Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thank you to those who have been able to review. Tata: Sorry - I'm only revealing what I put in my note for Chapter 1, but there is still a long way to go. :-)

Chapter 5

It was a mistake, realised Malcolm in dismay, to come to the mess hall at this time. He hesitated at the threshold, surveying the noisy, seething mass of men and women. The room was packed. Most, if not all, seats were taken and knots of people stood about, balancing plates or lifting glasses. Everywhere, there were discussions, conducted at top volume, on such topics as ore prices, equipment problems or the latest iniquities inflicted by Admin. Malcolm kicked himself. Why hadn't he thought to get here earlier? He knew from experience it would have been so much less busy. That analysis he was working on could have waited.

The sudden influx of miners at the Facility was due to the imminent prospect of two bulk cargo vessels. Their timetable was not exact but they would be here within the next 48 hours. There were also rumours of a third vessel - possibly a trader. Accordingly, if at all possible, the miners had organised their campaigns so they would be on the Facility at this time. They wanted to take a direct part in the negotiations for the ore they had brought in. In the event, many were likely to be disappointed. Admin often managed to purchase the rights in the ore beforehand and get a mark up when it was sold on.

Malcolm stood in indecision, wondering gloomily if ration bars might prove a better alternative.

"Reed! Here!"

Malcolm turned to the familiar voice and caught a glimpse through the throng of Bailey and Gomez, snugly holed up in a corner. Bailey was making exaggerated hand signals at the empty place opposite him.

Malcolm snagged a passing kitchen assistant, gave his order, and then pushed his way over to the two men. "I forgot what it'd be like," he panted, dropping into the free seat. "I should know better by now."

"Uh huh," agreed Bailey. He shoved an empty plate away and rested his elbows on the table. "So, how d'you get on with old Ashton, then?" He gave an annoying snigger, winking at Gomez, who allowed only a hint of amusement to cross his face.

Malcolm scowled at Bailey. "How do you think?" he said caustically. "You could have warned me!"

"We learn better through making mistakes," said Bailey, with a laugh.

Malcolm replied sarcastically, "Ah, yes. Indeed? I'll remember that next time you insist on standing too close to an explosive charge!"

Bailey gave a hoot at receiving the response he had hoped for, slapping a hand on the tabletop.

Gomez looked on tolerantly at the exchange. He said mildly, "I thought you'd know his reputation by now, Reed. We didn't know you were working for him, otherwise we would have warned you." He looked significantly at Bailey. "Wouldn't we?"

Bailey grinned and gave a noncommittal shrug.

Malcolm tskked to himself in irritation. Ashton had been a complete trial from start to finish. His absent-mindedness had meant they were missing significant pieces of equipment, so what should have been easy turned out to be bloody hard work. Slave labour, thought Malcolm crossly. Ashton had also neglected to replenish stores, so they had had little decent food, running out all together at the end. To top it all, he had rambled on incessantly. The first time he had asked Malcolm about his family, Malcolm had replied civilly enough, but when he asked exactly the same questions for the sixth or seventh time, Malcolm had erupted. It hadn't frightened Ashton though. He still wittered on.

"Will you go out with him again?" said Bailey.

"Only if he pays me three times as much," growled Malcolm.

"Did you stay on board for docking?" asked Gomez, with genuine interest.

Malcolm gave a quick half-smile. "Ah - no. That was one thing I do know about. I cadged a lift on Carlotta. They were most sympathetic!"

Gomez said, "They knew they might be in the same predicament themselves some day." They all chuckled at the truth in that comment.

Gomez nodded at Malcolm. "What about us? All set for tomorrow? Did you get the prelim scan results I sent over?"

"Yes. Everything's ready. I need to..."

A loud, unsteady cheer from the far side of the room drowned Malcolm's words. It wasn't that far into the night, but there had been some hard drinking going on already by the sound of it.

"Great," muttered Malcolm. "I hope I get my dinner before all mayhem breaks out!"

"Hhmm. I wouldn't count on it," said Gomez thoughtfully, casting a calculating eye over the mob. "I think tonight it's going to be early. I'll be making a move soon."

"We finished eating ages ago," said Bailey smugly. "You should have been here an hour ago."

"I was working on something and got carried away," said Malcolm, half-standing to look over the heads of nearby diners to the kitchen. "Perhaps I'll cancel my order. Oh damn. Too late. Here it comes."

The assistant reached Malcolm and almost dropped the plates and glass on the table as he was jostled from behind. "Sorry," he apologised, wiping up some of the spillage.

