The Protector's Redemption

Prologue

Io Station. The newest facility built by humans, and the furthest maintenance station from their planet. It was the closest thing to Earth that the Enterprise crew had seen in more than two and a half years. A small construct, really. A community of more than 30,000 humans, with a smattering of Vulcans and a few other alien species thrown in. But it was as large as any world to the weary crew. Safe, secure, a place where they could relax. Shops where you could get anything you wanted from Earth, as well as items from over a dozen exotic worlds. Bars which never closed and where the music never stopped. Casinos, theaters, amusement centers with the newest games and the latest entertainment, all directly imported from home. Museums, art galleries, live concerts, and cultural events for those looking for tamer diversions. Deluxe fitness centers with rock climbing, the old sport of bungee jumping, wind tunnels to simulate free fall, even a ski slope, although the snow was of course fabricated. You could find a game of baseball or football to join, or soccer or water polo or any of the other dozens of team sports that humans played. The station offered lodging with beds so large that four people could easily share them without touching; the unlimited use of hot water showers, the well-stocked pantries, swimming pools, and other amenities seemed outrageously luxurious compared to those offered on the ship. And there was mail. Packages and letters, gifts from home, from the people they loved, forwarded to Io in anticipation of the Enterprise's arrival. A few lucky crew even had surprise reunions with friends and family who had made the journey to see their loved ones.

Of course, it wasn't all play. There was work to be done, fresh supplies to be loaded, systems to be overhauled, and design upgrades to be installed. But Captain Archer made sure that each crew member had at least three days of shore leave during their week-long layover. T'Pol had offered to stay on duty, stating that Vulcans don't take vacations, but Jon insisted, splitting command of the Enterprise between Trip and Malcolm. Jon had several days of meetings awaiting him, but he too, feeling selfish but rightly justified, wanted to have a day or two of leisure. He needed it. They all needed it.

Nonessential personnel had the whole week to themselves and more than half of the crew took advantage of it with abandon. For the three days in which Malcolm was in command he bailed out five crew members from the Io Station brig at different times, found assistance for two crew members who needed to pay off some pressing gambling debts, and provided one crew member with an emergency beam out from a rather messy situation with a jealous husband. Malcolm would glower and berate the errant crew persons, giving them a severe dressing down, then send them merrily on their way again. When Jon made his regular contacts, Malcolm would recite his account of the ship's status, and always give him the same answer to his question regarding the crew. "All accounted for, no major incidents to report."

Malcolm knew what the last few months had been like for everyone. And he knew that blowing off steam in a controlled environment was the best remedy. A refreshed crew was important to the safety of the ship and its occupants. Besides, the best leaves were the ones where you could cut loose and forget about your responsibilities for a short time. These misadventures were negligible compared to what he'd seen before, and to be truthful, what he'd done before.

Jon had ordered Trip, who was still in Engineering after an endless day of organizing and supervising the retrofits, to take the first rotation of shore leave. Three uninterrupted days of pleasure and relaxation. Trip protested, but had to admit that the engineering crews from Enterprise and Io had things well in hand. That didn't stop him from calling the ship every few hours to check for updates on their progress. He even returned to the ship twice to help with a particularly tricky bit of installation. But he finally gave in to Jon's pressure and enjoyed himself, visiting numerous establishments with crewmates, finding entertainment that suited his taste. He returned, casually dressed in the gaudiest printed shirt anyone had ever seen on him, and they had seen quite a few. He also was in possession of two boxes. One was a bulky package from his family, filled with treasures and mementoes from home.

"Look at this! Oh gawd, I had this on my dresser for years! This is great!" Trip laughed with delight as he pulled a lamp out of the box.

Malcolm looked at it with incredulity. "That's . . . that's hideous," he declared.

Trip set the lamp up on his desk and stood back to admire it.

"You actually like that?" Malcolm asked dubiously.

"Why, I bet this is worth more than your whole year's salary! It's a classic, Malcolm. A real collector's item, " Trip proclaimed, not letting Malcolm's opinion ruin his enthusiasm.

"It's an offense against humanity if you ask me," Malcolm muttered as he moved to look at it closer.

"Mr. Arbiter of Good Taste has spoken," Trip shot back sarcastically. He touched the lamp affectionately, admiring the figure adorning it.

"It looks like a carnival prize you won off a sideshow denizen," Malcolm laughed, taking in the shade. The fringes quivered gently as Trip ran his finger through them.

"Hey, I admit, it's a little loud—" Trip conceded.

"About 170 decibels, I'd say..." Malcolm interjected.

"...but it livens up the place," Trip finished, ignoring Malcolm.

"Any more lively and you'll have to have Dr. Phlox sedate your guests," Malcolm snorted. Trip laughed and shook his head.

"Aw hell, Malcolm. It's fun! Better than what you've got in your room. Don't you want something like this to spruce up your place?" Trip asked pointedly. He'd needled Malcolm before about the sparseness of his quarters.

Malcolm arched his eyebrows. "I finally put things up..."

"Yeah, a bunch of knives—" Trip interrupted with a roll of his eyes.

"Yes, but they're tastefully arranged," Malcolm replied haughtily and then snickered. Trip pushed him and Malcolm pushed him back, both laughing.

Malcolm felt good. Things were back to normal. Well, almost everything.

Chapter 1

Three Weeks Prior

He had listened to Hoshi leave, head down and staring at the floor. He had wanted to tell her that she was his best friend and that he felt closer to her than anyone on this ship, closer to her than he'd been to anyone in years. But that would have sounded pathetic and he didn't want her pity. He wanted to tell her everything, why he acted as he did on TayNor, what had happened to him, why he couldn't talk about it. But that could put her in danger. He had wanted to tell her she could trust him, because he loved her and would rather slit his own throat than hurt her. But he didn't want to risk sounding manipulative — he didn't want her to question his motives, wondering if he was sincere, or to feel forced in any way.

He'd been deceiving himself. She was only a good friend, and he had ruined that. Not that he had any choice at the time.

He waited as the clock ticked down, knowing what was to come. Exactly forty hours after he had unwillingly surrendered to his training, his body's chemistry returned to normal without a trace of it ever having been altered. The emotional repercussions began, right on schedule.

He thought that he had braced himself for the tempest of emotions he knew would beset him. He thought he was ready for the fear and anxiety which had been shunted aside, repressed and disregarded; those two made him pace the room restlessly, ignoring the fact that it made his side ache even with the analgesic coursing through his body. He thought he was ready for the horror of this particular brand of killing again, the sorrow and despair as he ruthlessly killed men who were made of flesh and blood as he was. They had families and friends, just doing their duty, following orders, just as he had, fighting for what they believed in, just as he'd done. Those emotions made him run a trembling hand through his hair, eyes closed, trying to hold back the grief and anguish threatening to overrun him. He thought that he would be able to manage the self-loathing and detestation of what he had become. After all, he'd had years to grow accustom to it. And those two emotions left him cursing himself, a vile outpouring of anger and repugnance at the abomination that he was.

He had hoped she'd stay. He knew she hadn't slept well; he could tell. He thought that they could have found solace in each other's company, as they had in the past, and eased themselves into much needed rest. He missed being with her, holding her and being held by her, relaxing fully, her scent and warmth comforting.

Part of it was selfish, he admitted to himself contemptuously. He would have fallen asleep he was sure, lulled by her presence, and then he would have just relived the events as a nightmare. He could endure that. But now, he was wide awake, the whole rescue mission unfolding again in his mind, clearly and accurately recorded with a hateful precision, but this time with the emotional soundtrack. And he felt each one of them, magnified.

He paced his room, ignoring the fact that he should be lying down trying to sleep, letting his body heal. He breathed deeply, trying to banish the desire to cry out his misery. It had been years since he'd cried, and it didn't come easily to him. He wanted to destroy something, to strike out, but he knew he had to control his temper. He couldn't let it prevail, not on the ship, not around his crewmates. And there was no way to fall back on his usual coping mechanisms here. So he moved, he swore, he entertained the blackest thoughts possible.

***

Ninety-eight of them had been chosen, "volunteered" by their respective governments in the name of peace and for the greater good of humanity. Ninety-eight men and women, all exceptional practitioners of the varied arts needed in covert operations, all trained to respond to situations that required fast and decisive action. True, war had been eliminated, only to be replaced by discreet campaigns consisting of surgical strikes to capture terrorist groups who answered to no government, or target the occasional criminal organization that ordinary means could not eliminate. There was still plenty of evil left on Earth, and each government had its own special force of elite warriors who protected their citizens.

Malcolm wound up in the Special Air Services, through either circumstance or fate, he never knew which. The SAS had been formed centuries ago, during World War II, and he considered himself lucky to be a member of his country's most elite, and most secret, security force. He was good; thoroughly trained and practiced in the art of defense, able to covertly track and capture those who threatened the peace. He was young; righteous in his conviction that he was protecting the innocent, proud that he could make a difference by bringing those who would harm others to justice. His conscious was clear; they didn't need to use deadly force. Classified weapons technology had just produced the first consistently dependable stun rifles, their distribution and manufacture tightly controlled and made available only to the special forces. They were much safer, especially in hostage situations or when innocent civilians were involved.

He felt honored to wear the SAS insignia emblazoned with wings and a dagger. So when a call went out to the special ops forces worldwide asking for their top members in order to form a preeminent unified world corps, his superiors volunteered him. He complied; he followed orders and did his duty.

Soon afterwards began an almost four-year long obscenity, ninety-eight men and women subjected to experimental procedures, restrained and manipulated, trained and conditioned. Repeatedly. Forcibly. Painfully. They could neither leave nor talk, their messages to the outside carefully composed by their handlers. The very families that they never saw, and who were accustomed to their long periods of silence, were used as hostages against them. It was a neat little form of blackmail, ensuring secrecy.

Of course, in between conditioning and training, there were assignments, missions to perform, objectives to fulfill, their squadrons taking on the dirtiest of projects. And they were exceptional. They left destruction and death in their wake, exterminating those who would bring malevolence to the innocent, terminating the villainy of those who would threaten their world.

When a squad would complete a mission, everyone would cope differently. Some would drink or take drugs, desperate to numb the emotions when they erupted. Others would fight, pummeling at each other in a frenetic rage, until they had to be stunned to prevent them from killing each other. Still others would find a quiet place and break down, alone. After one particularly successful mission two members of Malcolm's team killed themselves, the butchery that they had left behind too great for them to endure. Their handlers continued to fine tune the training, trying to lessen the impact of the emotional devastation, culling those that could handle it better into smaller squads.

Malcolm was young then. He was resilient as well. Although focused and intense at times, with a bit of a temper, he had a playful side coupled with a quick wit that the women enjoyed. Takiyah Zindzhi enjoyed it especially. She was four years his senior, an exotic six foot tall fighter from the United African Nations. Together they would help each other cope. When the emotional fallout would commence they would escape into each other, at first just talking and touching, the physical contact reassuring them that they were still real, still human. They bared their souls to each other, their friendship deep and lasting, completely accepting. Their feelings grew and soon after each mission they started to make frenzied love to manage their liberated and amplified emotions, exhausting themselves, consoling each other, physically holding each other together as the horror of what they had done, what they had become, would assault them. She was the first and last person he could open his heart to, the last person he had loved completely, the last person who knew him, and he thought the only person who ever really cared about him, besides his sister of course.

And when she was murdered on that last assignment along with almost half of their squad, betrayed by one of their best friends, Malcolm had died with her. For the first time he killed with an uncontrollable fury and a burning lust for revenge, his training in shreds and his emotions unmanageable. He killed his friend, and although it caused him pain, it also gave him immense satisfaction. And Malcolm hated himself for that.

The decimated squad's retreat was an apocalyptic ordeal and Malcolm barely survived it. He still carried the scars from the skirmishes. The infection that had set in nearly killed him, but he recovered, and his trainers discovered that he no longer was able to comply with their program. His ability was lost; or so they thought. His memory was wiped, new ones planted, and the scars on his temples were the only sign of all their meddling. He was released back to the SAS, his absence convincingly explained and backed by false memories. But he was resilient, wasn't he?

He remembered Takiyah, his feelings for her subverting the attempt to erase the truth. His former handlers were unaware that their method had failed to yield permanent results; testing had told them otherwise. In time he remembered everything and discovered that the grand experiment failed, the masters eventually unable to control the test subjects, their reluctant charges finally turning on them. The battle that ensued killed most of their corps of elite warriors, as well a majority of their tormentors. Only a fortunate few managed to escape the slaughter. They were still being hunted. They were considered a threat.

Self preservation told him to get away from earth, away from the people who so callously manipulated them and orchestrated such a monstrous venture. So he resigned his commission and made a new life for himself. Starfleet. The agency clandestinely kept tabs on Malcolm but since he never exhibited any signs of remembering anything they let him be, albeit watched, thinking that he may be of use to them, some day. Besides, someone had gotten wind of the incident, and his influence was far reaching, his interest in Malcolm personal. Malcolm never knew how lucky he was.

***

He paced for a long time, re-living his past, re-living his recent actions, his emotions overwhelming, his thoughts uncontrollable. He wondered if the Captain would transfer him. He thought, shamed, about the bit of sabotage he had done to Dr. Phlox's scanners to cast doubts upon the accuracy of the results Phlox mentioned. He thought about Hoshi and her reaction to him. It cut him to the core.

Hoshi was the first person he had felt close to since Takiyah, the first woman he felt something deeper for than just a lustful attraction. He was tired of the one night stands and brief trysts even though years of experience and self doubt had convinced him that he was incapable of loving someone. Yet Hoshi was different. The last few months had awakened feelings in him that were similar to those he had with Takiyah; the way their friendship had begun, the trust and intimacy. And he felt himself respond to Hoshi with a depth of feeling that he thought had been burned out of him long ago.

Despite some hardships on Sandaran, he was oddly grateful for the experience. It had forced him to connect with another human and he fell happily into a deep friendship with Hoshi. However, he couldn't be honest with her; Hoshi wanted to know things that would be too risky to reveal to her, although it would be a relief to be able to finally talk to someone again. But he couldn't endanger her that way; he'd never hurt her.

He had thought he had seen something in her eyes when she looked at him, sometimes. The way she talked to him. The way she touched him. But obviously he had been mistaken, his longing for what he wanted causing him to indulge in wishful thinking. Because he had seen the shudder, the apprehension in her eyes, the last time she looked at him. She was afraid of him now, and he couldn't blame her. She'd seen what he was truly like. And he knew that he'd never get close to anyone again; it just wasn't in his nature.

He eased himself onto his bed, exhausted, mind finally beginning to slow, no longer able to stem off the sleep that he must give into, the last stage of the aftereffects. His last thought before falling asleep was where could he go now...

***

Hoshi spent a difficult night, tossing and turning, mind racing, dozing off only to be terrorized out of sleep by nightmares of their assault on Suklor's compound. The worst was the last dream, the one that now kept her sleepless at 0330.

They were running down endless corridors, hooded men stepping out from the shadows and firing at them. She watched in horror as Jon, then Trip, and finally T'Pol were gunned down, dying in agony as Malcolm led Hoshi away from them. Malcolm dragged her along silently, killing anyone that stood in their way. She tried to break free, tried to get back to her crewmates to help, but Malcolm wouldn't let her go. He led her out of the complex and into the jungle and they were suddenly safe. He pulled her close, his eyes full of warmth and devotion as he nuzzled her gently, kissing her sweetly. She could feel herself dissolve into his embrace, responding with hesitation. She felt the exquisite pleasure of finally being able to fulfill her desire, yet vaguely troubled that they could be so callous as to the fate of their friends.

She could feel the heat and passion as the kiss intensified, the touch of his hands on her body, the need building within her. He whispered that he loved her, that she could trust him, he'd never lie to her, he'd always been honest with her...don't be afraid. He tenderly kissed her again and then released her. She looked into his eyes. They were black. Cold. Hard. Dead.

He extended two fingers toward her hair and in a profane parody of his usual gentle touch grabbed her hair and yanked her head back. He withdrew his knife and sliced it across her exposed neck...and his expression never wavered.

She had woken with a cry, tears stinging at her eyes and her hand pressed to her throat.

Chapter 2

After the second night of fretful tossing, sleep interrupted by elaborate chimeras and terrors, she steeled herself and went to Malcolm's room. She tapped softly on the door, listening. She could faintly hear music playing. She rapped louder and waited. She punched in his code, surprised when the door opened; he hadn't changed it.

She had come to talk to him, to reassure herself that he wasn't the monster who haunted her dreams. To ask some questions, hoping to get honest answers. She watched him sleep instead.

She admitted to herself that she was attracted to him. She liked him. She could effortlessly imagine him being her lover; he had certainly been her friend. But her thoughts kept returning to his demeanor on TayNor, their last conversation...and her dreams.

As she sat on his couch watching him sleep, she confessed to herself that her interest had crossed the line from friendship to a desire she had been trying to forestall. And she knew he cared deeply about her, beyond merely doing his duty to protect a shipmate. She could tell by his actions, the few times he would allow himself to say something intimate to her, and it had warmed and thrilled her. But this last mission...

He'd been so cold, so...remorseless. But she reminded herself that even in the midst of the battles he had still shown his care and dedication. Shielding her with his unprotected body during the explosion in the hallway, the gentle touches to move her aside or to safety. And she couldn't forget his eyes before the final confrontation in the assembly hall, the grief and sorrow in them, the anxiety. She had replayed the moment in her head and intuitively knew that the anxiety she had seen in his eyes was caused by her. He was afraid of what she thought of him. She felt an uncomfortable pang of guilt. He had gotten everyone out alive, against odds that T'Pol had later said were overwhelming, quoting a ridiculously high figure.

However, the way he had acted still deeply disturbed Hoshi. She thought she knew him and in the light of day, she was certain she did. That wasn't the way he was; in the last few months she had found a quietly emotional soul beneath his reserved exterior. But in the early morning quietude, her dreams still a gauzy shroud wrapping her consciousness, she doubted her certainty. She had envied his calm and professionalism when doing his duty in the midst of a crisis, but now she wondered if that iciness was his true nature, one he kept carefully hidden and camouflaged. Who was he? She confessed that he had seriously frightened her, and she knew that she wasn't that green ensign she had been when they first launched and no longer scared so easily. She had been involved in situations that had chipped away at that inexperienced girl, her ability to keep her head and gut it through had strengthened her. She contemplated her questions and accusations she had thrown at Malcolm and wondered if it had hardened her as well.

She stared at him as he slept, taking in his features, wondering if T'Pol's story was true. Was he an experiment gone awry? Was he dangerous? If what T'Pol had said was true, the others were dead. Did the experiment kill them? Or were they killed, destroyed to protect people, as you would kill a rabid dog, or a diseased lab rat. She reviewed the things he had said and done on Sandaran, her expertise in languages assisting her in analyzing the nuances. She became more convinced that their science officer had been correct. She thought T'Pol knew more than she had told them and Hoshi made a note to speak to her.

She admitted that he angered her, his refusal to let her in, to let her help. To satisfy her curiosity. To give her a definite answer, something she could base a decision on, something that would help her determine whether she should risk heartbreak or protect herself from the soul ravaging hurt she knew would come should things not turn out as she hoped. He claimed to trust her with his life. But he wouldn't talk to her, wouldn't answer a single question. Was that trust? Was that honesty? What kind of relationship could be based on silence and secrecy?

She continued her dark thoughts while watching him sleep, absently observing that he had moved into another dream state, twitching and motioning occasionally in silent hand signals in response to his nightmares, for she could tell that was what he was experiencing. She had watched him sleep restlessly before, when he had been plagued by nightmares for one harrowing week while on Sandaran. He had never talked about their content and she hadn't asked.

As she watched him, thinking about what she wanted and letting the time pass, she listened to the music, vaguely amused that he could sleep through such a racket. The songs varied erratically, loud and angry, or narcotic melodies and voices, dreamlike and hypnotic. Some were instrumentals, some had singers screaming out their pain and anger, or their hurt and frustration. Some were frightening and dark, suffused with despair or hatred, some exuding pure sexual heat; others were lighthearted and whimsical. She heard a particularly filthy little song that made her blush deeply but left her laughing softly. She heard several from different cultures on Earth, mostly from Africa. She couldn't help but smile when she heard a few classical pieces that were bombastic and was surprised when she hear a single aria, sung in a clear heartbreaking soprano, moving her to tears. An eclectic mix, the music must have spanned several centuries, but she noted curiously that she hadn't heard one piece that dated after his entrance into Starfleet. She leaned over and turned the music down somewhat, and then watched him jerk violently a few times.

She continued to watch him, fascinated as his body responded to his dreams. After a while he calmed, smiling in his sleep occasionally, lips moving, obviously talking to someone. He was mumbling quietly, incoherently, then broke into a smile that lit his face. He sighed contentedly and rolled over onto his back, head toward the wall, uninjured arm flung out and relaxed.

She continued to sift through her feelings, trying to ascertain what was best for her, and ignore the impetuous desire to follow her heart. She would have to work with him for several more years and she had decided that she wanted to serve out her tour of duty on the Enterprise. She would not allow a relationship to get in the way of that and was fairly certain that Jonathan would keep her on board if he had to choose between the two of them. She realized that was a cold and calculating thought and felt a bit ashamed. But she had learned in the last few months to be stubborn and to survive, and she had always worked hard to get what she wanted. If only she could be certain as to what she wanted now.

She left quietly.

***

He slept for almost three days. Trip said that it must be a record of some sort. Archer was secretly envious, his own sleep erratic, his back still painful. Phlox, who had asked Trip to take a look at his malfunctioning medical scanners, explained that it was within normal human behavior. Barely. Phlox was aggravated that all his neurochemical readings on the Lieutenant seemed to be in error; he was disappointed for he thought that he had found a new facet in human physiology. T'Pol kept her opinion to herself, but added that piece of information to what she had discreetly requested from her homeworld. Travis said that at least Malcolm would be in a good mood, which had to be better than his usual ill-tempered disposition when he was tired. Hoshi didn't comment.

***

He avoided her. At least, as best you could on a ship of only 83 people. As much as it went against her nature, Hoshi decided to maintain her distance. If he valued their friendship, if he wanted something more, then he needed to tell her. She hoped he just needed time to sort things out; she had accepted his friendship on his terms and she would honor that, even though it hurt to be shut out. But she would not pursue him. She wanted him to come to her, on his own accord, and tell her the truth. She denied her heart and used her head. She would not enter a relationship based on silence or concealed behind official sounding excuses. Truth. Honesty. Trust. Their friendship had been based on that and she would be foolish to accept anything less.

