Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for the encouraging reviews - it's good to learn people are enjoying this. And a repeat thank you to G.Eliot for her input.



Chapter 6

I stood at Malcolm's door and checked my chronometer. He had to be back to normal by now - didn't he? I braced myself and rang the bell.

"Trip." Malcolm appeared a little tired, but that maniacal intenseness had gone, to my relief.

"How do you feel?"

He gave a sheepish smile. "Okay. Back to my usual self - I think."

"Good. Are you ready for dinner?"

"Are you sure you want to risk it?" He made it a joke, but I could detect his underlying anxiety. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

I grinned at him. "Yeah. Come on. It's meatloaf tonight!"

He shuddered. "Ah, yes. Chef's speciality. Let's hope there are other options!"

"Well, there's always moldy stomach lining. Travis can recommend that."

"Moldy… I don't even want to contemplate that. I think I will stick with something nice and safe tonight, thank you, even if that does mean meatloaf!"

We set off for the Mess Hall. I wasn't sure how far to push it. I mean, he had been pretty funny about the beagles, but I didn't want to trigger anything that might still be lurking. It made for a strained conversation, with talk about duty rosters and such.

Eventually, I decided we had to get it into the open. Malcolm wasn't going to broach the subject - that was clear. It was up to me. Taking a deep breath, I said, "So - how much do you remember about when you were… affected by the medication?"

He took his time answering me. "This and that. Some things are quite clear, and others… I'm not so sure about." He reddened. I wondered what part exactly he was recalling. "I... uhh… made some log entries, but I haven't got up the nerve yet to listen to them."

"If you like, I'll listen to them for you, then tell you what they include." That would be interesting!

Malcolm came to a startled full stop and made a gurgling noise. At last, it resolved into words. "Uh, no… no thanks, Trip. Thanks for the offer, though. It's just… I'd rather keep it to myself - what I said when I was round the bend."

"Yeah. I can understand that." It was disappointing but inevitable, I guess.

We resumed our course. Malcolm said, "I can't believe the things I did, what I said…"

"It wasn't your fault," I reassured him.

"I know, but it all had to be based on something didn't it? I mean, take all those things I said to Phlox - what he put in his message that I apparently said… " He winced. "Cuttlefish turds! I ask you…"

"But you didn't mean all that, did you?" I was sure it was the product of a deranged mind - for the most part.

"No. But I must admit," he dropped his voice and glanced around for eavesdroppers before continuing. "I do sometimes have my doubts about him."

"Yeah, but what you said…"

"I know! I can't believe I said all that! Honestly, Trip, I don't think like that - really I don't! I went to see Phlox, to explain to him, but I get the distinct feeling he didn't really believe me. It's… rather worrying." He chewed at his lower lip.

I guess it would be a valid concern for Malcolm, what with the amount of time he spends at Phlox's mercy. I made a mental note to follow up with Phlox on this. I didn't want Malcolm to suffer unnecessarily.

"I'll speak to him as well."

"Oh, would you, Trip? I would really appreciate that." He visibly relaxed.

"Yeah. No problem."

"Travis came by earlier to see how I was. I thought that was kind of him." Malcolm gave me a considering look.

"Yeah." 'Kind' my ass. I knew what Travis had been up to. Trying to get Malcolm to spill the beans and to persuade him to give water polo another chance.

I saw Malcolm's eye was still on me and gave him a confident grin back. Travis' project was down to Travis - and only Travis. I had a clear conscience where that was concerned. Um, except for placing my bets, of course, but that was no different to almost the whole crew, so yeah, I wasn't guilty.

We arrived at the Mess Hall to find we had plenty of options. I went for meatloaf - of course - and Malcolm picked up a curry with rice. Travis was already there, sitting talking intently with some friends. He had an empty plate in front of him - I guessed he hadn't been quite so adventurous this evening. I could also guess the subject of his conversation. The covert glances he was directing our way confirmed my suspicions.

Malcolm and I found an empty table and sat down.

"Things are looking up!" said Malcolm, as he considered his chicken madras or whatever it was. "A most acceptable alternative to meatloaf. Still, Chef has to cater for all tastes!" He pulled an exaggerated face at my meatloaf.

"Yeah," I said, happy to play the game. I held my loaded fork up. "This is for the more refined palate, but I'm sure he can manage to lower himself for the rest of you!"

Malcolm gave a mock snort of derision. I was finally convinced he was back to his normal self, and started to relax.

We ate in appreciative silence, neither wanting a distraction from Chef's creations.

