Disclaimer: see Chapter 1.

A/N: Thanks as always for the reviews. :-)

Chapter 16

Archer had the flight deck to himself. He was at the helm, manoeuvring Carlotta into the start position. After Malcolm had prepared the asteroids for their new existence as missiles, they had allowed themselves a short break, but now it was time to see how the idea worked in practice. The asteroid field would soon be at the optimum distribution for initiating the plan.

Malcolm and Bailey were in the cargo bay, sorting out armaments. Malcolm hefted a rifle and checked out its power charge and settings. All as it should be, he noted. Squinting along the barrel, he was satisfied that the sights were aligned.

Malcolm thumbed the safety on and looked at Bailey. "Are you absolutely certain you want to do this, Mot? Klingons are violent. This lot have already killed people on Enterprise, and they won't take kindly to their ship being boarded. It's an affront to their honour."

Bailey nodded, his expression grim. "I'm not sitting back and letting you do all the hard work."

"It wouldn't be sitting back. You'd be securing our retreat. We don't want any foul-up, like them taking over Carlotta." Malcolm half-hoped Bailey would agree to stay on Carlotta. That would mean there was one less worry for him to think about - Bailey's safety. On the other hand, the odds were against them, and even the inexperienced Bailey might tip the balance in their favour. Also, given their small number, it made more sense tactically to stick together and work as a cohesive unit. He looked doubtfully at Bailey. Obviously, 'cohesion' was a relative term here.

"Nope. I'm going with you," Bailey said firmly, perhaps sensing Malcolm's unease.

"Okay." Malcolm held out the rifle. "Now, remember-"

"I know! Short bursts, there are two settings, blah, blah… You told me all this stuff." Bailey took the weapon and swung it around, neatly describing an arc across Malcolm's middle.

Malcolm winced. "And be careful where you point it. The safety is on, but, even so, you should never point it at anything you don't want to hit - particularly me."

"Okay, okay," said Bailey impatiently, carelessly swinging it back again along the reverse track and oblivious to his repeated crime.

Biting his tongue, Malcolm gave a little sigh and picked up a stun grenade. He showed it to Bailey. "If I throw one of these stun grenades, take cover."

"Uh huh." Bailey slung the rifle over his shoulder. "Can I have some?"

Malcolm gazed at him speculatively, remembering the havoc that certain less-talented squad members had caused during his early training days. Softening his response with a regretful smile, he answered, "Mmm. Best not." He pocketed a few of the grenades and passed a phase pistol over to Bailey. "The same principles apply for this, but keep it for backup." A wave of uncertainty washed over him. This was not a good idea. "I really wish we had time for some proper training…"

"Well, we don't. I know the risks. It's my responsibility." Bailey conscientiously checked the status of the pistol, pulling ostentatious faces supposed to show great concentration. He glanced up and gave a grin. "I wouldn't want this any other way."

Malcolm watched Bailey carry out the correct procedure and breathed a little easier. Perhaps some of his hurried instruction had sunk in after all? Malcolm holstered a phase pistol on each hip and slung his own rifle over a shoulder.

Malcolm grabbed the pistols and rifle he had picked out for Archer. "Right, Mot. Time to get going. I'll be back soon."

"Okay."

Leaving Bailey contemplating his newly acquired weaponry, Malcolm made for the flight deck, reaching it in double quick time.

"Captain," said Malcolm. "Weapons - all checked out and fully functional."

Turning from the helm controls, Archer ducked his head to receive the rifle and rammed the phase pistols home. He pointed to the display. "We're almost in position."

Noting their current coordinates, Malcolm settled in the co-pilot's seat and checked his own display. The swirling mass of asteroids filled the display screen, with those carrying the explosive charges highlighted. Blowing out his cheeks, Malcolm watched intently as the asteroids swept around to approach what had been designated as the launch location. He was dimly aware of Carlotta's relative position changing, but his display was set to keep its co-ordinates based on their planetoid shield.

