CHAPTER 3

Malcolm looked around the mess hall and immediately realized it was a good thing Violet had stayed in Hoshi's cabin. Seated at a table across the room, trying to catch his or Hoshi's eye, was the biggest gossip on the ship.

"Close call," he murmured to Hoshi, tilting his head toward Travis.

Hoshi followed his gaze and agreed. "She's not up to facing him yet. Darn! I should have warned her about him."

"Let's sit at a table away from him so we can talk," Malcolm suggested.

"Oh, like that's going to work! Not only will he come right over to where we are, but his feelings will be hurt," she said as she piled food on her plate. "We may as well sit with him and tell him the truth. Violet -- I mean Jane -- is very tired and decided to call it a night."

Malcolm of all people knew that telling the truth when no lie was needed was the best way to handle such a situation. The only problem with sitting with Travis was that he and Hoshi wouldn't be able to discuss their charge. They'd have to wait until Travis left.

He picked out a fish entree and some chips for himself before moving over to the beverage dispenser. That's when he noticed what Hoshi had selected to eat. She had a pasta-and-vegetable combo, a salad, and a sandwich, as well as an extra plate with two desserts.

"All that listening give you a big appetite?" he asked curiously.

"No," she huffed as she grabbed a glass. "Vio-- Jane's going to be hungry later. I'll take the sandwich and a dessert back for her. If she's not asleep, the food should at least keep her from talking for five minutes."

"Chef's not going to like dishes leaving the mess hall," he pointed out as he filled his coffee cup, then took the glass from her.

"Milk," she told him as he put her glass in the dispenser. "Chef's just going to have to deal with it. I'm not in the mood for one of his snits."

"Your funeral," he murmured, filling her glass. He carefully balanced her glass of milk, his cup of coffee, and his plate as they moved off to join Travis.

The young helmsman's face was alight with eagerness as they sat down. "So? Where is she?" he asked Hoshi.

"She's resting," Hoshi informed him and saw his face fall. Putting her napkin on her lap, she added, "She had a long trip to get here and she's very tired."

Travis directed his next statement to Malcolm. "Must be some weapon she's working on if they sent her all the way out here instead of waiting until we get back to Earth in a few weeks."

Malcolm merely grunted, realizing that at least part of the ruse was working. Travis didn't know their sole reason for returning to Earth was to take their passenger there for a trial. There was no chance of an unbiased jury on Thiera, so the prosecutors had asked for and received a change of venue to the colony's homeworld.

He tucked into his fish and chips, leaving the conversation to Hoshi. She was much better at dissembling than he was. If Travis' curiosity got out of hand, he'd use his higher rank to shut him down. But in the meantime, he was going to enjoy his dinner.

"I was looking forward to meeting her," Travis said, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I guess I can wait one more day."

Malcolm saw Hoshi swallow. It would be interesting to see how she dealt with the persistent ensign's interest in the newest "crew member." He wasn't sure what she was up to when she glanced around as if to see if anyone else was listening. She leaned forward, a crook of her finger urging Travis to do the same.

In a low voice, she said, "Ensign Smith is incredibly shy, Travis. She's had a hard time adjusting to Starfleet."

Uh-oh, thought Malcolm. What she'd said was true as far as it went, but it also might be all Travis needed to encourage him to try to make friends with a shy newcomer.

But Hoshi wasn't done.

"She almost quit a few months back. But Starfleet really needs her expertise, so the powers that be went all out to make her comfortable. She's some kind of genius when it comes to whatever it is she's working on. Isn't she, Malcolm?"

Caught off-guard at being drawn into the conversation, Malcolm almost choked on a chip. He took a sip of coffee to ease his throat and managed to rasp out, "Yes, I believe she is an expert of some sort. Incredible memory, for one thing."

Travis backed off a bit, but not all the way. "If she's so shy, how come you've got her as a roomie?" he asked Hoshi.

Yeah, explain your way out of that one, Malcolm thought, relieved that he wasn't the one to have to come up with another half-truth.

"Well, not only is she shy, she's insecure, too," Hoshi said. "Starfleet wanted someone who could be a calming, reassuring influence on her."

"Oh, man!" Travis said. "She can't be that bad, can she?"

Her features settling into a disgruntled expression, Hoshi said, "You have no idea."

Malcolm had to admit that was the unvarnished truth.

Faced with his companions' lack of response, Travis dropped the subject of Ensign Smith. Malcolm deliberately ate as slowly as he could, hoping the helmsman would finish his meal and go away, leaving him and Hoshi in peace. He still wanted to talk to her about their assignment.

But the fates seemed to be conspiring against them. Travis finally left, and Malcolm put down the data padd he'd been looking at as a ploy to avoid conversation. That's when Trip Tucker walked in.

He heard a groan of commiseration from Hoshi. "Is everyone on this ship going to stop by our table?" he heard her gripe as the chief engineer got some dinner and walked in their direction.

Malcolm hastily tossed his napkin on his plate and got to his feet. While Trip might not be terribly interested in Ensign Smith, he'd undoubtedly want to know about her technical expertise, especially since weapons -- her alleged area of specialization -- went hand in hand with power consumption, a topic dear to any engineer's heart.

"Come on," Malcolm said in an urgent whisper. "We're done here."

Hoshi followed his cue, wrapping the sandwich in a napkin and then sliding her chair back. She was standing, sandwich and extra dessert in hand, by the time Trip arrived at the table.

"Aw," Trip said. "You leavin'?"