"It doesn't matter," said Malcolm, trying to ignore the sauce on his trousers. He picked up his knife and fork and set to with determination. Bailey asked for another beer, finishing up the glass he had. The harassed assistant gave a quick nod and bustled off, expertly deploying his elbows to give himself some room.

Through a general lull in the chaotic noise, a penetrating voice came from an adjacent table. "I blame the aliens."

"Which ones?"

"All of them! Does it matter!" The words were slurred but emphatic.

"Kill 'em all, I say!"

Malcolm glanced over to the group. "Ignorant bastards," he said, with a shake of his head.

"They have a point," answered Bailey, reaching to take his fresh beer from the kitchen assistant.

"No they don't," said Malcolm evenly, still eating.

Bailey grunted but didn't press it.

"I'm going," said Gomez. "See you both tomorrow." He slipped out of his seat and disappeared into the mêlée.

Malcolm glanced across at Bailey. "Staying?"

"I'll keep you company." Bailey tipped his glass and took a long draught.

"Okay. It's up to you." It didn't matter one way or the other to Malcolm. If Bailey wanted to risk trouble, it was no business of his.

Malcolm ploughed through his meal, trying to ignore the anti-alien sentiments spewing out around him. Then he heard, "Ever seen those stupid Andor'eans? Baby blue and with cute little antennas!" The attitude of the speaker was contemptuous.

"Heehee. Yeah, I'd like to get hold of those antennas and pull 'em right off!"

Malcolm ceased eating, frozen by the words. He put his utensils down with deliberation. Bailey said warningly, "Reed..."

Malcolm glared at him. "What?"

"Don't get involved. They're drunk. It won't do any good." Bailey was now pretty far gone himself, judging by his bright pink face and sincere glazed stare. He leant towards Malcolm and placed a meaty hand on his arm.

Malcolm reared back as the sour beery breath hit him and pushed Bailey's hand away. "Any Andorian... that's Andorian not Andor'ean... would-"

Bailey interrupted. "What? What did you say?"

"I said," repeated Malcolm loudly, "any Andorian would be more than a match for any ten of those drunkards... more than ten."

"Noooo," said Bailey shaking his head. "That's not right."

"It is. What's more, if it wasn't for the Andorians, Earth wouldn't exist any more. So put that in your pipe and smoke it!" Malcolm had barely started his beer but he was finding the aggressive air around him infectious.

"I heard that!" shouted the miner from the next table. He leapt to his feet and stumbled across, towering over Malcolm and Bailey. "That's not true! Filthy little blues. And I'll prove it!"

This statement led to a roar of approval from the surrounding miners, who gathered closer in anticipation of some excitement.

Malcolm stared up at the man. It was Johansson. Now the sensible thing to do, of course, would be to soothe him down, offer to buy a drink, perhaps, and then leave before the place erupted. But Malcolm wasn't feeling sensible. He had had enough of that. Perhaps his nightmare trip with Ashton had something to do with his need for a confrontation. Or his exasperation at the lack of recognition of Shran's help.

Slowly, Malcolm stood up, never taking his eyes off Johansson, who stood a good head and a half taller than him.

Johansson said, "I'm going to find an Andor'ean, get hold of its antennas and twist 'em off." He glowered at Malcolm and swayed a little.

Malcolm gave a humourless half-smile. "I rather think the Andorian will be twisting off parts of your anatomy."

Johansson let out an ear-splitting howl and lunged forward, swinging a fist at Malcolm. Malcolm easily avoided the ponderous assault by the simple expedient of leaning back. Johansson's momentum carried him around and he ended up crashing down onto the table, scattering plates and glasses.

Malcolm folded his arms and looked down his nose at the spread-eagled man. "Yes," he commented in cut-glass tones. "That rather proves my point, I think."

A noise from behind alerted Malcolm to another attack. He spun and dropped, and another fist missed him, connecting with the jaw of a captivated onlooker instead, who was knocked back into his neighbour, spilling beer over several people.

All hell broke loose. There were fists flying, boots kicking and anything not nailed down - including some of the miners - became a makeshift weapon. Malcolm, being sober, was at a huge advantage and, with his albeit-rusty security training, he had no problem in dodging or deflecting blows.

Thankfully, the ban on energy weapons on the Facility stopped the more greatly deranged from taking out everyone else, but a couple of the combatants pulled knives. Malcolm saw one such man whirling around in agitation, apparently too confused to choose a victim. Casting about, Malcolm spied a towel dropped by the kitchen assistant. Seizing it, he moved swiftly to the knife wielder. He flung the towel over the man's head and chopped at his hand. The man yelped, dropping his knife. Malcolm bent down quickly and grabbed it, stuffing it out of harm's way down the inside of his right boot. The disarmed man yelled muffled curses as he flung his arms around, blindly seeking revenge. Malcolm was happy to shut him up with a swift knee to his stomach, followed by a helping hand to drive the man floorwards.

