Summary: In between "Marauders" and "The Expanse". A bit of Lord of the Rings crossover, but nothing beyond referencing the books and characters.
Spoilers: 1st and 2nd seasons in general, so be forewarned.
Disclaimer: I know, I know, I don't own any Star Trek. Nor do I own Lord of the Rings. Or Ensign Müller, he belongs to volley. I promise he'll have stuff to do in this story!
THE RING- Chapter One
"Tactical alert. All hands, tactical alert." Malcolm had already dropped the well-worn book he was reading, The Hobbit, on the bed and was sprinting out of his door toward the turbolift. He made it about five feet before an explosion rocked the deck under his feet and sent him hurtling headfirst into a bulkhead.
It stunned him momentarily, but he jumped back up to his feet and continued, staggering a little. He pressed the button to summon the lift, but it did not appear. Just then, the lights flickered and sputtered out, leaving Malcolm in total darkness before the emergency lights clicked on. Realizing that, if auxiliary power was on, the turbolift would, of course, be shut off. He darted over to one of the access tubes that he knew led to the hallway between the captain's ready room and the Bridge. Just as he started to go up, he heard the lift doors open.
In the darkness he could not see the figures clearly, but he could tell they were not crewmembers. Malcolm, much to his constant irritation and humiliation, was on the small and short side for a human male, but even his SIC Ensign Müller did not tower over him like these fellows did.
They began to speak in a language he could not understand, but the guttural words sounded like the little Klingonese he had heard. As one of them turned, he glanced at the head and noticed the unmistakable ridges on the forehead. Definitely Klingon. There probably four or five of them by now, standing right in front of the ladder Malcolm was climbing. He did not dare move an inch or they would have him for sure. He had dealt with them before, at the deuterium mining colony they had liberated from near-slavery at a Klingon freighter crew's hands, and on one of their battle ships that had been sinking into a gas giant. They were expert shots, but preferred to use blades called bat'leths and mek'leths in close combat. He could see the unmistakable shadows of the weapons on the Klingons' shoulders, and at their belts. He wracked his brains, trying to remember if Klingons could see or hear well in the dark.
It did not matter if they could, for one of them turned suddenly and looked directly at him. Malcolm reacted immediately, bowling into that one and knocking him down. He sprinted off down the corridor, half-expecting disruptor shots to follow him, but none did. There were shouts and sounds of heavy feet coming instead. He kept running, unexpectedly finding himself by Trip's quarters. He hurried over, punched the button that opened the door and went in. As he expected, Trip was not home. The Klingons apparently had not seen him, for Malcolm soon heard their footfalls stampede right past the door.
No, they had stopped right in front of Trip's door. Malcolm tensed, ready to fight his way out of this if need be. There was silence for a few moments, then the Klingons began talking all at once. Arguing, by the sound of it. Malcolm risked a glance around Trip's quarters and spied a communicator on the desk. He snatched it up, tuning the UT for Klingon-to-English. He turned down the volume as much as he could and held it to the door.
It caught on to their argument and began to spit out a translation. " –heard something come down here!"
"You must of heard wrong. I am shocked to think a soldier of the Empire would allow himself to be delusional on a mission of this importance!"
"And the thing that ran into me? Was that a delusion as well?!"
"Obviously it was one of the crew. Check every door on this deck. And you, stand guard at the lift. We'll catch the pataQ!" The UT refused to translate that last word, but, if what Malcolm had heard was true, it was a word one would not use in the presence of polite company. He waited for them to tramp away before he dared to move a muscle. Then, before they could return, he dropped the communicator on the bed and quickly opened the door and shot a look to both sides. No one was within sight, but B deck was not very big; they were close. He had to get to an access tube.
As quietly as he could, he made his way down the corridor, not toward the turbolift, but away from it. Just as he began to wonder where his security teams were, he heard shouts coming toward him. Before he could react, a door next to him slammed open and knocked him to the ground. It was one of the few doors on Enterprise that opened on hinges and not as a sliding door. The wind knocked out of him and his head spinning wildly, all Malcolm could do was watch as the Klingons pulled out disruptors and fired on the team that had just come up the corridor, sending all of them sprawling to the deck in front of him.
When the battle was over, the leader said something in Klingonese to the others. Then – Malcolm's heart leapt into his throat– the Klingon looked directly at him. Unable to move or even shout, Malcolm waited for the disruptor to fire, or the blade to slice him open. But nothing happened; the intruders simply stomped away without a backward glance.
Slowly, Malcolm regained movement in his limbs. As he sat up, careful not to move too fast and make his vertigo even worse, something fell off of his left index finger. Picking it up, he saw it was a ring. A simple, plain ring. Rather like Bilbo's ring, a small voice in his head said. Suddenly, he realized why the Klingon had not seen him. The ring was exactly like Bilbo's ring: it made him invisible.
Memories flooded his mind, particularly the Christmas he had received his copy of The Hobbit from his uncle Archie, who later had taken him aside and pulled the ring out of his pocket. He gave it to little Malcolm, telling him that it would turn him invisible if he put it on. The boy Malcolm, his childlike spirit not yet stamped out by his father's iron discipline, believed him. There was many a time when the rain kept him and Madeline inside that he would put it on and hide in the attic, pretending that no one could see him. Of course, he outgrew the make-believe, but kept the ring in a little nook he had carefully carved into the book's hard cover so as not to lose it. Apparently, he had slipped it on when he had begun reading, for old time's sake.
The logical part of his mind belittled him for believing in the ring's magic. The Hobbit was a wonderful story, but pure fantasy. Still, he felt better with it on. Putting it on, he cautiously rose to his feet and walked haltingly toward the access tube he'd been trying to reach before getting knocked down by the door. He had to stop the Klingons.
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A little short, I know, and it doesn't make sense, but it will in the end! That is, if I can update any time soon.