Final Mission
Malcolm checked his disguise carefully. Two days ago the the fake beard had come off and his skin had its original tone back. He was now sporting a bushy mustache and a blue overall, the latest fad among the many latinos in the city.
Yesterday he had finally confessed to Trip that T'Pol would have to undergo a fairly radical change of hairdo, but to his surprise he wasn't angry about it. In fact he had declared it a chance to convince T'Pol to part with the Vulcan mop and go for a different look.
Well if Hoshi is somewhat punctual for a change, she will be looking mucho different in an hour, Señor, he thought to himself, mentally practicing his Spanish accent. It surely helped being married to Starfleet's brightest linguist. In a show of solidarity he had shaved his head as well, or more precisely, Hoshi did. With the cap drawn deep into his face, he peered into the engine bay of an old hover car and worked away aimlessly at the obsolete fusion engine.
"Excuse me, Sir," a male voice asked from behind. "I was wondering if you cold help me."
"What can I do for you, Señor?" Malcolm asked back without taking his head out of the engine bay.
"An old friend of mine used to take care of my old hover car, but he has quit his job and I need a new mechanic, now."
Slowly Malcolm crawled out of the engine bay and flashed a big smile.
"Great to see you again, Falks," he said had grabbed the offered hand.
"You don't look too shabby either, Limey," Falkner said. "I've heard Hoshi made an honest man of you. You're one lucky bastard."
"You know her?" Malcolm asked.
"Of course. I made more money in her gambling Empire at the Academy than I got from the scholarship. I can't believe that you of all people ended up marrying the most sought after catch of the whole academy. Nobody had a chance. Kept telling everybody, she's waiting for the 'right one'. Of course she was way too young for me anyway."
"Well, it's certainly not my social skills I have to thank for that. You'll probably think I'm crazy, but we were set up by Vulcan."
"The Hero of the Orpheus raid – Captain, T'Pol of Vulcan, first Vulcan in history to marry a human and first Vulcan to officiate at a human wedding," Falkner rattled off the facts as he followed Malcolm into a small dwelling.
"You're still bloody good at your job, Falks," Malcolm said.
"Former job," he emphasized. "Harris cashed in his favor and that's it for me. I'm trying to find a job in the security business. I've heard you're retiring, too."
"Definitely," Malcolm said and offered Falkner a cold beer from the fridge. "I'll do one last job and bring the section back to its feet, then I'm out for good as well."
"Well, I may have something to help you with that. I bet my bottom credit you're planning a nice little accident for the venerable Admiral Black."
"How do you know?" Malcolm asked.
"I can add one and one and get something else than eleven. It was I who found out about his involvement with Terra Prime and Humanity First, remember."
"As I said, still bloody good at it," Malcolm appreciated. "So what do you have?"
"I've been keeping tabs on Black. I wanted to sell the scoop to Starfleet for nice lump of currency, when the timing's right, but since it's you, who's going after him, consider it a belated wedding gift."
Malcolm chuckled and they clinked bottles.
"I suppose you know where he is?" Malcolm speculated.
"He's obviously trying to lay low," Falkner explained and handed him a data patch. "He has a forest cabin near Logan, West Virginia. Left three days ago in what looked like quite a hurry. Its' all on this one. Usual crypto."
"Bloody brilliant," Malcolm enthused.
"By the way," Falkner added. "Knowing you, you couldn't resist a computer terminal that hasn't been broken into yet. Those blockheads think they're so superior, but they're still using the old Navajo codes. Should be easy stuff for that brilliant wife of yours."
"Can't tell you how much that helps us. Maybe you want to give us a call on Jupiter station when this is over, we could really use a man with your experience."
"I told you, I'm out of this," Falkner insisted.
"I'm not talking about the section, man. I'm talking about working for the official side. Black has all but wrecked Starfleet Security. We could use a man, who we can trust. You made it to Captain before you walked out, didn't you?"
"Yup, second in seniority behind Harris," he acknowledged.
"I bet Gardner would make you Commodore and Head of Security on the spot."
"And you make that offer on what authority?" Falkner asked.
"Gardners," Malcolm replied drily. "He gave me carte blanche. Full authority, including finding a suitable candidate to rebuild Starfleet. You could also keep Harris' arse in line."
"It's a tempting offer, I'll let you know," Falkner said. "That was the real reason you arranged this meeting, wasn't it?"
"Partly," Malcolm admitted and held up the data patch. "Major reason was to pick your brain about Black and I'd say that was quite successful. But I also hope that I can convince you to come back. We've got a bloody war on our hands and the last thing we need is wonky security. You'd be the perfect man for the job."