She slept poorly, her dreams haunted by the rescue attempt, her subconscious twisting the events, leaving her with a vague and shameful fear of him which her intellect couldn't completely dispel. Jon suggested that she talk to Phlox, even though he wasn't exactly a counselor, he was the closest thing Enterprise had. She thanked Jon for his concern and disregarded his advice. Instead she approached T'Pol and asked her straightforwardly about the veracity of her story. They spoke for a long time.

Hoshi waited for Malcolm to come to her.

***

Malcolm didn't know if he should confront her or wait for her to come to a decision, one way or another. He didn't want to press her and inadvertently chase her further away. He could not give her answers to the questions she had asked him and he wouldn't jeopardize her by telling her the truth, nor would he lie to her and deny it. He didn't know what to do, so he did nothing and he was afraid that his inaction was a poor choice as well.

Hoshi had seen Jon make a point to chat to Malcolm daily, his empathy and concern almost tangible, his scrutiny keen. She observed that Trip seemed a little unsettled around Malcolm, not standing as close to him as he used to when leaning over his shoulder at his console, and certainly not teasing him as much.

On the other hand T'Pol seemed extremely interested in Malcolm lately, deigning to come into the mess hall, looking for him. T'Pol managed to ambush him a few times. She wondered what they talked about that made him look so uncomfortable as he'd squirm and pick at his meal. She felt a little jab of envy when she saw them together. She noticed that Trip didn't seem too happy whenever he spotted them together either.

And Dr. Phlox seemed positively enamored with him, asking him to come to sickbay so that he could check on his progress, then keeping him for tests and asking for blood and other samples, subjecting him to one scan or another. Malcolm would comply reluctantly, and she could just see his mind working. Better to go along with it rather than refuse and raise suspicions.

No one on the bridge seemed to notice their behavior, his tentativeness toward her, her uncertainty toward him. She'd search his face, silently asking him to tell her the truth, to be honest with her, to explain who the true Malcolm was. The only answer she got was the shame and apology she saw in his eyes. The truth was a barrier between them, and both were stubborn, their fears and concerns for the other making it impossible to take the initiative and reach out. So they both waited for the other to make the first move.

Chapter 3

Hoshi was in the mess hall when Jonathan announced that they were heading for Io Station. She watched her crewmates react with excitement as they began to plan their leisure time eight days from now. She continued to peruse her PADD, no longer studying it, but thinking with pleasure of what she would do on her shore leave. She felt cooped up and restless and looked forward to relaxing and fulfilling needs too long postponed.

Her sensitive ears picked up Doctor Phlox's voice as he was explaining to Trip why he needed the engineer's expertise in modifying yet another medical scanner.

"I need it to scan for particular reaction found in the hypothalamus relating to pain receptors—" Phlox started and Trip interrupted him, knowing that the medical jargon would lose him.

"Doc, this is the third scanner you've had me monkey with. What are you doing?" Trip said with exasperation.

"Remember when I took some readings on a crew member and I later discovered that the scanners were malfunctioning?" Phlox asked. Trip nodded. He remembered that Phlox had seemed pretty upset. That was right around the time T'Pol had been in sickbay he realized.

"Did your initial scans find something wrong?" Trip asked, his concern for T'Pol flaring.

"Yes, they registered some extremely abnormal processes occurring in my patient."

Trip's concern kicked up a notch. Bet it was that damn healing act she did to herself, he thought. "Would these 'processes' have any negative long term effects?" he asked, his worry clear on his face.

Phlox shook his head. "Since the scanners were malfunctioning, it appears that the readings were in error, and subsequent scans show that the crew member is perfectly healthy." Trip sighed in relief. "But..."

"But?" Trip asked, his apprehension rearing again.

"But I'd like to make sure. Which is why I've had you modify my scanners for particular functions. These scans will be more focused, deeper if you will. If the initial scans were correct..." Phlox trailed off in thought.

"What?" Trip asked, beginning to become frantic.

Phlox looked at him, startled out of his reverie. "So far even with the enhanced scanners nothing's shown up. But, if I could find something similar to confirm those first scans...well, I would want to study the subject closely; it would make a wonderful paper. It could be a genetic anomaly...or developed from environmental or medical effects..." Phlox trailed off again, thinking of possible implications.

"Will she be okay?" Trip exclaimed, a little louder than he intended. He glared at a group of ensigns at the next table who had looked over at his outburst. Hoshi ignored them, pretending to be absorbed in a data PADD, but continued to listen intently.

"She?" Phlox asked, puzzled.

Trip lowered his voice. "T'Pol! It was that healing thing, wasn't it? She's been acting differently since then. She's been...damn, she's been really nice to me, we've been getting along real good." Phlox looked at him oddly. "I thought...I thought she was getting to...to...tolerate me a little. But, if it's a medical condition, that means..." Trip sputtered, upset that she could be ill, but even more so at the thought that her warming up to him was caused by something else. Not him.

Hoshi stifled a grin despite herself. So T'Pol was getting under Trip's skin. She knew he'd come around at some point. She continued to eavesdrop.

"T'Pol?" Phlox asked, and then put two and two together. "Ah, Commander, I believe there's been a misunderstanding." He started to chuckle and Trip was caught between anger and confusion. "The Sub Commander is not the crew person in question." He chuckled a little harder. "She's in perfect health, mentally and physically. Apparently you have a bit of an attraction to her. How exciting! I can watch the first overtures in a cross species courtship..." Trip felt his face grow hot and he became flustered.

"Hey, Doc...now...this isn't something I need spread around, okay? I...I was just concerned about her, you know? So, you just keep this conversation under your hat and I'll fix up that scanner for you tonight in turn, ya hear?" Trip bargained.

Hoshi covered her mouth, trying not to laugh, trying to keep up the pretense that she was totally engrossed in the work before her.

"Of course, Commander. Thank you for your assistance," Phlox said with a smile.

Trip sighed his relief and stabbed at the meatloaf in front of him and shoved a piece in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment. If it wasn't T'Pol Phlox was checking out, who was it?

"Malcolm?" he asked suddenly. "You think there's something weird with him?"

Phlox looked up from his own plate. "Commander, I hardly think—."

"Yeah, he was the only other one in sickbay at the time. You been scanning his brain? He was actin' real spooky when they got us outta there," Trip mused, shaking his head. He'd been just a little nervous around his friend since their rescue, trying not to crowd him, or tease him too much. He didn't want to see that cold and intimidating side of Malcolm again and was afraid he'd set him off inadvertently.

Hoshi listened harder, her interest roused.

"Spooky?" Phlox echoed. Hoshi wasn't the only one whose interest was sparked.

"Yeah," Trip said, biting into a biscuit. "All aloof and stuff. Moved pretty fast; I swear I saw him dodge a bunch of shots...although he got grazed a couple a times, I don't think he even noticed it," Trip swallowed and lowered his voice. "And the way he fought..." He couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his back. "I've seen him in fights before, Doc. He gets the job done, but he gets kind of excitable sometimes, you know? But this?" Trip looked around to see if anyone was listening and Hoshi kept her eyes on her PADD, straining to hear. "I'm tellin' ya, this time, he was all ice, like he was strolling in a park, not getting shot at every 100 meters or so...or shooting people..."

"Interesting," Phlox said. No one had told him any details of that mission, only the bare bones story of the kidnapping and rescue.

"So, is there something wrong with him? Because he's acting pretty normal. Kind of moody, but that's just him, and considering the last couple of months, I can't say I blame him..." Trip popped a couple of olives into his mouth, thinking that Malcolm had been amiable enough whenever they talked, but realized that his friend had been making himself pretty scarce when off duty. Probably reacting to me, Trip thought unhappily as he reviewed his own manner with him. Oh man, I've been acting like he's some sort of time bomb, and then winced at his unfortunate word choice. I got to talk to him.

"No, there's nothing wrong with him. His injuries have healed quite nicely. Fairly quickly too, I must say. My scans indicated that everything is within normal human parameters. I just want to run a few more tests with the modified scanners. But I would like to know more about the circumstances you described Commander. It sounds very provocative..." Phlox settled back and waited, but Trip pushed the last of the meatloaf into his mouth and stood.

"Maybe later, Doc. I got to go see someone." Trip grabbed his tray, dumped his garbage and went off to find Malcolm.

Chapter 4

Io Station

Malcolm relaxed as he watched Trip remove more items from his package. It had been over a week since Malcolm had started feeling comfortable again amongst his friends. It helped immensely when Trip had sought him out and they had a long talk over a few beers and cleared the air. Apologies had been made by each man, although Malcolm wiggled out of answering some of the questions Trip put to him. Trip knew that Malcolm was being evasive, but didn't push the issue. Trip just kept those and other questions he had on the back burner, waiting to raise them again at later date. It was enough now, for the both of them, that they had put their friendship back on track.

Malcolm was also pleased that Captain Archer was no longer examining his every move; the Captain's concern had almost been palpable. Malcolm was relieved when Archer had stopped inquiring after his health, asking him if he needed to talk, and began to treat him normally again. The man's compassion and open friendship had started to make Malcolm feel guilty and several times he had considered telling his superior everything. Malcolm knew that he couldn't, but the Captain's efforts and continued acceptance had touched something in him.

Dr. Phlox had finally given up scanning and prodding him, detecting nothing out of the ordinary, just as Malcolm had been sure would be the case. He was happy that he could leave sickbay behind.

Malcolm had even gotten to enjoy his battle of wits with T'Pol. She had been asking him a multitude of questions about various military branches on Earth, especially interested in Special Operation forces, those in his country in particular. Malcolm told her what was fairly common knowledge and sidestepped her more personal questions. She became more subtle, or would ask oblique questions. He knew that she knew something, just not exactly the extent of her knowledge. They danced around each other, trying to pump the other for information, both of them trying to find out what the other knew without asking outright. Malcolm relished the game. She was a formidable opponent and kept him on his toes. He thought that T'Pol rather appreciated it as well; she kept coming back, round after round.

His thoughts turned melancholy as he pondered Hoshi. He'd covertly watch her while on the bridge; he kept his distance, not wanting to influence her or intimidate her in any way. He admitted that he wanted her so badly that he didn't trust himself, but didn't want to force himself upon her if his attentions would make her unhappy. And he knew that his refusal to tell her anything had driven a wedge between them, one that he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, remove.

He was startled out of his musings when Trip shoved the other package into Malcolm's face.

"Here, this is yours. I picked it up for you. Thought you'd might like to open it before headin' down for your shore leave." Trip watched with amusement as Malcolm looked dumbly at the box.

"For me?" Malcolm asked, bewildered.

"You are Lieutenant Malcolm 'Ka-Boom' Reed, right?" Trip asked, reading the label.

"What?" Malcolm took the package from Trip and studied the label. Trip grinned at him. "'Ka-Boom', huh?" he laughed as Malcolm shifted in embarrassment.

"Maddie has an odd sense of humor," he explained sheepishly as he opened the carton.

"Wonder where she gets it from," Trip drawled.

Malcolm burrowed into the box. He pulled out tins of tea, packages of biscuits and crisps, a jar of marmite, a bag of dried pineapple slices, and other reminders of home. He smiled widely in delight as he inspected them, and Trip was struck at how unguarded his friend was at this moment. Trip picked up the marmite and Malcolm told him to taste it. Trip opened up the jar and stuck his finger in, taking a little swipe.

"Oh God! That's disgusting! How can you eat that?" Trip exclaimed, making such a revolted face that Malcolm starting laughing. Malcolm withdrew a bottle of beer from the box and offered it to Trip.

"Damn! I'm not gonna drink warm brew! I swear, you people will consume anything..."

Malcolm laughed harder as Trip took out a beer from his cooling unit. Trip grinned at him and they tapped their bottles together and drank.

Malcolm pulled out a sweater, a deep blue-grey that matched his eyes, the fabric amazingly soft and pleasing to the touch. Trip felt the sleeve and nodded his approval, taking another swig to get the nasty taste of the marmite out of his mouth. Malcolm tossed a package of biscuits to him and Trip opened them gratefully.

Malcolm withdrew a stack of music chips and uncharacteristically whooped in glee. "Right! Look...the latest releases!" He flipped through them quickly and read them out to Trip.

"MachingMonkey, Paradox, Just Visiting, Smurf...here, here's DINY!" His voice dipped down reverently, "Oh Lord, she gave me Xenutia! Do you know how absolutely brilliant this is?" he demanded as he waved the chip at Trip.

"Any Elvis? Miles Davis? How 'bout Billy Joe Bob Brain?" Trip asked, teasing his friend. Malcolm rolled his eyes and continued to flip through the chips happily.

Malcolm took out the letter last and read it while Trip looked through Malcolm's gifts from home. Trip felt the sweater again, admiring it. "Think Maddie can find one of these in my size?" he asked.

Malcolm looked up and grinned. "I'll ask her."

Chapter 5

Trip settled back with his beer, admiring his lamp, as they continued to talk. He listened in amusement as Malcolm gave him a full report on the ship's status, telling him about the escapades of the crew members who had run into a spot of trouble. Trip chortled as Malcolm described Ensign Saddler's face when he realized he was in the transporter room, with only a frilly coaster-size doily for cover. Trip roared as Malcolm related a verbatim account of the hapless ensign's explanation of why he was naked and willing to risk using the transporter. The story was enhanced by Malcolm's dead-on imitation of Saddler's voice and mannerisms leaving Trip wiping tears of laughter from his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

Trip told Malcolm of his adventures on the station and recommended that Malcolm visit a particular bar. He said that the women were beautiful, the music loud, and the drinks potent. Trip smirked as he declared that his luck was much better without Malcolm, and that this time he didn't get mugged. They continued to joke with each other, shooting the breeze until Malcolm stated that he'd best be going if he wanted to get any sleep before going down to Io in the morning.

When Malcolm got back to his quarters he checked for messages. He was disappointed that Hoshi hadn't replied to the one he had sent to her room on the station. He had swallowed his uncertainty and asked Hoshi to meet him, that he just wanted to talk to her. He still didn't know what to say, or how to explain anything. But he missed her. Io was neutral ground, as well as a pleasant setting, where they could talk uninterrupted and privately. He had asked her to choose a time and place, so that she would feel in control. Tactics were everything in love and war.

Before going to sleep he left another message for her, telling her where he'd be staying and what room. He added that he'd take her to lunch or dinner, or anywhere she felt comfortable. He tried very hard not to sound as if he were begging.

***

The next morning, Travis piloted the shuttlepod the scant kilometers from space dock to the station. He had returned to the Enterprise just to pick up his climbing gear and been pressed into service. His leave would end late that evening; he would then spend the rest of the layover assisting with the upgrades to the helm. The shuttle was packed, crew members standing jammed against one another for the short trip. Malcolm sat in the co-pilot seat, rank having its privileges.

"I'm going to try out that rock climbing wall on the rec deck, it's got a level 8 surface that's just dynamic." Travis was enthusiastically chattering to Malcolm, waxing over the formation and the difficulty factors of the wall offered at the Jamelia rec facility. "You should join me, Malcolm. I know you'd really like it."

"The face doesn't shift like that one on Risa, does it?" Malcolm asked suspiciously.

Travis smiled self-consciously. "No, and if it did, I wouldn't be doing it again," he vowed. What had he been thinking? Of course the handholds would shift with the face of the rock, which is probably why no one else had been free climbing that day.

"Actually I was thinking of trying out their free fall wind tunnel," Malcolm said.

"Yeah, I heard about that. "

"If you'd like to join me?" Malcolm offered.

"I think I'll pass. But meet you tonight somewhere? Check out the ladies?" Travis asked with a grin and nudge.

Malcolm gave him a slight smile. "If things don't work out...all right. Trip suggested the SpacePirate." As they exited the pod, Malcolm scanned the crowd automatically and didn't notice the quizzical look Travis gave him. "About 2200 hours then?" Travis asked and Malcolm nodded. They parted ways, each eager to pursue their own interests.

***

Hoshi had wandered into the gallery, killing time while the engineer fixed the comm unit in her room. She had walked over to Liz Cutler's hotel to meet her for lunch, unable to make or receive calls. Afterwards they window shopped and chatted about everything but work, until Liz finally plead exhaustion left over from last night and returned to her room.

Hoshi studied the painting carefully. She listened to the gentle music playing in the background, a simple yet melodious lullaby, and thought how appropriate it was as she continued her examination of the painting. She looked at the dabs of color, the brush marks, each one applied so carefully. This piece had caught her eye and as she stood in front of it, thinking about Malcolm.

"Pointillism. Georges Seurat introduced it to our world."

She looked up. A man stood next to her, smiling, his teeth dazzling white and perfect. He was tall, with light brown eyes and immaculate white-blond hair festooned with tiny jeweled beads that sparkled in the light. He was extremely handsome and Hoshi smiled at him in return, thinking that she had seen him before.

"Yes, I'm familiar with the style," she noted wryly, taking in his well-muscled body and darkly tanned skin. His clothing was stylishly tailored, made of the finest material. His masculine, American accented voice was cultured, his manner friendly and open.

"I've always loved the style. That's my humble interpretation of it..." he smiled and she noticed the slight dimple in his left cheek.

"You're Jules Dorian?" she asked in surprise.

"At your service." He bowed politely, then took her hand gently and kissed it.

Hoshi flushed slightly. "Is the music your composition as well?" she asked to cover her suddenly flustered thoughts. Jules Dorian! Renowned artist and musician, at the forefront of arranging the exchange of the arts with various alien cultures. She had followed his career avidly, starting with a school girl crush on the dashing young artist, then with a finer appreciation of his work, and finally with the admiration for his advancement of interspecies relations through art.

"Yes, I'm flattered you recognized it," he said modestly and smiled at her again.

Photos didn't do him justice, Hoshi decided, as they continued their conversation. Perhaps fifteen, maybe 20 years older than herself, although he didn't look it. He moved with a vigor of youth, spoke with a refinement and charm that was mature and appealing.

She didn't notice time pass as he talked about his work, his career, his life, Hoshi listening with fascination. So when he asked her to accompany him to dinner she accepted readily. He slipped his hand into hers as they strolled out of the gallery and she glanced at his profile as he continued to talk.

Not like Malcolm at all, she thought. No, not at all.

***

Jonathan threw himself onto the enormous bed, exhausted from the non-stop meetings. He scratched Porthos' belly, causing the little dog to squirm and moan in delight. Well, at least yesterday I had the day to myself, Jon thought as he continued his caress of his pet. And tonight, he added with a small smile. He gave Porthos one last pat and hug, tossed him a little snack and headed for the shower.

The door announcer chimed as Archer finished dressing. He answered it.

"Hi. I'm glad you're here," he said warmly to his visitor, ushering his guest inside. He fixed them a drink and they sat on the couch, talking about this and that.

"You know, I'm really beat. Mind if we stay in tonight?" he asked, a smile on his tired face but with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I wouldn't mind that at all," she replied and kissed him solidly.

Chapter 6

Archer was roused from a sound sleep by the insistent chiming of the comm unit in the next room. He rolled over and looked at the chronometer. He sighed quietly as he rose carefully, not wanting to wake the woman lying next to him. Who the hell was trying to get in touch with him at this hour? He suppressed the flash of worry for his ship and crew, then reassured himself that nothing untoward could possibly happen while docked.

He toggled the comm unit and Admiral Forrest's Adjunct appeared. "Captain Archer," he greeted.

"Commander." Jon nodded, his curiosity kindled. He'd just had a vidconference with the Starfleet brass, including Forrest, three days ago.

"Admiral Forrest is on Io Station. He'd like to meet with you within the hour," he stated.

"He's here?" Jon asked in astonishment. What would make the Admiral come here?

"Yes. He'll explain everything to you at the meeting. He wants Lieutenant Reed to be present as well," the Adjunct continued.

Jon opened his mouth to ask why, but Commander Stevens interrupted him. "I don't know why, I don't have any answers to your questions, Captain. Only what I've just told you. Please meet the Admiral at the Station's Command Center at 0500. You'll be escorted to him at that time. Stevens out."

Jon looked at the blank screen, his mind ticking off possible explanations. He contacted the ship and asked to talk to Trip.

The comm hailed for the third time before Trip was fully awake. He slapped the button and answered. "Wha? What's wrong?" He glanced at the chronometer.

"Captain Archer wants to speak to you," the comm officer replied.

"At 4 o'clock in the mornin'?" Trip questioned irritably. He took a deep breath. He was always cranky when tired and it took an effort to tell the ensign, politely, to put Jon through.

"Trip, sorry to wake you up so early..." Jon said, not bothering hiding his smirk at his friend's disheveled state.

"Oh, that's okay, Jon...I'll just remember this in the future," Trip growled. He scrubbed at the stubble on his chin and wiped his hand over his eyes to clear the sleep from them.

"Have you spoken to Malcolm lately?"

"Yeah, he called about 2130 to tell me about an idea he had 'bout increasing the power to the hull plating while in warp." It was an interesting idea, but Trip had ordered Malcolm to stop thinking and go relax.

Do you know where he's staying?"

"Jon, I don't know where he is. Last thing he told me was that he was gonna, and I quote, 'get tits over arse and shag til I'm knackered' end quote and I have absolutely no idea what that means...I swear I need a UT to understand him sometimes..."

"I need you to find him and have him meet me at the Station's Command Center at 0500."

"Why?"

"Admiral Forrest wants to see him."

"Forrest is here?"

"Yeah, and before you ask, I don't know why, I was just told to meet."

"'Kay, I'll work on it. Hope ya'll let me know what's going on though...at a more respectable hour, Cap'n."

"Sorry Trip, I know how you need your beauty sleep," Jon laughed and cut the connection.

Trip contacted the bridge and told the ensign to locate Malcolm. He lay back down on the bed, wondering what was so important that Forrest wanted to wake everybody up at such a godawful hour. And what the hell did Malcolm have to do with it? If anything, he or T'Pol should be in a briefing; after all, they were higher up in the command chain.

The ensign reported that Reed wasn't answering his communicator nor the comm at his room on the station. Trip swore under his breath and thanked the ensign. He signaled Travis.

"Mhhmf?"

"Travis? Wake up, Ensign," Trip ordered, feeling a bit better now that he wasn't the only one woken from a sound sleep. Besides, Travis was the reason Trip had gotten to bed so late. Travis had waylaid Trip in the corridor, incoherently telling him all about some bar that he and Malcolm had visited.

"Yes sir?"

"Where's Malcolm?"

"On the station, sir..." Travis answered, bewildered and groggy.

"He's not at his room or answering his communicator. What bar d'ya leave him at?"

"At the SpacePirate. And he left before I did."

Oh great, Trip thought, although he couldn't stop the grin that made its way across his face as he remembered his last night at that bar.

"Did he leave with anyone?"

