Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. They are very much appreciated.

Volley: I think the ending is satisfying, although you might have doubts along the way as it will get rather bumpy on more than one front. I hope that doesn't put anyone off!

Chapter 7

The Mariposa lay silently heaved-to with engines down. They were being ultra-cautious, given the substantial amount of damage she had sustained, and checking out structural soundness at regular intervals. Whenever they resumed, it was at a snail's pace.

Malcolm ran a handheld scanner over the edge of the hull breach. The metal ties were doing their job and integrity was holding - just about. He moved over to inspect the newly added beam he had welded on to buttress a repaired area. That checked out too. Satisfied, he switched off his scanner and stood up. His eyes caught a figure making its way towards him. Gomez.

Malcolm sighed. It had been two days since his confrontation with the man and he wasn't any happier about it. What particularly angered him was the feeling of betrayal of a burgeoning friendship.

Gomez moved to activate his comm circuit. His voice came through on Malcolm's earpiece. "How is it?"

"Hull integrity is holding steady. The new support is fast, Skipper." Malcolm had taken refuge in formality, what little there was of it. This approach had served him well in the past. It would do now, also. He had been pulling his shifts, and more, to help with the emergency, but had made a point of avoiding both Gomez and Bailey outside of work. He ate alone and stayed in his quarters.

Gomez reached the modified support and bent down to examine it. "Good work, Pan," he said.

Malcolm gritted his teeth against the unwanted familiarity. "Thank you, Skipper," he answered, a light emphasis on the title.

He heard Gomez sigh. "Look, Pan... Reed. We need to talk."

"I have no new suggestions for repairs, Skipper," said Malcolm, deliberately obtuse.

Gomez swore. "You know what I mean!"

"There is nothing to be said," snapped Malcolm, turning away. He started for the airlock.

By the time he reached it, Gomez had caught up, and they went through the pressurisation cycle together. Immediately atmosphere was established, Gomez pulled off his helmet. "We talk - now!"

Malcolm tried to push past him, fumbling at his helmet fastenings as he did so. Gomez interposed himself before the door.

"Get out of the way, Gomez," said Malcolm quietly, removing his helmet. "Before I do something you'll regret."

Gomez' eyes flashed. "Threats, is it?"

"No. A friendly warning. Let me past!"

Before Malcolm could stop him, Gomez locked the inner door with an override code. "We talk!" he said.

Malcolm sighed and said sulkily, "Seems I don't have a choice." He glowered at the floor, waiting for Gomez to say his piece so he could escape. No doubt he would now be subjected to a lecture on repair costs, and the necessity of selling Baby to the highest bidder instead of informing Starfleet.

Malcolm had weighed the pros and cons, and concluded that Gomez' stance just won out. Starfleet would have to make do with any information he could get for them. But he hadn't yet told Gomez he'd decided to go along with his plan. Let him stew!

Malcolm tightened the hold on his helmet, wanting to get this unwelcome chat over with. "Well?" he said impatiently, keeping his eyes locked on the floor.

Gathering himself, Gomez took a deep breath and said, "I am sorry for what I did. I shouldn't have said what I did to you."

Malcolm remained silent, giving no sign of having heard. Gomez' words had taken him by surprise. However, he wasn't prepared to let him off the hook for what he'd said. He was still furious with Gomez.

Getting no response, Gomez said, "I apologise. You were right. I could have simply asked you if you were able to deal with what I had in mind. I had no right to insinuate that you were... unstable in any way."

"Right. Good. That it?" said Malcolm briskly. "Let me out, then."

"I did apologise! Isn't that enough?"

Malcolm tapped his foot. "I heard. Unlock the door."

"What will it take?"

Malcolm stared at him, and then shook his head. "I don't know," he said quietly, shifting his gaze to the wall. He was intensely loyal, and when that loyalty was betrayed… Well, it had never been fixable before. He sighed. After all, Gomez was trying to put it right. He did deserve something.

Malcolm met Gomez' eyes and said, "I really don't know. I can't help how I feel." He fumbled around for the words. This baring of his soul did not come naturally to him. "I suppose... I suppose I feel like you've taken advantage of a confidence, almost. You saw me having that bad dream - something I had no control over. For you to assume that somehow... that I was discharged from Starfleet because of that sort of thing... That I couldn't cope. And the way you felt you had to go about it…" He shook his head. "I thought we were friends, that you knew me better than that." He gave an unhappy smile. "Obviously, I was wrong."

