Written for "Break Travis Month". This is a multi-chapter story. It takes place before the Expanse.
Grateful thanks to my wonderful beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.
§ 1 §
Malcolm leaned back with his elbows on the pedestal of the deep-green stone effigy of 'August Sovereign Fhniet'we I" and let the view extending in front of his eyes transport him briefly into the realm of recollection. Looking at the sea always brought back memories – and not necessarily all bad ones.
As a child, before his aqua-phobia, he'd been attracted to the water; he still was, in a strange way – a bit like the dangerous attraction one feels when looking into an abyss. Like it or not, the sea was in his blood. And he'd never tire of watching the long waves rolling with their lulling rhythmical sound on a strand.
To all appearances the setting sun was plunging head-on into the ocean, splashing the horizon in a triumph of gold. Dark clouds, though, were coming in from the east, where the sky had veered to shades of grey and violet.
"D'you think we'll get rain, Your Majesty?" Malcolm asked of the statue towering over him. The stern man astride the local version of a charger, a multi-legged creature that looked capable of frightening speeds, of course did not answer. Good thing he was alone – Malcolm mused. No more drinking.
And talking of sobriety – or lack thereof: how would Trip and Travis be faring? He had left the two of them in front of second or third pints of the local ale, in the tavern at the back of the square.
Malcolm studied the sky. He wouldn't mind a bit of rain, actually. Even at sunset he found this planet by the unpronounceable name warmer than comfortable. But at least, now that the official visit was over, he was allowed to unzip the top of his uniform and roll up his sleeves; which he promptly did, pushing off the statue and starting on a stroll along the deserted seaside promenade. The aliens of this world, who shared its impossible name, seemed to favour the indoors, at all times of day and night.
The away team had been invited to spend the evening in town, and Malcolm had heaved half a sigh of relief when, after their talks, Archer and T'Pol had politely turned down the offer and returned to the ship with Hoshi; the other half sigh he was keeping for the moment Trip and Travis were going to declare themselves knackered and ready to call it a day – which he hoped would be soon. Having to keep a watchful eye on their hosts, people with two sets of arms each, hadn't been a stroll in the park; and Malcolm really didn't share his crewmates' enthusiasm for – what had Trip called it? – a 'night out of the ordinary'.
Out of the ordinary! What people could do with all those arms and hands when dancing was truly out of the ordinary. Malcolm hoped Trip would keep his hands out of boxes of pebbles and the like, giving a good example for Travis. At the fashionable seafront locale the music had been far too loud, and after bravely suffering it for an hour Malcolm had gone out in search of a few minutes of peace and a bit of fresh air, which he hadn't – the latter – in truth yet found.
Turning to look at the spot of light, bright in the fast falling darkness, that marked the nightclub, he felt a predictable pang of conscience. He should go back. If Trip and Travis were off duty, the Chief of Security, on an alien planet, never really was. Indeed he'd stayed back just to be there in case of need.
A few more minutes – Malcolm told himself. He hated the idea of returning to that din. After keeping focused for so many hours he yearned for some time alone where he could empty his mind and recharge his batteries. This deserted walk along the sea and the soothing sound of the waves were too good to leave.
Just a few more minutes. Now that the sun had set, he was finally feeling the hint of a breeze, which brought with it the pungent smell of salt water. Malcolm turned his face to it and closed his eyes. After all, the Ghosts – as Travis (who else?) had re-baptised this humanoid species, for they were all basically lanky and very pale – seemed quite a peaceful race.
Eyes flashing open, Malcolm swivelled abruptly. Something had awakened his sixth sense. He narrowed his gaze, but it was that time of day when, neither light nor dark, vision was difficult. He stood immobile for a few moments, all senses on the alert. Nothing. He shook his head. If Trip were here he wouldn't waste the occasion to tease him about his paranoid-
"Ah!"
The choked cry sent a shot of adrenaline through his system. Turning once more, Malcolm took a few hurried steps back and managed to make out people scuffling in the distance, not far from the locale's entrance. By then he was already on the run.
In the twilight, from a couple of hundred meters, shapes were rather indistinct; but with every stride the picture was becoming clearer. What the hell... So much for being a peaceful species: two Ghosts were holding Travis still, while a third was thrashing him – and having two sets of arms made the job all the easier, or more hurtful, depending on the point of view.
"Hey!" Malcolm barked. Without a thought for diplomacy, he reached for his phase pistol and set it on stun, as he broke off to walking, some ten metres from the scene. He trained the weapon on the man doing the damage. "Enough!"