"Ready, Lieutenant." Archer's voice was calm and confident. "Go ahead."

Malcolm focussed entirely on the scene dancing before him. He sent detonation signals to charges three and four on the first asteroid. Their representations on the display glowed briefly yellow to show they had been selected. Malcolm held his breath. Slowly, the asteroid's vector changed, and it started to move out of the main plane. He allowed himself the briefest moment to appreciate the effect. It was comforting to know that the detonation signals had got through without distortion.

Malcolm worked through the remaining asteroids, using his skills to initiate the most appropriate charges on each one. The chain of asteroids moved in stately procession towards their first staging zone. Malcolm licked his lips. So far, so good. This was just like mining. But now came the tricky part.

He increased the display's coverage to bring the Klingon ship into the scene, lying unmoving and unaware - a perfect victim. Carlotta was hardly a warship, and the 'targeting solutions' Malcolm set reeling across the display were based on mining projections, lacking the subtleties that Enterprise would have been able to bring. Still, it was what he had available, and it would have to suffice. Providing the Klingons stayed put, it should give a reasonable approximation. It wasn't as if he had precision control of his 'missiles' anyway!

Malcolm chose an asteroid and initiated selected charges to send it spinning towards the Klingon vessel. He sent the other asteroids following in its wake. Correction was needed to the first asteroid - on the current vector it would miss. There was one remaining charge on this one - timing was crucial. Malcolm fired it. The vector shifted.

"Damn," said Malcolm softly as he realised the asteroid's vector would take it right past the intended victim. He abandoned it and switched his efforts to the next best. His attention was barely on the computer projections - there were too many variables based on insufficient input data. This had to be done on gut instinct.

The second asteroid was better. It was travelling in approximately the right direction and needed only a small adjustment. Malcolm watched confidently as the crude missile flew unerringly towards the target. This one was bound to hit, providing the Klingons didn't blast it first. He turned to the remaining asteroids, distractedly brushing away the sweat beading his forehead as he gave his full concentration to the job. There was nothing fancy here - no precision targeting or frequency adjustments, only hurling large chunks of lumpy rock at the target.

"The stone age," muttered Malcolm under his breath. "How we have progressed!"

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Captain." Malcolm sent the last one on its way. "All gone," he confirmed, leaning back and stretching his tense muscles. "I estimate three hits, one definite miss, and the final one is a no go - I can't get a signal through to it now we've moved away. The plasma is interfering." Carlotta had now distanced herself from the planetoid they had been lurking behind.

"Well, I hope it's interfering with the Klingons' sensors, too. They're slow in getting their weapons on them."

As Archer spoke, the flash of an energy beam spurted from the Klingon vessel, skimming past the leading asteroid now bearing down upon their midship section.

Malcolm gave a disbelieving, pleased grunt. "They missed! That plasma is on our side. You know - I think this just might work!"

"Did you ever doubt it?" said Archer with a laugh. "No - don't answer that. I know how you feel. That goes for me, too!"

Archer turned their nose towards the Klingons. "I'm taking us in!"

The Klingons fired again. The incoming asteroid was deflected a fraction from its course, but it was already right on top of them. The deviation wasn't enough to take it past. It slammed into the ship, putting a raking gash in the hull and taking out one of the weapons' ports on its track. Atmosphere vented until emergency bulkheads evidently deployed.

Malcolm wished he could stay to watch how the subsequent asteroid missiles fared, but Carlotta was closing on the Klingon ship, sneaking in on the far side while the Klingons were preoccupied with the puzzling appearance of a flight of rocks. As Archer piloted Carlotta on the final approach to the Klingon vessel's docking port, Malcolm ran back to the cargo bay to join Bailey.

"Ready?" called Malcolm as he took position by the airlock, unshipping his rifle and re-checking its status.

"Yeah," replied Bailey, with a small thumbs-up, his rifle at the ready. Its muzzle wavered, amplifying a slight trembling by its owner.

