This story follows Malcolm Reed through his Starfleet Basic Training, his
Officer Training, his first posting, and his career on Enterprise. Beware
of a very long story ahead!
I don't own any of these characters, with the exception of Mikayla. She's mine!
Introduction
There were only a few patrons in the seedy London bar. Music was playing in the background, but no one was really paying attention. Drinks sat empty at the tables, the floor was a mess. The remaining people were too drunk to notice or care about the status of the bar, though. They were lucky that they were still conscious.
Malcolm Reed looked over to his companion and saw that she was mouthing the words to the archaic music. She was the only one who ever knew the words to the songs played. Then again, she was the only one in this bar who studied the 20th century so intently. The bar was modeled after something called a karaoke bar. Malcolm had never heard of it before, but as soon as she started taking him here, he read up. He even did her the favor of learning some songs. It was rare that he got up and sang, but if he got drunk enough, he could sing Love Shack with the best of them.
Mikayla Forrest finally turned to Reed and squinted her eyes. "Why the hell is it so bright in here?"
Reed turned slowly on his bar stool and looked out the window. "Prolly because it's so bright outside."
Confusion was evident on the young woman's face. "Was it light when we came here?"
"I'm not sure," Malcolm shrugged.
The front door slammed open at that time, and a grizzled old man walked in. He took in the site of the place but didn't comment. Instead, he walked right up to Malcolm and Mikayla.
"Don't you two have duty this morning?" he asked, his soft voice in contrast to his rough look.
Mikayla was the one who responded. "That depends on what time it is."
"It's about time for you to get going, Mike."
"Ah bloody hell," Reed whispered, "duty."
"Why don't you call in sick," the newcomer suggested.
"Max, that is a fantastic idea!" Malcolm exclaimed, trying to get off the stool. Mikayla had to help him down.
"Come on, Mallie, we'll go to my place."
"Righty-o!"
The two stumbled out into the bright light, both having a hard time keeping their balance. A cab was waiting; Max had known the two would still be there. Mikayla helped her friend in and then told the cabbie, "Starfleet Compound."
The cabbie looked at the two funny, but didn't comment. They were both wearing Starfleet uniforms, and even though they were rumpled, he would do as she said. Within moments they arrived. The two paid the fee and headed for the main building.
Starfleet hadn't been around for very long, but in the time that it had, humans had grown to respect the organization. Almost all the younger people were applying, their heads in the stars. The Vulcan's could do nothing to hold their dreams in check.
This new organization had it's main headquarters in San Francisco, but has started putting up other locations all around the world. London was the center of the Fleet's weapon's development, and being weapons experts, Malcolm Reed and Mikayla Forrest had been assigned there right after training.
They stumbled in, trying to keep their composure. People were glancing at them funny, but they paid no attention. They simply tried to get to the armory they were assigned to without passing out.
An older looking man stormed out into the hall, looking one direction, and then looking towards the two. He growled in disgust and stomped up to them. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Uh, no. A watch really doesn't go with this outfit," Forrest answered, trying to keep her giggles in check.
"You two were suppose to be here an hour ago to run those diagnostics! Now get to work before I have your asses put on report!"
Malcolm straightened up as best be could and saluted. "Yes sir! Right away sir!" He hiccupped and then started to laugh. Their commanding officer looked at them with a stern eye, but walked away.
The young British man turned to his companion and asked, "How can one put an arse on report?"
**
Mikayla woke up to a splitting headache. She opened her eyes, but the bright florescent lights made things worse. She tried to sit up, but the room was spinning around her. Where am I? she thought. The last thing she remembered was walking into Max's Heaven in downtown London. Where was Malcolm? What had happened? All sorts of crazy scenarios ran through her mind.
It was enough to get her to sit up. She sat there for a moment, fighting off the nausea. If this was a hospital, why wasn't one of the doctor's attending to her? Whatever had happened had left her head in an awful mess.
She heard a groan from next to her and looked over slowly. Malcolm Reed was laying on a bed, much in the same condition she was. Worry washed over Mikayla's face. Moving far too fast for her head, but not really caring, she hurried over to where he friend laid. She was cut off, however, by the plexi-glass wall.
Mikayla slowly turned around to get a better look at her surroundings. Suddenly, she knew where she and Malcolm were. Horror sunk into her stomach.
They were in jail.
"Malcolm?" she called out, hoping that the two cells were joined somehow and that he could hear her.
"Ghrhg," came the reply.
"Malcolm!" she said a bit louder.
He sat up suddenly, startled that he didn't know where he was. He then promptly threw up. Mikayla sat and watched, knowing this was a ritual with him. If he didn't take something to leaven the effects of the alcohol, he would be throwing up the next day after. It appeared that their jailers hadn't given him anything.
"Mikayla," he muttered, finally opening his eyes. "Where the hell are we?"
