CHAPTER 5

Malcolm, as a proper gentleman, waited for Violet to precede him in leaving the mess hall, but she stood there staring blankly at him.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing toward the open door.

"Oh!" she said, flushing bright scarlet and scurrying through the doorway.

Malcolm shook his head as he followed her out. He was heartily thankful Violet wasn't a permanent addition to his staff. Then again, if she was, he wouldn't be handling her with kid gloves, and he damn well wouldn't be worried about protecting her. She'd know how to do that herself if she were a properly trained security officer.

They started off down the corridor on their way to the turbolift. They were about halfway there when a shout came from behind them.

"Lieutenant Reeeeed!"

Malcolm stopped and closed his eyes. He'd been hoping to avoid this. Having got in and out of the mess hall without seeing Chef no doubt had given him a false sense of security. Knowing he couldn't avoid him now, Malcolm reluctantly turned around. Next to him, Violet did the same.

"Yes, Chef?"

"Shame on you!" Chef said in a stern voice as he came up to them. "You have failed to introduce me to our charming newcomer."

In his peripheral vision, Malcolm could see Violet's eyes go wide in alarm. Hoshi must have warned her about Chef.

"We're running late, Chef," he improvised, taking Violet by the arm and moving back a step. "Perhaps later."

"Ah, but you are here now, and I must tell her something."

Uh-oh, Malcolm thought. Here it comes. He's pissed about the chocolate cake being returned. Malcolm had hoped to avoid one of Chef's little displays of temper, so of course it was going to happen in one of the most heavily traveled corridors in the ship. His luck was perverse that way sometimes.

"I have heard you have the allergy to chocolate," Chef said, addressing Violet, whose eyes were still wide as she took in the white outfit and hat that Chef wore. "For you, I will make a special creation. You must have very discriminating tastes if you cannot indulge in the chocolate, no?"

Violet's mouth dropped open.

"Tonight, you will come to the mess hall, and I will unveil my latest masterpiece in desserts. You must be there -- you have inspired me!"

Chef moved forward as if to kiss her cheek and Malcolm hastily stepped between them. "None of that," he warned the other man darkly. "Like I told you, we're late. If you'll excuse us?"

Taking a firmer hold on Violet's arm, Malcolm hustled her off to the turbolift. The door opened almost immediately and they stepped in.

As the car began to move, Violet asked in a small voice, "Is he always so...forward?"

Staring at the control panel's deck indicator, Malcolm replied tersely, "Yes." He couldn't help adding, "With everyone."

Hoshi hadn't been on the bridge for more than ten minutes when she was summoned to the captain's ready room. She'd rather expected it. He'd want to know how Violet was getting along.

"How's our new crew member doing?" Jon asked. "Is she getting settled in?"

Hoshi made a sound in the back of her throat, one of those noises that signify not quite a "no" and not quite a "yes," but something in between.

Jon frowned. "That well, huh?"

"Oh, sir!" Hoshi blurted, then caught herself before she could start to whine. "It's just that she's so shy. If we didn't have to keep from the crew who she really is, she could stay hidden away and no one would bother her. But this 'hiding in plain sight' plan has some problems I didn't anticipate, especially since she's so...timid."

"Oh?"

"Well, certain members of the crew will go out of their way to meet her, and you can imagine the strain it's putting on her. I thought she was going to have a heart attack this morning in the mess hall when she met Travis."

"Surely this interest will blow over in a few days," Jon said.

"I hope so!"

Jon studied her for a few moments before asking, "Anything else?"

Hoshi opened her mouth but quickly shut it. The captain didn't need -- or want -- to hear that Violet was klutzy or that she snored. Straightening, Hoshi said, "Nothing I can't handle, sir. Oh! And we're calling her Jane Smith."

John gave her a half smile. "That's rather bland, isn't it?"

Hoshi restrained herself from saying anything, contenting herself with merely raising her eyebrows ambiguously.

"It sounds like you and Malcolm have everything well in hand," he said. "I'm sure you'll be able to handle it. It's only for two weeks."

Two weeks, Hoshi thought as she left the ready room. Two long weeks.

Malcolm's natural reticence served him well as he escorted Violet to the armory. He felt no need to make small talk, and neither apparently did Violet. They finished the ride in the turbolift and the short walk to the main door of the armory in silence.

