Chapter Thirty

Recollection

Commodore Charles Tucker III

It's not easy, shaving time to spend in the bunker when I've more to do on Jupiter Station than I have hours in the day to do it, but I reckon these few first weeks with General Disorder are so important to all the plans I'm suddenly hatching that I hand off work to my deputies and tell them to learn the art of delegating. Kelby's ceremony was a massive pain in the ass, but apart from giving him a few words of advice, I didn't have to do much to make it happen. He did all of the heavy lifting, and whether he knows it or not, it was well worth the trouble to get people's minds off the disaster of the explosion and make them start thinking about the station as the brightest jewel in the Imperial Fleet's crown again. In that speech of his, he did a hell of a good job reminding everyone that we're all about moving forward and looking ahead. Our public profile determines what opportunities we're offered as new projects are rolled out, and it's not possible to overestimate the importance of having people think of Jupiter Station as a place where good things happen.

Now that I've brought Hess and Rostov into the loop, I'm sure my other department heads, to some degree, sense that something's up, but they're sensible enough not to ask. In the wake of the explosion in Sickbay, it's easy enough for us all to pretend I'm just busy with that. Even Kelby is smart enough to mind his own damned business, though I suspect putting him in charge of upgrading our Sickbay to a proper hospital and making him organize his little ceremony has kept his thoughts too busy to allow much time for worrying about what I might be up to. All he's done so far was tell me, 'Anything you need, Chief, just say the word, and I'm on it.'

I can't deny I'm finding him a lot more likeable than I used to back on Enterprise, but liking the guy and trusting him with the kinds of things that I need to get done on the downlow are about as far apart as a friendly game of 'Go' in one of the rec. rooms and the crazy chess game I've started with Reed and some other power-players in the Empire. So I just thanked him, and when Hess confirmed he was ready to build his own ship, I gave him the choice of that or rebuilding my Sickbay. Imagine my surprise when he went and chose the Sickbay!

I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that, but I sure am tickled with the way he and Jeremy took the ball and ran with it. Jupiter Station Memorial Research and Teaching Hospital. Son of a bitch!

I'll be honest, so far I'm not feeling all that hopeful, about Reed, that is. Sure, he's been cooperative (kind of), and it's not hard to see that Liz is delighted he's been so restrained. But though I don't have the heart to squash her hopes, personally I'm a long way from convinced. For one thing, I'm not sure his memory's fully functioning yet – Miguel warned us that things would probably come back to him in spurts over time, and until we're absolutely sure that we're dealing with the full deck, any compliance from him really isn't reliable. Not that I ever relied on him for anything anyway, except for being a vicious little bastard.

But even without that, I'm still not buying his acquiescence. I went to a circus once, I forget where – something to do on shore leave, in between visiting the whorehouses. It was a crappy little affair, scraping a living somehow, and one of the sideshows was a zoo, with a few mangy things in it that people would pay half a credit extra to poke a stick at.

Most of the things had been poked too often to rouse up – much like some of the stock in the whorehouses, in fact. But in one of the cages, hunched up because it was way too big for it but nobody had anything the right size and making something would have been way too much effort, was that world's equivalent of a wolf.

He didn't waste time snarling. He bided his time, saving his strength for when the stick jabbed in through the bars; the rest of the time he just crouched there and glared, yellow eyes burning with hatred. But as soon as the stick came in, then you saw the teeth. He'd attack it in an absolute frenzy, tearing it to shreds – and then as soon as it was done with, he went back to the glaring. Of course, the customers loved it; they were lining up to buy sticks. Must have made the owner a year's profits before its spirit broke like all the others', or it gave up eating and starved itself to death.

Reed's way, way too cunning to let on what he's truly thinking. You won't catch him glaring. But he's caged and he knows it, and sometimes when he's not concentrating real hard on keeping the pretense up I see the unforgiving glitter come into his eyes, and my heart just sinks. When that happens, I find myself wondering all over again what in the hell I was thinking to even hope that a guy like him can be turned, or that Liz Cutler might just possibly beat all the odds and prove the rest of us wrong.

Miguel's right when he says that memories will come in surges. One afternoon I walk into Malcolm's room just as Liz finishes feeding him what passes for lunch – a small bowl of milky rice and an even smaller pot of yogurt. His gaze is abstracted; he's staring at the monitor, where some program or other is showing kids talking about their pets.

The change in his expression alerts me, but she doesn't catch it in time, and I'm not quite fast enough slapping my hand down on the remote control. Malcolm has seen a fish in an aquarium.

His whole body has gone rigid, and his eyes turn towards Liz with this awful look of horror and furious accusation. If he hadn't just swallowed the last of the yogurt, I swear he'd have spat it at her.

I think he's actually so stricken at first he can hardly remember how to talk. But then, before I can intervene, he gets his mouth into gear. "You!" he hisses. "You were there!"

Of course, I go to answer, because I'm not having her blamed for that, but something makes me pause. Liz has fought her own battles all these years, and she needs to fight this one; Malcolm's suddenly vulnerable, and if she can connect with him, get past the fury, that'll be a huge step forward. Not that I'm leaving her to it altogether of course – I just watch and wait, ready to step in if it gets nastier than she can cope with.

