoshi said and gestured toward a bolt of cloth.

He spared it a glanced and continued to scan the marketplace. "Yes, very cute," he echoed, feeling jumpy and twitchy.

"You didn't even look at it!" Hoshi exclaimed indignantly.

"Purple and blue background, green and gold six-petaled flowers in groups of seven, one hundred twelve in all, an orange vine motif around the edges," he said absently. "Rather garish, actually," he muttered more quietly as he continued to scrutinize the crowd.

"I heard that," Hoshi said as she counted the flowers. "What, you were an interior decorator in a past life?" she grumbled good-naturedly. What do you know? He's right, there are one hundred and twelve of them, she thought with a flash of surprise. She looked at him and finally noticed that he seemed anxious. "You okay?" she asked with concern.

"Fine," he said as he observed the Nausicaans heading toward the captain and Trip, who were still playing with the crystals. "Stay here," he said curtly and slipped quickly through the crowd toward his captain. Hoshi was stunned by the change in his attitude and followed him, winding slowly through the dense throng.

The Nausicaans came up behind the away team's Sandaran guides. "How much for those two?" the Nausicaan in front asked Gv.

"Those crystals? You'll have to ask the shopkeeper," Gv said politely, as Jon and Trip looked up.

"No, your two humans. We need some workers," the Nausicaan replied, pointing at Archer and Trip.

Archer exchanged a look with Trip and said, "We're not for sale." He saw Trip tense and ready himself. He noticed Malcolm coming up behind the Nausicaans.

The Nausicaan ignored Archer. "I was told I could get anything I wanted here," the Nausicaan addressed Gv, "and I want some workers. They'll do."

Gv held up his hands and shook his head, "No, you're mistaken. These are our guests; they are not for sale. Day laborers can be found three streets down that way." Gv pointed toward his left.

The Nausicaan turned his head in the direction Gv pointed and sighted Hoshi as she finally made her way through the crowd. "How much for the woman?" the Nausicaan said with a leer. "She's looks fragile, but we could use her for a time." His friends laughed, and one Nausicaan with greasy hair grabbed Hoshi by the wrist and pulled her to him, sliding his other hand down her chest and toward her crotch. Archer started forward, but Trel pulled him back with a strength deceptive for his thin frame.

"I think not," Hoshi said from between gritted teeth, slapping the greasy-haired Nausicaan's hand away and at the same time kneeing him in the groin with all her might. The Nausicaan loudly exhaled with an "oomph" and keeled over, eyes rolled up and whimpering. Their leader moved to backhand Hoshi, but Archer was there and hit the Nausicaan in the face, the crystal in his fist adding to the force of the blow. Trip pulled Hoshi back and pushed her behind him and under the table, then stepped in to join the fray.

The third Nausicaan drew his knife, but Malcolm came up from behind and grabbed his wrist, twisting it viciously and slamming the Nausicaan's head hard into the side of the crystal stall, knocking him out. Malcolm reeled around in time to duck a punch from the fourth Nausicaan, who had a long scar running down the side of his face, while Trip was exchanging jabs with the fifth. Gv, Trel, and Jrtd made a half-hearted attempt to pull Archer and Trip away, but they were shrugged off and the two continued to fight. The crowd backed away to give the combatants room and watched excitedly.

Malcolm dodged another punch and landed a roundhouse kick to his Nausicaan's ribs. He could hear them crack and followed up his advantage with a stiff-fingered jab to his opponent's throat. The Nausicaan gagged and faltered. Malcolm punched him in the stomach and then grabbed the alien by the ears. He yanked the Nausicaan's head down, bringing his knee up and driving it into the man's chin. He heard the Nausicaan's jaw snap, then hurled a fist into the alien's face, knocking him out of the fight. Malcolm wheeled around, relaxing, the jitteriness gone.

Hoshi watched them fight from under the cover of the table. She was astonished by the reactions of the crowd. They had been watching the fight as if it were an entertaining piece of street art, but when Malcolm kicked his second Nausicaan, the crowd of Sandarans gasped and started to disperse quickly, some running for the comm unit on the corner. She crouched under the table and winced as she saw Trip, left eye already swelling shut, get punched in the mouth, blood spraying. Trip swept up a small crystal and launched it with a fastball pitch squarely between the eyes of his opponent. The Nausicaan went down as if poleaxed, and Gv and Trel grabbed Trip by the shoulders, pulling him away with their surprising strength. Trip could hear the faint sound of sirens in the background as the Sandarans hauled him away from the fight.

Malcolm saw that Jrtd had finally gotten a hand on the captain just as the Nausicaan leader landed a punch. It staggered Archer, causing him to lose his balance and stumble back into Jrtd. They fell in a tangle of limbs in front of the table Hoshi was under. Hoshi reared back in alarm, bumped her head, and scampered out, retreating toward the back of the long, narrow stall. Malcolm launched himself at the Nausicaan who had finally pulled a knife and was starting toward Archer. Malcolm leapt up and crashed into the Nausicaan's broad back, pinning the man's arms as he clamped onto his adversary's knife hand. He wrapped his legs around the Nausicaan's hips and wrenched the alien sideways, forcing the knife from his hand, causing the Nausicaan to spin and stumble over Jon and Jrtd. They fell over backward onto the table, fracturing it under their combined weight and velocity. Malcolm felt his ribs protest as the full weight of the large being came down on him and the back of the Nausicaan's head slammed into his nose. Eyes watering, nose stinging, and breathless, Malcolm lost his grip. He managed to keep his legs locked around the Nausicaan's hips as he willed himself to inhale.

Jon tried to rise, but Jrtd had an iron hold on his arm and dragged him toward Gv, Trel, and Trip. Jon struggled but Jrtd's grasp was unbreakable, and he could only watch helplessly as the Nausicaan smashed a rock-hard elbow into Malcolm's side several times and broke free. Malcolm swore in pain, and scrambled to his feet, wiping his bloody nose and spitting out a mouthful of blood. The Nausicaan charged, and Malcolm agilely stepped aside. The alien was surprised when he rushed past the human and even more surprised when the human kicked him in the backside with enough force to drive him into the back of the stall. The Nausicaan bounced off the far wall. He was bewildered to see the human women on top of a chair and astonished when she dropped a bowling ball-sized crystal onto his head. His arms flailed as he went down, hitting Hoshi.

"Hemorrhoid!" Hoshi hissed at the unconscious Nausicaan.

Jon and Trip laughed. "Oh, god, Hoshi! Damn, my lip, don't make me laugh!" Trip exclaimed, trying not to open his mouth any wider, but he couldn't stop from grinning.

Malcolm began to chuckle and wiped at his bleeding nose. The action sent a sharp pain through it and up to his eye sockets. It wasn't broken, he decided, but it was definitely tender. He felt his ribs gingerly and winced as he hit a particularly painful spot. At least one, maybe two were cracked, he noted with a resigned grimace. He spat out another mouthful of bright red blood. When he heard a raspy breath behind him, he whirled around. The greasy-haired Nausicaan was clutching his groin and tottering toward him. It would have been funny if the alien hadn't been holding a very large knife and eyeing Hoshi with hatred. Malcolm stepped in front of the Nausicaan. "Drop it," he ordered. The Nausicaan glared at the armory officer and continued to advance. Malcolm drew his own knife and the alien stopped. Archer and Trip started forward, but the Sandaran aides held them back.

"You can't," Jrtd said. "You two are still innocent."

"What?" Jon exclaimed in an exasperated tone. He wondered if the UT was working properly. Trip was struggling, wanting to help his friend, but held fast.

Not taking his eyes off his opponent, Malcolm spoke to Hoshi. "Get to the others, Ensign," he ordered, jerking his head toward the captain and Trip. He heard her jump off the chair and run to her crewmates.

"This is stupid," Malcolm said, sidling to the right and back, maneuvering the Nausicaan away from Archer and the rest. "No one's been killed, so let's just walk away from this, shall we? I don't want to get hurt, and I'm sure you don't wish to be injured further." The Nausicaan scowled and started slowly forward again.

Malcolm heard the sound of running feet and spared a glance in that direction. He saw a group of armored Sandarans, armed with pistols, dashing toward them. Malcolm looked back at the Nausicaan. "Here comes the cavalry, mate. It's over."

The Sandaran forces skidded to a halt. "Resheath your knives and put your arms out!" a Sandaran ordered. Malcolm backed up to put some distance between him and the Nausicaan, then replaced the knife in its encasement and held out his arms. The Nausicaan lunged at Malcolm, and the last thing Malcolm saw was several bright orange lights engulf them both.

Chapter 5

"You shot Malcolm!" Hoshi cried.

"You bastards!" Trip shouted, trying to free himself.

Jonathan turned to Jrtd. "Please, let me go," he said urgently. Hoshi broke and ran toward Malcolm's body. The Sandaran forces turned their guns on her and ordered to stop. Hoshi froze.

"He's merely stunned," Jrtd explained and released Archer. Gv and Trel freed Trip as well, and the two followed Hoshi slowly, so as not to alarm the Sandaran forces.

"He should awaken in a few hours," Gv added as the three Sandaran aides went to talk to the head of the Sandaran task force.

"Protector Leto," Trel said and nodded to the Sandaran soldier, who had lowered his weapon and taken out something that looked similar to a data padd.

"Trel," Leto nodded in greeting. "What happened here?"

Trel sighed and related the story while Leto took notes. Trip, Archer, and Hoshi huddled around Malcolm, relieved that he was alive and breathing. Malcolm's nose was still bleeding, and Trip used the sleeve of his jacket to brush away the blood on Malcolm's face. Archer unzipped Malcolm's jacket and lifted his armory officer's shirt, checking for injuries. He noted the large bruise forming down Malcolm's right side and gently probed the darkening area.

"Might have a broken rib," he said, wincing in empathy. "Gv, we have to go back to the ship so we can get Malcolm to sickbay," he said, turning to the Sandaran aide.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible Captain," Gv said with regret. "Lieutenant Reed is under arrest."

"What do you mean? Those guys started it! They pulled a knife on us, for crying out loud!" Trip was almost sputtering in his anger.

"Yes, he's the third Nausicaan today we've arrested," Leto sighed, not looking up from his padd. "We're asking them to leave orbit." He continued to calmly input data.

Hoshi removed the jacket from Trip's hands and squatted down to wipe more blood off Malcolm's face. His nose was still bleeding, so she gently pinched it, trying to make it stop. She noticed the telltale signs of bruising under his eyes, no doubt beginning to blacken in response to the blow to his nose.

"Trel, why is Malcolm being arrested?" Jonathan asked with surprising patience.

"He broke the law," Leto responded before Trel could answer. "He attacked three people. You and Mr. Tucker fought only your own challenger."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Trip asked in disgust. "They grabbed Hoshi and we were just finishin' what they started."

"By our laws, it is legal to fight one on one, but if you assault more than one person, you will be arrested," Trel explained.

"Assault! It was self-defense!" Archer exclaimed in aggravation.

"You and Mr. Tucker both defended yourselves again one man each. However, Mr. Reed here, instead of stopping after finishing off his combatant, attacked another man. He then fought your combatant, Captain."

"He was protecting us! That's his job! He's not going to stand back and watch his Captain get gutted like a fish!" Trip exclaimed, not believing the nonsense he was hearing. "How the hell else are you going to defend yourself if you're outnumbered? Besides, Big Ole Ugly Scar Face attacked Malcolm first." Jeez, what's was wrong with these people? Trip thought irritably.

"We fight one on one," Leto explained patiently. "It's not only illegal to challenge two or more opponents at the same time, it's rude."

"Rude!" Archer exploded. "Rude! You're arresting my man, just for defending himself, because it's rude!" Oh, god! What is wrong with these people? Jonathan thought with disbelief.

"Yes. Rude. We have rules. And laws. And your Lieutenant broke them. And your Lieutenant will pay the price," Leto explained politely.

"What price?" asked Trip suspiciously.

"One year in exile per victim," Leto said, looking back at his padd.

"Exile?" Archer questioned.

"Incarceration," Hoshi interpreted, remembering the Sandaran synonyms for the word Leto had said.

"Three years?" Trip said with disbelief.

"Yes," Leto said, a bit annoyed. Do these people have a hard time understanding simple Sandaran? he thought.

"Wait a minute. We're here on a diplomatic mission. What about diplomatic immunity?" Archer asked hopefully.

"Diplomatic immunity," Leto tried the phrase out. "What a disturbing thought. You let your diplomats break your laws?" Dear Telmera, what is wrong with these people? he thought with dismay.

"Well, no but…" Archer found it difficult to explain the concept without sounding completely stupid.

Leto called another Sandaran force member over and held out his hand. The other Sandaran placed three metallic bracelets in Leto's palm. Leto made an adjustment to them, and a low hum filled the air, then subsided. He gave one bracelet back to his man, who walked over the wrecked crystal stall and secured it around the Nausicaan leader's wrist. Leto slapped one bracelet on Malcolm's left wrist and grabbed Hoshi's right wrist.

"Hey!" Hoshi exclaimed and stood up. She was tired of people grabbing her today. She watched with amazement as she got her own bracelet.

"You assaulted two people as well, Ms. Sato. The sentence is two years in exile," Leto said courteously, with a hint of regret. "The Nausicaan struck Captain Archer, as well as you, Ms. Sato, when he fell. He will be joining you in exile."

"Now wait a damn minute…" Tucker said and moved forward. Jonathan flanked him. The Sandarans raised their weapons, and the two froze.

"We will take them back to a holding area, implant their translators, process their papers, and ship them out in the morning. Mr. Reed will receive any medical care he needs," Leto said briskly, gesturing to three of his men. One dragged the Nausicaan over to a transport and tossed him in. Another picked Malcolm up and slung him over his shoulder effortlessly, carried him over to a different transport, and dumped Malcolm into it carelessly. The other took Hoshi by the arm and led her to the same vehicle. Hoshi made some protesting sounds and stopped moving, but the Sandaran picked her up gently and placed her beside Malcolm. He slammed the door in her face.

"Don't worry. You may be able to buy their release," Trel said soothingly.

Chapter 6

The transport was small, cramped, and poorly ventilated. The ride was bumpy; the swaying and abrupt stops and starts were making Hoshi sick. One particularly sharp turn sent Hoshi and Malcolm crashing into the opposite wall, and for the rest of the two-hour ride, she sat tensed against one wall, wedging her feet against the other side, arms aching from trying to prevent Malcolm from being thrown back and forth. She was hungry and thirsty, and she was sweating in the hot, stale air.

The torturous motion finally stopped, and Hoshi was escorted by two Sandarans to a holding cell, while a third carried Malcolm. He roughly dropped Malcolm on a bench within the cell.

"Hey! Be careful! Don't hurt him!" Hoshi angrily exclaimed. The Sandaran ignored her as he exited, and her two escorts gestured her in. The barred doors clanged shut, and she heard an electronic hum as the lock sealed.

Hoshi looked around the small compartment, which contained only one narrow bench. In an adjacent area were a toilet and bowl of water, with a dirty piece of cloth hanging on a peg next to it. She cupped her hands and drank some of the water from the bowl, then spit it out. It was bitter and brackish. She grabbed the cloth, tossed it into the bowl, and returned to Malcolm's side. Placing the bowl on the floor, she knelt next to Malcolm and wrung out the cloth, wiped her face and arms to cool down, and then cleaned off the now dried blood from Malcolm's face. She stared at the small scar on his upper lip, wondering how he had gotten it. She carefully removed the crusted blood around his nose, then rinsed the towel out. She twirled the cloth around rapidly to chill it and placed it over Malcolm's eyes, hoping to slow the bruising.

Their Sandaran escorts had been pretty rough in their handling of Malcolm, and she feared that they had injured him further. Trying to remember her first aid training, she felt along his arms and legs to see if anything was amiss and decided that nothing felt odd. No thanks to Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, she thought irately. She lifted Malcolm's shirt to check on the bruise. It now covered most of his right side, from his nipple down, disappearing into his pants. The color had deepened. She exhaled a gentle sound of distress and tentatively brushed her hand over the top of the contusion. She tested his ribs. She felt one give slightly and she thought she saw Malcolm flinch, but she wasn't sure. She froze, afraid that she was hurting him.

She lifted the cloth from Malcolm's eyes, but he was still thankfully unconscious. Hoshi gently raised each eyelid to see whether his pupils were reactive. They were. No concussion. Good, she thought. As she checked his eyes, she was suddenly struck by the fact that she had never noticed what color his eyes were. She thought that they were dark, but they weren't. She stared into one eye, studying the patterns and different colors. She was surprised to find them a frosty blue, like the sky on a cold winter morning, with a few minuscule flecks so dark that they appeared a deep purple. She saw dashes of grey and picked out a single thread of dark jade.

Strange, I never noticed them before, she thought, distracted by the swirl of colors. Probably because he rarely looks anyone in the eye. She thought back on all the times she'd spoken to him. Then again, the ship's so dark it's hard to see anything half the time. She absently continued the study of Malcolm's eye, flicking a glance at the thick lashes and then back to her contemplation of the mix of colors. My god, he's got beautiful eyes! Malcolm Reed, eye candy, she thought with a chuckle. She mentally shook herself and let Malcolm's eyelid drop. I must be getting giddy, she thought as she berated herself for her bad pun. Well, of course, all the stress… She placed the wet cloth around her neck and reveled in its delicious coolness.

She continued her inspection for injuries, desperately trying to keep her mind off of their impending "exile." She now regretted letting Travis Mayweather talk her into going to see the double feature last week—that hoary old B movie Women in Chains, paired with The Snake Pit. Her crewmates had been laughing at the prison movie, throwing popcorn at the screen and making amusing comments during the climatic knife fight. But she unwillingly pictured herself up against a tough Sandaran woman, circling each other, knives at the ready, while surrounded by guards and other Sandaran prisoners egging them on. She flashed onto the mental hospital in the other movie as the heroine was dragged through the ward, jeering inmates grabbing at her. Hoshi felt clammy and sick to her stomach and recognized that she was slipping into shock. Perhaps a combination of fear, the ride, dehydration, and adrenaline, said a part of her mind, which sounded remarkably like T'Pol.

She ran her trembling hands through Malcolm's hair, checking his head for cuts or bumps. She found none, but she felt an odd texture at his temples. She brushed his hair back with her fingers and found a faded scar, square and symmetrical, on his left temple. She inspected his right temple and found its twin.

Those aren't natural markings, she thought. They look like they were deliberately burned in there. She shuddered, thinking of what could leave marks like that. She realized that even though she probably knew more about Malcolm than anyone on the ship, she really didn't know him. She doubted anyone on board knew much about him, except maybe the captain. After all, the captain had handpicked him to serve as their security and tactical officer. Hoshi thought that you'd have to know something to entrust that position to someone.

She saw that her fingers were still entwined in his hair, and she jerked them away. Definitely going into shock, Hoshi, she thought. She knew that she was getting anxious about being sent to an alien jail, and inspecting Malcolm's injuries was a way to delay her rising panic. As all the bad prison movies she had seen over the years flashed through her mind, she wondered shakily if she and Malcolm would be separated. Did they have jails for separate genders? Or would they be thrown into one big labor camp, surrounded by all sorts of murderers and other felons? She tried not to think about being locked up in a tiny cell for two years, with no other human contact.

These people think it's okay to fight each other, with knives. Even the females are bigger and stronger than I am. How am I going to survive here? Her thoughts were coming faster now, the panic tearing at her self-control. Her heart had started to beat rapidly, and she was hot but could no longer sweat.

Her quivering hands found Malcolm's face, and she shook his head slightly. "Come on, Lieutenant, wake up," she whispered in a unsteady voice. She shook a little harder. "Wake up, okay?" He was paler than usual and lying far too still. It had looked like he'd been hit by at least three stun weapons, but she was no longer sure of what exactly happen. Her memory was no longer clear. The panic was now swelling within her. It's been long enough. He should be awake by now, she thought frantically. What if he dies? What if the captain can't get me out of here? What if I'm left alone on this planet? Two years without seeing any other humans? Her fear, fully consuming her, made her shake his shoulders. "Wake up, Lieutenant!" she shouted. She poked at his injured ribs, trying to get a reaction like before—anything, any movement, any sound, so she knew he'd be okay and she wouldn't be stranded alone. He didn't move. Would they put me in somewhere with those Nausicaans? she thought, pushing and shaking Malcolm, still trying to get him to respond. She saw herself surrounded by huge men as they groped and pawed her. She could still feel the phantom touch of the greasy-haired one's hand as it slid down her body. "Wake up, damn it, Malcolm. Wake up!" she yelled, her voice wavering. She abruptly realized that she was shaking Malcolm violently and stopped. "I'm sorry, oh, I'm sorry," she moaned.

She made her unsteady way to the bars and started screaming in Sandaran, "I want to see a doctor now! Do you hear me? Bring me a doctor! I want to see a doctor now!"

Chapter 7

For ten harrowing minutes, Hoshi screamed her demand, beating on the bars until her hands were sore. A part of her mind watched in mortification as she gave into her hysterics, but she didn't care; there was no one to witness them.

She stopped to gather another breath for a new burst and heard footfalls. A Sandaran carrying a case walked down the hallway and aimed a device at the locking mechanism. He opened the door and Hoshi stepped back.

"You've been quite noisy," the Sandaran said.

Hoshi was too exhausted to answer and too muzzy to really understand what he said. "Help him," she croaked, and pointed to Malcolm.

He looked at where she was pointing and shook his head. He gently took Hoshi by the arm and guided her toward the bench. Laying his case on Malcolm's chest, he opened it and retrieved something that looked like a scanner. He passed it over Hoshi's body and went back into his case and pulled out another device. He swiftly set it and placed it against her neck. She heard a slight "whoosh" and suddenly felt much better. He scanned her again, manipulated the hypospray to another setting, and injected her again. She felt herself relax, and tiredly pointed to Malcolm. The Sandaran doctor dug around in his case and came up with another device. He turned Hoshi around and lifted the hair from the back of her neck. Hoshi felt too lethargic to protest as he injected something into her neck, at the base of her skull. It stung, but she didn't have enough energy to react. The Sandaran started to speak, and Hoshi was startled to hear it translate into English within her head.

"You were severely dehydrated, with symptoms of heatstroke and shock. You should feel better now." "Yes," she murmured, still trying to get used to having his words whispered in her mind.

He carefully took her hand and ran another device over the bruises she had inflicted on herself. She watched as they faded rapidly. The pain receded, then disappeared. He took her other hand and did the same.

"Thank you. Could you look at Malcolm now, please?" she indicated to the armory officer.

"Of course. Hold this, please," and he picked up the case and handed it to her. He reached in and withdrew what looked like a ration bar wrapped in foil. "Eat this. It will help."

Hoshi placed the case on the floor and unwrapped the bar, taking a tentative bite. It tasted like mud, and she made a face. The doctor's neck fringes whipped out in amusement. "Yes, it tastes awful, doesn't it? But it will meet your nutritional needs, replace essential chemicals that you've lost."

Hoshi forced herself to take another bite. "He's been stunned and I can't get him to wake up," she said through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, that happens occasionally to different races. I had to wait to get the information from your ship on your physiology and anatomy, your reactions to our medicines, and the physical norm for your species." He ran his scanner over Malcolm. The doctor made hissing, guttural noises as he took the readings. He took out a hypospray unit and injected Malcolm several times, resetting the unit between doses the way he had done with Hoshi. He lifted the lieutenant's head and injected a translator into the back of his neck, then started to heal the bruise under his right eye. Hoshi watched as it faded and disappeared.

"I think his ribs are broken, and that'll hurt a lot more when he wakes up than his eye," she said a bit impatiently. He gave her an indulgent smile and obeyed her implied request. He lifted Malcolm's shirt, prodded at his ribcage underneath the massive bruise, and took a reading.

"Ah! You're right—two broken ribs. I'll have them repaired in no time." The doctor rummaged around in his case and came up with yet another device, placed it over his patient's ribs, and slowly rotated it back and forth as he hummed a pleasant little tune.

Hoshi slumped against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor. It was good to just sit and close her eyes, listening to the doctor humming, while she finished the unappetizing bar. She opened one eye. "Water?"

The doctor withdrew a bottle from his case and handed it to her. It was pure, sweet, and cold, and Hoshi greedily gulped it down. "Slowly," the doctor warned, still running his medical instrument over Malcolm's ribs. "Don't shock your system."

Hoshi slowed down. She'd had enough shocks to her system today, thank you. The doctor inverted his device. "There, the bones have knitted. Good as new." Changing to another instrument, he started at Malcolm's nipple, removing the bruise from his side as Hoshi watched in fascination. Doctor Phlox would probably give his eyeteeth for these gadgets, Hoshi thought.

As Hoshi watched, she realized that she was feeling very good. Extremely good. "I feel odd. What did you give me?" she asked in dismay. She rose and lurched over to stand at Malcolm's head, watching the doctor work.

"Just a dose of something to stimulate your endorphin levels, to make you feel cheerful, combined with a time-released relaxant to help you sleep later," the doctor replied, still intent on his work. "Happy criminals are easier to work with. I wasn't quite sure of the dosage, so I gave your friend a larger amount just in case."

Great, Hoshi thought as she felt herself float, Malcolm's going to be higher than a kite when he wakes up. The thought made her laugh, and the doctor spared her a glance.

"Hmmm, maybe that was a little too much," he mused. He finished healing all visible signs of the bruise. He unfastened the knife holster from around Malcolm's waist and removed the knife. "Ah, the Protector's Lament," he noted as he read the script on the blade. "That explains why they allowed him to keep it," he said as he resheathed the knife, He undid Malcolm's pants to reach the rest of the bruise. He lifted the waistband of Malcolm's skivvies and gasped.

"Dear Telmera! Has this man suffered a blow to his…" Hoshi quickly averted her eyes and burst into a laugh so loud that the doctor didn't finish his sentence. He readied his medical device. "I must reduce the swelling before…"

Hoshi shouted, "No!" and tried to stifle her laughter. "No, that's…that's normal for human males." She was laughing so hard that she could barely get the words out.

"That's normal?" the doctor asked in wonder. "Our females will be most impressed." The doctor shook his head and started to heal the rest of Malcolm's bruise.

Hoshi laughed even harder, tears leaking from her eyes. Oh God, poor Malcolm! It's a good thing he's still out or he'd be so embarrassed, she thought, trying to catch her breath. She tried to focus, but the laughter bubbled up every so often. She took several deep breathes, and by the time the doctor had finished, she was only giggling occasionally. He went back to remove the bruising under Malcolm's left eye, but his instrument sputtered and stilled.

"I knew I should have recharged it before coming in," he muttered. "Well, he'll have to live with that one; I'll bring him around now. Patients are so much easier to work on when they're unconscious."

He placed a hypospray against Malcolm's neck and stood back, replacing instruments into his case. He handed Hoshi three more bottles of water and a food bar. "Good luck, madam," he said, then opened the cell door and left. The electric hum started again, locking them in.

Malcolm's eyes fluttered open, and, squinting in the light, he groaned quietly. He groggily sat up and rubbed at his temples. A smile began to play on his lips. "I feel really good," he slurred and broke into a happy grin. "Where are we? What happened?"

Hoshi grinned back and passed the food bar and water over to Malcolm. "In jail," she replied.

"Thanks, love," he said absently, eyeing the interior of their cell, and took a swig of water. Opening the food bar, he bit into it. "Oh, cor! That's smeggin' awful!" he said, his accent thick and muddied.

"It's probably all we'll get and it's healthy for you, so you'd better eat it," Hoshi said as she watched Malcolm sway slightly, as if listening to some far-off music. She filled him in on what had occurred since he'd been stunned while he listened and ate, his eyes half-closed.

"Are you okay?" he asked suddenly with concern. "I think I've been drugged. How do you feel?" He spoke carefully, trying to form the words with his usual precision.

She told him what the doctor had said, mentioning that Malcolm had received a larger dose.

"Oh, that's bloody marvelous," he said sourly. He stood up, steadied himself, and walked to the cell bars. He inspected the lock, shook the bars a couple of times and started pacing.

"If I didn't feel so damned good, I think I'd be rather put out," he said with another wide smile and a laugh. He rubbed his hands through his hair vigorously, as if it could help clear his head. He paced restlessly, using his hands to push off against the wall each time he came to one.

"Relax, Malcolm, we can't get out. I'm sure the captain is working on our release right now." Malcolm continued to pace nervously. "What are you doing? Sit down. You're making me dizzy."

"I'm trying to work the drugs out of my system; you should be moving too. We'll need clear heads, and right now, I can't even think straight."

Hoshi watched him move as she sat down on the bench. She was getting tired, the events of the day catching up with her, and she hoped that the sedative would kick in soon. Malcolm began laughing again, and she looked at him, eyebrows raised. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

"That Nausicaan you kneed," he started, laughing even harder. "The look on his face when he went down…" Malcolm laughed so hard, he couldn't continue. His laughter was infectious, and Hoshi began to chuckle as well.

"You should have seen the face of the guy Trip pegged with the crystal! Or when you kicked that Nausicaan in the rear, right into the stall wall! Oh, god! He was so surprised!" Hoshi was now laughing as hard as Malcolm, slapping the bench with her hand. They laughed until they were gasping for air and Hoshi choked out, "You kicked his ass, Malcolm!" They looked at each other and went off on another round of giggling. "How do you get a one-armed Nausicaan out of a tree?" Hoshi asked abruptly.

"What?" Malcolm asked, a grin still on his face.

"How do you get a one-armed Nausicaan out of a tree?" Hoshi repeated. Malcolm just looked at her, puzzled and smiling.

"Wave to him," she forced out through her laughter. Malcolm erupted again, and they told each other dreadful jokes for the next twenty minutes, until two Sandarans came to take them through Processing.

Chapter 8

"What do you mean, there's no legal recourse? Don't they have any lawyers or something like that?" Archer paced the bridge and swung toward T'Pol. Gv had suggested that he and Trip return to the ship after the Sandaran forces had taken his people away. Trel assured Jon that he would do everything in his power to keep Enterprise updated on their crewmen and to work out a solution. From sickbay, Archer asked T'Pol to go over the documents that they had received from the Sandaran government, especially their laws and all legal precedents.