This time, however, when Malcolm opened the door and took a step back, Violet knew what was expected. She preceded him into his domain --

-- only to stop without warning, causing him to run into her.

"Excuse me," he grated out, grabbing her shoulders from behind to steady her and simultaneously stepping around her to see what the problem was.

Malcolm did a quick visual scan of the armory but saw nothing amiss. Two of his staff were at work on the upper level, running the weekly diagnostics on the fire control system. The work tables were all neat and tidy. The phase rifles were stacked in their locker. The torpedoes were gleaming in their racks.

Shifting his gaze to Violet beside him, he asked, "Is there a problem?"

"Ah, n--n--no," she stuttered. "It's just...are those torpedoes?" she asked, pointing a shaking finger toward the racks.

Malcolm resisted the urge to roll his eyes. In a low voice, he said, "We're in the armory, Ensign. It's where we keep the torpedoes."

"Yes. Of course," she said.

He walked toward his office, expecting her to follow. Reaching the door, he turned to see she was still rooted to the deck by the main door. "Ensign Smith!"

Violet flinched and tore her eyes away from the deadly missiles to look in confusion at him. He made a "come here" motion with his finger at her and comprehension dawned on her face. She hurried over and stepped into his office.

Closing the door after following her in, he regarded her in exasperation. "Let me give you a piece of advice, Ensign," he said, emphasizing her make-believe rank. "You're supposed to be an expert in weapons development. It probably would be more convincing if you didn't act like you were frightened of them."

"You're right," Violet said, cringing and avoiding his eyes. "Sorry."

"And please," he said, trying but failing to keep the irritation out of his voice, "quit apologizing."

"Ah, sure. Sorry," she said and immediately squeezed her eyes shut as she realized she'd done what he'd just asked her not to do.

Malcolm decided the woman needed some time alone to compose herself. He needed a few minutes away from her himself to regain his own even temper.

"I have a few things I need to do in the armory," he told her. "You need anything, just come to the door and call for me."

Not meeting his gaze, Violet nodded.

Some of the phase pistols needed to be torn down and checked. Malcolm decided that would be as good a chore as any to keep him occupied. He had just finished stripping down the first pistol when he realized with a guilty pang that there was absolutely nothing to keep Violet occupied in his office. She was probably still standing in there where he'd left her, feeling sorry for herself.

He put the pistol down on the work table with a muttered curse, more angry with his reaction to Violet than he was with her personally. He stalked over to his office and yanked the door open. He wasn't the least surprised that Violet jumped about a meter.

"Come out of there," he said gruffly. Moderating his tone at her panicked look, he explained, "I thought perhaps you might like to watch as I work on the phase pistols."

"Uh, all right," she said uncertainly and shuffled after him.

At the work table, Malcolm picked up some parts of the disassembled pistol and indicated she should stand next to him. A quick glance at the upper deck showed neither of his staff members were paying attention to what was going on on the lower level, but that could change. He began quietly explaining to Violet what he was doing as he went through the process of putting the pistol back together.

The first pistol done, he picked up the second and took it apart, inspecting each component carefully. What happened next was his own fault, he realized later.

"Care to try putting it back together?" he asked.

The startled glance she gave him was answer enough.

"You're the weapons development expert," he said from the corner of his mouth. "If my men see you actually working, it will go a long way toward convincing them that you are what we say you are."

Violet drew a shuddering breath and hesitantly picked up the pistol's outer casing. She began putting the pistol back together, slowly at first, but to Malcolm's amazement, she picked up speed as she continued. All the pieces went into their proper places. She slid the final component -- the power cell -- into place and clicked the cover shut.

It must be her incredible memory, he realized. She'd watched him put one pistol together and then take this one apart, and had done everything he'd done. And she'd done it faster than most of his staff could. The only thing she hadn't done was put the safety on. She may not have noticed that step since when he'd done it, the safety was on the side of the pistol away from her.

He was about to congratulate her when the pistol slipped from her awkward grip and she fumbled for it. Too late, he saw her finger brush against the trigger. Thank God it's set on stun was his last fleeting thought as the beam struck him.

The distinctive sound of a phase pistol being fired and the thud of a body hitting the deck brought both armory staff members to the railing to peer down at the lower level.

Ensign Smith was standing over their prone department head, a phase pistol dangling from one hand. Looking up at them, she screeched, "Sorry!"