"Uh...Commander...that's kind of his business, isn't it?" Travis hedged.

"The Captain wants to see him within the hour and I've got to find him. So I'm askin' you again, Ensign...do you know where he is?"

Trip heard Travis sigh. "He left with a couple of girls. I don't know where they were staying."

"You got a name or something?"

"Um...the...teal one was Chidaka and the orange one was something like Jel or Geelia..."

"Teal?" Trip asked. Orange?

"Oh yeah...she was gorgeous! Kind of a light blue-greenish, lighter stripes running down her back...I don't know how far they go...although she wasn't wearing much..." Travis rhapsodized, babbling.

"Okay," Trip interrupted Travis. "Shouldn't be hard to track down, not that many blue and orange ladies on the station..."

"Uh...Commander?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't tell him I told you. He was really enjoying himself and I have a feeling he's not going be happy having his leave cut into...and I've got a defense session with him coming up."

Trip chuckled. "Don't worry Travis. I promise you, he won't hear it from me."

Chapter 7

Trip stood outside the penthouse door and knocked again, waiting impatiently. He'd wasted close to 40 minutes trying to trace the identities of the women, going through base command, the lodging services, even calling the SpacePirate and talking to the bartender. Finally, he received a name, comm code and address. He ran his fingers through his wet hair, irritated that he'd barely had time to shower and shave before piloting a shuttle over to the station. He sourly thought that people should answer their comms, even if it was almost five in the morning. If it wasn't important, they wouldn't be getting a call...

He rapped against the door again and called out Malcolm's name. He heard a thump, and a few curses, then the door opened a crack and a narrowed and frosty blue eye peeked out.

"Malcolm?"

"Commander?" His voice was drowsy but had a slight edge to it.

"Did my mother send you?" a throaty voice purred. The door opened a tad wider, and Trip saw a yellow eye appear next to the blue one.

"No ma'am. I'm here to bring the Lieutenant to a meeting."

"What meeting?" The blue eye blinked in confusion and then closed as an exotically accented voice complained.

"I'm freezing my solkas off so get your baliking herfus back in here. And tell your friend to join us, Maal-coom."

Trip heard a sigh, and the door opened wide enough to admit him. He slipped in and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness.

Malcolm stood before him, tousled and bleary with a sheet draped hastily around his waist. But Trip's eyes were drawn to the woman pressed against his friend, one hand sensuously stroking Malcolm's bare shoulder. She wore Malcolm's standard issued blue tee-shirt and nothing else. Trip stared at her, taking in the teal skin and shock of yellow hair which perfectly matched her eyes. He tried not to let his eyes drift down past the end of the tee-shirt and prayed that she didn't lift her arm any higher. He didn't think his heart could take it. She smiled at him, as if reading his mind, her beautiful face radiating a carnal gleam.

"Maal-coom! Your friend is cute! Come here, spaceboy!" Trip swung his head toward that oddly accented voice. Malcolm sighed again, although a small smile appeared on his face.

Trip goggled at the pale orange-colored woman in the adjacent room, visible through the large open double doors; she was sitting up in the bed, her long copper hair concealing her anatomy seductively. Trip felt his jaw drop when she smiled at him and he frantically started to think about warp drive intermix formulas.

"Sit down, starboy." She beckoned Trip toward her and patted the bed. Malcolm stepped forward and gently pushed Trip's jaw back up.

"Geial, Chidaka, this is Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker, our Chief Engineer." Malcolm's polite introduction was marred by the smirk on his face and slight slur. "Trip, this is Geial Domina" he indicated to the one on the bed, "and this is Chidaka Phar." Geial waggled her fingers at Trip, her smile growing wider. Chidaka strode over and offered her hand to him. Trip didn't know which one to look at first, and feared he'd get whiplash if he gave in to his impulses. So he waggled his fingers back at Geial and then grasped Chidaka's hand.

Trip suddenly felt warm and Chidaka smiled at him. Yes, he felt very warm. On the verge of sweating, actually. Ready to melt, in fact. She withdrew her hand, fingers lightly stroking his palm, sending a shiver of exquisite delight through Trip which was staggering. He moaned softly. She returned to Malcolm's side, placing her hand behind Malcolm and continuing her caresses.

"What's all this about a meeting, Commander?" Malcolm asked distractedly as he leaned into Chidaka.

Trip blinked a few times, the lingering echo of Chidaka's touch having diverted him from his mission. "Ah...yeah...Admiral Forrest wants you and Jon to meet him at 0500 at the Station's Command Center, I don't know what it's about. Jon said he didn't know either..." he trailed off as Geial rose from the bed and Trip averted his eyes as she made her way toward them. She wasn't wearing anything.

"Admiral?" Malcolm repeated faintly, "Oh, Lord, I'm not in any shape to...oh hell..." He scrubbed a troubled hand through his hair. Chidaka murmured soothingly and slowly trailed her palm over the nape of his neck and down his back. His eyes involuntarily closed as he relaxed into her ministrations.

"Um...Malcolm...ah...I'm sorry...but we gotta go now. Don't want to keep them waiting..." Trip stammered as Geial brushed against him, smiling, making her way toward Chidaka and Malcolm. Geial ran a finger down Chidaka's cheek and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. Geial then moved to the other side of Malcolm. Trip saw her long and narrow tongue flick out and taste Malcolm's neck.

Malcolm wriggled away, backing into Chidaka and giggling. Trip eyed him. "You sober Malcolm?"

"Not really," he admitted, chagrined.

Trip withdrew a packet from his pocket. "Here, take this. I got it from Phlox. Thought you might need it."

"You're a true friend and a lifesaver, Trip," Malcolm said fervently as he took the packet from Trip. "Back in a tick." He made his way carefully toward the bedroom. Geial followed him and shut the doors behind them.

"Would you like to sit down, Commander?" Chidaka asked graciously. "Can I get you anything?"

"Ah...no, no, I'm fine. Thanks," Trip replied. Her face was captivating and he watched as she moved gracefully to a small closet. She pulled out a silken robe and wrapped it around herself.

"There, that should make you more comfortable," she commented. She lowered herself to a chair and watched him with an amused expression on her face. "Sit down. I doubt that Malcolm will tarry, but you might as well make yourself at home, Commander."

He sat. She talked to him and after a few minutes he relaxed. She was friendly and attentive, funny and intelligent. He hoped she'd touch him again. They were interrupted by a loud "Bloody hell! Where are my trousers?" from the bedroom and a soft giggle from Geial. Chidaka excused herself politely and entered the other room, passing Geial who was on the way out.

Trip was relieved that Geial had put some clothes on. She plopped herself down on the chair vacated by Chidaka and starting chatting animatedly with Trip. He spent the next few minutes laughing, enchanted by her vivaciousness and humor.

Malcolm entered the room, dressed again in his blue tee, a long sleeved red shirt thrown over it. He wore a pair of black cargo pants, and he obviously wasn't happy about his attire.

"They must have been eaten by a black hole," he muttered as he tucked his shirt into the pants. Chidaka laughed and fussed with his hair, smoothing it out as best she could. He had shaved, but still looked slightly rumpled. He moved to button up the shirt and then sighed. The buttons were missing.

"I think I swallowed one last night," Geial commented helpfully as Chidaka adjusted his collar and tugged his pants down a bit. Geial rose and moved toward him.

"Sorry Malcolm, those were the only ones I had that were large enough," Chidaka murmured with a smile, letting the admiring gleam in her eye show as she smoothed the pants down his hips. She patted his backside.

Malcolm smiled lazily and pulled her into a kiss. "Thanks 'Daka. Let me see what this is all about and I'll comm you two later. That is, if you like?" he added hastily.

"We would like that very much," Chidaka purred before kissing him deeply.

Geial nodded in agreement. "Would you like to join us as well, Treep?" she asked looking at him, her eyes lighting up.

"Sorry darlin', my leave's over, as much as I wish it wasn't. Come on Malcolm, you're gonna be late."

"I've got eight and a half minutes, It'll only take four to get there..." Malcolm was cut off as Geila captured his mouth and kissed him roughly.

Trip waited and eventually cleared his throat. "Y'all got about six minutes now, Lieutenant," he drawled.

They were ten minutes late to the meeting.

Chapter 8

"I thought she was going to swallow my tonsils," Trip muttered to Malcolm as they sat waiting to be admitted to the Admiral's temporary office.

"Yes, Geila's a bit...spirited," Malcolm murmured as he fidgeted, fussing with the pockets on his pants. He wished he could get a cup of strong coffee to help wake him up and clear his head. Dr. Phlox's medication was helping, but it was slow going. He definitely wasn't at his best right now.

"Stop squirmin', you look fine," Trip snorted.

"I'm out of uniform and in someone else's trousers, my shirt's missing all its buttons, and I smell of Chidaka's perfume," Malcolm groused.

"And your hair's a mess," Trip added, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

Malcolm ran a nervous hand through his hair as Trip grinned.

"At least you're wearing your own underwear, Lieutenant," Trip teased.

"I'm not wearing any," Malcolm growled.

Trip laughed out loud. "Why?" he managed to finally say.

"Couldn't find them; it was either not wear any or borrow Geila's...and her's were small, pink, and lacy..." Malcolm shuddered slightly as Trip laughed even harder.

The inner door opened and the Adjunct walked to them. "The Admiral will see you now Lieutenant. Commander Tucker, your presence is required as well," Commander Stevens stated and indicated for them to enter.

Trip raised his eyebrows at that. Jon hadn't said anything about him attending. They rose and Trip nudged Malcolm and whispered to him. "Well, at least you're halfway sober..."

Malcolm sighed.

***

Malcolm nodded at Captain Archer and then stood at attention in front of Admiral Forrest's desk. "Reporting as requested, Admiral," he said crisply, determined to present the best face possible under the circumstances.

Trip rolled his eyes at Jon and Jon shot him a warning look.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Forrest ordered, then stood and extended his hand. "Good to see you again, Malcolm," he said warmly.

"Thank you, sir. Nice to see you as well," Malcolm replied politely as he shook the Admiral's hand.

"I've got a favor to ask of you Malcolm, and in light of some recent events, I believe it is in our best interest to have Captain Archer and Commander Tucker sit in on this," Forrest said as he sat back down. He pulled a piece of paper out of a folder and started to read:

Dear Mal,

Such a long time! I hope you've been keeping care of yourself. Everything's great here, although we had to put Tigger down, the kids were heartbroken, so we had him stuffed. And with my new career, it is no accident that famine has been eliminated in the household. Had a scare when Lapin got tangled in the net and almost drowned, but we managed to free him in time. The waters are cold this time of year, and we had to act fast to keep him from freezing. As I am writing this a storm's brewing off the coast, the sea's rough and it's inadvisable to work. We will have to wait it out until Paige gets the weather data. The upside is that I have a lot of free time!

Been keeping tabs on you through the newsnets. Enterprise is making history and I like to avidly follow each report. So, for goodness sake's, when are you going to make a name for yourself? You cannot make Admiral the way you are going! So quite monkeying around and get to work...okay, my little preach concert is over, you're off the hook, lucky I don't jaw you to death.

Take care of yourself and watch out for those alien lovers!

Blanc

Admiral Forrest looked up from the letter. "So Lieutenant, what does this mean and where is my son?"

Chapter 9

"Admiral...Let's do this in private..." Malcolm began, his eyes nervously taking in Archer and Trip. The Admiral couldn't be serious about discussing this in front of his crewmates; in front of the people he had sworn to protect, people he cared about. Didn't he understand the risks?

Forrest interrupted him with a wave of his hand. "Lieutenant, I think your situation has changed. I trust Jon or else I wouldn't have suggested he consider you for Enterprise; and of course we trust Commander Tucker completely," he said with a nod in Trip's direction. Forrest softened his tone, "Malcolm, if my suspicions are correct you'll have to trust others to help watch your back now."

Malcolm shook his head. He didn't want to involve any of them. It was too dangerous. "No. You don't have the right to do this—"

"What's going on here, Admiral?" Jon asked, his puzzlement clear. He looked at Malcolm, who was clearly upset.

"I have every right, Malcolm—" Forrest began.

Things were just beginning to get back to normal; Forrest couldn't do this to him. Not now. "You have no right to drag anyone else into this." Malcolm felt his temper rise as he tried to quell the anxiety he felt.

"It's in your best interest, Lieutenant," Forrest replied forcibly.

"It's my damned life and my decision, not yours!" Malcolm argued hotly, his temper very close to the breaking point. "You know the potential consequences. You can't do this, Admiral—"

Trip thought that if Malcolm wasn't careful, he'd get busted for insubordination. He laid a hand on Malcolm's shoulder and Malcolm shook it off angrily.

"No, Lieutenant!" Forrest interrupted, his voice raised emphatically. "My son's life is at stake. You will tell me what this letter means and your Captain and the Commander will hear it." Forrest lowered his voice. "This concerns them too, Malcolm. We've had a breech of security."

"Malcolm?" Jon asked, bewildered by his armory officer's behavior.

Malcolm bowed his head to avoid his Captain's worried gaze. Forrest was going to tell them and there wasn't anything he could do about it. Malcolm crossed his arms tightly against his chest and shifted his stance uneasily. His life was no longer under his control and the pressure was almost physically painful. "You're endangering them, you know that, don't you, Admiral? You of all people should know that," he said quietly, the tension in his voice apparent.

"Admiral?" Jon asked, a little more demanding, his frustration becoming obvious.

Forrest sighed. "Jon, your report regarding the events on TayNor found its way to certain people who have an interest in Malcolm, as well as my son." Forrest rose and came around to perch on the side of his desk in front of Malcolm. "Adam and Malcolm served together in the same unit for a time and I think there is something that the Lieutenant can tell me."

"Served together when?" Jon asked.

"T'Pol's story. It's true, isn't it?" Trip blurted out.

"What?" Jon turned to Trip.

"She told me. About the experiment, the conditioning of certain special ops forces...god, Malcolm! That explains what happened on TayNor! It's true!" Trip exclaimed and looked at his friend. Malcolm refused to look at him, refused to look up, and studied the floor silently.

"Yes, it's true," Admiral Forrest confirmed. "My son was a Navy SEAL. He was one of the 98 people who were forced to submit to that abomination. He and Malcolm were in the same squad."

"You were SAS," Trip said to Malcolm. "Hoshi told T'Pol. They've been researching T'Pol's story. T'Pol sent to Vulcan for a copy of the files..." he trailed off as Malcolm exhaled a great shuddering breath.

"How lovely. Why not just make a ship wide announcement that you've got a...a...fucking lab animal amongst you," Malcolm said, his voice rising slightly in pitch.

Trip heard the strain in Malcolm's voice, the emotion all too reminiscence of their time on Shuttlepod One. Trip grasped his friend's shoulder again and squeezed it. "Malcolm...you're not a lab animal...It's okay..." he said gently.

"Is this room secure? When was the last device check?" Malcolm asked brusquely, seemingly finding his own boots fascinating.

"Yes, it's secure; I performed a thorough scan personally about two hours ago, and I haven't left this room since," Forrest replied.

"Has anyone else been in here?" Malcolm questioned.

"Just Stevens."

"How much do you trust him, sir?" Malcolm asked, raising his head to look at Forrest.

"I trust him with my life," Admiral Forrest stated, calmly looking back at Malcolm.

Malcolm stared hard at the Admiral. "With all our lives, sir?" Malcolm asked unable to keep his tone neutral. "With Adam's life?"

"Yes."

Malcolm looked away, defeated.

Chapter 10

Jon listened in amazement as Forrest verified T'Pol's story, imparting more details, as well as telling about the few others who escaped the final confrontation. That Adam was one of fourteen test subjects who had made it out alive in the end, how they were hunted down, only eight of them left now. Forrest told Jon and Trip about the four others who had their memories wiped; apparently Malcolm was the only one who had recovered his. He told them that Malcolm, while in Starfleet Training, helped Adam and a friend hide from those responsible. Malcolm stood silently the whole time, eyes glued to the floor, motionless, ashen and stone faced.

"I didn't believe her. It sounded like a bad science fiction novel," Jon said shaking his head. He was still reeling from the confirmation of T'Pol's story.

Malcolm barked a harsh laugh. "You're an idealist." He made a visible effort to contain himself, exhaling softly and continued, his tone sincere. "An optimist and an explorer. You see the good in people, the best in humanity. And that's what makes you the best Captain in the fleet. But it also makes you naive, sir."

"You could have told me," Jon asserted.

"Do you know how they got Saldat, one of the ones who escaped? They sabotaged the train he was on. Killed 102 people. They were collateral damage." Malcolm said, trying to keep his voice steady and failing. "Do you think 83 people on a starship would matter to them if they were sure I remembered?"

"Malcolm, I won't let that happened. Besides, they might not know anything," Jon looked at Admiral Forrest.

"Lieutenant, what does Adam say in his letter?"

"Does Starfleet always read its officers' personal mail?" Malcolm curtly asked as he looked defiantly at the Admiral.

"No, Malcolm. I only read yours," Forrest replied with a small smile, his eyebrows raised.

Malcolm suddenly quirked his half smile and then nodded. He jerked his head toward the letter.

"Did this come by post or cyber?" Malcolm asked.

"Post."

"Is that the original or a copy?"

"The original."

"Do you have a positive ID on it?"

"We got a DNA sample from it. It was Adam's."

"May I see the letter, please?" Malcolm asked softly.

Forrest scooted it across his desk, and Malcolm sat down, leaning over it, propping his head in his hands as he studied the document for a few minutes in silence.

Malcolm face grew grim as he deciphered the missive. He tilted the letter to one side, then another. His expression softened as he glanced at Admiral Forest, seeing a father's worry on the man's face. "Adam's fine," Malcolm said gently. "He's in Thailand, in a monastery, most likely along the coast. Obviously, he's not very specific...but he's safe and his sources are intact. At least they were when he wrote this a month ago."

He returned to the letter and rubbed at his temple, fingers unconsciously tracing over the scar there. "Nugyen's been taken, Taylor's dead. Adam barely escaped. Suspicions have been raised, about me. They may send someone." Malcolm paused, re-reading a portion. He held the letter up against the light and examined it closely. "Looks like something about Vulcan here, but I haven't a clue as to what it means...erm, that's about it..." He leaned back into his chair, eyes unblinkingly focused on a section of the letter.

Something in Malcolm's strained voice caught Jon's attention. "What kind of code is that?" Jon asked, curious, trying to read his armory officer's face.

Malcolm flicked him a look and continued to study the letter. "For almost four years we were interned in a compound, constantly watched, constantly monitored...except when we were on missions—they didn't go with us then," he spat out with a bitter laugh. "Adam was interested in cryptology, secret codes, that sort of thing, and whilst on assignments he'd teach us what he'd made up. After the first year, we could talk somewhat freely. By the time I was released, everyone could use it fluently. That's how they planned their uprising without anyone knowing."

"How the hell did you get all that from that letter, Malcolm?" Trip asked, his tone skeptical. Jon shot him a look and Trip shrugged.

Malcolm sighed and fidgeted in his chair. He looked at Forrest. Forrest nodded.

"Adam has a degree in literature. He writes better than this. Plus he starts out with 'Dear Mal'. No one calls me Mal," he said and Trip interrupted.

"Why not?" Trip asked curiously.

"Because,Chuck," Malcolm replied acidly.

"Trip, hold the questions," Jon ordered with long-suffering patience.

"Mal's Spanish for 'bad', so you know all the following relevant words have a negative meaning. If it were positive, he would have started off differently," Malcolm explained.

"Tigger was the code name for Nugyen. Famine was Taylor's. Lita was stuffed, meaning captured; it's a slang term we used. Famine was eliminated by accident, well, there's not much doubt about that choice of words...Lapin is Adam; he was White Rabbit. He was always late..." Malcolm said with twitch of a small smile. "The net obviously refers to being trapped, but he escaped. He mentions freezing, which was another term we used for a quick kidnaping and execution. It isn't followed by the word 'death' which would be the automatic turn of the phrase. That means that they intentionally tried to take Adam alive, which goes against everything they've done in the past. Usually they just kill us." Malcolm pondered the significance of that before continuing.

"The punctuation points out the pertinent paragraph which indicates his current location. 'As I am' is Siam, the former name of Thailand, upside below the word coast, northern coast of Thailand, at least Adam's concept of it, which would be around Sattahip, Si Racha, or maybe Laem Chabang. Monkeying around is monk, monastery. I can tell his sources are intact because there's only a pinhole in the paper, if there were a problem he would have done some other damage to it. The pinhole is under the letter v," Malcolm paused and looked embarrassed. "The v is a pictograph for Vulcan—like their eyebrows. Adam thought it was funny..." he trailed off and stared at the letter.

"What aren't you telling us, Lieutenant?" Jon asked pointedly. He could tell that Malcolm was holding something back, no matter how hard his officer was trying to hide it.

Malcolm started, and shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not say, sir."

"That's an order, Lieutenant," Jon ground out.

"It was your report to Starfleet," Malcolm stated reluctantly. "Something in your report gave them an idea. It was a trigger for them to step up their search for the survivors, to capture the rest instead of just terminating them. They killed Taylor by mistake." He saw Archer's eyes widen in dismay and Malcolm hated himself for continuing. "They now think my training may be intact, but they're still not sure if I remember anything." Malcolm looked away as Jon's face crumbled in consternation. "They may send someone to investigate, either a woman or a person of African or Asian descent, I'm not sure which...Adam suggests that I stay as far away from Earth as possible...disappear into space," Malcolm finished softly.

"Are you sure of its meaning?" Forrest asked.

How could he explain all the nuances, all the in jokes, the intimacy of the team as they protected themselves and each other, where you could instantly understand what the other meant by a shared glance, a quick smile, or a few words? They'd make up terms and slang, using gallows humor, sarcasm and just plain lewdness; little cynical snippets which mocked their pain, sharp cutting words and phrases burlesquing their situation. How could he explain his certainty that he knew what Adam was saying when it was couched in such vague terms?

"Fairly sure, sir. Paige is a reference to Satchel Paige, an American 20th century sports figure I think..."

"Baseball," Trip supplied helpfully.

"Yes, well, he was famous for one particular saying — 'Don't look back, something might be gaining on you'. That's how I know they're thinking of sending someone. He refers to lovers...so that's a woman, or could be someone Asian, like Lita is. She was Adam's lover at one point and they still may be involved, I don't know. Takiyah was mine..." Malcolm took in a breath and closed his eyes. The memory of her death blazed in his head, the images painfully clear. He didn't continue explaining the rest of the coded words and phrases. It didn't really matter. He'd told them what they meant.

"How do you know it was my report?" Jon asked hoarsely.

