Disclaimer: I do not own the Star Trek: Enterprise characters. I make no money off of this, these stories are written purely for enjoyment.

Author's note: Thank you so much for the reviews to my rather short prologue, and thank you as always to gaianarchy and silvershadowfire who take the time and the patience to clear up my lousy punctuation, half-finished thoughts and 3 am ramblings. I am forever in your debt.

Chapter 1: Scheming and Deceiving

"Malcolm? What are you doing in my tree?" This couldn't actually be happening… he wouldn't… he didn't…

"Itching. I think there are some sort of insects here… would you mind opening the screen so I can get in?" Trip could make out a small figure now, lying on the branch.

"Sorry." He fumbled with the latch, finally managing to release it. He reached out and helped his friend inside. "What are you doing here?" He reached over and switched on the lamp beside his bed to give them a little light.

Malcolm dropped down from the windowsill and began brushing off the front of his shirt – dark grey to blend into the evening shadows. "Well, it was your suggestion to run away from home. Surely you're not going to fault me for taking your advice."

Trip shook his head, exasperatedly, despite his joy at seeing his friend again. "Malcolm… following my advice always gets us into trouble. Didn't you at least learn that over the summer?"

"Well, according to the law of averages, you have to be right at some point… I might as well keep trying until it happens." Malcolm's lips curved into a mischievous smile, a complete transformation from his normal, serious self.

Trip grabbed his pillow and held it over his mouth to muffle his laughter. "Stop saying stuff like that, or you'll have my parents in here."

The other boy paled suddenly. "No. Trip, we can't have that; they'll send me home and I really have run away."

"You're serious," Trip sobered. "Okay… well, we better come up with a plan, then. I mean, obviously you have to stay here… so we'll need something that my parents'll buy." He stared off at nothing and tapped his finger under his nose, thinking. "They'll buy a lie from me… or at least the fact that I was lying… but they'd check it out…" He turned suddenly to look at Malcolm again. "I don't suppose your father would give you permission to come here…"

"You must be joking." Malcolm shook his head. "There is no way my father would give me permission to spend time with someone like you. He feels you've been enough of an 'unsuitable influence' on me as it is."

Trip's finger moved down to his lips. "But what if he did? Malcolm… my parents have no idea who your father is… they've never met him. All we need is a voice and a model… a simulacrum, so to speak. We should probably work from your face… age it appropriately – I can get a hold of the software easily enough – and then we can tweak your voice… give it some more bass and stuff… after that, it's just a matter of making sure it looks like they've actually contacted him. Of course, we'll be supplying all the answers… from right in here… and they won't be able to tell, I can easily make it look like it's originating in England… the school database won't be a problem… I can register you and back-date the forms in no time."

"School?"

Trip exhaled, sending his bangs flying upwards. Hello…reality check. "School, Malcolm. You have to go to school… they'll never buy it otherwise. But here, it's totally different from where you go… especially the military stuff… for one thing, we don't live there… and for another, I know a lot of cool places if we cut study-hall or a dumb class like P.E. or something."

Malcolm furrowed his brow. "I thought you would like Physical Education."

"Not when it's basketball or square-dancing. I mean puh-leeze. I do not do basketball… and there is no way I'm spending my time listening to some guy tell me to 'twirl my partner.' Especially since we've got more guys than girls this year – don't ask me how that happened – and I'm not ending up with some jerk who thinks it's more fun to tear my arm off. A rib-rattling cough can only get you out of so much." Trip flopped down on his bed, still cradling the pillow.

"What about telling them you've got a migraine?" Malcolm settled himself on the floor.

Trip bolted upright. "Are you crazy? Nobody knows I get those… well, aside from you, and Jon, and that nurse guy back at the camp… but nobody else. Oh, and you are not joining the Chess club, whatever you do. I managed to get myself out of that hell… Dad decided that it wasn't necessary for my 'intellectual development' anymore. Actually, I think they were trying to make me feel better after I got the crap beat out of me… they freaked out and needed to feel like they were taking care of me."

