Malcolm and I are sitting in the mess hall having supper together for the third time this week. Ever since he was pinned out on the hull and saw that Romulan ship do that now you see me, now you don't act, he's been trying to figure out how they did it. He says it would be a useful weapon for Enterprise to have, but so far he keeps hitting the same brick wall.
"That's a fascinating idea, Malcolm. I'd love to try it, but damn, it would take more power than Enterprise and Columbia could put out together." He grimaces as I return his PADD to him.
"Yes, I know, it needs more power than Enterprise, Columbia and Piccadilly Circus thrown in for good measure, and yet they managed to do it. Even T'Pol saw it, so it wasn't just a figment of my imagination brought on by shock or whatever lovely ingredient Phlox put in that hypospray."
"Why don't you give it a rest and think about something else for awhile," I suggest before putting a forkful of meatloaf into my mouth. Malcolm gives me a baleful look but says nothing and begins to pick at his dinner. He says it's called "bangin' Martha" or some such thing. He says it's kind of an Indian eggplant parmesan. All I can say is that Malcolm eats some pretty weird stuff.
Speaking of weird, Chef's meatloaf seems kind of off tonight. I bet he's still having a problem with that resequencer. Since Kelby's attitude has been pissing me off lately, I think I'll let himdeal with Chef this time. In the meanwhile, I sprinkle salt liberally over my meatloaf and just a smidgen on my mashed potatoes. When I put the shaker down and look up, I see Malcolm staring at me with what I recognize as "the look." I'll probably regret it, but I ask anyway. "All right, Malcolm, what's on your mind?"
"You told me to think about something else for awhile, so I am. It's nothing, really."
"Yeah, right. Out with it." I take another forkful of meatloaf. The extra salt was just what it needed. With the ketchup, the onions and the bacon - I'd snagged me an end piece - it was almost as good as what Mama makes. If I hadn't been lost in let's remember, I would have recognized the appraising look Malcolm gave me as a warning that I really wasn't going to like what was coming next.
"Are you aware, Commander, that there are some rather interesting rumors abroad on this ship concerning your love life?"
I involuntarily start in surprise, but I think I covered it well. "You mean you actually waste time listening to all that crap on the grapevine?"
"It's part of my job. How else am I to know if someone is plotting a mutiny?"
I shake my head. Sometimes Malcolm is such a paranoid little bastard. I take a bite of my mashed potatoes.
"It seems that a fair number of the crew believe that you and Subcommander T'Pol are involved in a passionate love affair."
It was a good thing I'd just swallowed the potatoes because otherwise I'd have spewed them all over Malcolm. As it was, I still started to choke and needed to take a couple quick gulps of my iced tea. "Damn it, Malcolm, don't say something like that when I'm eatin'! Me and T'Pol? Who the hell came up with that?"
Just as calm as you please, Malcolm launches into the story. "The first I heard of it was about a fortnight ago. I'd just completed a surprise inspection of the Armory's gamma shift and decided to pop in here for a spot of tea. Ensign Sato and Crewman Cutler were over in the corner sharing the last bowl of Chef's Death by Chocolate and discussing men. Hoshi opined that whenever you and the subcommander are in the same room, the whole atmosphere changes. Liz sighed and replied that it must be love."
"The atmosphere changes all right. You need an EV suit. You sure they weren't just putting you on? I mean, that's crazy! How many people can you fit on the bridge? Or in engineering? Or the cargo bay?" I sputter.
"Or the mess hall?" he adds with just a trace of smirk.
"Exactly! If being in the same room with somebody was all it took, then this ship would be . . . It would be the Love Boat."
"Well, I don't think they noticed me. I amcapable of a certain degree of stealth," he says with that wounded dignity thing he does so well. "In any case, haven't you noticed that if one isn't the subject of that type of conversation, then one could probably walk past flashing the full monty and they wouldn't bat an eye? Not that I've ever actually tried it, mind."
"Of course not. But if it was 2 in the morning and they were face down in a vat of chocolate while having that conversation, then you probably wouldn't want to be noticed. If you catch my meaning."
"I have a sister. I understand perfectly."
"So, it was Hoshi and Liz who started the rumor. I should have known."
"Wait, there's more," he says like he's some kind of cheap infovid pitchman.
"More?"
"Yes. Do you remember last week when Lieutenant Hess was upgrading the internal video sensor monitoring console in the armory?"
"Yeah, so?" I'm getting kind of a sick feeling wondering where this is going.
"She was checking some archived playback from the sensors in sickbay when Hoshi finished up her phase pistol practice and went over to chat with her. Something about girls' night out, I believe. I rather lost interest until I heard Hoshi comment that you and T'Pol were in the same digital cel. Hess replied something to the effect that it must be love."
