Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

A/N: There's something very odd going on with the formatting. Any punctuation - even a comma -before a " is getting stripped out, unless it is a period. I'm putting them back in again. I'm also going to try some extra spaces with some. Fingers crossed...


Chapter 3

I pushed Malcolm's doorbell with some trepidation. I imagined he would be quite upset - possibly distraught- at the reprimand for firing off his phase pistol in his quarters. Starfleet was so important to him, as was doing his best - and I knew he was gunning for rapid promotion. No chance of that now, though.

He answered the door - still in uniform, I noted.

"Commander," he said, in a neutral voice.

"Can I come in, Malcolm?" I asked, trying to gauge his state of mind.

He gave an unexpected and quite brilliant smile, which took me aback. "Of course, Commander." He stepped back into his small quarters to give me room.

I looked around, not knowing how to start. I saw the evidence of the energy bolt, or bolts - the 'unauthorized discharge'. A heinous crime for an Armory officer. There was a blackened object on the shelf over Malcolm's bunk - the remains of that mysterious sculpture that had so puzzled me earlier in the day. I still didn't know what it had been in its former life, but now…

Malcolm took the initiative. "How are you, Commander?" he asked, solicitously.

"Uhh. Okay. And you?"

"Never better." Accompanied by another grin.

"Oh?" I dove in with both feet. "I find that difficult to believe."

"Why?"

"I've been speaking with the Captain."

"Oh." His face fell.

"Yes - 'oh'."

Malcolm slumped down onto his bunk. "What did he say?" he asked quietly.

"He said you were guilty of an unauthorized weapon discharge. Several in fact."

Malcolm colored and dropped his head, seemingly fascinated by his loosely clasped hands. "Yes, Commander," he mumbled, almost inaudible.

"Care to enlighten me?" I said.

"What do you mean?" Malcolm's eyes flickered up to meet my gaze.

"Well… I can't see how you would do that, Malcolm. It's not like you, is it?"

He sighed heavily, the previous good humor gone. This was more like the mood I had expected to find him in. He shrugged, and said,"We all make mistakes."

"Not you! Not this type of mistake!" I exclaimed.

Malcolm grimaced. He gave a quick shake of the hand. "Hmm. Well, you see, it went off accidentally… whilst I was cleaning-"

I interrupted. "Bullshit! You know, and I know, that isn't right!"

I had to go in strong. I guessed the Captain had already tried gentle persuasion, and he hadn't gotten anywhere.

Malcolm glanced up at me in surprise. I sat down opposite him.

"You can be truthful with me, you know," I said, encouragingly.

Malcolm looked doubtful, raising my hopes that he was about to come clean. But then he shook his head, and said with more vehemence, "As I said, it went off when I was cleaning it."

"Don't be ridiculous! I may not be a weapons' specialist, but even I know that doesn't make sense. What part were you cleaning anyway?"

Malcolm was startled. I don't suppose many people challenge him on his specialty. "Uhh. Well, you know, the emitters…" he floundered, waving a hand around and tailing off as he saw my skeptical expression.

"Huh. You don't say? Well, That won't make it go off, even if you were so stupid to clean something that doesn't need cleaning," I said, quite pleased I had managed to catch Malcolm out.

"Perhaps 'cleaning' was the wrong word. I should've said… polishing." He gave me that steely 'don't mess with me' look of his, narrowed eyes and all.

I gave a derisive laugh in return. "Polishing! You gotta be joking!"

"Not at all. I wanted to get a nice gleam to the casing and I snagged the trigger."

This was ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. I just looked at Malcolm and he looked at me. He knew he had been caught. Rabbit, headlights, anyone?

He broke the connection, and turned away to get something from a box. He crammed it in his mouth. "Some lozenges," he explained indistinctly, as I wondered what tack to take next.

Well… the Captain wanted to know why Malcolm had been in a destructive mode. I took a deep breath and prepared to wade in with his 'water polo' hypothesis, however unlikely that was. I needed to get a definitive answer from Malcolm on this point, for the Captain's sake. I knew what Malcolm's answer would be. When I relayed it back to the Captain, at least it would put his mind at rest.

"The Captain thinks you are… frustrated- " I started, wincing as I geared up to deliver the rest.

Malcolm interrupted. "Frustrated? " He gave a short laugh. "It's not surprising, is it? What with the fraternization regulations and everything. You know - chain of command, rank… it would only leave… Hess!" He looked at me, appalled.

That took me down a track I didn't even want to contemplate - I tend to look off-ship, if you know what I mean, and Hess… well… and Malcolm…

I tried to banish that train of thought, but unfortunately it had left a searing afterimage in my mind. I don't know if it will ever entirely disappear.

