Disclaimer: I do not own many of these characters, and this is for entertainment purposes only.
Author's note: Yes, it's something new… but that's just me. Don't worry, I will continue to update everything that hasn't been completed yet… but sometimes you just can't ignore an idea, either. Besides, I've been wanting to work with Malcolm for a while now. And be nice to him while I was at it.
Thank you, to my beta readers: gaianarchy and silvershadowfire. I truly couldn't do this well without them, they catch my 3:00am errors, and my little quirks of confusion, and of course all those little punctuation things that no one ever taught me about. (Not to mention the times that I think faster than I type, and miss a word or two that makes the sentence make sense. Because even in re-reads, I don't always catch them. I owe a lot to you, guys. Thanks again).
A few seconds was all it took to turn life into death. It took longer to plan, longer to hide, than the execution itself. And then it was over – at least for the moment.
Malcolm stared down at the pool of blood, black and sticky on a once pristine deck. Small bits of hair and bone lay mixed in – an ugly reminder that only minutes ago someone's shattered head had lain in the middle. I want to throw up. Commander Tucker had thrown up, when he'd run in to see why Crewman Styles had started screaming – fortunately he'd had the presence of mind to do it in a far corner. Now he sat against the wall, pale and shaking.
We should let him go to the doctor. But Ensign Holley was right… they needed to get as much information from him as they could now, before his mind could sanitize and alter the details into something he could comprehend. He was their only conscious witness – Crewman Styles had collapsed shortly after the commander arrived.
"Why did you assign a guard to Styles?" Malcolm spoke quietly, barely moving his lips. This wasn't what he had been trained for… but it fell to him by default.
"First witness, first suspect." Torey Holley didn't even look up at him as she calmly tweezed a tiny clump of hair out of the blood. "Cardinal Rule. And if she's not guilty, there's a strong possibility that whomever is may panic and think that she saw something."
"Guilty?" Malcolm turned away, unable to look at the mess anymore. "What makes you think this isn't an accident?" That someone – here – could commit murder seemed unthinkable.
"I don't. At this moment I don't think it's anything. A good look at the evidence will tell us more." Torey dipped a swab in the blood, then sealed it in a container.
"Oh." He hadn't wanted her when she'd been assigned… it was an armoury, and he failed to see why they were giving him someone trained in police work. Even her time with HRT failed to impress him – she'd been a negotiator… didn't she belong in communications? But now… I'm glad at least one of us knows what they're doing.
Finished with the blood, Torey stood up – she was taller than him… the same height as Commander Tucker – and crossed over to the corner where Commander Tucker's breakfast now rested. Crouching, she scooped up a sample of the vomit and labelled the container in the same neat, cryptic handwriting that marked all the others she'd collected.
"Now let's go talk to Commander Tucker. Then I need to get up on that catwalk." She'd taken charge the moment she saw the body, despite the fact that he was the ranking security officer. She hadn't been subtle either, ordering him away from the body before tightening her loose dark ponytail and tucking the end into the collar of her uniform. He'd been a little startled when she pulled a light filter mask and gloves from the small kit she'd brought with her – and muttered something about him contaminating evidence.
He'd been relieved, rather than insulted. While it wasn't the first dead body he'd ever been close to – he was an armoury officer for God's sake – it was the first he'd seen that was so viscerally dead. Even Major Hayes – as torn up as the man had been – hadn't been like this. His brains were still in his body.
He waved an inattentive hand beside his face. Even in this sealed environment, somehow they got flies. Torey had captured a few of those too… she called them the best timeline to the kill. And Crewman Cutler is an entomologist. There was so much here that he didn't know, wouldn't have a clue on. If it were up to me… someone would probably get away with murder. Not by his choice… but simply due to his stunning incompetence.
Trip looked up at them, seeking comfort in Malcolm's face. It was hard to keep thinking of him as Commander Tucker… not when it was his friend who sat there on the ground, lost in this nightmare they wouldn't let him escape from. He looked like an overgrown child in a room full of monsters – wide, tear filled, terrified eyes looking for someone who could make the monsters go away.
But I have to be one of those monsters. He couldn't be sympathetic, as much as he felt it. "Commander."