Malcolm caught the gleam of a second blade. He pushed his way through a mass of heaving bodies, suffering some blows for his troubles, to get behind the person with the knife - a woman. He grabbed it out of her hand before she realised what was going on and expertly spun it high to the ceiling. It stuck fast, quivering and well out of anyone's reach.

Grinning smugly at his cleverness and the unobtainable knife, Malcolm's attention had strayed and he missed an attack from below. A hand grabbed his heel and yanked him off balance, bringing him crashing to the floor. Malcolm lashed out at his attacker, and then turned and pinned the man - who promptly fainted. Malcolm paused, nonplussed, deprived of meaningful victory. He sat up, sighed and placed the man in the recovery position.

The brawl was nearly over. A few grunts and blows could be heard, but they were less frequent.

Getting to his feet, Malcolm turned to leave, congratulating himself that he hadn't done too badly, all things considered, and replaying the action in his mind. Which is probably why he didn't see the chair leg coming his way. Or duck.

Johansson cracked the leg across Malcolm's face. Malcolm instinctively pulled back, but it just clipped him across the bridge of his nose.

That did it! Malcolm finally saw red and began to take the fight seriously. He crouched, ready to pounce, lightly poised on his toes, fists raised. Time to show how it should be done!

Johansson gazed stupidly at Malcolm and then at his chair leg, and then back at Malcolm. He couldn't work out why Malcolm was still on his feet. He stood leadenly as Malcolm sprung towards him, delivered a few well-aimed punches, then stood back to admire their effect. Johansson sank gracefully to his knees and continued downward into an insensible heap on the floor. He seemed almost peaceful, lying there. Malcolm shook his head, and placed Johansson in the recovery position, also.

Wiping a sleeve over his bloody face, Malcolm swung his gaze over the now mostly-still room. Bodies slumped against each other, under each other, staggered around each other… That was the end of it. The fracas was definitely finished. He wondered briefly if he should check everyone, but immediately dismissed the idea. These people were tough. This ritual happened almost every month, and mostly they seemed to survive. He wasn't their guardian.

He straightened himself up, realising guiltily that he had actually quite enjoyed himself.

As he stumbled off to his quarters, he tentatively explored with his fingers the damage to his nose. He had let his guard down. That was stupid today. It could be fatal another time. There was no denying it - he was out of practice. He made a resolution to resume full workouts.

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The next morning, Malcolm discovered he had acquired two beautiful black eyes. He gazed wryly at the comical figure in the mirror. Just lovely! Bailey would have a field day at his expense - but this time he probably deserved it. The saving grace was that his nose seemed to be in one piece. There was no reason to visit the infirmary, for which he gave thanks.

His equipment was already loaded on the Mariposa, so Malcolm only had to collect his personal things together, which didn't take long. He made for the airlock where Carlotta was docked, ducking his head each time he passed someone en route.

Carlotta was doing duty as a ferry because there were too many mining vessels for them all to dock with the Facility. There were already a couple of other passengers on board - both much worse for wear than Malcolm. Malcolm felt less embarrassed, but if he hadn't had this job with Gomez lined up, he would quite happily have stayed in his quarters until the evidence of his stupidity had faded. No chance of that, however.

The Mariposa was first on the list. With a gentle bump, Carlotta was brought alongside and the seal made. Waving his acknowledgement, Malcolm cycled through the airlock and stepped onto Gomez' ship. Perhaps he could keep out of the way of the others until the bruises weren't quite so purple? Not a very practicable plan, unfortunately. He'd just have to put up with it.

Hurrying along, head down, Malcolm made for his usual cabin to drop off his kitbag.

A booming voice called from behind him, "Reed!"

Typical! Bailey had tagged him within seconds of arrival.

Reluctantly, Malcolm halted. He lifted his head and, squaring his shoulders, turned about to face Bailey - ready to meet the inevitable not-so-wise crack. His battered eyes widened as he saw Bailey's matching pair of shiners. Bailey blinked and then roared with laughter, and, for once, Malcolm couldn't help but join in with him.

"What's the joke?" asked Gomez, appearing in a doorway with a reel of cable swinging loosely from one hand.

Bailey could only point in Malcolm's direction and utter incoherent noises.

Malcolm smiled broadly. "You appear to have a couple of pandas crewing for you this trip, Gomez."

"Pandas! That's a good one," chortled Bailey, wiping a tear from his eye.

Malcolm grinned at Bailey's uncritical appreciation of his weak joke and didn't even object to Bailey thumping him on the back.