"Don't remind me." Malcolm shuddered, clearly remembering what had happened.

"Hey… I still could've taken him. He was ready to go down." Trip hugged the pillow even tighter in a defensive gesture.

"Trip… you were bleeding from more places than I could count. He'd broken several of your bones… and you'd only bruised him."

Trip closed his eyes. Yeah, so? "But I was still standing, wasn't I? Trust me… one good hit and he would've dropped like a rock."

"I'm sure he would have." Malcolm didn't sound convinced. "Are you taller?"

"You're changing the subject. Yes, I am, and it's a pain in the ass if you ask me. Kids are really makin' fun of the fact that I'm called 'Trip,' now. And Mom's pissed off because she's gotta take me shopping every two weeks or so, 'cause I don't fit the old stuff." Trip glared at a reflection of himself in the base of the lamp. "And thank you for not mentioning the spots." Nature was a mother-something, there was no doubt in Trip's mind about that.

"I wish I was growing. Maybe if I was bigger, people would take me seriously." Malcolm stared down at the floor and began playing with the carpet.

"You will… I mean you're two years younger than me as it is. And I take you seriously."

Malcolm nodded, "I know, but…"

"And Jon took you seriously. Do you still write to him?"

Malcolm shook his head. "My father wouldn't approve, and the school would be suspicious about regular correspondence with a nineteen-year-old."

Trip nodded, understandingly. "Yeah, I can see that. See, I'm lucky because my parents have actually met him. They're just amazed that he'll actually talk to me. And they think he's a stabilizing influence… because he set up for his dad to mentor me for an engineering career." Trip shook his head. "I still can't believe that Jon's dad is Henry Archer. I mean, Jon was such a geek."

"He wasn't…"

"Come on. All that cheery 'we're going to have a good time.' crap? Naw… I had to straighten him out… or rather, make him a little more twisted."

"Well, I'd say you succeeded." Malcolm made a little noise that was half-grunt, half-snort.

Trip grinned. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? It was good for him, though… the guy needed to stop trying to be so perfect."

Malcolm laughed, quietly. "Well, no one could ever accuse you of being perfect."

"A perfect disaster, maybe." Trip couldn't let that opportunity slip past. "But seriously… we better get to planning now… and I better get us some coffee, because this'll probably take us the better part of the night, and we've got to get you out of here before my parents – or worse yet, James or Lizzie – wake up. Because I think it would work better if you came in by the front door."

"You mean, as opposed to the back window? And I thought that would be less suspicious. And I don't drink coffee."

Trip threw the pillow at him. "Stop trying to usurp me as the king of sarcasm. And you do now, because you're going to need to stay awake." He got up and headed towards the door, then paused. "Don't worry… I'll go heavy on the cream and sugar, since you're a newbie. It'll taste like candy."

Malcolm gave him an odd look, but said nothing.

"Hey. Trust me, I'll have you hooked on this stuff in no time." Trip's grin grew manic. "It's wonderful stuff, little boy. Just try some… free of charge."

"My father warned me about people like you… in fact he warned me about you in particular." Malcolm smiled again.

"What a glowing recommendation. I should send him a thank-you letter. By the way, good move with the pipe thing… I bet the old man would have kittens if he found out."

"Which is why I'm not telling him," Malcolm agreed.

Trip laughed again, and headed out the door.

……………………………………………………………………………………………....

Malcolm looked around the room, marvelling at how much stuff Trip had in here. Pictures and posters decorated every wall – not to mention the ceiling – his desk had practically disappeared under a state of the art computer and a mess of padds and papers. Pieces of something Malcolm couldn't identify had been neatly stacked on the floor beside it, each one bearing its own label – a couple of spray cans and oil bottles sat next to them. Sports equipment lay heaped in one corner and the dresser was cluttered with more pieces of machinery and various chemicals… a neat row of shop towels played soldier in the corner.

