§ 2 §

"I had bad vibes from the moment we launched," Malcolm muttered.

His mood hadn't improved by much. Trip rolled his eyes. "Don't you always?" he ventured to say, letting his face soften in an impish smile.

Malcolm didn't acknowledge it and shook his head. Passing the towel over his face, which was still sweating profusely, he re-emerged abruptly to add, "When those people arrived... You've got to admit, they were awfully strange."

"Right then I thought they were simply funny," Trip said deadpan.

xxx

"Your Second in Command gave us the matrix of your language, so we could programme our translating devices," Alien 2 said. The Berellians had told them their names, but the hell if they were repeatable, let alone possible to memorise.

One of the few things, on this planet, that seemed to be absolutely straight was – Malcolm realised after a while – people's mouths. Corners didn't even hint to pull up – or even down. He could see that Trip had noticed too, and as a consequence was reining in his laid-back nature.

"This way," Alien 1 said, as he started towards the cylinder from which the three of them had emerged.

Getting out of that irritating sprinkle was an inviting prospect, but Malcolm felt the need to give the cabin a perfunctory check. "I take it this is a lift?" he wondered warily, stopping just short of entering it. The other possibility was that it might rocket out of the ground and become air-born, and he'd rather not take that into consideration.

"A lift?" Alien 3 fiddled with the translating device; then turned to his partners with a puzzled frown.

"An elevator," Trip said, darting Malcolm one of his subtly teasing looks.

There was a grunt. "An elevator, yes," Alien 1 repeated, herding them in.

Moments later they were zipping through underground tunnels – the existence of which they could never have suspected – aboard a hovering capsule propelled at high speed. Trip's eyes still had that sparkle of excitement; and if Malcolm hadn't felt compelled by duty – and by the knot in his stomach – to keep all senses alert, he might have even shared some of it. When his motion sickness left him in peace he rather liked high speeds.

"Is the vessel on autopilot?" the Commander asked, after he had vainly looked around for a driver's seat.

Alien 2, who had been quiet until then, explained, "Arrows are shot from a control centre."

Malcolm's involuntary tensing seemed to add to Trip's enjoyment. Damn man. Obviously the translating device couldn't find a better word for the means of transport they were on.


"Okay, so next time we'll use a bit more caution," Trip said, dropping to sit on the bench.

"We?" Malcolm squealed.

"Alright, the Capt'n and I."

Leaning with his elbows on his knees, Trip let his head fall forward. Phlox's analgesic had obviously worn out, and he wanted to hide his discomfort. Of course it didn't work.

"You okay?"

Trip looked up: Malcolm stood there, towel in his hands, concern having finally chased away all irritation.

"Just a headache." He didn't mention the touch of nausea; Phlox had said it would come and go in waves for a while.

Malcolm put the towel around his neck and pulled on its ends. "Bloody hell, Trip, how many times do I have to…" He trailed, probably recognising the futility of his words. "Spare parts!" he snorted darkly.

xxx

The station at which the 'arrow' stopped just some five or six minutes later was spacious; it could have accommodated a lot of people. It was also empty. Not a soul was in sight, except for what looked like a couple of guards at the lift.

Trip – who had, despite the Berellians' unsmiling nature, engaged Alien 2 in conversation – happily ignored the fact, but Malcolm took proper notice. Obviously this wasn't a public place. He filed the information away, in a mental folder that was beginning to contain quite a bit of material on Berellia and its inhabitants.

The lift, similar in all to the one they had boarded at the landing place, took them straight up to a medium-size room, a pie section of a circle with the point cut off, and windows all along the curve part. They were obviously in one of those platforms capping the buildings of the city, and the view was stunning. Malcolm could not help taking a moment to admire it. The city extended as far as his eyes could see.

Ceilings were rather low, for human standards, but there was more than enough room to stand upright. At the pressing of a button on the wall the single round table in the middle of the room began to expand and grow, as did the stools around it. With a shimmer, a door appeared in one of the walls. The man who entered took a look at them; then joined the group, growing to stand even taller than Trip. There had been virtually no information in the Vulcan database about Berellians, let along this peculiar expanding property of theirs, but Malcolm was pretty sure that it had to do with the idea of not feeling inferior to their interlocutors or even – as now, with the newcomer – establishing a physical and metaphorical edge over them.


"The man made it a point to be intimidating right from the start."

Trip massaged his temples. This was what he had come for; to make Malcolm talk – surely the man must be full of repressed emotions. But to be honest he could also use his friend as a soundboard, because it was damn near impossible to take his mind off...

"I didn't see it like that," he said, cutting off that train of thought and the memories it entailed. "I thought he was just givin' himself a bit of importance." He patted the bench beside him. "Would you mind sitting?" he begged with a wince. "Lookin' up doesn't help my headache." Nor did it help the rest of his symptoms.

Malcolm slid to the floor, leaning against the wall, knees raised. "I didn't like it." He heaved a sigh. "Damned if I'll ever like someone who can grow from a midget to a height where I have to crane my neck to look at him," he muttered, bringing a faint smile to Trip's lips.

TBC

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