Blame this on having to check five languages of subtitles for a "Madama Butterfly"… My mind started to wander and make funny parallels!

Grateful thanks for Gabi2305 and RoaringMice, always so willing to help.

"Do you have any idea what this is all about?" Malcolm asked, as he took a seat next to Trip in the Mess Hall.

Mysteries intrigued him, but only to a certain point; after which, compliments of his Security Officer's paranoia, concern usually took over. Archer had addressed the whole crew, inviting whoever wanted and was not on shift to the Mess for something "out of the ordinary", without specifying anything else.

"Nope," Trip lazily replied. "Judging by the screen, it looks like we're gonna be treated to a movie."

Slouched in his chair, Trip picked up a handful of popcorn and stuffed it in his mouth. The day's events seemed to have drained his energy levels. No wonder, Malcolm mused, thinking of the torrid swamp he had rescued him and that girl from, no more than a few hours before.

Malcolm averted his gaze from the sight of Trip's munching mouth, and directed it to the rest of the people there. The Mess was rather full, with the command staff in the two front rows. Hoshi gave him one of her sweet smiles and a shrug; T'Pol was absorbed in whatever her padd held, looking like she wanted to be anywhere else but in the middle of a hall filled with buzzing Humans; Phlox reached across her to fish from Trip's popcorn bowl, receiving a Vulcan look of disapproval for that.

Travis chuckled. "Maybe the Captain has decided we deserve to be treated to a good movie, for a change," he said.

"Hey, what was wrong with Bram Stoker's Dracula?" Trip immediately bit back, "It's a classic."

Phlox made to reach for the popcorn again, but was stopped by one of T'Pol's eyebrow lifts. "Would you like to change seats, Doctor?" she asked.

Smiling his horrendous smile, Phlox got up. "A vampire is an interesting creature," he commented as he laboriously tried to get past the Vulcan Officer without knocking her over. He managed, and settled in his new chair. "Some ancient tribes on Denobula are thought to have drunk the blood of their enemies."

Hoshi grimaced. "Ugh, that's gross."

"Unlike your Dracula, they didn't have long canines," Phlox went on obliviously, "nor did they acquire eternal youth." He frowned. "On the contrary, they have become extinct; probably on account of some plague related to that unhealthy habit."

"Count Dracula never existed, although his character was inspired by a real person. Vampires are a myth," T'Pol said with her usual equanimity, without lifting her gaze from the padd. "An entirely illogical one."

Malcolm grinned. They hadn't been able to coax T'Pol into joining movie night yet, but she obviously kept a close eye on it, judging by her knowledge on the subject of the last movie – unless of course she'd already known about the myth of Count Dracula, which couldn't altogether be discounted.

"Well," he said out loud, "it wasn't the worst movie that Mister Tucker has showed us. I for one enjoyed it."

Trip slowly rotated his head to look at him, his gaze eloquent. "THANK you, Malcolm."

"You're welcome."

Malcolm suddenly felt the desire to tease him. After all, the man's misadventure-of-the-day warranted a jibe or two.

"So," he said, narrowing his gaze. "Tell us about your latest conquest. Kai… Kai…"

"Princess Kaitaama." Trip shot him a suspicious look. "First Monarch of Krios Prime. And she wasn't my conquest."

"You mean you were hers?" Malcolm shaped his face in an expression of shocked surprise. "She must have thought that Charles the Third was an appropriately royal-sounding name."

Trip looked at him deadpan. "Ha. Ha."

"What's wrong with being a woman's conquest?" Hoshi said, with that air of self-assurance that sometimes stifled her delicate self. "It's not as if it's written anywhere that it has to be the man to make the first move."

Trip let out a long-suffering sigh. "Look, we quarreled all the time, all right? So give me a break."

Malcolm wasn't going to let him off the hook so easily. He scratched his head, innocently. "You didn't seem to be quarrelling, when we found you. Or here on Enterprise, for that matter…"

"For many species tension can be the sign of an underlying attraction," Phlox helpfully provided.

T'Pol switched off the padd and turned to give Trip a Vulcanly reproachful glance. "After your pregnancy, I had hoped you had learned to behave more diplomatically, Commander," she said. "Disrobing in front of an alien Princess is not appropriate diplomatic behavior."

"Now, wait a moment," Trip exclaimed, sitting straighter, "I disrobed because she insisted on treating my wound and-"

"A wound?" Phlox butted in. "You didn't tell me you were injured, Commander."

