All hail my reviewers! Thanks to Begoogled once again for pointing out things I haven't made clear, and my specific apologies go to volley for not getting this chapter out on Monday like I promised.

Here is some long-in-the-waiting action for our beloved Malcolm- one promise I can keep!

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Malcolm wrote off a quick note on a PADD to leave in the cell ship, should he not return, and shut down all but the low-power beacon transmitting directly to Enterprise. He took Hoshi's transmitter with him- it was only a one-way device, so he could only contact Enterprise, and not vice versa, but they could still locate him should the need arise.

It's probably just as well I'm leaving the ship, he mused, if I see one more ration bar, I might feel the urge to kill Trip when I get back for packing so many. He had nothing but the clothes he was wearing and the comm. device hidden in his pocket as he trekked towards a forest which would come out overlooking a sleepy English village.

He had left India in favour of his home country simply so that he would blend in to the crowd that much better, and because he knew his old home better than anywhere else on Earth.

If he remembered correctly, just inside the forest, village side, there was an old abandoned wood shed which ornithologists had used once, where he would camp out while he watched the activity below.

He found it easily after about a 40-minute walk. It was even more run-down than when he had last seen it, almost completely covered by ivy and stinging nettles. Inside, it was dank and musty, with the old roof providing no shelter- only the ivy was doing that, and there were mushrooms growing in the corner, along with those little stalks of red berries that grew abundantly around there.

Malcolm luxuriated in the ability to stretch out, something he had not been able to do for quite a while now, and massaged the pins and needles out of his legs which the days of cramped space, followed by the trek had created.

He doubted that he would be found in the little shack, so he took the opportunity to sleep. He would make his move when it got dark.

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He was awoken later by the sound of an owl out on the hunt, and it was quite dark. Malcolm sat up and blinked a couple of times, but quickly remembered what he was doing. Time to save the world, he grinned for a moment as he left the shack. He ghost-walked his way to the entrance of the forest overlooking the village and then shimmied forwards slowly on his front as he got to a clear field.

Not only was this village somewhere he knew well from his childhood, but, if you could call it luck, it was also a place where there seemed to be humans around, albeit, only men. A work camp, Malcolm guessed, as there were several patrols of the same tall athletic aliens in groups of two wandering around the village, each carrying a large staff. Bugger, they don't seem to have a set route. That makes this harder, can't guess their pathways so well.

As he tried to figure any route that the aliens were taking, he saw an alien escorting a limping man from the village hotel to a house and then leaving him there once he was through the door. The alien returned to the hotel.

Malcolm saw this as his chance to ask some questions from the people who had experienced the invasion, and shimmied forwards again across the field. The grass was wild and long with the odd thistle, which left Malcolm distinctly unimpressed, but it wasn't very high either, so he didn't risk getting up.

He got to the village and, noticing a patrol coming his way, he duck-rolled over a privet hedge into the back garden of the house which the human man had been taken to.

He lay on his back as close to the hedge as he could squeeze himself, looked to the left through the leaves to see two pairs of legs stopping just next to where he lay.

He held his breath, but the pounding of his heart was deafening to his ears. As he lay still, his heart slowed, but the adrenaline was still coursing through him getting his body prepared and ready should he need to run, possibly for his life.

Malcolm looked up and could just see the arm of one of the aliens jutting out over the hedge. If they were suspicious at a noise that he had made, they weren't showing it- they were absolutely silent. Malcolm remembered that they had no obvious way of communicating, maybe it was extra-sensory. In any case, all they needed to do to see him was to look around. Dark clothes couldn't hide him this close up.

The alien did look around, but luckily for Malcolm, it looked up at the stars where it was possible to see the many ships in orbit. It turned back to its' partner, and they strolled on.

Malcolm was quite red in the face by now, but he didn't allow himself the luxury of a new breath until he was sure that they were out of earshot, or whatever- he hadn't actually seen any ears on them.

There was a barely perceptible tap on the ground floor window of the house in which garden he lay. He rolled over and strained his neck to look at the window which was dark inside, but Malcolm could still make out the ghostly pale face of a man behind. The window opened and with a quick glance over the hedge, Malcolm sprinted over to it and climbed into the house.

He tumbled in as neatly as he could, and an arm reached down to help him up. "Who are you? Did Beckerman send you?"

Malcolm rested against the wall, hands on knees as he regained the last of his breath from holding it earlier. The man next to him leaned around the window a final time and closed the window gently.

From his position, Malcolm looked up at the man and shook his head in response to the question.

"No. Who is Beckerman?"

It was a young man standing next to him, mid-twenties. He looked closely at Malcolm, as if to convince him that he was actually human. To Malcolm's eyes, the young man was unsure about whether to tell him anything about this Beckerman. It seemed the young man had said too much, judging by his face.

Malcolm stood up and faced the man before him. "I'm Malcolm Reed of Starfleet. I've come to find out what I can so that we can mount a well-informed counter-attack against the invaders."