I said quickly, "Not that! Frustrated because you are not going to be watching water polo in future." I tendered the Captain's explanation with appropriate gravitas. I gave Malcolm my most solemn gaze - which he immediately undermined.

He let out a peal of laughter and slapped his thigh. I gazed at him, astonished and somewhat disconcerted. I can vaguely remember this Malcolm, but this Malcolm was quite drunk at the time. As was I. Hence the vagueness. Normal Malcolm does not laugh like this. He does not slap his thigh.

"Malcolm…" I said tentatively. "Are you sure you're… okay?"

He considered my question with some care. I could see his eyes cast heavenwards as he settled on the correct response. Then he looked directly at me, and said seriously, "Yes. I'm okay. Are you okay, Trip?"

"Umm. Yeah, I guess," I said, doubtfully.

Malcolm laughed again, shaking his head at my reply.

I felt my hackles rise. Something was very, very wrong here. Here was a man that rarely gives an uninhibited smile, yet he was in full flow despite receiving a serious blemish on his record. Had he become… unhinged? I had never really paid much attention in the 'Psychology of Leadership' lectures - it always seemed to me you either had it or you didn't.

I wished I had paid more attention to the lectures - the psychology part, anyway.

I saw now how unnaturally bright Malcolm's eyes were. There was a pink flush to his skin and he was compulsively fidgeting with his fingers.

"Umm. Malcolm…"

"Y'know, Trip, I'm Security Chief, Head of the Armory and Chief Tactical Officer! Three people! You're only Chief Engineer! Haa." He giggled and held up a single finger. "There's only one of you!"

"And how many of me can you see? Have you been drinking, Malcolm?" I had a growing suspicion. But as I said, I don't have a clear recollection of what he is like when inebriated, because, well… because…

"Naw… Use a title Trip - go on. I've got so, so, many, many…"

Yep! I was pretty sure. And annoyed. There is a time, and there is a place, and that was not here, not from our Armory Officer.

I replied, keeping my temper in check, "I'll give you another title if you're not careful" I leaned forward to get a better look at him.

Malcolm delivered a light punch to my shoulder. "Nah, you can keep 'Chief Engineer'. I only want good titles! Warp engineerin' 's borin'." He blinked owlishly at me. "I've got so, so, so, many, many, many… Is there an echo in here?" He squinted around the room. "That's not right is it, Trip? You should look into that. It might be a problem with the ship. P'r'aps it's getting bigger?"

His mouth formed a perfect 'O' at this potential bombshell.

Dammit! He was drunk. Dammit all to hell! "Okay, Mister Two Chiefs and One Head - which doesn't seem to be working properly right now - where is it?"

"Where's what?" replied Malcolm, all innocence.

"The bottle, or is it bottles? Y'know, if the Captain catches you like this, you'll be in big trouble, off duty or not."

"Mister Chief Engineer, the Security Chief has not been drinking."

"Could have fooled me!" I started poking around to find the evidence while Malcolm stood up to monitor my progress, swaying quietly as he watched me.

Nothing! Only meticulously organized kit. I bet he's never got a problem finding matching socks. Funny that, as he never seems to end up with a gorgeous female alien.

I ran my hand through my hair as I thought about the problem. Bad enough that he had been caught red-handed randomly firing off his weapon, but add drunkenness to that as well, and if he had been seen… Well… I had to try to get through to him.

"Malcolm, this is serious. Have you been drinking somewhere else? Did anyone see you?"

Malcolm frowned at me. He said very carefully - too carefully "I. Have. Not. Been. Drinking. Trip." He grinned as he reached the successful conclusion to his declaration.

I scratched my head, wondering how long it was going to take to sober him up. I debated getting Phlox over to speed things along.

Malcolm sidled up to me. "Watch out for Porthos," he confided. He tapped the side of his nose with an index finger.

Now what was he prattling on about? "And just what is that supposed to mean, huh?"

"Porthos is a…" His eyes darted around the room, then he lowered his voice to a whisper, "beagle." He looked at me with wide eyes.

"I know Porthos is a beagle!" I exclaimed, not bothering to keep my voice down. I was not going to humor a drunk Malcolm Reed. I'd had enough, truth be told.

"Ssshhh," said Malcolm, holding his index finger to his mouth and seemingly genuinely distressed. "Beagles have got very good hearing. Like Vulcans." He paused, and then said in a manner that suggested he had had a great revelation"Do you think she's in on it?"

"Who?"

"T'Pol, of course! She's got good hearing. She might be on their side, with the Captain as well!"

