Disclaimer: These are not my characters… most of them, anyway. The setting is not mine… the story is.
Author's note: A couple of different friends have tried to teach me how to play darts. I still play like Trip… maybe worse. Oh, and sb? Space break. Sorry, but this has eliminated what I was using before... and that's the only thing I could find that works.
Chapter 4: Ghosts
"You made it. I was half expecting to have to go down and rescue you from the clutches of evil." Trip handed Malcolm a set of darts. "Now prepare to be amazed."
"I'll be amazed if you actually hit the board." Malcolm stepped up to the line and placed three solid hits. He'd made sure to handle the report to the captain… but to his senior officer's disgust didn't reveal too many details.
"I'll just have to start calling you Thomas, Doubtful." Trip took a position on the line. Malcolm winced as metal clanged against metal and the dart rebounded from the wall and almost all the way back to them.
"A little less force. You're trying to place them, not put them through the board. It's not a football, and you've only got to throw it 2.36 metres, not ninety yards."
"You make a ninety-yard rush, not throw a ninety-yard pass. If you're still holdin' the ball by the time your receiver makes ninety – you're sittin' under a six foot pile of linebackers." If Trip packed any more disdain into the tone, it would have fallen apart from overstress.
"You know, Americans are the only people in the world who would give the name 'football' to a game where you hardly ever use your feet." And then have the temerity to re-name football – real football – soccer, and convince everybody else to follow along.
"Hey, Canada's got it too. Three downs instead of four, though…and two points for a safety touch instead of going with a fair catch – I wonder why they went like that?"
"Why don't you ask Ensign Holley? She's Canadian." As soon as he spoke, Malcolm regretted it.
"I'd rather ask Satan himself. That girl has got some serious problems… especially when it comes to respect."
Malcolm laid down his darts. "And I say again: this from the man who lets Lieutenant Hess do whatever she pleases."
"Yeah, well… Hess has let me do some of that, too. Or something like…" Trip had the decency to look embarrassed.
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what pray tell?"
"I've had a few moments of … overindulgence in my life… and Hess has been kind enough to ignore some of the things I've said… or at least sober me up enough to let me apologise."
"In other words, you've gotten drunk and said things to her that you shouldn't have." That was hardly a revelation…
"Putting it like that… still, the fact that she puts up with me… besides, like I said, she makes me laugh. And, if I tell Hess she's outta line, she doesn't talk back like that."
"We discussed it." Well, they'd discussed something. Everybody deals with things differently. And anniversaries were always the worst. It was as though somehow the day took on a taint that could never be washed away. It's never 'just another day,' no matter how much we want it to be. Somehow the mind knew – even before the calendar was checked… even before consciousness could register the day – something in the mind knew the importance, and triggered the pain. And then you realise… you look down like that coyote and realise that there's no ground beneath your feet. And then you fall.
Trip shook his head. "I just never thought it of you, Malcolm. Letting someone get away with things like that? How hard did you hit your head?"
Malcolm tapped his fingers just below his stitches. "Exhibit A. And proof that our dear Doctor does indeed have a sense of humour." He needed to change the subject… get away from thinking about death.
"We'll have to rename him," Trip agreed. "Phloxenstein. 'Igor… get me a new brain…'" Typical of Trip to joke about his own injuries, though Malcolm recognised the black humour in the tone.
"Knowing Phlox, he would send Hess' rabbit after one, too." He'd had to pull every trick he knew of to discover the name of that creature. It was no secret that she had a rabbit – as Malcolm discovered the hard way: through an overdose of histamines – but getting her to admit it had been another matter. And when he'd finally seen it… I never would have picked her for the Florence Nightingale type, but then I guess when it comes to animals…even Archer had relented when he found out how abused the poor thing had been before she found it. Then again, animals are his soft spot too.
Trip burst out laughing. "Isn't he just such a sweetie, though? Igor, I mean, not Phlox."
"God, I never picked you for the little fuzzy-animals type." He pushed it further into 'safe topic' territory.
