This story was written for "Wasn't It A Great Explosion" Month and… I hope it applies! – I'll let you find out why…
It is set before the Expanse, and plays out between present-day Enterprise and flashbacks of a mission on the previous day. To make things clearer (hopefully), I use xxx as a scene breaker when we are going to parts that do not take place on Enterprise.
Grateful thanks, as always, to my beta readers, Gabi2305 and RoaringMice.
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He hadn't spoken to Malcolm since they'd come back to the ship the day before; and that was why, as Trip crossed the gym's threshold, he had an inkling of what might await him inside. It took him but a glance, indeed, to confirm that tension had the Lieutenant in a firm grip. Stopping inside, he studied the man more carefully. Actually, it was more than tension. He was up against a dangerous man in a rotten mood.
Peachy.
Malcolm was pumping iron – as in 'several-kilos-weights' – gaze fixed stubbornly straight ahead; it didn't swerve an inch at the sound of the doors opening and someone entering, even though he must have seen the newcomer reflected in the mirror and – if Trip knew the man – must be dying, in fact, to give him a good visual check-up.
Nothin' that ya can't handle – Trip tried to reassure himself, as he paused for his next move.
This was no time to be faint-hearted. With purposeful strides he walked up to the Lieutenant, stopping where the icy grey gaze couldn't but smack right into him. It did, locking on his face much as their owner's beloved targeting sensors would on some enemy's warpcore.
Trip returned the silent glare; which, unfortunately, didn't bother Malcolm in the least. In fact, the man seemed to get subtle pleasure from this resolute approach, building energy for an actual clash.
As the seconds ticked by, a rivulet of perspiration snaked unhurriedly down the Lieutenant's temple, escaping his shiny black hair. Trip shifted his eyes to follow its course all the way down his friend's face, to his jaw, where it formed a drop that hung for a second before yielding to gravity. It provided a brief moment of distraction from the piercing grey stare, but those two pools of murky waters that were Malcolm's eyes were powerful magnets; unable to resiste their pull, Trip was inevitably drawn back to them.
"What?" he burst out, already tired of the silent act. He waved an impatient hand. "Let's hear it."
"You bloody well know what," Malcolm spat back without delay, voice rough with pent-up irritation, or maybe from the weight-lifting. Yeah, for he was still going at it, glistening biceps rippling with the strain. Trip eyed the pumping muscles and decided right then he didn't want to come on too strong.
"Look, I'm sorry, 'kay?" he conceded, involuntarily countering the exaggerated lilt of Malcolm's pissed-off British accent with a heavier-than-usual Southern drawl. And it was true. The hell if... Trip sighed. "Can't you stop for a moment while we discuss this?"
More drops of perspiration flew off the working man, and Trip reached for the towel that lay abandoned on a nearby bench, handing it out as a sort of peace offering. There was a grunt; with a clang the weights were put back on their stands and the towel was snatched rather ungracefully out of his hand.
"There is nothing to discuss."
Damned stubborn man! Trip felt his blood begin to boil, and an irresistible if uncharacteristic urge to put Malcolm in his place. He'd been trying his best here, and he wasn't even in great form.
"Do I have to remind you that you're talkin' to a superior officer, Lieutenant?" he hissed.
That, of course, got him an immediate reaction: Malcolm straightened his shoulders and fixed his gaze on a nondescript spot behind Trip's back. He even managed to control his breathing. Standing at attention like a proper soldier, he uttered a dutiful, "I apologise; that was out of line, Sir," his cold tone of voice belaying the meaning of the words.
Trip grimaced inwardly. He hated this, losing his temper and pulling rank, especially with Malcolm; especially after what they'd been through. All that it could ever accomplish with the formal Lieutenant was to get him to don his favourite item of clothing: impenetrable armour; and that wasn't what he'd wanted to achieve, coming here.
He raised a hand to rub two fingers on his forehead but flinched, sucking in a quick breath, when he found the painful bruise there. Immediately Malcolm's eyes darted his way, and to his surprise some of the ice in them had been chipped away. So that's what was needed to soften the tough man.
Trip smiled to himself at the idea, even as he heaved an inner sigh. Why oh why, when they went on a mission together, trouble invariably invited itself and went along?
He tossed a frustrated arm in the air. "Look, forget about rank." Jerking his head sideways, he winced. "Can we start over?"
He knew he had made some leeway when Malcolm's shoulders slumped.
The day before
Malcolm stepped out of the Shuttlepod into the drizzling rain and pulled his regulation jacket closer. He had always hated a drizzling rain. Give him a thunderstorm and a downpour any time, over this impalpable wetness. Thunderstorms were declaredly wicked, layed their cards loudly on the table. But a drizzling rain was treacherous and sneaky, like an enemy lying in ambush: before you could realise it, you were dead – or soaked to the bone.
It didn't bode well, if you asked him.
"Permission to follow ya out of the pod, Lieutenant?"
Trip's tone was playful. Malcolm turned to see him leaning out of the open hatch, eager to act on his words regardless. It would be hard to curb the man's enthusiasm today: not only were they on a new world, but also on a quest for spare parts for his beloved engines; two things that put Trip in far too good a mood, as far as Malcolm was concerned. Drizzling rain aside, any new planet remained a dangerous environment until proven otherwise – that is to say, until the away party was back on Enterprise safe and sound. There was no place for jollity on away missions.