Malcolm couldn't look at him. He couldn't stand to see the look of despair mixed with hope in his Captain's eyes; it was bad enough that he could hear it clearly in the man's voice.

"A preach concert is an odd phrase; sounds enough like a slang term for a lecture to pass notice, but it's not part of any lingo I've heard. And Adam doesn't use popular slang unless there a reason for it. It's an anagram—spells out Archer concept." Malcolm explained reluctantly.

"What did you say, Jon?" Trip asked quietly.

"I mentioned T'Pol story. I jokingly suggested that they get the Suliban to perform genetic enhancements with any new forces. That I was sure they'd be happy to oblige."

"I doubt it has anything to do with genetic enhancements; the memories of Khan and his people are still too fresh," Forrest said. "Could be the Suliban. We're having a difficult time deciding how to deal with them. Some want to handle them through normal diplomatic channels—the Vulcans want to be involved with anything we do — but some think the Vulcans have their own agenda. Others believed a first strike military action is needed. It's causing factions in Starfleet Command to form. Malcolm, if they had all of you alive, what could they accomplish?"

"We were created to circumvent the justice system. We would solve a problem by eliminating it. Perhaps they're looking for the termination of key Suliban cabal members, or certain humans or Vulcans. If they sent a team of us, we could destroy every one of their targets..." Malcolm slumped in his chair, rubbing at his temples; he propped his foot against the Admiral's desk, no longer caring about the proper protocol. It didn't matter anymore. His career in Starfleet was over; his last act as an officer was to ensure that the ship and her crew would be safe. He'd take Adam's advice and disappear.

"Adam said that he was...effective, but I don't believe that a handful of people could do that much damage," Forrest said skeptically.

"I can," Trip interjected, remembering what he'd seen on TayNor. Jon shot him a quizzical look.

"We were good. Taylor was a hacker. He could get into any system. He's the one who taught me," Malcolm raised his head and smiled sadly at Jon. "Lita's forte was weapons design; she could practically make a booby-trap with a toothpick and chewing gum. Adam, ah Adam...he could break into any building, any vehicle, any vault...I learnt a lot from him. We all learned so much from each other. The others have specialties as well; one can pilot anything, another a linguist—a prodigy like Hoshi..." He trailed off: Hoshi. Oh god, if she knows...if something happens to her because she knows...if they all die because they know...because of me —

He fought for control of his emotions and started to rock a little in the chair, feeling queasy. "And me. I can make a bomb out of anything. Lita and I had a grand time coming up with things. I can disarm them too; they said I have an intuitive feel for it." He laughed, wanting to cry, wanting rage, and the words began to tumble out faster.

"They had us in squads...Acre Woods, Apocalypse, Wonderland, Genesis, Oz, Narnia...all named after some bloody stupid children's book or some Biblical allusion...gave us soddin' inane code names. Lita was in Acre Woods, Taylor in Apocalypse. Adam, Takiyah, Sabra, Mike, me...Wonderland. White Rabbit, Red Queen, Alice, Dormouse, and Cheshire Cat," he laughed again and leaned back, closing his eyes, remembering.

He spoke quietly, his voice strained, unable to hide the distress. "Some couldn't handle the training as well and they regrouped us, the ones that could cope with the emotional repercussions best, always making adjustments to the conditioning and then subjecting us to it again and again. Lita and Taylor joined us when we lost two members. We became one of the top teams, the ones they sent out the most. We went everywhere, did everything...I had one of the highest kill ratios; I was so very good at it...they said I was a natural. Any weapon, no weapon, didn't matter...they trained me well and I took to it like a fish to water; they'd strap you down and reinforce the training with injections and electrical shocks...the torture they'd inflict..." he tapered off. He could feel himself losing it and he tried to lock down his feelings.

Trip and Jon watched in shocked silence as their crewmate rocked back and forth, hands clenched, foot tapping against the Admiral's desk. Forrest listened with sympathy. He had wept when his son he had told him in detail of what they had done to him and it pained the Admiral to see his son's friend go through the same turmoil.

"What did they do to you, Malcolm?" Trip asked, his voice soft. Malcolm heard the compassion in the engineer's tone and it cut through him.

"They had this 'doctor', some alien species I've never seen before or since; he'd touch you, and then he'd be in your head, right inside it, talking to you, and you couldn't move, you couldn't stop it and he'd show you how to control the nuerochemicals, how to release and suppress them, and he'd make you do it over and over until you could do it by yourself. And he'd reinforce it while you were restrained, while they fine tuned you and you were in pain. He'd be in your head and he'd thrive on your pain, he'd feed off it...and...and...you'd change for him, you'd do anything to make them stop...you'd do it as fast as you could so the bastard couldn't feast off you. You'd do it, because...because if they could do this to you, could do this to everyone there, what could they do to your family? To your friends? If you didn't perform, they'd kill them. When Sabra refused an assignment, they killed her mum—looked like a traffic accident, but it wasn't; they told us they'd do it and they did...Sabra...she...oh god..." Malcolm exhaled savagely and ran a hand through his hair, his temples pounding painfully now. He shook his head.

"Discharge me, or I can resign. I don't care. If they come for me, then anyone in their way will be a casualty. I can't let them do that."

"No." Jon spoke firmly, decisively.

"Sir—"

"No, Malcolm. We can help you. You're safer on Enterprise; it's a controlled environment and we can watch your back. We're your friends Malcolm. We'll take care of it together."

"Sir, they could—"

"Malcolm, they won't attack the ship. What's the point? If they want you alive, they won't risk killing you by accident. And we're exploring so far out most of the time, we rarely run across any other humans. Anyone they send should be easy to spot." Jon walked over to his armory officer and laid his hands on his shoulders. "No arguments, understand? T'Pol and Hoshi obviously suspect something and we can't keep them in the dark. They'll be safer knowing and then we'll just keep this among the five of us."

Jon patted his shoulder. "It'll be okay Malcolm. Trust me."

Chapter 11

Hoshi woke early to the sound of loud guttural snoring. She turned her head toward the ear splitting sound and her cheek became damp. She raised her head and wiped at the wet patch on her face with distaste. He had drooled on her pillow. She noticed that she was scrunched up at the edge of the bed, blankets gone and sheet barely covering her. He was wrapped securely in the bedding and Hoshi winced as another orotund blast assaulted her sensitive ears.

What had she been thinking?

Last night dinner had been pleasant as she listened in fascination while he talked about himself. He had seemed so interesting. They danced and sipped champagne, dined on the finest cuisine the station had to offer, and when he asked her to accompany him back to his room, she readily agreed.

They shared a nightcap and things had progressed. Memories of Risa sprang to her mind, making her eager. Hoshi had been anticipating a sweet evening of love making, a release of tension and shared enjoyment. It was a disaster.

She should have left, but she had been too tired, too tipsy to do much more than endure his egoistical monolog as he satisfied his needs with his half hearted fumbling. In about three minutes. As he cried out his name. Repeatedly.

She would have laughed, had she not been so frustrated. He continued to talk to her afterwards, about himself, of course. She finally fell asleep, his droning lulling her into slumber.

She left the bed and thought briefly about taking a shower, but she didn't want to stay a minute longer than she had to. She wiggled back into her evening clothes. She wished she had something else to put on; she looked rather conspicuous in the gown he had purchased for her to wear especially for dinner, but they'd had the store send her other clothing straight to her room.

She gathered her belongings and looked for something to write on, to leave a note. He woke with a thick snort and wiped the salvia from his chin.

"Morning, Hodie," he smiled. "Did you make me breakfast?"

She threw a pillow in his face and departed.

***

Forrest and Archer both refused to allow Malcolm to resign. They tried to make him promise not to cut and run, knowing that if he gave his word he would keep it. He argued that it was too dangerous for those around him. He reminded the Admiral of what had happened to another fugitive who had been hunted down; every single one of his friends who had tried to help had been murdered. As well as the civilians who had gotten in the way.

Yet they badgered him until he gave his word.

Malcolm apathetically listened to the rest of the conversation between Archer and Forrest, too played out to care. His head hurt. Digging into supposedly wiped memories did that to a person, he thought morosely.

As Trip listened to Jon and the Admiral, he studied Malcolm. He had seen the churning emotions threatening to break while Malcolm had talked, could see what it cost him. He could now see his friend withdraw into himself and he didn't like it.

Forrest dismissed Malcolm and Trip, asking Jon to stay. Trip forced Malcolm to go with him to get something to eat, threatening to make it an order. Malcolm silently allowed Trip to drag him along the walkways of the station, Trip throwing an arm around his shoulder and talking a blue streak about nothing in particular.

Trip found a café and steered Malcolm to a booth. Trip pushed Malcolm down into the seat and slid in across from him. Malcolm stared at the table top.

Trip ordered food for both of them and asked for a couple of strong cups of coffee. When it came to the table, he told Malcolm to drink it.

"You're not a goddamn freak, so stop feeling sorry for yourself Lieutenant, that's an order," Trip snapped out.

"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Malcolm answered sullenly.

"Then quit moping," Trip retorted. "Malcolm. Look at me," he said softly.

Malcolm looked up. Trip saw misery and utter dejection in his friend's darkened eyes.

"Don't retreat behind a wall. We were worried about you. Hell, even T'Pol was concerned, and that's saying a lot. That's why she was asking questions, sending for files from Vulcan." Trip sighed. "Just let us help you. Hoshi and T'Pol are going to find out the truth and you can bet your bottom dollar that they'll want to help too."

"Help? I don't need help. All of you will need help if I stay." Malcolm's voice dropped to a low throat-aching register. "They'll kill anyone who tries to help. They've done it before. I've enough blood on my hands without adding all of yours to it."

"Well, you gave your word you won't resign and I'm sure Jon won't let you transfer, so you're stuck with us. Get used to it, Lieutenant. And they don't know that we know. We'll be ready for 'em," Trip said with conviction. "We're your friends, Malcolm. You should know that by now. And friends stick together, and they help each other."

"How can you even accept me as a friend now? You know what I am." Malcolm's voice cracked and he shook his head, unable to continue.

"Yeah, I know what you are," Trip said levelly. "You're the guy who saved our asses when you could have kept everything hidden. You could have let us die and no one would've ever known about you. But you made a deliberate choice which hung you out to dry. That doesn't sound like some cold hearted SOB who doesn't care about anything or anyone. Blood on your hands, Malcolm? Yeah, I suppose you've got some, but not because you wanted it, not because you chose it. Right?"

"No...no, I didn't want it. I did what I had to," Malcolm whispered.

"They tried to make you into something soulless. And I know that it didn't work. I know you better than you think, Malcolm. I know you care. You care a hell of a lot. About Enterprise, about us. I've seen you give everything you've got to protect us...and some freakin' lab animal wouldn't give a damn about any of it. This doesn't change anything, Malcolm, you understand me?"

Their food arrived. Malcolm just looked at it.

"Now eat your goddamn breakfast. And don't make me come over there and feed you, 'cause I ain't your momma."

Malcolm's mouth twitched. "Someone's rather cranky this morning," he said dryly.

"Yeah, well, I got woke up early. I guess you never quite made it to sleep last night, huh?" Trip commented with an exaggerated leer.

Malcolm smiled a little. "Geial liked you." He looked up at Trip and raised his eyebrows.

Trip grinned at him. "That's better. Now you eat something and if you wanna talk, I'm listenin'. Everything's going to be fine. And don't worry what anybody's gonna think. It's not your fault. You did things you had to, to protect people, and to survive —no one's going to hold that against you."

"I'm not so sure, Trip."

"Me and Jon won't. Hell, I'm pretty thankful you got us off of TayNor, and I know now what it took for you to do that; don't worry about it. Only T'Pol and Hoshi will know, and it won't go any further. And I'm pretty sure T'Pol will understand; you saved her skin too, you know."

"It's not T'Pol I'm worried about," Malcolm mumbled.

"Jesus, Malcolm! I think you of all people, would know that Hoshi wouldn't hold it against you! Now shut up and eat."

"Yes, momma."

Chapter 12

Hoshi made it to her room without dying of embarrassment. Wounded, perhaps. But not dying. She bore the stares and knowing smiles of a few crewmates she encountered at this early hour, cursing her luck that on a station of more than 30,000 souls only she could run into people she knew.

She marched into her room, intent on removing the ridiculous gown and taking a long hot shower, when the room comm signaled. She growled in annoyance; fine time to finally have them fix it, she thought as she answered it.

"Hoshi, glad I caught you." It was Jonathan. "I know you're supposed to be back on the ship this afternoon, but we've got to cut everyone's leave short. An emergency has come up and we're departing within the hour. Meet us at the shuttlepod in ten minutes and I'll explain everything."

"Jon! That doesn't give me time to shower or change or anything!" she exclaimed in frustration.

"Ensign, that's an order. Time is of the essence. Now, check out and meet us. Archer out."

Hoshi gave a little shriek of irritation at the blank screen. She hurriedly stuffed her clothes back into her overnight bag and scanned the room. She noticed she had messages and she stabbed the button in displeasure.

She listened to Malcolm's last message, his voice soft and stumbling over the words.

"I'm an idiot, Hoshi. I'm sorry. I need to talk to you. I can't...I don't want you to be angry at me...or scared...it hurts too much. Please, just talk to me...I want it to be right between us and I don't know what to do...wherever you want to meet, your terms, Hoshi. Please...or just tell me you don't...you don't want to...I'll leave you alone. Just one way or another; I'm no good at waiting in limbo. And I'm a coward for waiting so long. Please, just...just let me know, all right? I miss you."

She sat on the bed and listened to her heart.

***

Archer notified Trip and Malcolm to report to the shuttle on the double, that they would be breaking orbit within the hour. Trip went with Malcolm to get his belongings from his room. Trip noticed that the bed hadn't been slept in and shook his head. "Why did you even bother getting a room?" he teased.

Malcolm just rolled his eyes and checked to see if there were any messages. There weren't. He swallowed his disappointment and sent a message to Geial and Chidaka, apologizing for not being able to meet them later, telling them that Enterprise was leaving unexpectedly. He spoke for a few more minutes and ended the message. He turned and saw Trip grinning at him.

"You're a real sweet talker, you know that, Malcolm? Those girls will forgive you and be eating out of your hand."

"I meant what I said," Malcolm replied seriously.

"Really? You weren't giving them a line?"

"No. You don't treat people that way. We got together for a good time. They knew that, I knew that. And I told them how I felt."

Trip looked at him thoughtfully. "You're just a big ol' mush bag, aren't ya? No wonder half the girls in San Francisco hooked up with you."

"Shut up, Trip."

***

They converged on the shuttlepod at the same time. Jon told them that the rest of the crew was back on Enterprise, all accounted for and they were the last. Jon took the helm as Trip, Hoshi, and Malcolm settled themselves. Hoshi could smell perfume. She leaned toward Malcolm and sniffed. He blushed and shifted uneasily. "Nice dress," he commented. Hoshi blushed in turn and they both looked away.

"After you two left, Admiral Forrest received word that an emergency supply ship on the way to the Beta III colony had been attacked and raided," Jon explained. "We're the closest warp ship to the Dragoncait, and it'll take us 14 hours to get to her. We're to help the survivors and try to find out who did this. That's the third ship attacked in the last month and Starfleet is getting pressured to keep that section of space clear and free of threats."

The shuttle approached the ship. "When we get on board, I want to see the three of you in my ready room. We've got another matter to discuss."

They docked and rode the lift in silence to the bridge.

"T'Pol, are we ready to depart?" Jon asked as he strode toward the center of the bridge.

"All departments report they are prepared, Captain," she answered.

"Travis, take us out as soon as we're cleared for launch. Go to Warp 4 , heading 0259.01. T'Pol, I need you in my ready room." Jon nodded to his officers and they followed him inside. He closed the door and sat on the edge of the table.

"T'Pol, have you received that information you requested from Vulcan yet?" Jon asked without preamble.

"What information would that be, sir?" T'Pol replied carefully.

"The files that you and Hoshi have been waiting for, for your research. The ones about that story you told us in the mess hall after the events on TayNor. The ones that you suspect concern Malcolm." He looked her in the eye calmly and saw her raise her eyebrow.

Hoshi looked at Malcolm guiltily. He gave her a wan smile.

"I expect them later in the week," T'Pol answered coolly.

"I want to be briefed on them. This is a matter of ship's security, Sub Commander. The five of us are the only ones to know about your findings. Nothing is to go beyond this room. Not to Vulcan, not to your superiors," Jon turned his gaze toward Hoshi, "No one on this ship or off it. Do you understand?"

Hoshi nodded.

"Why?" T'Pol asked.

"Because it's true," Malcolm replied.

Chapter 13

Jon filled Hoshi and T'Pol in on their meeting with Admiral Forrest. He explained the risks and the dangers, the need for secrecy. Malcolm stood quietly, speaking only to answer the occasional question from T'Pol.

Jon examined his armory officer as he stiffly answered another query posed by T'Pol. Forrest had explained why Malcolm and the other four had been released, and what had been done to conceal their knowledge. Forrest couldn't tell Jon how Malcolm had regained his memory of the events; he didn't know and Malcolm had never said anything. Jon wondered how Malcolm had managed to survive, to stay sane and still be so...decent.

Hoshi's mind spun. She had thought it possible, but to actually be told it was true... She studied Malcolm, not realizing she was doing so, reading the tension in his body, the turmoil in his eyes. Her heart went out to him.

Jon ended the briefing, telling Trip and Malcolm to get some sleep and to take their shifts when they met the Dragoncait. He told Hoshi to take her shift at that time as well. He wanted the whole Alpha shift on duty then. He asked T'Pol to rearrange the duty schedule.

They exited the ready room and Trip went to his console to check the ship's status. Malcolm drifted over to his to get an update before leaving. Hoshi started out but stopped when the comm officer on duty reported a message coming in.

"It's from the Jyorraku Envoy's office," Ensign Sparks reported.

"On screen," Archer said, puzzled.

Archer's eyes widened. A beautiful teal-colored woman with bright yellow eyes and hair smiled at him. If she was 20 years older, he thought with surprise. He collected himself.

"Hello. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer. Can I help you?"

She tilted her head and her smile grew. "Jon?"

"Ah...yes. I'm sorry, do I know you?"

Trip glanced over at Malcolm, who was sitting at his console, staring at Chidaka.

"No, no we haven't met. But my mother spoke highly of you," she purred.

"Your mother?" And then it hit him. "Your mother is Tary Neve?"

"Yes, Plenipotentiary Veril." "Plenipotentiary?" Jon questioned, his voice squeaking slightly. Tary Neve was the Plenipotentiary?

"Yes! Oh, I'm so glad to meet you! She told me that your...oral...persuasions were quite convincing. Jyorraku will enter into a full alliance with your planet. She was most impressed with you, Captain. She was about to break the negotiations off, but apparently you managed to stir something inside her that changed her mind. She was very excited. Of course, when we spoke this morning and I told her of my social intercourse with Malcolm, we agreed that humans did have some very appealing attributes; such a talented species. I told her that my experience with Malcolm was the climax of my stay here on Io. I didn't think that humans had the stamina to engage in such a spirited exchange. Tell me Captain, are all humans on your ship such latinum tongued representatives of your species?"

Trip couldn't decide who was blushing harder, Jon or Malcolm. Of course, it was difficult to judge. Malcolm had his head buried in his hands.

"Well, we're all pretty articulate," Jon managed lamely.

"It's been such a pleasure to meet you. I just called to see if Malcolm was available. May I speak to him?" she smiled again and every man on the bridge swallowed audibly.

Jon looked over at Malcolm. Malcolm smiled weakly at Jon and shrugged.

"Of course. Malcolm?" Jon said, feeling the heat in his face subside a bit.

"Hello Chidaka," Malcolm said as he rose to his feet.

"Ahhhhh... Malcolm." Her voice became exquisitely throaty and seductive. The male portion of the bridge crew suddenly felt very warm. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye. Your message was so sweet. I hope you'll come visit us the next time you're in our system?" Chidaka licked her lips and Travis groaned.

"Well, yes...of course...I mean...if we're ever out your way," Malcolm stammered. Oh lord, this has not been my morning, he thought as his eyes darted around the bridge. He felt exposed and tried not to think about the gossip that would be starting the moment he stepped off the bridge. He shot a nervous look at Hoshi, who was looking at him with an unreadable expression.

Geial bounded into view. "And bring Treep. Hi Treep!" Ensign Sparks stared, and his breathing accelerated.

"Hi Geial," Trip said hoarsely. Geial was practically naked, which Trip was beginning to suspect was her usual state. She waggled her fingers at him and flicked her tongue out. Trip quivered.

"Maal-coom, my studchibi, I couldn't find your buttons, but I found your pants!" Geial waved them in front of her. A flash of Starfleet blue underwear was seen before it fell out of sight. "You'll never guess where they were!"

"Um...that's okay, I can imagine..." Malcolm said hurriedly, beginning to blush again, wanting to sink through the floor. Geial and Chidaka smiled warmly and Malcolm heard a collective sigh sweep through the bridge. His mouth twitched into a smile at his crewmates' reactions as the absurdity of the situation began to strike him as funny.

Geial leaned forward eagerly. The other men on the bridge unconsciously leaned forward as well. "Do you want me to send them to you, or can I keep them as a souvenir?" she asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Malcolm groaned and a laugh escaped him, his face blushing furiously now. "Keep them, Geial. I'm sure I can find another pair somewhere."

"Next time we won't...keep you up all night...discussing our cultures' different approaches to...recreation," Chidaka said, smiling at him warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Your ship is reaching the limit of our comm range—" Chidaka started and Geial interrupted.

"A final goodbye kiss for you then, my odangofult. Wish you were here—right in the middle." Geial kissed Chidaka. Slowly. With passion. T'Pol heard a scattering of moans mixed with sharp inhalations from the males present. Malcolm was laughing helplessly, mortified. And then the transmission was severed.

Jon turned to Malcolm and mouthed "Both?"

As impossible as it was to believe, Malcolm flushed even deeper. "Plenipotentiary?" he mouthed back, an evil glint in his eye. He wasn't about to be the only one raked over the coals.

Jon's face began to redden once more.

Jon cleared his throat and used his Captain's voice. "You're dismissed Lieutenant, Commander, Ensign," he said, nodding to Malcolm, Trip, and Hoshi in turn.

T'Pol started to lecture on the Jyorraku species, explaining that they were distantly related to the Deltans. Jyorraku supposedly possessed a sensuality that was almost mythical, that their mere touch was enough to cause extremely pleasant sensations throughout the humanoid nervous system. As Trip escaped the bridge, he heard her ask Jon if he could confirm those legends. Trip didn't stay to hear Jon's answer.