Trip shook his head, still laughing. "Shows how observant you are. I've always liked animals… I had a dog when I was a kid, you know. And I was the one who actually found Evil Thing, for her… I just couldn't keep pets where I was staying. Some asshole had just dropped him in the middle of the road, left him there. I know… because they left him in this little box. He was just peeking over the top… scared of all the traffic. I nearly caused an accident, I hit the brakes so fast… and then heading out over two lanes of traffic just to get him… I was on a date… the girl thought I was crazy. Poor little guy… he was half starved, and scared to death… he sunk his teeth into my hand – boy did they panic in the emergency room when they saw that – and scratched the hell out of me, but I couldn't leave him there. When I got him to Hess… she took one look and fell in love. The rest is history."
"So it's you I have to blame for my suffering." Malcolm picked up one of the darts and pretended to aim at Trip.
"Hey. You're allergic to the rabbit, not the cat. I had nothing to do with the rabbit." Trip raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Malcolm laughed, and – like Trip – proceeded to distract himself for the rest of the evening.
sb
I had to do it… it's the right thing to do. Malcolm made his way cautiously down the hallway, waiting for something to jump out of the shadows and get even, or just inflict the cruelty the universe seemed to have set aside for him. He hated telling… but it was the rule. And Jamie had been breaking the law, and putting other students at risk… even if it was their choice to get involved.
Still… he felt bad about it, felt like he'd betrayed his roommate – one of the few people inclined to tolerate his presence. Not that they were friends – Malcolm Reed didn't have any friends – but Jamie allowed him to co-exist without hassle. He even occasionally admitted that Malcolm was there – taking his activities to another room if Malcolm was trying to work or sleep. At least I thought it was out of fairness to me. With what he'd found though… it was probably more a security measure on Jamie's part than anything.
Fake prescriptions. Jamie's father was a doctor – it hadn't been difficult for the boy to lay his hand on some scrip pads. He'd set up a business selling the prescriptions – not to his fellow students, but to other poor souls desperate for something to make them feel better. He'd recruited his fellow students more as employees – cutting them in for about a quarter of what he himself made off of their sales.
Carefully he pushed open the door to their room, afraid of what might await him inside. No revenge waited with clenched fists, however – the room remained silent and still.
Slowly, he stepped inside, then froze. He wanted to scream, but his chest refused to expand, refused to let the air in. Jamie waited for him in the room – but not to beat him, only to castigate him for his betrayal. Blue eyes bulged in a face that matched – hypoxia had already taken hold. His jaw hung slackly as he twisted, held aloft by the bed sheet tied to a hook in the ceiling. He paused in his motion, dead eyes accusing his Judas.
Light exploded in Malcolm's own eyes, pinprick spots expanding into fireworks. He felt himself falling, down forever, with Jamie watching, eternally angry and betrayed.
sb
Malcolm woke, gasping and disoriented. Cold sweat drenched him – and the darkness wasn't familiar, wasn't darkness at all. He stood in the dim light of the storage bay, staring at a crate that shouldn't still be there – that wouldn't still be there were it not for his weakness.
Somnambulism. He hadn't sleepwalked in – he couldn't remember the last time he'd done it. As for coming here... well he did know why he'd done that. Pathetic.
He reached towards the lid release, not wanting to, and wanting to desperately. He'd seized these from Crewman Dennis when they'd started out… they were still here, perfectly preserved.
What makes you better than him? The answer came easily. Nothing. You're worse; you're weak; you're pathetic. These should have been destroyed, but for some reason he'd kept them, safely away in storage. For a moment like now? For when you finally stop fighting back and admit that you haven't got the strength to live without it?
The lid opened, air rushing through the seals. Unbidden, his hand reached in and pulled a carton free – breaking the symmetry of a solid block. This is going to kill me. His fingers found a seam in the cellophane and pulled it away. It's pure poison… look what it did to George. A single pack came free, emerging easily from its covering. You're an addict… you can't do this and just put them away. A single paper covered cylinder poked its head out when he tapped the box against his palm. Fuck it. He pulled the cigarette all the way free and stuck the filtered end between his lips. Now, for something to light it with. He wasn't carrying anything in his underwear – the only clothes he had on, he realised suddenly. And nobody stopped me? So much for Hoshi thinking she was the only one who could disappear. I walked three decks in my underwear and nobody even tried to stop me. Walking over to a wall panel, he pulled it off and grinned humourlessly. A plasma conduit… perfect. How many people got burned by these puppies – the walls were hot enough to scorch anything. Paper and tobacco began to smoulder as he pressed the tip of the cigarette against the conduit. You can light them off of anything, if it's hot enough. He'd used the toaster some mornings… Stuart hadn't been impressed upon finding that one out.