"No, they have no lawyers. The person is arrested, charged, found guilty, and sent into exile. There is no appeal. There is no plea bargaining. There is no probation. There is no immunity. You serve your sentence and then are released. However," she paused, scanning the pertinent documents far more rapidly than a human could, "you can buy your release early, if you have something that the government is willing to accept in payment and your crime is not a serious one." The lift door opened and Trip appeared, his eye still black and blue, but the swelling was down enough for him to see out of it again.

"I think we should just transport them up and hightail it out of here," Trip said.

"We cannot. There is an electrical field surrounding them that will interfere with the transporter," T'Pol reported. Trip was impressed that she had checked out that option.

"Must be those bracelets," Archer surmised.

"Captain," Ensign Sparks interrupted, "We're getting a hail from the planet. It's First Counsel Gatok. UT online and working."

"Put him on, Ensign," Archer said, wishing it was Hoshi telling him, not her replacement.

"Salutations, Captain," Gatok greeted Archer cheerfully. "Your people are fine. They're in Processing right now and will be shipped to Del'Exantu tomorrow morning to start their sentences."

"We'd like to get them back here, though, First Counsel. We'd like to have them released to our custody. I assure you that they will never step foot on your planet again."

"No, I'm afraid that's not possible within our legal system," Gatok said with genuine regret. "There's nothing I can do about that."

"Well, how about if we buy them back? It says…" Archer turned to T'Pol, who quoted the relevant chapters on the process.

"Oh, well, now, yes, we can do business. We can take your warp core in exchange," Gartok replied.

"Wait a minute, Captain!" Trip exclaimed, "We can't go anywhere without that! And Starfleet won't let us just hand over our technology—"

"I know, Trip! Just…" Jon cut Trip off with a chopping motion and turned back to Gartok. "No, I'm sorry, that's out of the question. Perhaps there are other items we can offer?" Jon asked hopefully.

"Phase canons?" Jon shook his head. "Transporter?" Jon indicated no again, wondering how they knew about their technology. Gartok continued to list all of Enterprise's breakthroughs.

"How much did you tell him about our stuff, Jon?" Trip asked quietly.

"It was in the standard Starfleet documents we sent to them, as the captain requested," T'Pol answered instead.

"You gave them the press release?" Trip asked in disbelief. He had read a copy of it before being assigned to the ship and had wondered why the news media was allowed to list everything Enterprise had.

"It was part of the materials Starfleet allows you humans to exchange with other cultures," she said. Trip thought she sounded a bit defensive. Humans like to share too much, they're so…open, she thought with distaste.

"No, First Counsel, we can't give you any of that. Is there something else we can make for you, or procure…" Jon was trying his best to ignore the byplay between Trip and T'Pol.

Gartok let out a low hissing sound, his neck fringes moving thoughtfully. "Well, I suppose, we could use six tons of taronicolic ore. Our supplies are running low. We refine it to use as a dietary supplement," he explained.

"I know a couple of Boomers who know mining ship people, Captain," Travis volunteered. "They could help us out."

"Ore. Yeah, we can do that," Jon said. "Where do we find it?"

"We'll give you a star chart and coordinates. The planet is not too far for your ship," Gatok smiled and flapped his neck fringes. "I'll arrange a time for you to come down. I'll let you see your people, and you can bring them some essentials that they might need while at Del'Exantu."

"Thank you very much, Gatok. I'm sure they'll appreciate your thoughtfulness," Jon replied.

"See me after your visit to your crewmen. I'll have my people send you information as soon as possible." Gatok smiled again and signed off.

***

Hoshi and Malcolm were handed a bundle and led to a shower room. "Clean up," one of the Sandarans said, and Malcolm started, surprised to hear the words translated in a whisper in his head.

Hoshi giggled at his reaction. "Creepy, huh?" she said, and placed her bundle on a bench. She noted that each shower had a privacy door that came up almost to her shoulder. Malcolm unwrapped his bundle and found a bottle of what looked like soap or shampoo. There was a towel, and underneath the toiletries was a piece of black leather. Hoshi found a piece of red leather in her bundle and started to hold it up. The Sandaran said, "Your uniforms, prisoners. Wash, put those on, and leave your clothing here. We'll clean what you're wearing and return them to you tonight to use as rags or blankets while you're in exile."

Hoshi adjusted the shower spray to a nice temperature and saw Malcolm head toward the shower furthest from hers and turn it on. He returned to the bench and tugged his boots and socks off. Hoshi sat down and did the same. They unzipped their jackets and the guard indicated for them to leave them on the floor. The guard then walked out of the room and stood just outside of the shower room, leaving them in relative privacy. Malcolm smirked, folded his jacket neatly, and dropped it. Hoshi giggled and did the same.

Malcolm laughed and stood up, whipped his shirt off, balled it up and slammed it to the ground. "Two points!" Hoshi sniggered. They were both laughing uncontrollably again. Malcolm dropped his trousers and Hoshi fanned herself in an exaggerated manner. "You're giving me the vapors, Lieutenant," she said in a southern accent. Malcolm grinned and wrapped the towel around his waist, did a little shimmy, and kicked his skivvies off. He grabbed the bottle, gave her a wink, and walked to his shower, giving his hips a little shake at her before climbing in and closing the door. The towel flew up to hang over the door and Malcolm began to whistle an ancient song, "Jailhouse Rock." Hoshi laughed even louder, and the tune ended abruptly as he started to laugh as well.

Hoshi could hear Malcolm chuckling away as she removed her clothing and got into her shower. It felt wonderful. It was nice to be clean again. Hoshi felt too good to start worrying about tomorrow. She had laughed more than she had in weeks, and found it surprising that their quiet and serious armory officer was the one making her do so. I've seen him smile more in the last hour than during our whole mission so far, she reflected, scrubbing at her hair. And I don't think I've ever heard him laugh so loudly. Well, if I'm going to jail, at least it's with him. She felt safe and secure with him. He was professional and polite, calmly facing all confrontations. She was comfortable with their introverted lieutenant. She felt very sisterly toward him suddenly. It made her laugh, though; he was nothing like her carefree brothers. And I'm sure that my brothers don't have his attributes, she thought wickedly, flashing back to the glimpse she caught under Malcolm's skivvies during the doctor's examination. The thought made her jerk the faucet handle, and she stifled a shriek as the cold water hit her.

Malcolm dried himself off, humming an old song. Their uniforms and boots were gone, but his knife and its sheath were still on the bench. He grabbed his prison garb and moved to a dry shower stall to change. He closed the door and flung his towel over it. He inspected the shirt and pants and laughed in dismay. He put the long-sleeved black shirt on, carefully sliding it over the metal bracelet still attached to his wrist. The black leather pants were tight and he struggled to fasten them. He heard Hoshi turn off the water, and moments later, she came out and dug through her bundle.

"Can I use your towel for my hair?" she asked from behind his closed stall door.

"Um…yeah…sure…" he grunted, fighting with the closure. The towel whisked away. "Damn," he muttered, trying not to start giggling again.

"What's wrong?" Hoshi asked from her own stall. She had inspected her uniform and was carefully pulling the tight leather up her legs.

"These pants! They're tighter than, than…" he sputtered as he finally got them fastened. They sat low on his hips and he did a few bends and twists to stretch them.

"Tighter that Trip's Aunt Ethel's girdle?" Hoshi finished, as she jumped up and down, tugging her pants up inch by inch.

Malcolm started laughing again. "Yes, exactly! How do you women wear these things?" he asked in amused exasperation. He came out of the stall and strapped his knife sheath around his hips, tying it down at his thigh and replacing the blade. He shook the excess water from his hair and ran his fingers through to comb it.

"We wear them to attract you men! Looks before comfort," she said, finally getting the pants fastened. She slipped into the long-sleeved red shirt and stepped out of the stall. She looked at Malcolm. "If you didn't tuck your shirt in, they'd be looser, you know. You don't have to be so tidy." His black shirt was molded to his body, tucked tautly and smoothly into the hip-hugging pants. She began to smile again and mentally recited the Vulcan alphabet to get her mind out of the gutter.

Malcolm looked at Hoshi. "You look stunning! That's the best prison uniform I've ever seen!" he said enthusiastically with a broad grin. Hoshi's uniform clung to her body as well, every curve well defined and shapely, her hair slick and wet, cascading down her back. His smile faltered quickly, though, as he started to blush, and he quickly mumbled an apology for being so forward.

Hoshi patted his shoulder, "That's okay, Malcolm, I was thinking the same thing," she told him, and he blushed even more furiously. "I think that our Sandaran happy drug is still working full force," she said. "Don't worry about it. Here." She started to pull his shirt out of his pants. "Wear it on the outside and I won't be tempted to say anything salacious."

"Like that Klingon and the gorilla joke, Ensign?" he teased, and they both started laughing again. Their Sandaran guard reappeared and herded them into the corridor, where they were met by five more guards. They marched the two down to another room and were formally told of the charges against them and their sentences. Three guards then grabbed Malcolm and forced his head down, baring the back of his neck. A fourth Sandaran pushed Malcolm's hair up and commenced to tattoo markings into his neck. Malcolm yelped as the needle stung and bit into his flesh, but he was held immobile. He heard a similar sound of pain from Hoshi as she too was subjected to the same process. He felt the Sandaran rip away a patch of hair and tattoo a smaller marking higher up on his neck. It seemed to take forever.

He was suddenly released and pushed toward his shipmate. She was rubbing the back of her neck, glaring.

"Are you all right?"

"He ripped some of my hair out!" Hoshi complained, annoyed. They had no time for further conversation because they were escorted to another room, this one brightly lit, and led in front of two machines. Two Sandarans stood behind the devices. "Identification vidshots," one said as he bent and looked into the contraption. "Stand back a little, please." They did as they were told. The other Sandaran looked through his device and straightened. "Would you smile please? It makes a better shot."

Malcolm snorted and turned toward Hoshi. "I'll give them a picture," he said with a twisted smirk. He turned his head toward the camera and smiled his biggest grin. As the Sandaran bent toward the camera, Malcolm suddenly moved, and the flash went off. Hoshi gave a great whoop of laughter and her flash went off.

"Very nice," said her Sandaran photographer, and they were escorted back to their cell, howling with laughter all the way.

Chapter 9

"Captain, we're receiving information from the Sandaran government. Please report to the bridge," T'Pol's voice said over the intercom in Archer's cabinet.

He looked at the chronometer. 0130—what the hell? "Acknowledged," Archer said grumpily. Porthos just sighed and turned over in his sleep. "You're lucky you're not the captain, you know that?" he told his dog. Porthos just grunted.

He hadn't be able to sleep anyway. His concern for Hoshi, and Malcolm too, had kept him awake. All sorts of horrible thoughts of Hoshi being raped or killed while at Del'Exantu scrabbled around in his imagination. And it was his fault. Jonathan Archer, the captain. The man who convinced her, cajoled her, and even baited her to join him, because he needed the best. He cursed himself again, as he had each time Hoshi had been endangered because of one of his command decision, and wondered again if he was fit to be called captain.

Jonathan made his way to the bridge. "What are you doing up so late, T'Pol? This isn't your shift."

"I was studying the Sandaran information we received earlier, trying to find anything that could assist us in ameliorating this incident faster. I've called Commander Tucker to the bridge as well, since he asked to be notified as soon as the Sandarans contacted us."

Trip made his appearance just then. "What are they giving us, T'Pol?" he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"It appears to be the information for the captain's meeting in the morning…properties of the taronicolic ore and how to identify it…what you are allowed to bring to Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato. Here's their arrest reports…and photographs."

"Mug shots?" Trip asked.

T'Pol paused and was on the verge of asking what a mug shot was, when her viewer finished downloading the photos. "It appears that Lieutenant Reed is trying to convey some sort of message, but I am unfamiliar with the code."

"Put it on screen, please," Archer asked as he sat in his command chair.

Hoshi's photo appeared first. She was looking off toward the side, laughing, head thrown back, wet hair flying. Jonathan smiled in relief at how open and happy she looked.

"Least they're havin' fun," Trip grumbled.

Malcolm's photo appeared next. Two of the relief crewmen started to titter. Trip's mouth opened and shut a few times. Jonathan couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"What manner of code is that, sir?" T'Pol asked and Trip broke out into a wild cackle. Jonathan started to chuckle and let out a laugh tinged with incredulity.

Lieutenant Reed, with a black eye and wet, tousled hair, had one arm out, his middle finger stiffly thrusting upward, perfectly extended, the surrounding fingers lowered rigidly. He was wearing the most devastating, devilish smile anyone had ever seen on his face. The human relief crew broke into loud gusts of laughter, with Trip and Jon the loudest.

***

Hoshi yawned, a wide, jaw-cracking inhalation that her hand didn't quite manage to cover. Malcolm yawned in reply and shot her a little smile. "Feels like the sedative's kicking in," he said quietly. He moved toward the bench in their cell, where they had found their boots and their Starfleet uniforms. The latter had been cleaned and neatly folded. He balled up his pants and stuffed them into his T-shirt, making a little pillow, and tossed it in the corner of the cell. "You can take the bench. Feel free to use my jacket for a blanket. I'm warm enough," he said as he made a little pillow out of Hoshi's clothing for her.

Hoshi started to protest but was interrupted by another huge yawn. "Lie down before you fall down, Ensign, and that's an order," Malcolm said, punctuating his words with his usual half-smile.

"Aye, sir," Hoshi replied with a sleepy chuckle, and laid down on the hard bench.

Malcolm dropped his jacket over her shoulders and her jacket onto her legs. He walked toward the corner and laid down, stuffing his little bundle of clothing under his head. "'Night, Ensign," he said drowsily, and within minutes Hoshi could hear his breathing even out as he fell asleep.

As tired as she was, Hoshi had trouble falling asleep. The full events of the day, and the looming specter of an unknown exile, was making her tired mind go round and round. And what did they tattoo on our necks?

She got up, took her makeshift pillow and blankets over to the corner, and settled behind Malcolm, gently placing her jacket over his torso and drawing his jacket around her shoulders. She snuggled up behind him and was soothed by the heat radiating from his back.

"'Night, Lieutenant," she whispered, and she relaxed, falling asleep to the quiet sound of Malcolm's breathing.

***

Trel met Archer and Tucker in the morning and began a short briefing on what Archer's imprisoned people could expect. "Del'Exantu is our only criminal collection station, Captain. We don't have that much crime here, and people usually just want to serve out their sentences and leave. You can trade for most of your necessities, either in the form of work or goods, and you're given shelter and food rations. It can be a very pleasant place, as long as you don't run around confronting people and causing trouble," Trel explained. "Of course, if you are rude and annoy people, you will be challenged. We allow our traditional knives to be worn, and there have been incidents. The guards will not intervene, if it's done legally, one on one. But I'm sure your people will behave themselves."

Trel took them to Processing and told them that he would escort them to talk to Gatok after they were finished seeing their people.

Chapter 10

Jon and Trip walked down the corridor of the Sandaran holding center, each carrying duffle bag that had been thoroughly searched by Protector Leto's forces.

"Leave the bags in front of the bars there," their escort said and led them a few more meters to the front of a cell. He left the two there and continued down to the end of the corridor to stand guard. Jon and Trip peered into the cell and could make out two forms in the corner. As their eyes adjusted to the dim light, they saw Malcolm, curled up in a tight ball. Jon could see Hoshi's sleeping face peeking out from behind his armory officer, one leg flung over him, her arm slung over his waist, her hand under his shirt.

"And here I thought her teddy bear was a Universal Translator," Trip whispered.

Malcolm's eyes snapped open. They could see him tense and then relax as Trip waggled his fingers in greeting. Malcolm gave him a wan smile and carefully extricated himself from Hoshi's sleeping form without waking her.

Well, that boy's certainly got practice at sneaking out of a lady's bed, Trip thought ruefully, a brief flash of Ruby going through his mind.

Malcolm padded over to the bars, rolling his shoulders and working the kinks out of his neck. "Morning, Captain, Commander," he said softly.

"Nice outfit," Trip deadpanned. Malcolm just grunted and rubbed his head.

"Malcolm. They treating you okay?" Jon asked, concern laced throughout his voice and face.

"Yes, sir. Thank you, we're fine. Just a bit sore from yesterday. Their doctor was actually quite competent." He gave his captain a concise report on the circumstances of their detention and sheepishly explained the drugs they were given.

"Well, that explains it," Jon said, thinking of their mug shots.

Malcolm shot him a quizzical look and then glanced down as his stomach gurgled loudly. He gave them a shy half-smile. "Would you happen to have anything to eat in there?" He indicated the bags.

Trip rifled around and pulled out a couple of ration bars. "Threw a whole bunch in there for you two," he said, handing the food through the cell bars. Malcolm unwrapped one and started to eat. He hadn't had a decent meal since their lunch with the Sandaran aides yesterday, and he wasn't surprised that he was famished.

"How's Hoshi?" Archer asked.

"She's fine, sir. Been very optimistic, actually," Malcolm said, taking another bite.

"We're trying to buy you two back, but we have to get some ore in order to made the trade," Jon told him. He filled Malcolm in on those particular Sandaran laws.

"Gatok told us that they'd give us an overview of where you're going, and hopefully getting that ore won't take more than a few days." Jon hesitated, thinking over what he had to say next, his hands tensely gripping the bars of the cell. "Lieutenant, Hoshi's out here because of me. I'm responsible for her. She's not typical Starfleet. I want you to watch out for her. Protect her." Jon paused, hating himself for the commands he was about to give his armory officer. "Do whatever it takes to keep her unharmed and alive, no matter what, do you understand? Any measure necessary, no matter how extreme, to keep her safe. That's an order, Lieutenant," Jon concluded, feeling like a bastard. He knew Malcolm would understand his subtext—protect her with your life if necessary—and it didn't sit well with him. But the guilt and fear he felt was overwhelming. He knew he couldn't live with himself if she came to harm. It would be his fault.

"Understood, Captain," Malcolm said calmly, but his eyes were hard. "I know my duty."

"Um, we brought you two care packages the Sandarans said you could have," Trip said, trying to break the tension. "Got a bunch of stuff, some soap, matches, socks, underwear, even a couple of shavers I modified to run on solar power, knowin' what a neat freak you are, Lieutenant."

"Well, I'm certainly glad I'll be able to shave my legs," Hoshi said, coming up behind Malcolm. "I doubt that Sandarans have to." She yawned and stretched, rubbing her lower back. Malcolm gave her his other ration bar and she quickly unwrapped it and started to nibble on it. "Oh, that tastes so much better than that mud brick they gave us last night," she sighed.

Jon and Trip stared in stunned silence at Hoshi. Her prison uniform didn't leave much to the imagination. "What?" she asked, unaware of the cause of their attention.

"Uh…how are you Hoshi?" Jon asked, trying to sound cheerful.

"Fine. Had a lot of fun last night," she said dryly, but she realized that she did have fun last night. She was nervous about facing the unknown, but she felt oddly comforted that she was at least facing it with probably the best person from the ship equipped to handle the situation.

Trip handed them a couple more rations through the bars. "Well, we had a hell of a time gettin' them to accept those shavers; they didn't want anything that could be modified as a weapon."

"But they haven't confiscated my knife," Malcolm pointed out. It was still strapped securely to his hip.

"Oh, you can have that," Jon said with disgust. "In case you're challenged. You're allowed to slice up as many people as you want according to their customs." Hoshi's eyes widened, and Jon winced. Oops, shouldn't have said anything, he thought. "But I'm sure it won't come down to that," he added hastily. "You just keep your head down and your nose clean, and they'll leave you alone." At least that's what Trel had told him this morning.

Eight Sandarans came marching down the hallway and stopped. The lead Sandaran spoke. "It's time to transfer them to Del'Exantu. Aide Trel is waiting to take you to the First Counsel." He deactivated the lock and opened the cell door. "Get your belongings," he told Hoshi and Malcolm. They picked up their Starfleet uniforms, and Hoshi sat down to put her boots on. "Move now. You can put your footwear on when you board the transport," the Sandaran snapped and started toward her. Malcolm quickly stepped to Hoshi and offered her his hand, pulling her up and away from the guard. They followed him out of the cell. "Pick up your bags, criminals," the guard barked. "Follow me."

Two guards escorted Hoshi behind him, and three surrounded Malcolm. The other two guards stood in front of Archer and Tucker, not allowing them to go to their crewmates. As Hoshi turned the corner Jon called out, "Malcolm!"

Malcolm stopped and turned. Jon didn't know what to say, but his face was easy to read. A plead, an apology, determination to get them back.

"With my life, sir," Malcolm said softly, and the guards pushed him around the corner after Hoshi.

Chapter 11

They were led out of the building and to an area where several transports were waiting. Their guards told them to drop their bags in front of one of the transports and then led them to a grassy area about 300 meters away. They sat down and put their boots on, and a Sandaran came up and handed them each a container.

"Food!" Hoshi exclaimed and immediately opened it, using her fingers to stuff the warm fare into her mouth. Malcolm found a slice of bread and that ubiquitous lima bean-like vegetable; the aroma was making him slightly ill. "Come on, Lieutenant, eat—I'm starving, aren't you?" Hoshi asked, her words muffled as she continued to inhale her meal.

"I don't like lima beans," he growled, slowing chewing on a crust of bread. He handed Hoshi his container. "Here, have mine. I really don't care for it," he said.

"Then take my bread," Hoshi offered, extending her slice to him while grabbing his container.

They sat there until a guard prodded them and told them to board one of the two bus-like transports. Malcolm led Hoshi to the back and gestured for her to sit, then slid in next to her. They saw their bags being loaded and watched as a slow trickle of Sandaran prisoners climbed on. Malcolm leaned forward, studying each Sandaran as they boarded, and Hoshi saw a flash of the tattoo on the back of his neck. She reached over and brushed the hair away. He looked at her. "Let me see what they put there," she said and he lowered his head to give her a better view.

The Sandaran script was a graceful melange of swirling bright turquoise curves and intricate black lines. Hoshi translated, "Thirteen thousand, six hundred sixty-six. Thirteen 666—oh, that's not good," she said.

"What? Oh, you don't believe all that superstitious rubbish, do you? I just happen to be the 13,666 prisoner they've had. There's nothing supernatural about it," he scoffed. She continued the examination of his neck, ruffling his hair up, trying to see if they had pulled his hair out too. That's where she found a smaller mark, outlined in red. She pulled his head toward her for a better look. "But if you want to assign some significance to it…" he paused and started to smirk, "…I suppose it could mean I'm just an unlucky devil." She whacked him lightly on the back of the head, snorting.

"Hold still," she complained as he reacted and grabbed his head again, straining to make out the delicate design. "It looks like…something like a cat…leaping," she said. The red outline was filled in with black, but she could make out tiny red claws, eyes and fangs. "What's on my neck?" she asked suddenly and turned her back to him, lifting her hair.

"I can't read it," he said.

"Just follow the outline and draw it, I'll try to figure it out," and she closed her eyes to concentrate. He traced the golden whirls and elaborate thin red lines with gentle touch, sending an involuntary shiver of pleasure down her spine.

His hand sprang back. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, consternation plain in his voice.

"No, ticklish," she lied quickly.

He gave her a relieved half-smile and traced the lines with a little more pressure. It was still a sensual feeling, but Hoshi gritted her teeth and focused. "One, three, eight? Try that again. No—nine, seven. 1,397. Hmm…guess not as many females are sent to 'exile,'" she said thoughtfully. "Is there anything else? Try the upper right-hand corner, near where they pulled your hair out."

Malcolm had been staring at the elegant bend of her neck and was still stroking the markings inattentively. He blinked, exhaled loudly, and ran his fingers through her hair until he came to a smooth section. Lifting some hair out of the way, he examined that area more closely. "Yes, it's a bird-like creature, white with black-tipped wing feathers, red outline. Somewhat like an egret crossed with a hawk. In flight."

"I wonder what they mean?" Hoshi said as she sat up straight.

Malcolm stared out the window, thinking it was rather appropriate. Hoshi had a delicacy and grace, rather like a bird in flight, but with an inner strength that he didn't think she fully realized. He saw three Nausicaans being led to an adjacent transport and nudged Hoshi. "Looks like our friends will be joining us," he said. He recognized the lead Nausicaan as the one they had fought with yesterday, but the other two were unfamiliar.

"At least they're in another transport," Hoshi said with relief. Finally all the seats were filled with prisoners and they started off, with six Sandaran guards watching all of them.

A Sandaran in civilian garb stood at the front and started to speak in a very jovial and conversational manner. Malcolm twitched uneasily at having words whispered in his head into English, translating the Sandaran language. It made his temples pound slightly, and he felt as if the Sandaran words were being burned into his brain. He realized that even with the brief amount of time that the device had been implanted, he actually knew some of the words, like "move" and "prisoner," without the hushed translation. He made a note to ask Hoshi about it and tried to focus his attention on the being.

"Hello! I'm Darvit and I'm your orientation host today. Since we're in for a long ride, why don't you turn to your neighbor and get to know him? Say hello and introduce yourself."

Hoshi looked at Malcolm with disbelief. "Orientation host?" she said. "More like an MC."

"This is getting a little too absurd for me," Malcolm muttered impatiently. He shifted, stretching his legs and crossing his arms. He forced himself to sit back and remain absolutely still. His temples throbbed as each word blazed into his skull. His black eye was tender to the touch. The muted ache of his ribs made it uncomfortable to stay in any one position for long. And he was hungry. He braced himself and listened as Darvit continued to chatter.

"Well, I see a couple of aliens here today! What are you called and where do you hail from?" he asked, pointing to a fluffy purple being with chicken-like legs.

Hoshi heard the small being chirp and rattle on, and it was translated instantly. "I demand an appeal! I don't belong here! I want to see a lawyer you scaly, frelling noxious…" The Sandaran quickly injected the purple alien with a hypospray, and it collapsed.

"Well, he'll have to be briefed separately," the Sandaran said nervously while fussing with the fuzzy being, making sure that it was at least lying in a comfortable position. The incessant whispering of the translation of the Sandaran's inane babbling began to irritate Malcolm, each unnecessary word an added burden to his already pounding head. He shifted positions again, sitting up with his feet flat on the floor, arms still crossed tightly, holding his sore ribs, his head bowed.

"Ah, well, he's fine. Oh, there's two more aliens over there in the back! Hello! Tell us your name and what species you are!" he said cheerfully, waving at Hoshi.

The rest of the prisoners turned and stared at them. "Um…my name's Hoshi and I'm human," Hoshi said hesitantly, suppressing the urge to laugh.

"Hello Hoshi! And your friend there, is he human also?"

"Yes," she replied as Malcolm closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. She could see that he was trying to rein in his temper and he was fighting a losing battle.

"And you are…?" Darvit asked Malcolm with a winning smile.

"Getting very annoyed," Malcolm said, head down and just loud enough to reach their host. Malcolm was trying to maintain his patience, and couldn't sit still any longer. He started to fiddle absently with his knife, not realizing that Darvit was looking at him with alarm.

"I do not mean to offend!" Darvit said, raising his hands. "I don't want to be challenged! I apologize!" he said, with the beginning of a desperate tone.

Malcolm looked up suddenly, puzzled. All eyes were on him, some with a look of anticipation on their faces. "No offense taken," he said slowly, looking around as several prisoners sighed in disappointment. "Just…please get on with it," Malcolm said as patiently as he could manage. Hoshi squeezed his thigh and gave him a small smile.

"Well, as you know, you are all criminals—the bracelets mark you as such. It's useless to attempt to remove them without the proper equipment, and it will only result in your death. They are security devices. An attempt to remove them forcibly will cause the bracelet to react and electrocute you slowly and very painfully. They're nearly indestructible, by the way. Anything you can think of—hacking at them, lighting them on fire, soaking them in liquids to make them slippery and wet—it's been tried. Doesn't work and oftentimes results in injury. I'd advise you not to make the attempt. They'll also kill you if you try to leave the boundaries of Del'Exantu. Your new home is an isolated landmass off this coast. You're welcome to swim in the ocean, can even go out about 10 kilometers, but anything further will be interpreted as an escape attempt and your bracelet will be activated. And don't get too close the main guards' barracks; that will activate the bracelet as well. If your arm starts tingling and hurting, immediately leave the area. The closer you get, the more the power increases until it reaches its fullest extent and you will die."

Hoshi squirmed a bit in her seat and looked down at her bracelet.

"Once at Del'Exantu, you'll be led to your cell. Lockdown is at midnight, and cells will be unlocked at dawn. If you miss the curfew, you will not be able to seek the safety of your cell, and you must contend with anyone else locked out on your own. I don't advise it. You may barter or work for whatever you need, and I know some of you will be stealing what you want; that is to be expected from criminals. I would advise you to choose who to steal from carefully, as some of the inmates will challenge you over a sliver of fruit. The guards will not interfere in a legally given challenge. I would advise you all to procure a lock as soon as possible to safeguard your possessions, if any, as well as your persons. You will share a cell with the same species as yourself to avoid cultural conflicts." At that statement Hoshi let out a huge exhale of relief and was surprised that she felt on the verge of tears. She hadn't realized how anxious she had been at the thought of having to do this alone. Malcolm gave her a quick look and then concentrated on what Darvit was saying.

"If you chose to kill your cellmate, you'll just be assigned another, so it's a waste of your time, but it is your prerogative. Intoxicants are plentiful and can be a lucrative business, should you be unable to perform any other service in order to procure what you need. However, it is a difficult area to break into since many of the suppliers resent the competition. There is no official medical facility, but there are inmates with varying amounts of skill and experience in the healing arts. You will have to make arrangements directly with them to acquire any medical care you may need.

"We've given you uniforms to wear, which you need to have on for the dawn head count. After that, you may wear anything you like—go naked if you wish. There are a few plants and animals fatal to Sandarans, but we have no idea if they pose a danger to you other species," Darvit said, with a little nod and grin to Hoshi while avoiding looking at Malcolm. "The weather is very nice, sunny and warm, but the nights can get cold on occasion. You are allowed fires in the cells for warmth and cooking, but be careful. Your cell is locked from midnight to morning, and if you set the place on fire, you won't be able to escape. Can't tell you how many times that's happened," he said lightheartedly.

