Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. They are a great boost! This is a good time to thank my beta reader, Rusty Armour, once more for all her considerable efforts. I have revised this since she looked at the story, so I assume full responsibility for any errors or typos.

Chapter 11

The unforgiving bright light prodded Malcolm into consciousness. He was lying on his back, a dull but intense pain radiating from some point between his shoulders. It was an unmistakable sensation. He had been blasted by a phase pistol at close quarters.

Malcolm squinted through half-shut lids at his surroundings and was not in the least surprised to find he'd been thrown in the brig. An ill-advised arm movement to shield his eyes aggravated the tender area of his back. He let out an involuntary groan, closely followed by several choice swearwords.

It was Waters who had stunned him, of course. He had been stationed behind him, hadn't he? Waters had missed Malcolm's first move against Trent and then they'd been on the floor. Waters would have jumped over the table to get at Malcolm, and then been mere centimetres away when he had had a clear shot. Malcolm didn't know whether to be pleased that Waters had been caught off-guard - it meant he had been able to get some telling blows in against Trent - or annoyed because it was that much more painful being shot at almost point blank range.

What was he thinking! Of course it was worth it! Malcolm remembered the chop to Trent's neck with particular satisfaction, and the crunching blow against his jaw. Yeah, and the knee in his balls. He smiled despite his discomfort. It was surprising how much damage you could inflict in a short time, if you really put your mind to it.

Gingerly, Malcolm rolled onto his side, cursing the bastards for slinging him down on his back. That had to be deliberate. He hissed as the move pulled at sore muscles. Damnation, it was painful. No analgesic either, huh? Nice. He hoped he'd have a chance to return the favour someday.

He inched his way into a sitting position, and, with an effort, he hauled himself upright. Although it hurt, he knew he should try to keep moving to help ease the spasm. He took a couple of unsteady steps to the water dispenser and drew a cupful. The water was blessedly cool.

After drinking his fill, he wandered over to the door and peered through the clear areas. There wasn't anyone about that he could see. Only the closed outer door, which he knew led onto the corridor.

The cell was silent, insulated against the noises on board ship, but he could detect that Enterprise wasn't under way. The telltale tremors of the deckplating when impulse was running were absent. They weren't at warp, either. Were they still docked at the Facility? He debated activating the call button to get someone to tell him what was going on. But what was the point? They wouldn't want to indulge him, would they? He decided not to give them the satisfaction.

Easing his shoulders up and back, Malcolm began with some gentle pacing, becoming more vigorous as the tightness eased.

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Malcolm lay on his bunk, staring across at the unoccupied cell next to his. He didn't know how long he'd been stuck in the brig, but he'd had sufficient time to replay ad nauseam that incredible conversation with Trent. Malcolm still found it impossible to fathom. How could Starfleet even contemplate conscription, because that's what it came down to? Surely that couldn't be right? Were relations with the Klingons really that bad? His mind ran in an endless loop of questions without coming to any sensible conclusion.

It was no good. He abandoned the fruitless speculation on Starfleet's motives and instead decided to address how he was going to play this. Carefully, he shifted position so he was lying on his other side, looking at the wall the bunk was fixed to.

There was no point in searching for weaknesses in the cell. He knew there weren't any he could find. If he wanted to escape, his only hope would be when the guards opened that door. Was there any point in even trying to escape now? If he got away from Enterprise - a tall order in itself - they would hunt him down. Even if he reached the warren that was the Facility, he wouldn't be able to hide there forever, although he could give them a good run for their money.

He mused on the possibilities offered by the Facility as a bolthole, in a theoretical sort of way. It kept his mind occupied. Kept the anger at bay. He had to be able to think straight, and allowing himself to rage at the injustice of it all detracted from the cool detachment he needed. He had learnt that lesson a very long time ago.

So, perhaps he should play the game - go along with whatever Starfleet demanded, for now - but box clever. He'd do nothing that anyone could complain about. He would do whatever was asked of him - with one exception: there was no way he would use his talents for Starfleet's forcefield program. Then, when the opportunity arose - as soon as humanly possible - he would take off and disappear into the woodwork. Neither Starfleet nor the Klingons would find him. The Galaxy was a big place.