The man looked unconvinced, but held out his hand to shake Malcolm's.

"I'm Bryson. Are you hungry? We have some food and water here, but you must be quiet. Follow me."

He led the way into the living room of the house where seven men and adolescent boys sat around the man Malcolm had seen limping by escort before. They looked up as the two of them entered.

"Taking in strays now, are we? You know they'll have a fit if they find someone new- we'll all be for it." Malcolm turned to the voice, a scowling man in his forties leaning by the window in the darkest corner of the room.

"I'm from Starfleet, we're trying to help, but we have no idea what is going on. I need-"

The man snorted. "Starfleet? Since when did they give a damn? Oh wait, I know, since they got taken over themselves. Now they need our help. By the way, you're not going to get very far if they sent you- our watch saw you coming from the forest. Real stealthy."

"Bugger orf Al," said the limping man with something of a West-country accent who was now sitting, "just coz they took you in the middle o' the night 'fore you'd finished your beauty sleep don't mean you can take it out on every Tom, Dick, an' Harry who comes our way. We're stuffed as it is, so let's just 'elp the bloke."

Malcolm had frowned as Al was speaking, "What do you mean you saw me coming?"

The limping man responded. "Young Bryson 'ere keeps an eye out from the windows upstairs- gives us good surround-vision, as it were."

"Why should you need an eye out? Has it something to do with Beckerman?"

The room hushed for a minute, until Al sauntered forward to glare at Malcolm face to face, their noses barely an inch apart. "I don't like his questions. He's a spy for the Aurigans."

"Aurigans? Is that what they're called?"

Al came closer still, menacing. "Don't play coy with me, you'll only regret it."

"Al get back." The limping man stood up and laid a hand on Al's shoulder. "Let's hear what he has to say first. I guess we should in'roduce ourselves anyway. Can' 'urt." He shrugged, though the effort obviously pained him. "I'm Old Jack, mah son is Young Jack, but 'e's being held in another house. They like splittin' families up. Destroys morale and all tha'. Bryson you've met, an' Al." Old Jack raised a fluffy eyebrow in Al's direction. He briefly pointed out the others in the room, not being specific, just pointing in a vague direction at the group around the chair Old Jack had been sitting in. "Them thar is Rhodri, James, NotBob, Alan, Matthew, an' Carey."

Malcolm blinked. "NotBob?"

A teenage boy nearest to Malcolm and Old Jack looked down at his feet and murmured "From school days. A joke I got stuck with."

Old Jack pointed to a chair and Malcolm took it as an invitation and sat while Bryson came into the room with a glass of water and some bread, "It's all we have 'til the rations get handed out again."

Malcolm took them gladly and looked at Old Jack who had resumed his seat.

"What is going on here?" He asked.

Old Jack looked over to Al's corner where he had retreated and was ignoring them. He looked back at Malcolm. "I reckon an exchange of information would be fair- show some good will on your part. Who are you zactly?"

Malcolm swallowed some water and looked at Old Jack over the rim of the glass as he did. He put it down carefully on the table next to him. "My name is Lieutenant Malcolm Reed of Starfleet. I serve on board the Starship Enterprise. I'm English from a naval family. Now, who are these people and what are they doing in this village?"

Old Jack shifted in his seat to get more comfortable. "These aliens are Aurigans, or at least, that's where we figure- they're not particularly forthcomin' with info you know. Their interrogation methods mean that we can sometimes see inside their minds, only what they wan' us to I'm sure. James 'as a doct'rate in stellar cartography and recognised some o' the stars they were showing us- 'round the Auriga cons'lation 'parently, on the edge o' the Milky Way. As for this village, we work for them. Do whatever menial stuff they want. Metalwork stuff, for those who can. Younger lads mostly, though some 'ave to slave for 'em Aurigans. Old lads like me get to sort out parts that the young lot weld together an' stuff. Can't be more specific- building stuff is all we know, just no' sure what. Anyone who ain't useful dies. Simple as 'at. One lad slipped with a welder and burnt 'is 'ole arm so badly they just shot 'im where 'e stood." Old Jack seemed to say this with no inflection in his voice whatsoever, but his eyes had strayed away from Malcolm's stare as he said it, and no-one else was looking at either of them either. Old Jack raised his eyes again to Malcolm. "What's happening ou' thar?" He waved vaguely out of the window.

Malcolm related what had happened to other planets so far and what he had seen in Chennai. He finished his dialogue and asked his return question. "Where are the women and children?"

Old Jack answered slowly. "So far as we know, the women are in other camps- men and women are very sep'rate 'cept for when they want- the Aurigans, that is. They want women to breed a workforce for them. The children between 'bout five-ish and fourteen get taken to something like a nursery where they seem to be brainwashed to be like a subservient army for the Aurigans." He spat into the fireplace which was near him, as if he had tasted something particularly foul and disgusting.