Hoshi had been listening, growing more and more incredulous and disturbed as Darvit went on. She shot a glance at Malcolm, who was listening attentively, completely still and eyes intent. She couldn't tell what he was thinking.

"Basically, you all are guilty, and we don't care if you live or die. Anarchy is the norm, and since you have all decided to break the law, then we give you lawlessness. Should you survive, we think you will appreciate our societal standards a bit better. Recidivism is rarely a problem," he ended with a smile.

Chapter 12

"Six weeks!" Archer said loudly to T'Pol as he paced the bridge.

"Yes, sir. According to the star chart and coordinates First Counsel Gatok gave you, it will take Enterprise six weeks to arrive at the closest planetoid containing taronicolic ore. At warp four point five," she added.

"I've contacted a friend of mine, Jason Argo, who's been on a Boomer ship for the last six years." Travis spoke up into the silence. "He's talked to a friend of his on a mining ship which is about seven weeks out from that planetoid, Captain. And he says that they'd be happy to help us out. I can contact Jason's mining friend and at least get us started on modifying any equipment we'll need to help us mine that ore."

"You told Malcolm it would only take a couple of days," Trip said to Jonathan. "What's going to happen to them in the over three months it'll take us to get back to them? And they're going to be worried sick when we don't come back when they expect us to. Can't we trade them for something else?"

"No," T'Pol said coolly. "The captain agreed to the ore and the Sandaran custom dictates that we follow through with that item. Unless you want to cause a diplomatic incident, Commander. In which case the Sandarans will most likely be very happy to let Ensign Sato and Lieutenant Reed serve out their assigned sentences."

"Damn it, T'Pol! They've locked up our people on some stupid trumped-up charges! The hell with diplomacy! We just can't leave them there for months on end!" Trip shot back.

"Enough." Archer's voice cut through the bridge. "T'Pol, contact Admiral Forrest. I'll tell him it's going to take us three months to get our people out, and tell him what our options are. Let's see how important Sandaran is to the Federation."

"Well, we sure as hell don't need allies like them," Trip said angrily.

"On the contrary, Commander. They are an advanced species. Starfleet merely has to respect other cultures and laws, and not impose its own morality on the races it meets," T'Pol said, her tone an icy contrast to Trip's.

"What! You—" Trip started to say something and Jonathan cut him off again.

"Trip. Please. Travis, contact your buddy and see if his miner friend would be willing to meet us. Then you and Trip start modifying equipment. As soon as I hear from Admiral Forrest, we'll either go and get the ore, or we'll bust the both of them out and never come back here again. You have the bridge, Subcommander." Archer stalked out.

***

The transport came to a shore and slowly rolled forward into the water. It picked up speed and twenty minutes later, Hoshi and Malcolm were herded through a line, handed their bags, and escorted to a row of small stone structures. Their escort entered a code to disengage the electronic lock on the sturdy door, which had a sliding peephole cut into it. He gestured them inside.

"Your cell. Remember where it is." He led them inside the small room. It was empty, with a little fireplace and chimney built into one side and a small bathroom toward the back, holding a toilet, sink, and shower. "Cold water only. Don't drink it; you'll regret it," the guard said, and smiled. "Fine for washing, but the microbes will make you vomit for days. Boiling won't kill them. We give you a liter of water a day for drinking purposes and you can always trade for more, or find your own on the island. Some of the prisoners make other beverages as well. You get some bread and whatever vegetable is available at head count. You miss it, you get nothing. Lockdown is in eight hours. I'd advise you to find a lock and some firewood—maybe trade for some blankets if your species gets cold." He led them outside and pointed. "Don't go too close to our barracks. Your detention bracelet will warn you and then kill you. And watch out for the SoulKiller sellers. They're always looking for new customers." He smiled again.

"SoulKiller?" Hoshi inquired.

"You can get anything you want—Spite, Stagger Stik, InnieOutie, Mind Muddlers—but So-K is the worst. Don't try it." He grinned again. "I've put down 25 on you two to last only three weeks around here; I should have bet more," and he laughed. They watched him leave, and Malcolm motioned Hoshi back into their cell.

"My god! What on earth is going on here!" Hoshi said, a feeling of unreality washing over her.

"We're not on Earth, that's certain," Malcolm muttered.

"Or in Kansas anymore?" Hoshi said, with an attempt to smile.

"More like Through the Looking Glass," Malcolm replied and gave her a small smile. "Well, let's see what we've got here." He indicated toward their bags. "We're going to have to start trading soon."

Hoshi opened her bag and pulled out toiletries like soap, a toothbrush, and comb. She placed them on the floor to one side in an essentials pile. A towel, socks, underclothes, and food ration bars were placed in another pile, her "trade" pile. She found a bottle of antibiotics, a first aid kit, and some aspirin, and she put them with the other essentials. Malcolm had been pulling out similar items, and he glanced over when he heard the rattle of the aspirin. "Thank god! Hand that over here, would you, please?" he asked. She gave him the bottle and he shook four pills out of it, threw them in his mouth, and started to chew them.

"Eww! How can you eat those?" she said, thinking of how bitter and nasty they must taste.

"Works faster. My head's throbbing. I think it's the damn translator." Malcolm said, and grabbed a food bar to get the taste out of his mouth. He tossed one to Hoshi as well. "Looks like we've missed daily ration. This'll have to do."

"I don't have a problem with the translator, but I knew a lot of the language before. Come to think of it," Hoshi said thoughtfully, "it doesn't work if I already know the words. It just kicks in if I'm not familiar with a word or phrase, or the syntax…"

"Yeah, I noticed it cutting out on several words that I already knew," Malcolm replied. "Which is odd, since I've never been good with languages. Why in the world would I pick up random words so quickly?"

Malcolm's bag had some of his personal off-duty clothing, including his sneakers, a bottle of aftershave, lotion, sunscreen, candles, sunglasses, several packs of gum and candy, a sewing kit, a miniature chess set, and a pile of paper and several pencils. The top piece of paper had writing on it.

Malcolm, thought you might need a few things to help you two pass the time or trade with. Hear you're going to a tropical paradise, but couldn't find your swim trunks. Do you organize your drawers alphabetically? They're neater than a clean room in a vacuum. Take care, Malcolm, Chef's making teriyaki chicken with pineapple for you two when you get back. Trip.

Malcolm smiled at the note. He pulled off his boots and as he reached for his shoes, his ribs gave a pang. He inhaled sharply and rubbed his side.

Hoshi looked up from her own note from Liz Cutler. "Are they still broken? The doctor said that he repaired them." Hoshi's face was scrunched up fretfully.

"No, they're whole. It's nothing to worry about—just a twinge," he assured her, reaching for the shoes again. He pulled them on and tossed his boots into one of the piles. He unstrapped his chronometer and tossed it onto his boots. "I assume you'll want to keep yours?" he asked.

"It was a gift from my parents," Hoshi replied. She sorted through her items, moving the body spray and perfume from her "keep" pile to the "trade" pile. "I broke my wrist once. That really hurt, and for a couple years afterward it ached whenever it rained."

"How did you break it?" Malcolm asked, genuinely curious.

"Volleyball. Went for a low one and landed wrong. Played the rest of the game, wondering why it hurt so much. After they put the cast on it, I'd just serve with the other hand. We won the continental championships that year," Hoshi said with pride. She pulled off her boots and threw them into the trade pile, keeping the running shoes Liz had packed.

Malcolm gave her an approving grunt, "Well done, Ensign." He was impressed. It enforced his assessment of her ability to put aside her fears and concerns and act in the face of adversity.

"Were you on any teams, Lieutenant? Soccer, cricket?" she asked, figuring she might as well use these circumstances to get to know something about him. She admitted to herself that her curiosity about him had gotten the better of her after talking to his family and friends.

"I was on teams, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a team player," he said with a rueful laugh. "I prefer more…" he tried to think of a way to put it.

"Solitary sports, Lieutenant?" she asked wryly.

"No, it's just—I'd rather test myself than judge my ability against others." He cast around for the words to describe it.

"Afraid of competition?" she teased.

"No, it's just—well. Look, someone is always going to be bigger or stronger or faster. And their opinion doesn't matter anyway. But it's what you do, what you strive for, that's what's important. It's testing yourself, going that extra bit beyond what you thought was your limit, pushing just a little harder, seeing if you can surprise yourself. Someone is always going to do something better than you can, but you improve and work hard and give it your best…it's up to you and you don't have to depend on anyone else." He trailed off, feeling that he hadn't explained it very well.

"So what did you play?" she asked, thinking how Malcolm had been teaching her to shoot. He never did make it out as a competition, just a quest to beat her own personal best. She realized that she probably would have stopped after the first few lessons if she had been trying to compete with other people.

"Running, boxing, fencing, martial arts—"

"Why am I not surprised?" she archly.

He ignored her. "Got into velocity racing for a while."

Hoshi raised her eyebrows. Velocity racing was an extraordinarily dangerous sport. It had been banned in many places because the fatality rate was so high.

"I like to surf…" he added softly, almost as an afterthought, his eyes downcast and with a slight smile.

"Surfing? But you're British!" she said.

"Well, our waves might not be the best, but we do have indoor surf domes, you know," he said, sounding slightly miffed.

"Sorry, but it's kind of hard to picture. It's easier to think of you playing rugby or cricket," she said.

"Stereotyping, Ensign?" he teased her gently.

She smiled at him. "Well, bet you didn't break anything like I did."

He thought for a moment. "When I was younger, I broke my collarbone while snowboarding in Italy. It took me three hours to get down that bloody mountain." He started fiddling with the pile of items again, moving half the candles to the trade pile.

"Snowboarding? But…"

"I'm English?" he teased again. "It was just a lark, really. I fell in with a scruffy lot of retro-x boarders. No stabilizers, no high-tech coatings or braking mechanisms. You chose a mountain with a drop of 40 degrees or steeper and just raced to the bottom. Very fast. Rather exhilarating, actually."

Hoshi thought that it sounded absolutely terrifying. She imagined herself careening out of control down a steep mountain on a flimsy piece of wood. She threw her robe and slippers into the trade pile. Malcolm continued to whittle his "keep" pile down, tossing items into the trade section. "What happened?" she prodded.

"It was our last run, and the others headed out first. Serge and I started down together, and we were doing quite well, falling occasionally, but nothing serious. I was out in front after Serge took a tumble, and he was coming up from behind and decided to take the lead, so he took a chance at a jump and his board clipped me as he flew over. Knocked me down, and I had the hard luck of sliding into about the only bloody tree on the mountain." Malcolm shook his head at the memory. "Lucky I wasn't killed. By the time I recovered, he was gone, and I tried to make it down." He remembered the agony of feeling bone grating against bone, his panic at discovering he was alone. "Fortunately, a couple of hours later, my friends had made it back up the hill, looking for me. Mario had a bottle of anise with him and I drank half of it on the way down. Didn't hurt after that," he said with an embarrassed smile. Serge's older sister, Gina, had kept feeding it to him, telling him that it would kill the pain. He remembered recuperating at Serge's house, with Gina playing nurse. They had gotten to know each other very well during his convalescence.

Hoshi watched his expression change, turning wistful, and thought there was something else that he wasn't telling her. She leaned over and took the bottle of lotion out of his trade pile and tossed it in her keep pile.

"Sounds like you're a speed freak, Malcolm," she said.

He chuckled. "Well, you can't get much faster than warp five," he said. "Ready?" She nodded. "Then let's go shopping, shall we?"

Chapter 13

"Jon, the Sandarans have some technology that Starfleet is very interested in obtaining. They have shielding and propulsion systems that we haven't seen before. We don't want you to cause a diplomatic incident by doing anything rash. You're to obtain the ore so that the Sandarans will see that we deal fairly with them and respect their laws," Admiral Forrest told Jon via the comm link. Jon sat in his ready room, trying not to rebel against his orders and just break Hoshi and Malcolm out now, leaving this ridiculous world behind them.

"But, Admiral, it will take months! Gartok briefed me on that detention center. There's very little control, and my people are likely to get killed there," Jon argued, trying to keep his anger at bay.

"Jon, don't worry. I've seen your report on Del'Exantu. They'll be in the same cell, secure at night, and unless your man decides to start a fight, there should be no danger."

"Malcolm wouldn't start anything," Jon said, offended that Admiral Forrest would think that Malcolm would be foolhardy enough to provoke a confrontation.

"Relax, Jon. I know Lieutenant Reed will control his temper. Besides, he's been trained for these circumstances, and he'll take good care of Ensign Sato. That's his job, and he does it damn well. He's always managed to survive, and he's been in worse situations that this," Forrest reassured him.

"Such as?" Archer asked, curious.

"Classified, Jon," Forrest chuckled. "If I told you…"

"You'd have to kill me," Jon completed the moldy old saying. But this time, Jon thought that Forrest hadn't meant it as a joke.

***

"They're not coming back, are they," Hoshi said quietly as she moved her bishop to threaten Malcolm's pawn. Their first trading excursion had supplied them with a rickety table and two chairs, two glasses and plates, a pot, some blankets, a pillow, and sleeping mats. They had a good supply of harsh and raw-tasting Mojatar, since it was cheaper than water. It helped Hoshi fall asleep at night. They were drinking some in tiny sips as they played.

"Of course they're coming back. Captain Archer wouldn't leave any member of his crew behind. You know that," Malcolm said, moving his pawn out of danger and exposing his queen.

"It's been three weeks. We haven't heard from anyone. How long does it take to beam up a bunch of rocks?" Hoshi took Malcolm's queen. "You're not paying attention to the game, are you?" "Yes, I am. Look, we've done all right on our own so far. You've made friends with many of the prisoners. Kaday absolutely adores you, which is fortunate, considering she's a healer and you never know when we'll need one." Malcolm moved his knight, threatening Hoshi's rook. "We've avoided the Nausicaans. Between the two of us we've managed to find enough work to keep us from starving and that bloody translator hardly needs to function anymore."

They had picked up the Sandaran language quickly, and both could now speak the guttural hisses and cries fluently. Hoshi had surmised that the translator affected the language receptors in brain, burning the language directly into the mind. Malcolm had found it painful at first and had downed almost all of their supply of aspirin before his brain would accept the language. Hoshi never had a problem because her brain was used to working that way. They rarely spoke English because the translator would whisper the words in Sandaran, which aggravated Malcolm.

"Yeah, see how much you like doing other people's laundry," Hoshi said dourly. She moved her rook.

"Oh, and you'd rather be clearing brush and digging ditches for the guards?" Malcolm teased. It was the only work he could find, eight hours a day on a gang crew. It paid the local currency, which the prisoners took in lieu of bartered goods; the pay was very low, but kept them in water and fruit. Hoshi's work allowed them to trade for other items and food.

"And we've found a lovely beach no one ever goes to," Malcolm said temptingly. "After I win this game, let's go body surfing. I'll even teach you a new choke hold." The Sandarans found the sand irritating to their skin and refused to set foot on it. The few alien species found in the camp avoided it as well, apparently not being fond of the ocean. Malcolm had been teaching Hoshi some simple but effective self-defense moves. He wanted her to be prepared in case their luck ran out with the Nausicaans, and the beach was the one place spacious and private enough to teach her: the soft sand cushioned their landing when thrown. Afterward, they'd go swimming to refresh themselves, and Malcolm had vowed to himself that he would get around to showing her the thrill of diving off the cliffs at some point. Besides, Malcolm had cut the legs off of a pair of jeans Trip had packed for him, and Hoshi had used the material to fashion a small top and bottom to swim in. Malcolm thought she looked dazzling in it, but had refrained from saying anything. He moved his pawn again. "You're not going to win this game. You play too cautiously," Hoshi said and moved her knight, taking Malcolm's rook.

"Would you like to put your money where your mouth is? We'll try to catch some dinner. I win, you cook it. You win, we have sushi." Malcolm moved a different pawn.

Hoshi laughed, "You're just trying to get out of cooking anything, aren't you?" She moved her rook to threaten his bishop again.

"If I don't like it, I don't cook it. Curse of a picky eater, Ensign," he smiled and moved his pawn. "Checkmate."

"What! Why, you little…" Hoshi laughed as she saw that Malcolm had cornered her king with two pawns and a knight. He had sacrificed his more powerful pieces, lulling her into overconfidence as she had systematically taken them.

"You owe me dinner," he said with a half-smile, his eyes laughing. "Let's go catch some waves."

***

"Ah, little ones! How are my children today?" Kaday greeted them, neck fringes flapping, and pulled Hoshi into a hug. She felt sorry for the ugly little aliens, all alone. They were nice neighbors: the female was friendly and respectful, and the male would give her firewood that he had gathered especially for her, without accepting anything in return. Such a polite boy, too. In return she told Hoshi about the ins and outs of the compound, and the human would listen attentively, absorbing the information. It made the old woman feel motherly again.

Hoshi knew that Kaday was in her 29th year of a 30-year sentence. Kaday had told Hoshi that she had murdered her husband, a SoulKiller user and seller. Kaday had said that as his temper and paranoia grew, she had come to fear for her children. Knowing that she couldn't beat him in a legally challenged fight, she had slit his throat while he slept. Kaday had years of hard-won medical knowledge behind her. She knew what roots and plants to use for illnesses, what reactions different aliens would have to each mixture, how to bind wounds and broken limbs. Hoshi liked the old Sandaran, with her faded red scales and warm manner. Malcolm was still a little uncomfortable at being cooed over. Kaday would pat his head and pinch his checks. It reminded him of how his Great-Aunt Malia would greet him when he was five.

"Hi, Kaday!" Hoshi said, returning the hug and speaking the Sandaran language easily. Kaday thought that she had a beautiful accent.

"Hello, Kaday," Malcolm said and tried to inch away, but Kaday released Hoshi and grabbed him with that surprising Sandaran strength. She pulled him off his feet and into one-armed bear hug, ruffling his hair with her other hand. "Your pronunciation is getting better—you should speak more often, my little silent one," she said, and released Malcolm. Her neck fringes flapped as she watched him turn red and his eyes lower to the ground. Hoshi bit back a laugh.

"Off to work, my children?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, big laundry day this morning, Kaday," Hoshi said. Malcolm just nodded as he stood behind Hoshi, trying to stay out of Kaday's reach.

"Well take care my babies. See you this evening," she said, and hugged Hoshi again.

"Need anything Kaday? Water? Wood?" he asked politely, ready to back away if she tried to hug him again.

Malcolm's British accent caused him to be a little off as he pronounced the last word. Both his and Hoshi's eyes widened as their translators came to life and rendered the word into English. He had just used a vulgar slang term for sex. Kaday couldn't resist teasing Malcolm again. Besides, he wasn't quite so ugly when his face was such a lovely shade of red. "Be careful how you say that, little one. I just may take you up on the offer." She batted her eyes at him in an exaggerated manner and blew him a kiss. Malcolm blushed even more deeply and fled, the sound of Hoshi's laughter following him.

Chapter 14

Hoshi washed the other prisoners' clothing in the stream, her fingers wrinkled and stiff from the hours of scrubbing. She was bantering and gossiping with the Sandaran women when she felt a sudden piercing on her left wrist. She gave a little cry and withdrew her hand. A series of odd shaped pinpricks were seeping blood. One of the Sandaran women looked at it and let out a shout. "A zakaed! In the water!" The women all retreated, pulling their bundles of laundry with them. The Sandaran woman who had examined Hoshi's wrist took Hoshi's laundry and pulled her up toward the path. "Go now, to Kaday! Tell her you've been bitten by a zakaed. Bati! Take her to Kaday, hurry!"

Bati slung Hoshi over her shoulder and starting running.

"What? It's a scratch. What's wrong?" Hoshi questioned.

"A zakaed bite is poisonous. Paralysis and death follows. Don't move. It'll slow the poison. Kaday can help." She ran faster and soon was pounding on Kaday's door.

"Kaday! Kaday! Zakaed bite!"

Kaday unlocked her door and saw Bati carrying Hoshi. By now Hoshi, was trembling with fear and cold. Kaday took her and laid her on a sleeping mat, then rushed to fill a crude syringe with a liquid. She injected Hoshi and covered her with blankets. "Find her cellmate. He's on a work gang. Bring him here," she told Bati, who hastened off.

Kaday laid down next to Hoshi and wrapped herself around the frightened human. "It will be all right, little one. I will keep you warm. The zakaed bite can be counteracted, but you are in for a fight, my baby." Hoshi's teeth were chattering and she couldn't feel her limbs. She tried to speak, but she couldn't make her tongue move. Her eyes darted around, and she let out a low moan. She was freezing.

Malcolm pounded into the Kaday's cell. "How is she?" he panted. Hoshi could hear the distress in his voice and thought that he sounded a little afraid, but she wasn't sure. He knelt beside her and cupped her face. He looked into her eyes and gave her a smile. "You'll be all right," he whispered to her. She blinked at him, and then couldn't open her eyes again.

"She will need another injection in two hours. Then every two hours for the next three days. I have enough for the first three shots, but you will have to buy or trade for the ingredients for me to make more. I'll give it to you freely, but I have nothing to trade for it myself. I will keep her warm. You must talk to J'ta. She is the one I get the necessary items from."

"Will she be okay?" Malcolm asked, still caressing Hoshi's face. She could feel the warmth of his hand cutting through the iciness that was taking over her body, and she tried to move her head toward it. "Hold on," he said gently and kissed her forehead. She felt the brush of his lips against her skin, creating a small bloom of heat. He withdrew and the cold rushed in to fill the void. She could hear him leave and felt Kaday rubbing her body, but the friction created no warmth for her.

Malcolm ran to J'ta's cell and hammered on the door. A smaller door flew open and an eye stared out at him through the peephole. "I need to get some ingredients to counteract a kazaed bite," he said urgently.

J'ta opened the door. "What do you have to offer in exchange?" she asked, studying Malcolm with a calculating eye.

"Food, water, knife, labor…what do you need?" he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice. He had failed to protect Hoshi, and although part of him knew that there was no way to have foreseen this, another part of him lambasted himself for not anticipating something like it.

"But I already have everything I need." J'ta said slowly, her eyes raking over him. She'd been here for quite some time, and had seen everything under the sun.

"Look, whatever you want! My friend is dying! I'll get anything you need. Please, help me," he said, trying to hold back the panic.

J'ta moved toward him and grabbed his jaw, twisting his head to one side and then the other. "Not bad," she hissed. She then grabbed his crotch and squeezed lightly. Malcolm slapped her hand away and pushed her back. "Better," she said, a nasty grin on her face. "I've had many aliens over the years, but not your species; I'm sure you'll be entertaining."

She turned and gave him several vials. "This is for three days only. You know that for the next month, your friend will need a daily injection to cleanse the poison from her blood. On the fourth day, you come see me. You will pay me for this at that time. Then, if you please me, I will give you one dose every day in exchange for your…service." She smiled again, her tongue darting out and neck fringes flapping. Malcolm ignored the sick feeling in his stomach and agreed. He turned to go. "If you fail to perform properly, I won't give you anything else; your friend will die. See you in four days," J'ta laughed.

Malcolm ran back to Kaday's cell and gave her the vials. Kaday mixed them up and filled several syringes. "Take her back to your cell. Keep her warm. Give her an injection every two hours, under the skin, not in the bloodline. If she wakes, try to feed her. I'll check on her later." Malcolm gathered Hoshi up, and Kaday carried the syringes as she followed him to his cell. Malcolm laid Hoshi down on a sleeping mat and added their blankets to her body. Kaday placed the syringes down. "Hold her tightly now. Remember, every two hours. I'll come and help so you can get some sleep tomorrow." She turned to go and stopped at the door. "What did you trade J'ta for?" she asked.

Malcolm cradled Hoshi against his body. "Nothing important," he said.

***

Kaday had come back about an hour before lockdown to check Hoshi. She brought Malcolm some bread and soup she had made. While he ate, she massaged Hoshi, keeping her warm, and told Malcolm to continue doing so throughout the night. She waited while he took a quick shower; then she left. After lockdown, Malcolm spent his time either holding or massaging Hoshi. He strapped Hoshi's chronometer on his wrist and set the timer to go off every two hours. Occasionally Hoshi would start shivering uncontrollably, and Malcolm would wrap his body around hers, cradling her until she quieted. He talked to her, not knowing if she could hear or not.

For three days, Malcolm stayed locked up in their cell, only going out for head count, carrying a bundled Hoshi. Kaday would come to let him eat and shower, and catch a few hours of sleep during the day. But he spent the long nights stuffing his fear back down deep inside and trying to ignore his sense of failure, while whispering light-hearted nothings to Hoshi's unconscious form.

Late after lockdown on the third evening, he felt Hoshi stir in his embrace. He held her, setting himself for another round of her violent shivering when she opened her eyes.

"Hoshi?" he whispered, a rush of relief flooding through him. He took a deep breath and savagely forced his emotions back.

"Malcolm?" she croaked and then swallowed. "Cold. So cold."

"I know," he said gently and brought her closer. "You'll be fine."

"Hungry," she mumbled. He quickly heated some soup and sat her up, feeding it to her in small sips.

"Better?" He smiled at her and brushed his hand over her cheek, cupping her face.

"Tired," she replied, lying down again. He laid down next to her, and she moved toward his warmth. She draped herself over him. "Better," she said drowsily, and fell asleep. Malcolm held her for the rest of the night.

Chapter 15

Malcolm asked Kaday to stay with Hoshi on the fourth day while he went to pay his debt to J'ta. He knocked on her door and the peephole opened. She looked at him and opened her cell door with a wide grin on her face.

"Ah, my little plaything is here," she said with a deep chuckle. She locked the door behind them.

"Do you have the medicine I need for today?" he asked sharply.

"Only if you please me," she said, leering and leaning in toward him. Malcolm could see bits of food and dirt on her face and an open sore on the side of her neck. She was repulsive, and he looked away.

She roughly grabbed him and steered him toward her sleeping mat. She disrobed, and she callously peeled his clothes off him, touching him roughly, probing and grasping. He closed his eyes and shuddered as her scaly hands trailed down his chest and stomach, investigating.

"Lick my face, human," she hissed and Malcolm steeled himself, swallowing his anger and humiliation. He carefully shuttered his expression, loath to give her any reason to refuse him the medication he desperately wanted. He forced himself to obey and was glad that he hadn't eaten much. Her scales were gritty and dry. Malcolm stifled a gag reflex as the flavor of lima beans hit his tongue; the irony almost killed him. She gnawed on his neck, her sharp teeth biting into his flesh, tasting him, her thick saliva dripping down his back.

She lowered them down to the filthy mat and began rubbing her rough body against his, leaving scratches from his chest to his thighs. Malcolm closed his eyes and thought about Gina, Ruby, Rochelle, Debra, any former lover, trying ignore what he was doing. He pictured Gina, her dark eyes and hair, smiling as she seduced him, his arm propped up awkwardly. They had laughed so much. He flinched once as he plunged into J'ta; she was cold and dry. He took his mind away from his body, remembering the women he had made love to before. He kept moving, frantically trying to keep Gina's face in his mind. J'ta cried out and bit his shoulder hard, trembling beneath him, and his stomach heaved. J'ta stilled, then pushed him off her. It was over. He hurriedly dressed, feeling queasy and foul.

"Not bad, human." She gave him a vial. "Only thirty more meetings." She shoved him toward the door and unlocked it. Malcolm escaped.

Hoshi was half-awake when he returned. Kaday was talking to her and they looked up. "You okay?" he asked, trying to smile while his eyes frantically looked around at the floor and walls. The distressed look in his eyes disconcerted Hoshi. He looked like a dog about to be beaten again. She nodded slowly and he handed the vial to Kaday. "Need to clean up," he said hurriedly and flashed another skittish smile, then sprinted for the shower. He closed the door and turned the water on, then threw up as quietly as possible into the toilet. He washed himself in the cold water for as long as he could stand it, soaping up again as soon as he rinsed himself off.

He dried off and shaved, brushing his teeth without the tainted water as usual, going through the motions that were routine to keep his mind off of what he had just done. He aligned his expression and went out to see Hoshi and Kaday.

He couldn't contain the sigh of relief when he saw that Hoshi was asleep again. He grabbed a bottle of Mojatar and poured himself a large glass, swallowing down a huge gulp. Kaday watched him quietly as he prowl restlessly around the cell. She stood and went to him, and he recoiled from her touch. She grabbed him and picked him up, turning him around effortlessly, and inspected his neck. She saw the bite marks and gently lowered him.

He sat down and drank the rest of the Mojatar. She pulled up the other chair, and poured him another glassful. She touched his arm.

"Don't tell Hoshi, please. I think she'd feel…repelled," he said quietly, staring at his glass.

"No, you feel repelled. She would feel guilty," Kaday replied softly. His brow creased in concern at that.

"Please, then don't say anything to her. It's not her fault."

"Nor is it yours. You wear a Protector's weapon, and you do what you must. You are a virtuous person, child."

"You don't really know me, Kaday," Malcolm said darkly.

"The means justify the ends. I killed my husband. Someone I once loved. Am I evil?" she asked.

"No. You did what you had to do," Malcolm replied, raising his head and looking her in the eye.

"As you do, to protect the ones you care for. Even if it kills part of your soul each time, and knowing J'ta, there will be more times." She gently patted his arm. "I will not lie to Hoshi, though. But…I don't have to say anything," she said with a smile. "Finish your drink, and then go swim. Cleanse yourself. I'll watch over her."

Malcolm drained the rest of the Mojatar and grabbed his cutoffs. He thanked Kaday with a brief touch to her shoulder, and left.

"What won't you tell me?" Hoshi asked drowsily, after hearing Malcolm leave. Kaday turned toward her and sighed.

Chapter 16

After a week, Hoshi was strong enough to sit up, feed herself, and take a shower unattended. After two weeks, she could go for short walks. After the third week, she felt almost normal. She was getting tired of being injected daily, though. The crude needle hurt and left ugly puncture marks all over her skin. She was also getting used to Malcolm's odd routine. He'd work on the gang crew and then straight to J'ta's to bring back the medication. He was usually filthy from digging and clearing all day, but his hair would be wet and he looked clean when he came in; he would greet her with a strained smile, hand her the vial, and head for the shower. With her superior hearing, she could hear him throw up, and he'd stand in that cold water for so long that he was half-frozen by the time he got out. He'd pour himself a drink and gulp it down and nearly run out the door, towel in hand, barefoot, and clad only in his cutoffs. Kaday always came over to stay with her until he returned.

