Chapter One
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed walked into the chemistry lab and looked around, misty gray eyes scanning its inhabitants. His broad shoulders sagged; his head hung low, short brown hair plastered to his forehead. Spotting the short brunette in a remote corner of the room, he walked over. Hearing his footsteps, the young woman looked up.
"Hello, Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you?" The strangely beautiful woman asked. Reed stopped walking and stood leaning on the wall that divided them from the rest of the lab. Still he did not lift his head, unable to meet his eyes with hers. "Is everything all right? Something I can help you with?" She further pushed. The few occasions she had been to the bridge and a passing glance in the hallway were all she had seen of the lieutenant. Still, even she could tell he didn't look right. To her, Reed looked sober, but drunk, and inexplicably disturbed. Eyes glazed over, he spoke, slurring his words:
"Captain Archer wanted me to give this to you. He said to fix this stuff right away. If you wouldn't mind bringing it to my cabin when you are finished, I would appreciate it," he said, extending his hand to give her the PADD. She nodded her head, and then glanced at it. The hydrated hydrochloric acid was not the most complicated formula she had seen, but it was close.
"What are you going to do with this?" she asked.
"Trying different fuels for the phase pistols," he absentmindedly said.
"Well, it will eat through the shielding, won't it?" she countered.
"That's what we're trying to find out, Ensign," Reed coldly replied. She was a little taken aback by his tone, but then his mournful gray eyes pierced her own. They were almost a complete oxymoron to his voice. There was something wrong with them, but she couldn't tell what.
"I'll have to call for clearance to make this particular acid--it could cause serious danger to anyone who handles it. It's pretty lethal stuff. Could burn your skin right off. Wouldn't want any accidents on board," she said. She started to reach for the comm, but he verbally stopped her.
"But I got clearance from the captain. Isn't that good enough? Do you really need to get clearance from anyone else?" Reed seemed to nervously ask, staring at the floor.
"No, Starfleet regulation says I have to run it through the computer and then get permission to make hydrated hydrochloric acid from my commanding officer. I can run the check right here. Surely the captain would have entered the data in the computer by now," she said, moving toward the small, busied computer a few feet away. The blue light emitted reflected off her face, as page after page flashed before her eyes. Reed still stood by the door, though he started to nervously twiddle his thumbs. Seconds slowly ticked off the chemistry lab clock, and the minutes dragged out infinitely. After what seemed like and eternity to Reed, her voice broke the silence. "Ok, Lieutenant looks good to me. Let me just call Commander Nortel and I'll get this thing started," she said, quickly exiting the room. Another period of waiting ensued, but Reed wasn't nervous this time. Everything was going to work out . . . You're such a coward. I don't think you'll do it. No, you won't. Taking the easy way out like a scared little bastard. If you were half the man your father was you wouldn't even be here. . . Such a bloody coward.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" the ensign had returned and stood looking confusedly at her superior. Reed snapped out of his daydream, face slightly blushing.
"Nothing, nothing," he quickly said. "Did Nortel ok it?" he asked, brushing away the strange looks the woman shot at him.
"Yes, sir. It will take me about an hour to make. I'll bring it by the armory when I'm done," she said, beginning to pull various plastic-labeled bottles from open cabinets.
"Actually, as I said earlier, I'd prefer if you would drop it off in my cabin." The ensign's brow furrowed deeper, but she nodded slowly. "Aye, sir."
***
Reed lay on his back, staring at his ceiling. Never did get around to hanging those posters. Not much point in doing it now. Pineapple rinds littered his floor, mingled among six days worth of dirty laundry. PADDs were absentmindedly thrown about his two small tables, armory reports neglected. Reaching above his head, Reed pulled down a plate from the kitchen and rested it on his stomach. The disgusting hamburger lowered up and down, synchronized with his breathing. He closed his eyes and his mind began to wander far, far away. A sailboat, his parents, a submarine, and water . . . lots of water. The serene blue liquid wove in and out of cove after cove, until it finally washed itself out to sea. And that was what he was most afraid of. There was nothing there but water as far as the eye could see. Space is exactly like water. You can drown. But I can handle space or at least, I thought I could.