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Malcolm."

"They are very, very good shots, you know, beagles. And they've got phase pistols that are just the right size for their little paws." He waggled his forefinger at me - presumably to demonstrate an armed and dangerous beagle.

Now I was getting worried - really worried. Exactly how much had he managed to put away to end up in this state? What had he been drinking?

Malcolm meandered on. "'Course, the Captain hasn't got good hearing, but Porthos lives with him! That's why I didn't tell him- the Captain, not Porthos. Can't give the enemy any intelligence… gotta keep it under wraps. Loose lips sink ships, Trip."

It dawned on me that there was something missing from this scenario. It should've smelled like a brewery in there, even with the air recycling, but there was nothing - no telltale aroma. And for a drunken man, Malcolm was managing to speak pretty clearly when he bothered to. Loose lips sink ships, indeed!

I sniffed at Malcolm's breath. No alcohol. Odd.

He swayed back away from me and shook his head. "No, Trip. I said good hearing, not good scenting ability." Then he stared at me in shock. "Oh! Beagles are good at smelling things too, aren't they? And so are Vulcans" He clutched at my arm. "I was right, Trip! T'Pol's involved as well. It's a conspiracy!"

With considerable difficulty, I levered his fingers off my arm before the interruption in the blood supply caused my hand to drop off. "No, no, calm down, Malcolm. Listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Promise you'll listen carefully?"

"Okay."

"This thing you've got about beagles… it's not true- "

"Trip? "

"Yeah? "

"Have you got a dog, back home? Any breed - not just a beagle."

"Uhh, no, no I haven't." See, technically, Princess Fifi Fluffybelle belongs to the whole family, and there was no way I was going to admit to Malcolm that I might be colluding with 'the enemy'.

"Good. I was reading this book… it's a true story… and in it, there's this beagle, called Gerald, and he's really a mole! And- "

"Malcolm! "

"He's a mole, trying to find out what the secrets are, and it's connected with this secret source, that they've codenamed 'Witchcraft', and then they go to talk to someone called… uhh, I can't remember his name, but anyway- "

"Malcolm! Please, stop, would ya! "

"Yeah, but Gerald- "

"Malcolm! " I couldn't take any more! I clapped my hand over his mouth to shut him up. "Be quiet! " Then I said something I wasn't proud of. "The beagles will hear you, otherwise." I really shouldn't have played into his delusions like that, but he was beginning to drive me crazy as well!

Malcolm stopped trying to speak and made big round eyes at me. I took my hand away, and miraculously he kept silent.

For a moment.

"Trip? "

"Yeah? "

"Can I tell you something? "

"Yeah…"

"You won't tell the Captain? "

I wasn't sure about this. I don't like to make promises I might not be able to keep, even to crazy men. "Why don't you want me to tell him? "

"Loose lips sink ships - I told you that already! " he said impatiently.

I sighed. I could see I was going to have to make an exception for this particular crazy man. "I won't tell him. What do you want to tell me? "

Malcolm nodded over to the charred mess on his shelf, zapped by his energy bolt. He said"I shot it."

"Umm…"

"The beagle, Trip."

"Beagle..? Beagle? Oh, so that's what it is… was."

I looked at the lump with renewed interest, but couldn't make out much. Yeah - it was an impressively dead ex-beagle-sculpture.

"It was after me. I had no choice." Malcolm gave me a somber look. "I had my weapon set on 'kill'."

What! What was going on in Malcolm's brain? Exactly how long had he been in this delusional state? How had the Captain failed to notice Malcolm wasn't behaving normally earlier?

I said carefully, teasing out the truth"So - it wasn't an accidental discharge, then? "

Malcolm looked at me seriously. He said, "No - it was self-defense. It came after me, and there's no cover here, you see. It was the beagle or me."

If I hadn't known better, I would've imagined he was recounting a mission he had been on.

Malcolm ran a hand through his hair. He said, with a touch of desperation"But I couldn't tell the Captain, what with him being so close to Porthos. He might have chucked me out of an air lock! Do you understand? Because I shot my beagle? "

Uh oh. I looked at Malcolm's earnest face. He really seemed to believe this. This was way beyond me. Certainly way beyond any 'Psychology of Leadership' course I may have slept through.

"Yes, I think I do understand. Look - Malcolm, I don't want to alarm you, but I don't think you are well." Perhaps this was a consequence of that head injury he'd got? He certainly wasn't rational. I had to get him to Phlox.

He bristled. "I feel fine, Trip."

I noticed he was starting to shiver. "You're trembling. I think we need to get you to Sick Bay."