She doesn't break eye contact, though I'm guessing it's almost more than she can bear to have the man she loves staring at her with such loathing. But for me, strange as it probably sounds, this is the first real positive I've seen. He remembers, and he's appalled. That has to mean at some level, probably deeper than he has the first idea of, he trusts her. If he hadn't, her betrayal might anger him, might even shock him some, but it definitely wouldn't hurt; and if ever I've seen hurt printed on a guy's face, it's there on his. Here, if we can use this right, is our way into him. If we can find a way through the human minefield that is Malcolm Reed.

This betrayal, on top of all the others he's endured, is going to be incredibly hard for him to handle. I see at once that it's almost as hard for Liz to handle his instant assumption that she was there because she was in cahoots with all the other bastards who were abusing him, but nevertheless after a shaken moment to catch breath and order her thoughts she fires right back at him.

"Yes, I was there!" she tells him, and though at the start her voice is shaking with tears, almost at once she bravely steadies it. "I was there because I wanted there to be someone who cared about you. I was there because I wanted one person who touched you to do it with kindness. I couldn't help you, there were cameras all around and if just one person had reported to Phlox that I was exceeding my orders, nothing would have pleased him better than to have me removed, or even accused of sabotage, if he thought he could get away with it. But if all I could do was be there for you, that was what I was going to do."

"That's actually what happened, towards the end, Malcolm." I think this is my moment to add my two credits. "Little Liz here didn't think you were gettin' proper care so she went tellin' tales to teacher. Cost her in the end of course; soon's he got his chance Phlox got her taken off the case an' marooned in the monitor room so she wouldn't be able to look after you anymore. But for what it's worth, what she did took more courage'n I'd care to have to find. Went straight to the top. Told Em to her face that Phlox wasn't doin' his job right."

The searing stare moves back to her, but it unfocusses; he's sorting through the memories, trying to match up what we say with what he can remember and detect the lies he's sure are there.

"She was there for you alright," I add more quietly. "Every day, rubbin' gel into your skin to help protect it. Never took a day off. Put up with all the names the other techs called her for carin'. You think humans are designed to live in water for weeks on end? Think again, Mal."

"If skin remains immersed for any length of time, it literally starts to break down," Liz explains softly. "It becomes supersaturated and the top layers shed off. The new skin underneath is a prime site for infection. And though we did everything we could to keep your environment germ-free, we couldn't make it completely sterile, not with people coming and going all the time.

"The stuff they put you in wasn't water exactly – it was a highly specialized fluid, designed to work with your lungs and provide a non-hostile environment for your body. Another thing I warned Em about was that lying still for so long was causing you to lose physical condition and if it went on long enough the stress of childbirth could quite possibly kill you. So the tank was to both protect you from sores and atrophy from lying still on a bio-bed, and provide your body with resistance to force you to exercise whenever you moved.

"But still, they couldn't make it safe for you to be in it 24/7 without helping your skin. That was my job. That was what I did, every day. And I was so happy to be there doing it. I hoped you'd just somehow get the feeling that the person who did it … cared."

For long moments he goes on staring. I've been the recipient of his stare a time or two, and I can tell you, at maximum wattage it's enough to burn the registry numbers off a freighter's hull.

Then, at long last, he speaks. Slowly. "I … remember."

With an obvious effort, he pulls up his knees and folds his arms around them. I'm no psychologist but even I can tell this is a deeply defensive gesture.

"You remember, Malcolm, but do you believe me?"

He puts his forehead down so we can't see his face anymore. "I don't know what I believe."

From the sound of his voice, distrust and indecision and that stubborn thread of hope are tearing him apart. Hell, how long has it been since he trusted anyone except Em and Alpha – and look what he got for trusting them. If it were me lying there I'd guess the sight of Liz's earnest little face would convince me, right enough, but he's lived in a world where folks would swear snow was hot just to stop him looking at them. For all he knows, Liz is just another sweet, convincing little liar, trying to talk her way out of trouble. He sure remembers all the reasons she has for not wanting him mad at her for something like this – she's had more than enough experience of his fists.

"We can't make you believe it, Malcolm," I say into the quiet as two big tears make their way down Liz's face. "I guess this is one of the times when you've gotta make up your own mind. But I'll tell you now, if you decide you can't trust this woman's word, you'll be makin' one of the biggest mistakes you ever made in your whole goddamn life."

He glances up at me. His eyes have narrowed, but apart from that he's smoothed all the expression off of his face. "But you would say that, wouldn't you?"

"I wouldn't if it wasn't true," I say levelly, "Remember, the first time I visited you here, I promised you I wouldn't lie to you. I reckon it's time you started bearin' that in mind." Then I hold out an arm to Liz. "C'mon, baby girl. I think the best thing we can do right now is to leave Malcolm here to think things over. Maybe a bit of peace an' quiet may help him get his thinkin' straight."

I think she hopes he'll protest, say he does believe her. But I'm guessing that would take more trust than General Chaos has in his whole body right now. Whatever hope he may have, it's at war with the suspicion that must have been part of him for longer than he can remember. It won't win easily, if it wins at all.

In the meantime, I think it's kinder to get Liz out of there. I'm sure that when I'm done mopping her up I can find something to take her mind off things, if it's only checking over the requisitions Anna signed off on yesterday. I wouldn't normally bother because if there's one thing my deputy is red hot on it's getting her sums right, but there's no need for me to let Liz in on that.

He watches as I propel her out of the room. Just before the door shuts behind us I slip an arm around her, dropping it just a little towards her ass just to give him something else to think about. Not that I look around to see, but we're talking the arch-noticer here. And personally, I'll eat my radiation monitor if the sight doesn't make him scowl.

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