He inhaled, feeling the smoke burn into his lungs. Tears invaded his eyes, but his body responded instantly. This is good, it told him, this is what you've been needing. He could feel the pressure easing, the tension slipping away. A second drag told him that this wasn't a mistake… that the mistake had been quitting in the first place. He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes…
…and opened them again, spluttering. Water dripped off his face and hair, soaking his shoulders and torso and collecting in a puddle at his feet. Less than a foot away stood Trip, holding a now empty bucket.
"Sorry. I saw smoke, thought you were on fire." The words were light but Trip's eyes held a mixture of worry and accusation. "Aren't those things supposed to be unhealthy for you? Didn't you mention something about an addiction?"
"Yes, mother." Malcolm glared at his friend, and dropped the now damp cigarette to the ground. He palmed the box, keeping it out of Trip's sight. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I couldn't sleep. Hess told me that if I spent any more time in Engineering she was going to tell on me… I come down here, sometimes. It's quiet… we don't keep anything really important in this area… so I don't get people bugging me. Plus, when someone said you were headed this way dressed only in your skivvies… I figured I should make sure you were okay."
"In other words, you just wanted to know what the hell was going on." Definitely bordering on the pathological.
"Well… yeah. But I didn't expect to find you down here, killing yourself."
"Don't be so melo…"
"Hey." Trip shifted onto the defensive. "You told me that it was slow suicide."
"So I'll get my lungs replaced… big deal." He turned away, planning to go back to his quarters.
"Well… I'll get rid of the rest of them then…" Trip moved towards the crate.
"No!" Malcolm spun back to face them. "Those are evidence." He thought quickly… knowing he couldn't have them disappear.
"What? Someone stuffed Henry full of cigarettes? Give me a break, Mal." Trip moved towards the box again.
"You… you can't tell. Not even the captain." Malcolm looked around conspiratorially, then stepped closer. "He was poisoned… the poison is found in cigarettes."
Trip stepped backwards. "Whoa… Mal…"
"You can't tell anybody… Ensign Holley would probably find a way to get me court-martialled if she found out I told you, if she didn't kill me first. You've got to keep it a secret."
Trip nodded. "I will. I promise."
Suddenly Malcolm felt like shit. Trip took promises seriously. And Malcolm had just played on the man's biggest insecurity – had just led Trip into believing that he was a part of the bigger picture in the investigation. Just so you wouldn't throw away what I can't do without. Just like an addict… lying to my best friend to get what I want. There was a reason they called addicts 'users.'
"Well… it it's evidence… we'd better keep it safe." Trip rummaged in one of the storage lockers and pulled out a door seal. "It's got a counter on it… that way we'll know if anybody tried to break in. And I can install a camera up there… and we'll see who it was." The look on Trip's face indicated that he had a fair idea just who was liable to break in.
"Good idea, Commander." Lieutenant Hess is right – you are a mother hen. Trip seemed to be forgetting just whom he was dealing with, though. I am Chief of Security. I have codes to override everything. Including your security camera. As for the lock… well, the commander wasn't the only one who knew how to get through locks without using keys.
"Still… why aren't you wearing anything?" Trip looked him up and down.
"I usually don't when I go to sleep." He thanked his lucky stars he'd been wearing this much. From now on, I'm going to have to sleep in a uniform. Just to be safe.
"You sleepwalked your way down here? What's bugging you, Mal?"
Well, if Trip didn't have to admit anything… "Nothing. Somnambulism is not necessarily a sign of mental stress."
"Malcolm…"
"I'm fine. There's absolutely…"
"Lieutenant. Don't make me make it an order."
"I had a bad dream. I'm sure you're familiar with the phenomenon. Nothing more, nothing less." He didn't want to tell Trip about Jamie… he hadn't told anyone about Jamie in a long time. The last person I told was the Starfleet psychologist. And that was only because background research dug up the incident.
"Well… if there's anything you want to talk about. You know I'm your friend, Mal."