Trip – I can't do it, Malcolm realised, he is my friend – licked a sandpaper tongue over already cracked lips. "I…I…"
Breathe. Malcolm willed the thought towards the horrified Southerner. Trip wasn't breathing… not normally. Instead his breaths were shallow and quick – he was hyperventilating. And I know you're ashamed of that stammer. Few people ever heard it, and fewer still noticed it when they did. But Malcolm knew Trip better than most, and knew from experience the telltale signs: the slight tilt to the head, the twitch in the jaw as the speaker concentrated on each word. I don't need to hear it to know it's there.
Trip's eyes closed and a few tears did fall.
"Commander." Torey's tone was gentle, but firm. "Can you tell me what happened?"
He shook his head and pulled his knees up to his chest, his breath quickening
"Commander. I need you to tell me what happened." Commander Tucker might have had the rank, but Torey's words and tone left no doubt as to who was in charge here.
You can take the officer out of the department… They'd clashed on numerous occasions – Torey had been used to a much more casual command style than Malcolm's. Nothing serious… she just often took more initiative than he felt was called for, and asked questions rather than simply following orders. He had nearly sent her packing, when three weeks out of space-dock he discovered that she'd brought a non-issue weapon aboard. While it was an antique – a 9mm solid projectile automatic pistol – he hadn't been mollified on finding out it was still fully functional, nor upon learning that she had several boxes of ammunition for it.
Dirty Harriet. Commander Tucker had laughed when Malcolm told him… he wasn't laughing now.
The door opened and both Malcolm and Torey looked over, wearing twin looks of surprised irritation. This area is supposed to be sealed.
"Lieutenant?" Malcolm raised an eyebrow at the short blonde who stepped through the door and began skirting the wall as she made her way towards them. Her appearance was one he'd never allow in his armoury crew… but Commander Tucker had slightly different standards. Blonde only qualified as a technical description… it was the only natural colour on her head. Streaks of bright red, green, blue and purple seemed to dance as the light sparkled off tiny crystals in the dye. At least today it simply hung in a short pixie cut… sometimes it could be worse.
Before Hess could answer, Torey cut in. "Lieutenant. Would you please inform your client," dark irritation infused the word, "that I need to ask him some procedural questions and that I would appreciate some answers."
Right. She's here as his lawyer. Most of the time Hess' legal degree was a running joke… she did run the biggest illegal book on the ship, after all. Close enough friends with Commander Tucker for him to fight the brass to get her as SIC for engineering, she'd naturally want to be here. She dropped a hand onto Trip's head, and Malcolm found himself – surprisingly, since it was Hess – not wanting to argue. He needs someone on his side right now.
"I heard Jess… Crewman Styles… she screamed. I came in and Hen… Henry was there." Trip still didn't open his eyes and he hugged his knees tighter as he spoke.
"Crewman George." It was a question, but delivered with no inflection.
"Yes… Henry George. He is… he was on Rostov's team." Trip fell into another round of retching… this time it was dry heaves.
I understand. It wasn't Commander Tucker's first dead body either… they'd all seen enough of them in the Expanse… and there had been that ship – first month out – with all those aliens hanging there like slabs of beef in a meat locker. But the aliens weren't someone they'd said hello to in the mess hall, and they'd been aware of danger in the Expanse. This was unexpected… and all the more horrifying for the shock factor.
"But he was a member of your Engineering crew." Again the question that wasn't.
Questions imply lack of knowledge… and the investigator wants to project the image that they know everything. It was a technique Malcolm had never mastered. He could pull it off on rare occasion…but it seemed that to Torey it was second nature.
Commander Tucker nodded. "Yes." It came out as a whisper… Malcolm had to strain to hear it. You poor bastard. Trip hadn't dealt well with Crewman Taylor's death – coming as it had almost on the heels of Elizabeth Tucker's – and now he had another to contend with.
At least then it was war… we had an enemy. This seemed so senseless… so random.
"Did you know him well?" She couldn't ask this one as a statement – it had to be an inquiry.
"No… like I said, he was on Rostov's team… I can get you his file… and the rest of the team's as well."
"I would appreciate that, Commander." Some of the ice thawed and the iron softened. "I'll need to speak to them… and his roommates."
The door opened again and this time it was the person Malcolm realised he had missed. "Captain Archer." Normally the captain would have been present before… so where had he been?