Malcolm had another fleeting worry about taking Bailey into this assault but shut it down. It was too late for doubts. "Stay close and do what I say," he rapped out.

"Right!"

Malcolm felt the beginnings of the heightened senses and reactions that accompanied combat. Myriad variables were clocking through his mind, plans and counterplans, strategies, tactics - an inimitable combination of cool calculation and driving adrenaline.

Archer's voice came from the comm panel. "Contact in ten, nine…"

Malcolm sprung on the balls of his feet. "Okay, Mot?"

"Uh huh." Bailey looked nervous. His hands were tightly wrapped around his weapon, knuckles showing white.

Carlotta jarred as the docking connection was made. Malcolm opened the outer airlock door and fixed a small charge on the corresponding door in the enemy vessel, its zigzag edge unmistakable Klingon design. The charge detonated with a soft thunk, the door opened and the murky interior was revealed to them. The smell was unmistakably Klingon, too, thought Malcolm, holding his rifle at the ready. He leapt forward into a crouch while he saw how the land lay.

They were in a corridor that stretched away ahead of them. There were no Klingons in sight - yet.

Malcolm raced forward, Bailey's footfalls thudding behind him. The corridor ended in another door. Malcolm slapped the control panel and it slid across. He peered through it. Still no one. The Klingon ship lurched and they almost lost their footing. That was the final asteroid, probably, thought Malcolm. A shrieking alarm started up and then abruptly stopped. Another good hit! Malcolm grinned at Bailey, who stared back uncomprehendingly.

Cautiously, Malcolm entered the room, sweeping his rifle across as he checked it out from the door. It was an open area with a number of crew positions around it, presently unoccupied. Possibly it was a secondary bridge or some such. Bailey wandered in front of Malcolm and Malcolm had to pull at his arm to drag him back. There were several entrances into this space and he didn't want Bailey blocking his field of view.

"We wait here," Malcolm said. "For Archer." He dropped behind a console and steadied his weapon, waiting for the first Klingon to show.

Bailey copied him, hunkering down behind a solid bulkhead. Malcolm was relieved to see that demonstration of sensible self-preservation. A shape loomed in the opening to the far right. Malcolm sighted, identified the target and fired. A stream of red energy bolts hit the running Klingon square in his chest. Malcolm grinned as the Klingon staggered. An excellent shot considering how out of practice he was. He managed to get another hit on target before the Klingon returned fire. He ducked as the Klingon aimed and a blast of green disrupter energy cracked over his head. A shot from Bailey missed the Klingon by a fraction, but another from Malcolm hit him. The Klingon lurched and fell to the ground.

"These Klingons are tough," said Malcolm, on full alert for the next phase of the Klingon offensive. "Don't forget - switch to 'kill' if you have to." He hoped it wouldn't come to that, but if it did, he wanted the Klingons to be the victims and not Bailey - or himself. "Do you think you can do that?"

Bailey said uncertainly, "Yeah." He gulped.

Malcolm risked a quick look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, Pan." This time Bailey sounded a lot more confident.

Then Malcolm didn't have time to consider him any more. Suddenly Klingons were appearing from every entrance. Malcolm fired off shot after shot, red energy bolts finding their target or zinging over the heads of those who sought cover. Bailey's rifle spat angrily away and then a phase pistol joined in as Archer took position near Bailey.

Archer shouted, "The scanner shows the cells are two decks down. We need to get through that opening to the far left."

"Aye, Captain," acknowledged Malcolm, not lessening his rate of fire, his rifle barrel hot. He ducked back as a Klingon shot came far too close for comfort, forming a path of crackling ozone. Molten metal sputtered onto the floor at his side.

"Bailey - on my mark, covering fire. Lieutenant - secure the opening," yelled Archer.

"Yes, Captain," said Malcolm, checking about to reassure himself of the enemy positions. A torrent of Klingon fire filled the air around him.

"Now!" yelled Archer.

