Although there were a half dozen maintenance rooms scattered throughout the starship, Stephen had to admit he had never been to one. This was doubly disappointing considering one of his best friends, Box, worked out of one of the larger rooms. The double doors of the room slid open with a hiss to reveal a room roughly twice the size of his quarters. It was, quite literally, filled with cabinets, shelves, boxes, and crates. Four large tables with various pieces of equipment were stationed along the walls of the room. Stephen saw two humans in the room; one was working on a phaser rifle, the other had a lighting console in pieces. Coming over the room speaker was a horrid combination of violins, drums, and what sounded like screams of pain.

Along the back wall, he saw his friend, Lieutenant Box. Box was a Hamalki, a race of semitransparent crystalline spiders. he was almost as tall as a human and over two meters in length. His semitransparent skin allowed a somewhat disturbing look at a sack within his torso that displayed his major organs. Atop his head were eight, black eyes. His mouth was probably the most intimidating feature about him; it could easily encompass a human head and was filled with large, razor sharp fangs. Despite his size, his twelve spindly legs did quite a remarkable job in not only supporting him, but allowing him to run very quickly. His body also had the added benefit of being somewhat malleable. He could form pockets through his body to store objects, which was how he got his nickname. He could also reform the ends of his legs, as was the case now. With one of his rear legs, he formed a three digit hand and motioned for Stephen to come over. The major drawback to the Hamalki was a lack of a voice box. To compensate, Box would create a basic voice box by reforming part of his body, then pushing air through it. The result was a whispering sound that always started with a hiss.

"Hhhhcome over here, Steve," Box insisted.

Stephen navigated through the jumbled stacks of crates and gadgets to the back of the room. He motioned to the ceiling. "What's that racket?"

"Hhhhklingon opera,"

Kirk shook his head. "It sounds like someone having their arm ripped off."

"Hhhhi believe it is a love ballad."

"That explains it. The guy probably IS getting his arm ripped off." Box shook his body, producing a tinkling sound similar to a wind chime. It was his way of laughing.

"Hhhhwhat did you break?" He asked, holding out his three-fingered appendage. He continued working on a circuit board in front of him with a white hot connecting tool.

Stephen gave him his comm badge with a smirk. "I didn't break anything. It just started malfunctioning."

Box stopped his current project and switched on the communicator. Instantly, it began popping static and whining. Quickly, Box put it on his workbench and remolded his appendage to look like a large suction, which he used to cover the comm badge. It reduced the sound dramatically. "Hhhhi see what you mean. Ouch." Using another leg, he grabbed a tricorder from the side of his workbench and started analyzing the badge. "Hhhhdid you enjoy your stay with the Cardassians?"

Stephen shot him a sideways glance. "What do YOU think?"

Box chimed again. "Hhhhyou might as well get used to it. Hhhhi would imagine dealing with other worlds' politicians will be hhhhcommonplace for this ship." Box cocked his head. "Hhhhthat is strange."

Stephen tapped his collar. "That's why I have three pips, not four. What's wrong?"

"Hhhhit would seem the speech buffer is full." He removed his suction hand and switched the comm badge off. He then turned it over, grabbed a small screwdriver-like tool from his wallset, and opened the back.

"What do you mean?" Stephen asked curiously. He had seen the inside of a communicator in his basic electronics class, but didn't really pay much attention to it. Now, he was genuinely interested. Funny how adding a few years makes one appreciate things he didn't appreciate before.

"Hhhhwell," Box began, grabbing a magnifying lens and putting it between him and the badge, "as part of the translation program, hhhhit stores part of the initial speech, hhhhin case several words are necessary to provide an hhhhaccurate translation." He pulled another tool, which appeared to have a small hook on the end. He continued making adjustments with the tricorder. "Hhhhyour badge's buffer is locked."

"Can you fix it, or should I just get a new one?"

"Hhhhthis was no accident. Hhhhsomeone transmitted a communication to your badge hhhhand kept the buffer recycling."

Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Can you retrieve the message?"

Box nodded. "Hhhhi just about have it." He pressed a few more buttons on the tricorder.

The voice was of a female, but low in pitch and accented. "We need help. Coordinates three four eight by two two one. We need help. Coordinates three four eight by two two one. We need..." Box turned off the recording.

Kirk's eyes went wide.

Box turned to focus four eyes on his friend. "Hhhhyou always have the most interesting conversations."