A/N: Again, very nice comments. Thank you all very much. Also, thanks to Roaring Mice for some input that helped make this chapter more credible.

CHAPTER 6

Malcolm was officially kicked out of sickbay the next morning. As Phlox escorted him to his quarters, the doctor tried to make small talk, but Malcolm wasn't fooled. He knew Phlox was attempting to ascertain his emotional state.

Malcolm refused to be drawn in, and tried to deflect the doctor's gentle probing by asking a question of his own.

"Hoshi mentioned that my other senses might become acute now that I can't see," he said. "Will that really happen?"

"Technically, that's not true," Phlox said. "Your hearing, for example, won't become better per se. It will just seem like it does since you will have to rely more on it. To compensate for your lack of sight, your focus for gathering information will be shifted to your other senses. It just might take a while for you accustom yourself to fully utilizing them."

Before the doctor would leave him alone in his own cabin, Malcolm had to prove that he could find the comm panel on his desk and the one next to the door if he should need any help. Malcolm then took the better part of the day to painstakingly memorize where everything was.

Three steps from his bed to the bathroom. One step from the sink to the shower, where the shelf holding the soap and shampoo was at shoulder level on the left. His closet was one step to the left of the bathroom door, his dresser another step past that. Four steps from the main door to his desk. A bruised knee was a harsh reminder not to forget to push the chair in or he'd run into it again the next time he went to the desk.

He'd occupied this same cabin all five years he'd been on Enterprise, yet he was amazed how difficult it was to find his way around in it when he couldn't see. He had always believed himself to be an observant person, but the numerous bumps from running into things was a humbling, exasperating experience.

Once he'd committed to memory the exact location of each piece of furniture and all the fixtures, he started to work on the smaller items.

Each article of clothing was neatly stored by category in his dresser or closet. Underwear to the left and socks to the right in the top drawer, T-shirts in the second drawer, and so on. He was in the midst of arranging his clothing when Hoshi stopped by. At her suggestion, they made tags in various shapes -- each shape denoting a particular color, such as a triangle for blue -- that she helped attach to the clothing so he'd know exactly what he was putting on when he got dressed.

The next morning, feeling the tags to find black slacks and a blue shirt, he wondered if Hoshi had done research to find out how visually impaired people did things. She seemed very knowledgeable on the subject, but he wasn't sure he wanted to find out she'd been looking into the topic on his behalf. He should have done it himself. Instead, he'd been stumbling around, figuring things out by trial and error. He decided he'd credit her excellent suggestions to her natural talent for finding ways to communicate.

He was pleasantly surprised to find showering and shaving didn't require eyesight. He just needed to be a little more careful with shaving, since he had to do it by touch instead of sight, and it struck him as ironic that the mirror in front of which he was standing to do it was now of no use to him.

Then there was the matter of a cane. Malcolm stubbornly resisted using one until Trip pointed out that not only would a cane lessen his reliance on other people when he wanted to go somewhere, it could be used as a weapon if necessary.

The hardest thing for him once he was back in his cabin, however, was to leave it. As soon as he stepped out the doorway, he was navigating uncharted waters, at least from his new perspective. He knew where things were, but he didn't know if he could get to any of them on his own.

For the first few days, Hoshi, Travis, or Trip would stop by to collect him for meals. After a time, however, as he became accustomed to the route and learned how to work the turbolift controls by touch, he was able to get himself to the mess hall and back without assistance, swinging the cane from side to side near the deck in front of him to detect anything in his path.

That's not to say that everything went smoothly. During one trip to the mess hall by himself, he unknowingly hit a wrong button in the turbolift. He stepped out and went a good fifteen paces before he realized what had happened, and that was only when his way was blocked by a bulkhead that shouldn't have been there if he had been on the proper deck. Retracing his steps, he managed to reboard the turbolift and send it on its way to the destination he wanted. He spent the rest of the ride in the turbolift considering if it was possible to program it to respond to voice commands.

Another aspect of his life that was changing concerned the amount of time he spent alone. He had always been a somewhat solitary person and wasn't much given to socializing. But now it seemed like he had at least one visitor each evening. He assumed they were trying to keep him from sinking into a depression about his blindness and lessen his feeling of isolation. Most likely it was an effort organized by Doctor Phlox.

At least he thought that's what it was. It could be that he was reading more into their visits as a result of his innate paranoia. His natural suspiciousness had been heightened by the loss of his sight.

But even more than the loss of his eyesight, what bothered him was that, for all intents and purposes, he was now useless. He was no longer a functioning crew member. He'd become a mere passenger on the finest ship in Starfleet.