A barrage of covering fire erupted. Malcolm sprinted across the exposed space, keeping low and weaving about, and sending a few energy bolts in the Klingons' direction. He slammed down against a bulkhead next to the opening, then dropped onto one knee and readied his rifle. An unsteady Klingon made a good target. Malcolm took aim and brought him down. Another bites the dust, he thought with satisfaction. Now he was in a position to have more effect. He fumbled for a stun grenade.

"Grenade!" shouted Malcolm, sending it flying over to the main concentration of Klingons and ducking back down. A wall of air slammed against him and his eardrums protested.

Malcolm ignored the discomfort and settled the rifle back into his shoulder. "Ready," he yelled. He laid down fire as Bailey ran towards him. With a strangled cry, Bailey crumpled onto the floor. Malcolm glanced across in horror, helpless to intervene as the Klingons' energy beams spat around Bailey. He tore his attention away from his friend and kept firing, trying to pin them down.

Archer, travelling right on Bailey's heels, was already past the fallen man. At Bailey's shout, he turned back to assist Bailey, disregarding the fire sent his way and returning some shots of his own.

Malcolm kept his own weapon blazing, while trying to see what was happening out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly, his line of view rapidly changed from target to ceiling. Malcolm found he was in a heap on the floor. His confusion lifted when he figured out his right leg was no longer functioning properly - he had been hit. Then the pain whacked in. He swore and desperately scrambled back behind the shielding bulkhead, chased by a stream of Klingon fire. Bracing himself, he resumed firing as best he could, but his aim went awry as his vision blurred.

Archer miraculously appeared at Malcolm's side, supporting Bailey. "I'll hold position here while you free the prisoners, Lieutenant."

"My leg's injured," ground out Malcolm between clenched jaws. There was no way he would make it down two decks.

Archer took one look. "You two stay here," he said, drawing his second phase pistol and impatiently pushing his rifle back. He ran off to the cells.

Malcolm said, in wrenching gasps, "Take cover, Mot. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I tripped, that's all." Bailey organised himself and started up a steady stream of fire. "Trying to dodge an energy beam!" He gave a little laugh at that absurdity.

Malcolm wiped his hand across his brow andhis eyes. It was no good. He had to do something about his leg. He let rip a long, inadvisable burst on his rifle, then dropped it to swing on its webbing strap. Dragging the med pack from a chest pocket, he blearily confirmed the analgesic by its unmistakable colour scheme and rammed it home in his thigh. Almost immediately, the pain diminished. He took up his rifle and started firing again with an improved aim. He had had a glimpse of his injury while he injected himself. It didn't look too bad - a slice across his lower leg, but damn it had hurt. Not for the first time, he envied Vulcans their pain control.

The Klingons were creeping forward, making use of all available cover. Malcolm watched their inexorable progress under the sweep of his rifle fire and concluded grimly that there were just too many of them. They were too close now to try another grenade. If Archer didn't return soon to add his weight to the fray, the humans would be overwhelmed. Malcolm had no illusion as to what would happen then. He caught Bailey's eye and gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod.

"Steady, Mot. Keep picking your target," Malcolm said, as he noted a few wild shots from his companion.

"Easy for you to say," grumbled Bailey, but his accuracy improved.

One of the Klingons jumped up to his full height. With a roaring battle cry, he threw down his disrupter and flamboyantly drew a wicked blade, rushing at them in a ponderous attack. Malcolm sent three closely grouped shots his way, and the Klingon collapsed mere metres from their position, his blade skittering across the deck, almost to Malcolm's feet. Malcolm grunted. That attack was a bad sign. That meant the Klingons thought they were victorious, and were seeking some glory from the fact. Perhaps they had also realised the humans weren't actually killing their opponents. He briefly considered a retreat, but that was no good. Not enough cover.

The inevitable happened. Malcolm's rifle gave a sad, final wheeze as its charge fully depleted. He shoved it around to his back and drew both phase pistols. He considered setting them to 'kill' but, before he could act, a strange sensation buoyed him, accompanied by a brief swell of nausea.

