Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews. It's great to know that people are enjoying this story.

Chapter 9

Malcolm and Trip reached Malcolm's door, which slid open with an annoying squeak it had recently acquired. Trip stepped into the centre of the room and looked around with interest. His presence made the room seem very claustrophobic and tinier than ever.

Malcolm felt a flush of embarrassment at the state of his quarters. He'd forgotten he'd left things in such disarray. "Uh, Trip, you've caught me at a bad time. Normally it's tidier than this, but I've just got back from a campaign. Here, let me make some space." He hastily gathered up the dirty clothes and shoved them into a corner. The equipment was pushed against a wall.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Trip gave a dismissive wave. His eyes lit up as he saw the model on Malcolm's shelf, the only concession to any form of decoration. He ran a finger over the beautifully crafted lines of Enterprise. "Your team made a good job of this," he said.

Malcolm smiled as he considered the model. "It's perfect. It must have taken them ages to do, especially with that alloy. It's not the easiest to work." They had used an old torpedo casing as their starting material. Malcolm had been overwhelmed when they presented it to him at his leaving party.

Malcolm indicated the bunk. "Please, sit down, Trip. I'm afraid this room isn't set up for visitors. You can tell me more about what's been happening, how you are."

The two men sat next to each other, Malcolm making sure he took the side with the damp patch where his towel had been carelessly flung down.

Trip spoke first. "You're looking well, Malcolm. Very well, as a matter of fact."

"I feel good, Trip." Malcolm couldn't return the observation. Trip seemed worn. There were prominent dark circles under his eyes and he'd lost some of his old vivacity.

Trip shook his head. "I thought you were crazy, doing this, but it does seem to suit you."

"I wasn't sure, either, to begin with. But, yeah, I like this. I am my own boss. I'm in control. I'm actually sleeping properly for the first time in years."

"Aren't you bored, though?" probed Trip. "Don't you miss everything, all the excitement?"

"No, not really," replied Malcolm, adding, after a brief pause, "Well, of course, I miss the people, and the weapons, but then I've gained a lot, too."

Trip smiled at his friend. "You should write, you know," he chided.

Malcolm shifted guiltily. "I do try, but there's always something that needs doing."

"Yeah, I know. And I know it's not your strong suit."

"I wrote to Travis a few times," said Malcolm, suddenly remembering he hadn't been completely delinquent in that regard.

"But you didn't write me? I'm hurt!" joked Trip.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better in future," promised Malcolm, with a grin in answer to Trip's comical expression of scepticism.

Then, turning to more serious matters, Malcolm said, "I'm surprised to see you out here. Why send Enterprise all this way? I thought the intention was to carry out some more exploratory missions, in the opposite direction."

Trip sighed heavily. "There's been a change of plans. I don't know how much you get to hear, but there have been several incidents with the Klingons. Some quite bad. People got killed."

That shocked Malcolm. "I haven't been following the news much, as you've probably gathered by now. Everything else seems so remote from here. Were any of the casualties from Enterprise - people I know?"

Trip shook his head. "No. It's been mostly cargo ships and some of our scout vessels."

Malcolm ran his hands over his thighs, reminded of those people lost during the Xindi mission. So many lost. Friends and comrades.

Trip said, "There have been reports of Klingon ships near here, in the next sector. That's a long way from their Empire."

"Klingons, huh?" Malcolm processed that information. It made him uneasy. He didn't want to get caught up in anything involving Klingons. He knew Archer was a marked man by the Klingon Empire and he always wondered if the Klingons knew of his own part in Archer's escape from Rura Penthe. He had told himself they wouldn't care, but it niggled away at the back of his mind whenever they were mentioned.

Closely observing Malcolm's reactions, Trip said, "Starfleet is cranking up ship production. They're desperate for officers and men. Anyone on the Reserve List is being encouraged to enter active service again."

Malcolm knew where this was leading. "Trip..." he started, pulling a negative face.

"No, Malcolm. Hear me out. I know you were unhappy with a number of things in the Expanse, but we are on the verge of a full-scale war. We need experienced officers like you."

"War, Trip? Isn't that an exaggeration?"

"I only wish it were."

