Malcolm and Hoshi: The Missing Scenes

Broken Bow

Disclaimer: Star Trek (plus all its intellectual property) is owned by Paramount.  No infringement intended. 

Rating: Generally PG but later chapters may go into R territory. 

Summary: The Other ‘Ship’: how it happened!

A/Notes: Beta’d by VesperRegina, to whom many thanks as always.

This series is dedicated to Alelou, who proved it could be done, and in gratitude to all my long-suffering beta readers.

All events follow canon fairly closely but strict canon purists should take note that there were occasions when my sense of humour got the better of me.  

I have borrowed OCs from various sources on occasion, with the owners’ permission.

__________________________________________________________________________________

“Gosh, isn’t she a beauty?”           

The words Travis Mayweather had reverently breathed while the two had been approaching Enterprise in the shuttle echoed in Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's head when he caught sight of the dark-haired woman entering the Mess Hall just as he was finishing his lunch.  She was young, slender and struck him as slightly exotic, like some rare and lovely orchid.

He watched her unobtrusively as she selected her meal – tea and fruit – and as she sat down at a table close to his. The single pip at her collar told him her rank, and having studied the latest updates to the ship’s personnel records he could take a guess at who she was with a fair confidence of accuracy: Ensign Hoshi Sato, the ship’s communications officer.  She looked a little lost and nervous, but if he was right about her identity, this was her first trip into space, so that was hardly to be wondered at.

Recollecting that his fixed interest in an attractive member of the opposite sex could be construed as unprofessional and inappropriate, he withdrew his gaze and reviewed the events of his morning.  He’d been down to Earth, trying to instil some sense of urgency into the members of the R&D department who seemed to regard it as completely unimportant that the Enterprise’s armaments were nowhere near completely fitted and ready to begin testing.  Some of the parts weren’t even on board.  They were promised, but he’d had ample experience of what promises produced.  He could only plead, threaten, and ultimately hold his breath and hope.

The friendly young helmsman had approached him and introduced himself as they waited for the shuttle.  Although he was startled at being spoken to, having been lost in his own anxious thoughts of the expected degree of success from his vigorous efforts to chivvy along the delivery of the parts he was going to need, he’d responded with what he hoped was an appropriate mixture of reserve and cordiality.  During the flight he’d had little more to do during the conversation than listen and nod occasionally; Mayweather was a chatterbox, albeit an entertaining one.  By the time the shuttle was brought on board, Reed knew almost everything there was to know about his new colleague’s history and disposition.

He himself had already been aboard for some days and knew his way around enough to take the ensign on the tour and introduce him to the people they’d be serving with.  He’d left him on the bridge, making the acquaintance of the helm that would be his responsibility as soon as Captain Archer gave the order to get under way.  Despite having been aboard for several days, Malcolm could fully sympathise with the awe that had been in Travis’s voice as the ship came into view, motionless in the docking bay. The newest in the fleet, with the most up-to-date technology Starfleet could provide, Enterprise truly was a sight to behold.  Serving on her would be a privilege.

Well.  Some aspects would be rather less a privilege than a penance.

Her chief engineer definitely fell into the latter category.  ‘Keep yer shirt on, Loo-tenant,’ he mouthed sarcastically.  Oh yes, Mr Tucker, I’ll be happy to keep my shirt on when the ship comes under fire and I’m expected to repel boarders with six canisters of bloody valve sealant.  I suppose if the worst came to the worst I could always put an EV suit on and go stand on the hull and throw the damned things.  Thank you very much for that evidence of your concern for the ship’s safety.  He rolled his eyes in disgust at the memory.

He’d done his homework on the ship with his usual meticulous care.  As the Head of Security he had access to the personnel files of all the officers and crew on board except the captain. He approved of the staff he’d been given: all experienced, good people who he felt would make an efficient team.  He’d been able to appoint his own seconds, and was happy with the two he’d brought along; one came recommended by people whose judgement he trusted, and one he’d worked with before.  As far as paperwork went, he was happy with the way the situation looked.

As for the way the armaments looked, however....

Talk about a balls-up!  His staff was going to have to finish building half of the damned systems after they left spacedock.  And Mr ‘Keep-Yrr-Shirt-Awwwn’ Tucker was the man he was going to have to rely on to help him.  Oh, bloody hell.  He scowled in the direction of Engineering.  Of all the senior officers in all the ships in all the universe he could have got saddled with, he had to get a so-laid-back-I’m-virtually-horizontal redneck who couldn’t even pronounce Lieutenant.  Not that any damned Yank pronounced it properly: Lef-tenant!

Three days to reach Qo’onos.  Three days, to bring to full operating efficiency a weapons array that, if he was any judge, was so far behind schedule that they wouldn’t have been anywhere near finished by the time the ship launched even if it had still been on her scheduled date of next Thursday.  The flagship of the fleet!

