Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

Chapter 3

The days on Carlotta swiftly fell into a routine as was always apt to happen on a vessel. The three men took their meals together, and in between times, either Gomez or Bailey stood watch on the flight deck. Malcolm had considered offering to take his turn, but decided against it. He had come on this new tack in life with a view to being responsible only to himself. He had had his fill of having to look after others.

Instead, he occupied himself in the relatively brainless but satisfying task of restoring some of Carlotta's former glory. He was working away in the cargo hold, devoting an entire day to clearing it of the white dust, when Gomez turned up to see what their passenger was doing.

Malcolm had his back to the door and was running the suction nozzle over a waist-high ledge. He was completely unaware of Gomez' quiet approach until the latter cleared his throat to signal his presence. The unexpected sound made Malcolm jump, jerking the suction hose off the ledge. Taking a deep breath, Malcolm closed his eyes briefly, attempting to steady himself. He was disgusted with his nerves constantly betraying him. Was he ever going to regain his former poise?

Carefully schooling his face into a neutral expression, Malcolm turned to face Gomez. He was damned sure Gomez had intended to startle him, and he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he had been rattled.

"You've been busy," remarked Gomez, revolving to study the hold.

Malcolm followed his gaze around as he coiled the suction hose away, enjoying a sense of accomplishment at the scene. There was some loose deck plating he wanted to see to, and a wiring panel that needed attention, but the bulk of the work in the hold was almost finished.

"Well, it needed doing," said Malcolm, remembering what it had looked like before he had rolled his sleeves up and got stuck in.

"I suppose so, but you won't get any thanks from the Facility Admin, you know. I bet they don't even notice."

Malcolm crossed his arms. "Yes, but I'll know." He almost went on to berate the Facility for its neglect but held his tongue. His motives were his own business.

"I came to get you for dinner," said Gomez. "Oh. Is that your gear over there?" He strode over to the corner where Malcolm's equipment was carefully stowed.

"That's right," said Malcolm, following him across. "Do you do your own blasting?" Now was as good a time as any to pitch for his first commission.

"Yeah," said Gomez, bending down to inspect the contents index on the nearest container.

"I could do a deal. To demonstrate what I can do, you pay only for the consumables and allow me to use the results to show others what's achievable." Malcolm held his breath and fought the impulse to cross his fingers. That wouldn't look too professional!

Gomez straightened up and rubbed his chin. "I don't like the idea of letting competitors access my accounts, which is what that would mean."

"It would only be certain details pertaining to one job."

Gomez pursed his lips. "Hhmm. I'm not sure."

Malcolm tried again. "It would be a good deal for you," he insisted.

"But I only pay for my explosives now in any case. Why would your idea work out better?"

"My techniques are much more efficient. I'll be able to get you higher purity ore and save you time in recovering it." Malcolm hoped he sounded convincing.

"It sounds intriguing. Okay, I'll think about it, but I can't promise anything. I don't like outsiders prying into my business. I'll want more information before I make a final decision."

Malcolm beamed at Gomez. "That's all I ask. If you let me have data on where you want to mine next, I'll begin work on the firing scheme and show you what I think will be achievable."

Gomez laughed. "A firing scheme, huh? Normally, I just place the charges somewhere near the right place and stand well back. I don't do any analysis first. Very well, I'll send some info to the terminal in the work-bay later on. You can access it from there."

"Great. Okay, let's go and eat. What's on the menu?"

"The usual when Mot's choosing," said Gomez, with a roll of the eyes.

"Gourmet night then, huh?" joked Malcolm, in good spirits.

----------------------

The next day, Gomez sent over the required data for Malcolm's demonstration scheme. Malcolm skimmed through the information, noting wryly that the navigational co-ordinates were conspicuously absent. He wondered if all the miners would be so protective of their working areas.

The data was not as complete as Malcolm would have liked - he would be able to achieve better with his own scanning unit - but it gave him something to start with. Any fine-tuning could take place on site when all his own equipment was available. Pleased to at last be getting on with some constructive work, Malcolm settled down to give it his best shot.

