Disclaimer: As usual. Not my characters…. Entertainment only…
Author's note: Thank you again to my lovely beta readers… where would I be without you? You don't want to know the answer to that, Thrain. Because you catch all those little things my inner-editor misses… Oh, knock it off, so I'm not freakin' perfect… after those long, horrible days at work… Yeah, right, be grateful you even have a job… (sigh) Where would we be without our little voices?
Please review… let me know if you like… let me know if you hate… or even if you're apathetic. And now… on with the story
Chapter 7: Tears and ConfusionFrom: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Please?
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Please, please, please?
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Please, please, please, pretty-please?
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From: Prisoner # 2
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To: Prisoner # 1
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Fine. We're speaking, but only because you grovelled. Because I cannot imagine what could possibly possess you to hand out such sensitive information to the enemy. Such behaviour is totally unacceptable in a gentleman. Suppose I told him about your teddy bear?
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Don't you say a WORD about that bear. That is a highly valued collectable, I'll have you know… and there is no comparison.
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From: Prisoner # 2
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To: Prisoner # 1
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Re: Oh, yeah?
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You're right, Mr. Fuzzy-Wuzzy deserves much more than that. I think I'll introduce him to…
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Hess!
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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Re: You wouldn't.
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Hess! If you mention Mr. Fuzzy-Wuzzy to anyone, I'll…I'll… I'll tell Malcolm all about your secret fantasies about him.
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From: Prisoner # 2
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To: Prisoner # 1
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What fantasies?
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From: Prisoner # 1
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To: Prisoner # 2
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I'm sure I can think of something…
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Bastard probably could. Not only that, but Malcolm's liable to believe him and the last thing I want to do is encourage him. Either of them. Because I do like Malcolm – in a totally platonic way – and I'd hate to have to break his heart, or any other parts of his anatomy for that matter.[1] And while killing Commander Tucker would be amusing… I'd probably have to take his job, which would not. I'm not cut out for command. I'm cut out to be the person manipulating command.
The sickout is proceeding nicely, especially since they haven't let up at all on the Work To Rule campaign. The biggest victim in this is – of course – Rostov, but realistically there's only so much we can do. After all, despite popular opinion to the contrary, I am not in control of this thing.
"I am begging you, Lieutenant. Tell them to stop. Because people have been sick, I've had to schedule double shifts to cover, and now those people are getting sick, and I'm not getting any sleep because apparently there are a large number of decisions that require 'administrative approval.'" While there are circumstances where I am not adverse to seeing a man on his knees, this is merely pathetic.
"There's nothing I can do, Rossie. From what I can tell – which isn't much because I've been denied contact with pretty much all but a mentally deficient Malcolm – it's all legal and above-board.
"Did you just call Lieutenant Reed mentally deficient?" Rostov looks shocked. Given however that he's just strung more words together than he ever has in his life, I can't blame him.
"The words Lieutenant and Reed never once crossed my lips." I reply, primly. While there is only one Lieutenant Reed on board the ship, there is no way of proving that Malcolm is not an imaginary friend.[2] "Far be it from me to disparage the intelligence of our top armoury officer." Especially when he does such a marvellous job of doing it to himself.
"But you've got to do something, Lieutenant. Give me a hint as to the filing system… or where you keep the schedule blanks. Apparently the one in the computer isn't the right formula, or something… because I keep getting errors." He actually begins to cry at this point.
I refrain from pointing out that the reason for the errors might be due to faulty data input. I've never had a problem with it, but that might be because I never use the damn thing. It's ten times faster to draw the schedules up by hand and manually input the hours into the reports. "I can't help you, Rossie." The door slides open before I can make Rostov stand up, or even tell him where we keep the emergency chocolate.
"Mister Rostov." The sound of Malcolm's voice propels Rostov half-way to the ceiling. "What is going on here?"
"Um… um… I… er…" I haven't seen Rostov this nervous since Commander Tucker and I told him that Forrest would be around for a surprise inspection – and that he (Rostov) was in charge – then went for a beer at the 602. This wouldn't have been so bad had we not just dismantled an entire section of the engine the hard way[3]and hadn't gotten around to picking up the pieces yet.
"I think you'd better go, Rossie. I think the Lieutenant here would like to speak to me."
"Please, ma'am…" He walks slowly backwards. "Just one little…"
"Goodbye, Rossie." I escort him to the door and push him gently outside.
I turn back to Malcolm who looks nonplussed.
"What was Rostov doing in your quarters, and in that position? Surely, as a lawyer, you know the rules on fraternisation strictly prohibit…"
"Oh, grow up." What is it with men, anyway? "For one thing, I am technically without rank, which would make it his mistake more than mine. Furthermore, my private life is mine, and under section…" I don't get any farther, mainly because there's another mouth blocking mine. I'm tempted to push him away, but he's a surprisingly good kisser. Since they are, in actual fact, a rarity, I allow myself a moment of enjoyment, knowing full well I can continue the conversation when he comes up for air.
"… under section…" It's a good thing he's talented, otherwise this could get tedious.
"… you know, Malcolm, most men don't find legal lectures all that erotic."
He grins, one of those wicked grins you normally see on the face of Commander Tucker. "Neither do I, but it does seem to be an effective way to shut you up."
I aim a cross-kick at his ankle, but he's expecting something and moves out of the way.
"Now, now, Scarlett. No violence. I'd hate to have to add another 'assault on an officer' charge to that list."
"Officer you may be, but you are certainly no gentleman." Right now I'm itching to do serious violence to Shuttlepod One. God must work in mysterious ways, because what He could have been thinking when He decided to make Malcolm Reed and Charles Tucker the Third friends is beyond my comprehension.
"Aww… and I thought I was being very gentle." The grin widens further.
"You have spent far too much time with a certain person of our mutual acquaintance, Malcolm. Clearly you are suffering from an advanced case of Tuckeritis, which is defined as a misguided belief that you are a charming rogue. While I am willing to forgive you… for I doubt you were aware of your level of susceptibility…" If this goes on much longer I'm going to have to lock the door.
I'm saved by the bell, or in this case, the com chime. "Hello?"
"Mister Reed… can you please report to my ready-room?" Apparently the captain is going to ignore me.
"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." You'd think Archer was in the room, the way Malcolm jumps. He cuts the com and turns to me. "Right. Now, what do you know about people not showing up for work?"
"I've heard there's an epidemic running around. I hope it isn't serious." My eyes widen. "Malcolm! Up until now I've been relatively safe in isolation. I certainly hope that whatever it is isn't contagious, or that you aren't a carrier. If you've deliberately exposed me to infection…"
"It's not contagious, Hess. Unless, of course, you have a binary brain. We discovered the change in the medical scanners, and you can rest assured it has been fixed. All we want to know is…"
Hey, if it works for him… I don't want to know what they want to know, because otherwise I might be compelled to answer the question. And even though I don't know if I know, what it is they want to know, I can't take that risk. Before he can recover, I hustle him out the door and off to his little meeting. Then sit myself down for some serious strategic planning.
[1] The tooth doesn't count… he broke that himself. As for the allergies… I'm supposed to be responsible for an accident of genetics?
[2] After all, coincidences do happen.
[3] The secret of being a good engineer is knowing when to run. Preferably before you get hit by the shockwave.