The gravity was offline! Malcolm met Bailey's equally startled gaze and shrugged.

Klingons might be stronger, but, in Malcolm's experience, humans had the advantage in agility. And now his injured leg wasn't required to bear his weight, Malcolm was determined to capitalize on that advantage. He pushed off hard with his good leg, aiming for a far point on the ceiling.

The Klingons were still confused, judging by the haphazard way they were moving around. Malcolm's zero-g training had not been much fun, but it had certainly been thorough, and it didn't desert him now. He impacted on the ceiling, expertly controlling it so his body, and not his legs, cushioned the shock. Using both pistols - still on 'stun' - he took out several Klingons without suffering any return fire. Then he set his next vector and was already safely on his way before the first Klingon fired at his old position.

There was a crackle of Starfleet fire from the entrance Malcolm had been guarding. He saw some new figures enter the battle, already having an effect - Archer and, to his huge relief, Trip and Gomez. He couldn't see how they were, but they were obviously sufficiently well to join in the fight. Encouraged, Malcolm targeted his next victim.

"Bailey! No!" Archer's voice rang out in warning.

Malcolm looked across. Bailey had something in his hand.

"Grenade!" called out Bailey, and let fly.

Malcolm watched in horrified disbelief and then turned to flatten himself against the adjacent wall surface. The shockwave drove him tumbling along it, like so much flotsam, until he crashed to a bruising halt against a support beam. Winded, he glared at Bailey, who had anchored himself to a strut and seemed inordinately pleased with himself. Malcolm took stock. The humans were already starting to regroup whilst the Klingons were still disorientated, but that happy outcome was wholly down to dumb luck. Malcolm used his first decent breath to curse Bailey. Ignoring the chaos about him, he rammed his good leg against the wall and powered straight towards Bailey's large form.

"Give me the rest!" demanded Malcolm as soon as he reached Bailey. A lithe twist put him safely behind cover. Juggling his phase pistols, he thrust out a hand. "Grenades. Now."

"Why?" said Bailey, perplexed by this unexpected and sudden visitation.

"Because!" answered Malcolm, choking back the queasiness his manoeuvres had triggered. "Come on! Hurry up!"

"I haven't got any more."

"Good!"

"I don't understand. It worked okay." Bailey wafted a hand over the scene in satisfaction.

With some asperity, Malcolm said, "We were doing well with Archer and the others joining in, and then you set a grenade off in free fall! It's just not done! It's too unpredictable and you can't move quickly enough to compensate. It's only good fortune it didn't knock us all out!"

"Oh. I didn't know," said Bailey, shrinking away in the face of Malcolm's aggression. "I'm sorry. So - no good at all, huh?"

Malcolm's irritation left him when he saw his friend's stricken face. He said more calmly, "Well - no harm done - this time. Actually, you can sometimes use them in zero g, but I'm not giving you a full training course in ten seconds flat." He added some encouragement. "You're doing well! You'll make a soldier yet! Keep going."

Bailey brightened up at that. "My aim is getting better."

Sweeping his eyes over the action, Malcolm said, "We seem to be winning - at last. Uh oh." A drag at his insides gave the briefest warning.

Malcolm instinctively knew his best descent should gravity return - another legacy of that all too thorough training, lurking in his subconscious. He acted to orient himself just as full gravity kicked back in. Landing on the deck, Malcolm met it with his shoulder and rolled to absorb the impact. Copybook, he thought smugly, continuing the roll to push to his feet off his hands and good leg.

Bailey had somehow contrived to maintain his hold on the strut and was now laboriously lowering himself to the ground. The Klingons had fared less well. Apparently, their previous zero gravity experiences had not prepared them for a sudden switch from weightlessness. Their unplanned plunges had driven the fight out of most of them and they were sitting ducks. Malcolm's fire to pick them off was matched by that of his comrades to seal their victory. He grinned at the pleasing scene as Archer appeared beside him.

