Malcolm Reed, On Applied Murphaic Law

Anything that can go wrong, will

I

-..-

Asprin's Maxim

Blessed be the Peacekeepers, for they shall take flack from both sides

-..-

The readout in the Situation Room was lit with a series of axis and wave fronts surrounding the six-planet system they were currently orbiting. Jonathan Archer looked up from his study of the display to address the rather irritated man across the display table.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. I know you probably want off this ship as much as anyone, but I really don't think a security detail is necessary on this one."

"I think, Sir, that a certain amount of caution may be in order. I'm sure I don't have to remind you how meetings with these people tend to turn out." Malcolm knew he was just on this side of actually being belligerent with a superior officer, his Captain no less; but how the man could still, after all this ship and it's crew had been through, casually brush off common sense security measures as paranoia was absolutely galling.

Actually, if Malcolm wanted to be totally honest, what really pissed him off was that Archer seemed to get away with it. Every time, he, Chief Armoury Officer of the premier deep-space exploration vessel, so much as poked his nose outside the ship, someone immediately tried to shoot it off.

Or freeze him in a leaking shuttlepod.

Or invade his body and humiliate him in front of the female crew.

Or, his personal favourite, impale him through the leg and affix him to an exploding mine.

Or threaten to execute him for being an alien… well, at least the Captain had been there for that one. It was probably the only reason the universe had seen fit to rescue them at all. Clearly, the man had been born with the proverbial horseshoe up his more-then stellar bum.

"The Kreetassans may be a royal pain in my ass, but I really don't think that they want to hurt me. Just humiliate me publicly, in new and interesting ways." Captain Archer's absolute delight at the prospect shone with every circuit paced around the tiny room.

No bloody need for security ? Let's see; the last two times you've met these bastards, five crewmen ended up absorbed by an alien intruder whom the Kreetassans 'accidentally' left behind, and then, through their negligence, another infected a member of our crew with a very serious virus! The fact that the affected crewmember was a fury quadruped was skimmed over in his irritation with his superior officer.

Malcolm had to make a conscious effort not to cross his arms and glare childishly. Reed men, after all, were never childish.

"Captain, may I remind you that our sensor logs have picked up record of Romulan activity in the area. The readings are no more then seven days old. I would strongly advise exercising appropriate caution when going down to meet with the Kreetassans." T'Pol's unruffled calm seemed to only be irritating the Captain further.

"Romulan? What are they doing here?" The Captain frowned at her, before turning to his hovering engineer. "Trip, how badly do we need this -"

"Forget't Cap'n. We need that injector, and we already know they've got the best to offer. I don't know about you, but I really don' wanna be out here with substandard parts, if you know what I mean?"

Archer could feel his irritation start to boil over. "How in the hell do your people manage to break so many things, Commander? I mean –"

"Hey, now, just hold up there Cap'n. This is a big ship, and we've run into lots of help in the Breaking Things department. My team has done a miraculous job keeping this old girl in as good of shape as she's in. Truth is, we've been real lucky so far, but we need parts we can count on, or this trip could be over real quick." Looking up at his long-time friend with an apologetic shrug, he added "At least you know not to bring Porthos this time."

The Captain just glared at him.

Clearly controlling his urge to throttle his friend, he turned back Lieutenant Reed. Malcolm understood the feeling perfectly – he had to resist the same urge all the time. "Alright, Lieutenant, what would you consider appropriate caution?"

Hands held behind his back, in a classic at-rest position, Reed silently contemplated the wall behind the Captain's head for a moment. "With both Romulans and Andorians sighted in the area within the last month, I would strongly recommend sending a skeleton landing party. Just you and I would probably be best; a larger group will only attract attention. Once we're down, the Enterprise should move off, at least to a minimum distance of 5,000 light years. This will also put them beyond the radiation that seems to be prevalent in this system, and allow the long range sensors to stand a chance of detecting trouble before it's on top of them."

"That puts us a ways beyond helping you two if anything goes wrong, don't you think?" Trip's voice was, predictably, indignant at this suggestion.