"The two of you have things under control here?" Archer didn't enter the room – apparently he had a better grasp of the rules of evidence than Malcolm.
"Yes, sir. Ensign Holley and I were simply getting a statement from Commander Tucker…"
"Good. I'll see you in my ready room when you're done. I have Dr. Phlox conducting an autopsy on Crewman George, and I'll have him send you the results." With that, the captain turned and left.
"Yes, sir." Malcolm spoke, even as he realised Archer was gone. He's usually more 'hands-on' than that. What's going on? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Torey chew at her lip, as though there was something she wanted to say, but wouldn't.
"If I have any more questions for you, Commander, I'll let you know. In the meantime, if you could get me those files…"
Commander Tucker nodded and crawled to his feet, eager to escape but not strong enough to do so quickly. Malcolm shot him a questioning look, and then flicked his eyes in the direction of the door. Do you know what's with him?
Trip met Malcolm's gaze and shook his head. Not 'No I don't know,' but 'No, I don't want to talk about it.' Something bad, then. Something that he didn't want Torey or even Hess to know. Then it hit him.
That is not good. He could see it now… the pain in the captain's eyes, the careful way he moved and spoke. He'd been there once or twice himself, but would never have expected it from Archer. Hangover. And from the looks of things it was a bad one… meaning the captain had had more than plenty to drink the night before. The man carried a lot of guilt from their time in the Expanse… maybe it was catching up with him.
Trip and Hess left together, leaving him alone with Torey. "You said…"
"My father died of cirrhosis. I know the symptoms." So she'd seen it too, but held her tongue until there was no one but him to hear. The bluntness was typical of her style – unlike most people; she didn't hide the bad pieces of her past. Like the scar that ran from her ear down the back of her jaw. When he'd asked about it, she'd coolly told him that her father had knocked her through a plate glass window when she was fourteen – punishment for walking home with a boy.
"One hangover doesn't mean that Captain Archer is an alcoholic." He wasn't going to deny what she could clearly see. At the same time he wasn't going to see his commanding officer – and at times another friend – disparaged on the basis of a single incident.
"No," she admitted, "it doesn't. But it's not the first he's had… especially not lately." She spared another glance at the room then picked up her things and headed for the door herself. There was no direct access to the catwalk from here, and that was the next logical place for her to go.
There is method to this. Malcolm realised it would be best to follow along – not because he was supposed to be in command – but to learn. We didn't think it could happen…but now it has, so the precedent is set. A new worry settled in on him as well: if Captain Archer was drinking more… how long before he started making mistakes? How long before… No. He'll be fine. Captain Archer was a man of control… he'd never let things get out of hand.
He followed Torey around and up to the catwalk door, then waited while she dusted the smooth surface with black powder.
"Not that I expect to find anything… hell, I expect to find more than I can work with… but it's so old a technique that people forget about it, and they often slip up."
"I'm sorry…" Obviously whatever technique she was thinking of was one that he hadn't heard of either.
"Dactylography. Fingerprinting. They first started using it in the nineteenth century. By now there's so many other, more modern methods that people spend more time trying to avoid them and slip up on the small stuff."
"Oh." He could see now the mess of lines that appeared on the handle where the dust clung. "But there's so many… surely dozens of people…"
"Uh, huh." She applied a piece of clear adhesive to the handle then carefully lifted it away, preserving the dust in its pattern. "Which is why I expect to find more than I can work with. But… if we're lucky… the ones we need to worry about most are the ones on top."
"You can figure out which ones those are?" To him it looked like just a tangle of swirls and gaps, none of them even vaguely finger shaped.
"If you know what you're looking for. The biggest problem is that most of these are just partials… which aren't always conclusive." She stowed and labelled her newest pieces, then carefully opened the door with her gloved hand. She'd changed gloves about five times since she started… and each set of those hadn't been discarded, but had been – like everything else – packaged and labelled.
And people say I'm obsessive. He supposed it would be necessary though. If this was a crime, then they would be fighting an uphill battle to prove it. Starfleet personnel are supposed to be above things like that. It was a stupid conceit – Starfleet was comprised of humans and humans succumbed to a myriad of different temptations… including murder.
