A/N: Wooh! Chapter Four! Here it is – I'm being good and updating regularly! A few notes to the salt-of-the-earth, my reviewers:

volley: Lol, you're too smart for your own good sometimes! And I'm afraid Annan doesn't really feature this chapter – I think you get (some of) the story on him in chapters five and six, though. Thanks for reviewing!

Verity Kindle: Good point. Have changed it. Thanks!

General Kunama: Lol yes, good old hovis bread... anyway, since I wouldn't want you eating such mass-produced stuff, I'm updating! (Ironically I never eat hovis...) Thanks for reviewing, hope you enjoy the next chappie!

Sita Z: Thanks! I'm really glad that you seem to be enjoying this as much as I am!

Begoogled: Lol, yes, a bit of action is good, so I hope you like chapter four! R.e. your concern as to keeping tabs on everyone, I have the same problem, so see below...

The Quartermaster's Team:

For my sanity as much as my readers', I thought I'd better give a list of the seven new characters, their jobs and what is known so far about them!

Crewman / Quartermaster Miranda Heron: Works in the textiles half of the store and is the head of the small group. Not officially called 'Quartermaster' but uses the rank to save confusion (and salve her own ego!). An older woman, probably mid-forties.

Crewman Ryan Tiller: About the same age as Heron, the grumpy (but slightly paternal) head of the resistant materials side of things.

Crewman Billy Cortan: Slightly clumsy member of the 'resistants' team. Ginger-haired, good at sketching. Bunks with Annan Henson.

Crewman Jill Derner: The third member (and only woman) of the resistants team, red (but not ginger) haired, has some kind of history with Annan Henson.

Crewman Annan Henson: Works in the textiles department. Very quiet, dark-haired and pale-skinned.

Crewman Catherine Manning: Blue-eyed and ash-blonde, works in the textiles half and once cherished a soft spot for Annan. Possibly a little bit stereotypically blonde in terms of intelligence.

Crewman Henrietta "Henny" Mackie: Youngest member of the team, works in the textiles half. Good at fixing phase pistols, much to Reed's delight...

Well, that should save me a lot of flicking between chapters next time I forget a surname, lol! Hope it helps! Now... on with the fic!

Disclaimer: I do not own Enterprise or anything affiliated with it, save a few books and a Malcolm doll. Um... I shouldn't admit to that, should I?

Chapter Four

Of Sheep and Security Officers

" – people on here at one time." Jill Derner blinked as she realised that they were no longer on the transporter pad but on solid, alien ground. Henrietta Mackie let out a shaky breath, whilst Tiller coughed awkwardly and grasped Heron's elbow to stop her knees collapsing with surprise. The captain glanced at them.

"You alright?" He asked. Derner and Mackie nodded, whilst Heron and Tiller looked lost for words. Jill turned slowly on the spot, gazing up at the purple – purple! – sky, and jumped and almost said something unprintable when she clapped eyes on a group of three aliens standing not ten feet away. They had their arms raised straight above their heads, in what Derner assumed was a form of greeting. She watched as the Captain, without a single word, indicated that Reed and the other security officer walk slightly ahead, and then beckoned that the four members of the Quartermaster's team follow. Derner led the way, utterly fascinated despite herself. Henny caught up with her, her eyes sparkling.

"I guess this would be the wrong time to ask about you and Annan, huh?" She said, laughter in her voice.

"Definitely," Jill said, unable to refrain a slight start of astonishment as she spied in the sky a bird not unlike an Earth raven, save for the fact that it was as green as the trees in which it roosted. "Stepping on an alien planet certainly puts things into perspective. Something to tell the grandkids." She paused, thinking of Henson despite herself. "If I ever have any."

They were now but a metre away from the aliens (Clendavins, Jill reminded herself), who slowly lowered their arms. Archer held out his communicator for it to translate his greeting to the aliens.

"I am Captain Archer. We spoke earlier. I would like to thank you for your kind offer of supplies and hospitability. We are eager to repay you in kind." Derner watched the captain carefully, realising that under his stiff and formal words there lay a burning excitement to know more. It seemed that the novelty of stepping on a new planet never lost its appeal, whether it be the first time or the fiftieth. The aliens, too, seemed enthusiastic – though it was difficult to tell with all the tentacles.