T'Pol interjected coolly, "The Lieutenant presents a sound course of action, Commander, and his plan does present the fewest risks. In our current condition, the Enterprise is in no real condition to defend itself in an armed confrontation, especially with the Romulans." It was Trip's turn to glare.

Archer's growl of irritation cut off another potential argument. "Alright, Lieutenant, prep a shuttlepod. Trip, you're not really needed until we get the parts from the pains-in-my-backside below, are you?"

"No, not really, Cap'n. Why?"

"Then pack your bags, Commander - I could use you down there." At the look on the southerner's face, he asked, "I thought you liked getting off the ship, and visiting new places?"

Trip looked uncomfortable. "If it's all the same to you, Cap'n, I'd rather pass on this one. You've got your hands full with these guys, and I'm sure I'd be of more use up here if…"

Archer cut in sternly, as the Engineer trailed off. "If I have to go through all of this for your spare parts, you'd better be there to make sure that they're absolutely perfect. Gold plated would be even better, for having to do this twice in one lifetime."

"Twenty minutes?" Trip asked, resigned.

-..-

Katz's Law

Men and nations will act rationally, only when all other possibilities have been exhausted

-..-

After three days on Kreetassa Thelma, Jonathan was more then ready to go home.

The view from the communal balcony wasn't particularly spectacular, but he wasn't really looking anyway. He'd expected the negotiations to be hell, and they had been. The first insult had occurred before they had even crossed the threshold of the alien's gated city, and was grievous enough that all three officers had had to spend the first night in the shuttlepod.

After a few hours of sitting on his hands in the cramped confines of the shuttle, being ignored by every diplomat they tried contacting, with worry for his ship and crew gnawing at him, and well, he'd been ready to go and visit their Alvera trees himself. There was only one thing that had kept their precious trees from ammonia poisoning - for once, he hadn't been the one unable to live up to these peoples impossible standards. It was Malcolm.

The ritual apology they demanded just made it even better. Jonathan was sure Trip would be teasing the normally pristine Lieutenant about it for months to come, but the look on Malcolm's face when he had realized he was sinking…. It wasn't something that Trip would ever allow the Armoury officer to forget.

So far, they'd had to make five more apologies, three of which were his. At least they had made it worthwhile, at the end. The away team would be returning to the ship in the morning, with five thermal injectors. Archer almost felt as though he was a returning warrior, bringing home the spoils of battle. Negotiations with these people were like small skirmishes. Mealtime conversations were akin to traversing a mine field.

Watching the extended twilight experienced by this binary star system, Jonathan wasn't really seeing any of its beauty. He knew he was brooding, and it irritated him. For the last six months or more, he'd been doing very well at avoiding going on an away mission with Malcolm Reed. The scene he'd put on in the Situation Room had reminded him uncomfortably of one he had once witnessed in the Mess Hall, when Feezle Phlox had been visiting. Poor Trip had practically begged Hoshi to stay with him, hopping she'd serve as a kind of deterrent for the Denobulan barracuda. From what Trip'd told him later, it hadn't worked in the slightest. Of course, in this case, he sort of wished for Trip's problem. It would make things so much easier.

Determinedly pushing his feelings to the back of his thoughts, he stared back out at the diminishing skyline and willed himself to admire the purple hue of the instead.

"Amazing, how they've managed t'create all of this, on such an inhospitable rock, ain't it?" Trip's soft drawl was a comfortable presence in Jon's quiet mood.

"They've spent generations reclamatin' their planet, one kilometre at a time from all that barren rock we flew over on our way in. From what the First Minister says, the whole planet's like that. A lot of work went into the aqueducts that this place is built on. Pretty impressive, if you ask me."

Jonathan grunted in vague agreement, while continuing to stare as the first stars began to appear. It was always a shock for the little boy in him who used to watch the stars with his dad, to look up at an alien sky and find that all the stars were in the wrong places, like a bag of spilled marbles. It was silly. The scientist in him knew perfectly well that of course he wouldn't see familiar constellations on Kreetassa Thelma; but that wonder-filled little boy's spirit was still much stronger in him then the voice of all his science professors he'd ever had combined. T'Pol would probably say it was a sign that he had failed to assimilate reason; instead, allowing uneducated gut instincts to rule him.