"I've left my private com code on the patch," Falkner said and stood up. "Give me a call, when you're done with the job. I must think this over. Good hunt, man."
"Thanks," Malcolm answered and watched Falkner leave.
=/\=
"Well, if linguistics don't pay off anymore, I can always become a barber," Hoshi snorted as she started shaving off T'Pol's hair. "You will look ridiculous. It looks quite good on Malcolm, but you...?"
"Thankfully it is a temporary measure and it provides a good reason to change my hair. Trip has long been dissatisfied with the traditional Vulcan make-up."
"I don't think he's that shallow," Hoshi protested lightly.
"I didn't mean to say that my appearance is overly important to him. But the more content he is with my appearance, the easier it is to balance our bond. It is a daily challenge to balance it as humans do not have the luxury of eradicating outside influences by mental techniques."
"Is that why you came up with the tan line idea?" Hoshi giggled.
"To a degree," T'Pol admitted. "The main reason was to make him happy. His pleasure feeds back into the bond and we both profit from it. I also wish learn more about human sexual practices and customs. After all, I cannot expect him to be content with what Vulcan considers sufficient reproductive activities."
"Are they that bland?" Hoshi asked.
"Hoshi, we are people, who need a recurring mental affliction to fornicate properly."
Hoshi stopped shaving, lest she cut her friend as she doubled over in laughter.
"There are of course 'more adventurous' Vulcan couples, especially those who have dealings with other races," T'Pol explained further. "But for the majority, sexual relations are entirely restricted to the time of the Pon Farr and there is nothing romantic to that particular time."
"Isn't it sort of pleasuring for Vulcans, too?" Hoshi asked, while recommencing the cleanup of T'Pol's head.
"To fully experience the pleasurable effects of mating, one has to reduce the control of emotions. If I don't allow myself to express the pleasure I experience, I would harm myself. Most Vulcans are too afraid of that and therefore experience fear rather than a desire to mate."
"Hence the pon farr to force them to do it," Hoshi concluded. "I didn't realize it was that dangerous for you. I would think Trip isn't exactly the celibate type."
"You would be surprised," T'Pol said with an elevated 'giggle-brow'. "More often than not the impetus is given by me. I too thought once that he would be solely driven by carnal desires, but Trip is much more complex than that. He has quite a talent for ... foreplay."
"Oooh," Hoshi whistled. "You think he could give lessons to Malcolm?"
"How do I remove that particular mental image?" T'Pol asked dead-pan.
"Ready," Hoshi proclaimed under giggles.
"Thank you," T'Pol said and felt her bald head with one hand.
Hoshi looked back as Malcolm walked into their quarters.
"Hey, didn't I tell you guys to play elsewhere, when we have our neuropressure session?" Hoshi asked in mock-protest.
"Keep your shirt... oh I forgot you aren't wearing any," Malcolm quipped. "Trust me luv, the fact that you both look gorgeous is a bit secondary at the moment."
"Why thank you, kind Sir," Hoshi crooned.
"T'Pol, we're going ahead with the mission tonight. When you're ready, call me and we'll meet with Feezal to fit the wig."
"I will come with you now," T'Pol said, grabbing the cap she had brought. She donned the upper half of her underwear and her uniform and followed Malcolm out of the cabin.
=/\=
"Wouldn't it be time to tell me your plans?" T'Pol whispered as they crawled through the undergrowth towards the small cabin.
"Not much to tell about it," Malcolm whispered back and continued crawling. "You'll see when it happens."
The old log cabin was dimly lit, but no sounds could be heard.
"You watch my back," Malcolm instructed. "If someone or something interrupts, shoot. But set it to stun."
T'Pol nodded as Malcolm continued crawling towards the cabin and raised a small mirror on a stick into the air to peer into the small window.
Slowly he stood up and confirmed his findings with his own eyeballs. All was like he had expected it. Black, not averse to stiff drink at any time had peered much too deep into the bottle. The pressure sure got to him and if the number of bottles scattered around were any indication, he had been plastered since he got here. The Admiral had passed out, his head resting on the table.
That's easier than I thought it would, Malcolm thought and put the miniature tranquilizer gun back in his leg pocket. He opened the door slowly and carefully. Obviously the target had no sense for his own security as it was unlocked. Carefully looking around, Malcolm donned his gloves to prevent any finger prints. When he searched Black's not yet unpacked duffel bag, he found several PADDS and took them with him. He inched closer to black and carefully removed the phase pistol from Black's holster and pocketed it.