"Jail," she said candidly. She was never one to sugar coat things.
"JAIL?" he exclaimed, jumping off the bed.
"Jail," she confirmed again, sitting on her bunk.
"What…exactly did we do last night?" he asked, leaning his head up against the glass.
"I'm not sure."
"This is all your fault," he muttered.
Her head slowly came around. "My fault?"
"Your fault. It was your idea to go out last night."
"My idea? Who was the one who was sitting around my house, complaining about how boring it was?"
"You knew we had duty today! We could have gone to see a movie or something!"
She was on her feet in a heartbeat, and over at the glass. Her green eyes were on fire as she said, "It's not exactly like there are new releases, Malcolm. We've seen all the movies!"
"We could have done anything! Took a walk, gone to the library, play a Ouija Board! We did not have to go out drinking!"
"If you're tying to make me feel guilty, Malcolm, it won't work! You are as guilty as I am here. You could have left!"
"You would have killed me!"
"I'm still gonna kill you!"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" a voice shouted. They turned around to see one of the security guards at the door.
"She started it," Reed muttered. He didn't miss the cold glare she gave him.
"Lt. Forrest, you have a visitor," the guard said, ignoring the comment.
"Who?" she asked.
"Admiral Forrest."
"Bloody hell," Reed said, moving to his bunk. "Good luck."
The guard opened the door and ushered Mikayla down the hall. He lead her through a door to a private officer where the newly appointed Commanding Officer of Starfleet was waiting for her.
"Hi dad."
"Mikayla, sit down," he ordered.
She did as he told, but said nothing. She had nothing to say to her father.
"I do not appreciate getting a call at 8:00 in the morning to find out my daughter is in jail," he began.
"They had no right to call you in the first place. I'm not a child anymore."
"No, you're not a child. You're Lieutenant Mikayla Forrest. Someone like you should not end up in jail."
"If you're going to lecture me…" she began, getting up. She had no intention of listening to her father.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," he ordered.
Mikayla sat, out of sheer obligation to her uniform. "What?"
"You have an image to uphold. You're a Starfleet Lieutenant. You'll probably be one of the first Captains. We don't need another reason for the Vulcan's to hate us."
"This wasn't my choice."
"It's your duty. Now either you start acting like an adult or you'll be sitting in this brig for a very long time. And your friend in there…" Admiral Forrest pointed in the direction of Malcolm. "Stay away from him. He's trouble."
"Dad…"
"That's an order."
I don't own any of these characters, with the exception of Mikayla. She's mine!
Introduction
There were only a few patrons in the seedy London bar. Music was playing in the background, but no one was really paying attention. Drinks sat empty at the tables, the floor was a mess. The remaining people were too drunk to notice or care about the status of the bar, though. They were lucky that they were still conscious.
Malcolm Reed looked over to his companion and saw that she was mouthing the words to the archaic music. She was the only one who ever knew the words to the songs played. Then again, she was the only one in this bar who studied the 20th century so intently. The bar was modeled after something called a karaoke bar. Malcolm had never heard of it before, but as soon as she started taking him here, he read up. He even did her the favor of learning some songs. It was rare that he got up and sang, but if he got drunk enough, he could sing Love Shack with the best of them.
Mikayla Forrest finally turned to Reed and squinted her eyes. "Why the hell is it so bright in here?"
Reed turned slowly on his bar stool and looked out the window. "Prolly because it's so bright outside."
Confusion was evident on the young woman's face. "Was it light when we came here?"
"I'm not sure," Malcolm shrugged.
The front door slammed open at that time, and a grizzled old man walked in. He took in the site of the place but didn't comment. Instead, he walked right up to Malcolm and Mikayla.
"Don't you two have duty this morning?" he asked, his soft voice in contrast to his rough look.
Mikayla was the one who responded. "That depends on what time it is."
"It's about time for you to get going, Mike."
"Ah bloody hell," Reed whispered, "duty."
"Why don't you call in sick," the newcomer suggested.
"Max, that is a fantastic idea!" Malcolm exclaimed, trying to get off the stool. Mikayla had to help him down.
"Come on, Mallie, we'll go to my place."
"Righty-o!"
The two stumbled out into the bright light, both having a hard time keeping their balance. A cab was waiting; Max had known the two would still be there. Mikayla helped her friend in and then told the cabbie, "Starfleet Compound."
The cabbie looked at the two funny, but didn't comment. They were both wearing Starfleet uniforms, and even though they were rumpled, he would do as she said. Within moments they arrived. The two paid the fee and headed for the main building.
Starfleet hadn't been around for very long, but in the time that it had, humans had grown to respect the organization. Almost all the younger people were applying, their heads in the stars. The Vulcan's could do nothing to hold their dreams in check.