"Never did understand what you Americans saw in hamburgers. Revolting food, in my opinion," Reed said, opening his eyes. The ensign stopped, surprised, and dragged her feet to a sloppy attention.
"I'm sorry, sir. I thought you were asleep. I was just going to leave this on your table," the same woman stuttered, dropping a medium-sized bottle of blue liquid on the cluttered table.
"Thank you, Ensign. You've been a great help," Reed replied, removing the hamburger and standing.
"I hope the acid works out for the phase pistols, sir," the woman said, turning to leave.
"Goodbye, Ensign," Reed called, her back disappearing behind the closed door. Sighing deeply, Reed replaced himself on his bed and rested his chin on his hands. He watched as the blue liquid stabilized itself inside the bottle, meniscus finally coming to a rest halfway up the jar. He had decided long ago not to wear his uniform or tidy his cabin; everything he once resembled and embodied was gone, so why pretend? He had messed up, and he knew it. You deserve nothing better than to die like those you killed. They had no time to preserve themselves in memory, so why should you? As his mind drifted back to that failed mission, tears choked his throat. Just get it over with. Do it now or you never will. Slowly, he stood, reaching out his hand to grasp the bottle. Carefully he removed the seal on the top, and stared down at his death. This is almost like the ocean. You're drowning yourself. He smiled ever so slightly at the faint and sick irony. He lifted the bottle to his lips, and closed his eyes.
***
Ok, that was weird. What was he doing and why did I have to bring that stuff to his cabin? Why wouldn't he want me to bring it to the armory? The ensign briskly walked down the corridor and away from Reed's quarters. Bringing the PADD she was carrying to her face, she stared at the screen. Don't mess anything up. Even if you are new, they'll be riding your ass if you make a mistake. The two page procedure flashed back and forth, the ensign checking and rechecking the form. She let out a sigh of relief, but then sucked it back in. Shit! You didn't get his signature. He has to sign it to get it, idiot. Making a sharp turn, the woman headed back toward Reed's cabin.
***
"I'm sorry, sir, but I forgot to have you sign the . . . WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??" The ensign had entered the cabin, head bowed, but shouted when she lifted it. The lieutenant stood, two feet away, acid poised on his lips. Before Reed had time to react, she reached out her arm and sharply smacked the jar away. Broken glass shattered across the cabin and the acid ate through the carpeting, curls of smoke rising from the ground. Both their chests heaved up and down; Reed's from coming so near to death and hers in sick realization that she had helped him come so close. It was a moment before either spoke.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" Reed breathlessly shouted.
"What did you expect me to do? Watch you kill yourself?" she angrily countered. How could he even think of doing something like that? Why would he do that? Reed didn't know what to do. She had ruined his plan, his strategically designed demise. Consumed by a strange wave of relief and at the same time a torrent of hate, the lieutenant sank to the ground. He bowed his head on his incoming knees, and simply rocked himself. "I'm calling Dr. Phlox," the ensign said, wanting the difficult situation out of her incapable hands. Reed sharply raised his head.
"No, please, don't. Please, you can't tell anyone. You know what they would do to me if they found out? Please . . . don't," Reed begged, voice no longer loud or angry, but soft and defenseless. The ensign stopped and looked at the pitiful and broken man before her. Shit, what do I do now? Maybe I should wait a while before I call Phlox; it might just freak him out more. I still can't believe he would try and pull something like that. What was he thinking? What were you thinking? You should have known something was wrong when he asked you to bring the acid to his cabin. You helped him and he almost . . . The silence was deafening as Reed looked imploringly at the woman and she stared at the charred ground. After not moving for several minutes, they came to the mutual and silent understanding that she would do what he asked and at least wait.