"You must have misunderstood. Hess wouldn't say something asinine like that! I've seen that unit when you put it on shuffle play. The next cel could have had the cap'n and me and the one after that Hoshi and T'Pol. We've all been in there visiting you! If standing next to somebody is all it takes . . . Well, there they go again making Enterprise sound like one big flying orgy."
"Too true," he says in that exasperatingly calm voice of his, "but the only cel that elicited comment was the one with you and T'Pol."
The sick feeling is escalating into full-blow panic. "Wait, you didn't make that observation a part of the status report you sent to the cap'n, did you? I don't need this BS working its way back to Starfleet HQ."
"No, of course not. I do know better than to put something so incendiary in a formal report. I've only just mentioned it to you."
"Well, that makes it all right, then, doesn't it?" I'm thinking that probably came out a bit more pissy than it should have because Malcolm is giving me "the look" again.
"Don't stun me, Commander. I'm only the messenger."
Malcolm has moved on to dessert. It's another Indian dish, something called "hell, yeah" or some such thing. He says it's usually made out of Cream of Wheat, but sometimes, like tonight, it's made out of carrots, which he prefers. Can you believe it? But at least now I know why he's such a good marksman. And I swear that the next time I have supper with this man I'm gonna bring the UT with me.
I'd just started on my slice of pecan pie when Malcolm looks at me with what I consider to be his "evil" smirk. I know there's even more to this cockamamie Trip and T'Pol story and that he's about to drop that photon torpedo right down my intake manifold.
"Last evening I was in the observation lounge working on this." His hand brushes the PADD containing the EM field problem from hell. "I thought, wrongly as it turned out, that a change of scenery might do me good. It wasn't a total waste of my time, however. Some of the junior officers and Dr. Phlox were playing Galactic Monopoly. Travis had just landed on Risa with a hotel on it."
"So?"
"He didn't own it."
"Damn, that's some serious credits! Who was the lucky landlord?"
"That's where it gets interesting. You see, the owner is usually quite astute when it comes to real estate dealings, so I believe Travis tried to distract him by changing the subject."
"Who was it? And change the subject to what?" As if by now I couldn't guess that last one.
"Kelby."
I should have known that, too. That does it! He just got himself assigned to every problem, large or small, morning, noon or night, in the galley until he either applies for a transfer off Enterprise or Chef kills him, whichever comes first. Yeah, and at the moment, I'm not sure I care which one that is. I knew he was making himself scarce today. I kind of liked it, too, but I should have known he had an ulterior motive. I should have known that he was up to something.
"Earth to Trip. Come in, please."
"Sorry, Malcolm. I just remembered I need to redo the duty schedule. You were saying something about Travis trying to bamboozle Kelby? How'd that go down?"
"Travis mentioned that he'd heard that you and Subcommander T'Pol had had a bit of a tiff in engineering that afternoon."
"She wanted more power for one of her sensor arrays is all, but she's getting to be as much of a nag about power distribution as you are." About a nanosecond after that came out of my mouth, I realized I shouldn't have said it, that it would likely send Malcolm off in a snit and I'd never find out, at least from him, who else was spreading these nasty rumors about me and the Princess Frigidaire from the planet Vulcan. That he went on with his story without batting an eye should have warned me just how bad things were about to get.
"Kelby confirmed it. He found the show you and the Subcommander put on to be almost as entertaining as that old comedy act - the one with Don Ameche and Frances Langford. Sorry, the name doesn't come to mind at the moment."
"Like hell it doesn't . . . or that you're sorry. The Bickersons. That's the name of the act."
"Yes, that's it. Thank you for reminding me, Trip."
I kind of figure the Reeds might want to have a viewing before the funeral, so I wonder if the undertaker back at Jupiter Station could wipe the smirk off their little Malcolm's face if I killed him right about now.
"Dr. Phlox said that in his study of human mating rituals, he found it fascinating that such behavior often indicates that the participants are in love."
"That's his diagnosis, is it?" I have visions - and they're not pretty ones - of this whole story somehow turning into a case study in the doc's next book. Wait, doesn't he have to get my informed consent to be a part of the study first?
"Yes, it is, and as I've been trying to tell you, I rather doubt that he would have any trouble finding a confirmatory second opinion among the officer cadre of this ship."
"By the way, I don't believe Kelby ever did collect from Travis."
Like I give a rat's ass at this point.