"… and I stripped down to the waist," Trip went on doggedly. "It was only a scratch on my shoulder. She dabbed some disinfectant and put a bandage on it."

"So how did you end up in your underwear?" Malcolm wondered. He was being wicked, but he still had, in his mind's eye, the look Trip had given him, Archer and T'Pol when they had finally found him.

"Underwear?" Travis's eyes went big. His face had never stopped sparkling with mirth.

Trip released another frustrated breath. "The homing beacon on the escape pod had gone off. I didn't know who had detected us, if it was friend or foe. So I took off my uniform and stuffed it to make a decoy." He glared at Malcolm. "I was tryin' to keep us alive until you were so kind as to show up and rescue us, Loo-tenant."

Malcolm chuckled, relenting. "All right, all right. But you're a real Lady Killer, you know? Ah'len, Liana… And don't tell me that this Princess wasn't smitten, I saw the kind of glances she gave you!"

"That's the second time the Captain's found you in your skivvies, Commander," Hoshi commented blithely. "By the way, you've never told us how you and the Lieutenant ended up losing your clothes, that time on Risa…"

Bloody hell, his teasing was backfiring. Malcolm shot Trip a don't you dare spill the beans glance; you never knew what the man might do, just to get back at him. Even make a fool of himself.

"It happened…" Trip's gaze silently challenged Malcolm's for one long moment. "Because of a misunderstanding," he eventually concluded. He shrugged. "Ya know how it is, with different cultures and bad Universal Translators."

Malcolm released the breath he'd been holding.

"It was a fault with the UT?" Hoshi's jaw dropped. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Ah – no, you see…"

It was Trip's turn to cast Malcolm a meaningful glance; this one said help me.

"It was only a malfunction," Malcolm butted in, "your settings had nothing to do with it, Hoshi."

"Ahem."

All of a sudden Archer was there, trying to get everyone's attention. Malcolm blessed his great timing. He didn't like to lie, but if it helped to avoid revealing what had happened on Risa he'd swear that his mother was a miner and his father a ballet dancer.

The buzzing gradually subsided.

"I am glad to see you have responded to my invitation in such numbers," the Captain said, once there was silence enough for him to speak. "This evening…" He hesitated, seemingly looking for the right words. "Well, it won't be what many of you might expect," he said, a sparkle in his green gaze, "but – who knows – maybe enough of you will like it that it can become a weekly appointment, just like Mister Tucker's movie night; after all, for those who like this type of thing, it's just as entertaining as…" – the green gaze went to Trip – "Dracula."

Malcolm was lost. What the hell? As he looked around, he consoled himself: he was in good company, the frowns of confusion reigned.

"With all due respect, Capt'n," Trip said, voicing the sentiment, "I don't have a clue what you're talkin' about."

To which Archer just smiled.

"The idea has come to me after today's misadventure," he went on, "a misadventure that has ended well thanks to the man who purged the plasma vents with commendable speed and efficiency, enabling Enterprise to recover her warp capability and go in pursue of our abducted Chief Engineer. I am talking of Ensign Puccini."

Cheers erupted in a spot at the back of the room, where red piping abounded. Trip rose and spotted the man in question. "Thanks, Mario," he called. "I owe ya one."

"No menial jobs for Mario for a couple of weeks, Chief?" a voice from the back shouted.

"Good idea," Trip shouted back. "Ya offerin' yourself?"

More cheers, laughs and jibes rose from the group. Puccini looked totally embarrassed by the sudden attention. He was very young. Malcolm had seen him around the ship but had never spoken to him.

Archer lifted his hands to quiet his crew. "I didn't know before today," he continued when silence had been restored, "that we have on board the distant relative of a famous man. Ensign Puccini's great great great great… Well, he was one of the most renowned opera composers of all times."

Archer paused and his eyes returned to Trip for a long moment. Malcolm, who as a former Section 31 agent and Security man had developed a sixth sense, thought the Captain was up to something, and he wondered whether Trip had anything to do with it.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Archer finally said, "From Milan's La Scala theatre, a vintage production of Giacomo Puccini's Madama Butterfly."

The room darkened, and while the crew buzzed again the interior of a beautiful theatre appeared on the screen. A moment later a man was seen entering from a side door at the front of the hall. The orchestra rose to their feet, and he made his way through them to the podium, while the audience broke in a thunderous applause.