Sometimes, T'Pol was right.

"You've been real quiet lately, Jon. You wanna tell me what's on your mind? I don't have a copy of the latest water polo game handy tonight, but I think we could probably rustle up something that's at least their equivalent of beer. A few of those that we were drinking at dinner, and I'll bet you'd tell me where your dad hid his secret still." Trip clapped him on the shoulder. "C'mon Cap'n. Let me help – you've been a miserable goat for weeks."

Jon snorted, turning his head to glare playfully up at his close friend. "You want to be scrubbing plasma conduits for the next month, Commander?"

Trip grinned at him. "That's better. Now spill your guts, I'd like to get to bed sometime tonight."

"Nothing serious, Trip, I assure you."

"Uh-huh. Why don't you jest explain to me then why you dragged me down here, and don't give me any crap about examining parts. You could've done that as well as I can, and you know it. Not that seeing Mal trying to perform that ancient ritual of theirs wasn't a hoot, but…"

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'misery loves company'? Captain's prerogative – I get to spread it around in new and cruel ways."

Trip came to rest his weight on his forearms against the balcony rail. Looking over at his friend, he made sure he had his eye as he told him seriously "Bullshit, Jon. You wanna try again?"

Jonathan smiled tiredly. "I have a few personal issues with one of the crew to work through. Nothing startling, I assure you. The same old sins, in not terribly new or original wrapping, I'm afraid…"

Trip's eyebrow rose speculatively. After a moment, he asked, "What's his name?"

"Does it matter?" Jon asked dryly.

"Just curious, really. You're in a tough spot, with you bein' Cap'n and all, I guess. Is there any chance that they feel the same…?" Trip allowed his voice to trail off suggestively.

Jon shrugged. "Not that he's told me, but it's not exactly like I can call him into my Ready Room and ask, now is it? I think that would definitely go down as an abuse of power."

Trip laughed, humourlessly. "No, I guess that could get just a bit uncomfortable, couldn't it? Isn't there anyway you could, I dunno, maybe drop some hints, see what happens? They'd have to be real subtle, given your position, but maybe you could get an idea…?"

"Trip, we're talking about Malcolm. I don't think he'd pick up on anything more subtle then if I came down and tried to redecorate his armoury."

Trip whistled softly, and reached over to give Jonathan's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze. "Malcolm? I never would have guessed." He paused. "Chances are though, neither has he."

Jon ignored the gambit, instead responding lightly, "I don't know whether to be relieved or to cry." Seeing his friend trying to smother a yawn, Jon straightened up abruptly. "Go to bed, Trip. You're not going to solve the world's problems tonight."

Nodding reluctantly, Trip turned to watch Jon staring out at the now dark sky again. "You'll be alright, Cap'n?"

Jonathan heard the compassion in his voice. Trip was a loyal friend, who felt everyone's pain as his own. This, unfortunately, was what tended to get him into trouble. "I'll be fine, Trip. Get some sleep."

Moving to the carved doors at the far end of the balcony, he paused at the threshold. Without turning around, he spoke. "You know, this may just be a country boy talkin', but I think Malcolm's a big boy. I'm sure he can handle bein' the captain's man just fine. 'Course, that would mean you'd have to suck it up an' ask him."

Long after the Commander had gone to bed, Jonathan remained out, staring up at the stars; but now he found his thoughts had taken a slightly different turn.

Maybe you're right, Trip. Maybe it is time to test the waters a bit.

-..-

The hum of the tactical station was beginning to penetrate even Vulcan stoicism. The unrelenting high frequency buzz had started shortly after the mercenary attack that had left the Enterprise in her current condition, and T'Pol was having increasing difficulties in tuning out the aberrant noise.

She supposed it was due, in part, to the unnatural silence. After more then three days of waiting, the bridge crew was tense. T'Pol had even come to miss the sporadic banter that was normally present between the regular crew. She found the lack somehow… distracting.