"I don't think you'll be needing that, Sir" Malcolm whispered to an unresponsive Admiral.
He left the door open.
"Give me the flask from the backpack," Malcolm whispered as he returned to be hiding spot of T'Pol.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Synthetic pheromones to attract some wildlife," Malcolm said and skulked back to the open door. Carefully he started to pour a trail of the clear liquid to the ground ending it on the opposite side of the clearing.
"What now?" T'Pol whispered when he came back and stored away the flask.
"Now we wait for wild life."
=/\=
They had waited about 3 hours, when T'Pol's keen ear noticed cracking noises coming from the direction of Malcolm's pheromone trail and 5.31 minutes later a large bear appeared on the clearing. She stopped breathing lest she alert the beast. It didn't have the fangs of a sehlat, but it certainly had the size and strength.
Grunting and sniffing the aminal inched closer to the cabin and walked inside.
A short while later the toppling of a chair could be heard and surprised yells from a disorientated human.
"What the... get off me... Aaaaaah..."
The acoustic spectacle continued for at least 12.7 minutes as a mixture of screams, cries and growls from an aggressive beast could be heard. Finally the ruckus died down.
They had to wait another 30.4 minutes until the beast had plundered all deposits of food in the dwelling. Covered in blood, but with a full stomach the beast came back out, sniffed the air one last time and toddled off to where it had come from.
"I'll go in and make it look convincing."
She acknowledged his whisper and trained her night vision googles on the surroundings for the case that the beast would come back.
Several phaser blasts could be heard from inside and finally Malcolm came back after he had opened the the window and closed the door.
"Is he...?" T'Pol asked.
"Let's just say it'll take a while until they've cleaned up that mess. Let's go," Malcolm instructed and they crawled back to the camouflaged shuttle pod.
=/\=
Starfleet flag officer dies in wild life accident
The Police department of Logan, West Virginia reports that a high ranking Admiral of United Earth Starfleet has been found dead and mutilated in a privately owned vacation lodge. An expert of the forestry office has identified the most likely attacker as an adult brown bear (ursus arctos). Experts suspect that the animal entered the shelter through an open window in search for food and was startled by the victim.
Police officers found a starfleet issue phase pistol set to stun and several impact marks on the walls, concluding that the startled animal may have been injured and attacked the victim in self-defense. The district court of Logan ordered an autopsy of the remains and it was determined that the victim was highly intoxicated at the time of the attack.
Starfleet Chief of Operations, Admiral Samuel William Gardner, has expressed his shock and sadness at the tragic loss of Admiral Roger Black. He announced that Admiral Black will be interred at the Starfleet veteran cemetery on October 16th 2156.
Local residents of Logan, who were opposed to the reintroduction of bears and wolves into the area 30 years ago have renewed their protests and demand the culling of bears and wolves in the area.
"Nice work, Limey, nice work," Falkner whistled in appreciation and put the PADD with the morning issue of the San Francisco Chronicle aside. Obviously the man, whom he had once introduced to the basics of being an agent for the section had lost nothing of the ingenuity and determination, which had once made him the best in his class.
=/\=
"Found anything?" Malcolm asked as he walked into the office the next day. Hoshi and Trip were working on the PADDs he and T'Pol had brought back from Black's cabin.
"We have the camp," Trip said and plugged the connector into the PADD. A satellite photo appeared on the view screen.
"Have that sent to Cole, tell her I want an attack plan by tomorrow evening," Malcolm ordered. "Has Gardner acknowledged the appointment with Strongfellow?"
"Came in an hour ago," Hoshi answered and handed him a PADD. "Jeffries and his aide meet with him in the factory tonight."
"Trip I need your help on that," Malcolm said and handed Trip a PADD after a short glance at the one he had just gotten from Hoshi. "I need you to read these specs. While Jeffries and I are in the factory with the bastard, I need you to do a number on his car. Preferably in a way that cannot be traced easily."
"He's driving a Stenson 2000HV? Hell, we just have to wait until that thing does the job on its own," Trip said shaking his head."
"I would prefer to speed up the process. Preferably about 2 minutes after the start-up."
"You got it, Mal," Trip said and walked out of the office.
"I'll turn myself into Commander Ordonez then," Malcolm said and walked out, too.
=/\=
"You can tell me what you want, Mr. Strongfellow," Jeffries insisted. "You have a contract with Starfleet and several milestones have been missed by now. Your explanations are lame excuses at best."
