A/N: This wound up being much longer than anticipated, but there were just so many subtle nuances and hints to get around to. Quick reminder that nearly everyone is OOC just a little bit down the spectrum; this is an AU, after all. I'll post the final entry as soon as I can. Thank you for your blessings and kind words!

The Interview, Part Two of Three

Malcolm wasn't sure what he had expected an office in the main annex of Enterprise Innovations to look like, but it certainly wasn't this.

First of all, it was much larger than expected, a great cavernous space filled with shelving and cabinets of an ambiguous gray color. He wasn't exactly sure where it ended, either, for several islands jutted out into the center of the room, fairly overflowing with various flora and fauna of unidentifiable origin. Around the perimeter and shoved into every available space between plant specimens were a variety of animal cages. From every direction, a bevy of squawks, bleating, and whistles were heard. For a gentleman who prided himself in often maintaining a decorous silence about himself, it was very nearly overwhelming.

As if his sticky shirt and souring leather shoes weren't torment enough, the sheer humidity of the room had bowled Malcolm over almost instantly. There wasn't a foul stench about the place, however, which indicated some degree of pride in the maintenance of this domain. For whatever immodest assumptions he had made about this mysterious man in the previous few seconds, he had to acknowledge that.

The bohemian fellow almost immediately returned to him work, bowing over a set of calculations for so long that Malcolm feared that he had forgotten about his guest. It was in that moment a woman stepped out from behind a climbing ivy, wringing her hands into a towel and calling to her companion.

"You didn't—"

He interrupted her swiftly, rather enthusiastically than mean-spirited. "Just a moment, please, Elizabeth, I'm thinking."

The lady in question sighed and used the rag to dab at her clammy brow. Malcolm noticed that although she wore the same plain dusky trousers that he had seen the other employees wear, she was undressed to the blouse, and even that was rolled up far past her elbows.

Several beats passed before she seemed to gather her wits about her once again, exclaiming, "Oh my goodness, where are my manners!" With a flick of the wrist, the towel was tossed to the side and she was shaking Malcolm's hand eagerly. "Welcome. I'm Elizabeth Cutler."

"Malcolm Reed. Charmed," he replied, striving his mightiest to offer an engaging smile.

"I suppose you're new. The Doctor has a way with sniffing them out," her remark was dismissive, yet understanding.

This washed up hippie throwback practiced medicine?

He began to speak at once, his voice muffled as nearly his entire portly upper body ventured into a cabinet to retrieve an item. "A few inches short of six feet, with relatively poor eyesight. Experiences frequent insomnia, probably a carrier for a genetic indicator of male pattern baldness."

It took Malcolm a few moments to realize he had been referring to him. To his knowledge, this was mostly correct. Agape, he inquired, "How did you—"

"Intuition. Your aura is very telling, indeed," he emerged, clutching an antique medicine bottle stopped up with cotton balls. "A perfect candidate for my Revival Serum, don't you think, Elizabeth?"

She had turned her back, relatively disinterested in the proceedings. She offered a dismissive wave of her hand as she tended to a member of the aviary.

Malcolm accepted the amber bottle, tipping it back and forth and noticing how the rich cerulean fluid caught the light. "What's in this, Doctor…?"

"Phlox."

"Phlox? Like the garden plant?"

Over his shoulder, his assistant only shrugged apologetically and wiggled her fingers, as if urging him to say more.

"So that's your first name, I assume. But if I am to address you, I must surely know your last name."

"It's Phlox. Just Phlox," the doctor replied, a bit confused. Nevertheless, he pointed at the vial in Malcolm's hands, a ragged, overgrown fingernail on display. "It's not much, truly. Extracts of chamomile and lavender—for stress that accompanies the occasional existential crisis—and a bit of a rare South American salamander."

Well, if this maverick physician had been good enough to secure a position at the company, his methods must have some merit. Only meaning to take a whiff of the liquid, Malcolm hoisted it to his lips.

"Yes, the exceedingly rare Atacama spotted tail dune salamander. Essence of the male."

Had the lovely assistant not been at his elbow in that instant, he surely would have dropped the flask.

"I'm sure Mr. Reed has somewhere to be, Doctor, and we wouldn't want to keep him. I'll help him to his destination and be back in a moment," she graciously provided him with an exit.