"People say we've come so far… but we're still essentially at the same point as Cain and Abel." Torey echoed Malcolm's thoughts. "You and I have been taught how to kill. We have killed. Whatever you use to justify it…"
"It's still murder." He knew that was one of the guilts laying heavily on Archer, for it still ate at him too. They hadn't been involved. Just innocents sitting in a base on a moon – probably having breakfast or coffee, maybe involved in something a little more intimate – then dead in an instant… simply because Enterprise couldn't afford to have any witnesses. And I pulled the trigger. Under orders, and even under protest, but he'd done it. We've all got the blood of Cain.
Out on the catwalk, Torey began dusting again, this time on the guard-rail. "Surprise, surprise, surprise," she murmured.
"What?" Malcolm leaned in over her shoulder. "I don't see anything."
"Exactly." She photographed the railing then pulled another pair of gloves from her kit and handed them to him. "We'll start with an accident." As soon as he had the gloves on, she shoved him hard into the rail. Instinctively he grabbed, just in time to stop himself from going over.
"Are you trying to kill me?" He stared at her, wide-eyed and suddenly breathless. His legs trembled underneath him as the image of Crewman George's shattered body burned itself on his retinas.
"No… but I figured an object lesson was in order." She pointed at his hand, which still clung tightly to the rail. "You fall… and you reach out for something to grab on to. Even if his hand slipped…"
"There should still be traces." Malcolm finished for her. "I see. And if he jumped?" Suicide was only slightly more tenable than murder… if only because the killer wouldn't be still walking around.
In answer, she began to climb up on the rail. He reached out to stop her, then realised that – again – she was merely proving a point. "Not only would his prints be on the rail this way…" she swung one long leg over the rail and began reversing her grip before moving the other across, "they'd also be on this way. Jumpers usually take some time… they stand for a second before taking the plunge. It's a big decision… and a scary one. And I don't know of anyone who can stand up on a round rail like this without holding on. I can almost guarantee you that a jumper would have climbed over first, like I just did, and then jumped." She stared directly downward, a contemplative look on her face. "Lieutenant… what do you see?"
He leaned over the rail in an attempt to match her line of sight. "Blood. The…"
"Exactly." She stared for a moment longer, then climbed back to safety. "I knew something didn't seem right about that landing."
"What?" Basic physics had never been Malcolm's strong point. He could do energy physics with the best of them – he was one of the best of them – but basic stuff like falling bodies always eluded him.
"Meet me in Cargo Bay Three in twenty minutes… and I'll show you. Oh, and bring a video-camera." She turned and left, apparently in pursuit of her new idea.
"Yes, Ensign." Oddly, he felt no rancour towards her regarding their role reversal. My father would have had her up on charges by now. Then again, Admiral Reed had never dealt with a situation like this – he had people to deal with it for him. Hell, he had people to deal with me. Nannies, tutors… then public school. We saved the universe… and he still doesn't know I exist. As he thought it, his mind flashed to Torey's scar. But he never hurt me. He may be – as Trip says – a bastard… but he never hurt me. At least not anywhere where Malcolm would have to show the scars.
Twenty minutes later he arrived in Cargo Bay Three, with the requested video-camera in hand. Torey had been busy, re-arranging cargo containers and placing a large airbag in the centre of the floor. She was strapping on a helmet as he entered and directed him to a position across from the bag.
"Remember how I said I had trouble with the drop?" As she spoke, she began climbing up a stack of containers.
"Yes." Assuming she meant him to film this, Malcolm raised the camera to his eye. She could have just asked for film off the security cameras… but maybe she wanted to keep this a secret.
At the top of the stack, she paused and looked down. "There's some tape in my kit. Could you get it please?"
He complied, setting the camera on the floor and pulling some bright silver adhesive tape out of her toolbox. "Is this it?"
"Yes. Now I'm going to jump… I'll want you to film it… then I'm going to need you to mark where my body hit… and get a shot of it as well. Label each one, okay? Oh, and make sure you mark my head impact as well."
"Okay." Shaking his head, he picked up the camera again. "I've got you."
"Good. Now… I'm going to jump, like it's suicide, okay?"
"Um…" Even with the airbag and the helmet, it seemed a little insane. "Are you sure?"
"Lieutenant. We can run all the math we want, and someone will still find some way it doesn't work. Math isn't my strong suit anyway. I'd rather have visual proof… an actual model to work with. It's just an experiment, sir. That's why I have safety gear. I'm not really intending to kill myself." She straightened up and took a deep breath.