Malcolm dropped his head and fidgeted with his fingers, pressing them together so hard that his knuckles showed white. "It's not possible, Trip," he murmured. "I can't serve under Captain Archer again."

Trip gave a soft snort. "I think you'd find yourself First Officer on another ship, and in line for swift promotion to your own command."

Malcolm gave a hollow laugh. "With my luck, I'd probably find myself on the Shenandoah under Duvall!"

Trip laughed at that idea. "I see Travis kept you informed!"

"Oh, he was quite discreet about it, but reading between the lines, that ship is an absolute shambles!" Malcolm shook his head in dismay.

Trip said intently, "That is why you are needed, Malcolm. Seriously. You would sort them out, no problem. I don't know what it is between you and Captain Archer, but I'm sure you wouldn't be forced to serve on Enterprise if you didn't want to."

"You're right. I wouldn't be posted to Enterprise. Captain Archer would make sure of that. There's more to it than... It's complicated." Malcolm lapsed into silence. He hadn't explained to anyone what his full reasons had been for resigning. He chewed at his lip as he debated how much to tell Trip. Pressing the nail of his left index finger hard into the ball of his thumb, he drew it across again and again.

Trip watched him curiously. "C'mon. You've got to explain what's going on here, Malcolm."

Malcolm flashed him an uncertain glance.

"I won't say anything to anyone else," assured Trip. "Please."

Malcolm sighed. He locked his gaze on the floor - this was not easy. Should he tell Trip? It would stop him pressing the subject. And Trip was the closest friend Malcolm had ever had. Didn't he deserve to know? It wasn't that big a secret, really. But, then, Trip was also a friend of Archer's.

"Malcolm. We're friends, aren't we?"

Malcolm nodded without looking up at Trip.

"Well then..." pursued Trip.

"Okay." Malcolm paused to gather his thoughts. Without taking his eyes off that worn spot on the floor, he began to explain what had happened. "As you pointed out, there were a number of things which disturbed me about our mission in the Expanse. I can be pragmatic, though. I'm not totally naive. After all, we had the lives of billions resting on our success. We returned to Earth, the weapon destroyed..."

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

The hectic round of welcoming and celebration had begun to ease. The Enterprise crew had been feted everywhere they went. There were events all over the globe and the entire crew found themselves pressed into service, particularly the senior officers. Malcolm had found it a real trial. He had had to represent Enterprise on his own at several presentations and he had not enjoyed it one little bit.

He got through the short speech he'd given on these occasions by the expedient of fixing his eyes on the back of the room and pretending he was talking to his men in the Armoury. He had almost wished to be facing a Xindi attack. Almost, but then, speeches and presentations didn't lead to death and terrible injuries, pain and destruction. He was surprised to find his previous terror of public speaking had been replaced by mere discomfort, but, he reflected, that was natural. He had finally grown up. His father had seen it on Malcolm's brief first visit home. Seen it and understood. He had given Malcolm his hand, and when they locked eyes Malcolm had seen that understanding and sympathy. But he couldn't accept it.

He was dishonoured – a fraud.

That was what actually disturbed Malcolm. Here he was, hailed as a hero, but he had had to compromise his ideals, carry out orders he thought he would never be given, not in Starfleet, and not only that, he had carried them out willingly.

The appreciative masses of Earth's population didn't know about that... didn't want to know. They were just happy that Earth was saved, and gave no thought to the cost or what was done in its name.

Starfleet had swung its propaganda machine into action. Any hint of some of the less savoury aspects of the mission was swiftly suppressed before anyone could grab hold of it. And in any case, no one wanted their illusions shattered.

Now Malcolm was back in San Francisco, starting the gruelling debriefing process. He was grilled on everything, often by high-ranking officers. At the back of his mind was the decision he had made, months ago. He had wavered since then. Pragmatism warring with idealism. Did he accept that what had to be done, needed to be done? Or did he cut loose?

Then he had an unmistakable shove in one direction.

It had been a Tuesday lunchtime, in late June. He had spent all morning with Commander Williams and several of his staff, talking through some of the modifications and running repairs he had made to the weapons sensor array during their mission. He had actually enjoyed this for once. There were no tricky questions of interpretation to face or judgements to make. It had been a simple task of stepping through schematics and discussing circuits. No moral compass required.

