No Man Is An Island
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was a very angry man; at the moment in fact he was so angry that whilst hauling an unconscious Commander Tucker to an area where they could be rescued by his security staff and the Enterprise, he felt like he could if necessary delay death itself – which he might have to . . .
OOOOO
In his more philosophical, dare say depressingly honest moments, Malcolm Reed wondered if Captain Archer knew when he selected him for 'Tactical Officer and Head of Security' for the newly commissioned Enterprise of Starfleet, exactly how angry a person he really was. Reed understood himself that he was able to present a sufficient mien of professional attitude expected for such a responsible position. That was quite easily done, by the 'former' Section 31 operative, shamefully so – and he felt utterly dishonest in doing so.
The American only saw what he wanted, apparently that Lieutenant Malcolm Reed had the credentials necessary for the position – that was, by itself, quite true. He had attained top standing at the Starfleet Academy, both in his focus in Security, and in Command school, thus drawing the attention of the covert part of Starfleet. And he had – though not quite in the way Archer envisioned - commanded small groups of Starfleet personnel, albeit for covert reasons rather than overt missions readily seen. (That he also had an undergraduate degree from a well-known British university surely didn't hurt – though Reed doubted the Yank knew how much he appreciated the historical subject or how much it 'cost' in both mental discipline or mental health as he was constantly harangued by his father for decades to join the Royal Navy. Twenty years in the Starfleet organization and he still got comments from the retired admiral, his father, on the matter.)
Everything combined made him 'testy' when it came to anyone questioning his competence in certain subjects – many of which had nothing to do with security. Malcolm Reed thought of his avocation of 'history' as nothing less than the study of Mankind in all its 'glory', warts and all. All was fair game to be studied (and frankly judged.) That being said however, did not explain his current anger,
(At this very moment, Reed wished that a certain American Chief Engineer were fully conscious so that he could blister his ears with some classic British language and idioms. Commander Tucker was in some part responsible for the predicament that the two of them faced; Trip just had to be so curious, with little common sense . . . Malcolm felt like he got dragged into it, protecting the southerner. (Yes, it was his duty – but he had warned Trip!) Muttered under his breath, "Wake up, you oaf!")
Not to mention wishing that he could relieve the load on his back and shoulders as transporting the heavier man was becoming physically too much to bear. Malcolm's mind cast back to the first time that he had carried a human – his mother – and how remarkably light she was to carry . . .
OOOOO
Seventeen year-old Malcolm Reed was in his room attempting to study calculus . . . (note the phrase 'attempting to study', not 'studying' – it is important). His mind was not on the subject – rather he was emotionally thinking about what his father was demanding – joining the navy, - and trying to relax by listening to classical music – the more calming variety. It was succeeding, until he heard a thump downstairs . . .
All sorts of noise could usually be heard from the downstairs on a night when his parents were drinking. Talking – soft, loud, rarely laughter, most often in arguments, crying, anger, and things like slammed doors, dropped glasses, etc. So when Malcolm heard a 'thump', it would have been normal to ignore it. But he didn't.
Father wasn't home, but his mother was. Although it was true that she didn't drink as much as when the admiral was home, she still did drink a considerable amount – whether out of anything more than boredom - Malcolm wasn't sure. He rarely talked to his mother on any meaningful subject at least to a seventeen year-old who was about to take advantage of a scholarship to a prestigious university. (Although she had arranged through her family 'connections' to make it happen , her personal interests didn't extend beyond home and hearth. He learned quite early that whilst grandmother had had a keen understanding of past events, Mum just didn't care. It was infuriating.)
The thump sounded as if it had come from the loo; it had a bit of an echoing sound, so he came down the stairs and looked at the open door which was angled just off the stairs. When his mother had been drinking, privacy was of little concern to her, and so he could look directly at the bath, and was shocked but not surprised to see that she had fallen in the tub.
"Mum, are you hurt? Are you alright?" Malcolm could see that the interior of the bath tub was not wet thankfully – he didn't relish the idea of drying off his mother, who he could tell immediately had been drinking. "I am fine," she stated, ignoring the fact that her feet were outside almost on the floor whilst the rest of her was in the tub. "I was just heading in the bedroom," she continued, "but somehow I ended up here."
"Let me help you," he offered. Several years previously, his school had instituted a course in how to give preliminary medical assistance to people in distress, including falls at home. Malcolm had found it of interest, as at the time he still had a keen interest in the medical field. He recognized that no matter what profession he was in, the skill of 'first aid' would be valuable to understand, and practice. His mother should not be attempting to walk to her bed in her current condition – that of being 'drunk on her ass' as the Americans would have said.
Malcolm determined that he should carry her to the bed which she shared with Father. As he stood her up by the bath, the lad asked her if she was hurt. Mary Reed replied in the negative; then Malcolm said, "Let me carry you to your bedroom." He did not give her any chance to refuse, and immediately picked her up, carrying her in the front, in his arms. She was so light, 'he ought not to have been surprised', he thought, she was always going on about 'weight', and was already influencing Madeline about what she considered 'proper diet', especially for a woman.
