Thanks for the feedback, everyone, I'm glad you're enjoying this! And now the conclusion :)...

Chapter 4

"I swear, if this doesn't work..."

"Happy endings, Malcolm, remember? Gotta think happy endings. You said so yourself."

"Well,'happy ending' is a relative term, isn't it? It always depends on who turns out to be the happy party."

"Malcolm..."

"I'm just saying. It's quite reasonable to assume that these people would be happy if we lived out our lives in this cage of theirs. They're making quite a profit out of us, it seems."

Trip eyed the crowd filing past the window, their gawping faces and pointing fingers. He and Malcolm hadn't done anything but sit in a corner all day, but their enthusiastic audience didn't seem to mind. Once, Malcolm had gotten up and walked around for a few minutes, to get the circulation back into his legs. The crowd outside had reacted as if he had started doing cartwheels around the cell, pushing forward and shouting excitedly. Malcolm had quickly returned to the corner after that. At least neither of them had felt the need to use the "facilities" so far. Having to relieve himself into a bucket in front of an enraptured audience was an experience Trip didn't want to repeat.

"It's gonna work, Malcolm. Trust me."

Malcolm raised his eyebrows. "You know, I do get worried when you say that."

Trip sighed. He wasn't going to admit it, but those words out of his mouth didn't exactly have a history that inspired confidence.

"We're gonna get out somehow," he said bravely.

"Yes," Malcolm rubbed a hand over his face. "Let's just hope that we're still in one piece when we do."

The scientists came for them an hour after the showing had ended. In the meantime, they had prepared everything there was to prepare, and offered only token resistance when they were led into the laboratory. Trip remembered the first time he'd seen the room, with its high examination tables and ominous equipment lined on the shelves. He'd almost shit himself when they had pulled the straps tight around his wrists and ankles, convinced that he was going to leave this place feet first, or maybe with his feet in one box and his head in another. He had soon realized that no one was going to chop him into pieces, but even so, the following hours had been unpleasant to say the least. And every night as he lay immobilized on their table, he couldn't help but wonder if it would be a scalpel instead of a stethoscope today, and acid rather than disinfectant solution. He didn't understand these people, or their utter disinterest in the fact that he was sentient and doing his damndest to establish communication. He had no way of knowing what they would and wouldn't do, and was pretty sure that they felt the same about him.

Tonight, this very lack of mutual understanding might work to his and Malcolm's advantage. If they could make this work, neither of them would have to endure any tests this time around. Although Trip had to admit that it was a big "if". Their plan, if one could call it that, wasn't exactly a textbook example of tactical thinking, as Malcolm had sourly pointed out. But as they were running out of alternatives, it was the only thing left for them to try.

Two of the keepers stood next to them, those large hands firmly closed around their arms while the assistants prepared the examination tables. Trip snuck a glance at the wall shelves. A sample box of sorts, Malcolm had said. There were about a thousand containers fitting that description, stacked on shelves that had been designed for people twice as tall as the average human.

"Where?" he asked.

"That counter over there," Malcolm said, matching his quiet tone. "Second shelf from the bottom, I believe."

"There're more than a hundred-" Trip began, but he didn't get very far. His keeper had grabbed him under the arms, and Trip found himself lifted off his feet like a recalcitrant toddler.

"Now!" he shouted, but it wasn't necessary. Malcolm had reacted immediately, whipping around, his teeth sinking deeply into the hand that was holding him. The keeper howled with pain and jumped back. A second later, Malcolm had slipped out of the restraints, which Trip had loosened earlier with the help of the microspanner.

"Better be quick!" he yelled, a second before pandemonium broke out in the lab. Dodging the hands that were grabbing for him, Malcolm ran towards the door, the keepers in hot pursuit. Trip kicked off his own restraints, his flailing foot connecting with something soft and hairy. The alien holding him cried out, but didn't let go. Aiming for the same place, Trip kicked again, harder than before, and this time he was unceremoniously dropped to the floor. Looking up from where he had landed, he was confronted with the unlikely sight of a giant chipmunk grabbing its lower abdomen, its large, furry face contorted with what Trip assumed was sudden and very intense pain. Obviously, he'd caught the guy in a place that was quite sensitive in males of all races.