"I know. It's just that there's nothing to talk about." When I was fourteen-years-old my roommate at school committed suicide. He did so because I informed on him. I discovered the body. There is nothing more to say than that. Really, what else was there to say? Talking about it wouldn't change the past… wouldn't bring Jamie back to life, and it sure as hell wouldn't expiate Malcolm's guilt. "Now if you don't mind… I'd like to go get dressed. I'm sure Ensign Holley will be happy to get back to working on the case."
"Okay… well you know where to find me." Trip didn't sound like he believed… didn't sound like he wanted to believe.
That works both ways, friend. He'd consider opening up about his problem as soon as the engineer did with his.
He returned to his quarters for a shower and shave, then walked down to Torey's, the cigarette box tucked safely into his pocket. He'd treated himself to another one – an entire one, this time – while shaving. Then – like the guilty addict he was – covered it over with mouthwash.
He reached for the doorbell, but changed it to a knock midway, standing out of the way of the door. He wasn't sure why… except that his paranoid muscles were kicking into overdrive. Not that he was afraid of Torey… but you should never approach a door head on… even if you think the situation is safe. When had he stopped being cautious? When this place became home. When it became your small, secure little town. Except the little town wasn't secure and safe anymore.
"Good timing, sir. I was just about to go get you." The door slid open and Torey stepped out. "Dr. Phlox says that Crewman Styles has come out of the sedative… he's willing to let us interview her."
"Excellent."
She sniffed, then looked him over, carefully. "A little excessive with the mint this morning, sir?"
"Rest assured, Ensign… I am as sober as a judge." That – at least – was true. Nicotine – while toxic – hardly came under the label of intoxicating.
"I've met a few judges, sir. That's hardly reassuring." She didn't press him further, and he was sure he detected a hint of dry humour in her tone. "I'm glad to see you're looking better, sir."
"All I needed was some sleep." And a little bit of poison. On the other hand… if it let him function… I can quit anytime. He heard the dry humour in his own tones… even if it was just in his head. It was – after all – the mantra of the addict in denial. But I'm not in denial. I fully admit that I am a hopeless, craven addict… I just don't care anymore. After all, only a complete egotist thought he had no problems. Wasn't the well-balanced person supposed to accept himself, warts and all?
He nearly balked at the doors to sickbay – what if Trip had said something to Phlox? What if Phlox somehow smelled the smoke on him… even though he'd carefully timed it for before the shower, to wash it all away. He'd broken up his usual grooming routine to pull that off… but he didn't need any more lectures.
"You can have twenty minutes… I still don't want her leaving sickbay. She's had quite a shock…" Phlox bustled towards them, looking concerned.
"Where the hell are my guards?" Torey glared around sickbay as though they'd gone into hiding.
"Crewman Styles has been unconscious and under my care, Ensign… I assume they are getting some rest and some food."
"You have no authority to dismiss my people, Doctor." Malcolm shared Torey's indignance. "They were here for a reason…" He was angry with himself, too. He hadn't noticed that the guards had been missing when he'd come in for his head injury.
Phlox pulled back, defensively. "This is my sickbay… have the authority to expel the captain if I feel it is necessary."
"You stupid…" Torey cut herself off, but she was shaking. "You know, you guys are damned lucky that you've got me here… because when it comes to fucking up an investigation I have yet to see your matches. You can't play Mr. Nice Guy in a situation like this. You think it was hard on them to have to stand guard? Try being Crewman George for a moment. We've got somebody running around this ship who thinks it's okay to kill people." She closed her eyes. "I can't believe I have to deal with this level of incompetence."
"Lieutenant…"
"She's correct, Doctor." Malcolm saw no reason to pretend anything other than the truth. "You shouldn't have just dismissed the guards."
"I didn't. You did." Trust Phlox to save that up until the perfect moment.
"I did no such thing, Doctor." Surely Phlox knew better than to take anything Malcolm said while unconscious as serious… and he couldn't imagine saying anything like that even while unconscious.
"Shortly after I had Crewman Styles settled in, one of your people came in and informed them that they no longer had to maintain their status… and that the order came directly from you."
"Who?" Malcolm and Torey spoke as one.
"I'm not certain… but he did wear an armoury uniform… and your people seemed to know him… or at least accept his legitimacy."