He laid her down directly on the bed in the recovery position, and noticed that she was so tired as to fall asleep almost at once. "Have a good night's sleep," he said, and exited the room, closing the door. Then he headed back upstairs, hoping without hope that this was 'it' for the night . . .
The next day when he awoke, he expected things to be relatively normal – at least for it being Saturday. (His mother would normally be off shopping, whilst he would be tasked to watch Madeline, who was always wanting to be off with friends on the weekend. Malcolm couldn't fault her for that – the weekends were miserable at the Reed house as that was when his parents mostly drank to excess.)
Instead he was surprised to find that it was almost ten o'clock – unusual as he was always told to get up before eight on Saturday, ostensibly to do 'chores'. And as he walked down the stairs he could hear the sounds of an argument, ending with his father leaving the house. He considered turning around and eating one of his emergency ration bars; Mum was bound to be in a foul mood after that.
However at that moment, the door to the stairway was opened and he found himself staring at the top of his Mum's head as she was apparently holding her side. "Get dressed," she said, "We're going shopping." "You want me to go shopping with you?" replied Malcolm, surprised as he still remembered the last time they went shopping together, and it was a fiasco. "I'm not repeating myself!" she almost shouted –like normal, except that action caused her to have to breathe deeply and she held her side even more tightly.
"Is there something wrong with your side?" inquired her son, who was concerned that this problem was a result of last night. "Um, do you remember what happened last night?" This was a delicate matter to bring up, as both of his parents often said that they didn't drink more than most people. "Nothing happened last night," she stated, apparently no further questions to be answered.
After getting dressed, Malcolm and his mother headed out to go to a large all-in-one store located in their small town. Mrs. Reed did not usually shop there as she said the prices were not as competitive as her normal store – but it did have a chemist, and apparently she had, previous to Malcolm's waking up, called her doctor and gotten a prescription for some medication. This was when events got testy as she was sitting and waiting for said medication and talking with some ladies she was acquainted with.
The conversation turned to pure gossip, and Malcolm not being in the slight bit interested, announced that he would be waiting a couple of aisles over. This was a spot where an oddity of this shop was located – a small lending library of sorts – used paper books and data chips that could be 'borrowed out' for reading, and then returned or perhaps another book or data chip returned in its place. (Malcolm had used the service when he wanted to read a new author that he wasn't sure about. It was a godsend at times when he didn't have any money for new reading material and couldn't or wasn't allowed to go to the regular library.)
So he had only gotten to the 'reading racks' and had spotted a book with works by John Donne, when his mother's angry voice brought him away from the seventeenth century. "Malcolm, where are you?!" she demanded. He wasn't going to put up with her temper, and said, "I told you where I was going –" That was as far as he got, as Mrs. Reed grabbed at her side dramatically. "I need some things – and we don't need a cart!" Malcolm tried to calm down, concentrating on the words of John Donne – 'No man is an island . . .'
The selection of grocery items started out relatively normal – Malcolm's mum liked fresh meat and vegetables so that started off the goods that he was tasked to carry – but then it got weird when he was given without much warning, a large bottle of vodka. "Hold up there!" he said, "Do you really NEED that, especially after last night?" "Don't question me! I am your mother, and you will do as I say!" she demanded, infuriated despite holding her side. (At this point Malcolm's memory of the incident had faded entirely so he assumed that they had finished their shopping and gone home.)
OOOOO
Currently the lieutenant was entirely spent – he managed to lay Commander Tucker on the ground without further injury (though not terribly gently). Malcolm then allowed himself a few moments of being 'stressed' both mentally and physically. A person can only take so much for so long before they need to compensate; this time he carefully stretched his muscles , attempting to 'reset' for the next part of the journey, He was aiming to get as high up as possible in the hope that the transporter aboard the Enterprise could pick two wayward officers off this accursed planet. There was some kind of barrier protecting the surface of the planet preventing an easy communication and beam out to the ship.
(The Arconians had been falsely friendly, inviting Trip to come and see their testing facilities for a new propulsion engine that they were developing. As the earlier two visits had gone quite well, Captain Archer saw no problem with this 'too trusting' venture and might have even allowed the commander to travel alone. It was the man himself who asked the captain, 'if he could bring Malcolm', acting a bit like the Brit was damaged goods. He wanted to 'show Malcolm' what a well-run engineering factory 'should' look like, after examining with Malcolm a severely damaged munitions factory caused by an internal problem. (An explosion during manufacture will do that . . .)
As Tucker leaned in to get a closer look at the functioning of the 'test engine', and motioning to the Enterprise security chief to join him, he was attacked by a very large 'scientist' that closely followed the two humans. The alien assaulted Trip; Malcolm leapt into action focusing on the being's spinal column and head, which in most creatures of the humanoid body type was liable to damage. The defense worked, but Trip was made unconscious and Malcolm found himself dragging the commander out of the facility as objects were being thrown in their direction.
'Where to go? What to do?' thoughts crowded Malcolm Reed's mind. Both transporter and communications with the Enterprise were limited by the Arconians 'marvelous' planet-covering dampening system . . . 'Where to go? What to do?')
OOOOO
Continued in chapter two . . .