I considered the problem posed by the Captain's attempted hijack of Movie Night. Being the Captain, he has certain advantages… but there's always a solution, isn't there? I had already discovered that his list of musicals was protected by a labyrinthine password trail too complicated to believably delete it 'accidentally', even with Hoshi's assistance. How else could I deal with it?

I was distracted from my vital task by Travis, who stopped at our table on his way out.

"Hello, Commander, Lieutenant," he said respectfully. He didn't fool me. I could see him evaluating Malcolm. Travis can sound so innocent when he puts his mind to it.

"How was the moldy stomach lining tonight, huh?" I asked him, with a wink at Malcolm.

Travis looked like he might throw up, but managed to regain his composure. He gave a light laugh. "I decided to leave some for someone else - I don't want to be too greedy. Uhh, Lieutenant - so, no change of mind then, huh? No water polo tonight?"

Too casual, Travis, I thought. Way too casual. I was sure Malcolm would be suspicious.

Malcolm sat back and gave a huge, relieved grin. "No. Nor tonight and not ever!" he declared. "Water polo is permanently off the menu!"

Travis tried to return his smile, but it wasn't his best attempt. "Not ever?" he inquired, somewhat pitifully.

"Not ever!" said Malcolm, maintaining his grin. "And nothing else either. Not football, baseball, basketball… synchronized swimming… wellie throwing…" He ticked them off on the fingers of his left hand.

"Any sport, in fact." I offered. I guessed 'wellie throwing' must be in that category, though I'd never heard of it. It sounded dangerous.

"Correct!" Malcolm was triumphant.

"That's definite, then?" said Travis dismally, abandoning his sorry attempt at a smile. "Uhh. Right. I better go. There's something I need to do."

I said, "Yeah, Travis - I'll see you later. We need to discuss your project. I think you have some results for me." I wanted to get him in the right frame of mind for paying out my winnings.

He shook his head. "No, I don't think I do."

"Yes, we need to," I insisted. "I'll come by after I've eaten."

Travis sighed. "Okay, Commander." He sloped off.

Malcolm watched him go. He said thoughtfully, "Travis doesn't seem his normal self. Do you think he's all right? He seems kind of down."

"He'll get over it." I admit I was a little abrupt, but Travis' attitude had rankled with me. I knew I had won, and he was not about to wriggle out of it.

Malcolm shrugged. "If you say so." Then he stopped eating, put down his fork and said sincerely, "Thank you, Trip, for helping me when I was… ill."

"What are friends for? It wasn't so bad, anyway."

"No?"

I laughed, pleased that he seemed to be coming to terms with it all. "No. Actually, it was kinda amusing!"

"Oh?"

I put on an English accent - "I wouldn't make a good toast rack." I snorted. It was a good impression, if I do say so myself.

Malcolm gave a wry smile and picked up his fork again.

There was so much material. I intoned, "Put a tail on Porthos. He's in league with the Andorians."

Malcolm's smile slipped a little. He stabbed at a piece of meat.

"Those beagles - cunning little devils." I let out a bellow.

Malcolm paused his eating, and said, "Okay, I get the picture."

"What do you call a Denobulan with eight legs? A tarantula!" I wheezed at that one. I didn't know why I'd missed how hilarious it was before. It was that off-the-wall English-type humor, I now realized. Leastways, I thought it was. A piece of meatloaf went down the wrong way as I tried to control my amusement.

"I said, okay, Trip. I was ill, wasn't I?" Malcolm wasn't laughing. He wasn't even smiling.

"Ill? You were completely loopy!" I spluttered.

Malcolm cringed as heads turned in our direction. "Keep your voice down! Everyone is looking at us."

I raised my eyebrows. Did he really think it was a secret? On this ship? I said levelly, "They already know, Malcolm. Don't let it bother you."

He paled. "Oh? And how do they already know, huh? Have you been gossiping?"

That slur again! "I do not gossip. For your information, you were not exactly 'low profile'."

He gritted his teeth. "I see. Now, can we forget about it all for a bit?"

"If that's what you want."

"Yes, it is."

"Don't you want to know what you did, exactly?"

"No, thank you."

"Sure?"

"Yes. Positive."

I shrugged. I had it all stored up. I'm sure it will come in useful in the future sometime.

Oh, well, if he didn't want to talk about that, there was still something else to clear up. "So, Malcolm. What you said about the water polo - you definitely aren't going to watch it?"

He shook his head and grunted a 'No' as his mouth was full.

