Disclaimer: the characters and universe of Star Trek do not belong to me. I'm making no financial gain from this story.

A/N: Takes place near the beginning of Season Two. I hope to finalise and post the second chapter and epilogue soon.

Many thanks to Rusty Armour for her excellent beta skills and encouragement. I've dabbled with this afterwards and take full responsibility for any remaining errors.

A Matter of Perspective

by GallyGee

Chapter 1

The red sun - larger and considerably more overbearing than Earth's harvest moon - filled a sweep of the sky, casting a dim glow over the barren landscape. A rough carpet of fern-type plants struggled to exist under its delinquent care, with even the most vigorous individuals being barely knee high.

Malcolm saved his current scanner data and switched the device off. He had taken more than sufficient sets of readings. If there was anything out there, it wasn't detectable. Slipping the scanner into its customary pocket with practised ease, Malcolm gazed across to his crewmates a short distance away. Ripples of amused laughter and fragmented conversation drifted across the thin air as the scientists poked around the scrub, their animation in stark contrast to the dead feel of the place. One of them - Malcolm thought it looked like Lieutenant Wetzel - called the others over to share in some new discovery. They were utterly engrossed in the survey and seemingly immune to the sense of foreboding that unsettled Malcolm. A crunching footfall alerted him, and he half-turned to see Trip Tucker approaching. Trip's attention was on the camera in his hand - a permanent fixture when visiting a new world, as far as Malcolm could determine.

"Did you take any good pictures, Commander?" Malcolm asked, as Trip reached his side.

Trip shrugged and arched an eyebrow. "Here? This place is so boring! It's the same everywhere you look!"

Malcolm nodded towards their colleagues, who had now scattered once again to investigate their own areas. "They seem to be finding it interesting."

"Huh. They're welcome to it. The sooner we get out of here the better!"

"We've only got a couple more hours to get through."

"Uh huh. Nope." Trip shook his head in morose resignation. "The Captain has consulted with T'Pol and decided that, for the sake of science, we stay another twenty-four hours."

"You're joking!" said Malcolm incredulously, glancing across at the monotonous red-lit expanse and half-expecting some weird new phenomenon to have crept up on him when he hadn't been looking. But, no - of course it was just the same unchanging panorama. "Why the change of plan?" He stared at Trip suspiciously, wondering if this was a wind up, but Trip just sighed and fiddled with his camera.

"There's a lot of bugs or something," Trip mumbled.

"Bugs?"

"Yeah. Hey, look. I got one good picture." Trip held the camera out to Malcolm so he could see its display. "I thought I'd call this one 'Man with Scanner'."

Malcolm sniffed. "That's a little unimaginative, don't you think? And it's not a very flattering picture, either. Why don't you take one of me looking heroic instead of... constipated!"

Malcolm's pained expression mirrored that of his image and Trip laughed. "Well, then, you gotta act heroic, don't you? The camera sees what it sees. At least you could say the boring title fits in with the boring planet."

"An artistic symmetry, in fact?" suggested Malcolm.

"Yeah." Trip pulled a disgusted face as he put his camera away. "I don't see why we've got to stay longer. Whatever T'Pol says, I say this is…" He cast about for the most apt word. "Boring."

Malcolm had to agree, but was conscious of their privilege. "Still - this is a whole new alien world. That can never be boring. There aren't many humans that have these opportunities. Not yet."

"I know. I shouldn't be ungrateful. But I can't help thinking we're wasting time here, when out there"- Trip swept an arm high - "there are all sorts of places to explore that are a whole lot more exciting."

"I've gone off 'exciting'," muttered Malcolm, wincing at some too-recent experiences. "For now, anyway." He folded his arms protectively and kicked at the shale underfoot, sending sundry insects skittering about to seek fresh cover.

Trip grunted in sympathy. "Yeah, well, see how you feel after another day in orbit around this God-forsaken red planet. I'm going back to the ship when I've checked in with the others. You should, too. You don't need to stay. It's safe here."

Malcolm frowned at that glib assumption. "Not necessarily, Commander. Nothing's shown on scans from the ship, or those I've taken down here, but who knows? I'd better stay."

"It's safe! What evil creature is going to attack us out of nothing?"

"Don't forget the Suliban," said Malcolm darkly, distaste colouring his words.

"Worry about them if and when they show," advised Trip, "otherwise you'll go crazy, always trying to see what isn't there. Anyhow, now we've got an extended visit, you can't cover the whole time by yourself. Don't tell me you can and still remain alert!"

"True," conceded Malcolm. He brightened. "I'll put Hughes down for security detail. He thoroughly ballsed up the small arms inventory yesterday. He's had extra duties, but this would round things off nicely." Malcolm uncrossed his arms and grinned, the red gloom giving an eerily diabolical cast to his face. "A fitting reward!"

Trip shuddered theatrically. "Remind me never to transfer to the Armoury!"

Malcolm raised an eyebrow as if evaluating him. "Hmm. You wouldn't need to worry, sir. I'm sure you would be an excellent inventory-taker. I couldn't promise work with torpedoes, though. Not until you proved yourself." He tried to keep a straight face, but broke when faced with Trip's amused expression.