Obviously serving with the humans was beginning to affect her logic.

"Sub-Commander, I'm picking something up on the sensors. It looks like it may be a Romulan warp signature

"Bearing?" The cool voice cut across the trepidation of the on-duty Beta shift Ensign covering the Tactical station. Lieutenant Reed would be very distressed to hear such hesitancy in one of his staff.

"Bearing two eight three, mark five zero."

"Confirm that, Sub-Commander; a Romulan ship, bearing two eight three, mark five zero." Travis's voice didn't betray the tense excitement that made him sit straighter at his station, anticipating the next order.

Standing from her perch on the edge of the Captain's chair, T'Pol ordered "Get us back in communications range with the shuttlepod, Ensign. Warp four."

-..-

"The Romulan ship will be in sensor range in less then seven minutes, Captain. The shuttlepod would be inadvisable."

A tight knot had formed in the pit of his stomach as he listened to his first officer's cool report. "Suggestions, Sub-Commander?"

"The radiation emitted by the twin stars in this system will make the transporter's energy requirements approximately double what it would normally be, but I believe that if we were to transport you in two groups, that should make it possible for the power grid to handle the additional power drain."

Trip's indignant voice cut in, interrupting Archer before he could respond. "What are you doing to my systems up there, T'Pol? Twice the drain? How accurate is that figure?"

Frowning slightly at his friend's misplaced concern, Lieutenant Reed asked, "Should be able to handle the drain? What kind of risks are we talking about, Sub-Commander?"

"The power is requisitioned by the system long before the molecular beam begins decompression. If sufficient power is unavailable, you will fail to transport. The other option is, of course, to stay where you are. Enterprise can move into the heaviest part of the radiation belt, and remain undetected on their sensors. If the Romulans follow their previous patterns recorded on our sensor log, they will sweep the system, and return to open space in forty-eight hours. We could return to rendezvous with the shuttle at that time."

"And if they don't follow their previous course? We could end up stuck here a lot longer then forty-eight hours." Archer pursed his lips and blew a slow breath, staring at his men while he thought. "I don't see as we have much choice but to use the transporter. Commander Tucker will go first, with the thermal injectors. Lieutenant Reed and I will follow as soon as he's clear."

"Understood. Stand by."

"Sir -" One look at the armoury officer's face told Archer exactly what he thought of the plan.

"Relax, Malcolm. You heard T'Pol. Even if it doesn't work, we're in no danger. Nothing's going to go wrong."

Malcolm's look was incredulous, silently asking if perhaps the Captain had been serving on a different ship then he for the last few years.

At that moment, the com-link crackled to life. "Commander Tucker, are you ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

The whine of the transporter always set Malcolm's teeth on edge. He would never allow himself to show it, especially before his Captain, but even the thought of going through the beam always made him want to scratch all over. Still, its tactical advantages far outweighed the risk in many situations. This just wasn't one of them, in his opinion.

"Okay, Cap'n. I'm clear, though I don't think I'll ever get used to that. See you in a minute."

"See you in a minute, Commander. Tell the duty officer to stand by." He turned to Malcolm, standing quietly just behind him. "Ready, Lieutenant?" He deliberately gave Malcolm a rather less-than-professional smile; something inviting and personal, without actually leering.

Malcolm looked at him strangely, a rather guarded expression settling on his face. "Aye, Sir."

Well, that went well, he thought sarcastically. Jonathan recovered quickly, "Good. Frankly, I've had enough of the Kreetassan's hospitality to last me for a long while. Let's go home." Opening his communicator once again, Archer called "Enterprise, two to beam up."

The beam was warm. Jonathan realized that logically, it was really phantom messages generated by his brain at the loss of signals from his nerve endings; but despite knowing all this, it always felt like being in a warm bath. For a split second, he could see the alien landscape in perfect detail through the silvery haze created by the trans-matter stream; the tall, rounded buildings covered in some kind of dark rock sheathing, the odd shadows caused by the twin suns, and the Kreetassan First Minister watching impassively from the stairs of their diplomacy building.

And then he saw nothing but darkness.