Gomez said, "We are friends! Or were. I hope we can be still. It was a stupid misjudgement on my part. I don't know why I said that, except I was exhausted, and worried about the ship. And I was concerned about Bailey - this potential trouble is to do with him." He slumped back against the door. "I went about it totally wrong. I know I did. All I can say in my defence, is that I was tired, and not thinking too clearly."

Malcolm considered Gomez' words. He was completely sincere, that was for sure. Was it worth losing a friend - a good friend, possibly - over an admitted misjudgement? Who would that benefit? Who would lose out?

Eventually, Malcolm nodded. "We all make mistakes," he said. He held out his hand.

Gomez smiled in relief and took it, giving a firm shake.

"Now," said Malcolm, squinting around the airlock. "Are you going to let us out, or do we stay here and run out of air? Your choice!"

Gomez grinned and opened the door. "After you!"

Malcolm stepped into the corridor. He decided they might as well get all of it sorted out now they had started to talk. "So… your proposition?" he asked.

Gomez said, surprised, "Are you sure you want to talk about it right now?"

"Yeah. Why not?" said Malcolm, a weight lifting from him as normality returned. Perhaps there was something to be said for talking things through, after all.

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Gomez led the way to the common area and dropped into a seat, watching Malcolm carefully as he sat down opposite, as if checking that their new accord wasn't some mirage.

"So," said Malcolm, settling himself. "This proposition?"

"Before I go into that…" Gomez hesitated.

Malcolm gazed at him curiously. "Go on. Say what you have to," he urged.

"Okay. You said you were an armoury officer. What exactly does that entail?"

Where to start! Malcolm grinned. He decided on the abridged version. "Oh, quite a lot, actually. But the main responsibilities are keeping the weapons and targeting sensors functional, and firing the weapons."

Gomez face dropped. "So, ship to ship? Long range?"

"That's usually the case, yes. It's amazing how much technology has improved over the years. The accuracy of torpedoes now is- Ha. I'm sorry. I got carried away there!" Malcolm cut it short. He was all too familiar with the glazed expression that tended to come over people when faced with too much information. He had never found it a problem, himself, but others weren't so fortunate.

"No close quarters action, then?" Gomez still seemed disappointed.

"We faced that as well. Hand-to-hand combat at times, boarding parties, alien worlds."

"Really! I hadn't realised Starfleet had been so… active."

"Well, my ship was."

Malcolm watched as Gomez tried to work that one out. He decided he may as well tell him - after all, it wasn't as if it was a great secret. It was just that when people knew, they wanted him to talk about it, and most of the time he didn't want to, not to outsiders. He said, "My last ship was Enterprise."

"Enterprise," gasped Gomez. "You were an armoury officer on Enterprise?"

Malcolm couldn't help preening himself. "Chief Armoury Officer, actually. And Chief of Security."

"Oh!" Gomez sat up in surprise.

Malcolm gave a quiet self-depreciating laugh. He waved a hand at his face. "Yeah. I know! Difficult to believe, isn't it, when I go and get a couple of shiners in a brawl? Not exactly a glowing recommendation, huh?"

Gomez shook his head in dismissal of Malcolm's modesty. "Well, in that case, I'm sure you can cope with what I have in mind."

"Which is?" Malcolm was intrigued.

"Mot has a younger brother - Pete. Pete got into trouble on a planet called Ramessa. I don't know the exact details - a business venture went wrong. Anyway, it resulted in Pete being found guilty of some crime. That was about six years ago - longer now I guess - and he's still serving his sentence."

"Sounds rough." Malcolm had never heard of Ramessa, but any jail term had to be hard, and on an alien world, as well. It wasn't something he would ever want to experience.

Gomez sighed deeply. "Yeah. I think it is. Starfleet refused to help when Pete was arrested, or afterwards - hence Mot's animosity toward them. Mot wants to get him away from there."

Malcolm shifted awkwardly. He wanted to do what he could to help Bailey, but this didn't sit well with him. If Starfleet had refused to intervene, that indicated that there was probable cause for Pete receiving a jail sentence. Regretfully, he said, "I dunno. If this was all done legally by the authorities… I'm not sure that I want to get involved in a prison break." Certainly not for someone he didn't even know, even if it was Bailey's brother.