The mess hall had been moderately busy. Malcolm grabbed a tray with various items on it and made for a free table, hoping to avoid anyone who might wish to talk to him. As he sat down, he had seen a group of officers sweep through into the senior dining room, and in the midst of them was Captain Archer, laughing and clearly in good heart. For some reason, that had bothered Malcolm. It shouldn't have done - shouldn't he be glad that the Captain was at last regaining some of his former good humour? He supposed he felt like that because his own uncertainty had been growing by the day, and he was finding himself becoming ever more dispirited. There was one matter in particular, which nagged at him, kept him awake at night. He had made some enquiries but had been rebuffed and a gentle suggestion made that he drop the matter. When he had persisted, the Rear Admiral, no less, had called him into his office and ordered Malcolm to desist.

However, Malcolm thought, he could talk to Archer about it. It was his last chance to find out what was being done.

Malcolm drew out his lunch, finishing off with a whole jug of coffee. Eventually, Archer re-appeared from the senior dining room. Malcolm weaved across the mess and spoke to him.

"Captain, may I have a word?"

Archer looked startled. Malcolm had seen virtually nothing of him since their return, and he supposed Archer had almost forgotten his existence, taken up as he was with his own review processes and re-fitting of Enterprise.

Archer gave a quick smile. "Sure, Malcolm. What is it?"

"Not here, sir. It would be better to go somewhere more private."

Archer studied Malcolm's serious face. He turned to his companions. "You go on. I'll join you in a minute." Then he led Malcolm to a deserted office near an assembly hall.

Archer waved Malcolm in and closed the door behind him. He indicated one of the seats to the side of a desk, taking another for himself. Malcolm hesitated only for a moment before sitting down. It would be better to keep this fairly informal.

"Well, Malcolm. How are you? Managing okay with all these debriefings." Archer's smile was genuine.

Malcolm gave a quick half-smile in return, but he had to get to the point. Without ceremony, he started in. "Captain. I need to know. What is being done about those aliens we acquired the warp coil from?"

"Warp coil?" puzzled Archer.

Malcolm gazed at him in astonishment. How could Archer not know what he was talking about?

Archer carried on smoothly, as if his previous falter had not happened, "The alien warp coil that got us to Degra's meeting in time. What about it, Malcolm?"

"Not the coil, sir. The aliens we took it from." Malcolm felt a surge of anger flood through him at Archer's bland expression. He added, forcefully, "The aliens we stole it from."

"Now wait, Malcolm. You know as well as I do, we had no choice in the matter. If we hadn't done what we did, we wouldn't be sitting here now. Earth wouldn't be here now!"

Malcolm impatiently shook his head. He snapped out, "I know, sir. That's not what I meant."

"Then what, Lieutenant?" Archer's tone hardened.

Malcolm glared at Archer. He wanted to have a proper discussion, and now Archer was dragging rank into the equation. Deciding to ignore Archer's implied warning, he said, "What is being done to help those people? After all, we were responsible for stranding them in the Expanse. We should be helping them to return home."

Archer met Malcolm's intent gaze, then sighed and glanced away, giving Malcolm a moment's hope.

When Archer looked back, he had a regretful smile. He said reasonably, with a slight shrug, "Well, the Expanse doesn't exist anymore, so they won't be in danger from any anomalies."

Malcolm noticed Archer had failed to address the possibility of rescue. "But, Captain, they were three years from home when we left them. Left them with a useless warp engine. We should go back to help them."

"It would take months to get back to where they were. Then how would we find them? It's too difficult, Malcolm." The declaration had an air of finality.

Malcolm exploded. "Too difficult! Finding the weapon was 'difficult' but we did it. If we have the will, we can do it. We can at least try to do it."

"It would take months-" repeated Archer.

Malcolm interrupted, "Months? What's months against years? Anyway, we could ask the Xindi to get us there, using their vortex technique."

Archer frowned. "The Xindi are... preoccupied... with their own affairs at present, and it wouldn't be easy to get a message to them in any case."

Malcolm responded, his voice getting more strident with each word, "But we should at least try! We owe them at least that. We committed an act of piracy against them!"

