Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. This story is for entertainment purposes only.
A/N: Thank you to my beta readers (silvershadowfire and gaianarchy) for all your help And now it gets weird…
Chapter 2: The Prisoner Communiques (begin)
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From: Prisoner No 1
To: Prisoner No 2
Re: Malcolm.
Shweethart, what are you doing? CA just busted Malcolm for letting you have a, quote, coffee-klatch in your quarters. While it was fun to see, I must know. What is going on???[1] Does it involve me, and how badly is the captain going to kill us this time? And if it was something else, can I have pictures?
(Yes, he even does bad Bogey imitations in his memos. Or possibly Sean Connery, I can't really tell. Yes, he too accepts the level of trouble he's in -- but since he's already been charged with Insubordination, Inciting a Riot, Aiding and Abetting the Assault on an Officer, Unlawful Confinement and Hindering an Investigation -- we both agree it can't get any worse. And there's only so much sitting in your quarters you can do before you start to go crazy. And since we're both from the South and were on Tennessee Williams before we could talk…[2] )
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From: Prisoner No 2
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To: Prisoner No 1
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Re: Coffee-klatches
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Actually, there was no coffee involved, and – alas -- nothing interesting enough to take pictures of. My apologies. I am sorry, but I cannot discuss the events in greater detail, as I am bound by legal confidentiality.
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From: Prisoner No 1
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To: Prisoner No 2
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Oh God.
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The captain has gotten me some tougher guards. No one but Captain Archer, or Sub-Commander T'Pol or Lieutenant Reed is allowed in or out. Except of course…
"Dinner."
"Thank-you, crewman." Now dinner has been checked over in the way that guards do just to make sure that there's not a file in the steak or a coded message carved into the mashed potatoes – it's in the green beans instead. Phase one of our strike has (not) gone into action. By the end of the day there is 90% membership in the union. Not bad, considering that organisational efforts must be kept secret. After all, if upper management finds out, it's all over before you can say…
"…Surprise inspection, Hess."
I turn to face Malcolm, my hands on my hips. "Now it would have been nice if you'd have knocked. I might have been naked, you know."
He turns bright red. This man is way too easy. "It would hardly be a surprise if I knocked, now would it, Hess? And what would you be doing naked at this time of day anyway?"
I give him the double raised eyebrow which causes him to cough. "It's my room, and my time of day, now. I can do whatever I want. Now what, pray tell, are you inspecting for, and what gives you the right to inspect here, anyway?"
"You are – technically – still a member of this crew." He's been hanging out with me for way too long. "Therefore I – as head of security – have every right to check these quarters for contraband, security threats, and any other unauthorised items."
Oh dear. Because Igor and Evil Thing[3] aren't exactly 'authorised items'. Luckily they have a tendency to go into hiding when the door opens.
He conducts a cursory inspection: lifting my mattress, going through my desk drawers, frisking me. I make a few more comments just to watch his ears turn colour, then allow him to escape. Almost. "Can I call my lawyer, yet?"
"No. We're still having problems." He looks like he's going to cry as the door closes. I wonder why.
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From: Prisoner No 1
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To: Prisoner No 2
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Re: Malcolm (again)!
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What did you do to Malcolm? He came here to do a 'surprise inspection' and he was all swollen up and red and blotchy. It's the funniest thing I ever saw; I have pictures. Of course, he confiscated my camera, but not before I could download them. These'll be great for my scrapbook. By the way, what would you have been up to, naked in the middle of the day?
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From: Prisoner No 2
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To: Prisoner No 1
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Re: Malcolm
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Dahling I have no idea what could possibly have happened to our dear Lieutenant unless he is (perhaps) susceptible to the sheddings of members of the feline or lagomorph species. I assure you, it was entirely unintentional. And in response to a previous missive: I am going to take that as I am sure you intended -- as a serious prayer. I thank you for your thoughts during this troubled time. I am, however, glad to hear you are finding ways of amusing yourself. I was afraid you might be languishing in your solitude, as I know how social a creature you are. Keep your strength up -- I am certain all will be resolved soon. As for your final question: I will leave that up to your fertile imagination. I'm sure you can think of something.
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From: Prisoner No 1
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To: Prisoner No 2
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That is not a nice thing to say to a man in captivity.
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"Ms. Hess." The captain is deliberately not using my possibly former title[4] to try and prove to me the seriousness of my situation. I think he is wondering why it is taking Commander Tucker so long to crack, and blames me for that, too. "Do you have a rabbit in here?"
"A rabbit, sir?"
"Yes, Hess. A rabbit. The doctor informs me that Lieutentant Reed suffered a severe allergic reaction to rabbit hair, and this is the only place I could think of him picking it up." Repeated use of my last name as opposed to his more common familiarity is simply proof that he's pissed.
"Surely the captain understands that keeping a pet would be in violation of the rules." I pointedly ignore Porthos squirming in his master's arms. I'm pretty sure he's here to flush out any contraband fur that might be hopping around because there's no other reason for the captain to bring him.
"Since when have the rules ever been a concern of yours?" The captain sets Porthos down, and the little angel comes running to me and sits up, begging.
See, while I am – as I told Commander Tucker the other day – a cat person, I do know a bit about dogs. I've been sneaking the mutt in here since this voyage began, just to get him used to the smell, so he doesn't get curious. And while the captain says 'no cheese', he didn't say anything about liver.
I hand him a couple of treats, just to make sure he remembers me. Captain Archer looks steamed, as though he can't believe his dog prefers me over him. Then again, he's not the one with the food.
"I am always concerned with the rules, sir." As my wonderful mentor once explained: if you don't know what the rules are, you won't know how to break them.
"I'm sure you are, Hess." If his sarcasm got any sharper I could shave my legs with it. "However, if I can prove that you deliberately did anything to Lieutenant Reed, I will be adding it to the list of charges."
"Yes, sir."
Dinner arrives at that point, and provides the captain a chance to escape. Before he goes…
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about why several engineers have been downloading copies of the Starfleet Assignments Classifications Manual[5], would you?"
"Sir?" Basic rule of law: an individual cannot be assumed to know the unstated intentions of another individual thus any evidence of such type presented in those matters is inadmissible.
"I thought not." He leaves, but not without looking suspicious. I know he thinks I'm up to something; he just doesn't know what. And that makes me worried.
[1] Ah, the panic of a leashed up gossip hound. The poor boy.
[2] Melodrama? What melodrama? Us? Surely you jest.
[3] My quadraped companions. One says meow. The other just wrinkles his nose and flicks his ears. Any questions?
[4] Innocent until proven guilty you know. Though I know he thinks me to be as guilty as sin.
[5] This is why I love bureaucracy. There's actually an entire manual listing any and every job classification in Starfleet and the precise duties that go along with. Like I said: Work to Rule.