"Did you tell the Captain you had made a mistake, that you didn't want to watch it after all?" This was it - I would get to the bottom of the Great Water Polo Escape. I had tried to put it out of my mind, but now I was so close to solving the mystery, I couldn't let it slide.

Malcolm swallowed and gave me a calculating look. "What's it worth?"

"Excuse me?"

"To tell you? If I tell you how I managed to avoid it, what will you do in return?"

"Hell, Malcolm, why can't you just tell me how you did it? Everyone on the ship must know by now you're not going to be watching any more water polo. I don't see why it's such a big deal."

"You're the one that's making a big deal of it. You and Travis. I wonder why?" He glared at me.

Damn. Busted. I wondered how long he had suspected? I remembered his comment about Travis' visit earlier, and how he'd observed my reaction. He really is a devious so and so.

I couldn't stop myself squirming under that unforgiving stare.

Malcolm said coldly, "You need to 'discuss a project' with Travis, don't you? What was the bet? How long it was before the idiotic Englishman surrendered?" He scowled at me and I suddenly hoped that he was indeed fully recovered. Dangerous and crazy would be an unbeatable combination.

I wasn't stupid enough to confess, so I merely shrugged and made a non-committal noise.

He glared at me some more. Then he smiled, but it was the kind of smile that sent a chill over me. Possibly bordering on 'evil', I would say.

Malcolm said carefully, "Tell you what. You let me choose the Movie Night program and I will tell you."

"No way!" My answer was immediate and forceful.

He shrugged. "Okay," he said mildly.

I watched as he concentrated again on his food. I wanted to know, but that was too great a price to pay. Picking the movies is the best thing about running Movie Night. No - the best thing is watching the after-effects, but as they are dependent on the choice, it amounts to the same thing.

My best selection to date has got to be 'Alien'. Seeing Malcolm trying to deal with a panicky crew after that was the best! Of course, they had already been primed by showings of '2001 - A Space Odyssey' and 'Quatermass and the Pit' in previous weeks. Oh, yeah, and Travis had come up with some 'interesting' glitches for our systems which added to the overall movie immersion experience. We should have the slogan: 'See the Movie - Then Live It!' but I guess that would tip people off. And possibly put them off - uhh, depending on the movie.

I couldn't give all that up.

Malcolm carried on eating, pointedly ignoring me.

Perhaps I could meet him partway? A small sacrifice was worth it, wasn't it? I took a deep breath to ready myself. This was tough…

"Tell you what, you can choose next week's movie. How's that?" I winced even as I made the offer. A little part of me died. I knew what his pick would be - he'd been badgering me about it often enough.

He looked up at me, then shook his head. "Nope."

"I thought you wanted to watch 'Die Hard 32'?"

"'Die Hard 32: The Remake'," he corrected me. "Yes, I do, but that's not all I want to see. One movie isn't enough."

My heart plummeted. "How many then?"

"Four month's worth."

"You gotta be kidding! One month."

"Three."

"Two!"

"Done!" Malcolm slammed a hand down to seal the deal.

Oh no! What had I done? Two months of movies chosen by Malcolm. The bidding frenzy had carried me away. It reminded me that time I had acquired a hunk of Green Kryptonite... no, of course not, not real Green Kryptonite. It had been real dough, though.

I guess I looked kinda shell-shocked, 'cause he gave me a wicked grin, and said, "Ready to renege already, Mister Tucker?"

"Hell, no. You have to be one hundred percent truthful with me, though."

"I'm hurt! As if I would be anything but!" Yeah, he didn't sound hurt. In fact, he was totally reveling in it. He mastered his glee and promised sincerely, "Of course, I will be entirely candid with you." Then he spoiled the effect by laughing quietly to himself.

I didn't think this was anything to laugh about. Movie Night is not a joking matter, in my opinion. But then I had a stroke of inspiration!

I said, "Good. That's all I ask. Oh, and another thing - the Captain has asked me to alternate with his selections, so you'll have to include those as well." Genius! I am a genius! I could get in the Captain's good books and yet the audience would blame Malcolm. Yeah. Perhaps this deal had at least one redeeming factor.

"The Captain? When did he ask you to do that?" asked Malcolm suspiciously.

"Today, as a matter of fact. If you don't believe me, here's the evidence." I pulled the offending PADD from my pocket and slid it across the table to him.

Malcolm sniffed at it and switched it on. I saw his expression change from distrust to confusion, then disbelief and finally shock. He looked up with wide-eyes and gasped out, "'Snow White'? This has to be a joke!"

