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Chapter 4

"Commander!" After Malcolm's third attempt, Tucker finally heard his shouting and turned. The loud humming in the Jeffries tube made it difficult to hear what the armory officer was trying to say. Reluctantly, he moved back to the end of the tube and climbed out to face Malcolm.

"Whatcha need, Lieutenant?" Malcolm was surprised by the impatience in Trip's voice. Frankly, his own patience was thin these days, and he pushed back an answering feeling of annoyance. It had taken nearly an hour to track down the Commander—he was an armory officer, not a schoolteacher who needed to remind his students to do their homework.

"I'm devising a schedule for the new training program." Trip's face remained impassive. "The Captain did discuss it with you yesterday?"

Trip nodded.

"Good. You're the only trainee that hasn't yet scheduled your sessions with me. Also, we need to discuss your previous training so that I can prepare a suitable program." Malcolm punched a key on his data pad. "The duty roster says that you're free now?" He looked quizzically from Trip to the tube and back again. "If that's true, why not get started?"

"Well, I got a few more things I wanted to get done here…"

Malcolm took note of Trip's body language—in contrast to his usual direct style, he stood with his body turned away, not even looking at the Lieutenant. Malcolm asked curiously, "Commander, is there some reason you don't want to complete this training? A problem that I'm not aware of?"

Trip's gaze swung back to him. He stared at Malcolm for a moment, then sighed, looking a little sheepish. "Nah, Malcolm, there's no problem. I guess this is as good a time as any. I could use a good workout right now, anyway."

"Excellent." Malcolm grinned mischievously. "I'll take it easy on you. You'll no doubt need it after all the coddling you've received lately. "

Trip's eyes lit with interest at the challenge and he grinned back. "Oh, I wouldn't worry 'bout that. 'Course, you were lookin' a little feeble after our Obeexus trip. I promise not to be too hard on ya." He gestured for Malcolm to lead the way. "On the way, I'll tell ya 'bout the time I single-handedly thrashed three other cadets…future Armory officers, I believe. Ya see, I was mindin' my own business at this bar…"

**

Thwack. Trip found himself on his back on the training mat. Again.

"Not bad, Commander." Malcolm offered a hand and yanked Tucker to his feet. They moved back into stance, facing one another. Sweat soaked the shorts and undershirts of both men.

In spite of himself, Trip grinned. Nobody could do smug like the English. And he was having fun, regardless of his sore backside. "You can skip the pep talk, English." He lunged suddenly. A few quick blows, and Malcolm was on his back, Trip's knee planted in his chest. "I might be a little rusty now, but a few of these sessions and you'll be comin' to me for pointers."

His weight was resting on his other leg, and Malcolm took the opportunity to pull it out from under him with his hand, unseating Trip from his chest. The armory officer bounced back to his feet.

"I appreciate your confidence in my abilities as a trainer, Commander, but I think you're falling victim to that persistent optimism again. I'm good, but I'm not that good." His eyes twinkled over his broad smile.

Trip, already back on his feet, snorted. "I'm gonna make you eat those words. But before I kill you, I'll just give ya a minute to set your affairs in order." Malcolm rolled his eyes at that reference to their experience on Shuttlepod One. Trip walked to the edge of the mat, grabbing a towel and water bottle. He dropped onto the mat. Wiping at the sweat streaming from his face and shoulders, he drank deeply.

Taking his cue, Malcolm sat and reached for his own water. He looked at Trip thoughtfully as he drank.

"Trip," he said hesitantly. Trip looked up at him, still rubbing his neck with the towel. "I was wondering…I'm aware of your new…relationship…with Ensign Sato." Trip sat up a little straighter. "Have you noticed…is she all right?"

"Whadda ya mean?"

"We had her first session last night, and something seemed off about her." At the mention of Hoshi's lesson, Trip stood suddenly, forcing Malcolm to look up at him as he continued. "She looked pale to me; there are circles around her eyes."

"Well, o' course she's pale. Look what she just went through. But Hoshi's strong; she's ok." Trip didn't want to think about any other possibilities.

Malcolm got to his feet. "It's just…"

"Just what, Lieutenant?" Trip cut him off. "I'm tellin' you she's fine."

Malcolm was having a difficult time keeping his frustration reigned in. 'Daft git. Can't he ever shut his bleeding mouth for two seconds and listen?' He looked at Trip coolly. "Well, if you don't mind my saying so, sir, I believe I might be in a better position to recognize a problem in Ensign Sato."

Trip looked taken aback, then his eyes narrowed. "Really? An' what makes you such an expert?"

"I've worked closely with her on many occasions. Your relationship with her is fairly new, and I daresay it might be clouding your judgment."

"Cloudin' my judgment?" Their faces were now inches apart; they were nearly shouting.

"You're being completely obtuse!" Trip's mouth dropped open in outrage. "I'm concerned for the Ensign's welfare! Given her appearance, and her problems sleeping…"

The Commander's mouth snapped shut again. "Problems sleepin'?" he ground through clenched teeth.

"Yes, due to the nightmares."

"Nightmares? How do you know Hoshi's havin' nightmares?" Trip demanded.

"When I was in her room the other night…" Malcolm didn't get to finish the sentence; Trip's fist snapped his head back so hard that he bit down on his own tongue. With the pain came anger; he responded to the attack with two hard jabs—one to Trip's midsection and one to his face.

Doubled over, Trip bellowed and plowed into Malcolm. The inertia drove them into the wall behind Malcolm; they bounced back and landed on the mat, driving punches as they fell. They were so intent on pounding the hell out of each other that they didn't hear Travis until he pulled Malcolm back by his shirt and wedged himself between them.

"Commander! Lieutenant!" He looked back and forth between the two men. Out of breath, the two officers exchanged angry looks. "What's going on?" Travis demanded.

Malcolm stepped back, wrenching his shirt from Travis' grip. "Nothing, Ensign," he said tightly. "Our training session got a little out of hand, that's all. Actually, Commander, our session has run long—Ensign Mayweather is here for his training. I suggest we call it a day."

Trip forced himself to relax. "Agreed." He bent down to grab his water and towel. Glancing at Travis, he nodded. "Ensign." He stalked out of the room without looking back.

"That was a training session?" Travis asked Malcolm incredulously.

"I don't care to repeat myself, Ensign," Malcolm snapped. "Let's get started. We'll begin with basic moves to disarm an assailant." He walked briskly towards the weapons cabinet.

Travis looked at Malcolm's back, ramrod straight. He had been looking forward to these sessions, eager to learn as always. Now he glanced wistfully at the door. "I might be in more trouble than I thought," he muttered to himself.

*****

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