"Good work!" said Archer, swinging about. Then he exclaimed, "Trip!"

Malcolm's self-satisfaction disappeared in an instant. Trip lay horribly still, crumpled on the floor near one of the consoles. Archer rushed over to him.

It gave Malcolm added motivation - not that he needed much of an extra charge. He set to, rapidly finishing off the few resisting Klingons. Malcolm saw one dazed Klingon female feebly going for a weapon. He used his pistol to stun her. Another male needed the same treatment, and then the battlefield was completely still. With the zero g fighting and the added firepower from Archer and the others, the humans had won the day - but it had been close.

Malcolm did his duty and warily checked out each of the downed opponents, making sure they really were stunned and relieving them of their weaponry. The disrupters and some impressivebladed weapons made an imposing pile.

Then, at last, Malcolm was free to see how Trip was. He limped over to report to Archer. "All Klingons accounted for, sir."

Trip was unconscious, but his breathing was strong and rhythmical. The hair above his left ear was soaked in blood and he was very pale. Malcolm watched anxiously as Archer operated the scanner in a deliberate fashion near Trip's head. There was a lot of blood but, then, that was to be expected with a head wound. It didn't necessarily mean it was serious, Malcolm told himself.

"Good." Archer switched the scanner off and looked up, revealing a nasty scrape over his right cheekbone. Malcolm's concern lessened as he read the relief in Archer's features. Archer sorted through his med-pack, selected a suitable hypospray and delivered its dose to the engineer's neck. Trip stirred and let out a low moan, still less than half-conscious and his eyes firmly shut.

"Trip must've hit his head when gravity came back online," Archer explained. "I think he's okay. Hoist with his own petard!" He gave a soft chuckle.

"Sir?"

"It was Trip who had the idea of tampering with the gravity. It seems the Klingons had a back up system."

"It was an excellent idea, sir. It made all the difference."

"Yeah. It did."

"Uhh, thank you, for going back for Bailey, at the beginning." Malcolm's respect for Archer had been renewed by that action. Even if Malcolm couldn't agree with everything Archer did, his courage and selflessness could not be doubted. It had needed that brief, frenetic battle to remind him of something he had always known. Malcolm gave a half-smile as he thought that sometimes he was too dense for his own good!

Archer straightened up and grabbed Malcolm's shoulder. "Any of us would have done the same. We make a good team - miners and Starfleet!" He gave a squeeze, looking Malcolm directly in the eye - a confirmation of their regained comradeship.

Malcolm staggered a little as his bad leg protested under the weight of sincerity.

Archer yanked his hand away as if burned and exclaimed, "Malcolm! I'm sorry!" He stared down in horror at the offending limb.

"I don't think it's serious, Captain. It's sore but it works okay - mostly." Malcolm peered at the wound - a neat score sliced across his calf. The heat of the beam had cauterised it, but fabric from his uniform had got mixed in as well. Malcolm gloomily anticipated having the material teased from the wound. He was far too familiar with that experience to be fooled by any reassurances about the procedure. Still - it was a minor hit, and he was properly grateful for that.

"Yeah. I know. You're 'fine'. Let me scan it." Archer checked it over. He raised an eyebrow at Malcolm. "You're lucky. A fraction to one side and you'd be in trouble."

A loud groan from behind a console drew their attention. It came from Gomez, propped up against a wall with Bailey hovering over him in concern.

"What happened?" asked Archer, squatting down next to Gomez and already rifling through the med pack.

Bailey answered. "Molten metal from a panel. It splattered over him." He pointed to a blackened wall panel with a scored track of solidified bubbled metal, liberated by a disrupter blast. Gomez had been unlucky enough to catch the extremity of the deadly spray.

Gomez' right shoulder was a sickening mass of blood and shredded flesh. His already pale countenance was completely white and his lips were bloodless. He let out another groan and swore weakly.