Archer gazed at him with an unreadable expression but said nothing. Malcolm grunted in annoyance and jumped to his feet. He began to pace, running a nervous hand through his hair. He couldn't believe the Captain was being so complacent, so callous.

"Sir, what if we were the ones in that position? Wouldn't you want someone to come get us?"

"Well, of course-"

"Then I don't understand. What's the problem?"

"We don't know their home world, have any idea where it is located-"

"We can ask! How did we find the weapon? God! I don't believe I am hearing this from you!" shouted Malcolm, flinging his arms down in frustration. "I thought you - of all people - would want to do something-"

"Lieutenant! That is enough!" Archer stood and glared at Malcolm, breathing hard.

Malcolm had to stop his relentless striding to avoid crashing into him. He scowled at Archer in disgust, then turned his face away. He couldn't bear to look at him any more.

Archer mastered his breathing and his temper. He lowered his voice, and said, struggling to find a placatory tone, "Malcolm, Starfleet has already discussed this matter at the highest level. We do not have a ship available. Enterprise is in no fit shape and we need Columbia here, to defend Earth. It has been decided, reluctantly, not to attempt a rescue. I'm sorry, but there it is."

Malcolm stared at him incredulously. He said softly, "I can't believe you agree with that."

"Well, Malcolm, as a matter of fact, I do. I have considered all the facts and stand one hundred per cent by that decision."

Malcolm didn't care any more what he said to Archer. Putting as much contempt as he could into his words, he spat out, "Sir, with all due respect, that is despicable. We're supposed to be heroes. I see no heroes here, only moral bankruptcy!"

Archer took a threatening step towards him. "Lieutenant! That is quite enough! I have listened to what you have to say and you have my answer. I know you have already brought this up with other senior officers and that you have been ordered to drop the matter. Because of your exemplary service, I will not report this breach of orders or your insubordinate attitude, but I expect you to comply fully with your orders from now on and leave this matter be. Do you understand?"

Malcolm glared at him, astonished by the feeling of hatred that welled up within him. He wanted to call the Captain all the names under the sun, give him a good kicking and leave him for dead. Only his immense self-control stopped him. Instead, somehow, he eventually choked out a "Yes, sir."

The 'sir' was delivered as an insult, but Archer chose to ignore that. He gave an abrupt nod and strode out of the room. Malcolm stared after him numbly, knowing his decision was made. His life had changed irrevocably. He had to follow his ideals, however tarnished they had become.

Malcolm's anger didn't reduce over time. If anything, it had grown as he realised that the aliens would never receive any aid from Earth. There was nothing else he could do about it. Trip and Travis knew something was wrong and tried to draw it out of him, but he kept quiet about the matter, the particulars anyway. There was no point, was there? They couldn't do anything, either. They knew he was unhappy about the piracy, but so were they. They didn't know about his confrontation with Archer.

Malcolm's anger seethed and ate at him. He had been willing to follow the Captain anywhere, do anything for him, give his life for him without question. But now... he could not serve under someone so contemptible, so dishonourable, or in an organisation he had lost faith in.

The Captain had received his resignation without comment.

On the occasions when they met subsequently, Archer had been polite but distant. That had extended to Malcolm's surprise leaving party. If Archer's bland and brief speech had perplexed the others, it was soon forgotten. Archer had stayed the minimum time consistent with propriety and then left, to Malcolm's relief. It had reaffirmed Malcolm's belief that he was doing the only thing he could.

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

Malcolm finished speaking, still gazing down at the floor. "So, now you know, Trip, why it is impossible for me to return. I have no respect for the Captain or for Starfleet. I would go as far as to say I despise them." He glanced at Trip, noting his shaken reaction.

"I hadn't even thought about trying to find those aliens again," confessed Trip. He had grown pale. "What does that make me?"

Malcolm wanted to ease his friend's dismay, but could only manage a sad smile. He had pushed all those thoughts far away, in the recesses of his mind. Dragging them out again had brought uncomfortably strong emotions surging forth. "I know the Captain is your friend, Trip. But his attitude..."