"Blimey," Malcolm blurted out, "who could have guessed."

"Madama Butterfly! Cho-Cho-San!" Hoshi said enthusiastically. "It is set in Japan."

Trip sighed. "Is it gonna be long?"

"Long enough, if I recall," Malcolm replied. He had seen it once, when he was still in England.

"Hope there are subtitles at least," Trip droned.

Phlox reached for more popcorn. "I have heard that opera can be very dramatic," he said, curiosity and excitement springing from his every pore.

Travis rolled his eyes. "No wonder the Klingons like it, then."

"Dramatic?" Malcolm huffed out. "That's an understatement. Very dramatic. Not to mention, emotional." T'Pol turned to shoot him a look, and he almost felt bad for her. "I warn you, Subcommander: you might need some extra time for meditation tonight."

"Shh," Hoshi complained.

Silence had fallen in the beautiful theatre too. The conductor lifted his baton, and the music began.

"The female character exhibits undue trust in Lieutenant Pinkerton," T'Pol commented half way through the first act, eyebrows lifting. "Clearly, she is going to be disappointed."

Trip shot her a frowning glance.

"She is supposed to be only fifteen," Hoshi whispered, leaning forward towards the Subcommander, who sat in front of her. "She's young and inexperienced. She has worked as a geisha, and now thinks she has found true love."

"Man, she's gullible," Travis put in. "That Pinkerton guy is only after one thing, I tell you."

"Give the man a chance," Trip complained. "He's fallen in love with a- Uhm, I was gonna say young and beautiful girl, but… just look at her!" he concluded with a wince.

"She is rather plump, isn't she," Phlox chuckled.

"Butterfly!" Trip shook his head. "That hippopotamus couldn't lift off the floor by one inch if she had not only wings but springs under her feet."

Travis's eyes twinkled even in the semi-darkness. "At least they are well matched. Look at his size. Not to mention, his eyebrows!"

"That's the famous Pavarotti," Hoshi told him. "Portly, yes, but what a voice!"

"I've always found opera slightly ridiculous for that," Malcolm said. "Not many physiques du rôle among opera singers. It makes the story rather unbelievable."

"Hmm. How very different from Denobulan music," Phlox commented. And everyone fell silent.

Hoshi swatted Malcolm lightly on the shoulder, rapt in the story. "Here comes the Uncle Bonze. Now he's going to curse Butterfly for marrying an American sailor and betraying her faith and traditions."

Trip leaned forward and looked, across Phlox who sat beside him, to T'Pol, trying to catch her gaze. "Has Soval ever cursed you for marryin' this Human crew, Subcommander?" he chuckled.

"He was not pleased. However, I have not betrayed my traditions," T'Pol replied rather coolly. She turned to meet Trip's eyes straight on. "I believe, Commander, that you, instead, should cherish the advice the Consul just gave Mister Pinkerton: to seek pleasure in every port, without a thought for the consequences, is an irresponsible life philosophy."

"Hey what are you insin-"

"Such beautiful costumes," Phlox cut him off.

"What are you insinuatin'?" Trip repeated, more softly. But T'Pol had returned her attention to the screen.

"Now Pinkerton has chased everyone off and is going to console Butterfly," Hoshi explained. "This is such a beautiful aria, Bimba dagli occhi pieni di malia."

"Meaning?" Travis asked.

"Child, from whose eyes the witchery is shining," Hoshi whispered a moment before the music began.

"Why are you all so against him?" Trip said over the applause that greeted the end of Act One. "The man's in love, married the girl, and they look happy ever after."

"Well, despicable a character as Pinkerton is, I'll grant you that at this stage he probably is in love," Malcolm agreed.

"Unfortunately we know how the story ends," Hoshi added with a sigh.

"How?" Travis wanted to know.

Malcolm's face turned icy. "Badly," he said deadpan.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Let me guess. They break up and he gets all the blame."

"It appears you have been inattentive, Commander," T'Pol said, "Mister Pinkerton is a US Navy Lieutenant. He is bound to return to duty on his ship. In addition, his approach to this bond is clearly bigoted and frivolous."

Malcolm watched as T'Pol gave Trip one of those supercilious, two-plus-two-still-makes-four looks that the man hated so much.

"Although I have never seen this opera, indeed, any opera," she clarified, "the probability that their union will be a lasting one is equal to that of Lieutenant Reed encouraging Captain Archer to make a first contact without a security detail."