Well.  It seemed that he was going to have his hands full for a while.  But even if he had to frog-march Mr Keep-Yer-Shirt-On into the Armoury every now and then to commandeer his attention, he would get it fixed.  Keeping this ship and her crew safe was his job, that’s what he’d been hired for, and that was what he was going to do.  No matter who didn’t like it.

He picked up his PADD and checked it again, making sure his schedule was accurate.  The last member of his staff had arrived just before the ship had left Spacedock, and he’d ordered them all to assemble for an official briefing at 1400 – he meant to make that a daily event. His department was going to be run with military efficiency.  He was going to start the way he meant to go on.

*               *               *

Oh, this is the biggest mistake of my life.  What am I doing here?

She sat down at the table in the Mess Hall, took the translator out of her uniform pocket, placed it on the polished surface and glared at it.  And you didn’t help any.

She’d let Jonathan Archer beguile her on to his ship and into his crew with the lure of being the first human to learn to speak Klingon.  She hadn't bargained for having to speak it in a critical situation in Sickbay before she’d hardly started to grasp the basics, with the captain showing his frustration with her all too clearly and the Klingon bawling nonsense of which neither she nor the translator could make sense.  At least she’d been able to derive a little comfort from Dr. Phlox’s opinion that the patient actually hadn't been talking any sense.

And as if the debacle with the translator hadn't been bad enough, Sickbay had been invaded by hostile aliens.  It had been as much as she could do to keep from screeching with fright as the flashlight picked out the red-clad figure clinging to the ceiling like some monstrous spider.  The fight had ended with the alien dead, but the Klingon had been snatched away.  Captain Archer had not been pleased, which was hardly surprising.  The Vulcans had never believed that humans were ready to venture out into space, and they would make the maximum use of his ‘incompetence’ to prove their point.

Oh well.  At least she wouldn’t have to struggle with this stupid translator again for a while. Hopefully she’d have time to work on her own skills before they met up with any more Klingons.  That was, if she was still on board ship by the time they found one.  So far she’d hardly made a great impression!

Bitterly, she took a gulp of her tea.  Unfortunately she hadn't realized it was still boiling hot, and as her brain reacted to the pain, the hand still resting on the translator pushed in reflex and the machine shot out from under it and off the edge of the table.  Paralysed with horror, she watched it go.  It was already temperamental enough, and if it fell on the floor and broke....

“Howzat.” The slight, dark-haired man who was seated at the next table had been seemingly immersed in his PADD, one of several he’d brought with him to study.  Nevertheless his hand shot out like a striking snake and snatched the translator out of the air.  He gave it a cursory glance and turned to hand it to her.  “I didn’t know throwing these things was recommended in the user manual.”

She blushed.  She’d been introduced to him the day before, and immediately noticed that his accent was unmistakably English.  The captain had mentioned they had a Brit in charge of Tactical.  Her immediate impression had been of cool, armored reserve; the way he’d reacted to her professed worry about frostbite on the Bridge while he’d been checking out the electronic connections between his Tactical station and the comm receivers later on had been a little ambiguous, in the shadows between humor and sarcasm.

His tone now held the same ambiguous quality; he didn’t seem to be exactly amused.  He had a narrow, intense face with gray eyes under level black brows.  His expression wasn’t much easier to read than his voice.

“I’m sorry, sir.  It was an accident.  I scalded my mouth.”  She indicated the tea a little nervously.  “I’ll take more care of it in future.”

“You should take care of both of them, Ensign.  We’ll need a linguistics expert, and the translator will need you to update it as we go along.”  The gray eyes appraised her coolly over his own cup.  “How are you feeling?”

“I’m a little nervous,” she admitted frankly.

“You haven’t been on a mission before.  It’s only to be expected.”  His words were gentler than his tone.  “It gets easier.”

“I messed up big time trying to talk to that Klingon this morning,” she said glumly.  “I’ve been trying to translate what he said, but it’s not easy.”

“The captain must have every confidence in you, or you wouldn’t be aboard. I’m sure you’ll manage.  At least you only messed up the translation; I managed to miss the fact the ship was about to be boarded.”  A shadowy, slightly bitter smile flitted across his mouth.  “It seems we both have some ‘room for improvement’.” 

He stood up.  He wasn’t tall or particularly physically impressive, but he was compact and graceful. And he didn’t come across as the friendliest guy on the ship, but at least he’d made an attempt to make her feel a little better.  She was going to be on this ship for five years; the sooner she started to make friends, the better. 

“If you need any help, you know where I am,” he said quietly. Their stations were almost directly opposite each other on the Bridge.  She’d hardly have to shout to get his attention.

“Thank you, sir.”  She watched him walk out of the Mess Hall.

Perhaps she hadn’t made such a big mistake coming here after all.