Gomez exclaimed, "Oh, no! Mot wouldn't want that, either. Huh, well, perhaps if he thought he might get away with it, and be capable of it… but he's not that deluded! No - there's a mechanism for paying a fine, and that commutes the sentence. Mot hasn't been able to do that yet, because it works out to a lot of money, but with the prospect of funds from salvaging Baby..."

"He's reached his goal," said Malcolm thoughtfully.

"Yeah - or very nearly."

"I don't see the problem."

"Ramessa is some distance from this sector. It would mean several transfers to get there, and also several money exchanges. Human currency wouldn't be acceptable."

Malcolm imagined Bailey careering around the sector, trying to find safe ways of informing people he had a large sum of money to convert, and gave up. He nodded in comprehension. "Mot won't make it very far. If he's lucky, he'll get away with his life."

"Yeah. I can't go with him. The Mariposa has to be kept operating, otherwise the running costs would overwhelm me."

"You could charter her out," suggested Malcolm.

"I did think of that, but finding the right party to lease her to is difficult. You need a combination of resources and skills."

Malcolm understood what Gomez was asking. "So - you want me to go with Mot?"

"Consider it, at least. Mot is going - there's no two ways about it. If you're not interested, I'll try to get him to find someone else."

Malcolm ran through in his mind the possible candidates he knew at the Facility. None were entirely satisfactory. Bailey would have to look further afield, but that brought its own problems. And he did owe Bailey his life. "Hmm. Let me think about it. I can't promise anything, but we've some time before the money comes through."

Gomez smiled. "Okay. I'll tell Mot you're considering it. Now… I'm cooking. Hungry?"

"Yeah. I'll risk it!" Malcolm grinned back. Some company would be a pleasant change after his days of self-imposed exile.

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The Mariposa had finally struggled into her home port, still hugging the alien artefact tightly to herself. The repairs had held, they hadn't been blown up, and Malcolm was feeling a little easier. Perhaps this salvage idea hadn't been so ludicrous, after all. He wondered exactly how much his share would come to. He hadn't pursued the matter with Gomez or Bailey as he didn't want to seemingly endorse their madcap scheme, but now...

He gazed out at the Facility from the ship's common area, watching the everyday activity. There were several mining ships unloading and waiting to unload. Hulking workhorses - perfect for their purpose. Malcolm ran his eyes over the ugly lines of the nearest ship - the Drunken Duck. A vessel like that would be out of the question. Far too expensive, even excluding all the necessary gear. But he didn't want one, anyway. Mining would never be his whole life if he could manage that.

No, what he truly coveted was a small two- or three- man ship - nothing too fancy. Ideally, something fast and manoeuvrable, but he could always add upgrades.

His own transport would bring independence. Then he could leave a mining site after all the technical explosives work was finished - the high value stuff. He wouldn't have to depend on the miner for his return trip. That would give him more free time, and he could concentrate on the lucrative side of the business - forget about the labouring. He sucked his teeth. Of course, he would have to find some way of allaying the miners' concerns about knowing the location of their activities, but he was sure there would be a way around that stumbling block.

He could go off to other places in between mining stints - do some exploring of this sector. His own ship! He started thinking about names. 'Victory' would probably be too weighty for the type of ship he had in mind. 'Revenge' was liable to be misunderstood. How about 'Dragonfly'…? That was a possibility. He shook his head in surprise at getting so carried away. One step at a time, he told himself. Anyway, it was bad luck to change a ship's name.

Bailey lumbered in. "He's still at it. Young must be driving a hard bargain."

"Hmm," said Malcolm, turning away from the window, and from dreaming, to practicalities. "And what happens if we don't interest any buyers? How will we pay the storage fee?"

"You worry too much. We won't have any problems there." Bailey slumped down and stretched out his arms over his head, giving a loud burp. He grinned at Malcolm's sniff of disgust. "Too much good food," he said by way of explanation.

"Yeah. Right."

"Have you decided what you're going to do with your share?"

"Not really," said Malcolm. He wasn't prepared to share his idea with Bailey - not just yet. "Red told me about your plans."

"Yeah. He said he'd spoken to you." Bailey looked speculatively at Malcolm. "And?"

"I'd be happy to go with you, Mot."

Bailey gave an enormous grin and jumped up, wrapping an arm around Malcolm's shoulders and pumping his hand. "Great! I'm sure I'd be okay by myself, but having someone along to keep me company will be good."

Malcolm extricated himself. "From what I've been able to find out, it shouldn't take too long."