***

Malcolm fled the bridge, flustered and a bit giddy. His emotions had swung wildly since his shore leave had began a mere day ago and he needed get some balance. Shower. Sleep. Now, he ordered himself half heartedly, feeling thick headed.

He slipped into the lift just as it was about to close and pulled up short. Hoshi.

She glared at him coolly and sent the lift to her deck.

He nodded to her and leaned against the far wall, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Nice perfume, Lieutenant," she remarked frostily.

"I like your aftershave as well, Ensign," he replied evenly.

She looked away.

"Hoshi, I would have rather spent my time talking to you instead. But when you didn't acknowledge my messages...well, I assume that you've decided...that you don't want to..." he floundered, trying to say what he wanted to, aware that this was probably the worst possible time to have this discussion.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have talked to you. But I didn't know what to say; I couldn't tell you anything. I didn't want you involved — I don't want anyone involved—although it looks like Admiral Forrest has forced that." He studied her feet. "I don't want to lose you...as a friend, and...I hoped for...but...I understand. I'd like to at least keep a professional relationship, Ensign. But if it's...upsetting...for you, I'll make the Captain transfer me. You're much too valuable to Enterprise and it'd probably better for everyone, considering..." he closed his eyes, feeling numb.

"Malcolm! I didn't return your messages because I didn't get them until this morning!" She blushed furiously but continued. "I would have met you. I should have, considering my evening..." and she gave a little laugh. He looked up; she was smiling at him and he felt an unfamiliar tug of optimism.

"Now that I know, I understand. I'm so sorry, Malcolm, I shouldn't have pushed you. I should have known that you would tell me the truth if you could. I've had weeks to think and I know that you've never lied to me. I was just so unsure. So angry. You scared me so much on TayNor and I didn't know what to think when you wouldn't explain anything."

Malcolm moved in closer to her. "And what do you think?" he asked point blank, his tired eyes holding hers, hope and apprehension mixed within them.

She studied his eyes; and then she kissed him.

Chapter 14

They sat on his bed, backs against the wall, shoulders touching, and talked. She started slowly, asking why he had joined the SAS and not the Navy, how he had gotten from the SAS to that shadowy elite force, what had happened to the others, and why he hadn't shared their fate. He answered her, sometimes with details, sometimes in terse sentences revealing little, but always, he answered her truthfully. He relaxed a little as she questioned him about the squads, their odd names and funny tags. He actually smiled a bit as he explained their meanings, how he thought it was ridiculous, being tagged with character names from children's books.

"What was yours?" she asked, curious.

He rolled his eyes and muttered, "Cheshire Cat." He flushed slightly, "I suppose it was better than Mad Hatter or White Queen."

She chuckled and he gave her a half smile. She gave his leg a little pat.

"And why did they christen you with that handle?"

His eyes narrowed a bit, and then he smiled again, only this time a wide, face lighting grin and she understood. She laughed, her head thrown back and Malcolm thought she never looked more beautiful. He relaxed against the wall, enjoying her presence, her soft skin against his. He had missed the sound of her voice, her laugh. Talking to her. Being with her.

She kept her hand on his leg, enjoying the contact with him, the hard muscles underneath her fingers, the warmth radiating from him. She had missed this.

A memory bubbled up and the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it.

"Malcolm...what happened on the mission where most of the squad was killed?"

He stiffened and sat up straight. He touched her arm. "How do you know about that?" he demanded.

She shifted nervously. "You said something on Sandaran."

He stared off to the side, and she knew he was trying to remember.

"You were kind of out of it...you said something about betrayal, almost half the squad was killed?" She looked at him as he leaned back and closed his eyes, his body tense.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to upset you. You don't have to tell me," she said quickly. She rubbed his thigh, trying to soothe him. He seized her hand and held it gently. He kept his eyes closed and started to talk.

"We were a tight squad, very close; we were the best, the alphas. And we got so many assignments..." he exhaled slowly. Hoshi reached over with her other hand and stroked his head. He opened his eyes and stared into hers.

"We were assigned a political assassination. Some ridiculously wealthy despot in some backwater country in the middle of nowhere. But his little fiefdom sat on top of rare mineral deposits which, at the time, were thought to be the answer to an unlimited power source for warp drive. And he wouldn't cut a deal with anyone. So we were to eliminate him. They could work a deal with his successor. His people would be better off as well." He dropped his gaze and looked at their hands.

"They combined us with Oz, fourteen in all, dropped us in the forest, on the outskirts of his palace. A night HALO jump, and it went badly from the start. We had two chute failures, Toto, who was our communications expert, and the Wizard's, he was the CO for the mission. I later found out it was sabotage. Dormouse—Mike ——was second in command and took over as CO. It went from bad to worse from there."

He closed his eyes and tightened his hold on her hand. "They were expecting us. They let us in and the firefight was horrendous. We were outnumbered, 6 to 1. We lost two people from Oz immediately. We started to retreat and Kevin Taylor and Sabra Delacroix were hit, but it wasn't too bad; they were mobile and in no pain. It doesn't hurt until later...and the bleeding stops fairly quickly. We fought our way backwards through the halls and lost another member from Oz. I thought the shot came from behind, but Mike and I were right there and we hadn't been flanked yet."

He was seeing the battle now, every detail still clear and precise thanks to his training. "We managed to make it out and Mike led us through the grounds, the same way we came in. I argued with him that we should retreat in a different direction, towards the hills and over the border, but he refused and ordered us to follow him. I told him we should split up and he decided against that as well. The rest of the squad agreed to follow him — his was still a viable plan, just as much chance of success as my way and that was that."

Hoshi watched his face as he spoke quietly, re-living the mission, his head back against the wall wearily, his eyes closed.

"We ran right into a small company of men. Mike had led us straight to them. We scattered through the forest, fighting all the way. Adam managed to communicate with all of us and we regrouped. Lita put together a makeshift launcher and I shoved some explosives in it. We took out three-quarters of them. I saw Sabra go down and Mike ordered the rest to retreat and regroup further into the forest. Takiyah and I stayed behind with him so we could retrieve Sabra; she was still alive. You don't leave someone behind if they're alive...only if they're dead."

He drew in a breath, his body shivering slightly and he released Hoshi's hand, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pant legs. He looked at her. "Takiyah and I were lovers. I thought you should know that. We were the best of friends. I loved her very, very much. We were so similar on the inside, and completely opposite on the outside," he breathed out a sad little laugh. "My Red Queen. She was older than me, taller, smarter...beautiful. We knew each other, I mean we really knew each other—no secrets; we both were in the same boat and knew what we were, the things we did, how we survived."

He looked at Hoshi with that peculiar intensity that always sent a thrill through her. She found herself staring into his exhausted eyes and she could see the pain caused by the memories, the need for her to understand. His sincerity.

"I didn't think I ever would feel that way again. I didn't think I was capable. And, with my track record, I was sure I'd never love anyone again. I accepted that. I couldn't tell anyone anything. I couldn't be honest with them. I couldn't get close to them. I'd keep it superficial, shallow, then I'd leave as soon as they started asking questions or wanted something more from me. It was the only way I knew how to protect them."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself. "And then I got to know you. I mean, I truly got to know you and I fell in-" He broke off suddenly, cutting off whatever he was going to say. "I didn't want it to happen. I couldn't allow it, but it happened. I felt close to you and I hadn't realized how much I wanted that. How much I need that. When you almost died at Del'Exantu, I thought I'd go mad. And those Nausicaans—" He looked away. "I wanted to kill them. I'd do anything to keep you safe. Even alienate you..."

He closed his eyes again and nervously rubbed his arm. "I didn't want you to know what I am. I couldn't bear the thought of you being revolted or afraid. And I'm still terrified of what you'll think of me if you know everything I've done and what I'm capable of doing. But now you'll be in danger too if they come for me because you know and it'll be my fault if anything happens to you...I couldn't live with myself."

He leaned back against the wall, turning his face away from her. He waited for her reaction, bracing himself, hoping she wouldn't take his battered feelings and shred them any further.

She studied him in silence, thinking about what he had said, slightly stunned by his disjointed words. She smiled as he ran a hand through his hair and his leg began to jiggle, those nervous mannerisms endearing to her.

"I'm not revolted. I'm not afraid," she said slowly, as if testing the words. "Whatever you've done...well, it's not like you had any choice. And I know, now, that what I saw — it's not you. You're not like that, Malcolm, no matter what you think. What they made you think." She reached out and turned his head toward her. "And I'd rather know about the man I love than be kept ignorant and always wondering exactly who he is."

His eyes snapped open and he straightened slowly. "Love?" he repeated feebly in disbelief.

"Yes." She smiled at him, trying not to laugh. She wondered how someone so observant could be so blind. "Malcolm, I do love you. I don't know when I crossed the line from friendship to love, but I do love you. These last few weeks made me realize that I've missed you more than I've missed anything in my life and I'm so sorry I put you through that." She stroked his face, touching his lips. "Your past is the past. I've thought long and hard about this. I've weighed the pros and cons. And I have to follow my heart."

He kissed her fingers, then leaned into her and kissed her gently, then with more passion. She returned his ardor and clutched his head, pressing him in closer, savoring this. She threaded her fingers through his hair and he hugged her tightly. He broke the kiss and released her. "I do love you, Hoshi," he said and smiled that rare full smile at her. "So very, very much."

"I love you too, Malcolm," she replied and he kissed her again. "I don't love your perfume though, Lieutenant," she said and he laughed.

"I'm not fond of your aftershave either, Ensign," he retorted with a grin.

She held his hand again and softly asked him if he wanted to finish his story.

He sighed. "You're an ever present nag, do you know that?"

She chuckled softly. "Confession's good for the soul," she replied lightly and then caressed his face again. "I think it might help, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, as if I haven't had my feelings on a bloody seesaw for the last 24 hours," he said crossly.

"That's what you get for tom-catting around," she teased.

"Consider it my last hurrah," he murmured as he took her hand from his face and kissed the inside of her wrist.

"Women all over the galaxy will be disappointed."

"There's only one woman in the galaxy whom I care about disappointing," he said and kissed her once more.

She wanted to prolong this moment, kissing and holding, touching him. But she could see he was exhausted, she could tell that those emotions that he always kept hidden had been upended and churned until they were right on the surface. She could see it in his unguarded eyes.

She pulled back and climbed over him, lying down on his pillow and stretching out. She patted the bed next to her in invitation and he smiled, then reclined beside her.

"Finish your story. Then you can sleep. It'll help, Malcolm."

He nodded and started to speak again.

"The others withdrew. Takiyah went to Sabra while Mike and I covered her. There were only a few of the opposition left. You advance on them, always shooting, finding cover or dodging, going forward, never stopping. It unnerves the enemy to see you coming for them that way, and we were fast. You see in all the old movies people screaming or shouting as they advance—that's a waste of breath. You run at them, mute, dodging the beams or projectiles. A full squad of us was terrifying. Fast, silent, unrelenting...nothing showing, no fear, no hate, no...anything. And you don't care, really. You're doing your job, fulfilling the objective. I mean, you don't want to get hurt, but you're not afraid." He drew another deep breath and plunged ahead.

"We finished them off. I looked back to check Mike's position and he was near Taki. She looked up at him, and he...he shot Takiyah in the head." Malcolm grasped Hoshi's hand. He couldn't tell Hoshi that he had seen his lover's eyes change, that as Mike brought the gun to her head, she knew what was going to happen and her training crumbled, the shock of knowing she'd been betrayed by the best of friends dissolving her discipline like a snowflake on a hot griddle. She felt the fear, she felt the terror; he saw it in her eyes, his last memory of her beautiful deep brown eyes was the look of horror in them.

"Then he killed Sabra and turned on me. I dodged it. And I...I...snapped. My training was...the emotions...they were back...full force...and the rageI felt. The fury. He killed Taki...he destroyed my life...what little I had...he took the only good thing I'd ever had away from me. I hated him...he was the one who had betrayed us. And I...I managed to tackle him and his weapon was lying there, and we were on our feet and I told him not to move, and asked him why...I was crying...I remember that...I...I couldn't believe she was dead. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was so angry. I couldn't control my temper and I was devastated...and I asked him why? How could you do this? Mike said that had worked a deal with our target. That if he gave us up, helped stop us, then our target would get Mike's family to safety and help Mike hide. Mike laughed at me. He said that at this point, he really didn't even care about his family, he didn't feel anything for them anymore...I couldn't believe it. I mean, I'd heard that a member of Genesis had cracked, but didn't know any of the details. Just a rumor that the training did something to him; that he'd lost the capacity to feel, except when killing. And there's Mike, edging towards his weapon. I begged him not to go for it—I gave him every chance—I told him, don't try it. Don't move. And he...he laughed. I said, you betrayed us; almost half the squad was killed! Goddamn it! We were friends!"

Malcolm swallowed, and she could see that he was holding back tears; tears of anger, fatigue, sorrow. She gently guided his head to her chest and he wrapped an arm around her. She waited silently, rubbing his head, while he composed himself. It occurred to her that this was probably the most he'd ever said to her at one time, uninterrupted; she usually did most the talking. She thought about the unusual juxtaposition of the conversation, the in-depth revelation of a part of his life she had never suspected, this story terrible and shocking, its disastrous outcome inevitable. And she thought about his intense admission of feelings for her. She suddenly knew that she did love him, more than she had realized, regardless.

He spoke suddenly, his voice quiet, the grief and guilt still there, but contained. "He went for his weapon. I killed him. I killed him with revenge in my heart and happy to do it. I'd become what they made me. A killer who enjoyed his work." She looked down at him and he looked up at her, his face dry, the tears unshed.

"I met up with the rest after a short while. We had to fight our way out of the country. I damn near died. Got hit in the thigh; bullet went clean through. Got sliced open from my armpit to hip. Five broken ribs and a punctured lung. Had to use my training the whole way back, four days of it. They didn't send anyone in to help us, the bastards. Just told us to get to a rendezvous point. Taylor's injury didn't slow us down as much as mine did. But they wouldn't leave me behind. By the time we hit the pick-up point, I had a fever so high I was delirious. I don't really remember the last day, or how we managed...next thing I know it's two weeks later and I'm in the infirmary and they want to see if I could use my training. And I couldn't. I couldn't do it. It wouldn't work..."

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes. And then he yawned. She kissed him and turned on her side to face him.

"I love you, Hoshi," he said softly.

"I love you too, Malcolm," she replied.

***

Hoshi woke to the usual gentle and soothing sound of the warp engine thrumming. She turned her head and her cheek was warm and dry, resting comfortably. She noticed that she was sprawled out, securely wrapped in the bedding, cozy and snug, basking in the feeling of security and well being; her dreams had been pleasant. She looked up at Malcolm's face; he was still sleeping silently and she nestled her head further into his chest, listening to his slow and rhythmic heartbeat. She felt his arms around her, holding her in a comfortable embrace. This is right, she told herself as she drifted back into slumber.

Chapter 15

They reached the Dragoncait and boarded her, Dr. Phlox and his medical team treating the wounded, confirming the dead. Malcolm and his team surveyed the ship, analyzing the score marks on the hull and on the walls within the corridors. The Dragoncait's crew had put up a good fight but had been vanquished with very little mercy shown. Of her crew of 32 only 10 were still alive, and two of them not expected to live.

Jon sat next to Hoshi as they studied the security record from the cargo hold over and over again, Hoshi trying to understand the words the raiders shouted to each other as they ransacked the bay. Malcolm stood behind her, studying the weapons gripped in the aliens' hands and watched dispassionately as one of the raiders shot and killed a crewman discovered hiding in a locker. Hoshi flinched again at the scene, her eyes closed, but she could still hear the sound the weapon made, and the agonized scream of the unfortunate crewman. Without taking his eyes off the scene Malcolm laid a gentle hand on Hoshi's shoulder and stroked it softly. She leaned her cheek onto the back of his hand for a moment and then straightened. He ran a finger through her hair and then resumed his previous stance.

"I'm not sure what that language is," she reported. "The closest is Katheki, but there are so many differences that I can't be sure exactly what they're saying. And you can't tell what species they are with what they're wearing."

"Looks like a uniform; those markings on the shoulders look like rank insignia. The helmets could be breathing apparatus, but most likely protection ...after all, they're still vocalizing loud enough for the security record to pick up. I'd think you'd put a comm system in them. And those collars they're wearing...and the forearm guards, they look like they're functional, not merely for decoration," Malcolm hypothesized as he studied the raider who looked to be in charge.

The raider was of average height, a figure in black, his uniform hugging his slender but strong body, with what looked like armor sculpted and molded into the uniform. Vicious looking spikes bristled from the collar around his neck, the helmet with its reflective faceplate securely snapped down on top of it. The black leather encircling his arms went up almost to the bend of the elbow and also sported metallic spikes. He was shod in heavy boots that came up to his knees, the toes studded with smaller but no less dangerous looking spikes. A whip hung at his side. The markings on his shoulders looked like bloody gashes, but each raider carried them in a variety of quantities.

"Their hand weapons are interesting. They left score marks all over the Dragoncait, even slicing straight through its hull in several places; not a disruptor — it actually cuts into the target, without burning, rather like a scalpel slicing into flesh. Their ships have something similar to torpedoes, but they also have that same slicing beam. I'd like to get my hands on one of them. Probably could cut your heart out without touching any other part of your body, or decapitate you in one quick sweep, depending on the skill of the marksman..." he trailed off as Hoshi shuddered.

Jon watched as they looked at each other, a flash of concern passing over Malcolm's face. Hoshi shook her head minutely and they both suddenly smiled at each other.

Jon hadn't seen them exchange this silent communication in weeks and was struck again by how they seemed to know what the other meant. Jon shook himself from his thoughts and focused on the task at hand.

"T'Pol's found traces of the raiders' warp signatures. She's fairly confident that we can follow them if we move soon before the trail degrades. I've spoken to a couple of survivors and they said that a dozen or more small ships, all very fast, very agile, swarmed to attack them. Trip is trying to download the Dragoncait's visual logs so we can get a look at the ships. As soon as he's done, Starfleet wants us to go after them." Jon waited for Malcolm's protest. He wasn't disappointed.

"But, Captain! Their weapons sliced right through the Dragoncait's polarized hull plating! Ours may be a bit stronger, but I doubt it can stand up to their weapons and the Dragoncait's weaponry had little effect." Malcolm protested.

"I know Malcolm. But Enterprise is faster and more maneuverable, plus we have phase canons, which the supply ship didn't have. I told Starfleet that we might be outgunned, but they insist that we at least attempt to find where they're coming from." Jon shook his head. "I don't like it any more than you do. We're not a military ship. But those are my orders."

"Fine, sir. I suppose I'd best get my team to start making modifications to the phasers, see if we can get a bit more power out of them," Malcolm sighed. He'd have to talk to Trip about his idea to increase power to the hull plating as well. Malcolm thought about the side project he'd been working on and decided to talk to their engineer about that also. Then again, Trip was going to be busy and would not be in the best of moods when he heard that Malcolm wanted to borrow more power for the phasers.

"Hoshi, keep working on this. Don't wear yourself out though. We'll need you fresh when we catch up to the raiders," Jon ordered with a smile.

"Okay, Jon. I'll go through the Linguistic Database again and see if I can find any fragment matches."

"Dismissed."

Hoshi and Malcolm walked out of the ready room and headed for the lift.

"I think I'll be working rather late tonight..." Malcolm started and Hoshi nodded as they entered the lift.

"I'll drag you to the mess hall later then. Should I still come by tonight?" she asked with a teasing look.

He encircled his arms around her waist and pulled her close to him. "I'm sure I'll still be up. And I'm sure we'll both need a good night's sleep." He kissed her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you," he whispered.

"Love you too."

Malcolm kissed her forehead and they parted. They got off the lift at their respective decks.

Chapter 16

They followed the faint warp signatures for two days, coming to an unfamiliar section of space, and then the trail was lost, the signatures dissipated. They searched until they came upon a system of a bright sun and four planets, all of which were capable of supporting some sort of life. They spent another day collecting sensor data and probe telemetry from the all four planets, then withdrew. T'Pol and others from the sciences division spent the time analyzing the data, trying to determine if their quarry could be on one of those planets.

Engineering teams worked furiously with the Armory team to modify the system grids to increase power to the hull plating. After much arguing Trip and Malcolm had worked out a reasonable compromise which satisfied both their fanatical demands. Malcolm even showed Trip his latest idea and Trip had promised to study the data PADD to see if it was feasible.

That night Hoshi stopped by the mess hall and picked up dinner, then went to visit Malcolm. She punched in his code and entered the room. She could hear the shower running and realized that she was a little early, so she made herself comfortable, smiling to herself as she listened to the music he always seemed to have on. She saw his desk littered with PADDs and wandered over to it. She idly glanced at the large old fashion pad of paper tossed carelessly to the side of the desk and shook her head when she saw the sheet covered with mathematical formulae and quick sketches of some sort of engineering device. She flipped through the pad, more figures and numbers filled the pages, more scribbled notes, a fast and sloppy hand making some indecipherable. There were more sketches, some finely detailed, others rough outlines. She smiled when she saw a detailed sketch of Porthos, lying on his back and tail caught in mid wag, begging.

She found a real book laying cracked open and face down underneath the PADDs and picked it up. Catch-22, a classic piece of 20th century literature. She was amused by the mess on the desk, so unusual for him. Something must have grabbed his interest. She glanced at the sketches again, then sat on the couch and started to eat, reading the book she had found.

She looked up from reading, startled, when he walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist and beads of water still dripping from his hair. He stopped, startled as well, and then grinned.

"Room service, Ensign?" he asked.

She gestured to his salad. "Unless you'd like something else," she said.

His smile widened.

"Stop that. That's not what I meant," she scolded, trying not to laugh.

"Pity, sounded rather lovely to me," he replied, still smiling.

"Get dressed. You're dripping all over the place."

He walked over and gave her a kiss. "I love you."

"Love you too...go."

Malcolm changed while Hoshi watched appreciatively.

He wandered over the desk and pawed through the PADDs, selecting one. He sat down and Hoshi handed him his salad.

"What are you working on?"

"Just an idea I've been playing around with. I've talked to Trip and we're going to test it first thing in the morning. If it works it just might help us against those weapons the raiders have."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense. What is it?"

"Remember that creature we contained with a force field so you could talk to it?"

"How could I forget."

"Well, the force field held up rather nicely, and I thought if I could enlarge it somehow, without reducing the integrity of it, then perhaps we could project it in front of the ship, like some sort of energy shielding."

"What did Trip say?"

"He's worried about the power consumption, but I've been doing the calculations, and well, look here..."

Malcolm was off and running and Hoshi settled in for the duration.