He sighed at the unhappy idea of living as a fugitive. Could he do that?

But perhaps he didn't have to run to escape from Starfleet's authority? Perhaps he could find a way to persuade Starfleet - Admiral Payne, it would seem - that he could be trusted to look after himself as a civilian, still based at the Facility and staying well away from any aliens who might want a piece of his work. He was pretty confident he could keep the research results secure, and himself safe, but how could he demonstrate that to Starfleet?

But Trent wasn't concerned about Malcolm's own wishes, was he? Would Payne be any different? Why would he care, as long as he had Malcolm and his work firmly under control, and the best way of achieving that was to insist on this compulsion to active duty.

Malcolm grunted and laboriously turned over once more, his eyes roving over the opposite wall. Naturally, there was nothing new to see there and he wondered for how much longer he was going to be confined. The tedium was already starting to get to him.

He had just begun yet another run through his options, when he caught a movement at the edge of his vision. Tilting his head, but otherwise remaining still, Malcolm saw the outer door open to admit a security crewman, Crewman Goulde - one of his old team - and close on his heels, Hoshi Sato. Malcolm broke into a grin at that welcome sight. He eased to his feet and padded over to the door.

Hoshi and Goulde were having an animated discussion judging by their gestures, but Malcolm couldn't hear what was being said because of the soundproofing. He waited with impatient frustration for them to settle their arrangement, eager to speak to Hoshi. Then the flurry of conversation ceased. Hoshi moved to the cell door and pushed the button to open a comm channel with Malcolm. Her head was turned away from Malcolm as she thanked Goulde.

Malcolm had forgotten how glossy Hoshi's blue-black hair was. And she was still as trim as ever. She hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her. Malcolm heard Goulde telling her to hurry and that he would be right outside.

Goulde left, the outer door closing behind him, and Hoshi faced Malcolm, her dark eyes filled with concern and sympathy.

"Hoshi," said Malcolm. "Thanks for coming." His eyes slid down to her rank pips. "Congratulations on the promotion."

Hoshi looked surprised and laughed. "Thanks, but it was some time ago. How are you?"

"I'm fine," said Malcolm. "Especially seeing you."

"Goulde owed me a favour," said Hoshi, with a smile. "I don't think he'd have done this if you were his boss. Waters isn't quite as... authoritative as you were!"

Malcolm snorted. "He's a git," he said with conviction. He'd thought that from the first and nothing had changed that opinion.

Hoshi grew worried. "Don't underestimate him, Malcolm. Goulde said Waters got a dressing down from the Commodore because of you. I get the impression Waters can be vindictive."

"Huh. Thanks for the warning, but I can look after myself." Actually, Malcolm was relishing the idea of getting into a clash with Waters. He grinned as he imagined the rollicking the Commodore gave Waters. Served him right - he had been asleep on the job.

Hoshi glanced over her shoulder. "I'm not supposed to be here. I'll have to be quick. They've turned the cameras off for now."

Malcolm nodded. There were advantages to having the loyalty of his old team. "Are we still docked at the Mining Facility?"

"Yes. I don't know when we'll be leaving. Commander Tucker is retrieving some equipment from the Facility."

'Some equipment', huh? Malcolm felt a flash of rage. He said fiercely, "Oh? He is, is he?" causing Hoshi to jump back at the unexpected outburst.

Trip had been very interested in his forcefield experiments. Had he been ordered to carry out a recce when he visited Malcolm's workroom? He had been most attentive to everything there, hadn't he? Malcolm tore his savage glare from the blameless Hoshi and growled at the deckplates, folding his arms across his chest with some force. The sudden movement pulled at his back and he swiftly dropped his arms by his side again, letting out a hiss of pain.

"Malcolm? Are you sure you're okay?" asked Hoshi, cautiously venturing closer to the cell door once more.