The time passed quickly as Malcolm became wholly immersed in his calculations. This type of work had a certain purity that appealed to him. He aimed to create the perfect profile - a three-dimensional puzzle… four dimensions when the timing of the blast front was taken into account. He was aiming for an almost surgical precision in extracting exactly the required amount of material. There was also a wholesomeness to the task. He could use his skills without the complicated emotions which arose when he directed them against people, whether human or alien. His professionalism had dealt with that in the past - the enemy was the enemy - but being able to ignore it altogether was liberating.

Malcolm came to the end of a complex equation and gave a grunt of approval. This looked good. Very good, in fact. It was going to be a persuasive demo - he was sure of it. Shifting in his seat, he became aware of a numbness in his right hand and a tight band across his back. How long had he been working on this? Glancing at the chronometer, he was startled to see how many hours had passed. He needed a break.

Slowly, he stretched his limbs and his back, straightening out the kinks. He was thirsty, too, he realised. He made his way to the galley and grabbed a coffee, making a second mug for Bailey who was on flight deck duty.

Bailey was slouched in the pilot's seat, working on something on his terminal. He looked up when he heard Malcolm and took his mug with a nod of appreciation.

Malcolm sat in the co-pilot's place, drinking and observing space through the window that curved around the front of the flight deck. Carlotta was travelling through a region with few landmarks. A yellow sun shimmered to port, a distant nebula could be seen to starboard and then it was a ripple of star systems, mere pinpricks.

Malcolm took in the vista with satisfaction. It was comfortingly vacant out there. "Not much to see," he commented.

"No," agreed Bailey. "It's a little more crowded near the Facility, but not much. We have to go out a way to get to anywhere worth mining." He returned to his terminal display and tapped away at a keypad.

Malcolm stared out of the window, his mind wandering. He wondered where Enterprise was now. What was on the giant viewscreen on the bridge? Would the Captain be eagerly seeking first contact, or off on some more belligerent mission? How was the new tactical officer coping with him, and with that temperamental starboard sensor array? How was Trip? Without warning, an immense feeling of homesickness enveloped Malcolm. He blinked rapidly to disperse the water that filled his eyes and swallowed hard. Where on Earth had that come from! It shocked him. He had never been homesick in his life. Well, not since his first term at senior school, but apart from that... He gave a long sniff and surreptitiously wiped his eyes on the sleeve furthest from Bailey.

Bailey had noticed something was amiss, however.

"Reed?" he said, peering at him.

Malcolm sniffed again and avoided looking at Bailey. "What?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Fine. Might be starting a cold."

"Oh. There's some stuff in the medical cabinet that might help," said Bailey. He didn't sound too convinced, but Malcolm really didn't care.

Keeping his back to Bailey, Malcolm got up to make for the rear of the compartment. He had had enough of stargazing and space for a while. The blasting model needed some more effort, but he didn't want to work on that in his present state of mind. His eyes landed on the taped-up display and its controls. Perfect! That would do the trick. It would keep him occupied and his mind from straying.

"Okay if I look at this?" he asked Bailey.

"Sure. Go ahead, although there's not much point. We don't use it much."

Malcolm sighed. Neither Gomez nor Bailey had any inclination to fix Carlotta, and as long as she was sufficiently spaceworthy, they weren't bothered. It bothered Malcolm, though, to have so much below par.

Twenty minutes later, Malcolm was sitting on the deck behind the pilot's seat, wrestling with the fixings of the display cover. He had taken the entire module out of the console to get a good look at it, but everything seemed seized fast. He grunted as the pin he was attempting to ease out remained stubbornly in place. He re-set the pliers around the item, braced himself and gripped hard. One last try, he thought, readying himself. He gave an almighty heave and the pliers shot out of his hand and across the cabin, hitting the screen of the grappling unit with a resounding clang.

"Bugger," swore Malcolm, shaking his right hand. A trace of blood snaked across it where it had ripped over an exposed edge of the display module.

Bailey swivelled around in his chair, laughing. Malcolm glared up at him.

