Chapter Twenty-Two: The Captaincy

Travis helped Trip out of the captain's ready-room, holding his broken-fingered hand gingerly out in front of him. The bridge crew weren't even making a pretense at going about their jobs; T'pol was nowhere to be seen, but the others on duty – Hoshi and Malcolm and a couple of ensigns Trip vaguely thought he recognized – were all staring unabashedly at the two men as they stepped out onto the bridge.

Trip Tucker felt very grim. It wasn't that he'd never seen a man die before; but he'd just watched one of his friends stab the image of another, with a terrifying coldness and efficiency, and he'd had to think of it as justice.

"Awaiting your orders, Captain," Malcolm said, his voice very soft and his tone deferential even as his eyes flashed challenge. The question in his expression was clear: have I risked this for nothing, will you keep your word?

"I have no desire for the captaincy," Trip announced. "It's yours, Captain Reed." He saluted, smartly.

Malcolm grinned and briskly removed Hoshi's handcuffs. "Ah," he said. "Ensign Sato, most lovely and talented of communications officers … I trust you understand the necessity of the subterfuge."

Hoshi stared at him for a long moment. "Rot in hell, Captain," she said sweetly.

Malcolm raised his eyebrows at her, and then, neatly, backhanded her across the face. Trip felt his fists clench, but retaliating on Hoshi's behalf was possibly the stupidest thing he could do at this point, and he held himself in check. "Cheeky defiance," he said. "Cute, but unacceptable, Ensign."

"Yes, sir," Hoshi said.

"Station," Malcolm snapped crisply, and strolled across the bridge to his old station, a particularly self-satisfied expression on his face. "My, my … tactical looks extremely lonesome without me," he said. "Ensign Sato?"

"Yes, Captain Reed?" Hoshi said.

"Tell Lieutenant Singerra to report to the bridge immediately," Malcolm said, folding his arms across his chest.

Hoshi turned and busied herself at her station. Trip felt sorry for her; he knew that she didn't like him and that taking orders from him was going to be difficult for her, but she really would be better off with Captain Archer and whatever it was that he'd been holding her head … maybe she'd even quit Starfleet the next time they were back near the Earth system or near an Earth-bound ship, with nothing to hold her here. Maybe Travis could go back to the Horizon. He almost felt sad – it wouldn't be the same Enterprise without them. But then … this was hardly the same Enterprise it had been when he'd come here, seeing as how he was responsible for the assassination of Captain Archer.

The newly promoted Captain Reed strolled across the Bridge, delighting in the fact that he now owned it, and glanced at Travis. "Well, Ensign? Want to take the helm?" he asked solicitously.

"Yes, sir," said Travis, saluting and fighting a smile. "Thank you, sir."

Malcolm nodded. "What about you, Commander Tucker?" he said. "Do you need a doctor to attend to that hand of yours? I believe the Denobulan slave is a student of medicine."

"No more slaves," Trip murmured.

A peculiar expression flashed across Malcolm's face. "Right … I'd been meaning to talk to you about that," he said smoothly.

Trip took a few steps forward and stared down into the shorter man's angular face. "No more slaves, Malcolm," he said. "That was the arrangement. Are you backing out, now?"

Malcolm smiled. "No, of course not," he said silkily. "It's just that these things take time … I can't force change on the crew all of a sudden like that …"

Trip realized suddenly that Malcolm was trying to be slippery because he resented the fact that Trip had power over him. By giving him command of the ship, he had basically set himself up with the ability to take it away at any time. By bargaining for command instead of taking it, Malcolm had in some way diminished his authority in his own eyes and he was trying to mitigate that by breaking the deal.

"Permission to speak with you privately, Captain," Trip said stiffly, standing to attention.

But just then, Singerra marched onto the Bridge, her face expectant.

"In a moment," Malcolm said, turning to Doctor Singerra. "Lieutenant … your new post is armoury officer."

"Yes, Captain," Singerra said, seeming thoroughly unsurprised. "And who will run Sickbay, if I may ask?"

Malcolm glanced at Trip. "Phlox," he said shortly.

Singerra looked startled, then. "Really," she said.

"Really," Malcolm said. He seemed ready to start twitching at any moment.

"Very well," said Lieutenant Singerra. She sat down at Malcolm's old station and started going over his screens. She seemed much more at home here on the Bridge than she ever had in Sickbay. Trip made a mental note to check the roster when he got home to see if there was a Singerra working in Malcolm's department anywhere … it might explain a lot, like the apparent propensity of Sickbay in this reality to deal in torture and physical pain. "Ensign Cutler can assist him."