Malcolm took a few steadying breaths. "Yeah. Fine. It's just the after-effects of a stun. It'll pass in time. Nothing to worry about." He backed this up with a reassuring half-smile.

Hoshi wasn't convinced. "I'll go see the doctor. I'll ask her to come check on you."

"No, Hoshi. You're not supposed to be here, remember? I don't want you to get into trouble. I'm okay, really I am. It's not permanent. It's improving by the minute." Malcolm gently swung his arms by way of demonstration.

"Well... okay. If you're sure."

"Uh huh." Malcolm braced his hands against the wall. "Hoshi, could you do something for me?"

"Of course! That's why I'm here."

"See if you can contact a miner called Jeff Gomez. He's on the Facility at the moment. Tell him what's happened, that I don't think I'll be back soon. Tell him I'm sorry about Bailey." Malcolm bit his lip. He was worried about Bailey. Bailey would go to the Ramessan system on his own, and Malcolm didn't think it would turn out well.

"Sure," said Hoshi. "Anything else?"

"Yeah. Ask Gomez if he'll sort out my account with Admin. He'll know what to do. He should be able to contact me via Starfleet - eventually - for authorisations and so on. At least, I hope he'll be able to. I don't suppose they'll leave me entirely incommunicado. Not if they're dragging me back into the service."

"What do you mean?"

"Sorry?"

"What did you mean by 'dragging you back into the service'?"

"Trent said there was some regulation that meant I could be forced back into active duty, against my wishes." Malcolm frowned at the recollection of that unpleasant revelation.

Hoshi's eyes widened in surprise. "What? What regulation is this?"

"Err, it came out about four months ago. I can't remember exactly what it's called. Something to do with transferral of status. It's about streamlining the procedures for personnel wanting to come off the reserve list and onto active status. Trent read out a paragraph..." Malcolm thought back. "Umm, he said it was in the Miscellaneous section. Section 48 something. I can't remember exactly. It said something like in exceptional circumstances, the Chief of Ops can transfer someone to active status, if the security of Earth or Starfleet is under threat."

Hoshi pursed her mouth. "I'll be able to track it down from that."

"Would you? Could you get me a copy? I'd like to read it properly. After all, I haven't got anything else to do here until they let me out."

"Sure. I'll see if I can get it to you." Hoshi tilted her head to one side, listening out for something. "I've got to go. I'm supposed to be translating the language from the alien ship we just collected."

"Do you know how the alien is? The one we found in stasis on that vessel?" asked Malcolm.

Hoshi's face fell. "He didn't make it. They tried everything, but it just wasn't enough."

Malcolm had been expecting that, but it still came as a blow. "Damn," he said quietly.

"I'm sorry. I've really got to go now."

"Go on. Thanks for coming, Hoshi," said Malcolm appreciatively, reflecting that he was lucky to have a friend like Hoshi.

Hoshi gave Malcolm a quick grin and half-ran to the outer door, escaping to the corridor and freedom. Malcolm stared after her, noting absently that the comm channel had closed. He was in his soundproof box once more.

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When Trip turned up, Malcolm was lying down again.

Trip's voice came through the comm channel. "Malcolm? Are you awake?"

Malcolm watched Trip through barely-open eyes and considered ignoring him. He was angry with the man, at his spying.

Malcolm thought he had been quite clever at protecting access to the forcefield closedown mechanism, but if anyone could break it, it would be Trip. Especially with that preview he'd had. He wondered if Trip had figured out the switchover trick with the power supply yet. Was that why he was here? Had Trip had come to gloat over getting through his forcefield?

Malcolm's fury grew at the injustice of his situation. No doubt all his forcefield equipment was now on board Enterprise to join the things taken from his quarters on the Facility. With an effort, he clamped down on his emotions, resolving to maintain his self-control.

"Malcolm!" called Trip more loudly, peering through the door.

It was clear Trip was determined to talk to him and wasn't going to leave until he had. Sighing, Malcolm rolled off the bunk and stepped over to the cell door. He gazed coldly at Trip.

"How are you?" said Trip, resting the palm of his hand against the door. His voice sounded thinly over the comm but that didn't disguise the anxious note it held.

