§ 6 §

Peering out from the alley into the main street, Malcolm looked it up and down in both directions, desperate to spot the familiar figure of his friend and colleague, bloody Commander Charles Tucker III. Morning had arrived, grey and overcast like the day before, and the street was getting populated with people again, but Trip was nowhere to be seen.

He should have never let him wander off alone, Malcolm berated himself. Especially after having seen just how fragile his friend was. Passing a nervous hand through his hair, he muttered a heavy curse he kept for special occasions. This one definitely warranted it. Three quarters of an hour had passed since Trip had not-so-tactfully reminded him that he was his superior officer and could do whatever the hell he chose; decided to take a stroll in the middle of the night, on an alien planet, while on a mission; and left him alone.

Malcolm had tried hailing him but his call had not been answered, and his guts were now in knots, concern having finally stifled the anger that had rivalled for prime position in his chest. Something must have happened, and if it came down to choosing between accomplishing his mission and looking for his friend, he knew he would have to do the first even though he'd want to do the second.

The tension in his body was beginning to make his muscles ache, so Malcolm made an effort to relax. As he leaned once again past the corner of a building to scan the main street, he considered his options. He could contact Enterprise and ask them to locate Trip's biosigns. He smirked at the idea. Another transmission. He had already risked exposing their presence on the planet when he had used his communicator to try and page Trip. Plus he would have to inform the Captain of Trip's behaviour, which he wasn't too keen on. But the Engineer might be in serious trouble, and the most important thing was to get him back alive.

Pursing his lips, Malcolm reached for his communicator. "Reed to Enterprise."

"Lieutenant," Hoshi's voice said. "Do you want me to page you through to the Captain? He has already left the bridge."

Malcolm frowned. Of course, the alpha shift had ended. Enterprise's time was not synchronised with that of the planet. Hoshi must be working overtime.

"No… that won't be necessary."

Malcolm thought fast.

"Look, Hoshi, Trip and I separated, and he hasn't checked in with me in a while. Can you locate his biosigns?"

"It could take me a long time," Hoshi replied in a voice that was suddenly more serious. "You are in the middle of a densely populated area, not to mention that Troxian biosigns are not all that different from Human ones."

"Do what you can," Malcolm replied tersely. He had spotted the bar owner approaching, coming to open his locale. "But do not contact me. I will get back to you myself, when I can. Reed out."

Slipping his communicator away, Malcolm watched the man unlock the bar and disappear inside it. Ten minutes later the first two clients arrived: lo and behold, they were the same two men who had abruptly left after him and Trip had arrived. Something was definitely up with those two, although it might be something entirely unrelated to the W6 blueprints. Too bad he was too far to check their biosigns.

Malcolm's stomach complained. He had not eaten in hours. Not a wise thing to go into a possible fight running low on fuel. Leaning with a shoulder against the wall, he reached for a nutrient bar and began munching on it, still keeping both the bar's entrance and the street under close scrutiny.

One hour later, a blond head appeared. Unfortunately it wasn't Trip's: its owner was short and well-built, had a golden complexion and tattoos on the sides of his nose. Malcolm stood off the wall, swallowing past a sudden tightness in his throat. The alien entered the bar, and Malcolm felt his gut clench. Time to get down to business.

Come on, Commander, where in the bloody hell are you?

Hoshi was debating what to make of Malcolm's words. She had remained on the bridge past the end of her shift to run a system diagnostic because she thought she had seen a glitch, and the call had caught her by surprise.

The thing was she had heard an edge in Malcolm's voice that she knew was concern. There was no doubt the Lieutenant had been worried about Trip; and indeed he wouldn't have asked her to find Trip's biosigns, if he hadn't been concerned about him.

Hoshi concentrated once again on her monitor, as she had for the past ten minutes, trying to identify a human among the thousands of people in the area of town where Trip and Malcolm were. It could well take her hours.

She should tell the Captain, she thought for the umpteenth time. But Hoshi had sensed that Malcolm had not wanted to speak to Archer.

What if she did tell the Captain: would she be exposing something? She didn't want to end up having Malcolm sent to the brig again because of something she had uncovered. But her conscience would not leave her alone. So she steadied herself and reached for the comm. button.

"Sato to Captain Archer."