"See the uniform, not the person," Torey muttered. "I love a good eyewitness." She turned towards the curtained off bed. "We'll definitely have to re-brief our security personnel as to proper procedures. You're certain it was a man."
"He was tall… and had a deep voice… and – oddly, now that I think of it – he had a neat beard. Don't regulations specify that all male personnel must be…"
"Clean shaven," Malcolm confirmed.
"So you don't know for sure."
"Facial hair and voice generally indicate a male – in the human species. Males are generally taller…"
Torey drew herself up to full height and looked over at Malcolm. "I'm taller than he is, doctor… and given the right materials I could give myself quite a lot of facial hair. And a lot of voice actors can play the parts fitting the opposite gender. It's quite common in animated film. And don't even bring up boobs… because I'm pretty flat chested… and it's not hard to make it flatter."
"I don't suppose you paid much attention to his hands, or more specifically his wrists, Doctor." Phlox might have… he was a physician after all.
Both Torey and Phlox turned to look at Malcolm in surprise.
"They're one of the few things on the body that are extremely difficult to disguise… mainly because they have such definitive bone structure. Even when everything else is made to look like the opposite gender…"
"I had no idea you were such an expert on cross-dressing, sir." Torey's look of surprise grew more intense.
"Actually, Ensign… England has a long history of pantomime. Traditional Shakespearian theatre employed no female actors… even the female parts are played by men. There are still some companies out there who stick with the tradition… because it is tradition."
"I didn't realise that you were an actor, sir." Now she looked like she was trying not to laugh.
"As I was saying… I don't suppose you paid much attention…"
"No, I did not." Phlox digested Malcolm's information. "However… I believe that it something I will pay attention to in the future. It is a point of human physiognomy that seems to have slipped past me. Thank you for bringing it to my awareness, Lieutenant."
"Well, at least Crewman Styles is still here." Torey strode over to the curtain, and pulled it back.
"I thought you said she was awake, sir." Styles lay with her eyes closed, unmoving.
"She… Oh my goodness." Phlox pushed them aside, and ran a portable scanner over Styles' body. Three sets of eyes flew to the bio-bed readouts, which showed Styles breathing comfortably. "She's dead. Just a few minutes ago she was fine… I spoke with her… that's why I called you, Ensign. How could I have not…"
"Because someone tampered with your alarm system." Torey still hadn't taken her eyes off the read-outs. "When she stopped breathing… the sensors didn't even notice. As far as they were concerned, she was fine. At least we have a fairly accurate time of death… provided that you are telling the truth, Doctor."
"Of course, I am." Phlox looked hurt, shocked and insulted all at the same time. "To have this happen in my sickbay… under my watch…"
"Under our watch…" Malcolm countered. "We were all here."
"Fuck." Torey stormed across the room and slammed her fist into the wall. "Right under our fucking noses. Doctor, I want a full autopsy done… look for anything you can think of. Take her apart down to the atomic level if you have to…I want everything. And I'm assigning you a guard as well."
"Ah, but who can you trust?" Phlox asked, sadly. "If this person is as elusive as he or she seems…"
"Fine." She handed him her phase pistol – Malcolm hadn't even realised she'd booked one out. "You've been trained with this, I assume?"
"Yes, but…"
"Don't be a hero, Doc. Don't hesitate. It has a stun setting… if it turns out to be a false alarm you can apologise later. It's the one advantage they have over guns. I don't care if it's Sub-commander T'Pol, or Commander Tucker or even fucking Captain Archer. Fuck… I don't care if it's me. Shoot first, and ask questions later. I've got to go get my kit… don't touch anything. You can scan the body for a prelim… but move nothing."
"You know, that's not exactly advice I expected to hear from a copper." Malcolm followed her out.
"What? Don't touch anything? We say it all the time." Torey moved quickly and Malcolm had to hurry to keep up.
"Shoot first and ask questions later. And I thought it was 'First witness, first suspect.' Surely handing a suspect a weapon…"
"At least I know he's armed… I won't get lulled into thinking he isn't. And like you keep telling me… I'm not a cop anymore."
"There's more to it than that." There was obviously more to it than that… and as her commanding officer… as her partner in this investigation… he felt he needed to know. I also need another cigarette.
