Crossfire

by Muirinn

Summary: While Archer negotiates a difficult away mission, Reed and Sato must keep the Enterprise out of enemy hands.

Rating: PG-13, or T

Disclaimer: Recognizable entities are not my intellectual property. I only borrow them for fun and not for profit.

Author's Notes: First chapter of an adventure story featuring mostly Malcolm and Hoshi. This one isn't all that involved; it's mostly straight-shooting action with a touch of space opera. Not much high drama here. See? I do write more than drabbles.

"That didn't work quite the way I'd hoped."

Archer's statement prompted Ensign Travis Mayweather to look up at his captain wearily and (barely) suppress a disbelieving snort. It was T'Pol, however, who voiced his thoughts: "You, sir, tend to hope for much."

Captain Archer snorted, crossed his arms across his chest, and leaned back against the wall of the shuttlepod. "I'm an optimist."

"You know," interjected a voice with a distinctly southern drawl, "I think I have to agree with T'Pol." Archer looked at his chief engineer sharply. Trip Tucker only shrugged. "You do hope for a lot."

Travis wanted to melt into his console. Maybe the ground under them would split and 'pod would drop. Maybe someone would fire on the shuttle. Maybe something would happen. Anything. Please. He didn't think he could take much more of his commanding officers bickering.

Bickering that would last another few hours, thanks to a miscommunication. Ensign Sato was, apparently, still a little confused by the measurements of time on Lysander, and they'd landed the shuttlepod several hours before the appointed time. Unfortunately, that happened to be in the middle of the Lysan sleeping cycle, and Archer had elected to kill some time aboard the shuttle rather than return to Enterprise. That was, of course, before the admonishment given by the night guard planetside that had put Archer in a mood. When they'd called Enterprise and told them what had happened, Hoshi had been beside herself. It certainly hadn't helped that the captain had snapped at her.

Travis really wasn't sure where he'd rather be: in a shuttlepod with his bickering COs or up on Enterprise's bridge with an upset Communications Officer and a grim-looking Armoury Officer.

The sound of something clattering to the floor brought Travis back to the present and he glanced over his shoulder to see Archer reach down to pick up a PADD. Whether it had been thrown, dropped or chucked at someone's head, Travis couldn't be sure.

"Suddenly, I'm real glad Malcolm isn't here."

Archer paused, fingers curled around the PADD. "That's a horrible thing to say, Trip."

"Oh, c'mon, Captain. You know as well as I do that he'd be impossible in this situation. Prowling around. Pacing. Grumbling. Phase pistol in hand." Trip blinked, and hurriedly added, "Not that I'm happy about what's keeping him on Enterprise. I'm not that callous."

Archer leaned back again, PADD held in loose fingers. "How is he doing, by the way? I haven't had a chance to talk to him since he limped out of sickbay."

Travis bit back a sigh; from one potentially hot topic straight into another. It had only been a few days ago and it hadn't really been Lieutenant Reed's fault; that Andorian had been overly curious about ship's systems. Captain Archer was just a little upset that their Andorian visitor – one young woman among a group of twenty or so travelers – had been escorted to the brig after Tucker and Reed found her tampering with the warp core. The girl, who had turned out to be nothing more than an aspiring engineer, had panicked, pushed a sequence of buttons that still had Trip shaking his head, and sent Enterprise in a tailspin that had the grav plating and the inertial dampeners groaning in protest. Reed had ended up severely twisting his knee, and Trip's bruises were just beginning to fade. Archer hadn't been exactly happy with the situation.

Trip was shrugging. "He's still limping. Says he's fine, of course. Not happy to be left behind, that's for sure."

Gladly trade places with him, Travis thought.

"He's got command," Archer said rather crossly. Travis and Tucker cringed while T'Pol quirked an eyebrow. "I'm sure he's happy enough." The captain looked up, taking in the faces of his away team, and sighed. It took a moment, but the hard lines around his mouth and eyes softened and he shrugged broad shoulders. "Let's try to get some rest, shall we?" he said as he settled back. "Glad I didn't bring Porthos."

"For that, we are all thankful, I'm sure."

Archer quirked a mocking eyebrow at T'Pol and smirked. His Vulcan first officer still sat ramrod straight, dark eyes boring into the PADD she held.

Travis leaned back into his seat and closed his eyes. The atmosphere may have lightened a bit, but it was still going to be a long night.

Ensign Hoshi Sato sat in her chair, her petite form hunched over her Communications console. Her fingers – fingers that usually flew with quick precision – tapped the buttons slowly and deliberately. Of the four people occupying the bridge, she was the only one actively ignoring everyone for her console. Even Malcolm Reed looked up occasionally from the Tactical console and offered an acerbic quip now and again that usually set the ensign at helm to giggling.