"I am Dzerxot." The alien inclined its head. "We welcome you to our planet, and ask for no more repayment than information about your culture." It (Jill couldn't quite tell if it was male or female – or if, she thought, remembering the species with their 'cogenitors', this species actually had male or female) paused, as though weighing its words. "Our species is greatly concerned with the study of society. We feel that by learning of the cultures of those who visit us we can learn almost as much as we could if we had warp travel." It sounded mildly regretful, and Jill noticed Archer's jaw tighten slightly. Was he thinking of the Vulcans, of Earth's attempts to develop – perhaps before their rightful time?

"I hope you are aware that we cannot give you any information about warp development." He said eventually, and the alien blinked its large, round eyes, though not, Jill thought, in anger. She wondered if it was their equivalent of nodding.

"Of course. That would interfere with our society's natural development."

Jill shared a glance with Henny at that, knowing that they both saw the flaw in that argument. Surely meeting them was interfering with the 'natural development' of this species' society? Jill chanced a peek at the Captain, and saw by the irrepressible quirk at the corner of his mouth that he was thinking the same thing. He was, however, Jill realised as he nodded politely and without a trace of ill-manners, a skilled diplomat. Perhaps this away mission was good for the officers as well as the crewmen – after all, exploration like this, on another planet with aliens that weren't shooting at them, had been a rarity in the Expanse.

Jill would later come to regret her hasty thoughts.

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His sixth sense could occasionally be the cause for great annoyance, mainly because from time to time it required a prescription to keep it from becoming too strong. It had become sharpened in the Expanse, but even Malcolm knew that there was a point when caution turned into paranoia. He had gone on four away missions since the incident on Terra Prime, and on each and every one he had been dogged by a feeling of looming danger – and each and every time he had come perilously close only to making a fool of himself. These tentacled socialists, he decided, could hardly cause much danger – unless, of course, he managed to offend them by looking so battle-ready all the time. He glanced at his officer, and gave a dry smile as he realised that he had no such compunctions – the young man appeared relaxed enough to be making eyes at the red-haired member of the quartermaster's store. Crewman Derner caught his smile and rolled her eyes.

"We will take you to the caves. There may well be ores which you can use." The alien (who seemed to be the leader, Malcolm judged, from the fact that the other two had yet to speak) nodded towards an opening in a rock face some fifty feet away, and with a shrug Archer fell into step beside him. Reed's security officer, at his glance, reluctantly moved away from Derner and positioned himself behind the Captain, whilst the two other aliens – surely bodyguards, Malcolm would recognise the type well enough, tall, burly and paranoid – glared at him suspiciously. Malcolm hung back, glancing behind and around every few minutes to ensure the security of the area. As they turned a corner it what appeared to be a well-worn path, he paused in surprise, as did Mackie. The alien at the front turned and glanced back at them in curiosity, apparently unperturbed by the source of their bemusement.

"Is all well with you, Comrades?" He asked, and Mackie raised an eyebrow, glancing from the object of such fascination to the alien and back again.

"It's a blue sheep." She stated, her tone disbelieving. "A blue sheep."

"Indeed." The alien cocked its head to one side, its tentacles swaying thoughtfully. "We call them snorziks. Are they not blue on your world?"

"No." Manning said, shuddering a little as the creature mistook her leg for grass and licked her boots, leaving a trail of slightly iridescent slime. "They're white."

"Oh." The alien's tentacles paused, apparently in disapproval. "How very uninteresting. Now, as I was saying, Captain..." He turned back to the Captain and the group began to move once more. Mackie shot Malcolm an exasperated glance.

"Blue?" She said, almost helplessly. "Blue?"

"Well, at least the people aren't blue." He offered, shooting her a lopsided smile. Derner, bereft of a partner, fell into step on Malcolm's other side.

"You know," she said, speaking across him to Mackie, "we could use those sheep. Their wool's even the right colour for the uniforms already."

"Good point," Mackie nodded. "Go tell Miranda; she could get Tiller to grab and shave a few." It was only when Malcolm glanced up, alarmed, at her words, that he saw the laughter playing in her eyes. Derner nodded with a smile and moved away, leaving Malcolm alone with Mackie. Glancing at her face, he saw that she was almost drunk with the sensation of being on a new, different world; much as he had been the first time he had taken such steps on an alien planet. What to say in such a situation? Or should he be silent, and let her make that journey alone?