He jumped to his feet. From the shouts and sounds of breaking glass coming from the other side of the room, Malcolm was still raising Cain back there. Leaving a whimpering keeper behind, Trip ran over to the counter, jumped, and pulled himself up onto the metal surface. His foot hit a tray of instruments which crashed to the floor, its contents flying everywhere.

Frantically, he began pulling containers off the shelf Malcolm had pointed out. A box of phials went flying, followed by a container with microscope slides. The glass shattered on the floor, empty boxes piling up around his feet.

Suddenly there was a loud snarl behind him, and Trip turned around just in time to escape a pair of hands lunging for him. It was the white-tailed assistant, and although Trip was no expert in chipmunk expressions, he could see that the guy was fit to be tied.

Without looking at it, he grabbed the first box he could get his hands on and hurled its contents into the alien's face. A cloud of white powder floated up, and Trip felt a sharp stinging in his eyes, mouth and nose. A snarl that sounded like a swear, followed by coughing and gagging, told him that the alien was faring no better.

Half-blind with tears, he grabbed the next box, which turned out to be empty.

"Trip!"

He couldn't see what was going on with Malcolm, but the panic in the Lieutenant's tone didn't bode well. The white powder burned like hell, as if someone had splashed ammoniac into his eyes. There was another crash from behind, followed by a cry that sounded definitely human.

"Dammit!" Trip squinted through the cloud of white powder. He could only make out mere silhouettes, but it looked as if the assistants had surrounded Malcolm, who had taken refuge behind a large garbage can. And if Trip wasn't entirely mistaken, the Lieutenant was pelting the aliens with whatever he could grab of the garbage inside.

"Will you bloody well hurry up!" he heard Malcolm's voice over the din. "They have some sort of taser – OW!"

"Mal, you okay?!"

"Just find the damn beacon!" Malcolm sounded strangled, and Trip resisted the urge to jump off the counter and run to his aid. There was preciously little he could do against a giant chipmunk with a taser, much less five of them.

He grabbed more boxes off the shelf, their contents spilling all over the counter. The tooth wasn't there. Desperately, he swept them down by the dozen, wincing when some of them landed on his bare toes. Malcolm had been right, their "plan" wasn't going to work, and would accomplish exactly nothing, except for wreaking havoc in the lab and, if he had interpreted the expression on the assistant's face correctly, getting themselves a good hiding.

Something hard struck him in the forehead. For a second or two, all he could see were bright sparks erupting in front of his eyes like crazy fireworks. He swayed, and would have fallen off the counter if he hadn't grabbed the shelf for balance. More containers came raining down from the upper shelves, one of them shattering only centimeters next to his right foot. In between the shards, Trip could make out something white and tiny.

"Got it!" he yelled triumphantly, grabbing the tooth. He spat out the microspanner which he'd kept hidden under his tongue, and was about to insert it into the beacon when a large hand closed around his ankle. He was swept off his feet and found himself hanging upside down in the air, the angry face of the white-tailed assistant hovering over him.

"Let me go!" He struggled wildly in the alien's grip, squirming and kicking. On the other side of the room, Malcolm had suffered a similar fate. One of the assistants had dragged him out from behind the garbage can and was holding him away at arm's length, obviously unwilling to get too close to the kicking and spitting alien creature.

"ACTIVATE THE BEACON, WILL YOU!" Malcolm shouted. "NOW!"

It was nearly impossible to hold on to the tiny tool and the tooth, let alone insert the first into the latter's opening. The assistant shook him angrily, snarling something in his guttural language.

"TRIP!" Malcolm yelled, and finally, almost on its own, the microspanner slid into the tiny hole.