"No. There and back - easy."

"Umm. We'll see."

A call came through on the comm. "Gomez to the Mariposa."

"Go ahead, Red," answered Bailey.

"All sorted out. Bring the ship round to the other side. We'll be offloading Baby into Cargo Area Gamma 1."

"Understood. See you soon." Bailey closed the channel. "Right, Pan. I'll pilot. You suit up."

"Okay." Malcolm went to get ready, amazed that even the Facility Admin apparently had no objections to embracing this cuckoo on their precious station.

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The alien artefact had been secured in the cargo area, well away from any other stores. Malcolm made for it through the Facility's warren of corridors, carefully manoeuvring a trolley over the raised bulkheads at each section junction. He didn't want to damage his scanning equipment. It was heavy-duty and had fared well so far, but he couldn't bring himself to treat it with anything less than his best care. He was still wearing his EV suit, thankful once more for its lightweight nature as he trudged along the endless corridors to the other side of the Facility.

So - what was the safest way to deal with Baby? Without knowing what was inside, they should be cautious. Malcolm had decided to carry out another set of scans - although he doubted that they would yield anything at all - and then cut into it under controlled conditions. If they wore EV suits and isolated the cargo area, that would protect them from anything nasty lurking within. His helmet was balanced on top of the scanner, ready to hand.

He had the plan of attack pretty firmly mapped out by the time he reached the cargo bay doors and pressed the door button. The doors slid across to reveal Baby - looking a lot bigger now it was enclosed in a confined space - and a gaggle of men gathered around it. Malcolm stopped, transfixed at the sight.

It was not what he had expected to see. Gone was the featureless object he had helped to transfer to the Facility. Baby now had a large rectangular opening in its side with a ramp leading up to it. Its interior was exposed to the atmosphere.

Blinking rapidly and holding his breath, Malcolm reached for his suit helmet, simultaneously turning to check the environmental controls on the wall. But it was no good. He dropped the helmet back down. They hadn't bothered to isolate the air recycling for this area. If anything harmful had launched itself from Baby when it had been opened up, it was too late now. It would be all around the station and already thoroughly absorbed by his own body.

With a sigh, Malcolm pulled out the medical scanner he had filched from the Infirmary on his way over. He was no expert but it was easy enough to set it for biohazards.

A loud voice called out to him. "Pan. Come look!"

"Yes, Mot. Okay," said Malcolm distractedly, calming a little as the medical scan failed to report anything more hazardous than the usual bugs that always clung to human structures. He pocketed the scanner with a shrug and made his way over to join the group.

The ramp appeared to be formed by a section of wall which had dropped down to reveal a pitch-black interior. The men - and one woman - Young's deputy Elmira was there, too - were peering in but not ready to set foot inside just yet.

Malcolm stared at the doorway. "How did you get it to open?" he asked. He had seen no trace of this feature on his scans.

"Don't know," said Gomez. "Mot tried a plasma torch on it, and before he could get anywhere it just appeared and dropped down."

Bailey glanced at Malcolm. "We waited for you before going in, seeing as part of it is yours. You would've had time to get changed out of your EV suit."

Malcolm stilled his first response about taking prudent steps to limit contamination. It was academic now. He looked around at the expectant group. "Who's going in first?"

"I will," said Bailey immediately. "Give me that flashlight." He placed a foot onto the ramp, testing its stability.

"Wait," said Malcolm. "It might have defences."

"It's okay," said Mot, taking a couple more steps and reaching his long arm into the darkness. He waved his hand around. "Look. That hasn't set anything off."

Malcolm bit his lip and craned to see what was inside. It was difficult because the light beam swung wildly about.

"Keep it steady, Bailey," said Young. "Swing it around slowly."

The interior of the vessel was strangely angled, with odd conjunctions of surfaces and an unsettling wrongness about how it all fitted together. The dancing light emphasised the alien aesthetics. Bailey's bulk cut out most of the interior from the sight of the others. He made his way to the left, swearing as he knocked a knee against an outcropping of a wall. "Whoever built this had no idea," he muttered. Suddenly, the interior was flooded with an intense blue-white light.

"I think that was the light switch," commented Malcolm, shielding his eyes. This was not a dead, lifeless object. There must be a power source somewhere. They needed to be vigilant.

The light intensity lessened to a more bearable level and Bailey continued on his way. Now the others could see inside. There were indicators of some kind. Malcolm's concern grew. They seemed to be active - changing shape and colour. He cautiously stepped up the ramp to get a better look.