"She means zero," Malcolm spelled out smugly.

"She means he'll dump her," Trip said. "Holy cow, you people are so boring! What's wrong with a bit of romance, with following one's whim?"

"Just watch," Hoshi said as the music resumed.

"Un bel dì vedremo" Butterfly sang, spying the horizon. "One day we shall see a wisp of smoke on the horizon… and then the white ship will appear."

"She can't still believe he's coming back, can she?" Travis wondered.

"Oh, yes, she can," Hoshi sighed.

"E questo? E questo?"Butterfly sang in despair, as a blond boy of about three ran onto the stage and subtitles filed past. "Will he be able to forget this one too?"

"Hmmm, interesting," Phlox said while Hoshi finally fell prey to emotion and searched her pockets for a handkerchief, "the boy is blond with blue eyes even though his mother is Japanese and his father has dark hair. According to the laws of genetics-"

"Doctor, this is all fictional," Trip butted in. "The father on that screen is not a real father. Or maybe he is, I don't know, but in any case he's not that kid's real father; he's that famous Pave-the-rut guy that Hoshi's so crazy about."

"Pavarotti," Hoshi corrected him, eyes brimming; and blew her nose.

"Oh, man, don't tell me that the guy is gonna abandon her and the boy!" Travis blurted out.

"Well, to make it more believable they could have at least made him blond," Phlox insisted, albeit in his usual, blithe way. "After all, if I can turn Lieutenant Reed into a credible Suliban, how difficult could it be to give a man a wig?"

Travis snorted. "Imagine a blond wig on top of those dark bushy eyebrows!"

"It appears Lieutenant Pinkerton followed his whim rather exhaustively," T'Pol said. Her impassive tone of voice did little to hide her disapproval.

Trip blew out a breath. "For heaven's sake, T'Pol, they were – are – married!" He shoved his bowl with the few remaining pieces of popcorn onto Phlox's lap, triggering one of the Doctor's smiles, and crossed his arms stubbornly. "All right. I'm not sayin' that it's nice to disappear like that and leave her for three years without news, but in those days they didn't exactly have the transporter, or… or… or even e-mail. He's on duty. I bet you sooner or later he'll get back, and when he sees he has a son he'll…" He winced and his voice dropped with the realization of what Pinkerton's reaction would be. "Hell, he'll get the shock of his life," he concluded.

"That's a load of nonsense," Malcolm bit back in outrage. "Even in those days they had pen and paper. Yes, he will be back. But do you think it's because he's longing to return to his sweet wife? Well-"

"Shhh!"

Malcolm turned to lift an apologetic hand to the rows in the back. "Well, think again," he concluded more softly, leaning closer to Trip. His "P"s still popped with disdain as he went on, "He's a paltry imitation of a proper officer, a man without principles, is our dear Lieutenant Pinkerton."

"I must agree with Mister Reed," T'Pol said some half an hour later, looking somewhat disconcerted. "Opera is overly dramatic and emotional. I didn't foresee Mister Pinkerton and his new American wife wanting to take away the child from Butterfly; it seems excessively cruel."

Malcolm snorted. "He wants him to grow up in the West, in the Western way."

"Hell, that's so… awful it makes you wonder what kinda character that ancestor of our Ensign Puccini was," Trip blurted out.

Slouched in his seat, he seemed entirely deflated. He'd been so busy trying to defend Pinkerton that this turn of events had hit him hard, Malcolm realized.

"Puccini didn't write the story, he only composed the music," he told him. "Indeed, if I recall the original story from which the plot of the opera was taken is by an American; which is admirable, seen what a poor figure the American character cuts."

"It's a good thing we're past all that nationalistic crap," Trip commented.

Hoshi wiped away a wayward tear. "The ending is so heart-breaking. Butterfly is on the brink of ruin, her dream has been shattered, and now she knows that if she really loves her son, she must give him up to ensure him a better future."

"Mister Pinkerton could have provided economic sustenance for his child and left him with his mother," T'Pol commented. "It would appear the better option."

On the screen Butterfly reached for a dagger, and Trip sat up, suddenly alive. "Hey, what the- What is she doing?"

"Read the subtitles," Malcolm droned.

"I hate subtitles."

Malcolm groaned. "A noble deed," he explained. "If she is dead, the boy will not grow up with the dreadful notion that his mother abandoned him."

