Hoshi bounced up and down on her bed, testing its softness. She released her hair from its pony-tail before flopping down on it.

            "At least they didn't give us those bunks for visiting Vulcans," she sighed.

            "I thought that they just made us give up our rooms?" Malcolm absent-mindedly replied. She laughed lightly at him. Malcolm was tracing the outlines of the walls, making sure that the room was properly sealed.

            He turned to her, and laughed slightly as well.

            "I am simply worried that we could infect other members of the crew, Ensign," he replied.

            "Malcolm, drop the formalities. We have to spend a half a week together," Hoshi told him. She saw Malcolm try to massage a spot on his back, a spot obviously giving him a lot of pain.

            She rose from her bed and walked over to him.

            "Want some help with that?" she offered, extending her hands to meet his tense shoulders. She started to gently massage him, creating small circles with her fingers. She could feel his broad muscles at first seize, but soon slump under the power of her fingers.

            She had always been good at massages. Poor Malcolm, he was putty in her hands.

            So the tough armoury officer has a weak spot for a massage, did he? Hoshi thought. Apparently, Malcolm heard her.

            "Umm, thank you." He walked away from her to his bed, where he sat down. She walked over to him and continued massaging.

            "You have a knot," she explained, digging deeper with his hands.

            "Hoshi, you know I could knock you to the floor if I wanted to?" he lightly threatened.

            "Ahh, well, Mr. Reed. I have recently been reliably informed that I have a very good roundhouse kick," Hoshi teased back.

            "Whoever said that must have been under the influence," Malcolm teased back.

            Hoshi stopped and put her hands on her hips. Malcolm turned around, and found her pouting.

            "Don't stop," he calmly muttered, and turned his back to her once again.

            "In that case, I take it I have an extremely good round-house kick."

            Malcolm didn't protest as she continued her massage.

            The five crewmen sat leisurely around the poker table, gossiping while the sixth player went to the kitchen to get snacks.

            "…And when I came in, let's just ay that something was definitely going on. They were talking about 'target practice'." He accented the quotation marks. "Then they were practically on top of each other. I mean, she 'slipped'. How lame is that? And he just happened to catch her. It was totally obvious."

            "Commander Tucker said, in confidence of course," all of the crewmen nodded affirming, "He said that they always go to movie night on the same days. And they are always not there on the same days." Every man drew their own conclusion from this.

            And of course, these conclusions were all public before the next shift.

            Travis was no computer expert, but he knew how to create an encrypted signal within the ship.

            "Hey, Hoshi, Malcolm, can you hear me?" he whispered to viewscreen, as the image of cargo appeared on the screen in his quarters. He hadn't been expecting to see Hoshi and Malcolm sparring, both apparently enjoying it. They were both startled, and Malcolm was annoyed, walked up to the screen.

            Maybe the Captain and Trip were doing the right thing, Travis thought.

            "How can we help you, Ensign?" Malcolm asked in his I'm-your-superior-officer-so-this-better-be-good tone.

            "I thought you first of all might like to know that, umm…"

            "What's going on Travis?" Hoshi appeared in Travis's viewscreen.

            "I think that the captain and Trip are trying to set you up. I even doubt that you have any disease. I think Phlox is in on it. You know, this would be some sort of experiment for him."

            Malcolm and Hoshi looked incredulously at him for a moment.

            Part detective, Malcolm asked, "What has led you to that conclusion?"

            "Something is up between them. They have been giving each other glances, like they know something we don't know. And Trip has been spreading rumours."

            "What sort of rumours?" Malcolm questioned.

            "That he wouldn't be surprised if you two liked each other; that you two always skip movie night on the same nights..." Travis felt slightly embarrassed saying all of this. But it was public knowledge outside of the cargo bay.

            "Travis, keep us updated. We must make a plan. We have three days to come up with a counter strike. And thank you, Travis. I take it this transmission is encrypted?"

            Travis nodded.

            "Good. Contact us tomorrow again. You better go, just in case anyone gets the idea to contact us." Malcolm looked truly appreciative. As if a great mystery had been lifted. Travis almost decided to ask Malcolm about this, but was interrupted by his fellow Ensign.

            "Travis, could you see if there could be an environmental "malfunction"? Make engineering really cold. Really cold." Hoshi's face lit up as she spoke, before Malcolm stopped her.

            "What are you planning?" he asked. As armoury officer, he intended to be part of all tactical movements.

            "We need a distraction. If Trip thinks his engines are in danger, he won't stop until he gets everything back to status quo."

            "But what if it turns out to be a good thing? I mean a cold engineering letting them do some sort of maintenance."

            "If I hadn't been interrupted," she shot a mocking glance towards Malcolm, "I could've told you about the second part of the plan. About an hour later, after freezing engineering, I want you too sabotage the oven and stove in the kitchen."

            The two men were beginning to see the brilliance in her plan. They nodded as she continued.

            Jon and Trip walked briskly towards the kitchen. They had just been informed the all electrical apparatuses for cooking had broken down due to a power surge. Chef was apparently enraged and the crew were angry for their missing dinners. A lucky member of the kitchen crew had been able to escape and convey the message.

            They strode into the mess to find, literally a mess. Three crewmembers were quibbling over a trove of wires which had been extracted from various disembowelled objects. Other crewmembers were trying to steal sandwiches and other cold foodstuffs which were rapidly being torn apart in the struggles.

            Trip chuckled lightly at the ridiculousness of the scene in front of them. Then he realised that if he didn't act soon, they would disembowel his ship.

            "Hey, cut that out, would ya?" He dismissed the three self-appointed engineers with a wave of his hand and moved forward to inspect the carnage.

            Jon was still standing aghast at his crew's behaviour.

            "Jon, this is gonna take a while. Hope you weren't hungry," Trip said looking down at the muddle of wires. Jon walked over and did the only thing he could for his friend: save the pecan pie.