"Why would you try and do something like that?" she finally asked, head shaking slightly in disbelief. Reed replaced his forehead on his knees and for a moment the ensign regretted her decision to not call the physician. Sensing the woman's uneasiness, Reed tried to force the words out of his mouth to appease her. He couldn't even tell the crew what his favorite food was, how was he going to show someone he'd never met the darkest and deepest places of his soul? But he had too, he needed to. The ensign apprehensively waited while Reed searched himself for away to answer her question. As he though back, the first part of his story began to spill from his lips...
***
"You'll never get it right, you have to focus and pay attention! Are you even listening to me now?" A man not much taller than the fourteen-year-old Malcolm said. "How do you ever expect to pass your naval exam when you can't even handle a skiff? Don't you want to be in the Navy?" Malcolm rolled his eyes at the question his father asked.
He didn't understand at all. No, he didn't understand the ingrained fear that possessed him. And how could he? Ever since the day he was born, his father had been shoving naval shit this and naval shit that down his throat. Of course he wanted to be in the Navy, he just couldn't. Just get me out of here! He'll never understand. How could he? He thinks I was made for the sea. How many years have I wasted trying to ignore it? It'll never go away. But he expects me to carry on the family tradition . . . What am I going to do?
"Hello! Malcolm!" The words registered in the young man's head as his father slapped the back of his skull. Biting his lip to refrain from retorting, Malcolm rubbed his head. "We'll be out here all day before you get this right. How many times do we have to go over this? Release the pulley then pull the sail. How hard is that to remember?"
"Sorry, dad," Malcolm less than half-heartedly said.
"What did I tell you about ship protocol? I'm not your bloody father, I'm your commanding officer and I expect that much respect. The most important thing in the Navy is rank. With rank comes respect and that's all you need your crew for their respect. They're not your friends; your commanding officers need you to look down on and you need your men for the same thing. Don't ever confuse friends with crewmen because only crewmen belong on a ship," the man said, face red from shouting so much. Malcolm was used to his speeches, though he tried to pay attention to the monotonous words.
"Yes, sir," Malcolm said.
"That's better," his father replied, sighing all too familiarly. "Let's try this again. You grab that rope and I'll watch the pulley." Malcolm nodded and reached his arms up. Styrofoam dug into his neck as he extended his arm to try and grasp the rope, though it dangled a foot from his reach. Rolling his eyes, the other man walked over and pulled the rope down to within reach of his son. "Why do you wear that bloody thing anyway? I bet if you just tried to swim you would get used to it. Why are you so afraid of water?" Malcolm's father said, half disgustedly and half ignorantly, stabbing his son in the heart.
"I'm not afraid of the water, I'm afraid of drowning, sir," he meekly said.
"Well why don't you learn how to swim and then you won't drown?" his father retorted.
"You don't understand. You wouldn't put someone with claustrophobia in a coffin; it's not the coffin they're afraid of, it's the space. The same thing with me. I'm not afraid of the water, just of drowning. I thought we already talked about this before and you said it didn't matter..."
"I always thought you would grow out of it. It's such a stupid thing to be afraid of, especially if you're going to be in the Navy," he said, taking another jab at Malcolm.
"Today you're going to get over your fear. Come here."
Malcolm stiffened, but didn't move.
"Why? What are you going to do?" he suspiciously asked.
"You don't question your commanding officers, you do what they say! Now come here!"
Slowly Malcolm stood and strode the five short steps to his father's side next to the edge of the boat.
"Swim to shore."
Malcolm looked in sheer disbelief at the man next to him.
"Sir, I can't swim and shore is twenty-five kilos away!" he hopelessly tried to reason.
"I didn't ask for the distance to shore, I told you to swim it! Now get in!"
"Respectfully, sir, I'm not going to," Malcolm said, slowly beginning to walk backwards. Eyes wild with anger, Malcolm's father grabbed the scruff of his life jacket and brought his face close to his son's.
"Oh, yes you are," the man said. Retracing the few steps Malcolm had taken backward; he reached the side of the boat and, with a splash, threw his son overboard.
***
To Be Continued.