Reed surveyed the bridge – his bridge, for the time being – and took stock. It wasn't that there were any problems; in fact, he really didn't expect any. They were running a skeleton crew at the moment; it was still a couple hours before Alpha shift officially started. He and Hoshi were, technically, off shift but she'd been poring over Lysan logs and he didn't feel right napping after being given command. It wasn't until his gaze passed over her for the sixth time that he decided something needed to be done. Her posture was less dedicated hunch and more dejected slump.

Even so, talking across the bridge about personal matters? Shouldn't be done, and Hoshi certainly wouldn't appreciate clearing the air with an ensign and a crewman from Gamma shift present. Normally, he'd walk across the bridge on some pretense or another and speak with her, but moving… He winced. Moving was difficult, no matter how many times he told Phlox he was fine. His knee was still giving him hell, and, just as Hoshi wouldn't want a personal talk across the bridge, he didn't want to hobble across the bridge.

That left a more subtle manner of speaking: console-to-console text. It wasn't used all that often, and definitely frowned upon for personal use. No one would look for it, however, and Hoshi was discreet enough to erase any messages.

Quietly and quickly, he keyed in a message and sent it. The captain didn't mean it quite like it sounded, I'm sure.

He watched as Hoshi started, frowned, and then looked up at him. With a small smile and a shrug, she only mouthed I know and went back to ignoring everything. He was a little surprised when a reply came through only a few seconds later. Thank you, it said. He shrugged; it wouldn't quite do to have a sulking Communications Officer on his watch, but there wasn't much else he could do about it. Maybe it was just his imagination, but when he looked up, her shoulders seemed straighter.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, though. A shudder shot through the ship and set the deck plating to rattling. Hoshi looked up in surprise, hands curling around the edges of her console as the shaking continued. Malcolm toggled a switch on his own console and paged Engineering.

And then paged again when no one answered. With a frown, he switched tactics and tried the Armoury; still nothing.

"Communications are down," Hoshi called out.

Reed looked up and met Hoshi's questioning – and frightened – gaze. "I noticed."

"I didn't have any warning; I'm sorry, Lieutenant."

He shook his head, and turned his eyes upon the young man at the science station. "Crewman?"

"Nothing on the sensors, sir."

"Move us out of orbit."

As the ensign at helm moved to respond, Hoshi spoke. "Lieutenant, our shuttlepod?"

"Will find us, if need be. I don't want to be in orbit with failing systems." Malcolm spared her a glance between checking his own systems. "The gravitational pull could wreak havoc."

The ship was jolted, sending an ill-prepared Hoshi tumbling from her chair. Malcolm stilled, his hands splayed across his console and looking intently at his own scans; nothing. He polarized the hull plating, acting on a suspicion that he hoped wasn't real.

"Helm's not responding, sir."

Hoshi's voice rang out from next to the crewman at T'Pol's normal station. "Our engines are down."

The sensors didn't show a thing, but Malcolm knew one thing; that last jolt had been weapons fire, and now they were dead in the water. "Did we break orbit?"

The helmsman pressed his lips together. "No, sir, and that last jolt changed our heading. Our orbit will deteriorate."

"Time?"

The ensign shrugged. "I'm not sure, sir. I wasn't paying much attention to those readings before they went out, and I'm not entirely certain of our heading."

Malcolm nearly ground his teeth in frustration. "Your best guess?"

"A few hours, at best." Seeing Reed's look, he amended his statement. "Four or five until we experience hull damage."

"That soon?"

"That jolt turned us planetside, sir. Without engines, our momentum will take us down like a shot."

Malcolm nodded. "Hoshi, will our personal communicators work?"

She winced. "They should, but I already tried it. They're useless."

"See what you can do, Hoshi," Malcolm said, eying the viewscreen. "Crewman, transfer your scan results to my station and then get down to Engineering; I need to know what the hell is going on."

Seconds later, the scan results were transferred, and the crewman – unflappable and hurried, God bless him, Malcolm thought – slapped the control panel for the turbolift. Nothing happened.

"Climb down the shaft if you have to," Malcolm snapped before the crewman could even think to ask.

It didn't matter, though; he didn't have time.

Enterprise rocked violently, bulkheads groaning and supports snapping in protest. Lights flickered and went out as consoles – most of them unmanned – exploded in showers of sparks. Malcolm heard a scream and barely had time to see part of the bulkhead beside him buckle. He rolled out of chair, hissing as his knee hit the deck, and sought what cover he could as another explosion ripped through the bridge.

He didn't have time for anything but a curse as something came down on him and drove him to floor. The back of his head throbbed with pain he didn't have time to contemplate before it drove him into darkness.

tbc…

Please let me know what you think thus far. Reviews motivate me. I am a fan of constructive criticism, as well, so if you see something that doesn't quite work for you, you can let me know.

Muirinn