It's like two different people live in here. It suited Trip though, who could never be slotted into a single category.

And to think I wanted to stay as far away from you as possible. Funny how first impressions could be so far off: he'd thought Trip was worse than trouble, but how many people would take you in when you showed up on their windowsill? Not only take you in, but go through so much effort to help you? But that's Trip… nothing's too difficult for a friend.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Trip returned, carrying not only the coffee, but an entire tray containing sandwiches and cookies. "I thought we could use a little something to snack on. I've got Ham and Swiss on Sixteen grain bread, Roast Beef and Roasted Garlic Havarti on Cibatta, and Pastrami on Rye – Mom had some friends over for poker last night, and these got left over. The cookies are pumpkin… they're really good."

"Thank you." Suddenly Malcolm realised how hungry he was – he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Hey, no problem. It was all just sitting there, anyway… someone might as well eat it. But we better get started." Trip crossed over to his closet and stood on a trunk to reach a top shelf. He removed a box and pulled out something that Malcolm didn't recognise.

"Now this is cool… it's a three dimensional scanner. It's mostly used for building prototype models; I saved my allowance for over a year and everything I got for my birthday and Christmas just to get this puppy. It's perfect for what we're doing. I'll still need photographs, of course, but this will let us perfect the angles and proportions. It'll really shortcut building our simulacrum, and we need all the time we can get. Mom and Dad are usually up around seven – and this thing has got to look realistic, and move realistically too. I mean, we're trying to pull off a major fraud here… we don't want to get caught because our guy looks like a puppet."

"I never thought of it that way." Now that he did think about it… it was fraud. "Maybe we shouldn't do this. You could get into serious trouble, and I don't want you to do…"

"Malcolm." Trip gave him a look of complete seriousness. "We don't have another choice. If things were bad enough for you to run away, they're bad enough to justify something like this. And don't worry about me. I'm doing this of my own free will, and it was my idea to start with."

"Okay." Right. Of course Trip wouldn't back down now that he had an idea and he wanted to try it out. As for risk – Trip never seemed to consider any danger to himself to be worth worrying about. He'd go to great lengths to protect anybody else, but his own safety never seemed to be a concern.

Trip busied himself with taking scans and pictures, before downloading everything onto the computer and beginning to build his simulacrum. Malcolm took the opportunity to tear into the sandwiches; the coffee wasn't bad either. Trip had filled it with cream and sugar like he'd promised, and it was more sweet than bitter.

"Do you really think this will work?" Trip tended to overlook possibility of his great plans not being so great after all, and the fact that other people might see through them. But it's me who has the most at stake here if he underestimates his parents.

"It's the best bet… it's not foolproof, but the trick will be to not overuse it. Is your father patient?" Trip didn't look up from his work.

"It depends. When it comes to other people – not really. He has a lot of patience for his bugs, though."

"Bugs?" Now Trip did turn around, staring at Malcolm wide-eyed. "Like listening devices?"

"No… insects." Malcolm furrowed his brow. Listening devices?

"Gross!" Trip shuddered. "How could anybody want to have bugs like that in their house? Doesn't it give you the creeps? I mean all those legs… and those eyes staring at you… even if they're dead they're disgusting. And spiders are the worst… all creepy-crawly and running everywhere, like they're out to get you…"

"That's ridiculous… spiders aren't out to get you. And they're not insects, either. They're arachnids. Insects only have six legs, but arachnids have eight."

"Well, it's ridiculous to be afraid of drowning all the time," Trip shot back.

"It's called a phobia… it's not like I want to be afraid of drowning."

"Oh… so I just decided not to like bugs." Malcolm could hear the sulk in Trip's voice.