"Got it!"

The alien shook him again, and this time the tooth slipped out of his fingers. Watching it fall, he knew that there was no way he'd find it again in the mess of shards, boxes and powder on the floor.

"What's going on?" Malcolm shouted. "Why aren't they-"

Trip felt a familiar tingle engulf him and opened his mouth, wanting to tell Malcolm that it had worked, but he never got past the first word. The lab disappeared before his eyes, and the next thing he knew was a sudden, loud thump, followed by a sharp pain in his head. Dizziness swept over him, and for a moment, all he could see were vague shapes, their colors blurring and merging into one another. The good news was that one of those shapes looked very much like one Captain Jonathan Archer.

"Trip?" Jon's voice seemed to come from far away. "Malcolm? You okay?"

Gradually, the outlines of his surroundings slid back into focus. Raising his head, Trip found himself sprawled on the transporter platform, where he had fallen after materializing in mid-air. Next to him, a naked and disheveled Malcolm Reed was sitting on his butt, a look of utter horror on his face.

Hoshi, Phlox, Travis, Jon and T'Pol were looking down at them, their expressions ranging from Vulcan indifference to ill-concealed amusement.

"Hi, Cap'n," Trip said, and dredged up a weak smile. "Good to be back."

Jon said something in reply, but Trip only saw his lips move. The pounding in his head became louder, his vision began to blur, and it was not without a certain relief that he realized he was about to pass out again.

When Trip woke up, it was to blessed silence. No shouting, no noise, no one whispering and pointing at him from behind a wall of glass. The lights had been dimmed, and all he could hear was the soothing hum of the bio monitors, and the occasional rustling from one of Phlox' animals. There was something to be said for sickbay, after all.

The pain was gone, too, except for a dull throbbing behind his left eyebrow. Slowly, as if he were moving under water, he brought up a hand and found that a band-aid had been applied to his forehead. And there was something attached to his arm. An IV. Trip stared at it for a second, then let his arm fall back onto the bed.

"Ah, back with the living, Commander!"

Very slowly, Trip turned his head. Phlox was smiling down at him, and he, too, was a welcome sight.

"Hi, doc," Trip said. His voice sounded strange, somewhat off.

"Don't move," Phlox admonished him gently. "You've got quite the concussion, not to mention a minor case of malnutrition. You should lie still and allow your body to rest."

Trip glanced down at himself, and discovered that he was wearing the mint-green sickbay pajamas they all detested so much. But after nine days of sitting stark naked in an alien cage, they, too, seemed a tolerable alternative.

"Where's Malcolm?" he asked, still in that strange, off-key voice. "He okay?"

"I'm right here, Trip."

Laboriously, Trip turned his head again and saw Malcolm on the biobed next to his, also wearing mint-green sickbay pajamas and also sporting a large band-aid over his left eyebrow.

Disaster twins, Trip thought, smiling a little. Thank God Malcolm seemed to be okay.

"I don't suppose we could rest in our quarters, doctor?"

Well, as okay as Malcolm would ever be in sickbay.

"Not right now, Lieutenant," Phlox said. "I'd like to keep you both for observation overnight."

Trip mouthed the next words along with Malcolm. "Really, doctor, I'm fine."

"Why don't you let me decide that, Lieutenant."

Trip had listened to this conversation so often he could have recited it in his sleep. Sleep. That seemed like a good idea. He was so very tired, and the familiar voices in the background lulled him in, his eyes drifting closed. It was a wonderful feeling. He pulled up the blanket to his shoulders, thinking how nice and warm it was, and how good it felt that there was no one staring at him, no one paying him the slightest bit of attention.

He had no idea that on the planet below, a group of Nuwa!r scientists were turning the building inside out in search of the two aliens who had so suddenly and inexplicably disappeared.

He didn't know about the crowd of disappointed visitors, clamoring for their money back.