Malcolm shrugged. "Okay," he said flatly.

Trip frowned in confusion at Malcolm's hostile attitude. "Are you sure? Do you need anything?"

Malcolm jerked his head back but said nothing.

Forcing a smile, Trip reached into one of his pockets and pulled out Malcolm's remote device. It had been taken from Malcolm when he had been out cold. Trip wagged the remote at Malcolm. "Neat! I got my demo after all, huh? Impressive result, as well. A stable, dense field."

Malcolm didn't react. He knew how good it was.

Trip joked, "I guess you don't have another of these about your person for switching it off?"

"Go to Hell, Trip," rasped Malcolm, turning away in disgust and barely registering that his forcefield was apparently still intact.

"Hey! What's that for?" exclaimed Trip. "I'm on your side!"

Malcolm stood with his back to Trip, arms tightly crossed and head bowed.

Trip said in exasperation, "Talk to me, dammit! I know these aren't the best of circumstances, but-"

Malcolm had heard enough. He spun around, ignoring the now-diminished pain in his back. Barely containing his rage, he said, "Fine then. You come sneaking around my workroom so that when you abduct me, you can thieve my equipment, steal my results, and you expect me to want to talk to you? Why should I even want to see you, never mind have some cosy chat with you?" He swallowed hard and cracked his forearm against the cell door with considerable force.

Trip jumped at the noise. It was his turn to get angry. "Now look here, Malcolm. You invited me to see your work - remember? I didn't 'sneak around' as you put it. And I wasn't the one to abduct you. I had no idea that Trent and the Captain were going to do this."

Malcolm glared at him, breathing hard. "No?" he spat out.

"No!" replied Trip firmly, meeting his gaze without flinching.

Malcolm eventually dropped his eyes, letting out a deep shuddering breath. He said quietly, "You're trying to break my forcefield, though, aren't you? So you can take everything."

Trip replied levelly, "Yeah, I am. That's what I've been ordered to do. Doesn't mean I like doing it, or agree with it." He gave a low laugh. "Or that I'm anywhere near succeeding, and I am trying. It's a personal challenge, you know."

Malcolm gave a small smile and looked up at Trip. "I guess it is." He sighed. "I suppose I understand. In my time I've followed enough orders I had issues with. I can't blame you for doing the same."

Trip nodded, relieved at Malcolm's recognition of his difficult position. Then he said mischievously, "I don't suppose you'll tell me how to switch it off, now we've cleared that up?"

Malcolm grinned at him. "Nope."

Trip grinned back. "Didn't think so!"

Rolling his shoulders, Malcolm started pacing. He was still sore when he remained motionless for too long. "That git Waters shot me," he muttered.

"So I heard. But I also hear you did some damage to the Commodore."

"Yes." Malcolm stopped and asked eagerly, "How bad was it?"

Trip grunted. "Pretty bad. You are not in his good books." He became sombre.

"Good," said Malcolm with feeling. "You know what he's done? Conscripted me into Starfleet!"

"The Captain told me. Showed me the regulation, too."

"How can that be possible, Trip? Everyone in Starfleet is a volunteer." Malcolm laughed humourlessly. "Everyone but little old me, it would seem. Anyway, it won't work. I've got a plan."

Trip was unconvinced. "Yeah?"

"Uh huh. The regulation Trent quoted at me was all about transferring in. All I need to do is resign. I didn't hear anything to stop that. Oh, of course, he can go through the whole palaver again, get an order drawn up, signed by the Admiral, read to me. And guess what? I'll promptly resign again. We can go on forever like that. And at some time, when I'm in the resigned stage, I'll slip away into the night." Malcolm made a running gesture with his fingers.

Trip grimaced. He ran a hand over his mouth.

Seeing his friend's discomfort, Malcolm paused in his enthusiastic delivery. "What is it, Trip? What's the matter?"

"It won't work like you think."

"Why not?"

Trip cocked his head to one side. "There are some circumstances when one is forbidden to resign from Starfleet."