"Yes, Commander," he replied in a grave voice that was supposed to impress Trip with the fact. It didn't, of course, and the man joined him with a leap that was full of positive energy.
As he shifted his attention back to their surroundings, Malcolm couldn't help thinking that the Captain was far too easily influenced by his Chief Engineer. Take this mission, for example. It wasn't as if Trip really needed another injector, or whatever it was he hoped to acquire. But when Enterprise's long-distance sensors had discovered this planet and its society, which seemed technologically compatible with their own, Trip had wasted no time in suggesting they investigate whether these aliens could spare a part or two. It was important – he had insisted – not to lose this opportunity to stock up on some of the more delicate and easy-to-wear engine parts.
Malcolm suspected the man had simply longed to breathe some real air – for which he couldn't really blame him; and to meet a new species – for which he totally condemned him. Naturally Archer had embraced Trip's suggestion without reserve. When it came to shaking any odd-looking hand in the galaxy, the Captain was willing and trusting. A real nightmare. This time, though, his puppy-like eagerness had been put on a tight leash. Berellians had agreed to take their requests into consideration, but only two people were allowed to visit. When Archer had informed them, Malcolm had put on his iciest stare, the unmistakable 'you're-not-planning-on-accompanying-the-Commander-yourself' stare, and the Captain had got the message: Trip would have to go with Security.
It was a pity that he was Security. On the other hand he had to admit that, technically, they were out there to meet new species.
"What was it we're supposed to do?" Trip enquired with open anticipation, looking around the deserted landing strip. "Didn't T'Pol say somethin' about a welcoming party?"
Malcolm automatically lowered a hand to his hip, where it found the ever reassuring shape of his phase pistol. "Indeed, she said someone would be coming to fetch us," he murmured.
They had been given directions to a landing site at quite a distance from the city – which Malcolm hadn't thought of as particularly welcome news. You never knew when you'd have to make a fast take off. He didn't like the idea of being stranded far away from the pod, and having to rely on perfect strangers for their movements from and to it.
"This place is something," Trip went on excitedly.
"That it is," Malcolm had to agree. Even the drizzling rain couldn't detract from the planet's odd scenery.
On their landing approach they had enjoyed a good aerial view of the alien panorama: the city in the distance, a conglomerate of round structures of different diameters and heights capped with larger sections – Trip had commented that they looked like overgrown mushrooms; and the countryside around it, rolling hills where the cultivations drew neat and winding designs in varying shades of green, yellow and orange, vaguely reminiscent of some of Van Gogh backgrounds. All in all it had looked like a picture from a storybook. Now, from this lower perspective, they could appreciate some of the finer details: the glassy quality of the vegetation, leaves jingling softly and melodiously in the breeze; the sweet scent of the air, which pleasantly tickled their nostrils; the rubbery texture of these people's tarmac, which made their steps bouncier – although the lighter gravity would have something to do with that too.
"Should we ask the Capt'n to hail them?" Trip asked, the first touch of impatience entering his voice.
"Let's give them a few more minutes."
Malcolm slowly pivoted till he had completed a 360-degree-angle survey. Trip, more practically, raised a hand to shade his eyes against the drizzling rain, and looked up at the sky, in the direction of the city.
"I doubt a few more minutes are gonna make any difference," he said deadpan. "Unless they have transport technology, that is."
Bloody brilliant.
"As Security Officer I couldn't let some unknown aliens scramble our molecules."
"Afraid they'd put ya back wrong, Loo-tenant?"
A sudden buzzing sound spared Malcolm the need to reply to that, and they turned to see a large cylinder rise unexpectedly from the ground mere metres from the Shuttlepod. Malcolm secretly heaved a sigh of relief; Trip might joke about it, but he had no intention of trusting a stranger with their matter streams.
When the lifting cubicle came to a halt, a panel in it began to shimmer; in a blink it had turned into an opening, from which three short aliens emerged. They didn't stand taller than maybe a metre, and like everything else – it seemed, on this planet – they were rather curvaceous: round trunks set on stout legs; round heads with round faces; pug noses; bulging eyes topped by short hair. The three paused for a second; then started towards them, and Malcolm very nearly rubbed his eyes to make sure he was not hallucinating, for with each new step the three seemed to be getting taller. Yes, they definitely were.
A quick glance towards Trip confirmed – if there was ever any doubt – that the Commander was cut from quite a different cloth from his: the blue eyes sparkled with nothing but curiosity and amusement; no trace of the unease that, instead, had slowly but surely elbowed its way and taken up considerable space in the pit of his stomach.
Malcolm dutifully stepped in front of his Superior Officer, ignoring his grunt of displeasure. By the time the aliens had breached the few metres that separated them they had grown enough to be looking straight into his grey gaze. Fortunately it wasn't an Incredible Hulk sort of expansion, and their one-piece suit had stretched with them, being obviously made of a material conceived for that purpose.
Alien 1 pressed a button on a device hanging from his waist. "Welcome to Berellia, Commander Tucker," he said, the English coming slightly accented through the translator. "We are here to accompany you and your colleague to our Ministry of Intergalactic Affairs."
Malcolm blinked. "Actually, I am Lieutenant Reed," he replied, clearing his voice. He turned to introduce Trip, but the man was already sidestepping him, a big smile on his face.
"Please to meet you." Trip stuck out his hand. "I am Commander Tucker."
Under Malcolm's unbelieving eyes the aliens grew a few more centimetres, adjusting to Trip's height.
TBC
