Malcolm and Hoshi: The Missing Scenes

Fortunate Son

“You tried to get Captain Archer to change his mind?”  Hoshi stared incredulously at Travis over the rim of her mug of green tea.

The helmsman gave her a rather embarrassed grin.  “Sure, why not?  At least he heard me out.”

“But he didn’t agree with you.”

“I guess not.  And he’s got good reasons for what he’s doing.  Humans should have standards of behavior.  We carried out all those repairs on the Fortunate, and they’ve used them to go looking for revenge.  That makes us accessories, if nothing worse.”

“Pity we didn’t upgrade their cannons while we were about it,” muttered Lieutenant Reed darkly.  To all external appearance he’d been absorbed in the content of his PADD; he probably wouldn’t have even been seated at their table if the Mess hadn’t been so crowded, and he certainly hadn’t seemed to be paying attention to the conversation.

“You don’t agree with the captain?” asked Hoshi, startled even more.  It seemed so unlike him to criticize the orders of a superior officer.

The lieutenant raised his head.  His expression was slightly chilling; his stare was flat.  “I’ve had experience with Nausicaans.”

“We had a run-in with them once on the Horizon,” said Travis.  “They usually just size up how much trouble you’ll be, and if they think you’ll fight back they beat it.  My father had it covered, most times.”

“But not every time.”  The lieutenant picked up his mug of tea and sipped from it, watching the other man over the rim of it.  It was a casual enough remark on the surface, but Hoshi, with her extraordinary ear for subtext and tone, suspected that it wasn’t casual at all.

“No, there was just that one time we ran into trouble.  A couple of them ganged up on us… got a lucky hit on our propulsion.  Luckily, another freighter just happened to be close by and helped us out.  Man, that was some good shooting.  My dad still talks about it.”

Malcolm’s mouth was still hidden by the cup, but the long lashes dipped briefly.  “Lucky for you they had a good shooter on board.”

“Most cargo ships have at least two crew who can handle a cannon,” said Travis cheerfully.  “You don’t go looking for trouble, but you’ve got to be prepared for it coming looking for you.”

“It always pays to be prepared.”  Reed set down the mug and picked up his PADD again.

“Sounds like that’s your motto, Lieutenant,” remarked Hoshi, watching him closely.

“It’s certainly one of them.”  He didn’t look up.  His tone had become remote.  He couldn’t have signaled more clearly that his contribution to the conversation was over.

“And we’d better be prepared for some trouble when we catch up with the Fortunate.”  The helmsman’s bright grin dimmed.  “They won’t want a starship telling them what they can and can’t do.”

“I’m sure the captain will be able to talk them round.”  She put a consoling hand on his arm.  “After all, it wouldn’t be very good for freighter traffic in general if they started an all-out war with the Nausicaans.”

Lieutenant Reed stood up abruptly.  His eyes glinted at her, and for a moment she felt sure he was going to say something; but even as she watched, he got himself back under control.  The gray gaze was hooded again.  “I’d better get back to the bridge,” he said softly.  “For when we catch up with our war-mongering friends on the Fortunate.”

“Lucky for us we’ve got a good shooter on board.”  Hoshi looked at him squarely, but she might as well have been looking at one of the bulkheads.  His expression told her nothing.

“Might be lucky for everyone concerned.”  If he’d glanced even for an instant at Travis she’d have known.  He didn’t.  He held her stare for just an instant longer, with the faintest suggestion of irony in his slightly lifted brows, and then he picked up his tray, took it to the disposal area and walked out of the Mess Hall without a backward look.

“Every now and then, that guy gives me the creeps,” remarked Travis, finishing off what was left of his lunch.

“Yes.  I know what you mean.”  She stared for a moment longer at the door through which the lieutenant had vanished, and then shook her head and picked up the apple from her plate.  Nevertheless, her thoughts were not so easily distracted.  It was evident that Reed bore a grudge against Nausicaans; she wondered how and when that had come about.  At a guess she’d be wasting her time asking him about it, though.  It was far too likely that she’d come up against that impenetrable stare, and something in it chilled her.  The armory officer’s stiff, British, slightly prissy façade occasionally slipped just a little, leaving one to wonder what exactly lurked behind it.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.