"That some Australian curse word?" Bailey said cheerily. "Any more for my collection?"

Malcolm snarled back, "I told you before - I am not Australian. How about 'bollocks'!" Now his hand was stinging. "That works for me, too."

Bailey gave a hoot, and turned away to face front again. Growling his annoyance, Malcolm could quite happily have wrapped the display module around Bailey's neck. The cut was minor but he could see the crack in the grappling screen from where he was sitting. He had managed to damage what had been one of the few bits of decent equipment on the vessel. He swore again, quietly, so Bailey wouldn't hear, but Bailey clearly had keen ears because it was answered by another snicker.

Leaning back against the bulkhead, Malcolm mentally counted to ten, extending it to twenty when that proved ineffective. Bailey was still chortling away. Malcolm closed his eyes. That man could be so bloody annoying at times! He gave himself a mental shake, opened his eyes again and sat up straighter, determined not to be diverted from his task.

On inspecting the module, Malcolm could see that the pin had shifted a touch. Oh well, he had made some sort of progress, at least. Perhaps if he added a lubricant...? He moved around on the floor to look at the problem from a better angle.

"Oh," said Bailey, so softly that Malcolm barely heard him. Malcolm refused to be distracted and took no notice. Bailey whispered, "Wow. What is that?"

"What?" answered Malcolm, without looking at him.

"Outside..." said Bailey.

Malcolm straightened up to peer over the control desk.

Through the front window, the black blankness had been replaced by a roiling mass of light: blues and violets with shattering cracks of brilliant white. The vigorous swirling had a hypnotic, pulsing quality to it.

Malcolm leapt to his feet and crashed down in the co-pilot's seat. A swift key tap brought up the sensor display. It showed a more layered image of what he could see with his unaided vision. There didn't appear to be any high-energy radiation but there was something being emitted that he couldn't make sense of. He tried to increase resolution but the equipment was basic and couldn't oblige. Not only that, he realised with great irritation, it could only draw on a third of the power it was supposed to operate on. He continued to work, fingers racing over the keys to get as much as he could from the device.

"Bailey, it's at a range of five thousand metres. We must pull back," he called out, keeping his attention glued to the display.

Hearing no response, Malcolm glanced across at Bailey, who was sitting rigidly in his seat, apparently so fascinated by the phenomenon that he was oblivious to the problem. Malcolm checked the display. Now only two and a half thousand metres! They had to do something, otherwise they would be in the thick of it.

"Bailey! Reverse thrust... Mot! Reverse the engines!" shouted Malcolm, but Bailey remained motionless.

They would soon be enveloped by the spectacle if they did nothing! Malcolm lunged across in front of Bailey, reaching for the engine controls and managing to throw them into reverse. There was no time for a smooth transition. With an unholy shriek, the engines complied and went into full-reverse. The inertial dampers cut in but were no match for this violent manoeuvring. Malcolm was thrust against the control desk, the breath driven out of him as his midriff met its edge. Bailey was flung forwards, too, his flight being arrested by Malcolm's body, which provided a soft landing for him.

Bailey snapped out of his reverie. "What...?" he spluttered in Malcolm's ear, feebly moving around.

Malcolm groaned, crushed between the control desk and Bailey. He viciously elbowed Bailey away to get room to move and, using his weight to thrust Bailey back, struggled to his feet and across to the co-pilot's position. Bracing his hands on the control panel, Malcolm squinted at the range display as his breath started to come more easily. With relief, he saw that Carlotta was gradually increasing the distance from the unknown threat.

The display showed something else, as well. The swirling patterns were becoming more ordered, and the energy levels appeared to be rising. But the range was still increasing, each klick as Carlotta reversed another step away from danger. Malcolm stared at the figure, as if willpower alone might make it grow even faster.

"What did you do?" said Bailey, sounding bewildered.

Malcolm ignored him, his entire concentration on the dancing energy fluctuations before him.

"What's that!" exclaimed Bailey, pointing ahead.