Gomez cast a jaundiced eye over the two men. "So I see. You didn't get out in time, obviously."

Bailey shook his head. "No, and Reed, here, was the one who started it."

"No," protested Malcolm. "It was Johansson."

"He told Johansson that any Andorian would pull his goolies off," said Bailey with a giggle.

Malcolm winced. "Well, not in so many words."

"And then Johansson proved it!"

"He did rather, didn't he?" agreed Malcolm. "Ignorant bastard." He laughed.

Gomez didn't join in with the others' merriment. "So, you've alienated a client have you, Reed? That's not good business practice."

Bailey said, "I bet Johansson won't even remember."

"No. Well, let's hope not," said Malcolm, suddenly sobering. He had been reckless. What had got into him? Johansson had been a good source of income for him.

Taking in both men with his comments, Gomez said sharply, "What you do in your own time is up to you, but it better not affect your work on this ship." He turned on his heels and left, slapping the cable reel against his leg.

Malcolm fumed silently. He didn't have to contract to Gomez! There were plenty of others he could work for. Who did Gomez think he was! And what was with this assumption that he wouldn't be able to do his job properly?

Bailey clapped Malcolm on the back, but Malcolm angrily shrugged him off. Bailey said quietly in Malcolm's ear. "Don't mind him. He's annoyed because he missed out on all the fun." He gave a little punch in the air. "Pandas united!" he declared.

Malcolm looked at Bailey's purple-framed eyes. The sight was just too humorous to stay in a bad mood. He grinned. "Pandas united," he replied. He even returned an echo of Bailey's gesture.

"Y'know," said Bailey thoughtfully, standing back and appraising Malcolm, "I think at long last you have a nickname, Panda!"

"Oh no," said Malcolm backing away. "You must be joking! Calling me after some cute cuddly animal. No way!"

"Well, we need something..."

"You need something!"

"And since none of my other suggestions were acceptable..."

"Neither's this!"

"Tough! It was your idea, anyway."

Malcolm stared at him in appalled dismay. This was terrible! And anything he said was merely liable to increase Bailey's resolve. He gave a little moan and turned on his heels to make for the refuge of his quarters, trailed by Bailey's words. "I'll fix us coffee, Panda!"

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

"So, Panda. Got those readings yet?" asked Bailey.

Malcolm remained stubbornly silent, concentrating on his food.

Gomez said, "I sent them to your terminal… Panda." He winked at Bailey.

Malcolm glared at him, then pointedly dropped his head down.

Bailey said, "More coffee, Panda?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," exclaimed Malcolm, finally cracking. It had been a whole day now. "How long are you two going to keep this up for?"

"For as long as it takes, Panda," said Bailey reasonably, spreading his hands wide.

"It's not funny!"

"It isn't supposed to be," said Bailey. "But a person is incomplete without a nickname, don't you agree Red?"

"I guess so, Mot," said Gomez with a lazy smile and a shrug. "You know, Panda, Mot won't give in. He's kind of relentless like that."

"So I see," said Malcolm, through gritted teeth. "But I'm a stubborn git, too, when I want to be, and right now, I want to be! I'm not answering to it."

"You just did," crowed Bailey. "Face it, Panda. You can't win."

Malcolm glared at his two companions, knowing that his black eyes made him look ridiculous. "I can understand Mot getting a bee in his bonnet about this, Gomez - or should I say, Red - but I don't know what's got into you!"

Gomez laughed. "I'm kinda complicated like that!"

Malcolm blew his breath out in frustration. They had to make their own entertainment out here, but this was too puerile even for this situation.

Bailey said, "I don't understand the objection, Panda. It's not rude."

"It's 'cute'," said Gomez, his thin lips twitching. "Panda."

Malcolm scowled at him.

Bailey said thoughtfully, "Panda. It's got a ring about it. It's different." He grinned. "It's 'cute'!"

Malcolm erupted. "I'm an explosives man, not a cute furry animal. I'm an ex-armoury officer, dammit!" He thumped his fist on the table, rattling the crockery. "I. Will. Not. Answer. To. Panda... Dammit! Got that!"

Gomez sat back, considering Malcolm. "Ex-armoury officer, huh?"

Malcolm nodded crossly, with his arms defiantly folded.

"Tell you what," said Bailey in a conciliatory tone. "Let's call you 'Pan'. How's that?"

Malcolm grimaced. That was only marginally better. "I don't know what's the matter with plain Reed," he grumbled.

Bailey said, "Well, plain Reed just won't do anymore. So it's Pan, or Panda - take your pick. Unless you want to go back to one of my earlier suggestions?"