"The uniforms are made of wool?" He asked, whilst a small part of him gave a long-suffering sigh, and Mackie looked at him with eyebrows raised. A poor time to develop a conversational streak.

"Fifty-percent wool or similar man-made fibre, elastic, polymer... it isn't all just cleaning, you know."

Reed wondered if that was a veiled remark reminding him that this was her first away mission on a new planet and his sixtieth (he had stepped on more alien planets that he had ruined uniforms, a feat he considered quite admirable – it was when the two began to tally that he needed to worry).

"Why – cleaning?" They had almost reached the caves, now, and Reed was speaking only on auto-pilot, his gaze fixed on the darker shadows within the cave. His sixth sense was practically screaming – possibly in recompense that he could see almost nothing.

"You mean, why apply for the kind of job I did?" He heard her pause, as though noticing his distraction. His gaze was still fixed on the deep recesses of the caves as they entered them. Why hadn't he brought a scanner? They could be used for security as well as scientific purposes. "Lieutenant, are you al -"

In the old cliché, she did not get much further, for at the very same moment as the three aliens in front turned their torches on, another set of torches blazed from up ahead, and a set of four rifles were aimed at them. The moment of silence was purely for effect, it seemed, for by the time Reed's hand had reached his holster and pulled his pistol out, several blasts of energy hit the cave entrance, and the rocks crumbled on top of them. As one rock struck his head and another hit his leg, Reed thought, ridiculously;

Number fifty-one...

888

With the rest of the women away, the weekly task of dusting the bridge fell to Manning. She had often considered it a great injustice that in such an enlightened age the three men of the team would still hold such old beliefs about women being better at cleaning, but never said so for fear that she would then lose out on what was a peculiarly enjoyable task – despite the obvious embarrassment of having to go up onto the bridge in front of the entire command crew with a polishing cloth.

"Hey, Cathy." It was Travis Mayweather, looking flushed with excitement at being sat in the command chair.

"Ensign Mayweather." Catherine nodded, and caught him rolling his eyes at her insistence of using his rank. She never told him that privately she thought of him as 'Ensign Travis'. The rest of the bridge crew was made up of the delta shift, clearly on early due to the fact that most of the alpha shift were on the planet surface. It was usually during the change-over that either she or her colleagues went up to clean; Catherine felt that they had more in common with the delta command crew, mainly because they did all the jobs of the alpha shift but without any of the excitement – she always thought it grossly unfair that whenever anything 'interesting' (be that interesting in terms of a peaceful first contact or of an alien attack) occurred during the night hours the daytime command crew would drag themselves out of bed and take over. Her sympathy always stopped short, however, when she remembered that it was her, not them, who were on their knees scrubbing the deck plates. Some of these thoughts must have shown themselves on her face, for as she moved over to the communications console the officer, an over-confident ensign with a pronounced swagger named Derthman raised an eyebrow and gave a little smirk.

"Fancy swapping for a while?" He murmured, waggling his eyebrows in a manner that Manning found quite disconcerting. She took great care when spraying the console and half of his lap in the process. He winced. She didn't blame him. The mixture was strong enough to kill almost all... bacteria until she neutralised it with water. Derthman looked at her with eyes which she supposed he thought doleful, but which she thought fairly lecherous. She had spent too much time around the nervous but charming Billy and the almost worryingly silent Henson to find the officer's head-on approach appealing.

"There's a problem down on the surface!" The ensign at the science officer's panel blurted out, her eyes as wide as Derthman's but to a different end. "They're in the cave, there's shooting -"

The night-time communications officer immediately proved why he was a member of Starfleet's finest crew and not a worker in a shady brothel by leaping to attention, all distraction fled from his face as his hands dashed across the console. He frowned as he listened intently to his earpiece before shaking his head.

"I can't raise them. There must be too much interference." He glanced at Cathy, who had stopped, quite still, the moment she heard the announcement. He lowered his voice. "You should go."

Catherine nodded, stumbling backwards as she bundled up her cleaning equipment. She hastened to the turbolift, closing her eyes with relief as the doors closed on her. She leant back against the cold metal panels and tried not to tremble.

The hadn't trained her for this. They hadn't trained any of them for this.

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A/N: Uhoh, cliffy! The faster you review, the faster I update... big grin.He