Chapter 17

"We believe that they're on the third planet," T'Pol stated. "We have discovered a faint trace of their warp signature below the surface. We have not found any humanoid biosigns, however, our instruments cannot probe deeply enough to ascertain how many raiders are there. The slight energy reading is the only proof of their existence."

"The third planet? The one covered in ice and snow?" Trip asked. Great. A Florida boy in the snow. Freezing his ass off. Again. He supposed it was better than burning up in a desert.

"Yes, it is quite cold. However the flora is profuse, not what one would expect with such a constant low temperature. The dominant animal species seems to belong to a feline order, however we haven't been able to get many reliable readings. The atmosphere, while not harmful to humans, makes the use of sensors and communication difficult. The transporter will not work until the atmospheric conditions change."

"Perfect," Malcolm muttered. Mute and blind and no way to escape quickly.

Jon looked around at his people. "We'll take a shuttle down and survey the area, see if we can find the entrance to where that warp signature is coming from. Maybe we can talk to them, find out why they're raiding us, work out a peaceful agreement."

They'll most likely just shoot us, Malcolm thought dourly. "I suggest at least one security personnel per team member and two shuttles to double our chances to get away if necessary. Since their ships seem to be housed underground they're obviously maneuverable in atmosphere and they could just take a nice little strafing run at us."

"Sounds reasonable. Okay. Hoshi, I'll need you to translate if we run into any of the raiders. Trip, Malcolm, we'll go down and take security with us. T'Pol, you have the bridge. First sign of trouble, take the ship out of danger. Come back every four hours to try to rendezvous with us. And keep the comm channel open in case we get lucky and can punch through the atmosphere to contact you. If you have to fight, use the modifications Trip and Malcolm installed."

"But they haven't been tested yet!" Trip protested.

"You did computer models, right?" Jon asked.

"Yeah, and they worked out fine, but that's a different story. We don't even know if this force shield will hold against space dust, let alone a weapon like the raiders' got."

"I think it'll work. Malcolm's force field held before, and he didn't have you helping him with it. I know Malcolm wouldn't suggest it if he wasn't certain it would work. I have every confidence in him. As I always have." Jon looked at Malcolm, making sure that his armory officer understood the unspoken words: Nothing's changed.

Malcolm nodded. "Thank you, sir." He smiled slightly, warmed and relieved. He hadn't had a chance to talk to the Captain after the revelations in Forrest's office and he had been uneasily imagining what Archer's reaction to him now would be. Malcolm thought it was no wonder that he had come to think of Enterprise and her crew as home and family.

***

They dressed in the body hugging thermal suits, white snow pants and parkas pulled over them. Jon piloted one shuttle, Malcolm the other. They landed at the selected site, halfway up a mountain on a small plateau surrounded by trees and boulders. T'Pol's team had detected a faint energy reading which grew and diminished in strength intermittently before disappearing entirely. An entrance, or exit perhaps.

They began scanning for the energy source, Malcolm sending his security team to pair up with Jon and Trip. The groups walked away from the shuttlepods and each other, trying to cover as much ground as possible.

Hoshi and Malcolm threaded through a grove of densely packed trees, trudging along on the hard packed snow, Hoshi's scanner out and searching. Malcolm kept his hand on his phase pistol, eyes constantly raking across the frozen terrain, thankful for the polarized goggles that shaded their eyes from the unremitting white glare of their surroundings.

Malcolm had hated every moment of cold weather survival training. He hadn't minded jungle training, although the food had left much to be desired. He had received both in the SAS and it had left him well prepared. He was just thankful that they didn't have to struggle through miles of soft powder with a 25-kilo pack on their backs. And at least it wasn't like that dreadful interrogation segment they introduced during the training, where they'd leave you out in the snow, bound and naked with a hood over your head. They'd bring you in after a while and the mock interrogation would begin. They'd have women there, ridiculing your shivering and retracted body parts. Malcolm felt an unpleasant heat as he remembered the humiliation and opened his parka to relieve it.

They walked for another 15 minutes, then Hoshi stopped suddenly. "Do you hear that?" She swung her scanner toward the face of the mountain.

"What?" Malcolm strained to hear whatever Hoshi was picking up. Then he felt a slight vibration. He looked at Hoshi and saw that she felt it too.

A portion of the mountain shimmered and evaporated. In its place was a gaping cavern, its maw yawning and black.

Malcolm pulled Hoshi back behind a tree and they crouched down. Several raiders appeared, operating the strangest transportation device Hoshi had ever seen. It looked to Hoshi for all the world like an overgrown scooter, but without wheels and large enough for two people to stand single file, as two pairs of raiders were doing.

The raiders stood upright on a wide flat board-like object, their feet secured to the top of the metallic board. A T-shaped piece rose from its surface, obviously the steering mechanism. The raiders set out, skimming quickly across the snow and were soon out of sight, headed for the direction of the shuttlepods.

Malcolm quickly took out his communicator and called the Captain. He told Archer what they had seen, then was interrupted as a sleek ship blasted out of the entrance to the mountain. It soared swiftly up and out of sight, into the atmosphere.

"Sir! One of the raiders' ships just took off. I suggest we alert Enterprise."

"I'll do that Malcolm. You two get back to the pods as quickly as you can; we'll meet you there. I'll contact Trip. Archer out."

Malcolm and Hoshi started to run toward the shuttlepods, preparing themselves for the worst.

***

They ran straight into a fire fight. They crouched down among the trees and quickly surveyed the battle.

The raiders, sheltered by heavy outcroppings and overhangs, had the away team pinned down, several hundred meters from the shuttlepods. The away team had taken cover in the wooded area, hiding behind trees, firing back. Several trees were down, sliced clean through.

Hoshi saw a raider fire a quick sweep, felling the tree Jon was behind. Jon ran for another tree, Trip and the security men returning fire in concert, trying to protect the Captain.

Malcolm quickly removed his bulky parka and stripped out of the snow pants. The thermal suit would keep him warm enough for now and not hamper his movements.

"Stay here. Contact the ship; see if it's possible to beam us up." He kissed her before sprinting off.

Hoshi tried to raise the Enterprise; she received nothing but static. She growled in frustration then started to strip.

***

Trip rolled to the side as the tree he had been behind moments before started to topple. He felt a hand drag him sideways, and he scrambled behind another tree with Jon. They returned fire quickly, ducking out of sight again.

"I couldn't get through to the ship. The damn comm's just spitting static at me," Trip told Jon in frustration. He popped up again and fired.

Trip saw a figure in black and red running across the wide expanse of white behind the raiders. There were a few trees to hide behind, but the figure ignored them, opting for a straight dash toward the rocky outcropping near the shuttles.

Trip nudged Jon and pointed with his chin. Jon nodded and signaled the security team to redouble their efforts.

Malcolm slid to a stop behind a boulder and fired, stunning two raiders before the aliens whirled and returned fire. He ducked down and heard a high pitch whine doppler past his head. He crawled to the other side of the boulder and peered around it, firing again.

The raiders were now caught in a cross fire and Jon stunned another one. The aliens fought harder, taking chances. One of the security men was hit, releasing a howl of pain.

Malcolm continued to fire, knowing that if they rushed his position, he would be unable to defend it. He saw a streak of black and purple coming in toward him and cursed. Hoshi. He rose and ran for another group of boulders a few meters away, drawing the raiders' attention. He managed to stun one before diving behind the boulder. He heard Hoshi slide behind the outcropping he had just left.

"What are you doing here?" he hissed at her, squeezing off another shot.

"Looks like you guys needed help," she hissed back, quickly rising and firing. She stunned a raider and swiftly dropped again.

"Oh, nice shot, Ensign!" Malcolm praised as he fired again, barely missing a raider. "Damn," he muttered. A barrage of fire from their opponents sent chunks and sharp chips of rock flying around him. He scrambled to his feet and took a running leap back toward Hoshi's position, sliding headfirst across the icy snow. He came to a stop near Hoshi.

"Thanks, I've been practicing," Hoshi replied, peeking out around the boulder and squeezing off another shot.

"Really? With whom?" Malcolm asked, as he poked his head up and fired again.

"Williams," Hoshi replied, ducking down further as a few of the raiders shot back.

"Oh, yes, she's very good..." Malcolm crawled to the opposite end of their cover and peered around the corner. He saw Trip aim carefully and stun another raider. Malcolm adjusted his phase pistol to the kill setting, and then stood up and fired at the overhang above the raiders. It crumbled, raining rocks and debris down upon their opponents. He ducked back down as the raiders ran for their skimmers, firing to cover themselves.

"Although I should have asked Collins," Hoshi remarked, as she popped up and fired, missing, then squatting down.

"You didn't relax your shoulders that time," Malcolm commented as he flipped his pistol back to the stun setting and fired after the retreating aliens. He hit one more. "Why Collins? He's not as good." He peered over the boulder and saw that the remaining raiders had taken off on their skimmers. He ducked back down and looked at her.

"No, but he's cute," Hoshi grinned at him and then winked.

Malcolm laughed loudly. "Your priorities seem to be a bit off, Ensign."

Jon could hear the sound of laughter wafting through the bitter air and wondered what the hell Malcolm thought was so funny.

Chapter 18

They helped their wounded crewmate into one of the shuttlepods and Trip broke out the first aid kit. Jon manned the helm, preparing for launch, and told Malcolm and Hoshi to take the other shuttle and return to the ship; they were outnumbered here and would have to find another way to approach this problem.

Malcolm watched the other shuttle lift off and then launched their own. As he accelerated away from the mountain, they saw the other shuttle jerked sideways suddenly, shaken by an impact.

"What was that?" Hoshi exclaimed, craning to see off to the side.

The shuttle rocked again and a raider ship flew overhead and appeared in front of them. Malcolm quickly fired the phasers, scoring a glancing blow.

"Malcolm!" Trip's voice came over the comm. "We've got a bird on our tail!"

"We see it," Malcolm acknowledged. Hoshi saw the other shuttle firing, but it had no effect on the raider ship. They were outmatched, the alien ship faster and more maneuverable. Malcolm accelerated, trying to get a lock on the other ship. The raider swung back around and fired again at the Captain's shuttle. The pod shimmied sideways and up, dodging the oncoming fire.

Archer sent the pod into violent maneuvers, evading the deadly weapons fire. Trip fired the phasers, hitting the other ship several times. "Malcolm! Let's get out of here! Lead them to Enterprise," Archer ordered. The ship had more firepower and could cover the pods' retreat. "Trip, try to get through and tell T'Pol to expect company." Archer accelerated up and away, weaving an erratic pattern through the atmosphere. He saw Malcolm following.

Malcolm got a lock and fired, hitting the raider ship dead on. It didn't seem to affect it. He saw the Captain's shuttle fire again, and this time something happened. The raider's ship rocked, swung around again and headed straight towards Malcolm and Hoshi's pod.

Malcolm wrenched the pod down and under the raider's ship. The raider dropped down at the last moment and hit the tail end of the pod before its final descent down to the ground far below.

Hoshi hung on tightly as Malcolm fought the controls, trying to keep the pod stable. She could hear air whistling through leaks in the back.

"Malcolm! Are you all right?" Jon's concerned voice came over the comm.

"The hull's cracked. We can't make it to the ship," Hoshi replied as Malcolm nodded in agreement.

"I have to land. Pick us up if you can," Malcolm said, then the pod shuddered hard and the engine cut out. "Oh sh—"

***

Trip was in contact with T'Pol when he saw another raider ship coming at them. "Jon! Here comes another one!"

"I see it..." Archer replied grimly. He squeezed every ounce of power out of the pod, trying to get out of the last bits of atmosphere.

The raider fired, and the pod shook. Trip fired back, raking the enemy ship, but having no effect.

Archer whipped the shuttle in spasmodic movements, dodging the returning fire. He left the atmosphere behind and hurtled through the darkness of space.

The Enterprise swept in, and Jon didn't think he had ever seen anything so divine. His ship launched a battery of torpedoes, and the raider's ship exploded.

***

Malcolm silently tried to maneuver the dead shuttle, his knuckles white and his face screwed up in intense concentration. Hoshi braced herself for impact. "I love you..." she said quietly and looked at him.

He smiled, never taking his eyes off the viewscreen. "Love you too...hang on..."

***

"We have to go get them," Jon declared as he quickly strode to the bridge.

"Yes, we will, as soon as another pod can be readied. It should only take another 7.8 minutes," T'Pol stated, easily keeping up with the Captain.

"I'll take it down, Cap'n," Trip said, "let me get a security team together."

They reached the bridge. "Report," Archer barked.

"Sensors can't read anything yet, the atmosphere is playing havoc with them," Travis replied. "But there seems to be movement down there, we think we have two energy signatures, the shuttlepod and the alien ship..." He looked again, then cried, "Captain! Several ships just broke through the atmosphere!"

"Magnify, Ensign," Archer ordered.

At least ten raider ships appeared on the viewscreen. Heading for the Enterprise.

"Hail them," Archer commanded.

"Not responding," Ensign Sparks reported.

The ships flew at them and started to attack.

***

Hoshi felt every bump, every impact, every jarring movement as the shuttled careened across the frozen ground, sliding and fish tailing. Her teeth rattled, her body shook with a violence she'd never felt before. Her vision jumped and she closed her eyes as the shuttle bounced and shuddered. She held on tight, grateful that she had strapped herself in. The craft hit something and went into a wild spin, round and round until Hoshi thought she was going to vomit. She breathed deeply, trying to keep it down.

She thought that the spinning stopped, but she wasn't sure, it felt as if they were still moving, slightly. She still felt as if she was whirling madly and she opened her eyes. She tried to focus and looked at the viewscreen. She blinked, and stared. She was looking straight down into a frozen gorge. She clawed at her restraints and started to rise.

"Don't move." She heard Malcolm's tense voice behind her, near the rear of the shuttle.

"Malcolm—" The shuttle teetered and dipped forward and she heard a scrabbling sound from Malcolm's position. The shuttle tottered back slightly.

"Don't move!" She froze.

"Are you all right, Hoshi?"

"Oh, just dandy. Just taking in the view. Just waiting to plummet to my death!" Hoshi's voice rose in volume.

"Hoshi. Listen to me. We'll have to do this slowly, very carefully. Just relax..."

"All right! All right..." Hoshi swallowed her fear and tried not to look out the viewscreen which filled her vision. She closed her eyes.

"Right. Stand up, slowly."

Hoshi rose from her half crouch, hanging onto the chair. The shuttle moved. She froze again.

"Turn around. Slowly..."

She turned. Malcolm was lying above her, flat out on his stomach, feet hooked around the legs of the bench seat. His eyes were huge, wide open and intense. He slowly extended his arm to her, hand reaching for her.

"Take my hand."

Hoshi's hand crawled toward his, inching its way to him. The shuttle settled a little and he stretched, making contact with her. He reeled her in at a snail's pace, dragging her up the floor, stopping whenever the shuttle shifted.

They were head to head. Hoshi felt the warmth of his hands, steady and strong, in hers. She looked into his eyes. "You're very beautiful, do you know that, Ensign?" he said and gave her a lopsided grin.

"I'll be a very beautiful corpse soon, Lieutenant. Any ideas how to get out of here?" she replied, not knowing whether to kiss him or scream at him. She did neither.

"Head towards the back."

"And how do you propose I do that, Malcolm?" she said, exasperated. "Not a lot of hand holds here, in case you haven't noticed."

"Climb over me. Grab on and pull yourself up. Slowly. Then push off the legs of the bench and grab onto the locker door."

"Easy for you to say..."

"Easy for you to do, Ensign..." he looked at her and she saw the confidence and faith he had in her.

She nodded. He pulled her up until he could haul her no further. She grabbed under his armpits and wriggled onto his back. The shuttle tilted and they both stopped moving. The shuttle stilled. She scooted further up him, until her bottom rested on the back of his head. She paused, trying to catch her ragged breath.

"Hoshi..." Malcolm started, his face smashed into the floor, his voice muffled. "As much as I admire your bum, I wasn't planning on wearing it as a hat..."

She laughed loudly and felt the tension drain from her body. She felt Malcolm chuckling, his body shaking beneath her. She looked for the next hand hold, but the tightly clinging thermal body suit afforded none. She reached between his legs and dragged herself forward.

"Hoshi!" Malcolm's voice rose an octave.

The shuttle shifted forwards slightly and they froze. She waited until the movement stopped and reached out. She grabbed a slender ankle, steadying her other hand on a hard muscled thigh and continued upwards, down Malcolm's body and toward the end of the bench.

Her short journey to the open locker door seems to take eons. The shuttle teetered back and forth frequently, causing them both to stop their movements and wait. Malcolm had managed to slowly twist around, and was now at the opposite end of the bench, close to the control to open the hatch. Hoshi was hanging onto the open locker door with both hands, the hatch only scant centimeters away. It might as well have been kilometers.

The shuttle shifted again, and a field pack tumbled out of the locker, opening up and spilling some of its contents. Hoshi grabbed it with one hand, instinctively, without thinking. Malcolm shot a hand out and grabbed the ice pick, watching the nutrition bars and canteen skitter to the front of the ship. He exhaled loudly. He didn't know if the sudden weight shift of the whole pack careening to the front would have been enough to send the shuttle over the edge. He was relieved that they wouldn't have to find out.

"Good hands, Hoshi," he said and she grinned at him, her eyes twinkling mischievously. He blushed slightly under her sly look and smiled back. "Is everything we say to each other going to have a subtext?"

"Well...nothing like sitting on your lover's head with your hands between his legs to get your blood going," she replied, her grin wider, and Malcolm laughed hard.

"Lord, Hoshi...I do love you...let's pop the hatch and get the hell out of here." He carefully pulled himself up to the hatch control. He pressed the hatch release and the door opened. The shuttle tottered.

"All right, love, you first," Malcolm said, reaching out a hand to help her up and through the door. She clasped it firmly, still holding the field pack in her other hand, and he pulled her hard and threw her out the door.

She landed on the icy ground, sliding backwards, away from the shuttle and the precipice it was hanging on. The shuttle lurched violently and Malcolm lost his footing. He scrambled madly toward the hatch. Hoshi raised her head and saw the shuttle plunge over the edge.

Chapter 19

The Enterprise shook with another violent blow to the hull. They watched as a beam lanced out from one of the ships and felt a slight vibration.

"Hull breach on shuttle deck, sir. Engineering team responding. No casualties," Williams reported from tactical.

"Fire torpedoes, Ensign. Your discretion," Archer ordered.

"No response to our hails, sir, "Sparks called out.

"Stop trying. They don't want to talk. Trip, how's that EM force shield coming?" Jon asked as he faced his engineer.

"Trying to get it up and running..." Trip muttered, frantically working his console.

"Sir! Five more ships headed our way!" Travis announced.

Jon swore. The ship couldn't take on that many. "Ensign, go to warp 4.5, heading 0672.1. Now." The ship leapt into warp, rapidly leaving the smaller ships behind, unable to match the Enterprise's speed.

"Jon! What about—" Trip started and Jon cut him off.

"Damn it, Trip! I know! But the ship comes first. We'll come back for them. They know T'Pol would return every four hours to meet us if the ship ran into trouble. They'll meet us at rendezvous point then."

"Aw, hell, Jon! We can't strand them there!" Trip shot an accusing look at Jon. Jon glared back at Trip.

"Gentlemen," T'Pol interrupted. They looked at her. She raised an eyebrow and continued. "They will mostly likely hide and remain safe until we can retrieve them."

"And if the raiders get to them?" Trip demanded.

"Then I would worry about the safety of the raiders, Commander," T'Pol responded coolly, raising her other eyebrow.

***

"Malcolm!" Hoshi screamed as the shuttle plunged over the side. She didn't see him. He hadn't gotten out. She scrambled to her feet, sliding and falling and getting up again, trying to make her way to the edge of the bluff. Tears stung her eyes. He hadn't gotten out in time. She fell again and swore foully, not caring that she was screaming the most obscene oaths she could think of. He hadn't gotten out.

She made it to the edge, and cautiously peered over it. She could see the shuttle far below, shattered and strewn across the bottom of the chasm. She moaned, then let out a shriek of rage, then started cursing him for throwing her out of the shuttle first, for being slow, for leaving her, for dying just as they had found each other.

"I didn't think it was possible, but I believe your mouth is fouler than mine, Ensign."

Hoshi stopped, her last profanity halted in mid syllable. "Malcolm!" She looked frantically over the edge, but couldn't see him. "Where are you?"

"About ten meters to your left." She leaned as far as she dared and spotted him, his feet braced awkwardly against the icy face of the mountain, hanging onto the ice pick which was implanted into the side of the cliff.

"Oh my god! You're alive!" she cried, laughing with relief.

"Not for very much longer; I'm not in the best situation right now," Malcolm said tersely.

"I can't reach you!"

"Do you have the pack?"

"Yes."

"Should be a rope in it. Tie it to something and toss it to me, please. And hurry." She could hear the strain in his voice and she ran, slipping and sliding, back to the pack. She grabbed the rope and looked around for something to tie it to, but there was nothing. Just a small outcropping, with no possible way to secure the rope.

"Malcolm! There's nothing to anchor it to!"

"Oh, bloody hell! I can't hold on much longer."

She frantically scanned the surface again, but there was nothing. She kicked at the outcropping; it was short and squat—about the height of her foot — solid, but no way to anchor the rope to it. She quickly tied the rope around her waist and went to the edge.

"Malcolm, when I tell you to, take the rope. Not beforehand, wait til I get set." She threw the end of the rope over. It hovered near his face and he looked at it, and then up at her. He saw the rope around her waist. She could see the muscles in his arms, tense and quivering, his face flushed and sweating. His grip slipped slightly and she inhaled sharply.

She ran back to the low stub of rock and sat down, bracing her feet against it. "NOW!" she shouted and she felt a great tug at her waist, nearly pulling her over the icy mound. She grabbed the rope and leaned back with all her slight weight, legs fully extended now, trying not to be dragged over the small outcropping and off the edge.

The rope bit into her flesh, through the thermal suit; her arms and legs quaked with the strain. She tried to keep her balance as the weight shifted and moved. One foot started to slide up the face of the rock, her toes now over the edge of it. She closed her eyes, and pulled harder. "Hurry up!" she shouted.

"I'm not a bloody mountain goat!"

She could hear the sound of ice scraping, small pebbles rattling, Malcolm's harsh breathing as he climbed. Her back hurt, the rope deeply embedded in it and she bit her lip, trying to concentrate on that sensation instead of the burning pain in her back, the ache in her arms and legs.

She opened her eyes and saw the dark crown of his head peeping up from over the side. She saw his hand reach up and clutch the rope which lay tautly on the ground, working his fingers under it and grasping it, pulling. The strain on her was almost unbearable now, her ribs tightly compressed, making each breath a struggle. Her other foot slipped upwards slightly.