Phlox treated him to the widest, most blithe grin he had ever bore witness to, gleefully oblivious of his social miscue. Before Malcolm knew it, he was being dragged backwards into the hallway.

Following a minute or so spent in mostly awkward silence, Elizabeth prompted, "Mr. Archer's office, correct?"

"Why, yes," he replied, and the two began to walk together.

"You must forgive Phlox. He's really a brilliant mind, but the seventies weren't kind to him, as they say," she began wryly, dodging into another corridor at such a speed that Malcolm almost ran into the wall.

"If you don't mind me asking, what is his specialty?"

"Natural supplements. He almost locked in a production contract with GNC last year, but backed out of it at the last moment."

This surprised Reed. He had always viewed work as a necessary capitalist evil. He looked forward to the time when he might retire in splendor and repose, devoting all of his free time to tinkering with his inventions. Furrowing his brow, he asked, "Whatever for?"

"I was confused as well. But he's distrustful of big business, as he should be. Chain stores have a tendency to take kindly developers for a ride. He's a quiet man, prefers to keep to himself and his menagerie, but he has his morals. That's just one of the many things I admire about him." She smiled then, and a bit of something indecipherable flashed in her eyes. "But seeing as Mr. Archer is all about results, he sent out a bulletin to the outlying franchises, asking for an intern that could keep him more oriented on his goals."

"And that's when you came in," he guessed.

"That's right," by this time, they had reached a set of heavy oaken double doors. Elizabeth pressed the buzzer, then turned back to her companion. "I've worked here for almost a year. Moving out from the Midwest was one of the best decisions I ever made."

"Sato here," a familiar voice, tinny with distance, came out of the intercom before Malcolm could respond.

"Hey, Hoshi. It's me. I've brought a certain Mr. Reed to see you," from her open body language and amused smirk, it was clear that the two women were good friends.

"Don't tell me that Phlox got a hold of him. I thought that my instructions on how to get up here were pretty clear," she replied, her voice tinged with irritation.

Malcolm's lips drew into a tight grimace. Did she not realize that he was standing right there?

"You underestimate the dear doctor. Now let us in, if you please, so I can get back to his laboratory before he ropes in another poor victim-er, patient."

There was a series of metallic clicks, followed by a sound that accompanied someone pushing back their desk chair on a hardwood floor. "I'll be right there."

Once the line went dead, Elizabeth turned back to the Brit, crossing her arms and studying him as if he was an unfortunate butterfly pinned on a corkboard. Finally, just as soon as he was about to begin to grow uncomfortable under her scrutiny, she said, "Good luck with your interview."

"Thank you. It's really a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Cutler."

She giggled, an unexpected melodious sound. "Call me Liz."

And with a final wave and a turn of the corner, she was gone.

At that moment, the doorjamb Malcolm had been leaning on lurched backward, nearly causing catastrophe as he stumbled in a rather ungainly manner into the slim form of his preceptor.

Her perfume was sharply sweet, with notes of gardenia and jasmine. Recovering swiftly, he brought himself upright and offered his hand for a brisk shake.

"I apologize for the confusion, but this dreadful weather really has set me off balance," noticing that she hadn't accepted the proffered nicety and that his horrendous attempt at small talk was failing miserably, he continued, "I really must look a fright!"

Hoshi raised an eyebrow. He wasn't wrong. What with his drying suit jacket sticking out at odd angles and his dress shirt plastered to his torso, the fellow before her looked thoroughly unprepared to face her boss. But his regard was earnest and there was a faint guise of desperation in his eyes, the desperation to impress and be accepted, that she just couldn't find it within herself to be rude to him.

"Come with me, I'll fix you up."

For a woman in five inch stilettos, Sato sure could walk fast. Tripping over himself to keep up with her, Malcolm had negligible time to examine his surroundings. But, as it often happens when one is in a hurry, one thing in particular caught his eye.

"The HMS Enterprise?" The banner was several feet tall and wide and sported an artistic representation of one of the most famed ships in the history of the British Royal Navy.