As Hoshi watched him flee yet again, she stood and said to Kaday, "I'm tired of this."

"Child, he just needs time."

"No, he needs to talk," she said and followed Malcolm. He was running full out, and Hoshi couldn't keep up, but from the direction, she knew he was heading for their beach. She arrived at the main beach in time to watch him climb to a long natural shelf in the cliffs off to the left. Stunned, she watched him take a running jump and leap far out into the air, body fully extended horizontally. At the last moment he twisted into a head first dive, barely sending up a splash as he sliced into the ocean. She waited tensely for him to surface, exhaling a breath she hadn't known she was holding when she saw his head break the surface. With smooth and precise strokes, he swam hard, trying to make it beyond the waves breaking off the shore. She watched as a large wave crested, and Malcolm dove under it. He resurfaced, arms churning, trying to make it to the next wave. He caught it as it began to roll, and he rode it in. Then he stood up and ran out again, diving in and swimming furiously to the next wave. She sat down in a secluded area higher up on the beach and watched him do this over and over again for the next hour: Malcolm madly diving, swimming, and surfing, never resting. She now knew why he slept like the dead each night.

He finally dragged himself out of the sea, shaking his head rapidly, water spraying from his shaggy hair. Hoshi had stopped him from using his knife to cut it a week ago, telling him that she would do it for him when she felt up to it. She knew he hated it being untidy and falling in his eyes.

He threw himself on his towel, facing the ocean, and cradled his head face down in his arms. From her perch, she could see his back rising and falling as he panted. The sun would set in about an hour, and Hoshi could feel its dying rays on her face. She rose and slowly made her way down the beach to him. As she approached, she could hear him singing quietly. She was surprised; his voice was slightly lower than she'd expected and pleasantly raspy.

"Didn't know you could sing, Malcolm," she said as she stood above him.

He lifted his head only high enough to look at her feet. "I've been told I sound like a cat with its tail caught in a blender," he laughed softly, lowering his head again.

She sat down next to him and studied his back. His usually pale skin had tanned from hours in the sun on the work gang and at the beach; she could now make out faint lines of scarring between his shoulders and similar ones near the small of his back. There was a long thin scar that ran from underneath his arm down to his hip. She'd hadn't noticed them in the few times they'd been in decon together, but she usually followed the ship's unspoken etiquette of not staring. She noticed recent scrapes and marks at his neck and shoulders.

"Didn't know you could dive either," she said, contemplating the scar on the back of his left thigh.

"I like free fall," he said, his answer muffled.

"You shouldn't swim alone, Malcolm. You could get into trouble and drown, you know," she said. There was another scar on his ankle.

"Reed men don't drown, Ensign. We learn to swim before we can walk," he said sardonically, not moving.

She sighed quietly, now making a game out of how many scars she could spot.

"I know what my recovery is costing you. I heard you talking to Kaday that day. I asked her, and she wouldn't lie to me." She watched his body tense. "I know about J'ta. I know you work for our fruit and water. How have you been getting the extra food?"

"J'ta's got a friend. She was interested. I only have to…be with her…twice a week," Malcolm said, choosing his words carefully. "Hoshi…" he said and then quit.

"It's all right Malcolm, we do what we have to, to survive…I'm sorry that you have to do this. Kaday said you didn't want me to feel guilty." Hoshi closed her eyes, and braced herself to confess the next. "I don't feel guilty at all. I'm thankful you're doing it. I don't want to die, Malcolm. It was a stupid act of fate—I don't blame myself for being bitten. I don't despise you for doing the only thing you can to keep me alive, and us fed." Hoshi's voice was strong, but the tears were falling. "I'm sorry that you have to be violated to keep us alive. I wouldn't have the courage…"

It doesn't take courage to be a prostitute, Malcolm thought. Just a barren heart and no scruples. He had listened to Hoshi, eyes closed and aching, but oddly relieved at her first words.

"I want to go back to Enterprise. I don't want to die on some alien world. You could sleep with every Sandaran on the planet if it keeps us alive," she continued. "I wish I could be selfless like you, but I'm not. I think I understand you better than you know. I'm willing to do almost anything to keep living…even sacrifice my friend…" Hoshi's voice shook at the last and Malcolm raised his head.

He sat up and touched her shoulder. "It's not a sacrifice, Hoshi. It's nothing to me. The sex doesn't even bother me anymore; it's just another job," he said, his voice and face utterly sincere.

He was telling the truth. After the first few days, the act didn't bother him at all. It was the lack of feeling behind it—the lack of emotion, of any regard that J'ta had toward Malcolm as a person, no acknowledgment of his humanity. He was just a means for her jaded entertainment, and it made him think of all the women he had known in recent years. He measured himself against J'ta, and found himself much like her. That was what made his stomach churn, made him restless and dismayed. He was no longer sure that he was even capable of loving someone ever again.

And now his time with J'ta made him feel as if he was looking in a mirror, with a cold, calculating animal looking back at him as his own reflection. Self-doubt ate at him as he reviewed his life. He was no longer able to have a lasting relationship. He had tried to be a considerate and gentle lover, but eventually the women would start asking him questions—how he felt, what he was thinking, questions about his past and what he had done in the gaps that he couldn't talk about. He'd put them off with vague answers, but they'd keep prying, finding his very reticence alluring, their curiosity aroused. He couldn't tell them. And the more inquisitive they became, the more he'd withdraw. It was easier when he was younger, when he didn't have anything to hide.

But the years before he entered Starfleet had managed to erase that innocence, and he began to seek out women who were interested in just a brief liaison, no strings. And it wasn't very fulfilling, because they couldn't give him what he really wanted. He wanted a second chance, but to do that, he would have to be honest, and that soul-baring openness was no longer in his nature. And who would love him if they knew his true essence?

At least on Enterprise no one pried, and he had tentatively begun to make friends with people who seemed to care about who he was now, and not trying to find out what he had been. There was a warmth and camaraderie on the ship, which, as hard as he had tried to resist, he'd been drawn into. They were in it together, not at odds with hidden agendas. He could trust someone to watch his back, not stick a knife in it.

"Then why do you vomit every time you come home? Why do you stand in the shower so long? Rape victims do that, you know," she said, still unconvinced by his truthful demeanor.

Malcolm laughed so abruptly and so lightheartedly that Hoshi was taken aback.

"Oh, god, Hoshi! I'm not being raped! I'm shagging some giant geezerbag lizards!" he said, using English for the first time in weeks. Their inactive translators sprang to life, but couldn't supply the Sandaran translation for his slang terms. He switched back to Sandaran, still laughing. "They bite when they climax, and it itches like hell! I think I'm allergic to their saliva…" He shook his head, still wearing a smile. "I puke because…" his smile faded abruptly. "Hoshi, I didn't want you to know. I didn't want to have this conversation. I…I don't want you to think less of me, because…I don't want to lose you as my friend. Hoshi, I didn't want you to know that…I could fu…do anything to survive and not have it affect me…it's like there's nothing here," he whispered, eyes closed and his fingers lightly caressing his chest. This partial truth was the best he could do. He couldn't say that he was afraid that even if he wanted to, he would be unable to love anyone—not with his past, not with knowing what he was. He exhaled deeply and leaned back, arms supporting his body, legs outstretched. He rolled his head, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders and neck, and waited for her to unleash her revulsion at his depraved nature.

Hoshi felt-no, she knew—he was telling the truth. She had seen it in his body language, had heard it in his carefree laugh. He really didn't feel anything at all about exchanging sexual favors for survival. She wondered again at his past as her eyes studied his legs; she made out another scar on his left thigh, a match to the one on the back, as if something had sliced right through his leg at one time. She saw the tension in his body, set as if to ward off a physical blow. She looked at his face, the weary despair clearly written over it, as he waited for her no doubt disgusted and contemptuous outburst.

She could never be cavalier about having her body used that way, ever. But, she thought, he's not me. I might not be able to do it, but I can understand it. She had surprised herself with her will to live and what she was willing to compromise. Oh, yes, Malcolm, I can understand it.

"I'm still your friend Malcolm. Friends accept. And I know there's something there or else you would have let me die," she said as she lightly touched his chest, suddenly realizing that it hadn't been his survival at stake. "And don't say you were just doing your job." She watched him start to tremble in relief; he had been so tightly wound. She wrapped her arms around him. "My friendship is unconditional," she whispered to him. "Thank you for yours." He hugged her back, burying his head into her neck. She ruffled his hair. "Besides, not many friends would shag a geezerbag for you." He started to laugh and she joined him. "What the hell does that mean?" she asked, laughing loudly. He just shook his head and continued to laugh.

Chapter 17

Hoshi felt much stronger, and she was relieved when she no longer needed treatment. Malcolm's moodiness had vanished after that day at the beach, and his peculiar routine stopped as soon as his debt to J'ta had been paid. He had politely declined J'ta's friend's request to continue their dalliance.

Kaday had found Hoshi work with Metio, the potter. He would pay her in food, and in return, Hoshi would help him make the clay pots and plates that the prisoners used. Metio was serving a long sentence for killing two people in an illegal challenge, but to Hoshi, he was a sensitive and kind artist. She looked forward to working with the cool clay and being far out on the edge of their detention site, where it was quiet and peaceful. Most of the craftsmen had little sheds and work areas set out in the forested portion of the island, seeking solitude and inspiration. The trees provided shade from the warm sun, their fallen branches providing fuel for furnaces and fires, their bark, leaves, and berries providing color for paints and glazes.

Malcolm was still uneasy about a confrontation with the Nausicaans, so he started taking Hoshi back to the beach, resuming her self-defense training and forcing her to run with him in the soft sand, trying to build her strength back up. She'd run, puffing and complaining, as Malcolm would trot along easily, gently goading her to keep up with him. He taught her more defensive maneuvers, letting her flip him if she performed the moves properly. And she had asked him to teach her tai chi.

Several months ago, she had seen him lead his security team in a tai chi warm-up in the gym. Then they switched to the deadlier hapkido. She had watch the team spar, the moves and countermoves fast, rapid kicks being delivered; afterward, she had asked him about the difference between the two styles. It was the first long conversation she had ever had with him.

He explained the concepts, principles, and philosophies behind the two methods: how hapkido could be used on any form of attack; how it taught you to defend and attack from the ground or sitting down; how different weapons could be utilized, from fans to sticks to knives. He then spoke of the Taoist principals behind tai chi as a meditative tool, yet could be used for self-defense when accelerated, and that even a slightly built person could use a lesser force and protect himself against stronger opponents. He had said the last with a self-deprecating smile and downcast eyes.

She had watched them many times after that.

After their lessons, they'd jump into the ocean to cool off. Malcolm taught Hoshi the finer points of body surfing, or they would just splash each other good-naturedly. Malcolm tried to get Hoshi to jump off the cliffs with him, but she always refused. Plunging helplessly through the air from great heights sounded frightening to her, and she worried each time he sailed fearlessly off the edge.

Malcolm had reconnoitered the island shortly after their arrival, and he continued to explore it until he knew every inch. There was another camp on the other side, complete with a second set of guard barracks, about half a day's walk from their cell. Their Nausicaan adversaries were detained there, and Malcolm had covertly noted the location of their cells and the layout of that site. He had asked the few friendly guards at their own camp if the two detention sites ever mixed, and he was told that although the prisoners were free to roam the island, few ever bothered to visit the other side. But he thought it was always better to be prepared. Sometimes a paranoid nature came in handy.

They spent their evenings playing chess, or using the paper that Trip had put in their care packages. They hadn't been able to trade any of it. Hoshi tried to teach Malcolm origami, but he wasn't very good at it. He'd unfold his mangled creations and opt to draw on the paper instead. And they talked.

Malcolm asked Hoshi questions about herself, her experiences, her friends and family. He had learned over the past few years to distract people from prying into his past by deftly deflecting their questions and turning the conversation back on them. He knew people liked to talk about themselves anyway and was accomplished at feigning rapt attention.

But Malcolm was genuinely intrigued and loved to listen to Hoshi. He thought her life sounded like a storybook tale, and he was fascinated by the way she talked, her words and thoughts fully formed and lyrically rendered. Her stories fascinated him—full of warm and caring people, funny memories about her rowdy siblings, scholarly triumphs. He also liked the sound of her voice.

At first, Hoshi thought that Malcolm was simply being polite, but she soon realized that he was truly listening and actually hearing every word she said. He'd be drawing, head bent over his work, leg bouncing up and down, burning off that restless energy while she'd ramble on; then his head would suddenly snap up at some comment and he'd ask a question, or draw an obscure parallel to a historical situation, suddenly still and attentive to her reply. He'd play off her statements and head off onto a tangent, and they would wind up talking animatedly about music, literature, politics, science. Sometimes he'd go off on a humorous digression that would leave Hoshi breathless with laughter.

When it was time to sleep, Malcolm would crumple his drawings and toss them into the fire. If it was cold, they would change into sweatpants and T-shirts; if warm, Hoshi would forego the sweats, while Malcolm would only remove his shirt, trying to maintain some decorum. They'd lie together on their sleeping mats. Hoshi would either lie on Malcolm's chest as he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulders, or they would spoon together, with Malcolm on the inside and Hoshi warming his back, hugging him close to her. They had found that this closeness helped them sleep and kept their fears about being abandoned here at bay.

Malcolm always fell asleep easily, and Hoshi would observe him, wondering what he dreamed about as she watched his fingers twitch and his limbs shudder minutely, his eyes moving rapidly under their lids. Even in repose, his nervous intensity was apparent; even sleeping, he controlled his movements, never thrashing about, always contained. Hoshi didn't realize that Malcolm would wake in the night after she had fallen asleep and watch her in turn. He'd always had trouble sleeping longer than 4 or 5 hours a night, and he'd lie there and study Hoshi's beautiful features, thinking about how peaceful she looked and wondering what she dreamt of as she smiled or moved her lips silently in a dialogue only she could hear.

Chapter 18

Hoshi walked to Metio's, unaware that she was being watched. She had spent the day glazing bowls. It was mindless work and left her time to think. She thought about the Enterprise and how she missed the people; she hoped that they were okay. She thought about how Jon had convinced her to join him on this "adventure," as he had put it. She could image him tearing his hair out with worry and wished for the umpteenth time that she could at least send a message to assure him that she was all right. Jon was probably blaming himself for the delay; he always took the weight of the world on his shoulders.

As she glazed bowls, she thought about the things she missed on board Enterprise. She missed movie night. Listening to music. Liz Cutler. Chef's cooking. She missed bantering on the bridge with Travis and Trip, with T'Pol occasionally making an arch comment. She missed her bunk. Hot showers. Ice cream. Dr. Phlox's language lessons.

She sighed. She hadn't realized how much Enterprise felt like home, and she was homesick. It could be worse, she told herself. I could be here by myself. A slight smile crossed her face. If, three months ago, someone asked her who she'd want to be stuck with for two years, Malcolm Reed would have been the furthest from her mind. Jon was her friend, Trip made her laugh, Travis was good-natured and fun-loving, and she even enjoyed her conversations with T'Pol. But although she had been reasonably comfortable with Malcolm before, she never thought that he would make good company for a long period of time. He was too quiet, too serious, too impatient. He was nothing like her.

But the last two months had surprised her—the intensity in his eyes as he would listen to her or excitedly argue back, the sense of humor that was subtle and sly, with a sporadic burst of downright silliness. The silent strength and comfort he offered to her when he thought she was sad. The encouragement and genuine delight he took in her achievements in self-defense or in the water. She still didn't know what his history was, and he still didn't talk much, but he talked and laughed more than she ever heard him do on the ship. He was still impatient and could be ill-tempered at times, but he always softened it with a smile or apology. She thought that he was comfortable with her too, and for that, she was grateful. She would hate for him to feel ill at ease with her. She was also proud of herself. She had held up pretty well, considering that most of the crew thought that she was too fainthearted to be out here. She admitted that she'd been depressed and scared every now and then, but she had faced her circumstances with a cool head. Perhaps some of Malcolm's disposition was rubbing off on her.

Metio told her to go home while she still had a couple of hours of daylight to enjoy; he would finish up. She hadn't noticed the time pass. He wrapped her daily wage of some fruit and vegetables in a little bundle, which she slung over her shoulder, and she went off on her way. She walked slowly through the woods, engrossed in her thoughts.

She was picking her way through the trees, humming absently to herself, when she was grabbed from behind. Her self-defense training automatically took over, and she stomped down on her assailant's instep and kicked a foot backward with force, connecting with a hard kneecap, as she had been taught. She heard a howl and a body thump to the ground. At the hoarse string of Nausicaan words, her long-dormant translator sprang to life. She threw the bundle of food in the alien's face as another hand grabbed at her from her right. She caught it with both hands and twisted as hard as she could, setting her stance so that she pulled her new assailant off balance and down. He landed on the first Nausicaan, who had been trying to rise. She saw another form coming from the left, and she ran.

Her translator rendered the Nausicaans' shouts and curses into Sandaran, and she fled with their threats of rape, slow torture, and the promise of a painful death whispering in her brain. She ran faster, scared, but trying not to give in to panic. She wasn't far from her cell, and she hoped that she could run the distance, finally thankful that Malcolm had been making her run further each day. She could hear one Nausicaan close behind, and she thought that the other two were a bit further behind the first. But she didn't dare risk a look, for branches were tearing at her and the rocky terrain made her fearful of a misstep.

The campsite was in view when she developed a stitch in her side that caused her to slow slightly; she was panting hard. The fear and the adrenaline that flooded her body kept her running, her legs beginning to burn. She was close enough to camp that she started to scream, hoping that someone would hear or that the guards would intervene.

Malcolm was gathering firewood for Kaday when he thought he heard a scream. He straightened and held his breath, listening. He heard it again, coming closer, to his left. He started to run an intercept course, darting through the forest, his stomach knotted. He'd never heard a Sandaran make that kind of noise; it had to be Hoshi. He ran faster, arms and legs pumping with the precision of long practice, breathing easily and quietly, listening as he ran. He could hear heavy footfalls now, pounding along.

"Malcolm!" Hoshi screamed. He tried to gauge where her cry had come, and he veered behind it.

Hoshi could see her cell in the distance; if she could get to it in time, she may be able to lock herself in; or maybe someone would help. She couldn't scream anymore; her breath was coming in huge, harsh gasps, and her side ached. She could hear the Nausicaan gaining on her; she could hear him breathing. She turned her head to look over her shoulder and saw a black blur emerge from the treelines. Relief flooded her as she realized it was Malcolm, and she risked looking fully over her shoulder. She saw him intercept the Nausicaan closing on her. He collided with the alien hard, sending them both sprawling to the ground; Malcolm rolled, bounced up, and kicked the Nausicaan in the face. She faced forward again; only about 100 meters left. She heard Malcolm far behind her.

"Go!" he shouted harshly. She tried to run harder, but her legs ached, and she felt herself slow. "Faster, Ensign! Run, damn it!" he snapped in a drill sergeant's hoarse yell. She sped up.

Seventy-five meters. Fifty. Twenty-five. Hoshi slapped the lock code in and dashed inside. She turned and saw that Malcolm wasn't going to make it. The other two Nausicaans were too close, and if she waited for him, they wouldn't have time to close the door.

"Lock it now!" Malcolm bellowed, and he skidded to a halt, pivoted, and charged their two pursuers. Hoshi slammed the door shut, locked it, and slid open their peephole, watching and hoping.

Malcolm came in low and tackled the one on the left, the Nausicaan who had caused all the problems in the first place. They rolled, Malcolm's fists flying, landing blows. He disentangled himself and sprang up, running and launching a two-footed kick to the other Nausicaan. It connected with the alien's chest and sent him staggering backward. Malcolm landed on both feet, hands touching down lightly on the ground and righted himself. He turned and started to run back out of camp, hoping to lead them to the ocean, figuring they wouldn't follow him off the cliffs.

Hoshi saw the Nausicaan that Malcolm had originally intercepted broadside the armory officer with bone-jarring force. Malcolm went down hard, the Nausicaan slamming down on top of him. Malcolm tried to push the alien off, but the second Nausicaan dog-piled on top, pinning Malcolm firmly to the ground.

The Nausicaan leader sauntered over to their cell and peered in the peephole at Hoshi. "Come out, and we'll let your friend live," he said with a self-satisfied smile.

"No, Ensign! Stay put! That's an order!" Malcolm hoarsely shouted, trying to breathe with the weight of two huge Nausicaans pressing down on him.

One backhanded Malcolm and told him to be quiet. They dragged him to his feet, firmly holding his arms, and hauled him over to their superior.

"Come out. We have a slight score to settle," the Nausicaan leader continued to Hoshi. "You maimed my friend, you know. He may be regulated to a woman's role, thanks to you. You've made him a mockery of a Nausicaan warrior." He shoved his face into the peephole and Hoshi retreated.

"He shouldn't have grabbed me," she said, her anger rising, quelling her fear.

"We take what we want. I want you. I like your spirit. You'll be very amusing. Come out now," and he turned and punched Malcolm in the stomach. Malcolm couldn't even double up, he was held so tightly. The man then grabbed Malcolm and spun around, flinging Malcolm against their cell door. The door shuddered with the force of his impact, causing Hoshi to recoil reflexively. She rushed back to the peephole, shouting, "Stop it! Don't!"

The Nausicaan hurled Malcolm against the door again. "Then come out! I have something for you," the leader said, throwing Malcolm one last time against the door.

Malcolm slid down to the ground, trying to stay conscious. His head was ringing and his back hurt so much that he couldn't feel the pain in his stomach any longer.

The two other Nausicaans hauled Malcolm to his feet again. He sagged in their grip, trying to keep his eyes open and fighting a wave of nausea. He saw Kaday slip out of her cell and start running toward the barracks. He could see the rest of the prisoners gathered around, watching with anticipation. He didn't see anyone who looked willing to help.

Hoshi looked around the cell for a weapon—anything she could use to help Malcolm. She saw nothing and realized the futility of her search. She looked out the peephole again and saw the lead Nausicaan withdraw a syringe filled with a foul-looking brown liquid from the inside of his boot. He leaned toward the peephole again. "Come out. I'll make it pleasant for you. And when we kill you, you won't even feel the pain," he said and showed her the syringe. He backed up and took off his belt. "Come out."

Hoshi's looked toward Malcolm, who shook his head slightly and mouthed "Sit tight" to her. She locked eyes with him and saw only a mute plea that she do as he said.

"Don't you want to save your friend? I thought you humans placed a great deal on friendship," the Nausicaan asked.

We do, Hoshi thought. I can't let him die. What am I going to do? Her anguish was apparent to the alien, who laughed and beckoned his friends to bring Malcolm closer.

Hoshi looked at Malcolm. "Don't come out," he said, "That's an order." One of Nausicaans struck him again. Tears started to well up in Hoshi's eyes. She nodded to him, not knowing if he could see her, and stayed her hand, which had been hovering over the lock.

"You're a cold-hearted bitch," the Nausicaan said admiringly as he saw her face set in determination. He'd sensed before that she was wavering. Now she wasn't. She wouldn't open the door, and he knew it. He strode over and pushed up Malcolm's sleeve, then wrapped the belt tightly around one of Malcolm's arms, forcing the veins to rise. The Nausicaan injected Malcolm with the entire contents of the syringe and tossed it aside. "We'll have to use him instead," he said to Hoshi, and grinned nastily at her. "Perhaps you'll enjoy watching."

Malcolm didn't even feel the unrefined needle enter his vein. His body hurt too much to notice. The Nausicaan leader punched Malcolm a few more times, looking over his shoulder toward Hoshi, watching her eyes in the peephole for a reaction. He grinned as he saw her flinch, her eyes wide and grieving.

"You can still help him. Come out now. Otherwise, we'll just kill him and hunt you down later." He removed the belt from Malcolm's arm and replaced it around his waist. He swaggered back over to the cell, standing close enough to see her eyes, but far enough away so that he wasn't blocking her view. "Would you like to hear what we're going to do to him?"

The Nausicaan started to tell Hoshi explicit details of his plans, enjoying her fear and abhorrence. Hoshi felt ill and cursed herself for obeying Malcolm's unstated plea. She screamed curses at the Nausicaans and wished she had a phase pistol. Her hand started toward the lock again, brushing against it, her mind working fast, trying to cope with her fear for herself and Malcolm.

Malcolm became aware of his heart beating faster. He could hear it in his ears, drowning out almost everything, except for Hoshi's string of curses. For some reason, he thought that it was very funny. He felt a wave of heat burn through his blood, attacking every nerve. His head cleared a bit, and the world got very bright. He squinted, trying not to be blinded by the abrupt increase in light. He was vaguely aware that he didn't feel the pain in his back anymore; his whole perception was focused on the heat in his body. He thought he could hear his blood boiling.

He liked the feeling.

He breathed deeply a few times, closed his eyes, and let himself go limp. One of the Nausicaans let him go and walked toward their superior. The other one held Malcolm loosely in a one-handed grip.

"What shall we do to him first? What would you like to see?" the leader taunted Hoshi.

Malcolm felt as if he was flying faster than he'd ever gone before. He loved this rush of excitement, the sense of speed, and he saw flashes of light and colors underneath his eyelids. He could stay like this forever, soaring, the feel of his blood cascading through his body, intense pleasure in every nerve ending. He felt strong and wild, discipline and restraint swept away, unusual urges tugging at him. He felt the heat of his blood, the pounding of his heart, and he found the white-hot anger that he'd always tried to keep buried flash to the surface.

Hoshi saw Malcolm suddenly pull his knife from its sheath as he straightened quickly. He grabbed the Nausicaan attending him and plunged the knife to the hilt into his foe's stomach, twisting it savagely so that the serrated edge could saw through any bone in the way, and raked it sideways.

Malcolm felt an orgasmic sensation flood his brain, and his knife broke through the alien's side. It felt good to kill this way again, without fear for your own life or the guilt of taking another's. He savored the sound of the knife entering and exiting his captor's body, the feel of the blade carving through skin and muscle, the tug of it as it sliced an organ or two. He enjoyed the strength he had to put into his arm in order to pull it out of the alien's body again, the sawing motion he had to make to sever the ribs.

He wiped the blade on the dead man's clothing and pushed him away. He turned toward the other two Nausicaans.

The Nausicaans whirled toward him as one when they heard the thump of a body hit the ground. Malcolm, a sly grin on his face and his eyes half-closed, motioned to them with a "come on" gesture. A high-strung sense of anticipation filled him. He moved fluidly, almost carelessly, with none of his usual caution as he casually flipped his knife back and forth between his hands. Hoshi saw his grin widen and he winked at her.

"Shall I tell you what I'm going to do to you?" he purred to the Nausicaan leader in a low, seductive tone. The aliens grabbed their knives and readied themselves. Malcolm stretched languidly, warming up to move quickly, savoring the excitement. The blood sang in his ears as his heartbeat accelerated, and he felt the nervous thrill of the battle to come.

"Illegal challenge! You see! Illegal!" Hoshi heard Kaday cry, the sound of footsteps just out of her view. She saw the crowd of prisoners who had been watching silently scatter. A moment later, several guards and Kaday trotted into her range of vision. The guards stunned the Nausicaans without warning, and Hoshi punched the code in and unlocked the door.

Kaday ran over to Malcolm, who stood there, trying to digest what just happened. He felt a savage burst of disappointment as he sheathed his knife. His hands started to shake as the adrenaline continued to flood his body, the fight-or-flight instinct cruelly aborted. His could hear his heart pulsing in his ears, beating faster. He breathed deeply a few times, trying to curb the rage that had found no release. The initial feeling of speed and excitement ebbed a bit as he made his way to the corpse. He took the Nausicaan's knife and boots, handing them to Kaday. He could only watch where he was going from under his eyelashes—the light was too bright. He closed his eyes, feeling disconnected, but his brain continued to race; he felt as if he had left his body behind and his mind was barreling along at warp 10.

He was dimly aware that there was something wrong with him.

Chapter 19

The guards dragged the Nausicaans away. They told Kaday that the other two would be in solitary confinement for thirty days.

Hoshi approached Malcolm and noticed that she could see his tight black shirt vibrate with the fast paced rhythm of his pounding heart. Malcolm started to hum softly to himself, head down and trembling. He rubbed idly at his arm and Kaday inspected the mark. She picked up the syringe and looked at the few droplets of liquid that remained, sniffing them. Shaking the remnants of the liquid onto her finger and she tasted it. Her face fell in sorrow as she looked back at Malcolm, who was oblivious to everything around him.

He was trying to think intelligibly, but it was in vain. His head was teeming now, filled with a turmoil of distorted sounds, snatches of conversations and nightmares; a multitude of voices were fighting to be heard. He was becoming unnerved, and that frightened him more than the voices.

"What?" Hoshi asked, her relief that they were still both alive now marred by trepidation, seeing the heartache apparent on Kaday's face.

"How long ago did they inject him?" Kaday asked.

"I don't know—five minutes ago?" Hoshi replied.

Malcolm cut in. "Ten to twelve," he said. He resumed his humming, head cocked as he listened, his face apprehensive.

"Open your eyes," Kaday demanded.

Malcolm shook his head. "Too bright," he said softly.

Kaday placed her hand on his chest, counting the heartbeats. "Too fast," she said, shaking her head. He was barely breathing.

"He's going to be very sick in about five minutes," Kaday stated flatly to Hoshi. "They gave him So-K—SoulKiller. It bonds to the blood, speeding production; it contains a natural coagulant, which will come in handy soon," she added cryptically.

He was flying, shooting through the darkness. He could feel his heart drumming, and it was getting harder to form a coherent thought, especially with all of the demanding voices and images. He felt as if his insides were being shredded, and a hot spike of pain lanced through him. He thought he could feel his blood pooling in his stomach, and he swallowed a groan, wanting to hide and curl up, wanting to run, ready to explode from the energy of the thwarted fight.