Why do I always forget how sensitive you can be? Malcolm suddenly regretted his earlier statement. Who was he to say that Trip's fear of insects was any less valid than his own aquaphobia? It was just that Trip had a way of making you forget that he could be afraid of anything. He'd take on huge risks without even hesitating – and he never tended to let those fears get in the way of what he wanted to do. Anyone who confesses their fear of heights while sitting on a rooftop... well, anyone else and Malcolm would say they were insane. But that's just Trip. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it as an insult. It just surprised me – that's all. I've never thought of insects as being harmful."

Trip huffed, but didn't say anything. Malcolm could see the tension leaving the other boy however; he looked like a cat who suddenly realised that he wasn't facing a threat. "Yeah, well they're just as harmful as water. 'Specially when you're allergic to spiderbites."

"You are?" Malcolm perked up. His allergies proved a constant worry – it was nice to meet someone who could sympathise.

"When I was little I was playing in the park and this spider bit me. If my mom hadn't got me to the hospital quick. They had to give me a shot of adrenaline, it was so bad. 'Course I don't really remember it, 'cause I was only three at the time... and they say you can't consciously remember much before you're three... which is weird, because I learned to read before I was three, and I still remember how to do that... and I learned to talk, and I remember my mom and dad..." Trip began to ramble like he did when his thoughts got too far ahead of him.

"Yes, but you've kept up with all those things." Malcolm wasn't too certain that practice had anything to do with it – sometimes Trip knew very strange things.

"Or... maybe they're just subconscious things... we don't really think about them, we just do them. Maybe before you're three almost everything programs straight into the subconscious... kind of like blowing data onto a PROM."

Malcolm shook his head. "A what?"

"Programmable Read-Only-Memory. They're these chipsets... basically you can put data on them once and it's there forever. Computers can't really operate without them. They usually contain the basic operating instructions. Maybe it's the same with our brains – we get all this data programmed into them when we're little, and that affects how we operate when we grow up."

"But that can be changed," Malcolm argued. He'd missed this, really – discussions that tested the limits of his comprehension. He wondered if Trip had missed it too. The older boy often acted like he had less intelligence than he truly did. But somewhere beneath the laid-back beach-boy attitude lurked a genius. Not an academic genius, but genius in its truest form: the ability to become inspired, to see things in a way that no one else could. Which is half the problem. Malcolm knew well the difficulties of intelligence – he had enough of it himself – but Trip... half the time he couldn't even explain the things he understood. So no one believes he understands it.

"Totally? Without reprogramming the subconscious?" Trip turned around. "Not really, I don't think. Not for automatic stuff. I think it's like a safety mechanism."

"If it's automatic, wouldn't that be a reflex? I seem to recall my Science teacher informing me that the brain isn't involved in reflex actions – only the spinal cord. That's why they can occur so quickly."

"So the spinal cord's part of the PROM system." Trip shrugged. "That would explain why some things are impossible to overcome." Trip frowned and began rubbing his fingertips together. "That could help, though. I mean, I've been trying to think of ways to avoid too many repetitive movements – but if I avoid them altogether that could be a problem too. An' you said your dad's an admiral? He's prob'ly real stiff then." Malcolm strained to understand Trip's thickening accent as the other boy slid deeper into thought. "Y'know, sit up straight an' stuff like that? Which'll help us too, 'cause we won' have t'deal with too much motion. So I c'n focus on the face..." Suddenly Trip bolted straight up himself. "Omigod."

"What?" Malcolm felt a sudden surge of panic.

"Won't your school call the cops? 'Cause you're missing? And won't this be the first place the cops'll look?"

"I didn't think of that." Malcolm didn't even try to determine how Trip managed to go from programming to police. "Maybe we shouldn't do this."

"Or maybe we should figure out a way to throw the cops off track. First, we should probably see if it's been reported yet. If it hasn't, maybe we can intercept it. No file, no case. Gotta love the modern world... it's all about documentation."

"You want to alter police records?" Malcolm was horrified. He'd never dreamed Trip would go that far.