"Of course," Hoshi called over her shoulder, not even stopping to entertain his curiosity. "Our CEO has always harbored a particular interest in the entrepreneurial spirit. That ship, and the very many named just like her, serve as our namesake," her diction was so precise that it almost sounded like she was reciting lines from a rehearsed script.

Malcolm smiled to himself. As a child and young adult, he had pored over reference books on the subject of British military history, memorizing every statistic of armaments and weaponry that he could find. It seemed that the past had a way of following someone no matter how far they strayed from their origins.

The pair finally arrived in a large atrium cloaked in shadow. The only source of illumination in the room appeared to be a rather large skylight, which was darkened by the expansive cloud cover far above. Hoshi stepped to the side and placed her hand on a control panel, which instantly raised previously unseen incandescent lights to seventy five percent. The change was so gradual that he barely noticed it. Now, upon further study, he saw panels tucked away in the folds of the delicately wrought ceiling.

The woman interrupted his thoughts, saying, "This is one of the best things to come out of our environmental engineering department. You see, this building is completely solar powered." At once her hands were at his collar, divesting him of his briefcase and suit jacket before he could protest.

Mystified, he said, "Every weather report I've watched since I've arrived has said that it's been storming for several days."

"So it has," Hoshi returned with a luxuriant towel and a moist toilette. "More sophisticated circuitry means lesser demands on our power grid and extension of resources. Don't ask me anything else about that, though. It's not my specialty."

"So what is?" He followed her further into the room as she returned to her desk. In profile, he saw her slip off her high heeled shoes and proceed to knead her toes into the rug beneath her feet.

"What do you think?" Her tone was interested rather than annoyed. In retrospect, it had been a daft question. The sticky notes and manila envelopes were enough to indicate that her work was secretarial in nature.

"I'll let you in on a secret, though," she beckoned him over to her side, where she entered a series of commands into her laptop.

"Welcome to Enterprise Innovations," a pleasant, feminine voice stated, before repeating the statement over again in several languages.

When almost a full minute had passed and the program had not yet finished its run through of its linguistic repertoire, Malcolm said a bit reverently, "That's incredible." To tell the truth, he wasn't sure exactly what he was looking at.

Knowing that she had a captive audience, Hoshi began to speak in an animated manner. "Imagine, if you will, a trip abroad. But you don't bring your travel dictionary—not because you forgot it—but because you don't need it. The Universal Translator, once it's out of its prototype stage, will repeat whatever you say in the language and diction style of your choice. It could revolutionize language courses at the secondary and collegiate level as we know it. Now, instead of focusing on minor insignificant differences in grammar, students could become more immersed in culture and politics of the nation they're studying."

Malcolm cut off her infomercial-like pitch to interject, "That sounds marvelous, Miss Sato! You should really be given a research grant yourself!"

"Oh, I wish," she mumbled sheepishly. "You see, Mr. Reed, I'm only an undergraduate in communications and speech pathology. But everyone has to start somewhere, and that's why I left Japan for America."

He was in awe of the young woman's initiative and this sudden revelation, for she spoke flawless standard English without a trace of an accent. Her skills in imitation must be unparalleled.

Before he could further congratulate her on her achievements, one of the many doors leading out of the central atrium opened, emitting a rather strange character indeed.

This newcomer was clad in gray workpants and a thermal sweatshirt, both of which were stained with industrial grease and God knew what else. A maroon bandanna had been tied around his brow, most likely to keep the sweat out of his eyes. As he approached Ms. Sato's desk on a collision course, Malcolm noticed that he left dusty footprints in his wake.

"Any packages today, Hosh?" His accent was lilting and unmistakably American Southern.

He would have thought that the secretary would have been dismayed by the less than professional address, but she only rolled her eyes and responded, "Not yet, Trip."

"Goddamn it, how do those big honchos at Hyundai 'spect us to get the next shipment out by the end of the month if they don't even bother to send our supplies and specs 'til the week before?" He clapped his palms onto her desktop out of frustration.

She didn't even flinch. "I'm not sure," she intoned in a poor attempt at sympathy. But Malcolm could sense that there was indeed friendship between these two, something more substantial that had cultivated over time.

It was then that this man, Trip, noticed that someone else was in the room with them. Lifting his chin at him, he demanded, "Who's this guy?"

"He's a new applicant. Malcolm Reed, this is Charles Tucker, the head of our mechanical engineering department."