"Malcolm, are you okay?" Hoshi asked. He looked sick and was whispering to himself, his tone agitated and, she thought, a little scared. That made her anxious.

"They won't be quiet," he said, his voice breaking. A disturbing tension was building rapidly, a pressure in his stomach and chest that was beginning to hurt. It was too bright, even with his eyes closed, and the initial exhilaration had worn off, leaving him terrified. The maelstrom of sounds in his head grew louder, more insistent, voices questioning him and demanding answers. Some of them were quite angry. He froze as he felt his stomach lurch.

"What does it do?" Hoshi asked Kaday in a low voice as she watched Malcolm. He gagged slightly and sat on the ground, knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, head down.

"It bonds to the blood, affecting the brain's pleasure centers. It reaches the very nerve endings throughout the entire body, exciting them. Eventually pain receptors are blocked. It causes hallucinations and affects the emotions. Personalities can change. But each person reacts differently. Our holy leaders originally took it to talk to the dead." Hoshi shot Kaday a disbelieving look. "It has evolved since then—much more dangerous." Kaday's voice lowered darkly.

"Tell them to stop, please," Malcolm said, his voice soft and shaking slightly. He started to rock back and forth, and Hoshi heard him mutter a reply as if to a question.

"Listen to me, child," Kaday said, squatting down and putting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" he shrieked, opening his eyes wide and quickly closing them again. Hoshi gasped as she saw that his pupils were huge, with only a sliver of blue ringing them. The whites of his eyes were horribly bloodshot. Kaday snatched her hand back quickly and Malcolm started rocking again. "Sorry," he whispered, "it just feels too…much." Kaday's touch was like being hit with thousands of volts of electricity, sending tendrils of pleasure/pain throughout his body and brain. His stomach roiled, and he began to breath harder.

"Child," Kaday started again, a little louder as Malcolm swore and turned toward his left, telling someone to shut up or he'd kill him again.

"Child, when the pain comes, release it. You will start to vomit. Get as much out as possible." Kaday told him, hoping that he was paying attention. "This is important. Even if you must make yourself vomit, do so. Your survival will depend on it."

Hoshi was now frantic. Malcolm was rocking harder and swearing, sweat breaking out on his forehead. She could see his body shudder in time to his heartbeat. She was afraid that his heart would burst. And she couldn't even touch him to help calm him. He gagged once, and started panting harshly.

"Let it go, child," Kaday said to him, her mouth near his ear.

Hoshi knelt down on his other side. "Let it go, Malcolm," Hoshi said, trying to do anything she could to help.

Malcolm doubled over in pain. He gagged again and then vomited a stream of blood. Hoshi let out a despairing cry as he continued to throw up dark red blood. His eyes were tightly closed and watering, but instead of clear liquid, it was a light red. He vomited again, the blood a brighter red, and spat. Hoshi watched it sink into the dirt, shocked. He was breathing in ragged gasps now, his body shuddering and Kaday shouted to him to continue. He gagged several times, and threw up again, more bright red blood.

Hoshi numbly watched as it puddled. He would bleed to death, she thought as he choked and a fine spray flew from his mouth. He retched hard twice more, and both times a gush of dark blood, almost black, came forth. He spit and dry heaved several times, but there was nothing left. Kaday examined the puddle and noted with satisfaction a few clots.

"That was disgusting," he said hoarsely.

Hoshi began to laugh, a little hysterically. "At least you didn't have to watch it," she said, her voice rising in pitch. She breathed deeply several times, forcing herself to rein in her horror. She tried T'Pol's relaxation technique and felt herself calm somewhat. It would have to do.

"Are you all right, Hoshi?" he asked, his body quaking with exhaustion. He just wanted to crawl away to somewhere dark, but even the effort to open his eyes was too great.

"Of course," she replied, tentatively caressing his brow, relieved that her hand was steady. He was warm to the touch, and the coolness of her fingers sent a shiver of delight through him.

He was no longer sure of where he was, or what had happened. He felt so odd, so chaotic, his insides hurting, his mind overloaded. Too drained to fight for control any longer, he yielded to the bedlam in his head.

Kaday lifted him effortlessly, using that deceptive Sandaran strength. She carried him to his cell and asked Hoshi to start the shower, then to pour a glass of water for him. Kaday stripped Malcolm of his blood-drenched prison uniform and took him under the cold spray. Propping him against the wall, she washed him, her scaly hands scrubbing off gore from the Nausicaan he had killed, as well as his own blood.

As she washed his hair, he leaned against her, shivering. Kaday rinsed him off and dried him, dressing him in a pair of sweatpants. She helped him brush his teeth, and she smoothed the hair out of his face. Leading him back to his sleeping mat, she told him to sit. Kaday inspected the bruises on his back from his fight with the Nausicaans and told Hoshi to give him the water while she went to get some ointment.

Hoshi put the glass near his lips as he sat there, staring at the floor. "Malcolm," she said softly. He didn't respond, and she repeated his name louder. He raised his head and Hoshi looked into his eyes. They looked glassy, and the pupils were huge. No white was visible, only a veil of red. He pondered her for several moments, then quirked a tiny half-smile.

"Hoshi…" he said, as if surprised to see her there. He stuck a finger out and touched her shoulder. "You're real," he said wanly, but with satisfaction.

She laughed lightly, "Yep, 100% natural," and he breathed out a small chuckle.

"They didn't get you," he said, rubbing at the needle mark. She took his hand away from it. "You followed orders. We'll make a officer out of you yet, Ensign."

"I'm so sorry, Malcolm—" she started, and he shook his head and cut her off.

"My job. My duty. Tactically, we've cut their number by one, and we don't have to worry about them for another month. I'm sure they'll be back for us by then," he said, remarkably lucid. "I'm sorry I put you through this. I should have run faster…" Then his head snapped around. "Oh, piss off, you bloody git," he growled to the corner of the room. Hoshi couldn't help looking, but of course nothing was there. He looked back at Hoshi, eyes bleary and glazed.

"I don't feel well," he said. He felt as if he had been forced to eat shards of glass washed down with kerosene.

Hoshi touched the bruise on his cheek. "Does that hurt?" she asked, and he shook his head. She made him drink some water, and he bowed his head, staring at the floor again, still and silent.

Kaday walked back in with a jar and her sleeping mat. "I'll stay with you tonight," she said, and Hoshi felt a rush of relief. Kaday opened the jar and told Malcolm to lie on his stomach. He didn't react. Kaday lifted his chin and his dull gaze went straight through her. "He's starting to trance," she said. She gently pushed him down and flipped him over. Malcolm mumbled a one-sided dialogue; it sounded like he was arguing with someone. Kaday began to rub the ointment into his shoulders, and he flinched, rolling away. He got to his knees, looking for his knife, and Hoshi stopped him. He looked around, and offered a weak smile in chagrin.

"Sorry, it's just that…your hands feel…odd," he said politely. Kaday handed the ointment to Hoshi, who told him to lie back down. "It doesn't hurt," he said, looking blankly at his thigh, trying to figure out where his knife went.

"It will tomorrow, little one," Kaday said gently and pushed him down again.

Hoshi rubbed the ointment onto his shoulders, and he made a contented sound low in his throat. But Hoshi felt only tensed muscle; he would not relax. Head resting on his arms, he stared into the corner. Hoshi noticed he hadn't blinked since Kaday had returned, and she passed her hand in front of his eyes. When he didn't acknowledge it, she looked questioningly at Kaday.

"He's trancing." Kaday spoke loudly to Malcolm, shaking him. "Child, what are you looking at?"

Malcolm looked at her, distracted, pupils wide and black, the whites bloody and raw. "They died. Peterson over there was on watch and fell asleep. He says…" Malcolm paused, head cocked and listening attentively. "He says that he couldn't stay awake after two days." He abruptly whipped his head toward the corner and started to rise, fiercely arguing, "Ah, Tusco, you always were a right bastard! I'd been up for almost four days straight…" He shook his head. "He said I should have stood watch, since I was the youngest and could always stay up longer than any of them…" He looked at Kaday. "My fault again," he whispered miserably.

As he paused, listening, Hoshi and Kaday exchanged bewildered glances, Hoshi interested despite her unsettled feelings. He suddenly smiled. "Yuri says Tusco couldn't lead a squad out of a wet paper bag." He uttered a short bark of laughter and laid back down, muttering something about Tusco's mother. He fell silent, unblinking, body taut. Hoshi tentatively started rubbing the ointment into his back again, covering the bruises.

"He's seeing people from his past. The drug makes them very real," Kaday said sadly. "For all we know, they are the dead coming back to speak to us. That is what SoulKiller originally was used for. But over the years, it was altered, and it has become deadly. Now, a single use addicts you. You cannot stop, or it kills you. Quitting cold leads to a lingering end, every moment extended painfully. They call it the Death Stretch. Even with the most modern medical facilities, only about 15 percent of addicts survive the withdrawal. And in these conditions," she waved a hand around the cell, "Fatality is certain."

"No, no! One time?" Hoshi asked skeptically, scared. She'd never heard of anything like that. "Can't he just wake up tomorrow and be a little sick?"

"You must keep taking it. It replaces the body's natural coagulant with its own. If you stop, it speeds the replacement process and you drown in your own blood. The initial injection accelerates production so that it can bind to your blood and feed off itself. That's why he had to expel the excess. The strain it was putting on his system would have killed him. He lost about two units of extra blood his body doesn't need.

"He'll have to use it daily. Trying to stop here will kill him. The only cure is to draw out as much blood as the body can tolerate and replace it with transfusions, continuing the cycle until the drug is purged completely. It is a persistent chemical, however, drawing from itself to stay for as long as it can. Most addicts can't take this, even in a medical center. You cannot sedate them…it reacts badly with their overburdened systems, usually killing them outright or sending them into an eternal coma. You must fetter them and let them rave until their blood is cleansed. It can take days. It's an ugly cure. They call it 'restrain and drain' in jest," Kaday concluded.

It sounded like a bad science fiction movie to Hoshi, and she wondered who would ever willingly take something like that. She glanced at Malcolm, who was now watching the wall. He saw it change colors from blue to violet to a dark red as it swelled and retracted, incredibly organic in its movements. A small part of his mind told him that he was hallucinating, but the rest of it told him to sit back and enjoy the show. He watched as the wall melted, the red becoming a river of color slowly roiling toward him. Hoshi tapped his shoulder insistently, and he finally tore his gaze away. She offered him some more water and he unsteadily sat up. "Hungry?" she asked. He shook his head. Kaday rose and told Hoshi that she would wash Malcolm's prison uniform so that it would be ready for head count in the morning.

Hoshi helped him sip the water and he leaned against her wearily. He tried not to look at the wall again, for he was certain that it would be closer than before. Hoshi put her arms around him, hugging him tightly, whispering apologies for getting him hurt again, for landing them there, for not being brave, for being selfish. The litany of her faults continued, her despair mounting.

Malcolm roused himself and looked at her, his dilated eyes full of concern. "Hoshi, don't. If you want to blame someone blame the Nausicaans. Blame me. You were following my orders. You're my friend, Hoshi. Please don't do this to yourself." He paused and then softly started to recite,

"'No more be griev'd at that which thou hast done; Roses have thorns, and sliver fountains mud, Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in the sweetest bud. All men make faults, and even I in this, Authorizing thy trespass with compare, Myself corrupting, salving thy amiss, Excusing thy sins more than thy sins are…'"

He trailed off. He couldn't form the words he wanted to say. "I think that's Shakespeare's way of saying shit happens," he said instead and gave her a weak half-smile.

Hoshi laughed hard and it felt good. "God, Malcolm! You're a lunatic!" but she felt much better; he didn't hate her.

Malcolm hugged her and saw the walls quiver, their colors changing rapidly in response to her laughter.

Chapter 20

The bright morning sunlight nearly blinded Malcolm at head count. He squinted and closed his eyes, impatiently waiting for it to be over. He heard strange noises, and as he stumbled back to their cell, with Hoshi leading him, he thought he saw several trees uproot and move away. Once inside, Hoshi rummaged around in their remaining duffle bag. She pulled out the sunglasses that Trip had packed, which they had been unable to trade. "You'll have to wear these," she said, and placed them on the table. She examined his eyes closely, noting that they were now just badly bloodshot, not the bloody rawness of last night. She could see slightly more iris, but they were still terribly dilated.

She handed him a piece of fruit and told him to eat it. He watched it form a face with narrow lips. "Eat me! Eat me!" it mocked. He bit its head off in satisfaction and listened to it complain as he swallowed. Hoshi offered him another slice, which he refused. The first piece was grousing in a muffled voice, "No room! No room!" and he wished he hadn't read so much as a child.

He was grateful that he hadn't seen any more dead people since last night. He wasn't looking forward to some of them appearing. Hoshi handed him a glass of water. He inspected it and handed it back. "There's a newt in it," he said absently, and he grabbed a bottle of Mojatar.

At first the harsh and raw alcohol had been nearly undrinkable; Malcolm had likened the taste to warp core coolant mixed with bat piss. But it was cheap to procure and kept them hydrated, with the additional attraction of giving them a gentle buzz that helped them sleep those first few nights in captivity. But now their systems had become immune to the intoxicating effects a single glassful used to have. They had even grown to accept the taste, although Malcolm had at one time crossly complained that his tastebuds would never be the same.

He drained half of the bottle in a single gulp and felt much better. The walls had stopped moving. Hoshi looked at Malcolm strangely and took the bottle from him. Bad enough he's hallucinating, she thought. I don't need him drunk too.

She told him that she'd have Kaday watch him while she went to work at Metio's. Malcolm irately insisted he didn't need to be baby-sat, trying to sound as rational as he possibly could. But Hoshi wasn't fooled. She had been watching his eyes as they wandered above her head, sliding back and forth as if he were reading, his hand rising to catch something and fling it aside.

"Malcolm, just let someone take care of you for a change, okay? You need some time to adjust to this. Did you sleep at all last night? You look like hell, and I can tell you're hallucinating right now," she said impatiently and poked his chest for emphasis.

He dragged his eyes to her face and sheepishly smiled. "Cartoon balloons," he said by way of explanation, successfully fighting the urge to pop the one that floated just over her head. "I feel as if I'm in one of Commander Tucker's comic books."

She wondered briefly if her thoughts were coming out of her head in a balloon form and if he could read them. Then she shook her head; she hadn't gotten much sleep last night either, and the fatigue was making her feel erratic as well. She laughed and told him she knew how he felt, then dragged him next door. Kaday assured Hoshi that she'd keep him out of trouble and that they would go see an intoxicant seller when Hoshi returned.

Kaday helped Malcolm cope with the things he continued to see and the bizarre impulses he'd feel. He tranced once more midmorning, and she had kept him calm as some extremely truculent corpses scathingly castigated him. She talked him through the illusions, asking him to describe them and then pointing out why they weren't real. She said that in a few days he would adapt and would be able to function almost normally again. It was exhausting for him, and he admitted to her that the lack of control scared the hell out of him.

She took him back over to his cell for an early lunch and forced him to eat something. She let him drink the other half of the bottle of Mojatar, then coerced him onto a sleeping mat. She sat next to him, rubbing his head and behind his ears; she found both humans' hair fascinating, and it pleased her to touch it. She told him about her children and events that had happened in her life. She spoke quietly and soothingly, making herself drone in a monotone. He closed his eyes, listening to her speak, her petting relaxing him, the sound of her scaly fingers leaving a pleasant echo in his head. Before he fell asleep, he wondered if this was how Porthos felt, and considered trading places with the dog; perhaps Hoshi would adopt him and feed him pineapple…

Kaday watched him sleep for the next three hours. She observed him thrash and mumble, his limbs twitching and jerking. She watched as he would still, barely breathing, his heart visibly pounding beneath his shirt. Her husband had slept like that, and the memories of his descent into viciousness and cruelty made her pray that Malcolm would react differently.

When Hoshi returned, they started on the hour-long walk to the intoxicant seller. Malcolm could feel a tension within himself that was extremely abnormal. Kaday told him that he was withdrawing slowly; he'd be dead by tomorrow if they couldn't get another injection. He could see well enough now; although his eyes were still partially dilated, they weren't quite as bloodshot as they had been this morning.

They brought the dead Nausicaan's boots and knife to trade with, although Malcolm had argued vehemently that Hoshi should keep the knife as protection. Hoshi brought what currency they had, and Kaday brought a small cache of currency she had collected from some of the prisoners the humans had befriended. Malcolm was showing Hoshi how to handle the knife properly. "Use it as an extension of your hand," he said as he sliced it through the air. "Try it."

"Malcolm, I…can't do that! I could hurt someone," Hoshi said.

"That's the idea, Ensign," he muttered grimly under his breath. He stopped, forcing the other two to halt. "Look, Hoshi. You don't have to kill anyone. You just have to protect yourself, all right? You would have been dead if you hadn't been willing to learn those self defense moves. You've kept your head, you've followed orders, you've acted bravely and intelligently when threatened…" He stared at her, wanting to say if something happened to her, he thought he would go mad. He was scared. "Please, humor me?" He looked down at the ground, "I need your help," he said softly, making the best concession as he could.

Hoshi didn't want to learn how to use a knife. She was a linguist, for goodness' sake, not some wartime commando. But, she had to admit, she'd be dead now if she hadn't absorbed those self-defense lessons. She was stuck here, where anyone could legally challenge you. The thought of someone provoking her into a fight sounded farfetched, but she couldn't ignore Malcolm's entreaty. He looked so despondent that she agreed.

He spent the next 45 minutes showing her offensive moves as Kaday lounged in the shade, occasionally throwing out her own expert advice. He gave her a quick lesson in anatomy, telling her where to slice, not to kill, but to put your opponent out of commission. "This muscle, right here," he showed her, running the point of his knife lightly over his arm. "Sever that and your opponent won't be able to hold his weapon; he'll drop it and that'll give you a chance to escape." Kaday gave them a few pointers on the Sandaran anatomy, using her own knife to point out the relevant features on her body.

Hoshi saw the stark look of concentration on Malcolm's face as he carefully listened to Kaday, running his knife over his body, mirroring Kaday's movement. He seemed fairly lucid to her; his pupils seemed to have shrunk a bit as well. She noticed a constant minute tremor shaking his body, and when she touched his shoulder, she was surprised to find it tensed and hard. He had looked completely at ease.

Kaday noticed Hoshi's look of surprise and studied Malcolm. She abruptly stopped her lecture and told them that they should move on, they would reach their destination soon. Malcolm reluctantly sheathed his knife and Hoshi carried the Nausicaan blade, once in a while sweeping it through the air at an invisible foe, making Malcolm smile. It was starting to get cloudy, and Kaday could smell rain in the air. She was looking forward to it. The unrelenting sunshine for the past two months made her long for a change of pace.

Chapter 21

They arrived at the outskirts of the intoxicant seller's compound. They could hear music with a pounding beat faintly playing. Hoshi enjoyed hearing music again, even if it was alien sounding. As they approached the only structure visible, Hoshi noted that it originally had been a cell similar to theirs. Now it was large; it almost looked like a proper dwelling, with several rooms. She saw four of the Sandaran guards sitting around a table, drinking. She noticed that this cell didn't have the standard lockdown device, just a lock plate more elaborate than the one they had traded for that first day.

Kaday approached one of the guards and asked to see Kiv. He looked her over, eyed Hoshi and Malcolm contemptuously, and went inside. The music was lowered, but Hoshi could still hear it. She could feel the bass vibrating the ground.

A well-fed Sandaran emerged from behind the guard a few minutes later. Kiv towered over Kaday. He was dressed extremely well, Kaday observed while examining the precious stones he had embedded in his neck fringes. Very expensive, she thought. She hoped what they had to trade would be enough, and had the sinking feeling that it might not be. Kiv sat at the table and looked up at the three.

"What do you need?" he said brusquely.

"So-K," Kaday replied, just as abrupt.

Something in Kiv's eyes clicked and he looked Hoshi over once. "New user?" he asked his voice oily and smooth, trying to see her arms. "It's for me," Malcolm said tersely, his suspicion rising as he noticed Kiv's surprised look.

Hoshi clutched the Nausicaan knife a little tighter, suddenly glad for its comforting weight in her hand. She tried to move casually behind Malcolm, who stepped forward a bit, drawing Kiv's eyes from Hoshi.

Kiv glanced at him, his practiced eye judging Malcolm's height and weight to determine how much So-K would be necessary.

Kiv motioned to one of the guards and told him to fetch him a kit. The guard returned with a black wallet-sized case. Kiv removed a thin piece of leather, a syringe, and a glass vial with a small amount of brown powder from it. Another guard handed him a bottle of Mojatar, and Kiv added it to the vial and shook vigorously, dissolving the powder.

"You can mix it with any liquid," he said conversationally. "I prefer to use Mojatar. It's a little more…sophisticated," he said with a slight smile. He stuck the needle in the liquid and filled the syringe. He gauged Malcolm again, squirting out a tiny amount. He handed Malcolm the thin leather strap and the syringe.

Malcolm hesitated. For the last half hour he had felt squirmy, with an urgent craving that was becoming unbearable. I can't live like this, he thought, examining the syringe in his grasp. He remembered the thrill and intense pleasure of the initial injection, and the craving became overwhelming. He felt a sharp pang of disgust and tore his gaze away from the needle.

"Price?" he asked, besides my soul.

"What do you have?" Kiv replied, a calculating grin on his face. Kaday placed the boots on the table; Hoshi showed him the knife.

"Nausicaan? How'd you get that?" Kiv asked, curious.

"He had an accident," Malcolm replied, his suspicion stronger. Kiv was toying with them, he was certain.

"I'll give you three vials for them. Anything else?"

Kaday tossed a small pouch of currency on the table. Kiv picked it up, weighing it in his hand. "Two vials," he said, grinning widely.

Kaday looked at Malcolm and nodded her head. "Take it," she said. Hoshi put the knife on the table and Kaday took the leather strip, pushing Malcolm's sleeve up and tying it around his arm. She looked at him, hand hesitating over the syringe, eyes questioning. He gave her a bare slip of a smile and clenched his fist tight. He found a vein and pushed the needle in, ignoring the sharp pain caused by its coarse point.

The effect was almost immediate. It wasn't like the first time. The rush and speed were manageable and incredibly pleasurable. He closed his eyes and felt his whole body relax, the craving gone, the tension released. He could feel the warmth of his blood as it pulsated throughout his body, felt his heart accelerating. It felt good, and he was only slightly disappointed that it was less intense than yesterday. He liked this so much.

He opened his eyes, noticing that although it had become quite overcast and darker, his surroundings had become illuminated. He thought that he could feel his pupils expand. He didn't realize that his eyes were half-closed and that an indolent smile had appeared on his face.

Hoshi watched as Malcolm's whole demeanor changed. He looked loose and easy, his face open and unguarded, making him look younger. She watched as his smile widened and his head started to nod in time to the bass beat of the music still issuing from the structure.

"Nice, isn't it?" Kiv said as he watched Malcolm enjoying himself. Malcolm opened his eyes wider and Hoshi saw that his pupils had dilated again, not as bad as yesterday, but enough that it sent a shiver down her back. His eyes were badly bloodshot again.

"When I run out of the five, what else do you want?" Malcolm asked softly. He struggled to act rationally, trying to ignore the other part that was insistently prodding him to relax and just ride this endlessly.

Kiv's eyes went back to Hoshi and Malcolm felt a rush of anger. His hand brushed against his knife, reassuring himself it was still there.

"The Nausicaans said they'd pay me well for her. I'm not in the business of kidnaping, though. But now that you're here…I could make a lot off them…" he trailed off and stared at Hoshi.

"Over my dead body," Malcolm said tightly and stepped forward, planting his hands on the table and lowering his face to Kiv's.

Kiv looked at him levelly. "Kill him and the old woman. We'll keep the girl for the Nausicaans," he ordered the four guards.

Malcolm reared back, grabbing the Nausicaan's knife and shoving it into Hoshi's hand. He withdrew his blade and shouted out the ancient legal challenge at Kiv, and the guards froze. Hoshi hadn't known that Malcolm knew the proper Sandaran words, and she was surprised that his pronunciation, usually affected by his accent, was dead-on and precise.

"After I kill him, we'll take what we want under the victor's lawful right. You lot get the rest," Malcolm continued, sparing a glance at the guards, who were still sitting upright in their chairs. "I imagine you can retire on what he's got nestled away in there. If I lose—well, no harm done…" Malcolm had no intention of losing.

He stared at the guards as he felt another wave of the drug's pleasure wash over him. This was definitely different than yesterday's mad rush. This came in ecstatic surges, with no pattern he could discern. It was hard to concentrate. He just wanted to bask in it without having to think.

Kiv looked at his men. They looked at each other and settled back into their chairs. Less work for them.

Kiv smiled coldly and rose to his full height. Malcolm blinked, shaking his head to clear it. He backed up and readied himself. Kaday took Hoshi by the arm and led her a short distance away. "We run now or we fight. The guards won't interfere."

Hoshi looked at her. "I'd rather fight," she said, surprising herself. She was sick of running, sick of being scared. And she was angry—at Malcolm for putting himself on the line again for her, at the Nausicaans who continued to haunt them, at this whole godforsaken piece of rock. She clutched the Nausicaan's knife and went over all that Kaday had said about vulnerable Sandaran body parts. She could do this if she had to. She was appalled by the savageness of her thoughts.

Kiv came around the table and slowly withdrew his knife. He was bigger and stronger than the little alien before him. Plus his mind was clear, and the human looked as if he were ready to trance. That would be fatal for the ugly little being, Kiv thought with delight. He hadn't personally killed anyone in weeks and was looking forward to this contest.

Malcolm stared at Kiv, forcing his eyes to remain at least half-open. The sky was getting darker, and he thought he heard thunder. The resonant beat of the music issuing from the dwelling seemed to match the pounding of his heart, and the rhythm was soothing to him. Malcolm quickly flipped his knife from hand to hand, testing his reflexes. He felt fast.

Kiv lunged, knife thrust out and aiming for Malcolm's face. Malcolm instantly parried the blow, deflecting it with the detention bracelet on his left wrist and slashed through Kiv's shirt, ripping the Sandaran's skin from belly to chest. Malcolm placed a leg behind Kiv's and pushed, causing the Sandaran to stumble backward and fall. Kiv's eyes widened and he clutched his damaged midsection, cursing as his hand came away bloody.

Malcolm shifted his balance slightly, totally loose as he rode another wave from the drug. He murmured, "Who dares, wins…" and smiled dangerously. Kiv rose to his feet, face twisted in rage, and cautiously moved toward Malcolm.

Hoshi felt a rush of pleasure when Kiv hit the ground the second time. Malcolm stood there, stock still, and motioned to the Sandaran to get up and try again. He twirled his knife in a flashy show of contempt and Kiv charged. Malcolm ducked the wild slashing swing and scored a gash along Kiv's ribcage. Malcolm straightened and backed up, calmly standing there while Kiv shouted in rage.

"Give up?" Malcolm asked, his voice mild and soft. "I don't want to kill you. Just give us a good supply of the drug and we'll go. Send one of your men round and I'll pay you a fair price. You don't have to die today."

Kiv bellowed curses at him and lunged again. Malcolm swiftly darted to the side and sliced Kiv's arm as the Sandaran passed.

It looked like a bullfight to Hoshi: the Sandaran, huge and bleeding from multiple lacerations, Malcolm gracefully moving as if in a choreographed dance. She heard Malcolm try to reason with Kiv again. She wished the alien would listen. Malcolm gave the Sandaran every chance to quit. He even sheathed his knife at one point, making Hoshi's heart stand still. When Kiv lunged for him, again he quickly withdrew it, blocking Kiv's thrust with his knife, and kicked the Sandaran hard in the thigh, knocking Kiv off balance again. He pushed Kiv again to the ground and backed off.

A sudden clap of thunder overhead startled everyone but Malcolm. He didn't notice it. His whole attention was focused, his mind and blood racing, his heart beating quickly. He felt a surge of anger erupt at his antagonist. He raised his voice slightly, "Listen, you stupid git! I don't want to kill you! Just quit and we'll all just walk away."

Kiv shouted, "No!" and scrambled to his feet. Malcolm looked away, crossing his arms, and shifted impatiently, feeling his temper rise. He enjoyed fighting, but he was sick to the depths of his soul with having to kill people. He had simply been too well trained. Kiv lunged for him again, and his temper snapped. The rage he had been trying to keep leashed unfurled, and he cursed in frustration. He deftly parried Kiv's attempt and slammed his fist into the side of the Sandaran's head. He spun away and locked down his emotions hard. Kiv came in close with another violent attack. Add another victim to my nightmares, Malcolm thought, and he plunged his knife upward, into Kiv's throat, dancing away from the Sandaran's final strike.

Kiv choked, scrabbling at his neck, then toppled to his knees. Malcolm turned his back on the dying alien and ambled over to Hoshi. He courteously asked for the Nausicaan's knife, which she still held in her sweating palm. She handed it over to him. He wiped the damp handle on his shirt and turned to the guards.

Kiv convulsed one last time and lay still. Malcolm walked around him and up to the guards still sitting around the table. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw a couple of leprechauns dancing a jig around a pot of gold. One portion of his mind berated the other part, telling it to stop mucking about and stay focused. He stopped at the table.

"We get what we want first, right? You get the rest. Do we still have a deal?" he asked, deliberately whirling the knife flamboyantly. The guards quickly agreed. They knew a good thing when it was handed to them. Malcolm nodded and went over to Kiv to retrieve his knife. He wiped the blood and flesh off on Kiv's shirt and resheathed his blade. "Would you mind disposing of this?" he asked the guards politely, noticing that Hoshi was rather pale. He went over to her, concern written clearly on his face, and gathered her in his arms. Thunder rolled again, and it started to drizzle.

Hoshi was ashamed of her relief that a man was dead, and horrified that she felt no remorse. She hugged Malcolm, pressing her face into his neck. "Are you okay?" she asked, her words muffled.

"Not a scratch," he reassured her. He could hear the guards dragging the intoxicant seller's corpse away, and he held Hoshi until he was sure they were out of sight.