This new organization had it's main headquarters in San Francisco, but has started putting up other locations all around the world. London was the center of the Fleet's weapon's development, and being weapons experts, Malcolm Reed and Mikayla Forrest had been assigned there right after training.
They stumbled in, trying to keep their composure. People were glancing at them funny, but they paid no attention. They simply tried to get to the armory they were assigned to without passing out.
An older looking man stormed out into the hall, looking one direction, and then looking towards the two. He growled in disgust and stomped up to them. "Do you know what time it is?"
"Uh, no. A watch really doesn't go with this outfit," Forrest answered, trying to keep her giggles in check.
"You two were suppose to be here an hour ago to run those diagnostics! Now get to work before I have your asses put on report!"
Malcolm straightened up as best be could and saluted. "Yes sir! Right away sir!" He hiccupped and then started to laugh. Their commanding officer looked at them with a stern eye, but walked away.
The young British man turned to his companion and asked, "How can one put an arse on report?"
**
Mikayla woke up to a splitting headache. She opened her eyes, but the bright florescent lights made things worse. She tried to sit up, but the room was spinning around her. Where am I? she thought. The last thing she remembered was walking into Max's Heaven in downtown London. Where was Malcolm? What had happened? All sorts of crazy scenarios ran through her mind.
It was enough to get her to sit up. She sat there for a moment, fighting off the nausea. If this was a hospital, why wasn't one of the doctor's attending to her? Whatever had happened had left her head in an awful mess.
She heard a groan from next to her and looked over slowly. Malcolm Reed was laying on a bed, much in the same condition she was. Worry washed over Mikayla's face. Moving far too fast for her head, but not really caring, she hurried over to where he friend laid. She was cut off, however, by the plexi-glass wall.
Mikayla slowly turned around to get a better look at her surroundings. Suddenly, she knew where she and Malcolm were. Horror sunk into her stomach.
They were in jail.
"Malcolm?" she called out, hoping that the two cells were joined somehow and that he could hear her.
"Ghrhg," came the reply.
"Malcolm!" she said a bit louder.
He sat up suddenly, startled that he didn't know where he was. He then promptly threw up. Mikayla sat and watched, knowing this was a ritual with him. If he didn't take something to leaven the effects of the alcohol, he would be throwing up the next day after. It appeared that their jailers hadn't given him anything.
"Mikayla," he muttered, finally opening his eyes. "Where the hell are we?"
"Jail," she said candidly. She was never one to sugar coat things.
"JAIL?" he exclaimed, jumping off the bed.
"Jail," she confirmed again, sitting on her bunk.
"What…exactly did we do last night?" he asked, leaning his head up against the glass.
"I'm not sure."
"This is all your fault," he muttered.
Her head slowly came around. "My fault?"
"Your fault. It was your idea to go out last night."
"My idea? Who was the one who was sitting around my house, complaining about how boring it was?"
"You knew we had duty today! We could have gone to see a movie or something!"
She was on her feet in a heartbeat, and over at the glass. Her green eyes were on fire as she said, "It's not exactly like there are new releases, Malcolm. We've seen all the movies!"
"We could have done anything! Took a walk, gone to the library, play a Ouija Board! We did not have to go out drinking!"
"If you're tying to make me feel guilty, Malcolm, it won't work! You are as guilty as I am here. You could have left!"
"You would have killed me!"
"I'm still gonna kill you!"
"THAT'S ENOUGH!" a voice shouted. They turned around to see one of the security guards at the door.
"She started it," Reed muttered. He didn't miss the cold glare she gave him.
"Lt. Forrest, you have a visitor," the guard said, ignoring the comment.
"Who?" she asked.
"Admiral Forrest."
"Bloody hell," Reed said, moving to his bunk. "Good luck."
The guard opened the door and ushered Mikayla down the hall. He lead her through a door to a private officer where the newly appointed Commanding Officer of Starfleet was waiting for her.
"Hi dad."
"Mikayla, sit down," he ordered.
She did as he told, but said nothing. She had nothing to say to her father.
"I do not appreciate getting a call at 8:00 in the morning to find out my daughter is in jail," he began.
"They had no right to call you in the first place. I'm not a child anymore."
"No, you're not a child. You're Lieutenant Mikayla Forrest. Someone like you should not end up in jail."
"If you're going to lecture me…" she began, getting up. She had no intention of listening to her father.
"Sit down, Lieutenant," he ordered.
Mikayla sat, out of sheer obligation to her uniform. "What?"
"You have an image to uphold. You're a Starfleet Lieutenant. You'll probably be one of the first Captains. We don't need another reason for the Vulcan's to hate us."
"This wasn't my choice."
"It's your duty. Now either you start acting like an adult or you'll be sitting in this brig for a very long time. And your friend in there…" Admiral Forrest pointed in the direction of Malcolm. "Stay away from him. He's trouble."
"Dad…"
"That's an order."