"I told you we are working on it, Admiral," Strongfellow pleaded. "Now if you could give me someone like Tucker. Maybe we can get back on schedule."
"Tucker is busy building the ship that should have taken your engine. Now we are forced to buy from the Vulcans. And you will pay for that. I will inform Starfleet about the breach of contract first thing in the morning. You better look for something else to build in that plant of yours."
"Suit yourself," Strongfellow huffed and stormed off to his car.
He drove off angrily. About 90 seconds later a dull thud sounded from a distance.
"Wasn't that a Stenson he drove off in?" Jeffries asked.
"Indeed it was, Sir," Malcolm said as the plant's fire brigade headed out. "Tragic, this."
=/\=
Stenson Vehicle Company under pressure
The board of directors of the Stenson Vehicle Company was called to an emergency meeting as another high-profile customer falls victim to technical problems on their latest luxury model 2000HV. The top range model of the company has come under critical scrutiny after several vehicles have burned to the ground as a result of poorly designed reactor controls. At least 3 of those incidents have ended deadly.
The latest incident is one of them. Ernest Richard Strongfellow jr, the CEO of Advanced Propulsion Inc. was burned to death last night after his car caught fire. Even though the fire brigade was at the scene of the accident in a matter of minutes, it was too late to save the driver, who had not managed to free himself from the burning wreckage.
Stenson's board of directors decided to recall all 2000HV immediately in order to redesign the reactor controls of their revolutionary, but obviously not well enough tested, new engine.
Questions also arise over the future of Advanced Propulsion Inc. as Strongfellow jr does not leave any legal heirs or a written will behind. According to the law, his majority shares in the company will now be in possession of the government and a speaker for the president's office was quick to reassure the workforce that EarthGov has no plans to close the plants of the company.
Advanced Propulsion Inc is a major contractor of Starfleet and sources from within the defense ministry tell us that there are no plans to close any plants. Military expert Martin Donelly urged the government to keep the shares in their possession. This would enable them to extend the company's involvement in the war effort.
"I should be proud of you Mal," Falkner muttered and put the newspaper down. "Harris is right, they don't make 'em like that anymore."
=/\=
That leaves Tarassov and the camp, Trip mentioned two days later as they congregated in the office to plan the next step.
"I already took care of him yesterday through some of my old contacts in Russia," Malcolm said drily. "There's an easy way to get rid of someone with a penchant for Samogon."
"What is Samogon?" T'Pol asked.
"Self-distilled Russian vodka," Trip explained and turned to Malcolm. "I take it you tinkered with the amount of methyl alcohol in the final product?"
A silent nod was the answer.
"Well," Trip said and shrugged. "Technically, he offed himself. And it's not like they don't deserve it. I can't believe there are still people joining such groups."
"But I for once am happy that it's over," Malcolm sighed. "I've been doing Harris' dirty jobs long enough. It's time he looks for someone else."
"There's still the camp though," Trip reminded him.
"That's a more traditional job," Malcolm said. "Amanda Cole and her team should be flattening the thing as we speak. We had to speed things up a bit. Somehow Strongfellow must have managed to tell them to scatter in the 90 something seconds before he had his accident. So Cole moved in 3 hours ago before they could abandon camp. Gardner told me that the remaining scumbags will be summarily exiled in a colony. That'll give them enough time to feel superior."
"Speaking of the devil," Trip said as a communicator light flashed.
"Tucker," he identified himself.
"Cole here. The camp has closed its doors. Four targets killed and 123 taken into custody."
"Great work, Master Sergeant," Malcolm butted in.
"Thank you, Captain. We will make a stop at Starfleet Medical on our way back. We have two wounded."
"Understood."
"Well, congratulations to your retirement," Trip said and gave Malcolm a friendly pat on the back. "Care for a beer tonight?"
"You bet," Malcolm sighed in relief. "But first I've got two final calls to make."
=/\=
"Have a seat everybody," Gardner said. "First of all, I want to thank you all for your involvement in bringing down 'Humanity First'. What could have become a nasty scandal has turned into PR gold for Starfleet. And on top of it we now own a majority share in the biggest engine company on the planet. Thanks to Strongfellow's will somehow getting miraculously deleted without a trace."
"Well, that'll help with adapting the Vulcan engine," Trip said.
"Indeed it does," Gardner agreed. "Captain Reed, I understand you were burdened with the less tasteful details of the mission and if it was for me, I would decorate the bloody hell out of you, but for obvious reasons we need to keep things in the dark."
"It's not something I would want a medal for, Sir," Malcolm replied. "I'm just happy it's over."