That was all he needed to say. Malcolm's world exploded. He gaped at Trip as the implications hit home hard, instantaneously. His mouth went dry. He licked his lips. Why hadn't this occurred to him before now? He'd been a civilian for too long, it would seem. Used to miners' anarchy. Trent was a hard-nosed bastard, no doubt about it. Vengeful. Of course he would go for maximum damage.

"I guess the charge is assault?" Malcolm croaked out.

"Yeah, that's the main one," said Trip.

"The one that'll get me locked up for... for years." Assault, striking a superior officer, actual bodily harm, insubordination... He was going to be living in a cell like this for the foreseeable future. How could he possibly endure that? What would his parents think? It would destroy his dad. Suddenly, Malcolm couldn't stand. He slid down with his back against the door. Raising his right arm before him, he noted with detached interest how much it shook. He pushed his palm down on the deckplating but the trembling continued.

"You have a defence," suggested Trip. "Or at least, there are mitigating factors."

"A defence? What defence can there possibly be to trying to maim a senior officer?"

"Temporary insanity."

"Insanity! That's a good one. That'll get me locked up in the loony bin instead of military prison."

"Temporary insanity," said Trip. "I've been thinking about this. That stunt Trent pulled on you would be enough to throw anyone for a loop. It might work. Get the sentence reduced. And there's your previous service record."

Malcolm gave a bitter laugh. "This is Starfleet, remember? The ones who think nothing of kidnapping someone against all rule of law. They wanted me out of the way of the Klingons. This is a perfect way to achieve it." He wrapped his arms tightly around his knees and dropped his head. "I'm so stupid," he murmured.

"What do you mean?" said Trip indignantly.

Malcolm lifted his head and shouted, "I shouldn't have bloody well hit him, should I!"

"Look, we've got time to think of something. The court martial won't be until you're shipped back to Earth, and you'll have legal representation. I'll ask T'Pol if she can help. Perhaps she knows some Vulcan lawyers?"

Despite himself, Malcolm laughed at that. "Great idea, Trip. A Vulcan lawyer to assist on temporary insanity! Doesn't that count as a rather extreme emotion?"

Startled, Trip said, "I don't know. Does it?"

Malcolm gave another shaky laugh, then sighed. "You'd better go. I don't want you getting into trouble, as well. You've got a forcefield to crack."

Trip squatted down so he was at the same level as Malcolm. "I'm on your side. I'll do everything I can. And I know I'm not the only one."

Malcolm gave a half-smile, half-grimace and a quick nod of acknowledgement, but didn't look at Trip. He was too emotional to trust himself at that moment.

Trip seemed to understand. He slowly stood. "I'll be back."

Malcolm heard the outer door open. Then a new voice.

"Commander Tucker," said Lieutenant Waters, apparently taken off-guard.

"Lieutenant," acknowledged Trip.

"Uh, sir. The prisoner isn't permitted visitors."

Trip said, with authority, "That doesn't apply to me."

"Umm. The Commodore's orders-"

Trip cut in, "The Commodore ordered me to retrieve the equipment from the Facility. I needed to speak with Mister Reed about that."

"Yes, sir." Waters left it at that. He moved closer to the comm. "Get up, Reed, and move away from the door."

Malcolm heaved a deep sigh and moved to comply. There were methods to deal with recalcitrant prisoners and he wasn't inclined to test them. His stomach gave a massive rumble at the thought of something to eat. He was starving hungry.

Except, when he stood up and turned, he saw that Waters had not brought food. There was a crewman with Waters, the same one who had collected Malcolm from his quarters on the Facility, however long ago it was now - Malcolm had lost track of time. The crewman was carrying a bundle of clothes, topped by a pair of standard issue boots. A Starfleet uniform.

Waters drew his weapon and waved it towards Malcolm. "Move to the back of the cell, turn around and place your hands against the wall."

Malcolm gritted his teeth but did as ordered. He heard the cell door open, and the crewman move to the bunk to drop the uniform.

"Turn around," ordered Waters.