Phlox placed a pensive hand on his chin. "But surely the boy will suffer when he learns that his mother – his real mother – killed herself."

"She is going to do hara-kiri," Hoshi said in a trembling voice. "If she cannot live with honour she must die with honour, like her father before her, the Japanese way."

They all fell silent as the tragedy unrolled before their eyes. And then the opera ended on the desperate notes of Pinkerton calling for Butterfly.

"Too late, buddy," Travis said, looking distraught.

The lights in the theatre went on, the people applauded and the singers bowed. In the Mess hall people applauded too. Turning around Malcolm saw that a few people had left but many had remained till the end, and quite a few female crewmembers were furtively wiping away a tear or two. Puccini had a smile on his face as his fellow engineers gave him "fives" and patted him on the back. Mario too had probably watched his ancestor's work for the first time tonight, Malcolm mused. Archer's voice made him turn back.

"Thank you for coming," the Captain said, having reappeared as suddenly as he had left. "I hope you have enjoyed this, and if you have let me know. There is a whole world of opera to be discovered, in our music archives."

His eyes fell on Trip, and Malcolm couldn't shake the feeling that this evening wasn't only a tribute to Puccini's ancestor. But it was to remain a mystery, for with a "Good night to all" Archer left.

People started to file out of the hall.

"Some of the Japanese decor and references were a bit… well, not quite right," Hoshi said, standing up, "but all in all it made me very nostalgic. It's been a long time since I last visited." She sighed. "Well, good night everyone."

T'Pol followed suit. "I shall go too, and meditate." Her eyebrows lifted eloquently.

"I told you," Malcolm said, chuckling.

"It was captivating." Phlox placed the by-now empty bowl on a table and prepared to leave as well. "Although the characters seem a bit outdated, the psychological introspection was very interesting."

"Ah – the entire thing was preposterous," Travis countered.

And the two started for the door, arguing the point.

Malcolm turned to Trip, who was still slouched in his chair. He seemed deep in thought. "And you have nothing to say, Commander?" he teased him.

Trip cast back a hooded glance. "What would you have me say?"

"Whether you've liked the evening, for one."

"Liked it!" Trip pulled his face in a lopsided grimace. "Since you are our practiced and proficient Security Officer, I'm sure you haven't missed the glances the Capt'n kept givin' me."

So he had noticed, too. But Malcolm was going to play along, at least for a little while. "Glances?" he wondered innocently.

Trip shot him another stern look. "Does he think I'm like that Pinkerton guy?"

"Good heavens, why should he?" Malcolm exclaimed. "If anything, more like Butterfly, since you were the one left with child."

"Aw, come on, Malcolm!" Trip passed a frustrated hand through his short hair. "I'm serious. D'you think the Capt'n thinks that?"

Malcolm gave it serious thought for a moment. "I believe it's a genuine possibility that Captain Archer chose that opera as a sort of warning, Trip," he finally said, abandoning all pretences. "You must admit, finding you in that jungle in your underwear with that Princess probably gave him ideas."

For a suspended moment Trip looked back in disbelief.

"For Pete's sake," he eventually burst out, "I am not like that! I mean, I may flirt around but I would never…" He trailed.

"You did take Pinkerton's side, though, when we all saw through him," Malcolm countered. "Guilty conscience?"

Trip blinked. "I can't believe you're sayin' this, of all people! Hell, you're sounding just like T'Pol. And what about Risa, huh? I don't remember you having anything against courting those two… those two…"

"All right, point taken," Malcolm said, raising his hands, palms out. He smiled mischievously. "But you have to admit: since we launched you've had quite a few romances, Commander. First Ah'len with all that it entailed… then Liana… and now a Princess, no less. I suppose the Captain got a bit worried. Thought he'd give you food for thought."

"I haven't married and abandoned anyone," Trip said, crossly.

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows. "You are attracted by the exotic, just like Pinkerton was. He married Butterfly because she was beautiful and it was all so new and strange and alluring. Not reasons enough to tie the knot, in my humble opinion."

"But I don't want to tie any knot!" Trip exclaimed. "And I'm not unprincipled like that Pinkerton man! Stop making it sound like I am!"

"Okay, okay," Malcolm parried. "I'm only saying the Captain is probably worried that one of these days you'll get carried away."

Trip's only response was a rolling of the eyes and a groan.