So he found himself in a position where, while he was grateful for company, his visitors probably didn't realize how much it pained him to hear about ship-related business. It reminded him that he'd lost more than his eyesight because of his carelessness. He had become an outsider, no matter how much Hoshi and Travis and Trip tried to keep him up to date.

As far as he was concerned, adjusting to suddenly having no career was worse than being blind. He found himself shying away from thinking about what his future would be like. Perhaps if he knew when he was going to return to Earth, he'd be forced to start making some decisions about what he was going to do. Until then, he'd muddle on as he had been, learning to cope with his disability.

He didn't realize how well he was adjusting to being unable to see until one evening when his door chime rang. He was lying on his back on his bed, his hands behind his head as he listened to an audio novelization on the padd Hoshi had given him in sickbay. He was comfortable, so he didn't get up.

"Enter," he called out, and heard the door open

"Malcolm?" came Trip's voice.

"Come in, Trip."

He heard Trip take a step into the cabin and then stop.

"Why are--" the engineer said.

When Trip didn't finish his sentence or move farther into the cabin, Malcolm levered himself up on his elbows and, turning his head toward Trip, asked, "Is something wrong?"

Trip mumbled something, and Malcolm got the impression that his friend was embarrassed. After a moment, Trip said, "I...uh...almost asked why you were sitting' around in the dark. You mind if I turn on the lights?"

Malcolm smiled, albeit a bit sadly. He hadn't thought about turning on lights for days now.

"Just remember to turn them off when you leave," he told Trip.

This had to be one of the craziest ideas Malcolm had ever heard of. He was sure Travis had made the whole thing up, but he hadn't been able to get the helmsman to admit it.

Audible basketball. Who had ever heard of such a thing?

Travis had broached the subject at dinner the other night and, despite himself, Malcolm had been intrigued. No doubt part of his interest was due to his increasing boredom. There wasn't much for a blind person to do on a starship.

He and Travis were in the cargo bay used for half-court basketball. Travis had gotten Trip to rig a basketball to emit a low, continuous tone. The goal also made noise, issuing a rhythmic beeping. Travis seemed especially pleased with the fanfare that sounded when the ball swished through the hoop.

With Travis cheering him on, Malcolm was taking a few experimental shots when he heard the door to the cargo bay open.

"Hey, Malcolm!" came Trip's voice. "How do ya like it?"

"I'll let you know if I ever make a basket," he replied.

The sound of two sets of footsteps came to him where he stood at the foul line but they stopped some distance away. Trip was one of the newcomers, so the other was--?

"Malcolm," said the captain by way of greeting.

"Captain," Malcolm replied with a dip of his head.

"Trip told me about this and I had to come see for myself," Jon said. "Does it work?"

"I'm not sure yet," Malcolm said. "I've been trying to make a goal, but so far, no luck."

A snicker came from Trip. "You weren't very good at making baskets when you could see," he said.

Without thinking, Malcolm responded by slinging the ball in the direction of the engineer, the volume of the tone dropping as it moved away, and heard the baskbetball slap against Trip's palms.

"Your aim doesn't seem to be affected," Jon commented wryly.

Before Malcolm could reply, Trip called out, "Heads up!"

Malcolm heard the basketball's tone coming back toward him. Tilting his head to better gauge its trajectory by the sound of the tone, he put both hands out to one side, but the ball flew on by, grazing his outstretched fingertips.

"Damn!" he muttered under his breath.

"Actually," Jon said, "that was rather impressive, Malcolm. You reacted immediately and managed to get your fingers on the ball. I don't know if I would have been able to do that without being able to see."

Malcolm knew the captain was trying to encourage him, and he had to admit, he had a point. He hadn't really thought about where his hands needed to be to catch the ball -- he'd just reacted to the sound. That he'd been able to come into contact with it at all was amazing. Phlox had been right -- he was coming to rely more on his other senses without conscious thought as he compensated for not being able to see.

"Here you go, Malcolm," said Travis, coming up beside him and putting the ball in his hands. "Why don't you try it again?"

"Great!" he said, spinning the ball in his hands. "Just what I need when I try to do this. An audience."

But he turned around, guided by the beeping of the goal. He set himself and then threw the ball toward the basket. There was a satisfying thump as it smacked against the backboard, followed by a blare of trumpets as the ball swished through the basketball net.

"I'll be damned!" Trip shouted. "You made it!"

Smirking over his shoulder in the direction where he thought the engineer was standing, Malcolm said, "And to think you doubted me."