He hadn't used a UT, but his tone was clear. Indeed, the alien obeyed, and his partners let go of their victim, who fell to the ground with a groan, and wound into a ball. The three stood by, looking defiantly back; but they seemed to know better than to challenge an armed man.
"Travis," Malcolm called, gaze darting between the Helmsman and his assailants.
The man grunted back something unintelligible, but didn't budge; he looked to be in severe pain. Weapon still trained, Malcolm reached for his communicator.
"Reed to Tucker."
"Malcolm?" Trip's cheerful voice replied a moment later. The rhythmic beat of music could be heard in the background.
"I need you out here immediately, Commander," Malcolm urged. Without waiting for a reply, he shut the communicator and swapped it for the UT. "You have committed an unwarranted act of aggression," he said, barely reining in his anger. He could feel a vein pulsing furiously at the base of his neck. "Step back. Now." For good measure he waved his pistol, eager to get to his fallen comrade. Just then Trip burst out of the place.
"What's going on?" the man asked, blinking to adjust his eyes to the difference in light – hopefully not to clear his mind from the fumes of alcohol. Before Malcolm could open his mouth, Trip let out a muttered curse and ran to kneel by their crewmate.
"Your friend is the one who has committed an unwarranted act of aggression," one of the aliens said boldly. "Do you not punish murderers on your Homeworld?"
Trip, who was gently trying to get Travis to unwind so he could assess his condition, looked up abruptly. "What the hell are you talking about?" he spat back. "We are no murderers!"
"This one is," another alien scoffed, jerking his chin towards Mayweather. "He killed a man."
"You're raving mad," Malcolm said in his dangerous, low voice. "Get us immediate medical assistance."
"Some other type of assistance is on the way," the first aliens replied; and with a nasty smile he crossed one set of arms over his chest.
As if on cue, a couple of men in uniform rushed onto the scene. The aliens all began to confer quickly; too quickly for the UT to translate. Malcolm lowered his phase pistol but could not afford to let his guard down. He remained a few steps away, restraining his eagerness to join Trip by the injured man.
"Commander?" he enquired.
"He's not responding, looks confused... I'm pretty sure he has a broken arm," Trip replied tautly. "He might have internal injuries; we need to get him to a Doctor right away."
Just as he turned to Malcolm, worry etched on his face, the guards – or whatever they were – reached down and grabbed Travis each under one arm, jerking him unceremoniously to his feet. The injured man cried out in pain, his legs unable to sustain him, head lolling.
Trip jumped to his feet in outrage, and Malcolm raised his pistol again, steadying his breathing and his aim. "Put him back down, gently," he threatened, voice as cold as ice.
But one of the handy things about having four arms was that with two you could hold on to a man while with the other two you could wield a weapon. Soon they were at a stand-off; Malcolm looking down the barrel of a stick he was pretty sure was not as innocent as it looked.
"We are apprehending this man," the alien behind the weapon said. "He has committed a crime."
"Says who?" Trip's face became a hard mask. "On Earth we have a rule: a man is innocent until proven guilty. And while you're arresting people, you should arrest these three: lynching a man, no matter what he has or has not done, ought to be a crime as well."
"They will respond for the damage they've done," the second guard said, casting the three a reproving look.
"But you two, you'd better stand down," his armed partner added. "Or you'll end up joining your friend in jail." He shot a look at the other aliens. "Let's go. We've stayed out here long enough."
"Commander?" Travis suddenly gasped. He blinked, his breathing ragged.
Trip made to go to him, but the second guard grabbed his weapon and trained it on him.
"They claim you've killed someone, Travis," Trip said.
"What?" Travis looked back in confusion. But then he raised his right hand – his left arm was definitely broken, hanging limply from the guard's grip – and looked at it.
Malcolm let his eyes shift for a moment to it too, and what he saw, even in the badly lit environment, made him cringe.
"Dammit, Travis," Trip said softly, his eyes too having tracked to the man's hand. "What the hell... I left you-"
"You will return to your ship at once," one of the guards interrupted.
Malcolm took a challenging step forward, but found Trip barring his way. The Engineer turned to him, his back to the others, and looked at him straight in the eye; and there was nothing but determination on his face.
"We're not going to be useful to anyone in a prison cell," Trip said, for Malcolm's ears only. He turned again. "Let me get our Doctor. My crewmate needs medical assistance from someone who knows about human physiology. Alien doctors once triggered a dangerous allergic reaction in him."
There was a moment of suspended silence.
"Fine," the guard in charge finally agreed. "Do it. And then get out of here. We'll give you the co-ordinates of a hospital, where your friend will be taken."
TBC
Please leave a review.