"Nope. No joke. To quote the Captain, 'It's got great songs although the Queen is a little scary'. Uhh, I guess he was joking about the scary part."

"I sincerely hope so," muttered Malcolm, checking back down as if to reassure himself he really had seen what he had seen. He shook his head, aghast. "I can't use this list!"

I said airily, "Talk to the Captain, then. Explain to him why you aren't going to provide the mix he requested."

I knew Malcolm wouldn't - couldn't.

He chewed at his lower lip as he scrolled down some more. He said, "I'll tell the audience who chose what. I am not going to be thought of as a man who would want to watch… gah… 'Bedknobs and Broomsticks'."

I thought I'd misheard him, but no - there it was on the list. I suppressed a laugh, and said, "You'll have to sit through it. That's one of the organizer's duties, to make sure it all goes smoothly."

He grunted. "Hmm. Perhaps I could run them as double-bills? Start with one of the Captain's movies then follow with one of mine to wash away the nasty taste. Yeah… that documentary film on the development of energy beam weapons would go okay with 'The Sound of Music'."

I gave him credit for lateral thinking - a double feature was not a bad idea - but he was going to wreck my audience figures. I sighed. I would have to put a lot of effort into publicity, so they knew when to return again after he had done his stint.

"It's do-able," announced Malcolm thoughtfully, tapping the tabletop with a finger. He gave me a tight smile, and added a glum, "Heigh-ho."

I snorted. Do-able, my ass! "Oh yeah? How many do you think you'll get to sit through your program?" I was tempted to add my own 'Snow White' reference by calling him Dopey but managed to quash the impulse.

"I can guarantee the Armory team-"

"You are not going to make it an order?" I exclaimed. Surely even Malcolm couldn't be that dictatorial?

"It would be educational for them."

I couldn't believe it. He actually sounded serious. I studied him for signs he was pulling my leg, but was faced with an impeccably blank expression.

"'The Sound of Music' - educational?" I said, imagining some of those big Security guys being forced to watch a story about a nun running around on a mountain, dressed in a curtain.

"No, of course not," said Malcolm. Then his eyes half-closed as he said musingly, "Although there is that plan for escaping under the enemy's nose by singing a farewell song." He gave a start as he realized he'd let slip some revealing information. In an attempt to cover up, he said hastily, "No, I meant 'Big Beam Weapons: the Full History'. Don't be ridiculous, Trip."

"Wouldn't dream of it," I said acidly, wondering exactly how Malcolm had acquired a detailed knowledge of the plot of 'The Sound of Music'. Not only that, but a part of the plot that occurred a long way into the movie. Of course, how I know about it is neither here nor there…

Malcolm switched off the PADD and returned to his food.

Damn! I was forgetting something important here. "So? What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"How did you get out of watching water polo?"

Malcolm grinned at me as he chewed. He swallowed and then shoveled another forkful into his mouth. Malcolm is one of the most deliberately annoying people I know.

I didn't say anything. I can be patient. Then I realized my hand was clenched so tight on my fork it was painful.

He smiled and said, "Well, Trip. I can honestly say, the reason I am not going to watch any water polo is…" He paused to draw out the tension. "… sheer natural talent."

Huh? What was that supposed to mean? That didn't tell me anything. It was as bad as 'by mutual consent'. "Explain that, would ya?"

He shrugged. "Like I said, it is a natural aptitude, if you will."

"Natural? What does that mean?" It was like he was speaking an entirely different language. Words were emerging from his mouth but failing to arrange themselves in any meaningful pattern.

"Innate or inherent. Not something I had to explain to the Captain. I didn't have to say a word." He added impishly, "Scout's honor!"

I blinked and ran my hand over my face. Was I stupid or was that not a real informative explanation? "Malcolm, I need a little more here."

"Sorry. That's all I'm saying on the subject. Now, I've fulfilled my end of the bargain - I expect you to do the same. I'll start to put a movie program together."

Exactly how did he think he had fulfilled the bargain?

Before I could follow up, Malcolm changed the subject. "The Captain came to see me earlier."

"Oh?"

"Yes. He found out about my… ahh… unfortunate response to the medication. He said he would take it into consideration when making a report of today's… events." Malcolm winced and prodded at his rice with his fork. "The Captain said I wouldn't be held accountable."