Malcolm had seen it, too. A form was now visible within the cloud. It was a ship, perhaps, its elongate rounded shape silhouetted against the bright blue light. Then there was an immense white flash. Malcolm and Bailey instinctively shielded their eyes, far too late to have any effect.

When Malcolm looked again, he was hampered by dancing spots swimming in his field of vision, but he could see that the ship, or whatever it was, had gone. The energy field was restless pure energy once more. Its energy levels were dropping, also. And Carlotta was still drawing away from it. Malcolm breathed a small sigh of relief, chewing at his lower lip. The phenomenon seemed to be subsiding. Perhaps this was not going to be a problem for them?

A stumbling footfall from the doorway announced Gomez' arrival on the flight deck. "What's happening?" he asked, his voice sounding shaky. He was very pale and had a nasty wound at his temple, the blood contrasting vividly against the white skin as it dripped down his face.

"I... I dunno," replied Bailey, still confused.

"An energy field of some kind," reported Malcolm. "It appeared dead ahead. We had to go into reverse to avoid running into the middle of it."

Through this summary, Gomez' eyes were fixed on the energy cloud still shimmering ahead. "I've never seen anything like that before," he murmured.

Malcolm said nothing to this. He turned to check his displays again. Everything showed that the phenomenon was still reducing, thank God. He hoped that soon they would be back in normal space.

Bailey said, eyes wide, "We saw a ship, Red. Right in the centre of it, didn't we, Reed?"

Gomez turned a sceptical face to Malcolm, who said, "It did seem to be a ship, or something like one... A probe, maybe."

"I can't see anything," said Gomez, stepping forward a pace to check the display readouts.

"No. It's gone now," said Bailey. Then, to Malcolm's complete and utter astonishment, he added, "We should go in there - see if we can find it."

Malcolm's jaw dropped as he took in this incredible proposition.

"Salvage, you mean?" said Gomez, with a predatory gleam in his eye.

Finding his voice, Malcolm, said, snapping the words out with icy precision, "Are you crazy? We have no idea what that is, we have virtually no hull-plating and our weapons array consists of a peashooter! We are fortunate to have survived this at all! I wouldn't take any ship into that, never mind the Carlotta."

"Carlotta's a sturdy vessel," mused Gomez, rubbing a finger over his chin. "Risky, but potentially very lucrative."

Shaking his head vigorously to refute this, Malcolm wondered what he had done to deserve these loonies. Whatever it took, there was no way he would permit them to fly Carlotta into that energy field. He tried reason. "In any case, we have no idea if that ship is abandoned. In fact, I would lay odds on it being very much not, otherwise why send it into this energy field." He glanced down again at the reducing energy levels.

Gomez laughed. "You're right, of course," he said. "Still, it's good to dream."

Malcolm muttered, "More like a nightmare." The readings were rapidly petering out and he could see that the brilliance in the window had faded. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. These people were lunatics to entertain that proposition for even a nanosecond.

Gomez said, "Too late, now, in any case. We'd better see what damage those manoeuvres of yours have caused to the engines, Mot. I didn't like the sound of them."

Bailey put in quickly, "I didn't do anything, Red. That was all down to Reed."

Malcolm shot him a cross look. "You should've kept us back from there. If you hadn't got so caught up in whatever that was, we could have got out sooner, without stressing the engines."

Bailey snarled back, his usual genial manner quite lost, "Don't lay this on me! You shouldn't have touched those controls. You're not crew on this vessel. You're in this alone, Reed!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you think the Facility will foot the bill for those engine repairs? They don't pay for anything they don't have to. It'll be down to you, and I'm not getting involved." Bailey's face was more animated than Malcolm had seen before. The inane smile that usually hovered not far away had been replaced by grim determination.

Malcolm felt a sudden chill wash over him as he considered the ramifications of Bailey's words. Even a minor post-flight service was costly for an individual, but, if Bailey was correct, this could ruin him before he'd even started.

Gomez clapped Malcolm on the shoulder. "We'll say that if you hadn't acted, Carlotta would have been lost altogether. If we all stick to that story, the Facility should be okay about it."

Bailey said reluctantly, "Yeah. We can do that, I guess."