"I don't like it when people die in my custody. It's my job to protect them, to keep them alive." There was more to it than that too… but strangely – for her – she seemed to be keeping it hidden.
While Torey collected her kit, Malcolm made his escape. He ducked into the small toilet off the armoury and locked the door behind him.
If she smelled the mouthwash, she's definitely going to smell this. Then again, what was she going to do about it? Tell on him to Captain Archer? You already suspect him of being an alcoholic… are you really going to rat me out to the type of person you hate the most? At least this time, he had a lighter. A good little Eagle Scout… aren't you, Malcolm? Always prepared for every emergency. He let the chemicals soothe his nerves, used the simple act of smoking to control his breathing. The exhaust fans kicked in, detecting the presence of noxious fumes and pulling them away.
Someone banged on the door. "Hurry up, sir. Time is wasting."
"Coming, Ensign." He dropped the cigarette into the toilet and flushed. Evidence destroyed. He washed his hands and popped a piece of gum in his mouth…further evidence of an addictive past. I plan ahead to cover it up. At least she wouldn't smell it on his breath, just maybe his clothes and his hair. And I don't intend to have her sniffing those in the next little while – not that she ever would. While it might be nice, it would also be wrong. Not to mention the fact that she already thinks that I'm a transvestite.
She gave him an odd look as he came out… but said nothing more.
"I threw up." He lied. "I didn't think you'd want to smell it on my breath… and I sure as hell didn't want the taste in my mouth."
"Don't worry, sir. I wasn't planning to smell your breath again. The first time was just a little overwhelming." She granted him a small smile… one that didn't seem sarcastic. "Most people throw up with the messy ones."
"The stress is getting to me." That was truth… it was all about the stress.
"It should, sir. This is your first one. First times are never easy." She seemed to soften with his confession. They were alone in the hallway now, and she gave his hand a small squeeze. "You'll be fine."
"Thank-you, Ensign."
"No problem, Partner." To his regret, she pulled her hand away and became all business. "Just quit lying to me, eh? I can't trust you to work with me if you're going to do things like that."
"Lying…"
"You weren't throwing up, sir. No one recovers from puking that quickly… and I've got a good sense of smell."
"Yes… well…" How to get out of this one…
"Just… where did you find them, sir? I wouldn't have thought that cancer sticks were Starfleet issue."
He gave up. "No, they're not. Which is why I seized them in the first place."
"Ah… the privileges of rank." She sounded only slightly sarcastic… rare for her.
He grabbed her arm and stopped her for a moment. "Let me get this straight… you don't have a problem with this? I thought… given your background…"
"I have trouble with impaired judgement, and I have trouble with evasive and careless behaviour. Addiction is a medical problem – I won't deny that – but it's one that can be controlled. The problem is the intoxicating effects of most addictive substances and the accompanying behaviours of an addiction."
"The lying, the deception, the hurting other people."
"In the basic, mild cases… then there's the violence, theft, suicide… and all the other crimes that often come with it. The straight out callousness. The fact that when it comes down to it… a true addict will feed their habit before feeding their children."
He turned his head away, unable to face her. I knew this would damage my credibility, but I did it anyway. I have no one to blame for this but myself. Why should she trust him? Trip didn't trust him… and Trip trusted damn near everybody.
"Did you notice if anyone had taken any before you?"
"I considered that…" He sighed, and tried to remember. No… he'd pulled the first carton out. "Not that I could tell."
"I wasn't expecting that anybody had." She looked at him sideways. "Do you know why?"
"Because while cigarettes do contain nicotine… it's not easy to extract enough for a fatal dose – even though you don't need much. And Phlox's report said it was pure nicotine… not the adulterated stuff that you'd get from distilling prepared tobacco."
"Very good, sir." Again, he felt like a bright pupil receiving praise from his teacher. They reached sickbay before he could delve any more into the conversation.
Damn and blast. She shifted straight back into professional mode, closing down behind her walls again. He recognised now that that was how she used her bluntness… it let people think that she had nothing to hide, so they wouldn't dig deeper. And it drove them away, because they thought she didn't care.
"I was able to isolate the fatal substance," Phlox didn't even look up as they entered sickbay. "It appears to be another plant derivative, one which also works on the nicotinic receptors."
