Chapter Three.
The following day, Chef was in the Captain's ready room making a complaint.
"I just don't understand it, Captain. There is normally plenty of food to go around, but yesterday I had people coming to me and asking where their meals are. It's like we have fifty extra mouths to feed but nobody thought to tell me."
"Well, Chef, I can assure you that we don't have fifty extra people on board. It's just the usual eighty-three and a dog."
"Then where is all this food I've been cooking disappearing to? Because I'm quite sure that angry crewmen are not eating it. I'm having to cook extra meals now."
"I really don't know what is happening, Chef. I'll get our chief of security onto it. He's good at solving riddles."
"Well, he'd better solve this one P.D.Q." With that, Chef stalked out of the ready room, with a thunderous expression on his face.
"Oh, dear." sighed Archer, running his hand through his hair, "people really shouldn't upset Chef. I hate it when he gets in a tizz about something. Meals are unbearable for days." He sighed again and reached for the comm. button.
"Archer to Reed."
"Go ahead, Sir."
"My ready room, Malcolm. Right away, please."
"On my way, Sir. Reed out."
Malcolm spent some time just watching people in the mess hall. He noticed several crewmembers taking rather large portions and also rather more that he thought they would be able to eat.
Eventually, he singled out one of these people to question.
"Right, Crewman," he began, "are you feeling extra hungry today, or something? Perhaps you have some new kind of disease that means you have to eat everything in sight? Or is there a simpler explanation?"
Crewman Colleen Macarthur, looking rather flummoxed, said, "I really don't know what you mean, Sir."
"Oh, I think you do." Malcolm replied. "So why don't you just tell me and avoid a lot of unpleasantness?"
"There's nothing to tell, Sir."
"Do you mean to say that you are going to eat every scrap of food on your tray?"
"Um... Well... Um, no, Sir."
"Then why did you put it there?"
"Well, you see, Sir..."
"Go on, Crewman, I'm waiting."
"It's for ..."
"Yes? It's for... - who?"
"Not who, Sir. What."
"OK then. What is it for?"
"My pet, sir."
"Your PET?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Crewman, this is like getting blood out of a stone. Would you please explain what you are talking about?"
"I have a pet, Sir. It's called a tribble and it came from the planet we visited recently. It seems to be continually hungry."
"And so you are feeding it with crew rations?"
"Well, I don't know where else to get food for it."
Malcolm considered this explanation for a bit. It was plausible, but would not account for all the other people taking extra food.
Unless -
"Tell me, Crewman, is it just you has one of these animals or, Heaven forbid, have other crewmen got them?"
"I believe several people have them, Sir."
"Define 'several'."
"Um, maybe fifteen or twenty, Sir."
"FIFTEEN OR TWENTY!" Malcolm was livid. He dropped his voice to a very menacing low, almost a whisper. "Do you realise that not even ONE of them should be on board without permission?"
"Er, yes, Sir." She was physically squirming under his questioning.
Malcolm forced himself to regain his composure and remain calm.
"Crewman, you are coming with me to the Captain. You will tell him everything you know about these animals and how they came to be on board."
"Yes, Sir." Malcolm almost frog-marched the hapless crewman out of the mess hall.
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