"I see." I was still thinking about his cryptic comment concerning 'natural talent'. I didn't think Malcolm had met the conditions of our agreement, but wasn't entirely sure. But then I caught his eye and I saw how upset he was, before he blinked and looked away. I guess it's no fun to discover you were out of your tree for several hours - and it was particularly tough on Malcolm seeing as how controlled he usually is. I was prepared to cut him a little slack. He'd had a rough day, all in all.

I said, "It wasn't your fault, right? So you shouldn't be blamed for it."

"I suppose so. I can't help feeling I should have been able to control myself better."

"I expect if it had been anyone else, they would have shot up the entire ship and not just their quarters!"

He flinched at that comment and tried to cover up with a weak smile. Damn! Me and my big mouth.

"I'm sorry, Malcolm. That was a little insensitive of me. But it's true. Who knows how the rest of us would react? Still - it's all over now, isn't it? You can forget about it."

"Yes, indeed," he said. "That's what I try to tell myself." Then his whole demeanor changed, like a switch toggling over. Off with the gloom, and in its place a cheerful buoyancy. "The Captain also gave me some excellent news. He has agreed to let me carry out gunnery practice tomorrow!"

"What? That's the first I've heard about it!"

Malcolm became animated, his eyes shining. "I'm going to use the opportunity to get to the bottom of our targeting sensor array once and for all. Lots of precision fire and recording the displacement of shot from target. I've already got a lot of the sequences worked out - I'm going to use combinations, also, of course. And I'm going to be firing off some torpedoes as well. It'll take all day!" He gave a contented sigh. "It's brilliant!"

I blinked. All day! That was not good, not good at all. I said, "But we need to take the ship to high warp tomorrow - to check out the injector adjustments."

Malcolm dismissed my objection with airy confidence. "Oh no. The Captain says my target practice has top priority. You can do the high warp stuff after I've completed my practice - if there's time."

"But I need to go to warp 4.5 or higher." The Captain knew about the work on the injectors, so what was he doing letting Malcolm have a free rein tomorrow?

"There might be time to do it later, as I said. However, I will be using the ship as a weapons platform for most of the day."

"Enterprise - a 'weapons platform'?" How could he talk about the ship like that? Had he no respect?

He gave a broad smile. "She will be tomorrow. About time too. When was the last time we had a proper gunnery session?"

"Not that long ago."

"Yes it was. Do you know that in the days of sail, Royal Navy captains - the better ones anyway - used to exercise their guns every day? They were able to obtain impressive accuracy and rate of fire."

"You may not have noticed, but Enterprise does not have any sails or the need to drill men to fire broadsides!"

"The principle is the same."

"No, it's not. We are not a warship," I pointed out.

"But we get involved in shooting matches."

"For which we are adequately prepared."

"One can always improve, Commander."

He always has an answer.

I'd had enough of verbal tennis. I wasn't going to be able to shift Malcolm's plans. He was blissfully staring into space, no doubt dreaming about exploding asteroids. The only person who could do something sensible was the Captain.

x - x - x

"Yes, Trip. I did tell Malcolm we would set aside tomorrow for his targeting practice."

"But, Captain, I need to finish off the final injector work and then take the ship to high warp. I can't do that if Malcolm is sitting around taking pot shots at some harmless heap of rock!"

The Captain smiled sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Trip, but Malcolm has been recommending we do this for a long time. It's not one of my favorite things, but perhaps he has a point?"

I pushed away thoughts of bright copper kettles stuffed with kittens - I think I have become infected by musicals - and said, "As far as I can see, those cannons of his work perfectly fine. Most of the time anyway."

"That's what I keep telling him, but Malcolm just won't agree. He insists he can do better."

"But you're the Captain…" I said helplessly.

He gave a short laugh. "I know, Trip, but that doesn't guarantee I can do whatever I want. Malcolm has had a rough time today and I wanted to help get him over it."

I was defeated. The Captain can't resist doing a good deed, due to his scouting background I guess, and once his mind is set there is no shaking him.

The Captain clapped me on the shoulder. "You'll be able to make the final injector adjustments and tests when Malcolm's playing with his guns, won't you? If we have time, we can do your high-speed run later, but if not, we'll carry it out the following day. It's only a confirmatory procedure isn't it?"

"The high warp part - yeah, it is. Okay, I guess I can live with that." The Captain was right. It wasn't impossible. Just… annoying, not to get it all completed seeing as how everyone had been busting their guts to achieve it in the shortest time. They'd still have the satisfaction of finalizing the adjustments though. Confirmation could wait - would have to wait - that's all.