"So soon?" Malcolm walked over and looked at Phlox's preliminary report.
"Since I knew this time to look for a foreign agent, and given Crewman Style's symptoms I was able to narrow my search…"
"So which plant poison was it this time?" Torey began collecting evidence from the bed and from Styles just as meticulously as she had in the cargo bay.
"Chondrodendron tomentosum. It was a common poison among hunters in some rainforest areas on Earth. The victim is entirely paralysed… which explains why none of us heard anything… and death usually follows in seconds.
"Curare?" That was insane – nobody used curare anymore. It didn't even have a legitimate medical use… not when there were so many more effective and less risky drugs available.
"You know about it, sir?" Torey's head whipped around.
"Well, not from personal experience." After all… that wasn't on the list. Arsenic, cyanide, strychnine, tar, ammonia, freon, titanium oxide, carbon monoxide, benzene, cadmium, formaldehyde, turpentine – of course, the lovely nic, and not to mention a common anti-freeze… curare would simply be overkill.
"I've never even heard of it." Torey stared at him more closely now.
"My family has done extensive travel… all over the world. There are certain things you learn when you pay attention." He didn't mention that it had been his Aunt Sherry who introduced him to the topic of poisons… Stuart and his bugs were bad enough. Best not to volunteer the fact that you had a 'murder addict' in the family… even if she did prefer the fictional 'country house' variety. I doubt you'd be so keen if you saw it close up. Then again… this was Aunt Sherry – she'd always been a little dotty. "South American rainforests… Argentina and Brazil, mostly. It was used for hunting… it was also used as an anti-convulsant. If I remember correctly…" He stared up at the ceiling, thinking. "… the victim is paralysed, but remains cognizant until loss of consciousness due to hypoxia. The heart actually remains beating after the breathing stops… death is due to asphyxia."
"And they used this for hunting?" Torey clearly couldn't believe it. "Were they insane?"
It felt good being the one with the knowledge for a change. "Actually, while lethal if injected into the bloodstream, curare is rarely toxic when consumed… the acids and enzymes in the digestive system are capable of breaking it down to a point where it is relatively harmless."
"Cute. Well, since you're such an expert… any ideas on how they got it in here to administer it to Crewman Styles without any of us noticing?"
Malcolm sighed. He hated to implicate somebody else, but… "Actually, it wouldn't be that hard to sneak in here. If Doctor Phlox was distracted, he might not have noticed, and Crewman Styles' area was curtained off…"
"Are you suggesting, Lieutenant, that I wouldn't notice someone in my sickbay, killing my patient?" Phlox looked insulted – as he had every right to be.
Actually, that is precisely what I was suggesting. After all, Phlox hadn't paid that much attention when they'd returned from the armoury, and he'd been warned that his own life was in danger. "You let your latest little discovery get you caught up just now, and Ensign Holley and I weren't even trying to be stealthy. You let some non-uniform code stranger waltz in and dismiss…"
"That person is not the only one I have noticed on board this ship with non-regulation hair, Lieutenant. Lieutenant Hess, for example…"
"Lieutenant Hess does not work in the armoury, Doctor." Thank God, "And Commander Tucker's peculiarities in that area are hardly the issue here. What is at issue is the fact that you didn't notice someone in plain sight who was being fairly obvious. Your attention to detail with regards to security does leave something to be desired. And actually doctor, the entire process of paralysis can take as long as ten minutes. Death may follow in seconds after breathing stops… but usually it takes longer than that." This felt even stranger than knowing more than Torey – knowing more than Phlox. He felt edgy and on the verge of rage. Security wasn't Phlox's job; it was Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's job. As a Reed, there was a high standard to live up to, and he had just allowed two people to get killed – failing at that standard miserably.
And… he kicked himself mentally, it was damn near a third. He should have stayed here to secure the crime scene… should have stayed here to protect Phlox. But no, you had to go bugger off and have a quick smoke, instead. On the other hand…
He pulled Torey off to the side, away from Phlox's hearing. "Why didn't you tell me to stay behind… secure the crime scene?"
She sighed and closed her eyes, not like she was frustrated, but like a person recalling their reasoning for an event. "Well… would you have known what to look for if someone tampered with evidence anyway?" She nodded towards the doctor, "Especially if it was him?"