"Malcolm!"

He made one last massive effort and swung his leg up over the side. It pulled Hoshi off balance and over the top of the outcropping towards him. She lay sprawled on the chilled hard-packed ground, ready to cry with relief. She could breathe easily again, the pain swiftly dulling into a low ache in her back, her legs and arms rubber. He crawled to her, too expended to stand, covered in sweat and gasping. He collapsed across her, resting his head on her stomach.

"I think I'll have a nervous breakdown now..." he panted out softly. She could feel him trembling and she put one arm on his back, rejoicing in the feel of his rapidly beating heart. She started to slowly rub his head with her other hand. He closed his eyes.

"Scared?" she teased shakily, trying to extinguish the thought of him falling to his death if she had failed. She stared at him to keep that picture at bay, that image of him plunging to the rugged terrain below. She stared at him, burning his living features into her memory. She inhaled deeply, feeling her ribs ache, and she caught the scent of his fear laden sweat, oddly comforting to her. She felt him under her hands, alive and whole and her heart twisted painfully at the thought of losing him.

"Spitless." he replied, trying to match her light tone and failing. He had been petrified, picturing pulling Hoshi over the cliff, killing her. He had been alert and sensitive to all movements telegraphed through the rope, ready to let go the moment he felt it give. He'd been straining to hear her, listening for a cry in case he pulled her off balance and toward the edge. His fingers had twitched each time the rope moved, ready to release it, to let go and make that final free fall. He had imagined what that fall would feel like, the thrill of it, the wind rushing past him, the speed. But there would have been no chute to save him, no gentle touch down. Leaving Hoshi alone here to fend for herself. Never to see Hoshi again. He thought he had known just how much she meant to him, but he had surprised himself. He exhaled a shuddering breath.

He lay in her embrace, trying to calm his breathing, trying to banish his dark imaginings, to compose himself. He willed himself to relax, to focus on her fingers as they moved lazily back and forth on his scalp. Hoshi held him closer, caressing him, communicating her love and comfort through touch. She knew that not all communication was verbal.

"At least your code name was apt," she commented softy.

Malcolm made a brief sound of puzzlement.

"Cheshire Cat. I think you've got nine lives..." she smiled and hugged him tighter, then bent awkwardly to kiss him.

He moved up to her, kissing her back, wrapping his arms around her, luxuriating in the warmth and heat of her body. The solid reality of having her in his arms. "I think I've used up three of them already today, Ensign," he murmured as he kissed her again, then nibbled on her elegant neck.

"Still plenty of lives left," she responded softly, eyes closing as the sensation of his teeth and lips played along her sensitive skin. That's when she heard the low sound of the skimmers returning.

Chapter 20

The engineering team worked feverishly to seal the hull breach. The raider's weapon had sliced right through the Enterprise's hard skin, right through the polarized hull plating. It worried Trip, although he knew that it could have been much, much worse. But still, a weapon of that strength, that could inflict that amount of damage on their ship —

Trip and T'Pol brought the modified EM field on-line, aligning the emitters to protect the front of the ship. They hadn't had time to fabricate or install emitters along the rest of the ship. If the force field worked, they would have to keep the ship facing the enemy. Hard to do in a 3-D space battle. Travis had his work cut out for him.

Trip watched as T'Pol checked and re-checked the complicated and abstract formulae, her hands flying over the board. She said that she was checking it mentally as well, for added assurance. He watched as she concentrated. She was beautiful.

T'Pol looked up at Trip at that instant. She raised an eyebrow at him. And he swore he saw the corner of her mouth move up an iota.

***

Hoshi and Malcolm ran. Malcolm carried the field pack upon his back, Hoshi's hand grasped tightly in his as they ran toward the trees. They ran through the forest, Hoshi straining to hear that hum of the skimmers. They ran until they came to a familiar sight. They were back where the original firefight had been. "Why aren't I surprised?" Hoshi panted.

"Come on. There might be a skimmer lying about."

They ran toward the place they had last seen the raiders as they had fled the away team's sudden victory. They found one skimmer, lying on its side. Malcolm righted it and handed Hoshi the pack. She slipped it on and he helped her strap her feet to the vehicle. He looked around for an ignition, feeling around the protruding metal shaft. Anything to start the skimmer.

"Hoshi...do you see anything here?"

Hoshi peered around Malcolm and looked. There was nothing. No alien script to interpret, no switches, no buttons.

"No." She could hear the skimmers drawing closer.

Malcolm ran a nervous hand through his hair and felt his temper flare. He pulled out his phase pistol and set it to kill. He shot the staff off at the base and removed the twisted piece of metal.

"Why did you do that!" Hoshi wailed.

He got behind Hoshi and started pushing. Hoshi protested as they picked up speed over the icy surface, heading for the slope of the mountain. She looked behind her to yell at him and that's when she saw three raiders approaching.

"Malcolm! What are you doing? It drops off here! Malcolm! Stop!" He gave her a final push and sprinted past her, jumping onto the skimmer, quickly shoving his boots into the footholds and securing them. They dipped over the side of the mountain.

Chapter 21

Hoshi hunkered down and hung onto Malcolm's legs for dear life. They were racing down the mountain, her hair flying straight out, the chill of the wind biting into her even through the warmth of the thermal suit. Malcolm shifted and moved his body, swaying and leaning hard, back and forth.

"Damn you, Malcolm! What the hell are you thinking?" she screamed at him, the wind ripping the words away from her.

"Retro-X boarding." She heard the shouted reply, and she thought she heard him laugh. She tightened her hold on his legs, and sat down on the skimmer. She could now see ahead of her, through his open legged stance. The mountain was steep. She looked behind her and saw the raiders following. She looked ahead, seeing trees and rocks in the way. She closed her eyes, neither view pleasant.

She felt the skimmer bounce and bump, she felt the muscles in Malcolm's legs tense and relax, felt his body rocking. She felt the cold air rush past her, freezing her cheeks and nose. She opened her eyes a crack and peered through his legs. Trees. Oh no.

She felt the skimmer slide and lurch as they slalomed through the trees, Malcolm ducking and low branches occasionally trying to catch her hair. She glanced behind them. She saw one raider hit a tree and fly into the air, landing in a heap. The other two raiders were still following.

"They're still behind us!" she yelled. She felt the skimmer cut to the left sharply, Malcolm's hand trailing on the ground, straining to keep them upright and still moving. They righted and picked up momentum. She started to lean with him, shifting their weight, the skimmer going faster toward an unknown destination. "Hang on!" she heard Malcolm yell. He sounded excited.

She felt the skimmer climb and then there was no sound of the metal sweeping along the hard packed snow; only a whispering silence as the air rushed past her. She looked down. Into a gorge. They were airborne.

***

"How are the repairs going, Trip? Will we be able to rendezvous with them in time?" Jon asked.

"Yep, couple more hours and we'll have the hull sealed and the EM field in place."

"I believe that the force field will be effective against the raiders' weapons, Captain," T'Pol stated. "I've performed an analysis of the beam they emitted and I believe we can tune the frequency of the EM field to dissipate it."

Jon smiled for the first time since boarding the ship.

***

She couldn't scream. She couldn't move. Malcolm was relaxed under her death grip and she thought she heard him humming. But it could have been the frigid air rushing past her.

They landed solidly, Malcolm crouching somewhat and leaning hard, trying to bring the skimmer around and to a stop. She leaned with him and they slowed. She looked behind her. One of the raiders had managed to stop but the other plunged over the side. He didn't quite make it to their side of the gap.

They stopped slowly, finally coming to a standstill. She sat on the skimmer, breathing. Malcolm stretched leisurely then freed his boots. He turned to her.

His hair was bristled from the wind, hedgehog wild and fractious, his high cheekbones even more prominent with a glowing burnish, his grin enormous. His eyes were sparkling, the blue dominant now and shining, alive with an untamed abandonment. "That just spanked!"

He bent down and released her boots, pulled her up and kissed her. She was surprised, then excited by his passion. He plunged into her mouth, arms embracing her firmly, hands gifted. She was breathless by the time they broke apart.

She thought that, if they ever got back to Earth for shore leave, a trip to the Andes would be in order.

***

They ate the two nutrition bars left in the pack, melting some snow for water. Hoshi tried to contact the ship while Malcolm scanned their surroundings. Hoshi got nothing but static, but Malcolm found a strange energy reading similar to the one T'Pol had first discovered. They agreed to head toward it.

***

They watched as a portion of the hill dissolved and a raider exit, towing something behind his skimmer. Darkness had fallen swiftly and they hurried over to the opening.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Hoshi whispered as they cautiously peered into the murky entrance.

"It's better than freezing out here," Malcolm muttered, phase pistol drawn. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. The thermal suits were supposed to keep them fairly warm, but without gloves or hats, they were losing body heat and in danger of getting frostbite.

"The ship should meet with us in two hours," Hoshi argued softly.

"Yes, but we don't know even know its status. Besides, they'll be looking for us at our original landing site. It's a long ascent and we can't attempt it in the dark. Mountaineering isn't one of my skills..." Malcolm hissed irately. He was cold.

"I can yodel," Hoshi said abruptly.

"What?"

"I know how to yodel," she repeated. She smiled sweetly at him.

Malcolm looked at her. His mouth began to twitch and he tried to swallow his laughter. "Ah. So that makes you the expert."

"Yes. I think it's better to wait and be a little chilly," she replied.

"I'm frozen stiff right now—don't say it," he warned her as she started to grin at him. "And I think we'd be better off warm, toasty, and dry inside."

"With a bunch of raiders who want to shoot us."

"We may be able to find the other exit and work our way up to the rendezvous site. We'll...avoid the raiders. It'll be fine." He grabbed her hand and led her inside, eyes wide and dark adapted, scanning for any movement.

"Oh, right, this coming from Mister Sickbay-as-a-Second-Home," she muttered to him, listening for any other sounds besides their own.

"Look, if people listened to me, I wouldn't get shot at as much," he replied grumpily.

They continued through the dimly lit underground tunnels, arguing quietly, each trying to prevail.

Chapter 22

Malcolm ducked another swing, and kicked out, his foot impacting the raider's chest. The alien staggered back and straightened, then rushed Malcolm.

Malcolm dove out of the way, desperate to escape the vicious spikes protruding from the raider's gloved forearms. He tried to locate his phase pistol in the dim light. He rolled away as the raider aimed a kick at his ribs, trying to avoid the shorter yet still sharp spikes on the alien's boots. Malcolm scrambled to the other alien who lay unconscious on the floor. Malcolm grabbed the whip off of the stunned man's body and regained his feet. He worried about Hoshi.

***

Hoshi had needed to go to the bathroom. Malcolm told her to hold it. She glared at him and told him in no uncertain terms, that he'd be holding his own decapitated head if he didn't let her stop. He reluctantly agreed and escorted her to a likely place. She sent him further down the tunnel for privacy.

Unfortunately, Malcolm ran into two raiders coming from the opposite direction. There was nowhere to hide and no way to alert Hoshi. They stared at each other for a startled moment; Malcolm had never seen this species before. He briefly took in their pale coloring and hairless features, then took off, away from Hoshi's position, pell-mell down the tunnel. He crashed through a doorway, wincing at the loud sound he made as he threw the door open, hoping no one was on the other side of it. His phase pistol was out and grasped tightly in his hand. He stopped. Storage room. No exit. Dead end. He turned and steadied himself.

He stunned the first raider, who barged in, gun out and aiming wildly. The second raider was much cannier, waiting until Malcolm was preoccupied with his compatriot.

The second raider, whip in hand and with the unerring accuracy of long practice, used it to snatch the phase pistol out of Malcolm's grasp. Malcolm watched as it flew away, his eyes wide and temper igniting. The raider smiled at him and launched his attack.

Malcolm dodged the flurry of feet and fists, trying to avoid becoming impaled on those razor sharp spikes. He jumped and aimed a high kick at the alien's head, connecting with the alien's face. It rocked the raider, and made him angry.

Malcolm had launched another kick and the raider blocked it; he grabbed Malcolm's foot and dumped him to the ground. Malcolm bounced back up, ducking the blows aimed at him.

***

Malcolm unfurled the whip. His opponent merely snorted, laughing and said something unintelligible, then started toward Malcolm.

The whip cracked, and the raider reared back, hand against his cheek, covering the bloody welt that had been raised. Malcolm now smiled thinly back, eyes narrowed. The raider snarled out a string of words and Malcolm cocked the whip again.

Malcolm heard the whine of a phase pistol. The raider dropped, and Malcolm saw Hoshi standing behind the fallen alien, pistol still in hand.

She winked at him and blew imaginary smoke off of the barrel of her pistol before replacing it in her holster. He wasn't surprised that he was relieved to see her, but the strength of his feelings startled him. Again.

"I'm thinking you should transfer to security, Ensign," he teased, wanting to lose himself in her lips again. But now the clock was against them. It would only be a matter of time before the rest of the raiders would discover their colleagues missing. They would have to get to the other exit quickly. He moved to one of the raiders and started stripping off the man's uniform.

"Malcolm?"

"Look, we stick out like sore thumbs. We can at least disguise ourselves and then we'll have those extra few seconds should we run into any more raiders."

She nodded and bent over the other alien, tugging off the man's boots.

"How did you learn to use that?" She indicated to the whip at Malcolm's feet.

His first reaction was to avoid the question, sidestep it or deflect it. Then he sighed. Honesty and truth, he repeated to himself, recalling one of their late night conversations. "I used to date a circus performer." He removed the alien's leather forearm guards, mindful of the sharp spikes.

"What?" She looked at him oddly. "What kind of circus performer?"

"She did a tiger act; used the whip for effect only."

"I thought live animal acts were outlawed." She unfastened the raider's uniform, stripping the man of it.

"Surprising what you can find in less traveled parts of the world."

"But...where did the tiger live?" The thought of the poor animal shoved into a cramped and smelly cage made her ill.

"She lived with us." He finished stripping his raider.

"You lived with a circus performer? And a tiger?"

Oh lord. She was looking at him oddly, again. Why did he say 'us'? "Yes. And her family. For a short while." There, that sounded innocent enough.

"Her family? Were they in the circus too?" She stood, the raider's clothes bundled in her arms.

"Yes...come on, we better get dressed." He shifted uneasily, beginning to feel that truth and honesty were vastly overrated.

"Wait. What did her family do?"

"Can't we have this conversation later? We really should get dressed, keep our mind on what we're doing—"

"You can talk and dress at the same time. What did they do?" She sat and took her boots off.

Bloody hell. In for penny, in for a pound. "Yvette's sisters were contortionists, her brothers did a high wire act and her parents were trapeze artists. They took me in, taught me a few things. We parted on friendly terms. End of story." He took his boots off and started to peel off his thermal suit.

"Did you 'date' Yvette's sisters as well?" Hoshi was enjoying this.

He blushed. Honesty. Truth and Honesty. Damned honesty. "Hoshi..."

"Well?"

"Do I ask you about your former lovers?" There, a good offense is a good defense.

"We're talking about you."

"Why can't we talk about you?"

"We don't have time right now." She removed her thermal suit and shrugged into the raider's uniform.

"Right. Let's do this later." Malcolm struggled into the tight outfit, for once thankful for his slight build. He turned toward Hoshi, noticing that the molded armor hid her assets quite handily. Swallowing down his discomfort, he forced himself to carefully place the collar around his neck. He attached the whip to the side of the armor and grabbed two helmets from the storage rack. He used the reflective faceplate of one to look at himself.

"I look like a bloody dominatrix," he muttered acerbically as he placed the helmets on the bench and reached for their phase pistols.

"And how would you know what a dominatrix looks like, Malcolm?" she asked, eyebrows arched. "Date one?"

"That's how Maddie worked her way through university," he replied absently as he checked their weapons.

"What?!" Hoshi exclaimed, her voice rising.

He looked up and smiled. "Joking." He picked up one of the helmets and held it out to her. "I think we should bring these, unless you want to shave your head and eyebrows."

She walked over to him. The armored codpiece jiggled and bounced unnaturally. He shook his head.

"You'll have to fix that," he said as he pointed.

"What?" Hoshi looked down.

"Your codpiece is...flapping," he said, struggling not to laugh. "Lord, I never thought I'd ever say something like that."

"What do you expect me to do about it?" Hoshi asked, starting to chuckle. She moved her hips and the codpiece bounced up and down a bit more.

"God, Hoshi," Malcolm laughed and stripped the socks off of one of the raiders, rolling them up. "You'll have to stuff it," he said, his lips twitching.

"Mm. You seem to know a lot about this. Experience?" she teased.

"Oh, put a sock in it," he laughed. He kissed her and handed the socks to her. He placed the phase pistol in his holster and drew his gloves on, flexing his hands. He fastened the spiked bands around his arms.

Hoshi finished stuffing her codpiece and moved experimentally. It stayed in place. Malcolm slapped the gun into her holster. He handed her the gloves and looked at her.

"Ready, love?"

"As ready as I'll ever be," she replied, pulling the gloves on. He carefully secured her arm guards and looked at her. She returned his gaze and he could see a hint of nervousness creep into her eyes.

He kissed her again. "Don't be afraid. This'll turn out all right."

Chapter 23

The Enterprise flew back to the planet, repairs made, EM shielding in place. Travis practiced maneuvers, keeping the shielding imposed between the ship and imaginary enemies. It would be difficult to confine the helm to one dimension during a battle, but he grew accustom to thinking, and moving, within that restricted proportion. He was the pilot, his hands guiding his ship automatically, responding instantly to the ships he envisioned. He let himself merge with his ship, and he knew he was ready.

***

They stole through the tunnels, climbing upwards through the levels, occasionally scanning to check their bearings, trying to get to that energy source above them and to the exit minutes from the original landing site. They made no small talk, no playful banter; Hoshi needed to listen intently for any sign of the raiders. Malcolm's hand lay on his phase pistol, eyes constantly hunting for the slightest movement. Hoshi listened, head cocked and face in rapt concentration. Her superior hearing would give them those extra seconds needed to snap their helmets on.

A sudden pulsating summons echoed through the passageways and Malcolm tensed, stopping suddenly and placing a protective hand on Hoshi. He took the lead, moving more quickly towards their destination, the unpleasant wailing of the unknown signal reverberating off the claustrophobic walls making them uneasy.

They were a level away from the power source, the tunnel branching out in several directions, when Hoshi heard something. She touched Malcolm and hastily put her helmet on. He followed suit. The stench was overpowering, but he endured it, along with the sudden cropping of his peripheral vision. His anxiety slid up a notch and he readied himself. He stepped in front of Hoshi as four helmeted raiders rounded the bend ahead.

The alien in the lead stopped and then spoke to them. Malcolm was calculating the odds of stunning all four of them successfully when Hoshi stepped around him and answered hesitantly, lowering the pitch of her voice to a gruff and hoarse tone. He winced. She sounded for all the world like a child trying to imitate her father.

The raider spoke again and Hoshi nodded as they came forward. He couldn't see her eyes in the reflective visor; he couldn't tell what was said, or if they had been discovered or not. He waited as they approached, his fingers twitching slightly, ready to pull his weapon at the first sign of trouble. The raiders passed them and Hoshi nudged Malcolm to follow.

Hoshi couldn't allow herself to feel relief that she had understood correctly and had apparently given the right response. She had tried to obtain more information on this alien language but could only find distantly related tongues and had to fall back on what little she had learned from the Dragoncait's visual logs. The raider had told her to hurry up, something about being late, and the word ship. Their ruse would be over if she had to engage in further conversation. She walked close to Malcolm, unable to see his face, unable to read what he would do and with no way to communicate with him.

***

T'Pol scanned the surface, the evening atmospheric conditions loosening the cloak of interference.

"I've located two humanoid life forms. They are in the vicinity of the underground warp signatures," she stated, ignoring the Captain's distasteful emotional display.

"Captain!" Williams interrupted. "Reading several raider ships heading our way!"

"Polarize the hull plating, power up the phase cannon and ready torpedoes. Trip, is that EM field on-line?" Archer asked, looking at his engineer.

"Yes, sir. Tuned to the frequency T'Pol recommended," Trip answered.

"Travis, keep the shield between us and those ships," Archer said.

"Aye, sir."

"Sensors read six ships, Captain," Williams reported.

The ships arrived and the lead alien fired. The Enterprise shook, but the explosion did not touch the hull. Williams returned fire. Travis concentrated on keeping the bow toward the hostile ships, always maneuvering Enterprise to face the enemy. The battle quickly became fully engaged.

***

Hoshi and Malcolm followed the raiders up another level as they marched two abreast, listening to the four males in front of them talk. They followed along silently, Hoshi trying to understand the alien words.

The raider who spoke to them first turned and said something to her again. She stopped and Malcolm halted a few steps in front of her. She ran the words the raider said through her mind rapidly, trying to discern their meaning. She hesitated, unable to understand what had been said. Her fear grew as the raider said something else. She didn't understand and she nodded, hoping to buy time.

The raider took a step forward and spit out another string of words, these so foreign and so alien, that Hoshi knew that it was futile.

"Malcolm!" she cried.

A raider in the back drew his sidearm just as Malcolm drew his pistol, stunning the two raiders in front of him. Malcolm swung his pistol at the raider with the gun, but the other alien launched himself at Malcolm, knocking him backwards and into the wall hard. Malcolm dodged a blow and pushed himself off the wall, trying to get a bead on the armed alien. The other raider grabbed at him and he ducked away, skirting back and bringing his pistol up again.

Hoshi had pulled her phase pistol out, but the armed raider aimed his weapon at her head and she froze. He moved quickly and grabbed it out of her hand, yanked her helmet off, then shouted to his companion. The other raider stopped and backed off, saying something to Malcolm.

Malcolm saw the weapon pointed at Hoshi's head, the alien shouting out an order to him. Malcolm let his pistol go and listened to it as it hit the ground. The raider with the gun addressed Hoshi, and she answered, her voice faint. The raider spoke slower, and enunciated clearly. Hoshi replied, her words halting.

Malcolm removed his helmet slowly and let it dangle in his hand. He looked at the raiders and waited.

***

The Enterprise took out two of the raiders' ships and Travis continued to keep the shield between them. Travis flew the Enterprise, modified shielding always toward the enemy ships, using unorthodox and frankly, frightening, maneuvers that tossed unprepared crewmen to the floor and into bulkheads. Jon hung on tight, watching Williams clutching her console for dear life, firing at their antagonists whenever she could loosen her grip long enough.

Travis flung the ship into another demented move, preventing two ships from flanking them. Jon grimaced as the viewscreen seemed to turn upside down.