Malcolm said, "It's the truth, isn't it?" He hoped that the explanation would satisfy the Facility management. How far could he depend on these two miners? He wasn't sure.

"Come on," said Gomez. "Let's go check out the damage." He left the flight deck with Bailey lumbering after him.

Malcolm watched them go, then examined the readings again. Everything was back to as it should be. There was no remnant of whatever it was that had occurred here. He tagged the data record for permanent storage and sent a copy to the pilot's console. The Facility would send a copy to Starfleet for its records when Carlotta reached her base.

Having done that necessary job, Malcolm worked through the sensor readings again but couldn't extract much of interest. There just wasn't enough information there. He couldn't even make out what type of disturbance had been involved. Frustrated, he gave up. It wasn't his job anymore, but he hated not knowing. What happened if they ran into it again?

He went to clasp his hands behind his neck in an unguarded movement, hissing as it provoked a sharp pain in his side. Dammit! Bailey had struck again! Malcolm pulled his shirt up and gently probed around his ribs. They were tender but he was pretty sure they weren't broken. There was bruising beginning to show already, thanks to Bailey. That man was a menace, even when he didn't try to be. Bailey had been totally out of it. Was it a form of epilepsy? The rhythmical pulses of the field might well set a susceptible person off.

Malcolm gingerly slipped over to the pilot's position so he could check out the engine readings. A slew of red figures highlighted the damage the others were checking out. Despondent, Malcolm really couldn't find it in himself to follow them aft. He would find out soon enough.

That comment of Bailey's had worried Malcolm. He didn't have much of a cushion in funds. Most of his savings had been used up in state of the art scanners, explosive materials and other essential equipment. A Starfleet lieutenant's pay wasn't much to write home about. Starfleet didn't have to pay top dollar. It had numerous good quality applicants for every place at the Academy. No one ever entered Starfleet to get rich - there were other rewards. Malcolm had watched his savings increase each month, but it had been an academic interest then. Now, he was realising that budgeting was not such an easy skill as he had imagined. It was a shock to the system. He had never had to consider this complication to living before.

Restless, he tried to get comfortable, but then had an idea. He moved back to the co-pilot's seat. While the other two were occupied, he would take the opportunity to fulfil a promise and distract himself. Flicking the appropriate button, Malcolm began his letter.

"Recording: audio only.

"Hello, Travis. I said I would write, and here it is. Yes... I know I have been slow in sending it off to you. My only excuse is that I've been preoccupied with getting my new venture started. I've nearly reached Deross Mining Facility and already have some work lined up. Computer, pause."

He didn't know what else to put. Travis wouldn't be interested in the minutiae of explosives rigging or mining facts.

"Computer, resume. How is your new ship? I expect you are finding it a lot busier now you have more responsibilities. You really must push to go on plenty of landing parties, especially if you are able to lead them. That will give you the command experience to count towards your next promotion."

Malcolm grinned. He thought Travis would get ahead well enough without his advice. He would make a fine captain in due course, with the right experience.

"Be careful. Remember to gather as much intelligence as possible before making a decision, but don't let the lack of it stop you when you have to act."

What was he doing? Giving Travis a command lecture!

"What are your crewmates like? Do you all get on okay together? Have you heard from any of the others from Enterprise? Computer, Pause."

What else? Surely there was something else he could say?

"Computer, resume. Um. We just saw an energy cloud ahead of our bow. The sensor readings were inconclusive, but I think I saw a vessel within the cloud for a moment, then it disappeared. I've tagged the recording so it should find it's way to Starfleet fairly soon. Not that there is much to be gained from it.

"I'll write again in due course. I'm fine. I hope you are, too. Bye. Malcolm."

That would do it.

"Computer, finish recording. Send to Lieutenant jg Mayweather, Starfleet vessel Shenandoah."

Carlotta's comms system would automatically transmit the message when they got in range of a suitable relay, probably the one at the Facility.

Another job to tick off the list. Oh, damn! Malcolm swore silently. He should have asked how the change in department was suiting Travis. Never mind, that would give him something to put in his next letter, if Travis wrote back.