It's not your intent I'm concerned about. He didn't even have time to finish the thought before she stepped away from the edge. Her body plummeted forward, arcing out slightly. Air exploded from the bag vents as she landed hard and didn't move. Oh God.
"If you would be so kind, sir." Her muffled voice emerged from the folds of the fabric. "I've got a few more of these I'd like to do."
"Oh." He scrambled forward and used the tape to mark the impact points as requested. "I thought you might be…"
"I'm fine." She raised her head slightly, enough for him to slip his fingers underneath to press the tape into the bag. Only when he'd marked her body impact point – right around the centre as she instructed – did she crawl off the bag. "Now mark those and get a shot of them. We'll need to get a comparison of where each hit occurred so we can put it next to the crime-scene photos. But I can tell you one thing already…"
Malcolm finished writing his labels and dutifully filmed the results before looking up at her makeshift platform. "If he jumped, his head would have ended up much farther out than it did. You fell forward, whereas he landed almost directly below the catwalk."
She smiled. "Got it in one, sir."
He smiled back, ever so slightly. "Thank you." The compliment made him feel proud… a bright pupil impressing his teacher. Now why do I want to impress you? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Wasn't he the commanding officer here? Get a hold of yourself Malcolm. His body had betrayed him – that smile caused his heart to beat just slightly faster than normal.
She began climbing the stack of containers again. "All right. This time, I'm going to try to do it like – like an accident, or I was pushed."
Again she landed away from the platform, her head the farthest out. Even when she repeated the experiment from different positions, she still couldn't duplicate what they'd found at the scene.
"Have you got a tripod for that thing?" She called down to him, looking at the mat and wearing a concentrated frown. "I've got an idea, but I'll need your help."
"Um… no, but I'm sure I could put something together." He stacked up some containers and propped the camera on top of them before checking to make sure that the lens could capture the entire scene. He then climbed up to join her on her perch.
"I need you to drop me over the side, sir. I could try doing it myself, but it will me more accurate if you do it for me." She lay down on her side on top of the container – her entire body limp.
"Drop you over…" He looked over the edge, then down at her. "Are you sure, Ensign?"
"No, sir, I thought I'd just ask you to do something I had no intentions of following through on. Yes, of course I'm sure."
Why am I putting up with this? Commander Tucker might put up with that sort of sarcasm from Hess… but they'd known each other for years, and the commander was a little strange anyway. Trip could make Captain Archer look strict. Sighing, Malcolm bent down and wrapped his arms around her torso, lifting upwards.
"If you could move your hand, sir."
"Sorry." He could feel a flush creeping up his neck as he pulled his hand away from her breast. "Not intended, I assure you." He hadn't even realised until she mentioned it – he'd been too busy trying not to fall.
"No problem, sir." She kept herself limp though, a dead weight in his arms.
And that's heavy. He realised what good shape Torey was in. She wasn't overweight… just well toned and strong… and muscle carried more weight than fat did. He dragged her over to the edge and released her.
She fell, headfirst towards the bag. Oh, God, she's going to break her neck. She landed and lay still and he began to scramble down the side, preparing to call for Phlox.
"Ensign! Are you all right?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice, and failed.
"The tape, Malcolm. Do me a favour and grab the tape." Another smile graced her lips, carrying with it a hint of smugness.
He grabbed the tape, ignoring for now the use of his first name. I'll forgive you, because you're still alive. Hands shaking, he marked the impact points.
Sitting up, she looked to the platform, and her smile grew wider. "Will you look at that."
He followed her gaze, noting the distance between the base of the platform and the impact point of her head. "Almost perfect."
She nodded, and began removing her helmet. He could see the care in her movements – she had been hurt, if only slightly.
"Here." Reaching forward, he undid the straps for her and lifted the helmet off her head. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'll tell you in the morning." She tilted her head slightly from side to side, sighing softly with a hint of pain. "But I'd place a bet with Hess that he was unconscious when he went over and that he had help."
Malcolm glanced again at the top of the platform and the tape he'd just marked. "I wouldn't take you up on that bet… this definitely doesn't look like an accident anymore." Which meant that somewhere on this ship was someone willing to plan and commit murder. He looked determinedly at Torey, who looked back with the same expression. They will not be getting away with it.