I left the Captain's quarters feeling a might happier, that is, until I noticed I was humming 'Doe, a deer'.

x - x - x

After seeing the Captain, I made my way to my next port of call - Travis.

I couldn't win on the 'how long Malcolm sticks water polo' bet, as that had been declared invalid, but the 'how he cracks'? Well, I was dead on with that, wasn't I? I was determined to collect my winnings. I might have to yield to Malcolm's cannons but I could still collect on his bout of loony behavior.

I rang the doorbell with some confidence.

Travis opened the door and greeted me without his usual geniality. I suspected a lot of people were giving him a hard time.

I decided not to tell him that Malcolm had it all figured out - that he knew about the betting pool. I was sure Travis would find out one way or another. If he was very unfortunate, he might find he had been mysteriously set down for extra unarmed combat practice. But then, Travis doesn't seem to mind that so much.

"Hi, Travis!" I decided to leave no room for discussion. "I'm here to collect my winnings."

Travis consulted a PADD. As if he needed to! He knew full well what my choice had been. He said, "I'm sorry, Commander, the 'how long he sticks with it' was declared null and void, and as I have it down here, you went for 'rampage with a phase pistol' for 'how he cracks'."

"Yeah, that's right. So I win on the 'how he cracks'."

"Um, no. I'm afraid not, Sir." Travis was regretful but firm.

What? What was he playing at? There wasn't any doubt at all. I said, "I saw the evidence. Malcolm admitted to me he shot up his quarters. He even got pulled up before the Captain for it."

Travis shook his head. "I'm sorry. That does meet the requirements."

This wasn't good enough. I know Travis has his sources. He can't have missed what had happened. The whole ship knew about it - there were so many witnesses.

"So - let me get this straight. Malcolm goes berserk and - with a phase pistol - fires off wild shots, and you say that doesn't count? I think you need to explain, 'cause I don't see it myself."

Travis said unhesitatingly - and I got the impression I wasn't the first he'd spouted off to - "The dictionary definition of 'rampage' is: 'turbulently or aggressively excited behavior or rushing about'."

"Yeah? Well I call firing a phase pistol 'aggressive'."

"Yes, Commander - possibly. But as I understand it, Lieutenant Reed believed he was acting in self-defense, hence it would be defensive and not aggressive."

I opened my mouth to dispute the point, but shut it again when I realized I couldn't. It did, however, show that Travis knew exactly what Malcolm had done. I still couldn't understand how he could claim I hadn't won.

I got Travis to repeat his definition. There was still room for debate as I saw the situation. I said, "Okay, say we rule out 'aggressive' - hypothetically, of course - it still leaves 'turbulently' and 'rushing about'."

Get out of that, Travis! I should be a lawyer! Ha!

Travis gave a grin. "There was no witness. It is not known if the Lieutenant was acting in a turbulent manner or rushing about. Based on available knowledge, he probably acted with cold professionalism."

"What?" I exclaimed. What kind of double-talk was that!

"Well, Commander, does he get unduly agitated in facing an enemy?"

"He must… sometimes." Malcolm was usually chilled out about it, though. Travis had me there.

"Yeah? Enough to be 'rushing about'?" He shook his head slowly. "I don't think so."

I saw my dough dwindling away to nothing. I sighed. "I guess not."

"And also, there isn't a lot of space in his quarters to rush about, is there?"

Dropping my head, I admitted final defeat. "No."

Travis smiled again - a broader one. "Sorry, Commander, but I've got to play fair."

I snorted. Play fair! If he played fair like that too often he wouldn't get any takers for future 'projects'.

Deciding I had had enough, I turned to go, but then something struck me. "Travis - did anyone win on 'how he cracks'? How did you define it?"

"Malcolm cracked by destroying his animal sculpture."

"So no one won?"

"One person did - Hoshi."

"Oh."

I was sore Travis had not agreed with me, but at least he had paid out to Hoshi. But what strange intuition or calculation had led her to come up with the beagle sculpture? I resolved to discuss any of Travis' future projects with her before laying down any more bets. She seemed to have an instinct for them.

I decided that perhaps I was not cut out for a life of gambling. Fortunately, I am better with plasma injectors. Tomorrow would see my project completed. That is, bar the high warp tests, given Malcolm's intent to fully capitalize on the Captain's lapse of judgment. Enterprise a 'weapons' platform' indeed! I consoled myself with the thought that soon the injectors would be purring sweetly and non-turbulently, however you wanted to define that. Yeah - that brought a satisfying, warm glow that no cannon could destroy.


TBC