Malcolm stood to make his way aft, wincing at the stabbing pain across his ribs. He would have to see what the engine damage was - no sense in avoiding it any longer.

----------------------

Malcolm, Gomez and Bailey were gathered around the table in the galley, with mugs of coffee placed in front of them.

"So there it is," said Gomez, now sporting a bandage around his head. "The engines should be fine with a re-tune, but the inertial dampers are operating well below par. We'll have to slow down, but we're almost at the Facility. It'll add a couple of days to our time... no more."

Malcolm nodded. That was good. The damage could have been much more substantial.

Bailey said, "Time enough to fix that display you've got in bits, huh, Reed?"

Malcolm looked at him, remembering the vicious comment he had made previously. That part of Bailey was well hidden again. He gave a grunt but didn't reply, shifting again in his seat. He was finding it difficult to get comfortable. Still, it could have been worse. He said to Gomez, "You weren't really going to go in after that vessel we saw, were you?"

Gomez gave a thin smile and replied languidly, "No, I suppose not, or then again, I might have done."

Malcolm grimaced at the tabletop.

Gomez said, "You do have to take some risks in life."

Malcolm didn't answer. There were risks and there was damned foolishness that did no one any good, but he wasn't going to debate the matter. It wasn't going to affect him, not now the energy cloud had disappeared.

Bailey twisted to retrieve something from behind him and gave a pained grunt. "Damn. You didn't need to be so rough, Reed, you know," he grumbled.

"Huh?"

"When you took over the controls. This hurts!"

Malcolm gave an amused snort. It served him right!

Bailey was annoyed. "What's with you? Think that's funny, do you?"

Malcolm shrugged and gave a smirk. As a matter of fact, he was pleased that Bailey had received some consequences for his actions - or rather, inaction. Bailey flushed red. He lunged across the table and made to seize Malcolm by his shirt. Malcolm instinctively pulled back so Bailey was left clutching at air.

Gomez grabbed Bailey's arm to restrain him. "Steady, Mot! Leave him!" He gently pushed him down into his seat.

"Look at him! Sitting there, grinning, after he's done this to me."

Malcolm had had enough. He lost his smile and growled, "Oh, grow up, Bailey! You're barely hurt. It's your own fault, anyway. You should have done something."

"Oh yeah? You think you are so clever, don't you? I - "

Malcolm got up abruptly. "I've got work to do," he said quietly. He did not want to get into some ridiculous argument with Bailey. Ignoring the stabbing pain in his side, he strode out of the galley and made for the work-bay in the cargo area. He would go back to working on the display when Gomez had flight deck duty. He wanted to stay well away from Bailey for now. He didn't quite trust himself.

----------------------

Malcolm came awake with a start, disorientated in the dull light. A hand was pawing at him. He thrust it away with some force and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bunk. He got in a good crack at his attacker with his feet, slamming them hard into its body. The pain from his ribs didn't even register as he launched himself on top of whatever it was. He didn't care if it were a Xindi or Klingon emerging from that energy cloud. He wasn't going to submit lightly.

"Stop!" came a muffled plea. "Reed! You're having a dream."

Malcolm landed another good blow.

"It's Gomez! Stop it!"

Malcolm's fuzzy brain processed the words. Breathing hard, he stopped his assault, sitting back on his heels as the truth hit home and he became aware of where he was. He grabbed the edge of his bunk and pulled himself to his feet. Turning to the control panel, Malcolm increased the lighting to reveal Gomez sprawled at his feet, a new bloom of red staining the bandage around his head.

Wiping at the sweat running down his face, Malcolm blinked owlishly at the man. "What the hell are you playing at?" he croaked, sounding harsher than he intended. "I could've killed you!"

Gomez brought a shaky hand to his head, then rolled onto his side and leaned back against the opposite wall, his chest heaving. Gulping for air, he said, "You… you were shouting. A nightmare."

Malcolm realised he was soaked in sweat and shivered. It had been a long time since he had had such a bad one. Still… "I can cope with it. You shouldn't have tried to stop me."