"Only if I gotta. If I can grab the file before it gets there... I'll just fake up documentation that it was received, and the cops won't even be involved. An' since it's the school an' not your parents... they prob'ly won't keep hassling the cops – they'll just pass the problem off to another institution. An' we didn't address the problem of your parents, either. I mean mine'll at least know where you are. Hopefully we c'n stop the school from informing them, too, then they'll jus' think you're at school." Trip's drawl kicked in again. "How much lead time've we got?" Suddenly he paled. "You did cook up an excuse for some lead time, din't ya? I mean... I mean... you didn't jus' take off in the middle of the night without some... some sorta explanation..." As Trip's agitation grew, he began to stammer.

"I informed them that I was going to visit my Aunt for a few weeks. Then I went and saw her and informed her that I was just able to visit for a couple of days... I hope Aunt Sherry doesn't contact the police herself."

"I hope the school doesn't contact your Aunt Sherry." Trip countered, darkly. "At least we're lucky that there doesn't seem to be a lot of communication in your family. If I pulled a stunt like that, folks in ten states would know within an hour – and that includes Hawaii and Alaska. Not only that, but my uncle works for the FBI... and he'd be after me so fast you wouldn't be able to say 'bye.' I mean, my cousin Joe ran away once, an' they caught him in Costa Rica in less than a day. 'Course he'd already married the girl by then... I don't think I'll ever get married... at least not at fifteen. An' definitely not to some nineteen-year-old college chick." Trip pursed his lips. "It did take him longer to find Joey, though..."

"Huh?" Malcolm blinked, confused. Wasn't that who you were just talking about?

"Joey? My uncle Mike's daughter? Well, it's really Jolene, but everyone just calls her Joey. An' she wasn't even trying to hide, she just changed schools and forgot to mention it... dropped out of UNLV and showed up at Boston University a couple of weeks later. She didn't spend too much time there, either... she's at UDub now, I think she's studying Vulcanology." Trip made a face, perhaps anticipating a remark from Malcolm. "An' I don' mean Vulcans, I'm talkin' volcanos. She'll prob'ly help us out if we really need it... we'll just need a good enough sob story." Trip sighed and stretched. "Unfortunately, this ain't getting us finished. I mean, now I've got to check to see whether or not you've been reported... set up an intercept for when you are reported – one for the cops and one for your family – come up with a suitable reply for the school from both parties... you've got to come up with a cover story in case your Aunt tries to contact you, and we've gotta get this simulacrum finished." He walked over to where Malcolm was sitting and grabbed a sandwich of his own. "This is going to be one hell of a long night."

So far, so good. Malcolm reached out with a trembling hand to press the doorbell. Funny to be walking in the front when so recently you'd snuck in (and out) the back. Yet there'd been no sign of any police, and Trip swore he'd managed to intercept the report in time. Malcolm still felt uneasy about that – felt uneasy about the whole thing. Trip could get in a lot of trouble for this. He wondered if Trip realised how much he risked here. Trip's entire dream was to join Starfleet and explore the galaxy... but how likely was that if he ended up being charged with fraud, and impersonating a police officer, and any other number of things that were probably quite illegal about this whole scheme? Maybe he did – and if he got caught he'd probably accept the consequences, too. Because of why he did it. Trip would make a good martyr or revolutionary, Malcolm decided, because he'd lay down everything for a cause he believed in. I just feel a little guilty about being that cause. Trip had the out and out passion for the role; there were times when he borderlined on the fanatic. And I am his Peter. The devoted believer who would build a church on those ideals, but too timid to challenge those who would challenge that church. Fortunately, Trip didn't seem too inclined towards matters of religion or politics, so the world could be spared another transformation. He had the charisma too – not everybody saw it, because not everybody had the chance to see Trip enraptured by idea.

But those that do... well, look at Jonathan for instance. If anyone had a right to feel animosity or frustration towards Trip, it would be Jonathan. Last summer when they met, Trip spent almost every waking – and a few sleeping moments trying to drive Jonathan insane. Yet even he was a convert, willing to risk his own future for something that Trip believed.