Malcolm saw the cell door was still open, framing Waters. The crewman stood immediately behind Waters with his weapon in his hand, too. There was no chance of making a run for it. So Malcolm waited.

Waters grinned unpleasantly. "Get changed."

Malcolm stared at him. His previous disenchantment with Starfleet had changed into something considerably stronger since he had been detained on board Enterprise. The thought of wearing that uniform again was almost sufficient to make him want to throw up.

Waters rubbed a finger along the barrel of his weapon. "You can get changed or, if you don't co-operate, I have orders to stun you and we'll do it for you."

Malcolm remained expressionless. How he managed that, he didn't know. The idea of Waters pawing over him was repellent.

It was a no-brainer.

Malcolm stripped off, neatly folding his discarded clothes on the bunk and placing his boots at its foot. It didn't bother him in the least that Waters stared at him throughout this procedure. A boarding school education removed all such embarrassments. Trip, on the other hand, was looking ready to explode. He was agitatedly running his hands through his hair, over his face, fidgeting and unable to stand still.

Malcolm grabbed the Starfleet issue underclothes and slipped them on. Then he picked up the jumpsuit, noting the two rank pips and red piping. The sleeve carried Headquarters' badge - Earth in a lozenge. That figured, thought Malcolm. The same as Trent's posting, wasn't it? Reluctantly, he dragged on the jumpsuit. Once he had been so incredibly proud to have earned the right to wear this uniform, and now that was tarnished beyond redemption.

"Boots as well."

Obediently, Malcolm sat on his bunk and pulled them on. Any show of resistance would just play in Waters' hands, and he wasn't going to give Waters the satisfaction of seeing how much wearing this uniform disturbed him. Instead, he dredged up an amused grunt. "That it, Waters? Seen enough?"

Waters said, "I think we'll take your civilian gear, just in case you change your mind. Get back again and face the wall, same routine."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Waters, backing it up with a mocking grin. "Am I really that dangerous?"

"I don't consider you dangerous, no. But I follow procedures. I'm sure you remember them."

Waters' grip on his weapon was rigid, his feet solidly planted. The man was coiled so tightly he wouldn't be able to move without falling over. Malcolm laughed at him, shaking his head in derision as he stood to comply with Waters' demands. Some security man!

Malcolm observed with pleasure that his insolent attitude was beginning to have an effect. A muscle in Waters' cheek twitched and there was a slight flare to his nostrils. Malcolm was about to make a sarcastic comment when he saw Trip's shake of the head and warning expression. Instead, he contented himself with another scornful laugh, but said nothing. Trip was right. There was no sense in being more antagonistic than he need be. Time to be sensible, for once.

The crewman took Malcolm's old clothes and the door closed, leaving Malcolm alone in his cell again.

Tugging on the uniform cuffs and around his neck, Malcolm stepped forwards to the door. Determined not to show anything, he said, keeping his tone light and devil-may-care, "So, Waters. What happens now?"

"Nothing as far as you're concerned. You stay here."

Malcolm nodded sagely. "I see." He swept his eyes over the cell. "Pleasant accommodations."

Waters snorted. He could see through the bravado.

To Malcolm's mortification, a deafening gurgle erupted from his stomach, spoiling the effect completely. He gave a cross grunt and folded his arms tightly over his chest.

Trip stared at Malcolm then turned to Waters. "When did Mister Reed last eat?"

"I don't know," admitted Waters.

"You have brought him food?" asked Trip, his suspicions growing.

Waters stood his ground. "He hasn't asked for anything, sir."

Trip took two steps to Waters so he was only inches away from him. The lieutenant was about the same height as Trip but appeared smaller as he tried to shrink away without actually moving.

Trip was furious. He said quietly, "Lieutenant, you should know by now that on this ship, we do things properly. That includes prisoner welfare. You will ensure that Mister Reed is treated in accordance with regulations. Is that understood?"

Waters nodded. "Sir," he said.

Trip hadn't finished. "I've a good mind to place you on report for this. Any more lapses and I will."

Shifting awkwardly, Waters opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, and merely nodded again.