"Probably not," he admitted.
"And since you seem to know more about these poisons than he does… it was probably a good idea to keep an eye on you… because I'll bet he couldn't detect evidence tampering any quicker than you could… mostly because you don't understand each other's specialties. You probably don't know what procedures constitute an autopsy, and he probably isn't aware of crime-scene procedure. It's a lot easier to tamper with evidence when you have an official right to be there."
"But that meant we left him…" It didn't seem right to consider Phlox as a suspect… but they had to consider everybody.
"You know more about the placement of the security cameras. Even the ones that aren't supposed to be there?" She smiled, mischievously.
"Don't tell him about those." Malcolm spoke out of the side of his mouth. "He'll demand I take them out… patient privacy and all. And given the fact that Starfleet would back him on that…" He'd installed them as the number of violent sickbay incidences increased. Somehow it seemed as though all the dangerous people ended up in here.
"Right. So if he did anything, at least we have it on tape. You, on the other hand, would be better equipped to hide your actions."
"But wouldn't that be 'illegally obtained evidence?'" He'd spent some time brushing up on his criminal procedure last night… actually going to the lengths of speaking to Lieutenant Hess for advice on the right materials. "And therefore any evidence arising from that would be inadmissible?"
She sighed. "Possibly not. If the cameras were installed for the direct purposes of gathering evidence in this case… then the lack of warrant might prove fatal to our investigation. But since they were installed some time before this… a good lawyer might be able to argue that any evidence gathered from them is coincidental to the illegality of their existence. It's… it's like a peeping tom taping their neighbour… and catching a home invasion in the process. The evidence on that tape is still valid."
"In other words… if there is something on those tapes, we're on shaky ground, here."
"We're always on shaky ground," Torey muttered. "A good lawyer can screw up anything."
"She'll be glad to hear that. She always thought that was Commander Tucker's forte."
Torey laughed, suddenly. "Well, I am so glad to make Lieutenant Hess' day. Sometimes it's hard to believe she's as intelligent as they say."
"Captain Archer has a theory on that. According to him, apart they are actually two very intelligent people, but put them together and somehow the whole fails to equal even a fraction of the sum of the parts. Unless, of course, you're measuring chaos, at which point the synergy is amazing." He wanted to hold onto this moment a little longer… Torey's laugh made him feel good… almost dulling his craving for another smoke. Almost. "Seriously… I think her intelligence is the only thing that lets her get away with some of the stuff she does… even Commander Tucker can't protect her that much. You realise that she did UC Berkley Engineering and Stanford Law at the same time? That's considered pretty much impossible… it's a huge academic load… but she pulled it off. Even Starfleet will grant some leeway in return for that level of genius."
As for her being on Enterprise, well he'd learned that Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Hess were sort of a package deal: not only were they friends, but Commander Tucker seemed to be one of the few people who could keep her somewhat in line. Everyone else ended up being somewhat off-put by Hess' hyperkinetic personality… but Commander Tucker just claimed it was funny. So in typical Starfleet fashion, they'd been bundled together, and shipped out when Captain Archer insisted on Trip as his chief engineer. I wonder if you realised what you were getting, Captain.
A glance over at Phlox told him that the doctor was getting suspicious and impatient. "Right. So… how much more do we need, here?"
"Well… the bio-bed would be a good start. How much do you trust Commander Tucker?"
"More than I trust myself," Malcolm stated, firmly.
"All right." Torey seemed to accept that as being satisfactory. "Get him up here then… and have him dismantle this bed and move it down to the Armoury… no, better yet, your little stash point. We'll set up operations there… the less people who know where we are, the better. And we can use the storage lockers to contain the evidence."
And that will make Commander Tucker's day. "He'll be glad to assist us… provided I do the asking. He's just as likely to tell you to go to hell." Even if it did mean missing out on being a part of the investigation… if there was one thing bigger than Trip's curiosity, it was his pride.
Torey took another look around the Sickbay, her face returning to its usual moody expression. "Right under my fucking nose. This is getting personal."
Just don't be like that coyote. The last thing he wanted was for her to get so caught up in her chase, and run right off of a cliff. Because I'm not sure that you'd survive that particular landing.