Adrenaline was having a field day in Malcolm's bloodstream. Not that he minded. He actually welcomed the rush of it when danger loomed ahead; it got him to that state of heightened alertness that might just save his life.

Heart thumping in his chest, he approached the bar entrance, casting a last look up and down the street. No signs of Trip. He pushed the thought of what might have happened to his friend forcefully aside and turned to the door. Right now he could do nothing for him and, most of all, could not afford to let his mind stray.

When Malcolm took the first step inside he had to stop a moment to let his eyes get accustomed to the light - or, rather, to the lack of it. The day outside was grey, but still bright in comparison to this place. He suspected the owner liked to keep a dim atmosphere the better to let his customers carry out their dubious businesses. The day before, because they had been there at night, he had not noticed that the window glass was tinted a dark, golden yellow, which didn't allow much light to filter through.

Quickly climbing down the few steps, Malcolm immediately spotted the Ferendellian. His suspicions had been right: he was sitting with the two men that had arrived early in the morning, at the same table the two had occupied the night before, in a far corner of the room.

"All alone this morning?" the bar owner asked in a slightly mocking tone, from behind the counter.

Malcolm just gave him a smile, surprised at his own acting skills considering the way he felt inside. Then he walked to a removed table from which he could keep the three under control. He sat with his shoulders to the wall and cast a quick glance around, taking in and memorising the position of the other few customers.

Once again his eyes met those of the thinner one of the two blokes from the previous night, and once again the man averted them a bit too fast. There was no doubt he was on the alert.

Malcolm shifted his seat and deliberately turned his back to the man, feigning indifference. He had moved so as to face the counter: the panel behind it was made of some slightly reflective metal. It distorted images to a certain extent, but it was good enough for keeping an eye on the trio; still better than casting glances in the man's direction and arousing his suspicions.

"Beans' juice, or do you prefer something stronger first thing in the morning?" the barman asked while coming up to him, his smile almost as yellow as the tinted windows.

"Beans' juice will be fine," Malcolm replied with fake assurance. "Provided it doesn't cost more than the four drucks of credit we still have with you," he added, raising his eyebrows. He had suddenly remembered the man wanted to be paid up front and he didn't need a fistfight with this troglodyte right now. "My friend has all the money, and I'm not sure he'll join me this morning," he explained.

The barman narrowed his eyes. "Where in the grostel are you from?" he asked, keeping his voice unexpectedly low, as if to safeguard Malcolm's privacy, of all things. "Everybody on Troxia knows that a cup of beans' juice cannot cost more than two drucks at the most."

"Then I might even have two cups," Malcolm replied, tilting his head and fixing the guy with eyes that didn't match his innocent tone of voice.

The guy snorted softly. "I get it. No questions asked." Turning serious he added, "But remember: no brawls inside my bar. If you break something, I'll break your neck."

Brilliant. That's all he needed; having to worry about the place's owner. He probably kept a twin-barrel shotgun hidden behind the counter; like in those Westerns Trip liked so much.

The thought of Trip sent Malcolm's anxiety spiking again, and once more he forced his friend out of his mind, and his mind back to the present.

The two blokes and the Ferendellian seemed to be in deep conversation, all three leaning forward in their chairs. Malcolm reached for his scanner, and a moment later he had more tangible evidence that if he had to risk his life it was probably for a good cause – they were definitely discussing the Warp 6 project. Still, he waited, wanting to catch the three red-handed. Secretly wincing, he picked up the cup of beans' juice he'd been brought – a dark liquid whose similarity to coffee seemed to stop at its colour – and brought it to his lips, pretending to take a sip. He hadn't even bothered to check if the drink was safe for consumption, for its smell alone would have discouraged a man stranded in the desert for a week.

Malcolm instantly knew his waiting had come to an end when a familiar-looking padd. suddenly appeared on the trio's table. He might not have a fine enough knowledge of warp theory to know exactly what he'd be looking at, once it was in his hands, but he was sure he was right about what the device contained: a few too many hints pointed in the right direction.

He had to act now, when the three were concentrated on their business and paying no attention to him. Drawing in a deep breath, Malcolm reached for his phase pistol. His hand closed around the familiar shape and he played the scene that was about to happen in his mind, as if it was a film he had already watched. A moment later, in one swift move he stood and swivelled, arms outstretched, weapon aimed at the three.

"Hands up."

TBC