"My God!" exclaimed Bailey, swinging around and succeeding in dazzling everyone again as the flashlight followed an arc across the spectators. His mouth hung open.

"What?" said Gomez.

Bailey shook his head and rammed a thumb back over his shoulder, but didn't speak. With some trepidation, Malcolm pushed past him to the end of the object. There was a knee-high surface to one side, a couple of metres long. Bailey seized Malcolm's arm from behind and pointed to the ledge. Malcolm shook off the hold and stepped toward it. He gasped. One end had a clear transparent region, and through it, an alien face was clearly visible. The object's owner was still at home!

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"Does anyone recognise the species?" asked Gomez. Everyone had crammed into Baby to gawp at the alien and now they were outside again, still stunned at their discovery.

There was a smattering of negatives in response. The alien was humanoid and had small tentacles or feelers on parts of its face - distinctive and memorable enough, except no one had come across anything like that before.

"His biosigns are weak," said Malcolm, holding up the medical scanner. "Perhaps that's because he is in stasis?"

Elmira said, "I have had some experience of stasis chambers - mostly the engineering side, but I know what they are supposed to do. The biosigns should be reduced but stable. Of course, I can't be sure, not knowing what's normal for this species, but these readings are erratic and faint. In short - not good."

Gomez ran a hand through his thinning hair. "Well, that's that. We have to tell Starfleet after all."

"No!" protested Bailey. "Why? What difference does this make?"

Malcolm explained, "We can't do anything for this alien. We don't have the facilities or experts to revive him safely. Starfleet has the required expertise."

"Why should we try to revive it!" exploded Bailey, glaring at Malcolm. "From what Elmira says, if we hadn't come along, it wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway. And it's in that state because of its own equipment. We should just switch off the power supply."

Young nodded, rubbing vigorously at his jaw. "I agree. I don't want Starfleet around here. They've no jurisdiction. How difficult is it to disconnect the life support?"

Bailey said, "I'm sure I can find it easily enough."

"No!" said Malcolm, in horror, swinging from one to the other. "How can you even suggest such a thing?"

"Pan's right, Mot," said Gomez. "What if one of us was in that position and we were found by aliens?"

Bailey grunted but subsided. Sullenly, he said, "Well, if we do tell Starfleet, I want my compensation money from them."

"Don't worry," said Gomez. "I'll make sure of that."

"And don't forget the storage fees, Gomez," said Young. "Get Starfleet to pay for them, too, otherwise you'll owe us a lot of ore by the time you're finished with it. Who knows how long they'll take to get here?"

"Yes, yes," said Gomez testily. "I'm losing out as well, remember? I don't like this any more than you do, but I don't think we have any alternative."

They all looked gloomily at Baby, its promised riches turned into obligation and something a lot less financially rewarding.

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Malcolm was alone with the sleeping alien, still barely alive in his stasis chamber. The brief excitement had rippled through the Facility, the curious had been to look and those proclaiming indifference had sauntered along later when no one was likely to notice them. Now the alien was left in peace.

The scanner alert sounded to show another run was finished. A picture of this craft was slowly building, but it was far from complete. Malcolm had located external sensors, the door mechanism and life support - a breathable atmosphere - and that was about it. He knew there was a power supply but how it functioned was still a mystery and would remain so for now. His equipment was good, but not that good. It needed some serious computing power to discover more of the secrets contained here.

Snapping the scanner into standby mode, Malcolm made his way to the stasis chamber, and once more gazed down at the being lying there, unaware of his surroundings. The biosigns remained thready and dangerously low. Malcolm sighed and placed a hand on the cool casing. He had an uncomfortable suspicion that this alien's luck had finally run out.

The callous attitude of Young, Bailey and some of the others had dismayed him. They didn't seem to be able to recognise the kindred sentience. Perhaps they had had bad experiences with aliens, as Bailey clearly had done, but then… He sighed. He guessed humans were just as capable of inflicting distress on each other without outside assistance. It would be some time before mankind could wholly shake off their heritage, reawakened by the Xindi attack.

"Good luck," he said quietly, giving the casing a pat. "Help is on its way."

The alien remained oblivious, of course. Malcolm gathered his equipment together. With a final glance, he left the alien to his desperate, lonely fight. Malcolm had done all he could. Now he had to get back to the day job - mining.

TBC