No, this whole Trip and T'Pol thing is seriously out of control. I need to get my head out of my ass and get it screwed on straight - my head, not my ass - and figure out what I'm going to do about it. I need to start thinking like an engineer. Malcolm's thrown a lot of data at me in the last few minutes. I think I better recap, just to make sure I got it all and got it right.
"So let me get this straight. You're telling me that the word on the grapevine is that just because the subcommander and I are in the same room, that we are sometimes in the same digital cel and that we argue a bit, it's proof positive that we're an item?"
"Very good, Commander. You got it in one."
There's that patented "this close" to insubordination Reed smirk again. But then the answer to my problem hits me like a bolt from a fully charged phase pistol set on "kill." And as an added benefit it might just wipe that silly ass expression off Malcolm's face.
"But Malcolm, exactly the same things could be said about us! Here we are having supper together in the mess hall."
"Indeed, and for the third time this week. Not to mention lunch twice and breakfast most days."
"And just this morning, we were working together in the mount for the aft phase cannon fixing a blown relay for the umpteenth time."
"That's such a cozy little spot."
"I'm sure we're on a couple of video sensors together."
"Indeed we are. Sensor 33 above the entrance and sensor 34 just there." Malcolm inclines his head slightly toward the viewing portal. "And of course sensor 69 double zed above the access to the aft phase cannon. We wouldn't want anyone firing Ruby off while we were working in there, would we, Commander?"
"Ruby? You named that hunk of junk that needs to be totally re-engineered after Ruby?"
"But we both know that when she's working, she's a spitfire. Really hot but sweet . . ."
I'm not sure if he's referring to the cannon or our favorite waitress at the 602 Club. With Malcolm, it could be either one. I am sure that I don't like being reminded that we both had a fling with her, the waitress, that is. I'm nowhere near as enamored of weapons as Malcolm is.
"Aw, stow it, Lieutenant!" I guess I said it a little too loud because I notice some heads turn in our direction and I swear I hear Hoshi trying to stifle a giggle from somewhere behind me.
"I'd say we have fighting like cats and dogs covered as well, Commander." Malcolm is giving me a look that I don't believe I've ever seen before.
"Yeah, well it just goes to show how off base those rumors about me and T'Pol are. We've just proven that the same things apply to the two of us, and we're certainly not an item. No way! Never gonna happen!"
Malcolm's eyes widen for a moment and then he busies himself putting our empty dishes on his tray. He checks his watch. "Oh, look at the time! I think I'll stage a surprise inspection of the armory. You know what they say about the mice playing when the cat's away."
"Oh, for crying out loud, Malcolm, don't you trust anybody?"
"In a word – no."
"See you for lunch tomorrow?"
"Don't you remember? Rostov has phase pistol practice. It was the only time that fit into Engineering's busy schedule."
If I didn't know better, I'd say that Malcolm sounded a bit miffed. "Oh, yeah. Well, breakfast then."
"Perhaps." And then he's gone.
OK, what the hell just happened here? I poke at the crust of my pie, but before I get very far in analyzing the situation a shadow crosses the table. I look up and see Hoshi.
"Pardon me, Commander. May we borrow your salt? Ours is out."
I knew I'd heard Hoshi's giggle earlier. I turn around and see Travis at the table behind me. He's got a grin on his face like a big old Cheshire cat. He's holding a salt cellar over his plate. When he gives it a shake, nothing comes out.
"Sure, Hoshi. Help yourself."
"Thank you, Trip." She takes the salt and goes back to her table with Travis. When I get up to get another piece of pie and some more iced tea, I see their heads together plotting something. Yeah, thick as thieves, those two.
I wonder how much of my conversation with Malcolm they heard. It wouldn't bother me if it got out that Malcolm and I are an item because, like I said before, nobody would believe it, but it might shut down those who are trying to start something between T'Pol and me.
I try to imagine Malcolm in a relationship. He'd be a handful. No doubt about it. But you could do worse.
About then T'Pol makes an entrance. She gives me that head-to-toe once-over look that says Commander Tucker, you are, and always will be, the trailer trash of the universe. And I mean that in the most logical and IDIC way possible.
Yeah, you could do a lot worse.
So what got Malcolm so upset? He was right there with me pointing out how we act the same way the rumormongers say T'Pol and I act. He had to know that Travis and Hoshi were there. I mean, he was looking right at 'em. He has to know those two are the biggest gossips on the ship so whatever they heard is going to be making the rounds in record time, but he didn't clam up then. He didn't clam up until . . .
And then I stop dead in my tracks, like I'd just had a catastrophic warp coil failure. Malcolm didn't clam up until I said nobody would believe that we were an item. So, all this time was he trying to get me to read between the lines? Nah, it couldn't be!
Could it?