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"Shuttlepod One to Bridge..."

Travis Mayweather's voice had a smile in it as he informed the Captain that they were ready to launch. Trip finished checking his instruments at the navigation console and nodded his 'all is fine' to the helmsman.

"Good luck, then, Shuttlepod One," Archer came back. "We'll go take a closer look at that M-class planet and rendezvous with you in about twelve hours."

"Aye, Sir."

Finally the launch bay doors opened and the small vessel dropped out, with that moment of weightlessness that sent your stomach into your throat. The expert man at the helm, though, immediately took control of their fate, veering away from Enterprise.

Trip cast a look at Malcolm, who had closed his eyes and was trying to prove that all blood could actually drain out of one's face. A funny image of very pink feet tickled his mind.

"You okay, Loo-tenant?" he teased, getting a reproachful scowl from Hoshi for his impish tone.

Though it had never been officially acknowledged, everyone knew of Malcolm's motion sickness; of course the man would never admit to being sick. Sick was most likely a foul word in the Reeds' vocabulary – yes, definitely a four-letter word in more than one way. And Malcolm was probably disciplined enough to actually order his queasiness away.

Indeed, the grey eyes opened and their owner cleared his throat.

"That asteroid belt near the closest planet ought to be perfect for testing our weapons," he said, not deigning to address Trip's ribbing.

"Our weapons?" Hoshi twisted her face in a teasing smirk. "Thank you, Lieutenant, but I gladly leave you full ownership of anything that zaps and crackles and explodes, and is generally meant to heave destruction."

"Weapons are also instruments of defence: they might save your life, Ensign. Don't forget that," Malcolm corrected without venom. "By the way, remind me to schedule your target practice, when we get back," he teased back. "Your score is getting good, you don't want to lose your hand."

Everyone also knew of Hoshi's discomfort when it came to weapons. She was slowly getting over it under Malcolm's tutoring, but she'd still much rather handle ancient Klingon than a phase pistol.

"Woo-hoo!" Travis exclaimed, going into a narrow curve, which prompted Malcolm to shut his eyes again and his mouth. "This pod is so much more manageable than before! What did you do to it?"

Trip grinned, as he braced against the sudden veering. "Nothin' much, really. A little tweak here, a little tweak there…"

"Barrel roll, Commander?"

Travis sounded openly hopeful.

"Set a course for that asteroid belt, Ensign," Trip ordered in a voice where warning rang clear.


"Acquiring a lock."

Trip watched the hint of a frown crease Malcolm's brow, the mark of total concentration. Not for the first time he found himself thinking that when the man was engaged in something he liked doing, the world might crumble around him and he would hardly notice.

"Ready," Malcolm announced a moment later. A note of smug satisfaction tinged his voice as he commented, "Targeting sensors are faster by one third of a second."

The Armoury Officer was dutifully waiting for orders, so Trip gave him the go-ahead. "Well, Lieutenant: show us what your improved weaponry can do," he said, with a little dance of his eyebrows.

"With pleasure, Sir."

Big or small, an explosion always lightened up Malcolm's mood and put a sparkle in his grey eyes.

They watched in silence the destruction of the hapless rock which had the bad luck of being in the same stretch of galaxy as Lieutenant Reed. That an innocent-looking beam could produce such a devastating effect was something of a shocking discovery every time, as far as Trip was concerned; and the fact that in space it all happened without a sound, made it all the more disturbing, somehow.

"Not too bad," Malcolm commented, breaking the moment of suspension. "It would be interesting to go for a smaller target," he suggested.

Trip caught Hoshi's pleading glance and took pity on her. "Yes, well, thank you, Lieutenant," he forestalled. "I'm sure you could shoot all of these rocks into the right pockets, so to speak, but maybe another day."

Relief and gratitude poured into the dark, almond eyes, just as all the excitement poured out of the grey ones.

"Commander, that asteroid belt isn't very thick," Travis butted in. "How about letting me have some fun? After all we haven't tested the helm controls in tight conditions." He turned to flash one of his enthusiastic grins. "A bit of acrobatic flying would really show us what this pod can do."

Trip eyed Mayweather's expectant face. If Malcolm's body language was always a bit restrained, this man could literally beam. "We don't want havin' to give this little jewel a fresh coat of paint when we get back, Travis," he warned.

"I can't promise I'll avoid every little speck of dust, but if I scratch the paint you can confine me to quarters for a week, Sir."

"Ah, no, I've got a better idea: if you scratch the paint you'll fix it. How about that?"

"Deal. Thank you, Commander," Travis agreed, with another one of his genial smiles.

Malcolm, restrained? Trip amended his previous thought – the Lieutenant was now glaring at him; but after all the man had just got his treat.

Hoshi grabbed her seat, once again looking ill-at-ease, and Trip remembered that the young linguist had just recently begun to find her space legs. She had once confided to him that maybe she ought to go back to her teaching. He almost regretted giving in to Travis's suggestion.

"And keep in mind that not everyone likes bein' shaken like a mat full of dust, Ensign," Trip added at the last moment. "So don't jiggle us any more than necessary."

Ah, bless his tender heart.

"Aye, aye, Sir."

"Mayday! Come in, Enterprise!"

Hoshi's voice was gritty. A bout of coughing racked her; smoke was beginning to fill the cabin, though there was no fire.

"I could've tested the transceiver array even without an emergency landing, Sir," she choked out. "In any case it doesn't seem to work."

Her voice quivered.

"Enterprise must be out of range, Hoshi," Trip replied.

His own voice sounded cool and collected enough, as befit a Commanding Officer, but tension had given it a hard edge, which he immediately felt sorry about: Hoshi had reacted to the words with a self-conscious frown, obviously taking them as a criticism.

"Thrusters only, Commander," Travis announced, all of his former happiness gone from his face and voice. "It's going to be a rough landing."

Malcolm had got up and was leaning over Trip's shoulder. One bent arm over his mouth and nose to protect his airways from the smoke, he studied the readings on their instruments.

"I think the exhaust ports are clogged," Trip managed to croak out against the tickling in his throat. His eyes were beginning to water. "And the engine overheated."

"I'll get the oxygen masks," Malcolm mumbled behind his arm.

"We're entering the atmosphere," Mayweather said. "Eight minutes to touchdown."

Trip caught Malcolm's arm. "No time." Finally giving in to coughing, he jerked his head towards the empty seat in a silent order, and the man complied, sitting down.

Reaching over, Trip clasped Travis's shoulder, in the only gesture of support he could think of. They were in his hands now, and though they couldn't be in better hands, he would have gladly done without this bit of excitement: testing their helmsman skills in such conditions had not been on their 'to do' list.

"We'll be okay, Hoshi," he turned to reassure the clearly frightened Ensign.

"Aye, Sir," she replied, biting her lip.

Proud of her flaunted courage, Trip gave her a pale smile. Then, with the official "brace for impact", he too bent over into the proper position.

As they rushed towards the barren land below, he had the time to think that for once it wasn't only Malcolm's feet that would get very pink.

TBC

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