Travis smiled.

***

Malcolm waited, unable to see the eyes of his enemies, unable to ascertain what they were going to decide to do with them. He tried to control his body's responses but could not still his twitching fingers or his harsh breathing. He looked at Hoshi, at the gun pointed at her head, and felt a rush of fear. His body tensed involuntarily, adrenaline pumping, heart speeding.

The gun filled Hoshi's vision. She couldn't think. She couldn't move. The barrel of the gun was all she could see. She inhaled an unsteady breath and the cry of the Dragoncait's crewman filled her mind. The agonized cry of a man being sliced into with a razor sharp beam, a beam carving into his vitalized flesh, an autopsy being performed on a living body. The man's cry thundered in her head, drowning out the raider's next question.

The raider with the gun brought his arm up a little and his gloved fingers tightened on the trigger. Malcolm saw the terror in his lover's eyes, echoing the last emotion he had seen in another pair of dark brown eyes he had once loved. Time slowed down for Malcolm and he moved without thought.

Chapter 24

He flung his helmet at the raider, knocking the gun from the alien's hand and Malcolm launched himself at the man in a silent berserker rage. The other raider moved to intercept him, but Malcolm twisted by and attacked with a fury he did not try to control. Unmindful of the raider's spiked collar and the sharpened barbs jutting from the man's upraised arms, Malcolm drove the alien to the ground, the man's helmeted head bouncing sharply off the stony floor. Malcolm slammed his fist into the man's faceplate. The force of the blow, aided by the sturdy needle sharp spikes, shattered the faceplate and the alien cried out in pain.

The other raider grabbed Malcolm from behind and hauled him off his partner, flinging the armory officer to the side. Malcolm kicked out at his attacker, then surged to his feet.

Hoshi felt her legs give out and she allowed herself to drop to the floor. Her trembling hands scrabbled in front of her, searching for a weapon. She forced herself to crawl as quickly as possible along the chilled ground; her hand struck her phase pistol. She fired it at her would be murderer, her shaky aim miraculously hitting him. She swung the pistol toward the other raider, but Malcolm was too close to him and she was afraid she'd shoot Malcolm by mistake. She kept the wavering pistol trained on them, hoping for a clear shot.

She'd seen Malcolm fight before. She'd seen his brisk and fluid movements. She'd seen him in the gym with his security team, sparring, using the quick actions of various martial arts forms. She realized he'd been going easy on them.

Malcolm attacked the raider with a speed and grace that made her stare in shock. One moment he was poised, arms raised in front of him in a set position, and the next eye blink he was tearing the helmet off his opponent and smashing a knee into the man's stomach. The raider lurched backwards and Malcolm hit him with a flurry of kicks too fast for Hoshi to see properly. The raider staggered and raised his arms, swinging out rapidly, managing to block a kick and sent Malcolm off balance. He adjusted his footing for a second to regain his stability and the raider counter-attacked, hurling a series of swift strikes at Malcolm. Malcolm moved quickly, parrying the blows, the spikes around their leather guards striking each other, ringing out metallically, a curiously jovial sound, chime-like and pleasing. The raider pressed forward, hoarsely screaming, trying to intimidate, and Malcolm backed up silently, still fending off the fleet assault.

Hoshi wasn't certain, exactly, what happened next. Malcolm was backed against the wall, then pivoted, his body contorted at an inconceivable angle. He kicked out with both feet, and in the next instant the raider was on the ground, Malcolm on top of him, slamming the raider's head repeatedly into the floor beneath them.

Malcolm felt the raider go limp and he stopped. He checked for a pulse and found one. He rose slowly, breathing hard, ignoring that final surge of adrenaline that made him tremble now. He turned to Hoshi, and it took all his discipline not to collapse in a heap at her feet, the relief that she was unharmed almost overwhelming. He held his hand out to her and hauled her up. "Nice shot." He tried to smile.

She looked at him. Without conscious volition she stared into his eyes, half expecting to find a cruel detachment there, or the black pools that had haunted her dreams. Instead she found a churning of emotions in that mix of colors, a warmth and unconcealed depth of feeling, a love and dedication that caused her to inhale sharply in astonishment. He looked at her quizzically and she kissed him, holding him tight, shamed by her unconscious fear and surprised by the sudden intensity of protectiveness and desire she felt for him.

They clung to each other, both trying to catch their breath, both trying to still their pounding hearts. Malcolm gently disengaged them, heaving one last deep release of breath, then retrieved their helmets.

"How did you do that move?" Hoshi asked, needing to make small talk, trying to dispel the image of the gun barrel in her face, trying not to think about how she had completely failed in what was supposed to be her specialty.

"What move?"

"When you were against the wall and then you kicked him. I didn't think the human body could get into that position."

Malcolm frowned thoughtfully. "I don't know. It just works." He suddenly smiled at her roguishly. "I think I learnt it from Yvette's sisters." He placed the helmet on her head, muffling her reply.

***

He led her to the hangar where several of the raiders' ships were waiting. Helmets on, they blended with the other raiders, and as casually as possible, strode to one of the vessels. He had told her that, whenever you're going somewhere you're not supposed to be, you should always look like you belonged there. He led her, bold as brass and twice as cocky, up onto the ship, locking the portal behind them. He removed his helmet, a look of stunned disbelief on his face, and then a broad grin appeared.

Hoshi removed her helmet as well, and looked about the ship's interior. Long and narrow, two seats were at the front, an expanse of control panels and flashing lights before them.

"Think you can figure any of this out?" he asked, sitting down in the pilot's chair.

"Malcolm, I couldn't understand their language, I didn't have enough to go on. I almost got us killed," she replied, head bowed, unable to keep the despair out of her voice. Her eyes scanned the panels, trying to pick out something familiar, her failure consuming her.

He turned to her and lifted her chin. He forced her to look at him and his eyes held that distinctive intensity that always fascinated her. "They would have discovered us the moment they came upon us if you hadn't heard them. They may very well have killed us as soon as they saw us if you hadn't answered them. Because of you they practically escorted us here. You got us here faster and further than we would have gone on our own. And because of you, I'm alive. You've saved my life several times today, Hoshi, and you'd do well to remember how strong and competent you are. You only fail if you don't try."

He smiled at her and traced a light finger through her hair, then dropped his eyes and started inspecting the panels.

***

They followed four other ships from the hangar and climbed through the atmosphere, staying behind and out of the tight formation of the other vessels. The comm system crackled and a voice spoke.

"What should we do?" Hoshi asked fretfully, still looking at the panels. She had found the ignition panel and Malcolm had used his experience to make an educated guess on how to launch their vessel and maneuver it.

"Ignore it."

The voice came again, a questioning tone, and then a demanding one.

"Does this look like the weapons system to you?" Malcolm asked, pointing to one of the panels.

Hoshi studied it, the related languages swimming in her head. She compared the script and characters, finding a linking fragment here and there. She pointed to an adjacent panel. "I think these are the weapons here—one's the torpedoes, the other's the cutting beam, but I'm not sure which is which."

The voice barked out a string of commanding sentences.

"Can you turn that off? Or hail Enterprise?" Malcolm asked, studying the weapons panel while making the ship maneuver slightly, trying to get a feel for it. They were free of the atmosphere now and still trailing the others. Malcolm could feel a sense of anticipation. The ship was trim and fast. It had torpedoes. He was looking forward to this.

Hoshi analyzed the panels, trying to ascertain which one was the comm unit.

"I feel like Mexican food tonight," he said conversationally. "Or Chinese. Hope Chef's got something good."

"How can you think about eating right now?" Hoshi asked in disbelief.

"I'm famished. Aren't you?" he replied and bent down, tugging off his boots and stripping off his socks. He wiggled his toes. Much better. The raider's boots had been too tight and his socks were unpleasantly damp.

"Malcolm—" She couldn't continue. She could only look at him with incredulity.

"What?" he asked. He rolled his head and cracked his neck, then stretched. He was ready.

The voice continued to speak, becoming harsher and more demanding.

They saw a small white ship ahead being dogged by several smaller ships. Enterprise. Malcolm raced toward their home and started firing at the enemy vessels.

Chapter 25

"Captain, five more ships have appeared on long range sensors," T'Pol announced calmly.

Travis had kept the shield toward the attacking ships, not allowing a single raider to flank them. He had performed some extremely unorthodox maneuvers to accomplish this feat, whipping the ship mercilessly around until Trip thought the structural safeties would fail. Gravity had already gone out on two decks due to the stress of a particularly riotous strategy of Travis'. But not one cutting beam had landed on the ship's hull, the EM field doing its job and Travis doing his.

"Williams, think we can take them on too?" Archer asked.

"That'll make a dozen ships, sir. We'll run out of torpedoes at this rate and that's about the only thing that has an effect on them," she replied. "The phase cannon takes too much time to disable one."

"Travis, be prepared to warp out of here—" Archer started and Trip interrupted.

"Cap'n! We can't leave them down there!" he argued heatedly.

"I know that! But I can't let them destroy the ship!" Jon shot back, a look of warning in his eyes.

T'Pol interrupted. "Captain, one of the incoming ships is acting...inconsistently."

"Magnify," Archer ordered.

The viewscreen showed one of the smaller ships accelerating toward them, firing its weapons. They saw the ship destroy two of its own forces and then turn sharply, diving down and under Enterprise.

"Track that!" Archer barked.

T'Pol switched the view to stern in time to see the raider pull up abruptly, soaring over Enterprise, upside down and weaving. She switched to the bow again and they saw the alien ship peel away, straight into its oncoming brethren, weapons discharging.

Travis expelled a low whistle. "Damn. I think that pilot's gone space happy."

"I believe we have found our missing crewmates," T'Pol commented.

---

The voice started yelling as the raiders broke formation and scrambled away from them. Malcolm kept firing, hitting another ship, destroying its weapons' port. He chased another raider.

The strident voice hollered as Hoshi tried to shut it off. It was getting on her nerves. She tapped in random commands, hoping to hit upon the right one. The voice cut off in mid-screech and she smiled, then frowned as Malcolm pushed the ship into another erratic maneuver. She attempted to contact Enterprise and ignore her stomach's protest.

***

Williams destroyed another ship and their raider ally took out two, slicing sideways narrowly between the enemy ships, causing one to swerve so sharply that it collided with another raider.

"Try to hail that ship, T'Pol; see if it's them," Archer said as he watched the raiders scatter as their new friend came swooping down again, firing at a steady pace.

T'Pol sent out a hail and a reply was heard on another frequency.

"Sato to Enterprise, come in. Sato to Enterprise. Do you read?"

T'Pol acknowledged, but Hoshi continued to hail them.

"Apparently they can't receive us, Captain," T'Pol reported as she continued to try to break through to their crewmates.

Chapter 26

"I can't get anything, Malcolm," Hoshi said and then clutched her chair as Malcolm took the ship into another tight turn.

"You know, you're going to make me sick if you keep that up," she said irritably. They were upside down again, her hair hanging straight down and swaying with the movements of the ship. She looked at Malcolm, a frown on her face. "All the blood's rushing to my head," she complained.

He listened to her with half an ear, smiling slightly. "It'll give you a new perspective on things."

"Can't you fly right side up?" The ship shook, hit by a well aimed shot from one of the raider ships which were now converging upon them, ignoring Enterprise.

He righted the ship and then banked again, speeding away, the pack now tailing them.

"Oh, this is good," Hoshi grumbled. Their ship rocked again and Malcolm hurtled the ship upwards, circling over their pursuers and coming back down behind them.

"Damn it, Malcolm! I'm going to puke! Stop that!"

He fired into the group, disabling two more before they broke formation again. He curved away and ran back toward Enterprise.

"Only four left," he murmured. He led the raiders within Enterprise's firing range and then abruptly maneuvered away again, trying to circle in on another raider.

"Where'd you learn to fly? A vidgame?" Hoshi crossly insulted. She was definitely feeling nauseous.

Enterprise unleashed four torpedoes, destroying a ship and then darted forward.

"Look, I'm trying to concentrate. Why don't you just close your eyes and think happy thoughts," he said, whipping the ship sideways quickly, dodging another beam from a raider.

Hoshi was jerked against the restraints. "Damn it, Malcolm!"

"You know, you get awfully cross when you haven't eaten. You'll feel better after dinner." He locked on to another ship and fired. It hit the engine and the ship exploded spectacularly.

"Did you see that! That was beautiful!" he enthused.

***

Williams fired their last three torpedoes, destroying a ship, leaving one raider left. The raider turned and ran.

"God, Malcolm! You're insane! You know that?" Hoshi's aggravated voice filled the bridge. "Are explosions the only thing you think about?" Jon put his head in his hand. They'd been listening to their crewmates since Hoshi hailed them.

"It was pretty. Nice symmetry too—"

"Pretty? Symmetry? I'll show you something pretty and symmetrical."

"Really? I'd like that," Malcolm's voice dropped seductively. Trip's head shot up.

"Malcolm..." The bridge crew heard a metallic sound, followed by movement. "Malcolm! Mmmmmfffff..."

There was another metallic sound and a thump, seemingly close to the comm unit. T'Pol raised an eyebrow.

"Oooh, Malcolm—" Hoshi sounded a little breathless. They heard her moan and then a rustling sound; then a low chuckle before another thump cut the transmission off.

***

Twenty minutes later, Hoshi and Malcolm walked from the shuttlebay to the bridge, unaware of the looks they were receiving as they were given a wide berth, their crewmates eyeing the black uniforms with their spikes and leather accouterments. They were too busy talking quietly to each other, smiling and looking into each other's eyes.

They strolled onto the bridge and every eye swung toward them. Staring.

"What?" they asked in unison.

"Nothing." Trip said, grinning madly at them. "Just happy to see you."

"Where's my shuttle, Lieutenant?" Jon asked sternly, his lips twitching, betraying the smile he was trying to suppress.

"It broke, sir. Had to trade it," Malcolm replied cheekily.

"What happened to your clothes?" Travis asked, trying to maintain a deadpan. Ensign Sparks sniggered quietly.

"We had to disguise ourselves. To blend in," Hoshi replied coolly, staring down Sparks.

"It appears you had an interesting time," T'Pol stated calmly. "I'll look forward to reading the report."

"Well done, Ensign, Lieutenant," Jon said.

"Pretty explosions, Malcolm." Trip grinned wider.

"Yes, very symmetrical," Jon added, his grin matching Trip's.

Malcolm's face grew warm. Hoshi looked at him and then back at Jon. Jon continued to smile.

"Just like a vidgame," Trip added casually. Malcolm groaned slightly and dropped his head, hand covering his eyes.

Hoshi's mouth opened and then closed. She started to blush and then she laughed. "Permission to be excused, sir? We've worked up quite an appetite," she said with a wink at Jon. She grabbed Malcolm's hand and pulled him off the bridge.

***

The Enterprise made her way slowly back to Io Station. They dropped their passengers from the Dragoncait off and stayed for the three days needed to complete their retrofit. Jon told Malcolm to complete his shore leave, that he could play with the EM shield later. Jon also told Hoshi that she could take some extra leave as well, considering their last mission. No one saw or heard from Hoshi and Malcolm for the next three days. Trip and Jon had some very interesting conversation over their nightly dinners though.

They never discovered who the raiders were or what became of them. A Vulcan cruiser arrived at the planet shortly after the Enterprise left and could find no trace of them.

Two days after Enterprise left Io, Jon received an especially secured transmission from Admiral Forrest. He took it in his ready room and after a few minutes called Malcolm in. T'Pol noted that the transmission continued for close to a quarter of an hour afterwards and when her crewmates emerged neither of them looked happy. Malcolm wore a dark expression as he headed back to his station and the Captain looked worried and angry.

T'Pol later received the information she had sent for from Vulcan and briefed the Captain on it thoroughly. She observed that he was quieter than usual and wondered why.

T'Pol spoke to Trip that evening over a late night snack he insisted she try. She mentioned the transmission from the Admiral, the contents of the information she'd received from her homeworld, her meeting with the Captain, and her observation of his subdued behavior. She and Trip speculated for some time, T'Pol knowing that it was illogical to make any conjectures, but continued, enjoying the engineer's company. She felt comfortable with him.

As the evening grew late, she excused herself, knowing that Trip would stay up all night with her, but acknowledging that their engineer needed to sleep in order to be efficient. Fortunately Vulcans didn't need to sleep as much as humans and she roamed the ship as usual.

Epilogue

Malcolm lay awake in his bunk, thinking. He had much to think about and he watched Hoshi as she slept. Her hand rested around his waist, his on her thigh, and he stared at her face in the dim light of his room. She was so beautiful. He watched as her lips moved, some alien language being formed on those soft and so pleasurable cupid bows he longed to taste again. He could lay here all night looking at her, memorizing her features, thinking about how much he loved her.

He kissed her forehead lightly, and slipped out of her embrace without disturbing her sleep. He silently pulled on a pair of sweats and a tee shirt, then slipped out of his room. He needed to think without distraction.

***

Malcolm sat in the observation lounge, a glass of milk in his hand, forgotten. He watched the stars, thinking about Adam and Lita, and what Forrest had asked him to do.

T'Pol entered the lounge quietly and stopped short. She turned to go.

"It's all right, Sub Commander, I don't mind company," Malcolm said quietly, his eyes on her reflection in the window.

T'Pol sat down on the other end of the couch. They contemplated the stars in silence.

"Admiral Forrest's son has been captured," Malcolm said, his tone conversational.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow at him.

"That's what he called about today. Apparently he received some information from another source concerning Adam." He knew T'Pol would know who he was talking about. The five of them had sat down together on the way back to Io Station and the Captain had briefed Hoshi and T'Pol on what had taken place in the Admiral's office. T'Pol then shared the information in the files she'd received from Vulcan. "The Admiral's adjunct, Stevens, has disappeared as well." Malcolm kept his suspicions to himself about that development.

T'Pol waited for him to continue, but he just stared out the window, unseeing.

"What does the Admiral plan to do?" she asked.

"He asked me to try to find Adam and Lita."

"That sounds like a hazardous endeavor, Lieutenant."

"They're my friends," he replied, as if that explained everything.

They sat in silence for a while, each with their own thoughts, staring at the stars. She looked at his reflection in the window, taking in his scruffy appearance, his legs bent with his bare feet planted into the couch, the uncombed hair. She studied his unshaven face and alert eyes, seeing a hint of strain around them. She thought about how young she had been at his age. All the humans on this ship were so young. She wanted to say something comforting, but Vulcans didn't offer meaningless words of reassurance.

"What made you suspect me?" Malcolm asked into the stillness. He looked at her mildly.

"I could sense the lack of emotions when I touched you on TayNor," she explained.

"I'd heard that Vulcans were touch telepaths, but I didn't think it was true," Malcolm commented.

"We tightly maintain our mental shields to prevent invading another's thoughts accidentally. My mental shields were down at the time. I ask forgiveness for intruding upon your privacy and for forcing myself on you. It was an unthinkable offense," she stated.

"No offense was taken Sub Commander. There's nothing to forgive; it wasn't your fault. It just happened. Things just happen, no matter how hard we try."

They sat in silence again. Malcolm sipped his milk.

"May I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?"

He paused for a moment, considering. "All right. Doesn't mean I'll answer it," he replied, smiling slightly.

"Of course." This time she paused to gather her thoughts before speaking.

"Vulcans believe in the mastery of their emotions. We're too dangerous a race to allow them to rule. There are those who go further, those that seek Kohlinahr, as the ones on P'Jem did. A total purging of all emotions. Pure logic governs. It's a goal that many of my people strive for. Those who achieve it, the Kolinahru, remain secluded at Gol and only acolytes are allowed to interact with them."

"Sounds difficult," Malcolm remarked. "And lonely."

"It takes much discipline, and will." She looked at him and he met her eyes. "I have on occasion considered becoming a Kolinahru. You've experience something analogous to Kohlinahr. I would like to know what it's like." She saw surprise in his eyes.

He looked away, and she waited patiently.

"It's awful..." he whispered and he closed his eyes. She watched him draw in a breath and exhale it slowly. He then opened his eyes and looked at her.

"You don't care about anything. Anyone. Not even yourself. It's not like being numb or in shock. It's...it's just nothing matters...nothing other than the objective you're working towards. And while that makes you efficient, makes you excel and meet that goal without any conflicted...without a conscience...there's no moral guide," he stammered.

He dropped his eyes and stared at his glass. "You can do anything to others, especially if you believe it's for the greater good. But it doesn't make it right. You have to follow a code of morality, even though you know there will be negative consequences that could harm yourself, or others you care about, because it's just not right...and when you have no emotions, there's no reason to have ethics. Humans would have had warp drive capabilities faster if we had just eliminated the problem of Vulcans withholding the information. The most logical route is the fastest and easiest, no wasting energy or effort."

He breathed out a small laugh, "Hell, we could just take what we wanted...that's the logical thing to do, survival of the fittest, alpha species and all that. We'd give you a run for your money if it came down to that. But it isn't right. Some Vulcans see our emotions as a handicap, but look at Captain Archer. His compassion, his concern and empathy for others; he's got a generosity of spirit and an innate kindness. Those are some of the best qualities of humanity. What's that Vulcan adage? 'The spear in the Other's heart is the spear in your Own: You are He?'" He looked up at her and stared at her with an intensity that fascinated her. T'Pol nodded, returning his gaze.

"Where's the logic in that? Why bother with empathy? Eliminate the other. Problem solved. But it isn't right."

She blinked.

"And you can't feel joy, you can't feel love, you can't even take satisfaction in a job well done," he suddenly quirked a half smile at her, "You can't even find a nebula aesthetically pleasing."

He dropped his gaze and shook his head. "I understand the mastery of emotions. You can't let them cloud your thinking when you have to act. But purging them—you might as well be a computer, soulless —just...nothing..." he trailed off and studied the floor.

T'Pol continued to look at him, considering his words.

"You have given me much to meditate upon, Lieutenant. I appreciate you answering my question." She paused. "Thank you, Malcolm," she said quietly.

He raised his head and looked at her in surprise. "You're welcome Sub Commander."

She looked out at the stars again and Malcolm stood to leave. He'd made his decision.

"Do you know what your name means in Vulcan?" she asked.

"Serenity?" he guessed with an odd little smile.

She shook her head. "In Old Vulcan, Mul-kum is a concept. 'Redemption after much adversity.' There are stories in which the protagonist overcomes many misfortunes, prevailing over tragic setbacks and obstacles. If you are interested, I can tell you about them sometime."

Malcolm studied her for a moment. "I think I'd like that Sub Commander." He nodded to her and left.

T'Pol returned to her observation of the stars. She thought about the even more ancient concept of Mul-kum: Redemption through love.