"From what I've 'eard, they've done the same thing on Vulcan and Alpha Centauri. Soon's they discovered how women 'ad a much higher tol'rance for pain than men 'ad, they started trainin' them for army duty too. They know tons 'bout us," he added mutinously. "Suddenly all those crackpot alien abductions during the twentieth and twenty-first cent'ries don't sound so stupid now." Old Jack paused and then, as if an idea had occurred to him, he suddenly leaned forwards. "'ow do we know you're not a spy?"

Malcolm finished the bread that Bryson had given him. "I can contact my ship. They can't reply, our communications officer made it specifically that way so that its' power output would be increased."

"Convenient," murmured Al to himself.

"They can also locate my position, should they need to come and get me."

"Can they get us too?" Old Jack asked.

"It is doable," Malcolm said slowly, "though I imagine you would need to be transported as they wouldn't have time to bring a shuttle down to get to us, as they would probably be under attack. They are by Coridan Prime now helping with a disaster there. Speaking of which, how do these Aurigans and the Romulans tie in together?"

Old Jack looked at him like he'd sprung antlers. "Romulans? Wha' the 'ell 'ave Romulans got to do with the price o' fish???"

Equally confused by Old Jack's turn of phrase, Malcolm merely answered the question instead. "They were the ones who assassinated the Chancellor of Coridan and set the entire planet ablaze. Millions are dead. We were there having a conference about these Aurigans, so we thought that they were connected somehow."

Old Jack sat back, looking surprised. "Well I've no idea lad. Firs' we 'eard o' Romulans an' Aurigans being joined a' the 'ip."

"Jack!" Came a hissed side whisper from Al. "Checks!"

Malcolm jumped up silently. Bryson came forwards, grabbed his wrist and led him upstairs, turned right and into a small bedroom, where he took out a couple of the planks of wood from the wall panelling by the window, which had a built-in seat, and was therefore wide enough to fit a small man like Malcolm into the recess. He put the wood panels back in front of Malcolm once he was inside and went back downstairs, closing the door as he did so.

It was pitch black, and Malcolm could hear nothing until a pounding on the front door downstairs and it being opened reassured him that he would be able to tell when they had gone.

He could hear Old Jack sounding quite put out that the house was being checked apparently for the second time that night. The Aurigans didn't answer, and their silence was far more intimidating than any noise they could have made, but went through every room in the house. They came upstairs to the room which Malcolm was hidden in. One of them barged in, opened the chest and the wardrobe and looked under the two small beds and went back out again.

It took all of five minutes, but it was about thirty minutes later when Bryson came to get Malcolm from his hiding place again.

"You're very well prepared here for people needing a place to hide."

Bryson said nothing, just led him back to the living room again.

Al turned to Malcolm as he walked in. They never normally do a second check. Can't be arsed. They know you're here. Can sense you, or whatever it is they do. You should get lost so we can stay safe."

Even though Malcolm took offence at Al's attitude, he knew he was right. His presence was a danger to them. Their 'methods of interrogation', as Old Jack had mentioned before, sounded not altogether pleasant.

"You're right, but before I go- just who is this Beckerman?"

Old Jack stood before Al could get a word in. "How do you know about Beckerman?"

"I don't- Bryson asked me when he let me in through the window if Beckerman had sent me."

Old Jack looked at Bryson, who nodded miserably, embarrassed at his mistake of letting information go so easily. Old Jack looked relieved. This time, Al did get a chance-

"What, you think we actually surrendered without a fight? You must be a bloody idiot. We fought, though they easily overpowered us. Shot a few to show who was boss. It didn't stop us, we just went underground. Beckerman is the leader of the underground resistance, while Old Jack here is the leader of our cell. Each place- town, village, city, or whatever- has its' own cell. Beckerman escaped capture in the first place, and he runs a resistance intelligence programme of a kind. Gets people food and information about their families in separate camps and co-ordinates trouble making." Al sounded fiercely proud and at the same time seemed to have a need for Malcolm to understand that they didn't just give up, that they didn't just allow this to happen to them. Old Jack carried on, "Beckerman was 'ere jus' a couple o' days ago, but 'e almost got caught leavin' our 'ouse. 'e did get out, but they dragged a couple of us in to ask questions- it's 'ow I got my limp 'ere." He gestured to his left leg. He didn't expand on how he got the limp, so Malcolm assumed it was all a part of the 'methods of interrogation'.

"How do I find Beckerman?"

Old Jack cracked a grin. "You don' find Beckerman. 'e finds you. Stay on the edge o' the forest and keep a look-out. When 'e left so quickly, 'e said that 'e'd send someone so we know 'e was alrigh'. S'why young Bryson 'ere thought you was from Beckerman. When you see someone come, 'e can take you to Beckerman. Now, it's prob'ly 'bout time you left, no 'fence."

"None taken." Malcolm smiled, and reached forward to take Old Jack's hand. He nodded towards the others and spared Al a glance before leaving to go through the window he had entered the house in.