He crossed his arms in an attempt to hide it, but it just meant that instead of only his arms shaking, his whole body was quivering. "It's nothing." He smiled at me. Then his teeth began to chatter. He added, "It's a new training technique."

"What? " Now what was he going on about?

"Yeah, you know how meditation calms you down? Well, this is a method to get your adrenaline working before combat."

Oh yeah? Like I'm gonna buy that! "Uh huh. I see. Well, we'll see what Phlox makes of it."

Malcolm shook his head. "No, no - I've scheduled Phlox for tomorrow. How about you, Commander? I'll put you down as well, should I? Start off with some easy throws and work up from there? "

He gave an evil grin that sent a chill down my spine. Unarmed combat practice with the Anti-Beagle- No chance!

"No! Absolutely not. I'm far too busy right now in Engineering, and… and you are not going to distract me that easily, Lieutenant. We go see Phlox now! " Malcolm can be a devious bastard at times, but I was not going to be sidetracked.

His grin vanished and he scowled at me. He said with a sneer, "Phlox is a quack. All his animals say that about him."

"All his…? C'mon, let's get you seen to. Don't make me have to order you, mister." I gave him a friendly grin to ease his concerns. I didn't want to drag him down to Phlox by force if I could help it. I had a feeling that would provoke actual unarmed combat - not 'merely' a practice session.

"I wouldn't make a good toast rack, you know, " remarked Malcolm, conversationally.

"Excuse me? "

"A toast rack. I'm too big, you see? Or an umbrella stand."

My mouth flapped uselessly for a couple of minutes. Eventually, I stuttered out, "Uh, no, I'm sure you wouldn't."

That seemed to satisfy him, because he gave a grin, and then said, "Fancy a lozenge? "

"What? " These lightening changes of topic and mood were throwing me. At least with the beagles, I had some idea what was going on.

"A lozenge. They're very nice." Malcolm popped one in his mouth and made appreciative noises.

I hesitated. I was feeling hungry. I hadn't eaten for a while and this conversation with Malcolm had worn me out.

"What? " said Malcolm, plaintively. "Don't you trust me? I thought you were my friend. They're lovely, you know, Trip." He ate another one, then held out the box and rattled it in front of me, temptingly.

I grinned at him. I was trying to get him to relax, wasn't I- not feed his paranoia. I gave in. "Okay, thanks."

I took one of the spherical, black lozenges. It was interesting - an odd flavor that I couldn't place and a strange texture. I rolled it around in my mouth. I became aware of Malcolm peering at me intently. He had a peculiar look on his face - almost amusement.

"What do you think? " He licked his lips as he observed my reactions to the lozenge.

"Yeah. Nice."

I bit into it and felt a thick liquid coat my tongue. I started to feel calmer, more optimistic. Phlox would be able to straighten Malcolm out, whatever had gotten into him. Hmm. Yeah, it was very appealing. I took my time with the lozenge, feeling a twinge of disappointment as I finally swallowed it and it was all gone. This didn't fit in with the Growarths' produce, which as far as I could see, was uniformly disgusting.

I was intrigued. I asked Malcolm, "Did Chef make them? "

Malcolm giggled, reminding me again how unstable he was. Malcolm is not a natural giggler.

He pulled himself together just long enough to say, "Not Chef - another member of the crew." He made some snorting noises which I chose to ignore.

"Oh. Well, good job, whoever made them."

Interesting. Not the Growarths either then? If Malcolm wanted to be mysterious about the source, I wasn't bothered. I did feel like another lozenge as it happened, but thought that perhaps later on would be better, after I'd got our crazy Armory Officer sorted out. Which reminded me"Malcolm - you haven't got a weapon in here still, have you? "

I mean, I think I'd have found any weapon when I was looking for an alcohol stash, but he can be real sneaky about armaments. The Captain had relieved him of one phase pistol, but I wouldn't put it past Malcolm to have a back-up.

Malcolm sobered up immediately. He glared daggers at me, and then jerked his head upward. "No! The Captain took it. I'm bloody annoyed about that! How am I supposed to do my job properly? "

He dropped his hands by his side, poised on the balls of his feet. I saw a muscle twitch at his cheek.

Uh oh, time to get him to Phlox quickly before we went from happy, paranoid Malcolm to angry, paranoid Malcolm.

Did I believe him about not having another weapon? I had no choice, I guess. If I couldn't find anything, and he wouldn't confess, there wasn't much else I could do.

I said soothingly, "Well - perhaps we can do something about that later. Come on, let's see if Phlox is in."

I shoved him out of the door and in the general direction of the turbolift, hoping we wouldn't meet too many people along the route.


TBC