Trip said, laughingly, "No torpedoes? Okay - then I'm definitely not transferring!"

"You know, I do believe there is an armoury officer lurking inside that Chief Engineer's exterior!"

"Oh no. I leave shooting at people to the experts! Give me my warp engine and I'm a happy man! Speaking of which, let's go make some people happy."

Trip's news was greeted with delight by the assorted exobiologists, geologists and other planetary specialists. Malcolm watched as they debated vigorously over exactly who would return to the ship for a break, so as to make sure they could take full advantage of their unexpected gift. He shook his head slowly as Lieutenant Wetzel vainly tried to impose some order. Malcolm privately thought that the bridge protocols were too lax, and that was bad enough, but this democratic chaos was totally ridiculous. Malcolm would have put the lot of them on report for insubordination! Even Trip's presence was having little effect. Wetzel didn't seem to mind, allowing himself to be argued down with good humour. One of the participants - Cutler - detached herself from the crowd and began loading up with some of the canisters stacked to one side, carefully lifting their straps over her head so as to minimise disturbance to the contents.

"I'll give you a hand, Crewman," said Malcolm, walking over and choosing a couple of the larger containers.

"That's okay, sir. I can manage. They're not heavy."

"It's not a problem. Besides, they may not weigh much, but there are plenty of them. And all the others are still arguing the toss over there." He rolled his eyes at the group.

Cutler gave a low laugh at his obvious exasperation. "They're scientists. They like nothing better than a good debate!"

"And you?" Malcolm reorganised the straps across his shoulders to make room for a couple more canisters, pushing them around to his back.

Cutler straightened up. "We'll each have the same rest time back on the ship, so I decided I'd take my break now, go get something to eat, have a nap, and then be ready to carry on straight through to the end."

"Sounds like a good plan." They'd have to make several journeys, Malcolm decided. "Shall we?" He nodded towards the shuttlepod, and they set off, accompanied by a soft symphony of clanks from their cargo.

"Is this planet really as fascinating as T'Pol thinks?" asked Malcolm, after a few minutes of brushing through the undergrowth, although he didn't expect an unbiased reply.

Cutler's face lit up. "Yes, sir! I could spend a lifetime's work just on that small patch I've been collecting specimens from." She gave a small sigh. "It's kinda frustrating, actually. I've got some projects I can work on, but then we're off to the next planet, and I'll have to hand them over to the guys back home."

"Surely you can still collaborate remotely? Stay involved?"

"Yes, but I just don't have the time." She shot him a broad smile. "I guess that's the downside of being explorers, having to let go of your 'babies', but I wouldn't trade this for anything."

Malcolm grinned back, charmed by her brimming enthusiasm. If there was one characteristic that bound together the disparate members of the Enterprise crew, this was it. Everyone went that extra mile, adding their passion to the mix. It was something he had learnt to appreciate.

"What about you, sir?" Cutler asked, breaking into his musings. "It's something I've wondered about - do you have second thoughts about joining the mission? It must've crossed your mind."

"What?" said Malcolm, startled, quite taken aback.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. Everyone always says I'm far too nosey!" Cutler sounded embarrassed.

Malcolm frowned, wondering what exactly he'd done to give the impression that he might not be one hundred percent committed to the mission. And, if that's what Cutler thought, others might think the same. He chewed at his lower lip, torn between wanting to quash the inappropriate familiarity and wanting to find out more.

Cutler glanced at him and hesitated, as if considering whether to leave it there, but then squared her shoulders in resolution. "It's just that, well, you haven't had an easy time of it. I guess we weren't expecting it to be so hostile out here, and then when the Suliban boarded us, and you got injured…" She stumbled to a halt.

Malcolm snorted softly. "You might not've expected it to be hostile, but I didn't have any illusions. But, you know, it's all part of the job - my job - and I'd have been a fool not to understand what that might mean."

"But your face… after they finished with you… I saw what they did." Even in the dim light, Malcolm saw her pale and he recalled that she had, indeed, been amongst the first to reach him after that incident.

"Face, ribs… more, ah, sensitive regions…" Malcolm flashed her a reassuring grin. "Nothing that didn't mend. Don't get me wrong - if there had been a less painful way to accomplish the task, I would've taken it. But my main worry was getting the timing right. I had to get them to accept a lie. Appear to break too soon, and they won't believe you. Leave it too late and you won't be in a fit state to say anything. But I got it right - fed them the false information and they fell for it. That's what I remember. The satisfying part. Not what it felt like at the time."

Well, that was the theory. There was still the ghost of remembrance when he twisted a certain way, from those ribs that had been caved in on the left side. And he sometimes awoke abruptly, with his stomach churning in anticipation of yet another punishing blow. Malcolm gave a quick shake of his head to dispel that train of thought, and said firmly, "As I said, it's all in the job description. You accept the good things and the not-so-good."

Cutler didn't seem convinced. "And you've been shot as well."