She could feel his heart beating faster than what was the human norm. He was warm to the touch, but he wasn't sweating or even breathing hard after his exertions. He gave her a last embrace and pulled away, then paused. He studied her with a consuming intensity and tentatively reached out to her. He touched her hair, running his hand through it, then ran a gentle finger from her temple to jaw and continued the feather-light touch down the side of her neck to her collarbone. His face was unreadable, his eyes wide open, the pupils huge. Hoshi felt herself falling into those black depths, and she didn't know if the shiver that ran through her was from fear, the cold rain, or something else.

Kaday reached over and pulled him off his feet and into a fervent bear hug. "Oh, my little one! You had me so worried!" she exclaimed, and rubbed his head affectionately.

"Sorry," he managed to squeak out, and she released him.

"Let's go claim our reward!" she said fiercely, and sailed forward.

Hoshi laughed at her enthusiasm and gave Malcolm's hand a little squeeze. "Shall we go shopping, Lieutenant?" she asked with a smile.

"Are you okay?" he countered, and she could hear the worry and tension in his voice, unsure and anxious.

"I'm fine, Malcolm. You gave him every chance." She paused and looked at him, smiling. "I'm still your friend," she said. She was rewarded with that rare full-on smile of his.

Chapter 22

Malcolm told Kaday to wait and cautiously approached the dwelling, knife out and ready. Hoshi saw him warily sidestep something, but of course, there was nothing there. He stood in the doorway, motioning to her and Kaday to stay. He ducked inside and came out a few minutes later, indicating that no one was inside.

The music was louder in here, and Hoshi went to find its source. She located a small portable device with several chips scattered around it. She discovered how to turn it off and felt relief at the silence. The incessant bass had been giving her a headache. She looked around the room, pulling out drawers and poking into corners, trying to find something they could use to trade with. She found several things that looked like backpacks, and she rummaged through them. She figured that they might as well take whatever they could carry, because she had the discouraged feeling that Malcolm would no longer be in any condition to exchange his labor for whatever they needed.

She hadn't liked the hungry look he had given the vial as Kiv had shook it. She had been alarmed at the change in his bearing and manner after he had injected himself. She remembered what Kaday had said about her husband—about the rapid shifts of his personality, how he had become dangerous and threatening.

As she had watched them fight she was struck by how Malcolm seem to have relished it. She had to admit that he did everything that he could to prevent killing the Sandaran, but she could still see the cold-blooded deliberation in his face as he made his final thrust and the careless attitude as he turned his back on the dying man. She shivered slightly. She didn't want to be afraid of him. The last two months had been grueling for her emotionally, and she appreciated his quiet and calm approach to easing her fears. She knew that he had made a conscious effort to curb his temper and impatience, and she hoped that he wouldn't change. She didn't think she could stand it.

But you found something about yourself today, she told herself. You were ready to kill to defend yourself, and you were anticipating it with just a little too much enthusiasm. The Nausicaans flashed through her mind. I wouldn't mind watching them die, she thought savagely, and then was horrified. She sat on the floor, leaning against a wall. What's happening to me? I don't want to be like this. I don't want to enjoy the thought of killing someone or watching people fight.

But you don't ever want to cower helplessly behind a locked door again and watch a friend get hurt, another portion of her mind shot back. You need to make a decision, Sato, the tough-talking piece of her mind said. Either be a useless damsel in distress and watch him get killed for you, or swallow your fear and help him ensure that you both survive until Enterprise returns.

She closed her eyes to collect her thoughts. She'd rather fight. She'd rather die here than be responsible for his death. Without a word, he had given her his unconditional friendship in return, which she thought was probably rare for him. He didn't seem the buddy type. She was proud of the fact that she accepted him on his terms; she usually wanted to know all about the people around her, making them into her extended family. Jonathan was that type of friend. She knew so much about him—his strengths and weaknesses, his fears and aspirations. He'd even met her parents and brothers, blending easily into her family like an additional member, an older brother.

She had been getting to know Trip better as well. She knew about his parents and sisters; he'd make her laugh at his tales of how they'd abuse him, as he put it jokingly, when he was very young. He'd even showed her his photo album, including the picture of his sisters proudly displaying a three-year-old Trip in a yellow frilly dress, with a broad summer hat perched rakishly on his white-blond hair, holding a teacup, pinky extended. Even T'Pol had opened a bit, and they would sometimes talk after shift. And she couldn't get Travis to shut up, she thought with a chuckle. She knew everything about him, from his birth to what he'd eaten for dinner the night before, from family to friends. But Malcolm, if his own parents hadn't known what his position was on Enterprise…

She realized that it didn't matter. The last two months had been bearable, sometimes even fun, and while she was curious, she didn't care. He was her friend. She accepted him for who was and not what he thought he was. And nothing would change that. She valued their friendship and vowed that she would start to live up to her end of it.

Her musings were interrupted by Kaday, who was holding an odd-looking transparent container. It held a dirty brown powder. A small black case was in her other hand, identical to the one the guard had brought out to Kiv. She nodded to the packs. "Good, you found some outings. We'll pack everything we want into them." Hoshi handed the green one over to her, looking curiously at the container.

"So-K. Enough to keep him alive should he have to serve his full term here. No point in running out…" she said as she carefully put it in the outing. She placed the black case in afterward. "A set kit. He'll need his own. This one's clean." She shook her head sadly. "He'll have to set every 12 to 18 hours. You noticed the withdrawal as we were coming here?" Hoshi nodded, remembering the small tremors that had shaken Malcolm's body and his hard, tense shoulder. "I've spoken to him, and we've decided to decrease the dose daily, trying to wean him. Very few attempt to do this—the craving is too great, and you still have to go through 'restrain and drain.' Most addicts don't feel it's worth it."

Hoshi winced at this news, hoping it didn't come down to three long years of this for Malcolm, his last year alone, without her. She foraged through the drawers and stuffed clothing, jewelry, and whatever looked valuable into a blue outing.

Kaday found Kiv's cache of currency. "You'll never have to work again, child," she said, and told Hoshi she only took some, leaving the rest of it for the guards to ensure that they continued to honor their agreement. Kaday went out to find more items, and Hoshi wandered through the dwelling.

She found Malcolm in a small room, standing in front of a broken cabinet he had forced his way into. He was staring at the shelves, a small smile on his lips, and Hoshi was afraid he was trancing again.

"Malcolm?" she asked hesitantly.

"I can't decide," he said and looked at her, delight shining on his face. She came over and saw that he had been staring at an assortment of weapons, some amazingly beautiful, others terrifying in their deadliness. He gently touched a slim and elegant knife, its deep opalescent handle gracefully carved, the blade exquisitely etched with small figures.

Hoshi picked it up, mindful of its razor-sharp blade. "Oh! Look, that's the cat creature tattooed on your neck," she exclaimed and handed it to him.

He examined it and pointed to another figure, "There's yours," he murmured and Hoshi saw a delicate and incredibly beautiful birdlike figure. Malcolm handed her the blade. He selected another knife of the same size, but nowhere near the beauty of the one she held in her hand. He found its sheath and tied it around his neck, placing the blade between his shoulders under his shirt. He reached back to adjust it so that it lay flat against his back. He stood still and quickly reached for it, smoothly sliding it out. He resheathed it and looked in the cabinet again. He found a similar holder and offered it to her. She hesitated, and slipped the blade into the holder. She tied it around her neck and laid it flat against her back.

He stared at her, his bloodshot and dilated eyes enormous in the dimness of the room. She had no idea of what he was thinking. He blinked a few times and seemed pull himself back from a great distance. He turned and continued his perusal of Kiv's armory, selecting what looked to Hoshi like a handle with the blade missing. Holding his hand out and away from them, he squeezed it. A long blade sprang out. "Oh, this is nice," he said with a grin and retracted the blade. Tossing it into the black outing Hoshi had brought along, he continued to select a few more knives. He looks like a kid in a candy store, Hoshi thought as he tried to choose between two equally lethal-looking weapons. He finished up and they made their way through the dwelling, putting things in their outings that they thought would be useful.

It was dark and raining harder when they left. Kaday handed them flashlights that attached easily to their prison bracelets. Apparently Kiv had done some night work, since she had found a large stock of them. Their outings were stuffed to the limit. Hoshi thought that Malcolm's must have weighed at least twenty-five kilos, what with Kaday stuffing all of the heaviest items into it. She had even thrown in some of the Mojatar, which Kaday assured her was much better than the swill they'd been drinking. Kaday's own pack was also quite full, and Malcolm muttered something about not wanting to do the bloody Fan Dance again, staring at it blankly.

Hoshi was puzzled. "Did you used to be a stripper in a past life?" she teased.

"Who dares, wins," he murmured absently as he hit another crest of the pleasure wave. He rode it, closing his eyes and breathing deeply, ignoring the rain.

He could smell the ozone from the lightning, feel the electricity in the air, and he heard that fanatical voice full of a spurious benevolence.

Hoshi studied Malcolm's suddenly anxious face as he quickly slipped the outing onto his back. "Can we go now, please?" he asked uneasily, fighting not to break and run. I can't live like this, he thought again as he nervously fussed with the sheath of his knife. He started as he heard that gloating voice behind him, telling him that he needed a little extra training. Malcolm whirled, drawing his knife, "Sod off, you old bastard! So help me, I'll slit your throat!" He was trembling with rage mixed with that old fear. No one was there. He drew in a great, shaky breath and exhaled, resheathing his knife. He closed his eyes and tried to collect himself, trying to push the past back to where it belonged: dead and buried.

"Malcolm?" Hoshi asked, worry clear in her voice.

"Sorry," he mumbled and opened his eyes to look at her. "I'm sorry."

She gave his arm a squeeze. "It's been a long day. Let's go home." She slipped her hand down his arm and clasped his hand. He held it tightly, reassured by the solid reality of her flesh.

The three of them walked through the rain for the next hour and half. It took longer in the dark, wending their careful way through the slippery mud. Toward the end, they trudged in silence, Hoshi and Kaday quitting their intermittent conversation. Malcolm didn't say a word throughout their journey, but he held Hoshi's hand the whole way.

They arrived at their cells, tired and soaking wet. Hoshi entered their code and they followed her inside, relieved to get out of the rain. Lockdown would be in a few hours, and Kaday suggested that they unpack everything in the morning. Hoshi nodded, but Malcolm started to look for something in one of the packs. He pulled out the container of brown powder and the set kit and handed them to Kaday, unable to look her in the eye.

"Please," he said, "Lock them up. It's too tempting." He felt a sweep of shame that he was so weak-willed. But he would do anything for another chance to feel that initial surge of speed and hot excitement.

Kaday understood only too well and felt a stab of pity and sympathy for the human. She took the items and gave him a pat on the shoulder, hugged Hoshi, and left.

He headed to the bathroom and retrieved their towels, tossing one to Hoshi. He started a fire to warm their cell while Hoshi changed. When she finished, he peeled off his drenched shirt and wrung it out in the sink. He kicked off his soaking shoes and stripped off his socks. He ignored the chill as he dried himself, then slipped on his sweatpants. He set their uniforms and shoes near the fire to dry, then dropped into a chair and propped his elbows on the table, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

Hoshi pulled a bottle of Mojatar out from one of the outings and poured a shot for each of them. She set out a couple of slices of bread and cut up a piece of fruit. She was hungry. She ate, sipping her drink.

Malcolm picked at his food, merely playing with it. He had no appetite.

"Eat something, damn it!" Hoshi said sharply, her fatigue and concern pushing her. Malcolm had been too quiet—not his usual quiet; this was a spiritless despondency that alarmed her.

"Aye, Ensign," he said, with a small glimmer of humor, and he forced himself to nibble on a piece of bread.

"Malcolm…I'm worried about you."

"I'm fine," he said automatically, trying to find the energy to pick up his glass. The waves of disorientating pleasure had ceased for now, leaving him with an incessant feeling of severe sleep deprivation; at least this was a disconnected bleariness that he could handle.

"Malcolm…" she said in a warning tone.

"I just need to sleep," he said, his voice breaking slightly. He tried to clamp down on his emotions as usual and was appalled to find that they were so close to the surface. "Please…" he whispered. If she tried to talk to him, to give him sympathy or comfort, he would crack. He didn't think he could stand the humiliation.

Hoshi looked at him, then took his hand and led him to their sleeping mats, gently guiding him down. She arranged the blanket over them then laid her head on his chest, but the rapid beating of his heart was too disconcerting. Shifting to her back, she drew his head to her shoulder. He turned on his side, and snuggled in closer, laying his arm across her waist. She slowly rubbed his head, fingers making soothing and repetitious patterns through his hair. She felt him relax, a sound that almost sounded like a purr escaping from low in his throat. She listened to his breathing even out. After about ten minutes, she asked quietly, "What's the first thing you want to do when we get back to Enterprise?"

"Mmmm?"

"Enterprise. When we return, what do you want to do first?"

"I probably should check the phase cannon. It was acting a bit touchy before we left…" he murmured drowsily.

She laughed softy, "No, what do you miss?"

"Hmmm…hot shower." She could tell he was almost asleep. "Contact Maddie, see how she is…" he muttered.

"Your sister?" she asked. She could feel his slight nod as he exhaled deeply and nestled in closer. She continued stroking his head. "She's really nice. I like her." She chuckled. "You two are so different though; it's hard to believe you're siblings. She seems pretty outgoing…"

He grunted a quiet affirmative and Hoshi felt him go totally limp. She continued to caress him, talking in a low reassuring tone about her brothers being all the same. "Wonder why you two seem like opposites," she asked herself offhand, not expecting a reply. She thought he was asleep, he was so still, his breathing steady. He mumbled something, and Hoshi thought he said, "Because they could love her…"

Chapter 23

During the month that the Nausicaans were in solitary confinement, Malcolm and Kaday had gotten his routine down. The So-K that they had brought back was almost pure. Kaday would cut it with a mild herbal extract and they'd dilute it further with water. They decreased the dosage slightly daily, and Malcolm would use his innate stubbornness to go longer between sets, extending it a little each day, until the yearning was so strong that he would start to feel sick. He looked forward to the shot, and he learned to accept the fact that he hungered for it with all of his might. He loved the initial rush of heat and the frenetically delicious feeling of bolting through darkness, although the potency of it lessened marginally each day. Sometimes he longed for that intensity of the first time again, so he asked Kaday to always mix the So-K. He didn't trust himself. He would set as close to dusk as possible, so that it would be dark when his eyes fully dilated; he felt silly running around the camp in sunglasses, as if he were some mobster from one of those old movies. Plus he couldn't sleep if he did it too early in the day. The longing for the next set would keep him awake.

He still tranced on rare occasions, and he reacted quite badly one night that first week. Hoshi spent hours trying to calm him down and finally made him drink Mojatar until he passed out. He continued to hallucinate, but he found it easier to ignore, honing his ability to see through the illusions. Hoshi was relieved that he was lucid almost all the time. The first week of his use had been difficult; his moods oscillated wildly, and he was unable to control his reactions to the things he saw. But now his disposition had evened out, and he had a preternatural coolness that was reassuring to Hoshi. She had been afraid that he would swing the other way, toward an angry and violent temperament, but her fear was unfounded. Even that first week, he treated her and Kaday with care and gentleness. She was grateful that his sense of humor hadn't changed either.

Hoshi continued to work with Metio, even though they had enough currency and items to trade with to last them through their full sentences. She liked to keep busy and be useful. Malcolm had paid the leather worker a nice sum to fashion some boots for both him and Hoshi. He wouldn't have traded theirs that first day if he had known that they would be here as long as they had been; their sneakers were ragged and falling apart. Malcolm asked the leather worker to make them steel-toed and sturdy, with enough room to hide a knife along the outside calf.

Hoshi complained that they felt heavy and made her feet look big, but Malcolm told her that it would probably put any antagonist out of commission if she kicked someone with them. They would still go down to beach and practice self-defense. Malcolm added knife handling to their workout, using short sticks at first to avoid injury. Hoshi learned quickly and worked hard. She became good enough to deflect a few thrusts and then counter with a slash to sever the muscle of her opponent's knife hand. She didn't want to kill anyone. Malcolm told her not to worry on that account—she wasn't that good. Malcolm made her run through the woods with him, wearing their boots, building up her speed and stamina. She complained that she didn't want her leg muscles to start bulging. Malcolm told her that her legs looked perfect to him. Overall, the third month of their imprisonment was enjoyable, but Malcolm had been counting the days until the Nausicaans would be released. He knew that they would be back.

***

Malcolm made the four-hour hike to the other side of the island the day their adversaries were released. He watched them stroll their compound, and he sized them up critically. They still looked strong, although he thought they were a little thinner. He noticed that the Nausicaan leader favored his right knee. Nicely done, Ensign, he thought with a small smile. He briefly considered challenging one of them now, but rejected the idea as foolhardy. He watched them head for a wooded area and followed them silently as they made their way several kilometers outside of their camp. They stopped and started a low discussion that Malcolm couldn't hear. A Sandaran guard emerged from the trees, and the three began to talk quietly, obviously trying to make some sort of a deal. Malcolm didn't want to risk getting closer and alerting them to his presence. He wished he could read lips. The guard nodded abruptly, and the Nausicaan leader removed several packets from his vest and handed it to him. The guard left, and the Nausicaans returned to their camp.

Malcolm wondered what they had traded for as he jogged back to his side of the island. Now he was going to have to watch out not only for the Nausicaans, but for one or more guards.

The next day, he escorted Hoshi to Metio's and roamed the perimeter restlessly while she worked, always scouting and on the lookout for trouble. Hoshi found herself partly amused and partly relieved by his relentless vigilance. When a guard walked up, Malcolm moved in quickly, hand on knife, but Metio waved him off. Hoshi knew this Sandaran well. He was a friend and a client of Metio and they greeted each other warmly. The Sandaran chatted and selected a bowl. He paid Metio and nodded his goodbye.

Every day, Malcolm would take Hoshi to Metio's, and on the eighth day of the Nausicaans' release, the Sandaran guard showed up again. Malcolm moved to Hoshi's side, always suspicious, but the guard merely socialized and bought two plates. The guard asked Metio if he had a large bowl, and Metio went to his storage shed to find one. Malcolm grew uneasy and hovered around Hoshi as she continued to work the clay and chat with the guard. Malcolm heard a noise off to the side and looked over. He saw the guard that the Nausicaans had been talking to, and he reached for his knife. That's when the other guard shot both him and Hoshi.

***

"What's our ETA, T'Pol?" Archer asked.

"Four hours and thirty-seven minutes," she answered. She did not say that it was ten minutes less than when he last asked.

Archer hit the comm unit. "Trip?"

"Yeah, Cap'n?" Trip replied.

"Think we can get a little more speed out of her?"

"I'll work on it," Trip sighed. It'd been like this the whole six weeks back to Sandaran.

"Thanks. Archer out."

It took them six weeks to reach the planetoid. Then they had to wait another few days for Travis' mining friend to show up, and then more than a week to excavate the ore. Travis and Trip had worked on modifying equipment to mine the ore more efficiently. Trip's crew readied the cargo bay to enable it to hold all the ore they'd be bringing in. T'Pol had determined that the properties of the ore would not interfere with the transporter beam, so Trip and his engineering team also worked on modifying the transporter to handle large amounts of the ore so that they could beam it down to Sandaran quickly. They weren't allowed to retrieve their crewmates until every last kilo had been counted, and Archer didn't want to spend an extra minute offloading it. Once it was verified that they had the proper amount, Archer, Trip, and Travis would take a shuttlepod down to Del'Exantu and meet with its security head. They would then be allowed to locate and reclaim Hoshi and Malcolm. They had mined almost seven tons; Jon wanted to make sure that they had more than enough ore to guarantee his crew's release.

"Are we within hailing distance yet, Ensign Catel?" Archer asked.

Hoshi's replacement looked up. "No, sir. Not for another couple hours at least, I think."

"Can you boost the comm signal?" Archer asked.

"I'll work on it, sir," Catel said, not letting the captain hear him sigh.

"Captain," T'Pol started, "Micromanaging this ship's operations will not make us arrive at Sandaran any faster. Perhaps you should take this opportunity to eat…or catch up on paperwork, or…relax," she said, emphasizing the last word.

He looked at her, ready to protest that he was not micromanaging. She arched her eyebrow and met his gaze serenely. He realized she was right. He gave her an apologetic smile, and she nodded her head a fraction, lowering her gaze back to her instruments.

"I will notify you as soon as we are able to scan for human life forms. I shall endeavor to increase the range of our sensors," she said gently.

He appreciated her consideration and decided that he did need to get off the bridge and do something other than badgering his crew. The anxiety of not knowing the status of his people gnawed at him, as it had since the day he last saw them in the Holding corridor.

"Subcommander, you have the bridge," he said. He spend the next few hours impatiently roaming the ship.

Chapter 24

Hoshi woke up feeling groggy, her head ringing. It was dark. Her arms hurt. She tried to move and then realized that her arms were extended upward, tied to an overhanging tree branch. Her ankles were bound tightly together. She stood upright unsteadily and tried to shake some feeling back into her arms, the ropes securing her to the tree giving somewhat. She looked around and saw that she was in a heavily wooded area. A bonfire was off to her right, and she saw the backs of the two Nausicaans sitting on a log, drinking with the two Sandaran guards. She looked around, but she couldn't see Malcolm. Closing her eyes, she concentrated her awareness between her shoulders. She could feel the sheath laying there, and she bent her head backward, feeling the shifting of the sheath, and she realized that it still contained her knife. Shaking her right foot slightly, she felt the knife concealed in her boot move. She was relieved that she was still armed, and she waited, recovering from the stun effect and planning her options.

***

T'Pol to Archer."

"Archer here."

"We are within scanning distance. I read two human life signs. Alive. Interference from the electrical field surrounding them renders it impossible to scan their bioreadings any further. We should be within hailing distance in ten minutes."

"Great! I'm coming up to the bridge. Tell Trip and Travis to meet me there. Archer out."

***

Malcolm had awakened about an hour earlier, feeling sick and hot. He lay in the darkness, disoriented for a minute, and realized that his arms were bound behind his back, his ankles tied as well. The ground was cold, and he rolled over, pressing the side of his face to it, absorbing the chill with relief. He closed his eyes and listened. He heard low voices about twenty meters to the left, and he slowly looked over and saw the Nausicaans and Sandaran guards sitting by a bonfire. As he sat up, a wave of nausea washed over him. He figured it was at least eight hours pass his set, and the craving was tormenting him, scrabbling around in his head. His knife was still strapped to his thigh, and he was momentarily grateful for Nausicaan arrogance. Moving his foot, he felt the knife in his boot shift, and he could feel the knife in its sheath between his shoulders.

He smiled slightly, ignoring the yearning, the sick feeling in his stomach, the tremors racking his body. Pulling against his bindings, he held his arms out as wide as possible, trying to scoot his hips between them. Damn. Too tightly bound. He began to work his shoulders, and holding his breath, he popped one out of joint, dislocating it. He pulled his hips, legs, and feet through. His hands were now in front of him. He held his breath again and closed his eyes and jerked hard, whipping his shoulder back into place. He breathed harshly a few times. He absolutely hated doing that, but it had come in handy on occasion. Well, if Houdini could stand to do it merely to entertain people, I certainly can't complain, he thought as he pulled the knife out of his boot and set to work on the ropes.

***

"That's the last of it," Trip said as they watched the ore fade in the transporter beam. Archer turned to Gv, who was listening to the report from the beam down site.

"Splendid!" Gv said heartily. "Yes, Captain, six and almost three quarter tons. Verified and logged. You may now get your people. However, it is quite early in the morning and I'm sure they are sleeping peacefully. Perhaps you'd like to wait until later to collect them?"

"No. I want them now." Archer's faced brooked no argument.

"He'll let them sleep in tomorrow," Trip added with a smile.

"Fine. Whenever you're ready," Gv replied.

"Trip, get Travis and meet us in the shuttle bay."

"Will do, Cap'n."

***

Hoshi watched as the guards stood to leave. She resumed the position she had woken up in, letting her body go slack. She watched the Nausicaan leader come toward her from under her lashes as the other walked in another direction. He came up to her and slapped her face a few times. "Wake up. You've slept enough. It's time for you to pay your debt." She willed herself not to react. She heard the other Nausicaan walk up and then heard a thud near her. She heard Malcolm curse and chanced cracking her eyes open a bit. She saw the other Nausicaan kick Malcolm in the back and he cursed again. His arms were behind him and his ankles were bound.

The Nausicaan leader slapped Hoshi again.

"Leave her alone!" Malcolm snarled. The other Nausicaan kicked him again. Malcolm grunted, and the alien lifted Malcolm to his feet.

The Nausicaan leader pulled Hoshi to her feet, and she slowly opened her eyes. "Ah, you're awake. How pleasant for me. First, we'll have fun. Then, you'll die." He pulled her to him and bit her cheek, drawing blood. She gasped in pain and surprise and he licked it slowly, placing his hands on her body.

Malcolm was enraged and just barely managed to keep from hurling himself at the Nausicaan.

Hoshi shuddered once, then spat in the Nausicaan's face. He reared back and made to backhand her, but he stopped himself. He withdrew a small kit from his vest and took out a syringe. "This should make you more agreeable. It will probably kill you, but it should leave us enough time to use you to our satisfaction." Malcolm looked at it hungrily and tore his eyes away from it. He stared at Hoshi, willing her to look at him.

Hoshi recoiled at the alien waved the needle in her face. She looked over at Malcolm and he mouthed "struggle." She immediately began to move wildly, screaming. The other Nausicaan left Malcolm's side to restrain her, and Malcolm dropped the severed ropes from around his wrists and kicked apart the twine holding his ankles. He swept up his knife and lunged at the lead Nausicaan. The other Nausicaan grabbed Malcolm's arm as he rushed past, yanking Malcolm back. Malcolm twisted and stabbed the alien in the shoulder and kicked him hard in the leg. Using the unsteady Nausicaan for balance, Malcolm contorted, his back protesting the impossible angle, sweeping his arm up and around, slicing through one of the ropes that tethered Hoshi to the tree limb.

Hoshi hoisted herself up on the remaining rope and kicked both feet out, her steel-toed boots connecting powerfully with the Nausicaan leader's thigh. She reached her free hand back behind her neck and withdrew her own blade and lashed out at him, but he had fallen backward out of her reach.

Malcolm twisted back and sliced the other Nausicaan across the chest, then kicked the alien in the stomach with all his might. The man went down, the breath knocked out of him. Malcolm was panting hard, sweating, feeling as if he were burning up. The withdrawal pains and adrenaline mixed unpleasantly in his stomach, and he gritted his teeth, trying not to vomit.

Hoshi was sawing away at the rope binding her wrist, her face grim. The Nausicaan leader was in the midst of sitting up, and Malcolm once again launched himself at the alien; he fell short as a solid grip wrapped around his ankle, only able to plunge his knife into the man's thigh. The knife slipped from his sweaty palm as the Nausicaan leader stabbed Malcolm in the neck.

Malcolm felt a sting and then was jerked backward, face scraping the ground. He kicked frantically and twisted onto his back as the other Nausicaan dragged him in. His boot connected with the Nausicaan's wrist, and he felt his opponent's fingers loosen. Malcolm swept his other foot around, hooking an ankle, and yanked. The Nausicaan fell, and Malcolm sat up, reached into his boot, and withdrew another blade. As he scrambled to his feet, he felt a sudden heat and a rush of tempestuous speed, and his heart started to hammer faster. Not now, he thought desperately, and he ran into the Nausicaan, who had risen again, and with both hands shoved his knife into the alien's chest.

Malcolm stumbled backward to get out of the way, hand feeling around the back of his neck, and he withdrew his final knife. A wave of giddy pleasure washed over him, so intense that it made him stagger. He wondered if this was a new facet to the withdrawal. A breath of laughter escaped him. He didn't care. Struggling to keep his eyes open, he turned to look at the Nausicaan leader.

The Nausicaan was standing. He smiled and yanked Malcolm's knife out of his thigh with a grunt. He brandished it at Malcolm. "You're dead, human. Either I kill you now, or the drug kills you later. I hear that an overdose is a very unpleasant way to die."

Malcolm looked at him blankly, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He was finding it hard to concentrate. The blood was pounding in his ears; he felt as if his head would burst soon. The night suddenly became incandescent, and he could see everything very clearly. He glanced at the nearby bonfire; it was like staring into the sun, and he looked away. A pressure was building inside of him, a sensuous tension that howled for his full attention. He thought that his body would fly apart. As another surge of fiery ecstasy enveloped him, he closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself tightly, trying to ride through it without breaking apart, trying to keep his body from splintering into millions of pieces. He held his knife loosely, forgotten.

Hoshi looked over from her efforts, her binding almost severed. The Nausicaan was holding the syringe up. There was very little left in it. He tossed it aside and limped toward Malcolm, who was vainly trying not to get lost in the speeding shadows, trying to remember that he had to do something, vaguely wondering why he could feel so good, yet so bad.

Hoshi ripped through the last of her binding and slashed out at the Nausicaan as he passed her, connecting with the man's arm. She forcefully drew her blade down, her will strong, her anger blazing. She sliced through the muscle as she had been trained, and he bellowed in pain and dropped his knife. He rounded on her, and she could only fling herself to the side, rolling away, trying to cut the ropes around her ankles.

"Malcolm!" she screamed, trying to get his attention. "Malcolm! Damn it, help me!"

Her cry roused him, and Malcolm looked dumbly at her, wondering what she was doing. He then noticed the Nausicaan, who batted her knife away and yanked her up. She cried out in pain, and Malcolm felt a violent fury explode, the heat from his stomach expanding outward, and his heart sped up again. With an inarticulate howl, he rushed the Nausicaan, plowing into the alien's stomach headfirst, bringing the three of them down to the ground in a heap. Malcolm grabbed the Nausicaan's vest and heaved, rolling them away from Hoshi. She crawled toward her knife and finished cutting through the rope binding her ankles. She stood and watched, tense and ready to rush in if necessary.