Gomez gave a twisted, unamused smile. "You were being rather... disturbing."

Malcolm bit his lip, embarrassed. "Uhh, sorry." He bent down, ignoring the queasy sensation that induced, and got a closer look at Gomez. "I better take a look at that," he said, indicating Gomez' head. Gomez closed his eyes briefly in assent, still fighting to get his breath.

"Where else does it hurt?" asked Malcolm.

"Left arm," said Gomez, gingerly moving that limb. "Not bad though. Body's a little sore."

Malcolm carried out a quick, expert check, noting any tender areas. Thankfully, Gomez seemed all right, relatively speaking. "I don't think there is anything serious. We'll get the medical kit out and find an analgesic." Malcolm lurched to his feet, wrapped his left arm around his ribs and offered Gomez his right. As he pulled Gomez up, Malcolm couldn't prevent a hiss of pain.

"Are you okay? I didn't think I hurt you," said Gomez.

"I'm fine," said Malcolm, through gritted teeth. "Let's get you seen to."

They made their unsteady way to the lounge area where Gomez dug out the medical kit. Malcolm rummaged around for the appropriate drug and filled a hypospray.

Gomez immediately relaxed when the dose was delivered. "That's better," he said, in relief.

"Good. I really am most sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't mean to do it."

"No... but still..."

Malcolm removed the bandage and examined the cut over Gomez' eye. It had re-opened but already the blood flow was slowing. After cleaning it up, he applied a new dressing and wrapped a fresh bandage around to keep it in place.

Gomez looked up at him curiously. "Are you a medic?"

"Basic field medic," replied Malcolm, concentrating on the job at hand as he had another look at the injured arm. "Just bruised, I think," he said, picking up a medical scanner to check.

"You're ex-military?"

Malcolm paused a moment. "Starfleet, actually," he said. He wasn't going to make a big issue of his past. Why should he?

Gomez gave a grunt. "That explains it, then."

"What? Why I attacked you?" said Malcolm defensively.

Gomez gave a short laugh. "No. Your shiny boots!"

Malcolm looked at him in surprise, and then joined in. "Yeah. A bit of a giveaway, I suppose," he admitted. He finished off the examination. "All done," he said, standing back and switching off the scanner.

"Thanks. I appreciate it."

Malcolm gave a rueful grin. "It's the least I can do." He tidied up the medical items and chucked the wrappings and old dressing into a waste disposal unit.

Gomez watched him and ventured, "A bad dream, huh?"

Malcolm nodded as he stowed the med kit. "Yes. It happens from time to time."

"How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad. Drained and not very sleepy." Malcolm shot him a reassuring grin, disguising his shaky state. He could still detect the after-effects of adrenaline rippling through his body. He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands then ran them through his damp hair. He felt like he'd run a marathon and fought a full-scale battle at the end of it. Exactly how long had he been 'disturbing' the others?

Gomez slumped back in his chair. Malcolm chose the least lumpy of the remaining ones and collapsed into it, grunting again as his ribs protested.

Gomez eyed him, and then said, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Malcolm shook his head. "Won't help. You don't want to know how many people have talked me through this. It doesn't make much difference. I'm told the dreams will subside with time."

"I wonder what triggered it."

"Who knows what the subconscious gets up to to amuse itself? It was probably due to that phenomenon we encountered."

"The energy cloud I thought about going into? That worried you?"

Malcolm gave Gomez a sharp look. "I don't know how serious you were about going in there, but believe me, that is not the sort of thing you should even consider. You have no idea what could happen."

"And you have, I suppose?" said Gomez, testily. "I've been around the block a few times. I have a pretty good understanding of what is out there."

Malcolm stared at him, ready to argue, but decided to let it go. He contented himself with a nod and left it at that.

Gomez said, "I can see I can't convince you. Let's agree to disagree. Wait there a moment." He levered himself to his feet and padded off down the corridor, returning a few moments later with two glasses and a bottle. "Scotch. Want a dram?"

Malcolm wavered.