"Energy weapons, and even had a bullet in my leg," agreed Malcolm. "I'd always wondered what that would be like," he added ruefully, with a sideways look at her.

"And that doesn't make you want to curl up in your quarters and lock the door? I know that's what I'd do!"

"No," he replied, quietly amused.

"I guess that's why you're an armoury officer, and I'm not!"

"Horses for courses. I'd be hopeless at your job. Although, I have to confess, I'll be quite happy if we never have any more contact with the Suliban."

"Urgh. That goes for me too!" Cutler declared, with an eloquent shudder.

On that note of mutual understanding, they reached the shuttlepod. Malcolm began to unload, slipping the straps off with the same care that he'd seen Cutler give to the containers. "We should put everything down outside. Then we've got more room to organise it all before we stow it. It'll be easier to sort out the larger ones, so we can put them at the back, next to the bulkhead."

Cutler followed his example, and they soon had a neat array. She pointed to a medium-sized canister. "That's one of mine."

"How many did you fill?"

"I'm not sure how many I got through in the end. I lost count."

"Could I see what you've collected? It's not just soil, is it?"

"Not just soil, no. Some samples are worm- and slug-like creatures, but they're mostly examples of different insect species." She looked bemusedly at him.

"So? May I?" he prompted, cocking his head at the canister she had identified as hers.

"Oh, sure! Of course, sir."

Cutler popped twin catches to flip open a cover along the length of the container and gestured Malcolm over. Squatting down, Malcolm peered into the world within - or, rather, worlds, as it was divided into separate compartments under a transparent wall. Some appeared uninhabited, the occupants presumably having buried themselves in their beds of loose soil. The others held a selection of wildly different creatures, many approximating what might be found on Earth, but others were very odd indeed, even on cursory inspection. One particularly caught his eye. It reminded him a bit of a stag beetle, with jagged spikes projecting forwards from a shiny plump carapace, but this creature had additional fans of weaponry bristling to its rear. The beetle marched to the window, questing along it with long, whip-like antennas before half-rearing in a vain attempt to climb. Malcolm wondered what it was able to sense. Was it aware of his scrutiny? He could see part of the underside as the insect craned to seek the sunlight. Its legs were set out in a disconcertingly non-symmetrical arrangement, in an almost random pattern, with two front legs offset to one side, adjacent to another pair offset to the other side, and, oddly enough, each leg terminated in a double pad. Leaning closer, Malcolm tried to see how the sequence continued, but the beetle had finally tired of its fruitless climb and trundled away.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?"

Straightening up, Malcolm tapped at the compartment with the pseudo-stag beetle. "If this chap is anything to go by, you're going to have fun rewriting the taxonomies!"

"Oh! I didn't know you were an entomologist," said Cutler, in some surprise.

"I'm not." Malcolm shut the cover and secured the catches. "I know someone who is, though, and I suppose some of it's rubbed off." He stood and smiled a little self-consciously at her. "My father, actually. He's a great enthusiast. He always complains about having to reorder his collection whenever there's yet another policy change, but I think he likes it, really!"

"That sounds normal," replied Cutler, with a laugh. "Is he a professional?"

"No - purely amateur. He had an observation published in a learned journal, once. It made his year!" Malcolm had heard the note read out so many times that, if pushed, he was quite sure he'd be able to quote it word for word.

"It's a field where amateurs can still make valuable contributions. On Earth alone, there are millions of species. We'll never know everything about them."

"My father would give anything to have an alien beetle to add to his collection. I know"- he held a hand up to forestall her - "you don't need to remind me of the regulations."

"Sorry, sir."

"There's no need to apologise. I'd rather have rigorous procedures than find Earth transformed into something like this planet by the time we return!" Some movement drew Malcolm's attention. He folded his arms and said sardonically, "Ah - it seems the symposium has concluded." A small gaggle of people was making its way towards them, led by Trip, who had a couple of containers slung over his shoulders. "I wonder if Commander Tucker knows what's in those canisters he's carrying," said Malcolm, with a smirk.

Cutler peered at them. "Oh - those are marked as habitat, so they'll have some of the plant life and soil, rocks and the like."

"No insects?" The devilish part of Malcolm was deeply disappointed.

"Nope. I've noticed Commander Tucker gets kinda nervous around them." Cutler looked to Malcolm for confirmation.

"Um." Well, Cutler had already detected Trip's weakness, so there was no breach of confidence in providing some advice. "Commander Tucker is piloting the shuttlepod back to the ship. If you want a smooth ride, it might be prudent not to mention our little friends to him. If he asks, just say they're habitat samples. You don't need to say they're not all habitat samples."

"Right," said Cutler, as they exchanged conspiratorial grins. "Thanks for the tip, sir!"

With the additional willing hands, all the containers were soon securely strapped down in the shuttlepod and the first set of scientists were on their way back to Enterprise for their enforced break. Malcolm watched the flight path for any insect-induced wobbles, but, sadly, the craft arrowed unerringly towards its target, disappearing from his sight and into the red gloom.