Rubbing his hand over his jaw, Trip murmured, "As far as I know, they haven't sent anyone to search for those aliens. In the current climate, I don't think that will top the agenda either."

"Well it should, Trip! It is appalling. Bad enough that we were pirates... Pirates, Trip. But to do nothing... to not even attempt to mitigate what we inflicted on them. Totally and unjustifiably immoral." Malcolm's mouth twisted in disgust as he growled, "All my life, I've hated pirates with a vengeance. There's nothing romantic about them. Plundering, violent, cowardly common criminals." He clasped his hands behind his neck and dropped his head. Voice muffled, he said, "I'm sorry, Trip. I should have kept this to myself."

"Don't be. I asked you to talk to me. And you're right, absolutely right. I'll try to see what pressure I can bring."

"It's no use, Trip. You'll just damage your career. I tried everyone, even went as high as some admirals."

"Still..."

"Please. Don't say anything. It won't do any good. It's too late now anyway."

"But..."

"I mean it. I wouldn't have told you this if I thought you'd get involved as well. There really is no point. Honestly." Malcolm ran his fingers over his forehead. He was regretting telling Trip. He didn't want his friend to go through the guilt he had already put on himself. That would benefit no one. He should have kept his big mouth shut.

He cast a worried glance at Trip who still seemed stunned. "Please, Trip. Promise me."

Trip worked his mouth, frowning. "Okay," he agreed eventually. "But if I can do something, without antagonising anybody, I will. Is that okay?"

Malcolm nodded. "Deal," he said, hoping Trip would stick to it.

"Deal," said Trip. "Now, we'd better look at those scans you took of the ship. I have to get back soon."

"Of course." Malcolm stood, PADDs in hand. "They're in my workroom."

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

Malcolm was quite proud of his workroom - no need to apologise to Trip for this. As Malcolm retrieved the data chips of the scan results, he explained its layout to Trip. "The area over there is devoted to the forcefield project. I've been making good progress with that."

Trip appeared eager to investigate the forcefield emitter array, but Malcolm wanted to show him some of his other research first. He faced about and gestured at the specially strengthened section. "I carry out testing - of explosives, that is - in this area."

"Explosive testing?" said Trip, startled enough to wrench his attention from the forcefield project. "Do they let you do that here? The actual testing, I mean."

Malcolm grinned. "Yeah. As long as I don't damage the station, no one worries what I do. No piddling regs to worry about, either! Only those I agree with. I've reinforced this area, so it's well contained, and use a small forcefield around the test site, as well - if I think it's needed."

"No problems, then?"

"No. Nothing significant," said Malcolm, busily selecting the most informative results for Trip's scrutiny. "Here we are - look at this."

A large wall screen flickered into life as Malcolm pulled up some data for display. His fingers skipped across the controls to highlight particular points. "This shows yield against composition, varying composition, ignition point, detonation mode and so forth." He flipped to another data set. "This is work I've been doing on alien explosives. Some very interesting results. Very interesting. Ahh. This one might appeal to you. Trellium D in liquid form." He gave Trip a rueful grin. "I admit that has caused some problems, but I've still got a few more things to try."

"Umm," said Trip, eyeing a blackened patch on the floor.

"Oh, yes. And I've been doing a lot on shaped charges - they can be used to control detonation fronts, for example - and on multiple fronts." Malcolm displayed some examples. "This is an ideal test environment. I often make use of the modelling in my mining work, and that gives me large-scale results and very useful feedback. This one, for instance." He gazed in rapt appreciation at the satisfying graphical representation. That particular firing had been one of his major triumphs.

Trip grinned at his friend. "It's good to see you so enthusiastic again."

Malcolm blinked in surprise at Trip. He hadn't consciously noticed his change in attitude, but Trip was right. The mental weariness that had dogged him throughout their mission in the Expanse and after had diminished.

"Thanks for showing me all that," said Trip, fixing his attention again on the forcefield equipment set up on the other side of the workroom. He strode across to get a closer look at it. "Now this does look interesting."

Malcolm noted the implication that perhaps the explosives research wasn't interesting, but let it ride. After all, warp theory was necessary but dull in his eyes. Each to his own.