The two shook hands, the southerner cranking his elbow vigorously as he scrutinized him. "Yessir, that's my name, and buildin' a bigger, better, more efficient car engine is the game. You can call me Trip, though. Ev'ryone else does."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tucker," Malcolm answered with a forced smile.

The Southerner whistled appreciatively. "That accent, though. Don't tell me you're from 'cross the pond?"

"He is, indeed," Hoshi said absentmindedly, having returned to her clerical work. "In his file, it says that he's of a military family."

Malcolm grimaced. It was clear that this particular company was not above background investigation.

"Military, eh? Well, then, it's a small world! There's been Tuckers in both world wars, not to mention the civil and revolutionary wars! Why, our ancestors coulda met on a backwoods corn field a few hundred years ago!" He was clearly entertained by the prospects.

"That's doubtful. We Reeds typically pledge allegiance to the Royal Navy."

Trip shifted from foot to foot, trying to hide his discomfort. This new hire was no fun, a veritable wet blanket with no sense of humor whatsoever.

That would have to change.

"Get your nasty feet off this floor before I have to chase you out. Every time you come up here, I have to mop up the entire room," Hoshi groused.

"Your wish is my command," he responded, bowing deeply in an exaggerated manner. He turned to leave, but not before getting a final comment in. "Say, Mal—I hope you don't mind if I call you that—you're pretty damn regal for a guy so young. Like a fine military officer. I think I might refer to you as such. The Lieutenant." And, seeing as that rolled pleasantly off his tongue, he repeated it before he disappeared into the open doorway from whence he came. "Loo-tenant."

Instantly, Hoshi was on her feet, passing a dry mop over her coworker's footprints. She appeared amused, even titillated as she hid her giggles behind her palm. "Don't mind Trip. He's a good guy, if a bit eccentric."

Malcolm was starting to think that everyone at Enterprise Innovations was.

Another adjacent door swung open, this time almost striking Sato in the face had she not stepped aside at the last second. A dark-skinned man, sporting a pristine navy suit set with a neon yellow tie, wore a distressed look on his face.

"Are we a few feet off again, Mr. Mayweather?" Hoshi questioned lightly.

"More than a few feet. According to my calculations, I was supposed to have arrived in the break room next door," he produced a tablet from his suit jacket pocket and proceeded to jab at it in exasperation. Without even acknowledging the other individual in the room, her turned and retreated down the corridor once again.

Hoshi returned to her desk, but not before Malcolm could ask, "Just who was that?"

She held up a finger, the other hand firmly gripped around the phone receiver. From some distance away, perhaps on the other side of the wall, it rang.

"Mr. Archer, your twelve-thirty is here," she listened for a moment, nodding and making small noises in the back of her throat. Abruptly, she hung up.

"He'll be ready for you in ten minutes. Apparently he is in the middle of a rather important conference call," from her sardonic tone, it was clear that this was most likely not the case.

"That's fine, I can wait." By now, Malcolm's clothing had dried out, leaving him only with stiff shoes and damp hair.

"The man who you saw was Travis Mayweather, navigational specialist. He's one breakthrough away from perfecting the most accurate GPS on the planet."

He nodded. There was definitely need for that. As a child, his aunt had attempted to use a primitive version of such a device to guide them to a holiday destination. However, one wrong turn supplied by the computer had caused them to nearly drive into a bog.

A buzzer sounded from her desktop, and Hoshi reached out to answer it. Without any prompting whatsoever, she quickly called out, "Come in, T'Pol!"

As soon as her fingers left the control panel, she slipped back into her heels and began to tidy up her desk. She tossed a somewhat concerned glance over her shoulder at Malcolm, but probably decided that fixing him would be a lost cause.

He wagered to inquire into the nature of this sudden burst of activity. The name she had used was exotic, untraceable in origin. He couldn't help but wonder what nationality it belonged to.

"You might want to make yourself scarce. A hurricane's about to whip through this office." She made tracks towards the door, as best as she could while limited by her pencil skirt, several files under her arm.

"I don't understand. Who is this T'Pol?"

"The vice president," Hoshi replied gravely, and not too soon before the doors to the antechamber swung open with force.

(to be continued)