Suddenly the doors to Archer's private Mess slid open, and the very man appeared. What the hell, Malcolm thought, don't tell me the fox was hiding in there, waiting to pounce on its chicken. He saw an expression of wariness-cum-annoyance flit across Trip's face.

"Malcolm, Trip," Archer said jovially, and to his credit, if he had noticed, he didn't show it, acting the same positive man as usual. "Did you enjoy the performance?"

"Very nice, Sir," Malcolm said as he automatically straightened in his seat. Even without looking, he sensed Trip tense, so he scrambled for something else to say. "What is going to be next?" he asked, "Verdi? Bizet? Wagner?"

"I was thinking of something a bit lighter. Rossini. It can be cracking funny." In a funny voice, he added, "Unless we can get Hoshi to make subtitles to some Klingon opera."

Malcolm pulled the corners of his mouth down, pretending to give the idea serious thought. "You don't suppose there could be anything of interest for an Armoury Officer in a Klingon opera, do you," he mused. "Some military secret, perchance?"

"I doubt it very much."

"Then I would definitely prefer Rossini."

"Oh, pl-ease," Trip blurted out. "Puccini, Rossini… At least first find out how many in the crew are willing to sit through another evening of… Scream-ini."

Archer burst in a good-natured laughter. "Come on, Trip, it wasn't so bad, was it? I had thought you'd have liked the evening."

Trip scowled. "You had, hadn't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Archer wondered, putting on a look of pure innocence.

"Ah – he means that after his misadventure he was too tired to appreciate the finer points of opera," Malcolm hurried to interject. "Don't you, Commander?"

"What's there to like?" Trip shrieked. "People acting parts they hardly look, singing things I bet even Hoshi couldn't understand without reading the subtitles, behaving in ways that, frankly, are out of this world…"

"Meaning they're a constant of the universe?" Archer wondered with a mischievous smile.

Trip narrowed his eyes dangerously. "The story was syrupy and over the top. Actually, it was totally unlikely. Come on, Capt'n, what woman would act like that?" He grimaced. "Nowadays? Natalie lasted only a few weeks after I left; then sent me a nice letter."

"Yeah, I see your point," Archer conceded. "But Puccini's heroines are so admirably strong. Even Butterfly, who seems so delicate and fragile, in the end takes the bull by the horns, so to speak. I love that."

"She should have used that dagger in a slightly different way," Malcolm commented wryly. "Pinkerton really deserved to pay. That's what bugs me of that opera: that he – a Navy officer, at that – goes off scot-free."

Archer drew in a deep, introspective breath. "Well, who can blame Pinkerton for falling in love?"

Malcolm saw Trip's eyebrows lift in surprise. They fell a moment later, when the Captain went on, "But a man is supposed to control his instincts and use his brain. Pinkerton can't really be justified; he used Butterfly for his carefree pleasure."

"As I said," Trip droned, looking intently at Archer as if trying to convey a message, "an unlikely story."

"Well, I hope so." Archer clapped a hand on his Chief Engineer's shoulder. "You'd better catch some sleep, Trip," he said in his fatherly voice. "You look beat."

"Yes, good idea." Malcolm got to his feet, more than happy to put an end to this little dance around the core of the matter. "Good night, Captain."

"Night," Archer chimed. And, with a last smile, he went off.

When the Mess hall door closed behind him, Trip slowly pushed to his feet as well. "He hopes so," he snorted, waving a thumb in the direction of the departed Captain. "Hell, he should know."

Malcolm patted him on the back. "Come on, Commander." And they started for the door as well.

"Come to think of it," Trip said a few moments later, as they walked along the corridor, "the Capt'n shouldn't really be speakin'."

Malcolm looked back blankly. "What?"

"That time, with that apothecary girl…"

They stopped, while Malcolm's mind went back to the time they had mingled in disguise in a pre-industrial civilization. Archer had seemed rather taken with – what was her name… ah, yes – Riann.

"You mean…" He blinked. "Blimey."

Trip shot him an amused glance. "Ah – I think that time our good Capt'n came this close to having a bit of serious romance himself."

A smile slowly curved Malcolm's lips. "Remember Pinkerton's aria?" he asked. He intoned, "The whole world over, on business and pleasure -"

Trip stopped him with a hand on his arm. He cleared his voice, stood tall, and echoed, "The whole space over…"

"… on business and pleasure, the Yankee travels, all danger scorning…"

THE END

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