"Dismissed."

Waters sprung to attention and left, trailed by the crewman.

Trip looked at Malcolm. He said, his voice full of concern, "Malcolm, you should have said something. Promise me you'll let me know if he tries anything else? I might not be able to get you out of here, but at least I can make sure you're treated fairly."

Malcolm nodded. "I will. Thanks for helping."

Trip bit his lip. "I must go," he said reluctantly.

"Don't worry about me. I'll be okay." Malcolm tried to smile but it was a poor effort.

There was nothing else Trip could say. He nodded and with a backwards look, stepped out into the corridor and out of Malcolm's sight.

Malcolm wandered back to his bunk, distractedly rubbing a hand over the uniform sleeve. He thought miserably about his future. It was not pleasant. Utterly dejected, he slumped down on the bunk. Then he curled up on his side, facing the near wall.

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Malcolm was stationed at the cell door, gazing blankly at the area beyond. How long had he been confined in the brig? It was difficult to tell because his sleeping pattern was haywire. He reckoned he'd been on board Enterprise for two days. No - longer now. It must be morning on the third day - the remains of breakfast lay by his bunk. His only real recourse for time-keeping was what meals were brought to him. Waters might be playing games by deliberately getting them out of step, but Malcolm didn't think so. Chef wouldn't be too impressed with a trick like that, not for Malcolm who'd always got on well with him - most of the time, at any rate. It paid to stay on Chef's good side.

Malcolm was bored out of his skull. He had tried to occupy his mind by working on his forcefield theory, but he couldn't hold his thread. His thoughts kept being side-tracked by his predicament and, without anything to write on, he had to start at the same place again after every lapse in concentration.

Hoshi hadn't returned. Neither had Trip. The only person he'd seen since Trip's earlier visit was the crewman who had accompanied Waters to bring him from the Facility. The crewman brought his food in silence, and took the dirty plates away - in silence. Malcolm considered opening a conversation with him, at least to discover his name, but then decided they could stick it. It was another one of Waters' games and he was damned if he was going to give in.

He resumed pacing. It was puzzling. The ship was still docked at the Facility. Why hadn't Trip solved the forcefield problem yet? Surely he'd had sufficient time?

Dropping to the floor, Malcolm went into his workout routine, starting with push-ups. His earlier despair had been replaced by an overwhelming anger. He wasn't prepared to meekly submit. He would fight every inch of the way.

Closing his eyes, he focussed on locking his arms, perfect form, exact motions - driving away thoughts of seconds, minutes, days... years.

Years. The prospect was terrifying.

He was holding position when the first blast came. The ship rocked, flinging him to one side.

Malcolm's initial thought was that there had been a catastrophic systems malfunction. The second and third impacts put paid to that theory. They were torpedoes - couldn't be anything else. Enterprise was very vulnerable. She was still docked with warp engines powered down and it took some minutes to bring up even impulse from this state. Springing to his feet, Malcolm ran forward to peer through the clear regions of the cell door, but he could see nothing except the far door onto the corridor. Frustrated, he slammed his palm against the wall.

Cannon bursts were raking Enterprise now. Enterprise was at last starting to return fire, judging by that little shudder, virtually undetectable. That was the forward starboard cannon. He'd never been able to entirely eliminate that kickback.

Impulse engines were finally up to speed, but - no - they were dropping again. Malcolm strained all senses. He stabbed at the call button, but there was no response.

The exchange of fire had ceased. The battle was over. That was quick, thought Malcolm, perturbed. From his reading of the action, Enterprise had come off worse. He hoped he was wrong.

He waited a few minutes and then tried the call button again, but to no avail. It remained unanswered.

What the hell had happened? Malcolm let fly a stream of obscenities under his breath.

He began pacing, counting each change of direction, counting the exact number of paces in each pass. His mind was racing in overdrive, but he didn't have enough information to reach any meaningful conclusion.

Perhaps ten minutes later, he had his answer. The outer door slid across. Malcolm stopped his obsessive marching and turned towards it.

Klingons!

TBC