"And I'm happy you are on our side. A former drill sergeant of yours told me it was a splendid job."
"Falks took the job?" Malcolm asked.
"Indeed he did," Gardner replied with a grin. "Commodore Art Marinus Falkner will take over as head of Starfleet Security at the beginning of next week."
"Brilliant," Malcolm enthused. "At least we don't need to worry about that one anymore and can concentrate on what we're here for. "
"What has your investigation brought up," Gardner said.
"Here's the final report," Malcolm said and passed him the PADD. "Short version is: We found no further explosives but a boot-load of listening devices. That thing was so wired up, you couldn't have released a wet fart without everybody noticing."
"Foreign?" Gardner asked.
"No, Earth designs. Civilian. No wonder they knew where and when to strike. We've also weeded out 5 station workers. None of them had any obvious involvement with 'Humanity First', but pronouncedly xenophobic tendencies. We have no use for those people on a station that houses four different races in close quarters."
"Speaking of which," Garner said, accepting Malcolm's report with a nod. "How long do you think will it take to get the station up and running again?"
"About ten days," Trip reported. "We've started patching up the hull breach. Once we can re-pressurize. I'd reckon another two or three days until we're back in business."
"That sounds quite optimistic," the Admiral noted. "What about the crew quarters?"
"I was coming to that," Trip said and added another one to the stack of PADDs on Gardner's desk. "I'd like to request three more of the mothballed Intrepid class ships to house crew quarters and some basic recreational facilities. I would suggest we contract some civilian companies to refurbish and prettify them, along with cooks, some waiters and someone to run a bar. People will work long months on the station and the last thing we need is people suffering from cabin fever. Basically I want to start a little city up there."
"Well you have experience with that," Gardner said with a grin, pointing to a picture of Salem One on the wall. "Anything else?"
"We also need an old Asclepius class hospital ship and a nurse or twelve. Injuries and accidents are not exactly rare in a shipyard. Phlox and his wife can run the shop, but they need the facilities and some people."
"Granted," Gardner said. "We were about to mothball the Robert Koch. Guess, she gets to serve a while longer. You have been very quiet, Captain T'Pol?"
"I did not have much to contribute as the reports of Captain Reed and Fleet Captain Tucker are sufficiently comprehensive."
"So I take it you have everything you need," Gardner asked for clarification.
"As the ship of Captain Reed and mine are assigned to the SOLCOM fleet we will keep normal readiness status. We are of course not averse to any torpedo deliveries you can spare."
"You can't have too much torpedoes," Gardner mused. "We are thinking about converting the Whitehorse plant of Advanced Propulsion to a torpedo plant. The Andorians are already having a look into it, so I would hazard a guess we will be able to accommodate you somewhere in the near future."
T'Pol answered with a nod.
"Ok, if there's nothing else, dismissed. Take the rest of the day off, you can use the break. Your 2IC's or 3IC's can hold the fort until tomorrow's shift starts."
=/\=
"Huh?" Trip grunted as he entered their quarters on Enterprise. Of course he couldn't quite heed the Admirals advice and had visited the engineering office on the station to get some damage control teams off to an early start.
Their domicile was well heated to say the least, the shades were down, the lights dimmed to create a rather cozy atmosphere, but there was a noticeable absence of any wife. The sound of the bathroom door sliding open yanked him out of his momentary confusion and he momentarily forgot to breathe. He had every reason to say something, but he lacked the ability.
"Sweet mother of god!" he whispered to himself once coherent thought returned. "That's what marching to the pearly gates must feel like."
"I take that as a sign of approval?" T'Pol asked with a raised eyebrow and a husky voice.
"Approval?" Trip said with a stunned laugh. "You are a goddess, Darlin'!"
He looked up and down his wife's spectacular body and still couldn't believe his eyes. T'Pol had acquired a new wig with long hair that reached all the way down to the small of her back. Long white lace stockings hugged her shapely legs and were held up by a garter belt and that was as far as her clothing selection went. No panties, bra or anything else to spoil the spectacular view.
T'Pol looked expectantly at him and Trip had to think back a long time to remember seeing her with such a fiery desire in her eyes.
"I take it I've been somewhat remiss on my marital duties?" he quipped while shedding his uniform in a hurry. Thankfully he had already taken a shower and changed into a fresh uniform in the engineering office on the station. It would have totally ruined the moment to run off for a shower now.
"You were preoccupied," T'Pol said as she gently dragged him down into their bed. "But now it is time to increase your diligence in domestic duties".
"Happy to oblige ma'am, happy to oblige."