"Very good. Ensign Sato, please inform Ensign Cutler of her new assignment," Malcolm said, turning away from Singerra.

"Certainly, Captain Reed," Hoshi said. "And I'll have someone get rid of the corpse in your ready-room, shall I?"

"Officer thinking, Ensign," Malcolm said, almost cheerfully.

"Hmmmm." It was T'pol's voice, cold and amused. She stood by the turbolift doors, leaning insolently against the wall. "Captain Reed … don't you think that's a little premature?'

Malcolm froze. So did Trip. Here was resistance from an unexpected quarter. But of course; T'pol followed Captain Archer in the chain of command, before even Trip did. Somehow he hadn't thought about her, and neither apparently had Malcolm; probably because they were involved, or because she wasn't actually a member of Starfleet, or any number of other reasons.

But as she stood there, leaning against the door with cold steel in her eyes, it was clear that there was going to be resistance here.

"Your little plan," T'pol said, strolling forward onto the Bridge, "was an interesting exercise in logic with nevertheless a very human flaw … you seem to have forgotten the chain of command. Humans being fallible as they are, I am not exactly surprised … but I cannot fault you on the flawless execution of your scheme." She settled into the captain's chair and leaned back, putting her feet up and sprawling in it, lazily, all indolence and insolence in her slinky dark uniform and her spiked heels.

"T'pol," Malcolm said levelly. "Subcommander …"

"Oh, no," T'pol said. "Commander T'pol. I am, in fact, in command of the Enterprise. That makes me Commander. Or … what is that human word?" She rested her cheek against her palm, her elbow on the chair's armrest. "Ah yes. Captain. Captain T'pol. It has a certain … aesthetic quality."

"The Imperial Fleet won't stand for it," Malcolm said. "You can't permanently command this ship."

"I believe I can," T'pol purred. "In fact, I believe that it is my duty as the first officer aboard the Enterprise, as appointed by your Fleet and my High Command, to take command of the ship should the captain be incapacitated or killed … doesn't the present situation qualify?"

"Captain Archer is no longer the captain of this ship," Malcolm said. "I am."

"Tell me, Lieutenant Reed," T'pol said, "what is the traditional punishment for mutineers in your Fleet?"

Malcolm blanched visibly. "T'pol," he said. "Don't do this."

"I've already done it," said T'pol. "How do you plan on stopping me?"

Malcolm's phase pistol was out of its holster and trained on her. "Don't do this," he repeated.

"You're going to shoot me?" T'pol shook her head. She ran one hand seductively down her body, indicating perhaps what Malcolm would be destroying if he killed her. "You won't do that. You know I'll probably keep you on as my Captain's man should you behave yourself …"

"Don't make me do this, T'pol," Malcolm repeated. His voice cracked a little, but his hand was steady as the gun pointed at her.

"Tell me, Lieutenant," T'pol said, as though it were only a matter of idle curiosity. "Did you think I would just stand by and let you take the ship? Did you think I would be content to be captain's woman when I was entitled to be captain?"

"I hoped you would," Malcolm admitted. "But really, T'pol, it doesn't matter what you want. I'll have the captaincy, one way or another. With you, or without you. The choice is yours."

"Why did you think I would do that?" T'pol asked.

"I thought you loved me," Malcolm admitted. His voice was barely above a whisper. It was obviously a difficult admission for him to make.

The Bridge was dead silent for a long moment. And then, T'pol threw back her head and laughed.

She laughed at him, the sound cold and cruel and somehow empty, because Vulcans did not laugh and it was clearly a learned behavior, like so much of the affectations she utilized in this reality.  "Oh," she said. "Your naïveté … I find it quite charming, Lieutenant."

The phase pistol trembled in Malcolm's hand, ever-so-slightly.

"Good-bye, T'pol," he said, and fired.

He slid the phase pistol back into its holster and strode up to the command chair, looking down at the dead woman slumped in the chair. He reached out with one hand, his fingers a bare centimeter away from the smooth skin of her face. He came so close to touching her … and then he tore himself away, his face closed and expressionless.

"Get rid of the body, Lieutenant," he said softly, his voice strained, to Singerra. "Commander Tucker … you have the bridge. I'll be in my ready room."

He turned and walked slowly off the bridge.

The crew sat in silence for a long moment. They were used to a pattern of assassination and intrigue running their lives, but finding everything flushed out in the open like this was clearly more than a little disturbing.

"What are you looking at?" Trip said. "Back to work."

He'd talk to Malcolm, about getting back to the planet, about freeing the slaves as he'd promised. He'd talk to Malcolm about everything. But not right now.

He thought the new captain could use a little time alone.