Malcolm shuddered. "No thanks!" He closed his eyes. He knew he was going to regret it, but he couldn't bear the thought of days more of this. Weeks, probably. He opened his eyes again, and said in defeat, "Okay. You win. Pan it is. But don't expect me to like it."

His companions grinned broadly at Malcolm's capitulation. He sighed in exasperation. What had he done to deserve this?

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

The Mariposa had been out of the Facility for three days and Malcolm had now done all he could with the data available to him. He would have to wait until they reached their final destination before finalising the firing scheme for the next job. Idly gazing out of the small port in the common area, he traced their course using stars and nebulas as waymarkers.

He would never let any of his clients know, but he had become quite adept at navigating without instrumentation. They all guarded their working sites so jealously. There was no way he was allowed anywhere near the navigation console. They would be quite horrified if he sat down and sketched out exactly where each mined in relation to his competitors.

He smiled. No, he had better keep quiet on that front, otherwise he would find his work melting away. He had his integrity but he couldn't expect these paranoid miners to rely on that.

Time for a workout, he thought, checking his chronometer. He was determined to get back in shape. He hadn't really let matters slip too much, but he wanted to get back to his best once more. It was difficult, though, without a suitable sparring partner. He was always limited depending on whose ship he was on. Even at the Facility there weren't that many permanent residents. There were a couple of the maintenance guys who might be interested. He would have to ask them next time he was back. Failing that, there was always the next mass brawl! He grinned at that absurd thought.

The cargo bay acted as an ideal makeshift gym. Malcolm changed into his sweats and made his way there, swinging his arms to loosen up. He began with some shadow boxing, gradually building into more demanding moves as he warmed up. It was an excellent way to disperse some aggression, as well. As he worked, he considered asking Gomez if he might set up a target range - there was enough room in the cargo bay and he could arrange matters so there would be no damage. If necessary he could use reduced power.

He heard one of his companions enter, and used it to trigger a roll and turn sequence, springing up ready for action. Bailey sniffed, determined to remain unimpressed.

"Come for a workout, Bailey?" asked Malcolm.

"I'm as fit as I need to be, thanks," said Bailey. "I'm checking the grappling lines. Don't mind me."

"Don't worry. I won't." Malcolm dropped down onto the floor for some push ups.

The grappling lines were housed on massive drums along the sides of the area. They had been checked when they were hauled in but it was always prudent to examine them again before they were next required. Most miners didn't bother but Gomez tended to be particular about such matters.

Bailey said, keeping his attention on the cables, "Pan... what you said about the Andorians saving Earth. You were just rattling Johansson's cage, weren't you?"

Malcolm slowed his movements. That was classified information, although why, he didn't know. It didn't make any sense to him. Nonetheless, he should have kept his big mouth shut. He threw Bailey a nervous glance. "I shouldn't have said anything at all. I got carried away. Try to forget about it, will you? Mot…?"

Bailey tugged at a fixing. "'Mot' is it? You do want to get on my good side!"

Malcolm pulled a face, which Bailey couldn't see. He finished his exercises and stood slowly. "Yes, well. It's not for general consumption."

"Have you ever met an Andorian?" Bailey had stopped his work and was now scrutinising Malcolm.

"Uh huh. Several as a matter of fact." Malcolm grabbed his towel and rubbed it over his face. He grinned at Bailey. "They are an interesting race. Very militaristic, even the females." One in particular came to mind. His smile broadened.

Bailey frowned in confusion. "I got the impression you were anti-alien."

"I don't know where you got that from. I judge each alien on their own merits."

"Even Xindi?"

"Yes. Even Xindi. Don't forget, they helped in the destruction of the weapon."

"The weapon they made."

"Did you follow what happened? Do you know why they constructed the weapon?"

Bailey made a negative face. "I heard what they say happened. Doesn't mean we should believe them."

Malcolm couldn't understand this negativity. So many of the mining community thought this way. "Why don't you like aliens, Mot? Have you come across many?" Malcolm doubted that would be the case. Aliens did stop off occasionally at the Facility, but not often, and most miners spent their lives out on their ships.

Bailey's answer surprised him. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Malcolm. "Yeah. I've had more than enough of aliens. Grasping, cold-blooded, cruel. I've had more dealings with them than most people. Even more than you, perhaps, Pan."

Malcolm blinked at Bailey's depth of emotion. "What happened, Mot? Did you-"

He didn't finish.

A massive shock suddenly thundered through the hull, violently hurling the two men head over heels. The lighting went off-line, plunging them into blackness. Simultaneously, the insistent high keening of the depressurisation alarm sounded. They were losing atmosphere and, in seconds, they would be at vacuum!

TBC