"Yes," Malcolm said, trying to think of a reason that Trip wouldn't question. When he could come up with an excuse only for himself, he decided Hoshi was on her own. "There's some overdue inventory that needs to be done in the armory."

He told himself that Hoshi had done a more than adequate job throwing Travis off-track. Trip shouldn't present too much of a problem. There was absolutely no reason for his back to be feeling daggers coming from her eyes as he walked away.

He slipped out the door of the mess hall and took a few steps down the corridor. Leaning against the bulkhead, he waited. Hoshi ought to be along any moment.

Five minutes passed, and he began to wonder what the hold-up was. When ten minutes had gone by, he was considering going back in and rescuing her, but the door to the mess hall opened and Hoshi stepped out.

Seeing that she was carrying a covered tray, he said, "Now Chef's really going to be mad."

"No, he's not. And thanks a lot for leaving me to deal not only with Trip, but Chef!"

"Was he angry because you were taking food out of the mess?"

Hoshi's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "Just the opposite. He said he'd heard there's a new crew member on board and he is eager to 'make zee acquaintance,'" she finished in a French accent. She glanced down at the tray she was holding. "This is his way to welcome her aboard."

Malcolm took the tray from her and they walked toward the turbolift. "Have you got any ideas how to combat all this interest in our passenger?"

"It's only natural the crew is interested, what with a new face on board after being away from home for so long," Hoshi said, "but I've never seen anything quite like this. Is it possible that by trying to hide her away we're going to generate more interest in her?"

Arriving at the turbolift, Malcolm managed to punch the button to summon the car while balancing the tray. The door swooshed open in front of them and he waited until Hoshi stepped in before following. He tilted his head toward the control panel, but Hoshi, her hand hovering over it, hesitated.

"Where to?" she asked.

"Back to your cabin," he answered promptly. "We'll drop this off and see how 'Jane' is doing."

Hoshi hit the appropriate button and the turbolift began to move.

"Maybe," he mused out loud, "the best thing to do would be to get our 'shrinking violet' out in the open. That might quell some of the crew's curiosity."

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Hoshi asked dubiously. "What if she accidentally says something she shouldn't?"

Giving her a lopsided smile, he said, "You said she's shy around men. Most of the crew is comprised of men. That should make her clam up."

"I don't know. That might be expecting a bit much of her," Hoshi said. "Not to mention it's rather mean, especially since she seems to be painfully shy."

"Hmm. I suppose you're right. But I don't intend to throw a party for her. Just get her out a bit. Have her do a few simple things in the armory, for example. You could take her for a work-out in the gym. Anything just to let the crew see her out and around."

Hoshi's troubled face cleared. "That might work. Once their curiosity is appeased, they'll leave her alone. That would certainly make our jobs a lot easier."

The turbolift door opened on C deck and the two officers stepped out and walked the short distance to Hoshi's cabin.

"This is really weird," Hoshi commented as she keyed in her access code. "I'm entering my own cabin, and I feel like I should ring the chime first."

Any comment Malcolm could have made was cut off by a shrill shriek from inside the cabin as the the door opened.

"It's just us!" Hoshi called out. "We didn't mean to frighten you."

Violet was cowering on her bunk, the pillow clutched like a shield in her white-knuckled fists. "Sorry," she gasped out. "You startled me."

Malcolm followed Hoshi into the cabin and put the tray on the desk.

"We brought you some food," Hoshi said. "I thought you might be hungry."

"That's...that's nice," Violet stammered.

Malcolm backed up a few steps after setting down the tray. Hoshi went over and sat on her bunk. Violet's eyes darted from one to the other of them, and then she slowly got up and went over to the desk. She sat down, cautiously lifted the lid from the tray to reveal beef medallions, a baked potato smothered in butter and sour cream, and peas with baby onions. She sighed.

"What's wrong?" Hoshi asked. "Chef made that tray up specially for you."

"I am a little hungry," Violet said, gazing at the final item on the tray -- a piece of devil's food cake with thick chocolate icing. "It all looks very good, but I'm allergic to chocolate."

Malcolm and Hoshi didn't get a chance to talk further that evening. In the awkward silence that had followed Violet's pronouncement about her allergy to chocolate, Malcolm once again beat a hasty retreat. It wasn't like he and Hoshi could discuss Violet in her presence. That just wouldn't be proper. And he didn't think it would be a good idea to ask Hoshi to leave her again that evening.

After informing Violet he'd come by the cabin in the morning to escort her to breakfast before heading to the armory, he'd said good evening and departed with a sense of relief. Going back to his quarters, he found himself cataloguing the woman's idiosyncrasies. She was shy, she was high-strung, and she was somewhat klutzy. Graceful was not a word that came to mind when one thought of Violet.

That she was also allergic to chocolate prompted a momentary pang of sympathy. He took shots so he could tolerate pineapple, after all.

What was Chef going to think when his dessert was returned untouched? The temperamental master of the galley had been known to fly off the handle for lesser things. Then again, if Chef was greatly offended, maybe he'd keep his distance from Violet.

Stepping into his quarters, Malcolm let out a gust of breath. It was a sad day for those in security when you had to worry about how a ship's glorified cook was going to react to an unintended slight from a valuable witness you were supposed to be protecting.

Malcolm sat down on his bunk and pulled off his boots. Tossing them aside, he lay back on the bunk, throwing an arm over his eyes. It was going to be a long two weeks before they got back to Earth.