Malcolm had rolled on top of the Nausicaan, straddling him and pinning the man's shoulders to the ground with his knees. The Nausicaan was trying to strangle Malcolm, bucking and rocking, attempting to dislodge the human. But Malcolm hung on tenaciously, digging his heels into the alien's ribs. Malcolm clutched the alien's hair and pulled his head back into the dirt. Malcolm slit the man's throat, unable to dodge the spray of blood he set loose. He waited, immobile, and the Nausicaan's hand fell from Malcolm's neck. Malcolm inhaled a deep gulp of air. Lurching to his feet, he was swept with another wave, this one not pleasant. Breathing hard, he looked up at the sky, at the alien stars, and saw them spinning and falling rapidly toward him. It was a mesmerizing sight, but he couldn't enjoy it. He was feeling sick. He stumbled over to his knife that the Nausicaan leader had dropped. As he picked it up, he nearly passed out as a wave of pain hit him. He righted himself, feeling his body twitching beyond his ability to control. He sheathed it with a shaking hand and retrieved his last knife from the other Nausicaan's chest, carelessly slipping it back into his boot.

Hoshi watched as he reeled drunkenly about; he seemed to have forgotten all about her. "Malcolm…" she said softly, then louder.

He made his unsteady way back to where the corpse of the Nausicaan leader lay and stood swaying over it. "What did you do to me?" he whispered, infuriated, fully expecting an answer. When he got none, he kicked the dead alien hard in the head and shouted, "What the bloody hell did you do to me!"

Hoshi backed up a step cautiously, knife still clutched in her hand. She spoke his name several times, finally shouting, "Lieutenant!"

He looked up, finally noticing her. "Hoshi?" he asked, uncertain. He moved toward her, tentative and unsteady.

She slipped her knife back into her boot, then hurried to meet him. He sat down suddenly, his face contorted in pain, and he hunched over onto his hands and knees, gagging and panting.

"Malcolm? What's wrong?" she asked, anxious and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He was hot, and she could feel his rapid heartbeat through his back, his body shuddering violently in time to its thunderous beat.

"I'm going to shatter," he said through clenched teeth. The pressure inside his stomach and chest was becoming unbearable; a loud rhythmic droning filled his head, and he couldn't hear Hoshi's next words.

He suddenly retched, and a lavish spray of blood gushed out. He heaved again and again, not feeling Hoshi's hands holding him, unable to hear her concerned words. He was unmindful of his eyes watering, the bloody tears trailing down his face, a trickle of blood running from his nose. He spent an eternity vomiting, gagging, choking, trying not to drown. The pressure finally eased, and he spent the last of his energy crawling away from the puddle he had created. He collapsed, too depleted to lift his face out of the dirt.

Hoshi pulled him back further. His heart racing and body convulsing, she rolled him onto his back and wiped away the dirt and blood from his face as best she could with her sleeves. By the firelight, she could see that his eyes were completely black, with no iris of blue visible at all. The whites of his eyes were completely raw; she thought that some of the veins had burst. He seized violently, then went limp.

Chapter 25

Hoshi stared at his chest, which, moments before, had been shuddering in ferocious rhythm with his pounding heart. It was still, and she clenched her hands together and struck his chest with all her might.

"No!" she shouted. "No, you're not dying here! You can't do this!" She slammed his chest again and then grasped his head, breathing into his mouth, filling his lungs. She performed the resuscitation she had learned so well, ignoring the metallic taste of his blood on her lips.

You're not leaving me here alone, she thought furiously as she breathed for him. I can't tell Jonathan that you died for me. I won't let you do this. Jesus, Malcolm come on! She continued, alternating between beating on his chest and breathing for him.

Damn it, Malcolm! You're my friend, don't make me live with this. Don't die, please. I don't even know if you have a middle name… She rammed her doubled handed fist into his chest again, not caring if she broke his sternum, as long as his heart started.

Breathe, for god's sake, she pleaded, fiercely willing him to and she breathed deeply into his lungs again. Don't go, Malcolm…you'll take my heart with you.

She was getting light-headed, but she continued relentlessly, counting off the timing in the back of her mind. He suddenly took in a great shuddering gasp and stirred. Relief swept through her and she tried to force back tears caused by her fear and anger, her body shaking from her physical effort. "God damn it, Malcolm! You scared me to death, you stubborn bastard," she cried, laughing through her tears. She was disheveled and filthy, sweating rivers and panting loudly.

He opened his eyes partly, and tried to focus on her. "I'm fairly sure I'm legitimate," he mumbled, as the world spun rapidly around him, the lightening sky and fading stars falling endlessly toward him. He wondered why she was cursing at him. He lay there, numbly watching everything spiral and whirl around him.

For the next twenty minutes, Hoshi talked to him, trying to gauge his status. She watched him, sprawled on the ground, silent, his eyes moving erratically as if he were trying to track something as he stared at the sky. He finally fixed his gaze on Hoshi's face. "How do you feel?" she asked.

He closed his eyes again, and she saw a smile spread across his face. "This is much better than the first time," he drawled. It was. He felt fine. No one was shouting in his head, nothing hurt. Just a continuous accelerating exhilaration. He even liked the constant twirling feeling.

"God, Malcolm!" she wailed, caught between laughter and dismay. He looked well enough to her, considering. "Come on, get up, then. It'll be light soon, and I don't know where we are." She looked at her chronometer. "Head count's in about twenty-five minutes."

"I think I've been here before. It'll take about forty minutes to get back." He really didn't want to move. He was quite comfortable where he was. He was riding swells of pleasure again and he felt very good.

"Then we really should get going before they send the guards after us," she said grabbing hold of his wrists and trying to sit him up.

"They'll probably just activate our bracelets and electrocute us," he laughed, the thought terribly funny to him, as he allowed her to haul him upright.

"You're morbid," she said tartly, and she put her hands under his armpits and started to tug him upright.

"You've lost your sense of humor," he responded, pushing against her, trying to rise on his own and fighting an enjoyably disorientating dizziness.

"I've had a rough night," she replied in a sour tone, leaning into him to support his weight. She overcompensated, and they toppled over, Hoshi landing on top of Malcolm. He started laughing loudly.

"Oh, we're a team aren't we?" he chuckled wryly, and he wrapped his arms around her. Her head was on his chest, his fast heartbeat now reassuring to her, the abnormal warmth of his body letting her know that he was alive.

Malcolm sighed in contentment. He could stay here forever, spinning and speeding, Hoshi in his arms. His left hand slowly and lightly caressed her back, tracing random patterns.

Hoshi relaxed. She didn't want to move; it was too nice a feeling. But she knew that if didn't get up now, it would be too difficult to restrain her emotions, which were a jumble of mixed feelings that she hadn't fully sorted out yet. She didn't want to take advantage of him, not knowing what he really felt about her, besides friendship, and she didn't want to ruin that. She regretfully wriggled out of his grasp and told him to get up.

"Nag," he complained, unsteadily rising to his feet, swaying and grabbing hold of Hoshi's shoulder for support. He gazed over her shoulder, and he saw three Nausicaans approaching. He pushed her behind him and grabbed his knife.

"What are you doing?" she hollered at him, annoyed, looking at where he was staring. Nothing was there.

"Don't you see them?" he hissed, watching them draw nearer. He heard a noise to his left and saw T'Pol walk out from the woods, a seductive smile on her face. He blinked in surprise, turning his head back to the Nausicaans, who were no longer there. He swung his head back to stare at T'Pol, who stuck her tongue out at him, turned around, and waggled her bum at him before vanishing. He exhaled and sheathed his knife, blushing and apologized to Hoshi sheepishly, explaining what he thought he saw, leaving out certain details.

He looked so embarrassed that Hoshi gave him a hug and told him to assume that everything was an illusion unless she said so. She took his hand and asked him which way to go. He indicated the direction, and they started back to camp.

***

The shuttlepod set down next to the guard barracks on the side of the island where Jon had been told his people were confined. Gv led Jon, Trip, and Travis to the central clearing area, where they met the head of security, Protector Rokar. The next hour was spent filling out paperwork, as Jon tried to rein in his impatience and anger over the delay. He had asked if Trip and Travis could at least go and see their crewmates, but Protector Rokar insisted that everything be done properly. No visitors were allowed at Del'Exantu and until the paperwork was finished. Hoshi and Malcolm were still considered inmates.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity to Archer, they were led to his people's cell. Head count was announced, and all the prisoners came out to stand at their doors. "See, now, you didn't have to wake them in the middle of the night," Gv said cheerfully.

Kaday watched as three beings that looked very similar to her friends walked past her. She saw them go next door and heard the one in front shout something in a jovial way. He pounded on the door and waited for an answer. When none came, he pounded again, a tone of concern in his voice. She approached them, asking if she could help. He replied, and she was surprised to hear his words come out in Sandaran, issuing from a device in his hand.

She introduced herself. "You're from Enterprise?" she asked.

Jon smiled, "Yes, we're here to get Hoshi and Malcolm."

"They're gone and they didn't come back yesterday afternoon. Something's wrong," she said. Malcolm hadn't come by for his set last night, and she knew that Hoshi would have told her if they were planning on missing lockdown.

Archer swung toward Rokar. "Do you know where they are?" he asked, troubled.

"As long as people come back for head count, they can roam anywhere. They may have tried to escape. I'll send some guards out to look for them."

"No, they didn't try to escape," Kaday said impatiently. "They're not stupid. Something's happened and we need to find them as soon as possible." Archer looked at her, his puzzlement and worry clear. "Are you their captain?" she asked. He nodded and introduced himself, as well as Trip and Travis.

"Is Hoshi all right?" he asked, not quite keeping the anxiety out of his voice.

"She was fine yesterday morning."

Jon breathed out, relieved. He felt the weight of over three months of worrying, not knowing, lifting from his shoulders. She was alive and well. "Then they probably just missed their curfew and got locked out. They should show up any time now." That had to be it, Jonathan thought. Hoshi was fine.

Kaday didn't know what to tell him. She didn't know how much to say in front of the other two. She hedged. "Malcolm's been…sick. He needs medication and he didn't come for it yesterday. This is not just an accidental lockout. We have to find them. I'll get what he needs." Archer nodded and she quickly slipped to her cell, returning with a kit.

Archer was talking into a comm device when she walked up. "T'Pol, get me a sensor fix on Hoshi's and Malcolm's locations. They're not at their cell and no one here knows where they are."

"Scanning," T'Pol replied. After a brief pause, she continued. "They're approximately 5 kilometers east of you, in a heavily wooded area. I doubt if the shuttlepod could land safely among that terrain."

"Looks like we're going to have to take a little hike," Trip said.

Archer nodded his agreement. "Fine, we'll go get them. Coordinate their biosigns with our scanners so we can track them. Archer out." He looked at Kaday, "Would you go with us?" he asked.

"Of course. They are my friends," she said.

Gv declined to join them, but Rokar needed to go along to deactivate and remove the detention bracelets.

"Got 'em. This way," Trip said as the telemetry appeared on his scanner. He and Travis started out, Rokar following. Archer brought up the rear with Kaday. "What wrong with Malcolm? Will he be okay?" he asked quietly.

Kaday saw the concern in his eyes, a concern that went beyond that of a superior. Hoshi had talked fondly about her captain, and from her conversations Kaday gathered that he would be fair-minded. But Kaday thought of Starfleet as a military unit, and if it was anything like the Sandaran forces, there would be no compassion or understanding for someone in Malcolm's position. A Sandaran in his place would be automatically released, with no leniency or assistance, perhaps prosecuted and sent here. She wondered what Starfleet detention centers were like.

"Malcolm's a good boy. Very sweet-natured," she said, and Archer looked ready to laugh. He would never describe his armory officer like that, and he doubted that anyone on the ship would think it either.

"He's a honorable person and he's done what he has to make sure he and Hoshi survive. Some of it has been unpleasant, but he has kept them safe. He cares very much. He does his duty. He will continue to serve you well and you must return that loyalty because he deserves it."

Archer was puzzled, but said, "Yes, I know. He's a fine officer, one of the best, but what's that got to do with…?"

Kaday told him of the fight with the Nausicaans, and how since then Malcolm had stubbornly tried to wean himself of the drug, their goal of trying to get to a bare minimum to keep Malcolm alive and remain reasonably clear-headed. Archer was horrified at Kaday's description of the drug and its effects, the low survival rate of those who attempted withdrawal, and felt a pang of despair at what his armory officer had to endure.

"He's protected Hoshi throughout this with a stubbornness and determination that would do a Harjadam Agile cat proud," Kaday said, and then continued, a low threat in her voice, "He is like my own child to me, and I will not allow you or your Starfleet to discard him like so much garbage. He did not do this of his own free will. He is not disposable fodder for your military force. I will challenge you to the death if you refuse to help him, and this old woman still has her knife hand yet." Kaday's eyes glittered menacingly, and she brushed her hand against her blade.

Archer was stunned by her fierceness. He assured her that Malcolm would receive the help he needed, and that it would not endanger his position on Enterprise or in Starfleet. He explained that humans took care of their own.

Kaday nodded sharply. "He will want to go through the withdrawal as soon as possible. It's not an attractive cure, but you must do it properly. I can talk to your doctor if you need me to do so. Hoshi knows the general concept, but not the specifics."

"Once we return to the ship, I'll ask Rokar to allow you to communicate with us. I would appreciate your advice and knowledge," Jonathan said, his sincerity evident to Kaday.

Trip called back from his position far ahead of them. "About another three klicks this way Cap'n." He pointed to the right, and Archer signaled him to lead on.

Chapter 26

For the last forty-five minutes, Hoshi had been leading Malcolm by the hand through the woods. The brightness of the morning sun had left him almost blind, and Hoshi was concerned that she still could see no iris, only a hugely expanded pupil. They usually contracted at least a little after a while. The whites of his eyes were still bloody and raw. He kept them practically shut, only able to watch where his was going by keeping his head down and squinting from under his lashes. He tripped again, this time over a branch that Hoshi had stepped over, and recovered quickly, uttering another filthy string of curses.

"You have one of the foulest mouths I've ever heard, Lieutenant," she teased him, adding the last curse to her list of good ones to use in the future. Malcolm had become very creative with the Sandaran language over the past month.

"I'm just glad that Travis is the helmsman instead of you, Ensign, otherwise we'd have crashed into half of the bloody planets in the galaxy already," he shot back.

"Are you denigrating women drivers, Lieutenant?" she laughed.

"No, just the particularly poor navigator holding my hand, Ensign," he teased with his usual half-smile. "No, really Hoshi, you're doing a fine job, considering what little you have to work with," he said, indicating to himself. "Besides, you're a damn sight better looking than Travis." He arched his eyebrows and opened his eyes a little wider, giving her an appreciative look. The waves of pleasure and the hallucinations were constant now; the small, rational part of his mind figured that the activity was speeding the drug through his system at an accelerated pace. He was actually enjoying this very much, and he easily ignored the pain in his stomach and the throbbing of his head.

She laughed, feeling a little flutter at his flirtatious behavior. He's really tweaked, Hoshi, she reminded herself. He probably doesn't even know what he's saying. She was getting tired, and because they had missed head count and their bracelets hadn't electrocuted them, she came to a stop. Malcolm bumped into her.

"Sorry," he murmured. He peered around, tilting his head up, trying to see their surroundings. "We can bear left from here and straight on for about another few kilometers."

"Great. Come on, time out. I need a rest."

Malcolm let go of her hand and tilted his head down again, then sat on the ground. The spinning sensation came back, and he started to smile. He winced as his stomach clenched once, and he continued to ignore the pain in his head. He sang a little under his breath as he watched tiny female Klingon warriors with butterfly wings fly around his hands. He caught one out of the air. She looked exactly like the woman who had jumped him on that Klingon ship, and he flicked his fingers on her backside, sending her off through the trees.

Hoshi watched him as he laughed, his hands motioning in the empty air. She wondered what he was seeing. She closed her eyes and leaned back against a tree. At least he looked happy now, she thought. Twenty minutes ago, he had suddenly released her hand, whirling and drawing his knife. "It that real?" he had asked her anxiously, as he stared unblinkingly out at the forest, ignoring the overwhelming brightness. He had started to tremble and had mumbled, "You're dead. Stay dead. Please don't make me kill you again." She had told him that no one was there, but he had tranced quickly this time. "Don't try it. Don't move," he muttered to his unseen antagonist. He had paused and listened intently, and added, "No. No. Don't move! Why? How could you do this?" He listened again, shaking his head in the negative. "You betrayed us; almost half the squad was killed! God damn it! We were friends!" he had whispered.

Hoshi heard such an ache and anguish in his voice that she wanted to go to him, but she knew better than to touch him when he had a weapon drawn. She repeated his name loudly, and finally bellowed "Lieutenant!" He whipped around, eyes wild, anger and hurt on his face. He shivered and she repeated his name again. "Nothing's there. It's not real Malcolm. Trust me. I told you I'd tell you if it was real. It's over. Leave it." He had shuddered again and sheathed his knife.

"Not real. Not real. Hoshi says…" he had repeated softly, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to compose himself. She had gone to him, murmuring low words of comfort, rubbing his shoulders, and he had wrapped his arms around her, apologizing.

She wondered again what he had done before joining Starfleet, reviewing the few bits and pieces he had revealed in his mutterings over the past month. So many things seem to haunt him. Probably why he's so quiet, she thought. Probably why he's so good at what he does…

She thought about Malcolm—the contradictions that always surprised her. Polite and gentle, foul-mouthed and hot-tempered. Shy and private, yet the quirky sense of humor that made her laugh so hard she cried. That nervous energy and impatience, yet the ability to listen to her for hours on end without fidgeting. His patience with her when teaching her or when she was upset. Yet it seemed he could kill so easily. It bothers him a lot, though. I wonder what else he's done, she thought. Does it matter? a part of her said. No. No, it didn't, she realized.

She looked at him. He was sitting quietly, arms wrapped around his legs, head on his knees, rocking slightly. His posture alarmed her, and she hurried to him. She tilted his chin up; his skin was hot to her touch again. She saw the sweat on his brow. His eyes were closed and he was breathing hard. "Are you okay?" she asked, worried.

"Fine," he whispered.

She knew that was his automatic response, always, no matter what. "Malcolm…" she said sternly, touching his face. He leaned into her cool hand, trying to find some comfort. He gagged, and she knelt behind him and rubbed his back. His heart was beating quickly, but not as fast as before. "Let it out, Malcolm," she whispered to him.

He nodded. "Sorry," he apologized quietly, knowing that it was hard for her to watch. He was vomiting bright red blood when Hoshi saw Jonathan in the distance. They had come at last.

***

"Jesus Christ!" Trip shouted when he saw them. Malcolm was vomiting and Hoshi was holding him steady. Trip ran to them, the rest not far behind. "Is he okay? What's wrong?"

God, he's bleedin' to death! Trip hated the sight of blood, and it looked like there was so much. He looked away from Malcolm, but he could still hear him gagging. Hoshi was holding Malcolm calmly, hissing and uttering guttural sounds in his ear. Jon and Travis ran over, and Hoshi told them to just stand back.

Kaday rushed to Hoshi's side, starting a hurried conversation, most of it too fast for the UT to catch. Kaday's eyes widened in surprise.

"How much?" she asked Hoshi. Hoshi indicated a distance between her forefinger and thumb, and Kaday looked a little afraid.

Hoshi continued, and Trip caught "heart,", resuscitate," and "trance." Malcolm dry heaved several times, panting. He uttered a few slurred guttural and hissing words in Sandaran, surprising Trip. Malcolm moaned, and Trip forced himself to look at his crewmate. He could see Malcolm's shirt moving, his heart beating wildly beneath it. Damn, it's going to bust out of his chest any minute!

"Let get him to sickbay, now!" Trip said frantically, pulling out his communicator and looking at Jon. Jon took the communicator.

"Rokar, please deactivate his bracelet," Jon said, watching Malcolm retch again, pushing down his fear for him. Kaday had filled him in on the workings of the drug—the withdrawal and the cure. He thought that this looked like withdrawal symptoms.

Rokar distastefully made his way toward Malcolm, who was dry heaving, blood dripping from his nose. "Damn So-Kies," he said with contempt. Kaday hissed at him. He roughly grabbed Malcolm's wrist and slid a device across the bracelet, making a few adjustments to it. It opened, and he held it with two fingers away from himself, distaste clear on his face as he hurriedly dropped Malcolm's arm. Malcolm heaved again, right on Rokar's boots, and Kaday neck fringes flapped in amusement.

Rokar grabbed Malcolm by the hair and hauled his head up, "You did that on purpose!" he yelled. Malcolm dully looked at him from slitted eyes and gagged. Rokar quickly released him, jumping out of the way. Malcolm started to chuckle and then choked as another well of blood sprayed out of his mouth.

"T'Pol, three for emergency beam up. Tell Dr. Phlox to have Malcolm's blood type and get ready for a transfusion," Archer said, looking over at Kaday.

"No, he must expel the extra first. This is an overdose," she said.

Archer tried to comprehend that fact, not understanding. "Captain, the transporter has not yet been realigned; we shall have to beam you to the cargo bay," T'Pol's voice came over the communicator.

"Fine. Trip, come help me carry Malcolm. Travis, you take Hoshi back to the shuttlepod and return to the ship. Protector Rokar, thank you, and please remove Ensign Sato's bracelet as well. I would like to leave a communicator with Kaday, so that she can talk to our doctor," Archer said, shooting the commands out rapidly.

"I'm sorry, that's against our regulations. Prisoners are not allowed to communicate with anyone," Rokar said, a little peevishly.

Malcolm suddenly cursed and crawled away a short distance, Hoshi crawling with him, talking to him. He rolled into a fetal position. His body was trembling and Hoshi started to yell at him. "Don't you dare, you bastard! Don't you die on me again!"

This was different than before. He was still seeing things and his mind was racing, a cacophony of sounds in his head. His body hurt badly, but it wasn't that same ruthless pressure as before. Hoshi's voice was the only thing he could hear clearly. She kept cursing at him, hands cradling his head, screaming into his face to keep breathing.

She saw him quirk his half-smile. "Bloody nag," he gasped weakly. He then clenched his teeth, panting heavily, obeying her.

Trip, Jon, and Travis looked at Hoshi, stunned at her actions.

"Okay," said Jon, drawing the word out tentatively. "Um, Hoshi, ask Kaday everything we need to know. T'Pol, get ready to beam us up. Trip, you're with me."

"Don't sedate him!" Kaday said. "His system won't take the stress of it. Restrain him, but don't sedate him."

Archer nodded, thinking that Malcolm didn't look like he was in any condition to do anything that would warrant sedation, let alone restraint. He handed the UT to Travis. Archer moved over to Malcolm's side, and Trip joined him. Hoshi whispered something in Malcolm's ear and rose.

Archer noticed how tired she looked—dirty, bloodstained, and in disarray, her cheek bloody and bruised, but saw that there was a calm and determined look in her eye that hadn't been there the last time he'd seen her.

He smiled at her. "Good to see you, Ensign," he said warmly. She gave him a small smile and looked at Malcolm. "We'll take care of him," he reassured her.

She bit her lip and nodded. "See you soon," she said.

"T'Pol, three to beam up."

Chapter 27

The next thing Malcolm was aware of was the perception of moving quickly through shadows, passing bright lights. He wondered where his body had run off to, because he was fairly sure he wasn't walking. He couldn't focus on his surroundings, so he watched a floor move rapidly beneath him. Voices were buzzing on either side of him, and his translator kicked in, making his head pound even worse as disjointed Sandaran words flooded his overloaded brain. Not real, he thought, not real 'til Hoshi says. He repeated this several times but got sidetracked as his stomach tightened again. He began to gag, and felt his forward momentum stop, although that nice spinning sensation continued.

Trip watched as Malcolm heaved again. This time, dark red blood cascaded to the floor. Trip looked away, swallowing and feeling queasy. Jon supported Malcolm as his armory officer choked and retched again, then passed out. He felt for a pulse and found a rapid one.

"Let's move," he said, and he and Trip carried Malcolm as quickly as possible to sickbay.

***

Dr. Phlox met them at the door, and they lifted Malcolm onto a biobed. Judging by the amount of blood on the lieutenant, the doctor thought that there was a wound to the torso. "Do you have him typed yet?" he asked an orderly.

"Yes, we're ready to transfuse him when you say so." Another orderly pushed out a cart with an assortment of medical equipment.

Phlox cut Malcolm's shirt off, discarding it and examining him, but he was surprised to see nothing. He inspected the scores of needle marks on both of his arms. "Remove that knife, please," he asked Trip, indicating to the one on Malcolm's thigh. Phlox cut the sheath from Malcolm's neck, wondering why anyone needed to be armed so heavily, and handed it to Trip. Trip took both knives and placed them on a counter.

Jon hovered on the other side of the biobed, filling Phlox in on what he knew. Phlox lifted Malcolm's eye to check the reactivity of his pupils and audibly sucked in his breath. Jon and Trip leaned over, alarmed at Phlox's reaction.

"This is very odd," Phlox said, intrigued despite himself. He ran a scanner over Malcolm, his face grave as he interpreted the readings. "Signs of malnutrition, heart rate accelerated, blood pressure high, body temperature up, blood volume…he doesn't need a transfusion, his blood volume has increased dramatically. There's also a foreign substance in his bloodstream, possibly a narcotic…"

Jonathan cut in and explained what Kaday had told him about the drug.

Malcolm thought he was lying down, but wasn't certain. The floor had disappeared, and a harsh, white light filled his vision, even with his eyes practically closed. Still spinning and speeding, he could hear a droning of different tones and pitches. His translator was very busy, but he couldn't make out what it was saying; there were too many other noises in his head. His head was pounding as the translator continued to sputter and hiss, and he became annoyed at it trying to burn words into his brain again. He lifted his head up and then smashed it down hard, trying to get the translator to stop.

Something grabbed at him, and the volume went up around him. He batted the clutching objects away, sitting up and going for his knife on his thigh, but it was gone. He felt around his neck and couldn't find that one either. He grew angrier as more things tried to seize him, attempting to push him down. The noise reached an intolerable level. His temper suddenly raged, and he couldn't control it. He struggled wildly and rolled away, hoping that he wasn't up too high, but not caring if he plummeted to his death. He landed hard on his feet, and he swept his hand down to his boot and found the knife cradled within. He readied himself, eyes wide open, trying to see through the blaze of light, enjoying the uncontrollable sensation of bolting through a vast white nothingness, his fury unmanageable.

Archer and the rest froze as Malcolm drew a knife, crouched and ready. His black and red eyes stared toward them, a slight but dangerous smile on his face. Archer snapped out orders. "Clear sickbay. Trip, you and Phlox stay. Lock the door." The orderlies left hurriedly, glad to be out.

Trip locked the door behind them. He saw Malcolm listen to them leave, his head tilted slightly, eyes narrowed to mere slits. Malcolm inched toward the door and bumped into the cart. Jon started to speak low, reassuring words to Malcolm, who completely ignored him.

Malcolm felt around the top of the cart and picked up a heavy instrument, hefting it and hurling it upward into the light overhead. It shattered, and Archer and Phlox moved back quickly, trying to avoid the falling glass. Malcolm stood there as it rained down, eyes closed, the smile still on his face. He opened his eyes when he heard the last of the glass fall. He could see a little better now that it was darker, and he looked for something else to throw.

"Trip, cut the lights to fifty percent," Jon ordered, and Trip did.

Malcolm stopped, smiling wider and let out a breath of relief. He could open his eyes now and at least see where he was. The dimmed lights reflected off his black pupils, giving them a feral quality. There were three figures in this space with him, and none of them looked like Hoshi. He hissed out a question in Sandaran and waited for an answer.

***

Hoshi ran back to their cell, Travis hard-pressed to keep up with her; Kaday and Rokar loping alongside of him. When they arrived she held her arm out to Rokar, who released her bracelet.

"Clean out your cell and you're free to go." He turned to leave and then stopped, looking at Travis. "Were those two the only ones you wanted? You have an excess balance."

Travis looked at him, puzzled.

"How much of a balance?" Kaday asked.

"Someone with less than two years left on their sentence," he replied.

Kaday looked at Hoshi, and Hoshi said immediately, "We'll take her," pointing to Kaday. Rokar took out a data padd and asked Kaday for her inmate number.

"329," she replied, and he scrolled through the data, confirming her identification and sentence.

"Fine, you qualify. Take her. I'll fill out the paperwork." He deactivated Kaday's bracelet, removed it, and waved her away. She rubbed her wrist in disbelief.

"Please, come with us. We may need your help," Hoshi said, giving Kaday's hand a little squeeze. Kaday headed toward her cell. She had a few things she wanted to take with her.

Travis followed Hoshi to her cell. He thought it seemed too small for two people. Looking around the sparse and neat area, he noted the sleeping mats together on the floor.

Hoshi moved quickly through the room, gathering up clothing, their knife collection, and other items, placing them into the single duffle bag that they hadn't traded. She grabbed their last bottle of the fine Mojatar they had taken from Kiv's—the one they said that they would share in celebration once they got back to Enterprise. She smiled as she slipped the player and music chips in; Malcolm had taken it from Kiv's and surprised her with it. He had said that he knew she missed listening to music. She remembered the first night he had turned it on, a loud and seductive beat filling their cell. He had moved with the beat, his pupils huge from his recent set, a lazy smile on his face. Taking her hand, he pulled her to him, holding her close, both of them moving slowly in time to the music. She had danced with him, sometimes slow, sometimes in a joyfully mad frenzy to the wild tempo, until they were both laughing nonstop, breathless and sweat-soaked.

As she swept around the room, gathering more things, Travis saw her smile pensively.

She had assumed that Malcolm would be a quiet classical music devotee, not into frenetic, high-decibel sound. Speed and explosions, she thought and shook her head. She looked around one last time but saw nothing else that she would want to take. She had packed a bowl she had made at Metio's; she had taken the chess set, some origami pieces she had made, her makeshift bathing suit, and Malcolm's cutoffs. These things held pleasant memories for her. She left the paper and pencils. Malcolm had always burned his work. She had her knife; she was done.

She met Kaday outside, Travis carrying the duffle bag, and they headed at a trot to the shuttlepod.

***

Jon watched uneasily as Malcolm stood there, eyes heavy-lidded, patiently waiting. Jon glanced at Trip, who looked at him and shrugged his shoulders.