Anyway, it would be intriguing to see what Trip made of the forcefield work. Malcolm was pleased to at last have someone to talk to who would understand its basis. The only others with whom he could discuss it were based on Earth in Starfleet Research Division, but he hadn't had much contact with them recently.

Joining Trip, Malcolm said, "As I mentioned, this is some work I've been doing on developing my forcefield theory. Obviously, practical tests are limited because I don't have sufficient power available for very large coverage, but Mark Ginnett at Starfleet Development has kindly set up some experimental apparatus for me. It's been most encouraging." He looked approvingly at his distributed emitter array.

"I read your published paper," commented Trip, enthralled by the complex set-up.

"Did you?" said Malcolm, pleased. "What did you think of it?"

"Well," drawled Trip, straightening up and turning a shrewd eye on his friend. "I think, reading between the lines, you got a lot further than you let on."

Malcolm's eyes danced with merriment. He crossed his arms. "Go on, then," he challenged. "Tell me!"

"It seems that, theoretically, it should be possible to expand a forcefield sufficiently to, I dunno, encompass a starship!"

"I wondered if anyone would spot that! Yes, I didn't want to give too much away, obviously. It could be sensitive information. I am convinced that this work could be built on to give us energy shielding for ships. It should be more resilient than hull plating because it could be made re-configurable. It'd be more effective, too." Malcolm looked for Trip's reaction. "We've seen alien races with this technology, so we know it is possible."

Trip gave a thoughtful nod of agreement. "Uh huh. I saw the direction you were going in and I think you're onto something. Aren't Starfleet interested in getting their hands on this? You have told them, I hope."

"Of course I have. They have some of my early work, but I want to settle some theory issues before this is in a state to pass over." Malcolm lost his good humour. "Actually, I have run into a problem there." He chewed at his lower lip.

Trip went on alert. "What kind of problem?"

Malcolm breathed heavily. "I've said they can have the results when I'm ready and for a fee. Not a lot, but something to pay for my time and expenses. They don't want to pay it - well, not the full amount." He saw Trip looking askance at that. "Trip, you have to realise, money is important outside Starfleet. Especially out here. I have plans but I need to be able to finance them."

"I guess," said Trip, unconvinced.

Malcolm sighed again. "The other thing is, apparently the results alone aren't good enough. They're insisting that I go to work for them, either in Starfleet or as a civilian."

"Return to Earth? Why not? That could be good, and if you're a civilian you can do what you want, within reason."

Malcolm shook his head. "I know this might be difficult to believe, but I like it here, with all its faults. I really like it. And I do not want to go back to Earth, working on a single project that will take up all my efforts."

"I guess I can understand that," acknowledged Trip. "But won't you be needed to progress the work?"

"No. There are plenty of capable people who can take this on and develop it. It is not necessary for me to be fully involved by any means." That wasn't false modesty; it was the truth.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No. No doubt Starfleet brass will eventually get it through their collective thick skulls that I mean what I say and we will come to an understanding. It is annoying, though."

"Yeah."

Trip's communicator buzzed. "Tucker," he answered.

"Commander," came Archer's voice. "I need to see you in the Command Centre."

"Understood. I'll be there momentarily. Tucker out." Trip flipped the device shut and put it in a pocket. "Sorry, Malcolm. Gotta go. We'll speak again before we leave. I'd like to see a demo of this forcefield apparatus, too."

"I'm sure I can manage that. Come on. I'll show you back to the docking port."

Reaching their destination, Trip tried to persuade Malcolm to visit him on Enterprise but Malcolm was adamantly opposed to it. "But I'd love to see Hoshi and the others, if they've time to visit."

"I doubt that'll be possible, but I'll see," said Trip. "Let me know if you change your mind."

Malcolm nodded and watched his friend return back to the world of a starship officer. He sighed, not regretting his choice in life, but desperately missing the comradeship and feeling of family. But from what Trip had told him, things were uncomfortable in Starfleet right now. He didn't like the sound of this Commodore Trent. What did he want with Enterprise?

A familiar but long-absent sensation prickled at him. He didn't ignore that feeling. He never did. Most times it turned out to be of no consequence, but when it didn't, it made all the difference.

Malcolm returned to his quarters deep in thought.

TBC