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed walked into the chemistry lab and looked around, misty gray eyes scanning its inhabitants. His broad shoulders sagged; his head hung low, short brown hair plastered to his forehead. Spotting the short brunette in a remote corner of the room, he walked over. Hearing his footsteps, the young woman looked up.
"Hello, Lieutenant. Is there something I can do for you?" The strangely beautiful woman asked. Reed stopped walking and stood leaning on the wall that divided them from the rest of the lab. Still he did not lift his head, unable to meet his eyes with hers. "Is everything all right? Something I can help you with?" She further pushed. The few occasions she had been to the bridge and a passing glance in the hallway were all she had seen of the lieutenant. Still, even she could tell he didn't look right. To her, Reed looked sober, but drunk, and inexplicably disturbed. Eyes glazed over, he spoke, slurring his words:
"Captain Archer wanted me to give this to you. He said to fix this stuff right away. If you wouldn't mind bringing it to my cabin when you are finished, I would appreciate it," he said, extending his hand to give her the PADD. She nodded her head, and then glanced at it. The hydrated hydrochloric acid was not the most complicated formula she had seen, but it was close.
"What are you going to do with this?" she asked.
"Trying different fuels for the phase pistols," he absentmindedly said.
"Well, it will eat through the shielding, won't it?" she countered.
"That's what we're trying to find out, Ensign," Reed coldly replied. She was a little taken aback by his tone, but then his mournful gray eyes pierced her own. They were almost a complete oxymoron to his voice. There was something wrong with them, but she couldn't tell what.
"I'll have to call for clearance to make this particular acid--it could cause serious danger to anyone who handles it. It's pretty lethal stuff. Could burn your skin right off. Wouldn't want any accidents on board," she said. She started to reach for the comm, but he verbally stopped her.
"But I got clearance from the captain. Isn't that good enough? Do you really need to get clearance from anyone else?" Reed seemed to nervously ask, staring at the floor.
"No, Starfleet regulation says I have to run it through the computer and then get permission to make hydrated hydrochloric acid from my commanding officer. I can run the check right here. Surely the captain would have entered the data in the computer by now," she said, moving toward the small, busied computer a few feet away. The blue light emitted reflected off her face, as page after page flashed before her eyes. Reed still stood by the door, though he started to nervously twiddle his thumbs. Seconds slowly ticked off the chemistry lab clock, and the minutes dragged out infinitely. After what seemed like and eternity to Reed, her voice broke the silence. "Ok, Lieutenant looks good to me. Let me just call Commander Nortel and I'll get this thing started," she said, quickly exiting the room. Another period of waiting ensued, but Reed wasn't nervous this time. Everything was going to work out . . . You're such a coward. I don't think you'll do it. No, you won't. Taking the easy way out like a scared little bastard. If you were half the man your father was you wouldn't even be here. . . Such a bloody coward.
"Excuse me, Lieutenant?" the ensign had returned and stood looking confusedly at her superior. Reed snapped out of his daydream, face slightly blushing.
"Nothing, nothing," he quickly said. "Did Nortel ok it?" he asked, brushing away the strange looks the woman shot at him.
"Yes, sir. It will take me about an hour to make. I'll bring it by the armory when I'm done," she said, beginning to pull various plastic-labeled bottles from open cabinets.
"Actually, as I said earlier, I'd prefer if you would drop it off in my cabin." The ensign's brow furrowed deeper, but she nodded slowly. "Aye, sir."
***
Reed lay on his back, staring at his ceiling. Never did get around to hanging those posters. Not much point in doing it now. Pineapple rinds littered his floor, mingled among six days worth of dirty laundry. PADDs were absentmindedly thrown about his two small tables, armory reports neglected. Reaching above his head, Reed pulled down a plate from the kitchen and rested it on his stomach. The disgusting hamburger lowered up and down, synchronized with his breathing. He closed his eyes and his mind began to wander far, far away. A sailboat, his parents, a submarine, and water . . . lots of water. The serene blue liquid wove in and out of cove after cove, until it finally washed itself out to sea. And that was what he was most afraid of. There was nothing there but water as far as the eye could see. Space is exactly like water. You can drown. But I can handle space or at least, I thought I could.