Malcolm shifted, knife still out and ready, and backed up until he reached an uncluttered corner. He leaned casually against the wall, crossing his arms against his chest, letting the knife hang loosely. He spoke again, fast, the harsh throat scraping Sandaran coming easily and fluently. Jon could decipher only one word: "Hoshi."

"Hoshi's coming, Malcolm, she's fine. She and Travis took the shuttlepod. They should be here soon. You did a good job, she's safe," Jon explained, trying to sound soothing. Malcolm's face distorted with a pained look, and he reared his head back into the wall, hard. He hissed out an angry sentence and gripped his knife more securely.

"I seem to recall that you said something about the Sandarans implanting a translator?" Dr. Phlox murmured in an undertone to Archer. He nodded, remembering. "He obviously speaks their language fluently. Perhaps it would be best not to aggravate the lieutenant by speaking English," Phlox suggested.

"Trip, get a UT. Have T'Pol contact Travis—let's see if we can get Hoshi to talk to him," Jon ordered and Malcolm winced; he ground his head into the wall again.

Malcolm spat out a few guttural words and then something that sounded like a demand. Trip nodded to Jon and edged toward the door. Malcolm's eyes tracked him, and he tensed. Trip unlocked the door, and Malcolm sprinted for it. Jon barely reached Malcolm in time. He used his momentum to shove Malcolm hard against a wall, away from the door. Trip slipped out as Malcolm bounced back, knife still clutched tightly in his hand as he launched himself at the closing door. Trip just managed to shut it and lock it; from the corridor, he could hear the impact of Malcolm's body against it.

Jon scrambled back, arms extended in a gesture of peace, but ready to defend himself.

Malcolm pushed once against the door, then turned. He hissed something and smiled, shaking his head ruefully. He walked a meandering path back to the security of the corner. The room was stretching and contracting, the colors changing; there were shadowy phantoms appearing before him that he had to avoid, and it was hard to find the right corner again.

Malcolm leaned against the wall wearily. This wasn't real anyway—Hoshi had told him so. He wished he could leave this place and find her; he was worried about her. He decided he wasn't feeling very well.

The three of them stood there, facing each other in silence. Minutes passed as each watched the other, Jon growing more concerned, Malcolm, eyes now barely open, still and silent.

Malcolm finally muttered a few more words, lowering his head. The constant feeling of whirling had finally stopped, leaving him only with a jittery throbbing that was rapidly making him sick to his stomach. The speed and rush were too fast to permit him to think clearly, and the pain in his head was excruciating. He closed his eyes for a moment, and he felt his stomach lurch, the pressure back. He turned his face to the wall, crawling along it, trying to find something to throw up in. He retched violently and clutched his knife tighter, knowing that he was vulnerable now to whatever was here with him. He heard laughing, and then his father was telling him that he always knew he'd come to a bad end.

Jon watched in alarm as his armory officer gagged and heaved a great gout of blood across the sickbay wall. He started forward, but the doctor stopped him.

"I would not advise getting close to him; he may attack you," Phlox advised.

Malcolm steadied himself and retched again. He turned his head back afterwards to quickly check their positions.

"He doesn't seem to be in danger yet. His blood volume was high enough to compensate for the amount he is purging," Phlox said clinically, watching with an interested expression.

Jon couldn't just stand there, and he shrugged off Phlox's hand, moving forward again when Malcolm gagged once more. The door opened, and Trip stuck his head in, looking around cautiously. He saw Malcolm and his eyes widened, a sick expression appearing on his face. He looked away quickly and stepped inside, UT in hand, locking the door again.

"T'Pol's contactin' them now and she'll patch it through here," he said quietly. He winced as he heard a wet splash hit the floor.

Jon saw Malcolm wipe his arm across his mouth and then move unsteadily back to the corner. He backed up into it and slowly slid down the wall to a sitting position, knife still out and ready. He dully asked another question and this time they understood it.

"Are you going to tell me where Hoshi is, or do I have to kill you all now?"

Chapter 28

Hoshi waited impatiently while Travis went through the interminable Sandaran clearance protocol. They were very particular about visitors following their regulations when arriving and leaving the planet, and Travis didn't want to take any chances. He hadn't liked the looks of that detention center, and wondered again how Hoshi had managed. He had figured that Malcolm could handle something like that, but Hoshi was too timid, too delicate. He looked at her; she was unkempt and filthy. She smelled like stale sweat, dirt, and blood. He discreetly toggled the environmental controls up a bit, trying to get a little more air flow.

"Can't we contact Enterprise now?" she asked, her irritated tone covering her anxiety.

"Nope. Sandaran protocol again. No communications other than Sandaran control during takeoff or landing," he told her. It was the same coming down here. They had to wait until they were cleared to land and on the ground before they could contact the ship again.

"This is so stupid!" she cried, her patience finally breaking. "We have to get there, now! He could be dying! They don't know what to do and they might kill him by accident." She was angry and scared, and she looked to Kaday for reassurance.

"Child, calm yourself. If he didn't die after the initial injection, then he is most likely going to survive this. He will just continue to expel the excess. I would worry about those around him more. He will not be able to distinguish between reality and illusion for some time yet, and he is single-minded when it comes to your well-being." Kaday sighed. "He is very stubborn. He will not relent until he knows you are safe."

***

"Enterprise to Shuttlepod One, come in please," T'Pol had been hailing them since Commander Tucker had called her. She continued to scan their position, and then saw the shuttlepod move from its location.

"Shuttlepod One to Enterprise," Hoshi's voice rang out.

"Acknowledged, Shuttlepod One," T'Pol said, refusing to feel relieved.

"How's Malcolm?" Hoshi asked, distress clear in her voice.

"I'll patch you through to sickbay. Stand by, Ensign." T'Pol hailed sickbay, and wondered why it was taking them so long to answer.

***

Malcolm started abruptly when the hail blared. He shot to his feet; it sounded like a child screaming in pain. He had been watching the figures morph leisurely, spellbound by the melting and reforming that they went through, their shapes and colors changing. It had been extremely relaxing.

Jon spoke in a soft tone so that Malcolm's translator wouldn't pick up the English, only the Sandaran issuing from the UT. "Let me answer that. It may be Hoshi. If you just stay there, I'll let you talk to her. Stay there. I'm going to answer that and then you can talk to her." Jon walked slowly to the comm, not making any sudden movements.

Malcolm watched the figure become pixilated as it moved in sharp jumpcuts, then merge into the wall. He checked for the other two figures, but they had bled into one large ill-defined composition. He slid back down the wall, shivering slightly, feeling lightheaded, forcing himself to stay conscious. He absently scratched at the needle marks on his arm with his knife.

"Go ahead," Jon said and waited for T'Pol to relay Shuttlepod One's communication.

"Captain?"

"Hoshi, I think we need a little help here."

"How's Malcolm?"

"He's wants to see you, now," Jon said, then returned his attention to his armory officer. Malcolm was using the tip of his knife to connect the needle marks into some sort of design. He was intent on his artwork, mumbling something Jon couldn't make out. Phlox and Trip were watching in disbelief as the blood dripped down his arm.

Phlox moved forward and Malcolm pushed himself partly up the wall. "Don't," he said, giving the knife a threatening flick. Phlox froze and Malcolm sat back down.

"What's your ETA?" Jon said, a little frantic as Malcolm continued to carve into his arm.

"About six minutes, sir," Travis replied.

"Hurry it up. Hoshi, talk to him."

"Malcolm? Can you hear me?" She spoke in Sandaran.

Malcolm tilted his head toward her voice, still absorbed in his labor. "Hoshi? Are you all right? Where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm coming, I'll be there in five minutes. Don't do anything. Just stay. Relax."

He gave a tired chuckle. "Right, right…it's not bloody real anyway," he muttered. He continued his art project, heedless of the blood running down his arm. It actually helped. His skin felt tight.

"Push it, Travis," Jon ordered and cut the comm.

Trip felt ill, but he couldn't look away. "For crying out loud, Malcolm! Stop that! You're hurtin' yourself!"

This whole situation disturbed Trip. Besides all the blood, which Trip had always had a hard time handling, Malcolm's behavior spooked him badly. He considered Malcolm a friend and it was hard to see him so…unnatural. Trip cursed himself for not having gotten the Enterprise back faster, for not spending enough time in Engineering squeezing another percentage of efficiency out of the warp engines. This might not be happening if only they had arrived sooner.

Malcolm ignored him, mumbling under his breath, disregarding the hair in his eyes, intent on a particularly intricate cut.

Trip grabbed a towel from a nearby shelf and approached Malcolm, shrugging off Jon's restraining hand. He wasn't just going to stand there and watch him bleed to death. "Jesus, Malcolm! Do you have a death wish or something?" Trip said desperately as he started forward.

Malcolm's head shot up and Trip froze. Malcolm seemed to be considering something. "Yes, I suppose I do, but it's always for the other poor bugger." He flashed an icy smile, his black eyes glittering in the low light, drilling into Trip's, and Trip flinched. Still staring through Trip, Malcolm casually flipped the knife into his left hand, then bowed his head and started to work on his right arm. Jonathan pulled Trip back as Trip looked away, face pale and sweaty. He thought he was going to be sick.

"He won't bleed to death, those are comparatively minor wounds," Dr. Phlox said. He had been studying the makeup of the narcotic and making notes. He thought that this was a fascinating opportunity to study the effects of it. Of course, he knew eventually the lieutenant would pass out from blood loss, but that was very easy to treat.

"I know it's hard, Trip. Let's just wait for Hoshi; she probably knows how to deal with this," Jon said. His talk with Kaday had led him to believe that Malcolm would listen to Hoshi.

***

As soon as the shuttlepod door opened, Hoshi sprinted out and ran to sickbay, Kaday behind her. They arrived at the door, but it wouldn't open. She slapped the comm, demanding to be let in, and when the door opened Jonathan was standing there. He looked extremely troubled and, she was shocked to see, a bit scared.

"Talk to him now, Ensign," he ordered, and she could hear the strain in his voice.

Hoshi entered the room and saw the glass on the floor. Dr. Phlox sat at his computer, scrolling through displays, and Trip looked pale and sick. She wondered what Malcolm had done now. She found him in the corner, silently cutting into his arm, and she inhaled sharply.

"Stop that right now!" She grabbed the towel from Trip.

Malcolm looked up, and a broad grin covered his face. "Hoshi!" He sounded pleasantly surprised.

She walked toward him and Jon grasped her shoulder. "Don't go near him—he might hurt you."

She saw the anxiety for her in his eyes. "He won't, sir," she said. Archer saw the total conviction in her face and released her.

"Malcolm," she said softly as she approached him and sat down next to him. "You look really bad." She took his right arm and wrapped the towel around it.

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" he replied, still grinning. That pleasant speeding sensation had returned, and the room was glowing with colors and flashes of light that changed with Hoshi's every word. He loved listening to her talk, but this was an added incentive. His still had the knife in his left hand and he extended it toward her. Trip and Archer stiffened, but he merely stuck a finger out and poked her shoulder.

"Thank god, you're real," he said, the relief clear in his voice, and he leaned back against the wall, eyes finally closing.

She rested her head against his, and he nuzzled his face against her hair. "I was worried about you. I think we got lost," he murmured.

She reached her arm up to put it around his shoulders, and he opened his eyes a bit. He wrinkled his nose at the sudden odor and looked at her, trying not to laugh.

"Hey, you're no spring flower yourself, Lieutenant," she snapped.

He started to chuckle and made himself comfortable under her arm, "Well, I believe I had a rough night, Ensign." He lounged against her, and closed his eyes, her solidity, her realness against his skin soothing. She pushed his hair out of his eyes and started to talk to him, too low for the UT to pick up. All the tension spilled out and he finally gave into the exquisite pleasure. It intensified as he surrendered and an immaculate feeling of peace and well-being washing over him. She was safe. He could relax. He could enjoy the sensations and nothing else mattered.

He loved this and he knew deep down that he would do anything to keep feeling this way. He gave himself over to it completely and let her voice float around him.

Jon pulled Kaday aside and motioned to Phlox. "She can tell you how to treat him." The two healers put their heads together and started a low conversation.

"Hoshi," Jon said quietly. She looked up and Malcolm tensed slightly. "Hoshi, ask him to put the knife down, please." She nodded and spoke to him. It took him some moments to register her request, and he roused himself, suddenly eager to complete his work.

"I'm not quite finished yet," he said and sat up straighter; he unwrapped the towel from around his arm, tossing it aside. She put her hand on his to still it.

"Absolutely not! That's barbaric! We'll run tests first, and allow him to continue using the drug until we can find a more sane method of withdrawal," Dr. Phlox stated firmly to Kaday.

"But there is no other method! Don't you think we've tried? We've had almost a century of this!" Kaday argued back.

"We will not institute such torture. Not in my sickbay!" Phlox shot right back, voice rising as he shouted out the last. He was as angry as Archer had even seen him.

The UT translated the doctor's angry shout. "Sickbay?" Malcolm asked, preoccupied, staring at his arm. He was trying to think which would be the best way to draw the next line. "Del'Exantu doesn't have a sickbay," he muttered distractedly.

"We're home Malcolm, we're on Enterprise," she said and smiled at him.

"We are?" It didn't look like Enterprise; this place was organic, pulsating and vibrating with ever-changing colors and movements, the figures indistinguishable and transforming, the sounds unlike those made by his crewmates. But Hoshi was telling him so. Hoshi was real. He ran his fingers down her arm, reassuring himself, his gossamer touch causing goosebumps to rise.

"Yes, don't you remember? You were beamed up," she explained, watching his eyes as he concentrated intensely on her arm, his head lowered. His hand came to a stop on top of hers.

He shook his head, "I…I don't. I remember…Nausicaans?" he asked, uncertain, and could not suppress the shudder that ran through him, a wildly distorted memory igniting an ember of horror and repugnance aim at himself. She hugged him closer and murmured comfortingly. She told him that they had been rescued and that they had bought Kaday's freedom as well. She pointed her out to him, and he tried hard to make the figure coalesce into a Sandaran shape. He gave up. They still looked like daubs of abstract color and light to him, ever shifting, always fluctuating. But he believed her. She asked him to put his knife down, telling him that they were safe and he didn't need it anymore.

An overwhelming surge of pleasure hit him again, making it impossible to concentrate on what she was saying. It was easy to ignore the stubborn spark of aversion and self-contempt that it carried. Hoshi was safe, and he could finally relax—there was nothing wrong with that. "What are they arguing about?" he managed to ask, not really caring; he felt too good.

"Phlox wants to study…your situation…further. Kaday thinks we should do the 'restrain and drain' now. He thinks you should continue setting until he's found something less…strenuous," she hedged.

"Oh, no…no." The spark of revulsion flared, consuming him. He liked this too much, and he was afraid he'd never be able to stop. He pulled himself upright and away from Hoshi.

"I can't live like this," he whispered. "Kaday," he hissed, still not able to see her true form, but trusting Hoshi's word.

Kaday looked at him.

"Let's do this, now." He marshaled his anger and loathing; his self-hatred for wanting this so badly, and his fear. He bound them together tightly with a last desperate stab at willpower and nicked the artery inside his arm. "Just don't let them put anything around my neck," he muttered to Hoshi right before he hit the floor.

Chapter 29

Phlox was hard-pressed to stabilize him, but did so. Jon caught Trip when he fainted as Malcolm made his final cut, the blood jetting out in time to his rapid heartbeat. Kaday insisted on sturdier restraints than the flimsy ones that were standard on the biobed. So they were modified, until eight heavy, broad straps covered his body. They needed them. When he came to, he screamed and cursed and struggled until the blood loss caused him to pass out again. The cycle of draining and transfusion was repeated, and by the third time he was too hoarse, his voice finally gone, and he just fought against the restraints silently, sweating and breathing harshly. He never stopped, his energy seemingly unending, until he'd slip back into unconsciousness. The drug tried to hang on, drawing from the buildup within his nerves and brain, his organs and tissues, increasing his heartbeat and blood volume, forcing the adrenaline through his body. He'd mutely struggle and writhe, his eyes glaring, infuriated and accusing.

Even when he should have been able to speak again, he suffered in silence. He was just so angry. Nothing calmed him; they couldn't sedate him, and no one could reach him. The seventeen people on the ship with the same blood type donated as often as possible, some even donating more often than they should. Phlox would allow no visitors, not even the captain. He said that it would be harmful to the crew's morale. He kept them posted, though.

Archer was busy with meetings and talks with the Sandaran government. They were impressed with the humans-the way they had kept their word, had accomplished their task, and had come back for their people. Archer proudly signed a trade agreement with them. Admiral Forrest called to congratulate him. Archer even allowed his crew to take shore leave, although each person had to know the Sandaran customs and laws thoroughly before being allowed to shuttle down. The bridge constantly scanned for Nausicaan ships, just in case.

Kaday helped, talking to Malcolm as he'd wrestle with his bindings, occasionally rubbing his head as he lay there panting, still trying to break free. She knew what kinds of harrowing things he was seeing and hearing, stuck alone in his own hellish world of misery and horror.

She'd been through this before; she had been a user herself at one time, going through the same withdrawal, one of the lucky few to survive it. She matured and had made herself a happier life, until she had unknowingly married a man, the father to her children, who sold it as a sideline and then started to use it himself. He was unwilling to go through withdrawal. He liked it too much, and she knew exactly what he felt. She had craved the rush and thrill of it for years after, but she knew better than to ever try it again. Withdrawal was too painful, too dangerous. It had been the most frightening thing she had ever done.

After four days, Malcolm finally stopped fighting his fetters, his face as pale as the pillow they had placed beneath his head to protect him from his constant head banging. He finally lay still, eyes normal, although bloodshot, now from lack of proper sleep. Dr. Phlox watched him for eight hours before pronouncing him clean and releasing him from his bonds. Kaday helped him stand and took him into the shower, washing him as she had done before, only this time with the luxury of hot water. The doctor re-bandaged his arms, for they hadn't a chance to heal as he battled furiously with the restraints, reopening the wounds from his constant resistance. Phlox injected him with a broad variety of antibiotics to fight any infection, extracted the translator using a local anesthesia, and told him that they could remove the tattoo later. He ordered him to his quarters and told him to get some real sleep. Dr. Phlox informed the captain that he was releasing the lieutenant and suggested that he been given several days off to recover.

Archer told Hoshi. She had given him a full report of their imprisonment, sparing only a few details. Jon had been shaken and unsettled by what she described, but she assured him that for the most part, it had been almost enjoyable. She had laughed and told him about the fun times in great detail, glossing over the bad. She tried to assuage Jon's guilt and told him with a smile that it was just part of the job. Her attitude dispersed the guilt on his part for hauling her out here with him. He could see a new assurance and composure in her that made him feel much better, but he was still concerned; she had been sleeping poorly since her return, refusing any medication to help. Although she insisted that she was fit for duty, Archer would not let her return to her post. He could see the fatigue and worry in her face.

She immediately went to sickbay and offered to escort Malcolm to his quarters. He smiled for the first time when he saw her.

Late that evening, Jon and Trip made a final tour of the ship, as was their habit. They decided to check in on Malcolm, to see if he was at least sleeping as he had been ordered. Jon rapped quietly and waited a while, then overrode his armory officer's security code and unlocked the door. He and Trip entered the darken room.

They stopped and started to smile. Malcolm lay deeply asleep on his bed, clad only in a pair of sweatpants, the dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes a stark contrast to his pale face. His hair was unkempt, but he had apparently shaved, Trip noted with a small mental laugh. But what made them both grin was Hoshi.

She lay, clad in her uniform, snuggled close against him, her thigh resting possessively over his legs, her hand atop his chest. Malcolm's bandaged arms were wrapped securely around her, cheek resting against her forehead. She was smiling slightly.

Chapter 30

When Kaday left, Hoshi and Malcolm met her in the shuttle bay to see her off. Neither of them cared to go back to the planet, and Travis would take her home. Travis watched as Kaday and Hoshi hugged each other tearfully, hissing and uttering those throat-wrenching guttural Sandaran words. Malcolm hung back, eyes on the ground, face solemn. Travis quietly turned his UT on low, unashamed of his desire to hear what was being said.

"…And your children will meet you at the landing site?" Hoshi continued.

"Yes and my grandchildren as well!" Kaday replied with a laugh, neck fringes flapping with joy. Malcolm smiled slightly at the breeze it created, stirring Hoshi's hair. "Twelve of them! I have been blessed by Telmera. All four of my children have grown to be fine, strong Sandarans. We have so much to catch up on."

"I'll miss you," Hoshi said and hugged her again.

"And I you, my child. And you, my little silent one," Kaday looked over at Malcolm and he smiled at her.

"Thank you Kaday, for everything…" he said quietly, his Sandaran accent still a bit off, but pleasing to her nonetheless. She went to him quickly and picked him up in a massive bear hug, then ruffled his hair one last time. "I liked your hair better before," she fussed. He had finally gotten it trimmed back to his usual spiky style. "But I do like the feel of this." She put him down and laughed, charmed by the growing redness of his face. He offered her a smile, eyes laughing with her.

"All will be fine, child. Your obstinacy serves you well." She smiled at him and lowered her voice for his ears only. "You are a worthy soul, don't forget that. A Protector's duty is honorable, and you do it admirably. Don't dwell on it," and she caressed his face. "Know that you are loved…" He blushed again and lowered his eyes to the floor. Kaday glanced at Hoshi, who had wandered over to talk to Travis. Kaday smiled.

***

A week later, Archer allowed Sato to return to duty. Hoshi looked well-rested and happy. Four days after that, he let Reed return; Malcolm was quieter than usual, but Jon thought that it was understandable. That evening, he went to Malcolm's room.

Archer stood outside Malcolm's quarters; he could faintly hear music, a furiously sonic beat, instruments blazing and wailing. He signaled the door and Malcolm answered. He was wearing a worn pair of jeans, and when he saw who his visitor was, he straightened and invited his captain inside. He turned the music off and hastily pulled on a grey T-shirt. He offered Archer a chair, and Jon sat.

Jon noticed the data padds strewn across Malcolm's desk along with several detailed sketches of various weapons design. They were quite good, Archer thought, as Malcolm offered him a cup of tea. Jon looked at Malcolm's arms, now unbandaged, and for the first time saw the fading figures that his armory officer had etched into them. On the left was a bird, gracefully and intricately drawn. On the right was an unfinished catlike creature, eyes wide and fangs bared, equally elegant and realistic.

"Malcolm, I came to apologize," Jon began and Malcolm looked surprised.

"For what?" he asked, puzzled.

"For my orders, for leaving you two so long, for what you had to go through…" Jon trailed off as Malcolm laughed. It was the first smile Jon had seen from Malcolm since his return.

"Captain, it's my job. No need to apologize. It's my choice. Besides, I doubt Starfleet gives everyone a three-month holiday with pay. However, since you insist on feeling bad, perhaps this would be a good time to blackmail you into instituting a few rules before landing on a strange planet…" He gave his captain a half-smile, his eyes teasing.

Jon laughed loudly, relieved. He even agreed to a few suggestions Malcolm made during the next hour.

***

Hoshi absently rubbed the back of her neck, where Dr. Phlox had removed her inmate number, leaving her skin slightly red and itchy. He assured her that in a few days, no one would even know it had ever been there. She had left the small bird because it was so well hidden. She didn't know why; she had never even entertained the notion of getting a tattoo.

She noticed the duffle bag from their imprisonment in the corner of her room, and she supposed she should return it to the ship's storage. She upended it and shook it to make sure that it was empty. A crumpled piece of paper, smoothed out and folded neatly, slipped to the floor.

She picked it up, remembering that she had placed it at the bottom of the bag over a month ago.

She had been sprawled out on the sleeping mat, working on several origami figures. She'd been talking to Malcolm for several hours as he sat at the table, drawing, his eyes hugely dilated and bloodshot, still trying to adapt to the circumstances he had been forced into a few days earlier. He had listened attentively, asking questions every so often, never raising his head.

She finally suggested that they get some sleep, and he crumpled his work as usual and carelessly tossed it toward the fire. She saw it bounce off the side, barely escaping the flames. He didn't notice. When he fell asleep, she rescued it, her curiosity overwhelming.

Hoshi unfolded the paper, studying it, as she had often done since obtaining it.

There was a series of small sketches, each done in a different style. The one in the upper left hand corner was of Hoshi, head bent over the chessboard, rendered in an impressionistic style. The sketch next to it was her again, drawn like a renaissance Madonna, with an enigmatic smile.

The third drawing was done in the style Georges Seurat pioneered, pointillism, a series of dots. She remembered the sound of the pencil tapping furiously when he had done it. He had asked her if she'd ever been to the Art Institute of Chicago and if she had seen the painting Un Dimanche d'été à l'Île de la Grande Jatte, laughing as he mangled the French. She hadn't, and he told her that she should see it someday, up close.

The sketch was of her, on the beach, caught in a kick he had been trying to teach her. She never had perfected it. In this picture she had her leg fully extended in the proper position, her arms and hands placed flawlessly, her body a fluid line.

The larger sketch in the middle of the paper was done in a photorealistic style—every detail, every nuance perfectly rendered. It was her, laughing, hair flying.

At the left-hand bottom corner, there was an art deco style drawing of her, reclining, legs out, arms back, supporting her torso, a determined look on her face. White wings with black tips extended gracefully and naturally from her back.

And at the right-hand bottom corner was a small cat in profile, just like the one tattooed on his neck and etched onto her knife. It was sitting straight and alert on it haunches, tail curled around its feet. She could see the tiny fangs, its mouth almost grinning, eye wide open. She could tell it was looking at the art deco drawing of her. She loved the fact that he had drawn his spiky hair on the top of the little cat's head.

***

T'Pol continued her study of the Sandaran data they had been given. She was scanning their database on their local flora and fauna when she was struck by the aesthetically pleasing lines of a white bird with black-tipped wings. She read the entry.

The Trillian nests within the lairs of the Harjadam Agile cat. This symbiotic relationship is beneficial to both species. The Trillian assists the Harajadam in its hunt by using its ability to mimic the cries of their prey. The Harajadam shares its kill with the Trillian and protects it from other predators. The Trillian raises its young within the cat's lair, occasionally leaving its hatchlings in the care of the Harajadam while finding water. The Agile cat is the smallest of the Sandaran predators, averaging 60 to 70 kilos, and is less than two meters in length from tail to nose. It hunts by stealth and guile, and a fully grown adult can kill prey over twice its size. The individual Harajadam is a solitary creature, but it mates for life, often fighting to the death to protect its mate and offspring. Bands form from mated couples, and one of the alpha males protects the total pride, with the others coming to its assistance when needed. The Trillian nests with the same Agile cat for its lifespan. Trillians have been observed to interact with the Harajadam in a playful manner, pulling its tail or whiskers, teasing it. The Agile cat will growl and make other vocalizations; however, it patiently tolerates the Trillian, periodically instigating the Trillian's antics.

T'Pol contemplated the concept of infinite diversity in infinite combinations as she studied the picture of the cat.

Epilogue

Late the next night, Hoshi dragged Malcolm out of the armory and into the mess hall, telling him that his tinkering with the phase cannon could wait until he at least ate something solid. Trip, Travis, and two engineers were seated, shot glasses and bottles on the table. Hoshi handed Malcolm a sandwich and pulled him over to their crewmates.

"Well, hey! It's the beach bums come to visit!" Trip greeted with enthusiasm and a wide grin. "Have some Mojatar! I got me a case of the good stuff." It was obvious that several shots had been downed, its alien makeup working strongly on their crewmates.

"Good stuff?" Hoshi asked, interested. Malcolm perked up as well.

"Yep, it's the smoothest you'll ever drink," Trip replied with pride.

Hoshi looked at the tiny glasses, lips twitching, trying not to laugh. She went to a cabinet and pulled out two large glasses and set them on the table. "Hey, hey, hey!" Tucker started, "that'll knock you on your backside quicker than crap through a goose."

"Lovely analogy, Commander," Malcolm said drily, and the men at the table laughed.

"Hey, did you ever find out what a…what's this mixed with?" Trip asked.

"Taajak milk," Hoshi supplied as she filled both glasses.

"Yeah, did you every find out what Taajak was? We never did get to see one. What is it, like a cow or something?" Trip asked, sipping his drink.

"Well, it's about the size of one," Malcolm said as he picked up one of the large glasses and handed to Hoshi.

"But it sure doesn't look like one," Hoshi said with a sigh.

"Yes, it looks rather like a rat…" Malcolm said, picking up his glass.

Their crewmates' eyes widened, and one of the engineers looked at the bottles with disgust.

"A hairless one," Hoshi added. She hoisted her glass in a salute to Malcolm; she saw that he was trying not to chuckle as he noticed the looks on the rest of the men's faces.

Travis pushed his shot glass away quickly.

"With a skin texture of, would you say a slug, Ensign?" Malcolm asked, straight-faced and innocent, looking her coolly in the eye. He clinked his glass against hers in a toast. She bit her lip to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Trip looked a little green.

"Yeah, or maybe a Denobulan slime worm," Hoshi added, clinking her glass back and arching an eyebrow at him. Malcolm clenched his jaw, the corners of his mouth beginning to turn up, and he met her eyes. He raised his eyebrow, mirroring hers. She looked away, trying to contain her laughter.

The other engineer quickly excused himself and made a dash for the door.

Malcolm growled something out in Sandaran and grinned. She replied, smiling, and they drained their drinks.

"Oh, yes, Commander, very smooth, quite nice," Malcolm said, his smile wide and on the brink of laughter.

"Yes, it's really good Trip," Hoshi said, and put her glass down, "Thanks. We haven't had such a mild Mojatar in a long time." She looked at Malcolm and her mouth twitched; she fought to keep a straight face as she watched their remaining crewmates' expressions.

"Uh…," Trip started, with a strange blend of queasiness and disbelief on his face. He swallowed and pushed the unopened bottles into Hoshi's hands. "Here, I think I've lost my taste for it." Travis and the remaining engineer nodded their agreement.

"How sweet! Thank you, Trip," Hoshi's smile broke through as Malcolm began to chuckle. She handed him a couple of the bottles, and they left the mess hall, their laughter echoing down the corridor.