The door opened, and Trip's mother – Fiona, Malcolm remembered, stared at him in shock. "Malcolm, isn't it?"

"Omigod!" Trip charged to within a foot of the door and stopped dead. "Omigod, I totally forgot... Mom... Malcolm's here on a cultural exchange sort of thing. You see... I filled out the paperwork, 'cause I really, really wanted him to be able to come an' stay with us... I know it was wrong, Mom... but don't punish Malcolm 'cause of me. I mean he's already registered with the school an' everything." Trip handed his mother a bundle of forms – all forged. The words had come flying out so fast, that it was a miracle any had been understood.

"You can contact my father if you wish." Malcolm supplied his line on cue. They were relying on the fact that he'd already established himself as a responsible, mature person – so unlike the hellion they knew for a son. If you had any idea... Still, Trip's parents were used to his being a little less than – well – honest. 'They'll buy the fact that I lied...' He supplied the contact number he and Trip had fabricated. Please don't question it... just take it as being for real.

"I'm afraid we'll have to." Fiona shot a look at Trip. "Trip has been known to lie to us to get his way before."

Trip shuffled his feet and stared down at the floor, a guilty flush covering his face. Malcolm prayed that Fiona would take it to be guilt at Trip lying about Malcolm's coming... and not guess that Trip was lying about having lied.

"Well, in the meantime you might as well come in... I can't exactly leave you standing there in the street." Fiona stepped aside and Malcolm slipped gratefully through the door. He placed his bag – now stuffed to overflowing with a number of Trip's things – on the floor. After all, if he was supposed to be here for an entire semester, he would need – Trip had argued – more than what he'd brought.

"Come on upstairs." Trip grabbed Malcolm's bag in one hand and Malcolm's arm in the other. "I'll show you my room."

Malcolm waited until the door closed behind them. "Why? Has it changed?" He needed to say something to relieve the tension he felt.

Trip punched him lightly, but grinned. "I'm supposed to be the smartass around here." He pushed aside the chair for his computer, angling it so that it faced the scanner. He instructed Malcolm to sit down, then knelt in front of the keyboard and began pulling up some programs. "Some last minute adjustments to cut down on the delay between your movements and his..." Some time during last night's proceedings, Trip had had the inspiration to use a live modelling program, using the 3-D scanner to capture Malcolm's movements. "And we are ready to go."

They waited restlessly, then the signal flashed. "And action!"

Fiona's face resolved on screen – the simulacrum appeared in a separate window in the corner. "Hello, Admiral Reed?"

"Yes." Malcolm found himself stiffening, out of fear. The simulacrum followed his actions, looking even more like Stuart Reed than previously.

"My name is Fiona Tucker, and I'm calling regarding your son, Malcolm? Did you give him permission to go on a cultural exchange?"

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, and the simulacrum followed suit. "I am assuming that you have received the necessary forms... there should be no problem."

"I'm afraid my son neglected to inform me of their existence, or even that the program was taking place." Fiona's eyes narrowed as well, and Malcolm felt a sudden flash of respect. What he'd seen was a remarkable imitation of Stuart at his frostiest, and Fiona hadn't even flinched. "However... since the paperwork appears to be genuine – at least insofar as its origins – and since you do confirm that Malcolm is supposed to be here, we will allow him to stay. You'll have to forgive my suspicions... but my son has been known to go to extremes at times."

"So I've been informed." Malcolm made his tone as dry as possible. It took every effort not to giggle. "Now if you could excuse me, Madam, I have work to do." Trip hit the sign-off button and the screen went dead.

"Well, I think that went well." Trip heaved a sigh of relief. "Better than I expected. So, I think I've got a roommate." He grinned broadly and stuck out his hand. "You better not snore."

Malcolm swatted at Trip's hand rather than shaking it. "I didn't over the summer... not that you were ever asleep to be disturbed."

Trip's grin didn't waver. "We did it. We did it. An' since you're in most of my classes... this is going to be the best school year ever!"