"Never did understand what you Americans saw in hamburgers. Revolting food, in my opinion," Reed said, opening his eyes. The ensign stopped, surprised, and dragged her feet to a sloppy attention.
"I'm sorry, sir. I thought you were asleep. I was just going to leave this on your table," the same woman stuttered, dropping a medium-sized bottle of blue liquid on the cluttered table.
"Thank you, Ensign. You've been a great help," Reed replied, removing the hamburger and standing.
"I hope the acid works out for the phase pistols, sir," the woman said, turning to leave.
"Goodbye, Ensign," Reed called, her back disappearing behind the closed door. Sighing deeply, Reed replaced himself on his bed and rested his chin on his hands. He watched as the blue liquid stabilized itself inside the bottle, meniscus finally coming to a rest halfway up the jar. He had decided long ago not to wear his uniform or tidy his cabin; everything he once resembled and embodied was gone, so why pretend? He had messed up, and he knew it. You deserve nothing better than to die like those you killed. They had no time to preserve themselves in memory, so why should you? As his mind drifted back to that failed mission, tears choked his throat. Just get it over with. Do it now or you never will. Slowly, he stood, reaching out his hand to grasp the bottle. Carefully he removed the seal on the top, and stared down at his death. This is almost like the ocean. You're drowning yourself. He smiled ever so slightly at the faint and sick irony. He lifted the bottle to his lips, and closed his eyes.
***
Ok, that was weird. What was he doing and why did I have to bring that stuff to his cabin? Why wouldn't he want me to bring it to the armory? The ensign briskly walked down the corridor and away from Reed's quarters. Bringing the PADD she was carrying to her face, she stared at the screen. Don't mess anything up. Even if you are new, they'll be riding your ass if you make a mistake. The two page procedure flashed back and forth, the ensign checking and rechecking the form. She let out a sigh of relief, but then sucked it back in. Shit! You didn't get his signature. He has to sign it to get it, idiot. Making a sharp turn, the woman headed back toward Reed's cabin.
***
"I'm sorry, sir, but I forgot to have you sign the . . . WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING??" The ensign had entered the cabin, head bowed, but shouted when she lifted it. The lieutenant stood, two feet away, acid poised on his lips. Before Reed had time to react, she reached out her arm and sharply smacked the jar away. Broken glass shattered across the cabin and the acid ate through the carpeting, curls of smoke rising from the ground. Both their chests heaved up and down; Reed's from coming so near to death and hers in sick realization that she had helped him come so close. It was a moment before either spoke.
"What the hell did you do that for?!" Reed breathlessly shouted.
"What did you expect me to do? Watch you kill yourself?" she angrily countered. How could he even think of doing something like that? Why would he do that? Reed didn't know what to do. She had ruined his plan, his strategically designed demise. Consumed by a strange wave of relief and at the same time a torrent of hate, the lieutenant sank to the ground. He bowed his head on his incoming knees, and simply rocked himself. "I'm calling Dr. Phlox," the ensign said, wanting the difficult situation out of her incapable hands. Reed sharply raised his head.
"No, please, don't. Please, you can't tell anyone. You know what they would do to me if they found out? Please . . . don't," Reed begged, voice no longer loud or angry, but soft and defenseless. The ensign stopped and looked at the pitiful and broken man before her. Shit, what do I do now? Maybe I should wait a while before I call Phlox; it might just freak him out more. I still can't believe he would try and pull something like that. What was he thinking? What were you thinking? You should have known something was wrong when he asked you to bring the acid to his cabin. You helped him and he almost . . . The silence was deafening as Reed looked imploringly at the woman and she stared at the charred ground. After not moving for several minutes, they came to the mutual and silent understanding that she would do what he asked and at least wait.