Archer winced in sympathy, and took a closer look. "It's eaten right into his muscles," he said, a little unsteadily. "I'll give him an analgesic, and then you can take him back onto the Carlotta, Mister Bailey. Give him another dose there and we'll see what we can do about getting an infusion administered." Archer pulled out a hypospray and dispensed the required dose of analgesic. "We can make him comfortable, but anything else is going to require Enterprise's medical facilities."

They all relaxed a touch when Gomez sighed in relief as the painkiller took effect. "That's better," he confirmed weakly. "I think it was the very last shot of the battle that got me. Typical, huh?" He even managed to produce a strained smile.

Somehow, they managed to get Trip and Gomez settled back on Carlotta. Then Archer, Malcolm and Bailey returned to the scene of the fighting. Archer said briskly, "Right - we've recovered Trip and Mister Gomez. Now we need to make sure we can get away in one piece."

"I'll disable their engines and their weapons," said Malcolm. "Then, when the Klingons regain consciousness, they won't be able to come after us."

"I don't know about that." Archer said doubtfully. "They could be stranded in this plasma cloud for a long time if we do disable them. How would they get a message out to request help? Huh! If they would even do that. I guess it's against their honour."

"We can't do anything about their honour system, sir. Who knows? They might all kill themselves because they've been defeated by us." Malcolm couldn't suppress a smirk at that. It had been an astounding victory, given the odds. Three humans on a decrepit transport defeating a full crew of Klingons on a warship! He supposed the scout vessel could be considered in that light, given its armaments.

"We can't do anything about their customs. That's up to them." Archer contemplated the aliens strewn about the deck, rubbing his chin. "However, I do have another idea. It'll get them out of here in one piece - if that's what they want. We'll lock them in their own cells. If you can rig some timed charges to open the doors, Malcolm, we can keep them there for, say, three days. That should do it."

Malcolm said, "It'll be pretty crowded in there. Not very pleasant."

"No - but it's not for too long. We'll make sure they have food and water, and tell them when they'll be free." Archer looked around. "I guess we'd be safer moving them while they are still out cold. There are too many to risk waiting until they come around and then herding them along."

Archer and Bailey dragged the alien warriors down to the cells - a difficult task and said warriors sustained additional bruises in the process - while Malcolm got the provisions together. He didn't know what Klingons ate, so he put a variety of what food he could find in each cell. At least, he assumed it was food - it came from the galley - but it didn't look very appetising. Water was already on tap in the cells, so that was one less thing to think about. Finally, with all the Klingons relocated to their new accommodation, the lock circuits were sealed using a phase pistol to fuse them. Malcolm fixed his charges to the doors, set to blow in three days time.

They stood back to admire their hard work. Archer grinned. "Good! We will be well away - and on board Enterprise - by the time these Klingons get free. Let's see if we can recover your forcefield equipment, Malcolm."

Malcolm said, "While we wait for them to regain consciousness, we could also see what they've done with the alien craft they stole and get it back."

"What?" said Archer, in surprise. "I don't see how we can do that. There aren't enough of us. I was going to leave it here."

"But it's important, isn't it?" said Malcolm evenly. "After all, Enterprise came all the way to this sector to get it in the first place. And if it gets back into Starfleet hands, there can be no argument about the bounty payable to the finders." Malcolm crossed his arms, determined not to yield. He might be back on better terms with Archer, but that didn't mean he was prepared to blindly defer to him. Those days were gone… if they ever existed. A ghost of a smile reached his lips.

Archer's jaw tightened at the mention of the bounty. He stared at Malcolm, who returned the gaze unflinchingly.

Archer was the one to break the connection. He gave a small shrug and said, "I guess we could look at the problem, but I can't see what we can do about it. With Trip and Gomez out of action - and your leg, Malcolm - it's not feasible to recover it. Insufficient manpower."

Malcolm and Bailey exchanged knowing looks.

TBC