He was also blissfully unaware of the fact that several hundred light-years away, Admiral Forrest was wishing for a hole to open under his feet while Ambassador Soval stared in disbelief at the image of two Starfleet officers, naked and on display for a crowd of goggling aliens.

And he couldn't have cared less if he had known. For once, it seemed, the universe had decided to give him a break, and that was all that counted.

Sighing with relief, Trip Tucker drifted off to sleep.

Fer!i was no longer a zoo keeper. She had decided that she didn't like zoos, not anymore. Her strange-creatures had been allowed out of their confinement, and were playing under her watchful eyes on the steps in front of the house.

"Aren't you glad that you're not in the zoo anymore?" she asked her second-favorite animal-doll, the one she had decided was the yellow-furred strange-creature from town.

"Yes," he said. "Can I have more cake, please?"

He was always hungry.

"Here you go." Fer!i gave Yellow Fur a piece of f'chna cake. "But share it with Dark Fur! He's smaller than you, and needs more food so he can grow!"

Dark Fur was her favorite animal-doll.

Yellow Fur wasn't greedy, and shared the cake readily enough, keeping the smaller piece for himself. Fer!i's strange-creatures were very well-mannered.

"We never got any cake in the zoo," Dark Fur said happily.

Fer!i petted his head. "Are you still angry because Mother locked you into the barrel?" she asked.

"No," he said. "I think I scared her. She didn't mean to hurt me."

Fer!i knew that Mother was never scared, but she didn't correct him.

"Time for bed," she told them. They began to protest, but when she showed them the nice, soft blankets she had found for them, they went, grumbling quietly.

"Strange-creatures need their sleep," she told Dark Fur. "Aren't you tired?"

"Maybe a little," he said when she tucked him in. "But I want to stay up and play."

"Tomorrow," she assured him. "Tomorrow you can play all day. Good night, strange-creatures!"

Yellow Fur had already fallen asleep. Fer!i found an extra blanket for her charges, and was just covering them up when she heard Mother's voice.

"Little one!"

She turned around and saw that Mother had come out of the house. She was holding a box in her hands; a box with holes on one side.

"Shhh," Fer!i flicked her ears in warning. "My strange-creatures are sleeping, and I don't want to wake them up."

"Oh." Mother smiled and came over. She put the box on the floor and knelt down next to Fer!i. "You take good care of them, don't you?"

"Yes," Fer!i said proudly. "I feed them and I make them beds and I send them to school even if they don't want to go."

Mother stroked her head. "You're doing a better job than the town people."

Fer!i looked up at her.

"The strange-creatures are gone," Mother explained. "They said it on the news. No one knows where they are."

And Fer!i was glad, although she couldn't have said why. "Do you think they are home now?"

Mother looked up at the red evening sky. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and the first stars were coming out. Soon, hundreds and thousands of them would brighten the dark sky, shining from far far away.

"Yes," Mother said. "I think they are."

Fer!i smiled, looking down at Yellow Fur and Dark Fur. "That's good," she said.

Mother hugged her to her side. "Don't you want to know what I have in the box, little one?"

"Yes," Fer!i said, and suddenly she was very excited. The box had holes! You didn't need boxes with holes for boring things like vegetables or firewood.

Mother smiled and lifted the lid off the box. Inside, on a bed of old blankets, sat a small, furry animal, its long tail wrapped around its hind legs. When it saw Fer!i, it blinked up at her out of large green eyes, squeaking softly.

"A baby sh'c!n!" Fer!i looked up at Mother. "Is is... is it for me?"

"Yes," Mother licked her ears. "I know you will take good care of it, little one."

Reaching into the box, Fer!i took out her new pet and cradled it to her chest. It was soft and warm, its white nose sniffing her fur.

"Don't worry," she told it. "You'll be my favorite now."

She looked at Dark Fur to see if he would mind, but he didn't. Snuggled into his blankets, he, too, had finally fallen fast asleep.

The End

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