"Why would you try and do something like that?" she finally asked, head shaking slightly in disbelief. Reed replaced his forehead on his knees and for a moment the ensign regretted her decision to not call the physician. Sensing the woman's uneasiness, Reed tried to force the words out of his mouth to appease her. He couldn't even tell the crew what his favorite food was, how was he going to show someone he'd never met the darkest and deepest places of his soul? But he had too, he needed to. The ensign apprehensively waited while Reed searched himself for away to answer her question. As he though back, the first part of his story began to spill from his lips...
***
"You'll never get it right, you have to focus and pay attention! Are you even listening to me now?" A man not much taller than the fourteen-year-old Malcolm said. "How do you ever expect to pass your naval exam when you can't even handle a skiff? Don't you want to be in the Navy?" Malcolm rolled his eyes at the question his father asked.
He didn't understand at all. No, he didn't understand the ingrained fear that possessed him. And how could he? Ever since the day he was born, his father had been shoving naval shit this and naval shit that down his throat. Of course he wanted to be in the Navy, he just couldn't. Just get me out of here! He'll never understand. How could he? He thinks I was made for the sea. How many years have I wasted trying to ignore it? It'll never go away. But he expects me to carry on the family tradition . . . What am I going to do?
"Hello! Malcolm!" The words registered in the young man's head as his father slapped the back of his skull. Biting his lip to refrain from retorting, Malcolm rubbed his head. "We'll be out here all day before you get this right. How many times do we have to go over this? Release the pulley then pull the sail. How hard is that to remember?"
"Sorry, dad," Malcolm less than half-heartedly said.
"What did I tell you about ship protocol? I'm not your bloody father, I'm your commanding officer and I expect that much respect. The most important thing in the Navy is rank. With rank comes respect and that's all you need your crew for their respect. They're not your friends; your commanding officers need you to look down on and you need your men for the same thing. Don't ever confuse friends with crewmen because only crewmen belong on a ship," the man said, face red from shouting so much. Malcolm was used to his speeches, though he tried to pay attention to the monotonous words.
"Yes, sir," Malcolm said.
"That's better," his father replied, sighing all too familiarly. "Let's try this again. You grab that rope and I'll watch the pulley." Malcolm nodded and reached his arms up. Styrofoam dug into his neck as he extended his arm to try and grasp the rope, though it dangled a foot from his reach. Rolling his eyes, the other man walked over and pulled the rope down to within reach of his son. "Why do you wear that bloody thing anyway? I bet if you just tried to swim you would get used to it. Why are you so afraid of water?" Malcolm's father said, half disgustedly and half ignorantly, stabbing his son in the heart.
"I'm not afraid of the water, I'm afraid of drowning, sir," he meekly said.
"Well why don't you learn how to swim and then you won't drown?" his father retorted.
"You don't understand. You wouldn't put someone with claustrophobia in a coffin; it's not the coffin they're afraid of, it's the space. The same thing with me. I'm not afraid of the water, just of drowning. I thought we already talked about this before and you said it didn't matter..."
"I always thought you would grow out of it. It's such a stupid thing to be afraid of, especially if you're going to be in the Navy," he said, taking another jab at Malcolm.
"Today you're going to get over your fear. Come here."
Malcolm stiffened, but didn't move.
"Why? What are you going to do?" he suspiciously asked.
"You don't question your commanding officers, you do what they say! Now come here!"
Slowly Malcolm stood and strode the five short steps to his father's side next to the edge of the boat.
"Swim to shore."
Malcolm looked in sheer disbelief at the man next to him.
"Sir, I can't swim and shore is twenty-five kilos away!" he hopelessly tried to reason.
"I didn't ask for the distance to shore, I told you to swim it! Now get in!"
"Respectfully, sir, I'm not going to," Malcolm said, slowly beginning to walk backwards. Eyes wild with anger, Malcolm's father grabbed the scruff of his life jacket and brought his face close to his son's.
"Oh, yes you are," the man said. Retracing the few steps Malcolm had taken backward; he reached the side of the boat and, with a splash, threw his son overboard.
***
To Be Continued.