"Single malt. Twelve years old." Gomez poured one, took Malcolm's silence for a 'yes', and poured a second.

Malcolm eased back, sipping the fine whisky. "It's good," he said. He hadn't had a decent scotch since he last saw his father. Exhausted but far from sleepy, Malcolm took another sip as he wondered what his dad would be up to now. It would be afternoon at his parents' place in Malaysia. He would probably be having an afternoon siesta, and his mum would no doubt be reading gardening magazines...

Gomez broke his train of thought. "I wouldn't tell too many people about your time in Starfleet, if I were you. Some friendly advice."

Malcolm bristled. He hadn't been the one to bring it up, had he? "Why not?" he said, quietly, staring at the spirit in his glass.

Gomez shrugged. "They're an independent bunch, the miners. They don't take kindly to being pushed around. Starfleet has no jurisdiction here, but you wouldn't know it, the way they behave. Not that we see much of them." He paused. "Some have more... personal reasons."

"Who? And why?"

"Like I said, personal reasons. They'll tell you, if they want to." Gomez cradled his glass, then added, "Bailey is one. I wouldn't normally say anything, but if there's a possibility we might be working together, you should probably know. To keep the peace, such as it is." He smiled thinly.

Malcolm digested this information.

Gomez said, "Bailey isn't a fool, you know."

"No?" Malcolm raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"No. He's not." Gomez didn't elaborate but Malcolm didn't really care.

They sat quietly, then Gomez said, "How's your presentation coming along? Ready to show me how to make millions?"

"Hah! I didn't promise millions, did I? But I think you will be pleased with it. I'll have it finished soon."

"Is this expertise part of your Starfleet legacy, then, Reed?"

Malcolm gave what he hoped was an enigmatic smile, but didn't answer. He took another sip of whisky, savouring the spread of flavours. He lifted his glass to Gomez. "This is very generous of you," he said, deflecting any potential discussion of his past. It was indeed a generous gesture. The cost of shipping this all the way from Earth would be considerable.

Gomez said, with a shrug, "I thought you'd be the sort of man to appreciate a fine spirit. Most people I come across these days are only interested in the percentage of alcohol. Make the most of it, though. I don't suppose I will be overwhelmed with generosity again soon."

Malcolm gave a grin. "Understood."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Malcolm's thoughts drifting to a holiday he'd spent, touring the distilleries of the glens. He'd been so young then, no worries to speak of... Well, apart from the basic disagreement with his father, but that had been a steady feature of his life for so long, he didn't know how he would feel if it disappeared.

Malcolm took another small sip, not wanting to rush the pleasure. That had been difficult… informing his father he had decided to leave Starfleet. He had expected his dad to be triumphant, but instead, he had been shocked and disappointed. Malcolm had avoided thinking too much about his last meeting with him. That had always been his tactic where his father was concerned: push it under the carpet and let it fester.

Disappointed. His dad hadn't said as much. He'd uncharacteristically kept his opinions on Malcolm's behaviour to himself, but Malcolm knew what he was thinking: Malcolm had let the family down by entering Starfleet, second-best compared to the Royal Navy, and he hadn't even been able to make a go of that. His dad had actually been proud of Malcolm when he first returned after the mission to the Expanse. The media had hyped up their achievement; the crew was hailed as the saviours of humanity.

Tough! He was an adult now, and quite capable of running his life as he saw fit. He knew he had made the right choice, even if he couldn't tell his father why he was doing what he was.

Gomez coughed, jerking Malcolm back to the present.

"I'm going to get some sleep," said Gomez, unfolding his long frame and standing up. He lifted the bottle. "Top up?"

"Oh, no, really," answered Malcolm, not wanting to further impose on Gomez' magnanimity.

"I thought you liked this."

"Well, yes, I do. It's excellent, but-"

"No 'buts' about it. Anyway, if it helps you relax, I might be able to get some shut-eye without being wakened by the hounds of hell!"

Malcolm flushed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, embarrassed again by the reminder.

"It's okay. We've all got our demons." Gomez poured another measure for Malcolm, and left with a lazy wave.

TBC