Malcolm and Hoshi: The Missing Scenes

Similitude

“You should go down to Sickbay and talk to him,” said Hoshi quietly.

Malcolm was sitting opposite her.  His dark head was bent, studying the dinner for which he seemed to have lost his appetite.  His fork stirred the mashed potatoes disconsolately.  She couldn’t see his eyes or his expression.

“Hoshi, I ... I can’t,” he muttered at last.

“You should make the effort,” she insisted.  “This is Trip we’re talking about.  Just a younger version of him.  He’s cute.  And he asked me this morning why everyone except Malcolm had been down to see him.”

“He said that?”  Reed looked up quickly.  Now she could see his expression, but she was hard put to define exactly what it was.  Curiosity.  Unease.  And something else as well, darker than either.

“He knows a lot, Malcolm.  He’s been talking to the crew.  Obviously your name would come up.”

“Pity.”

It occurred to Hoshi at that point that since Sim’s ‘birth’ the armory officer had hardly been seen outside his lair.  He’d put in a couple of stints on the Bridge, but pleaded duties that took him away from it more often than usual.  She’d noticed, too, that every time the turbo-lift door activated he glanced up with a slightly apprehensive look.

“He’s your friend.  Of course he’d ask about you,” she told him, puzzled.

He didn’t answer that, but looked down again at his plate and stirred the potatoes a little more.  She leaned closer to him and went on, quietly, “Malcolm.  He’s going to be allowed to walk around the ship soon.  We can’t just keep him in Sickbay.  And you can’t avoid him forever.”

“I know.”  The answer was almost inaudible. 

“So don’t you think the sooner you get it over and done with the better?”

“It’s not that simple.”  He finally laid down the fork.  He took a deep breath and looked up at her, troubled.  “Trip Tucker is lying in a coma in Sickbay, Hoshi.  The ... person ... you want to introduce me to is not Trip.  He’s a symbiont.  He’s not even human, not the way I understand it.  And quite frankly, the whole damned business gives me the creeps.”  The plate skidded away across the table from the force of his push at it; fortunately it didn’t go quite far enough to fall off the edge.  “This ... symbiont ... thing ... has a life span of fifteen days.  So within that time we’re going to go through the whole of Trip’s ‘existence’, accelerated by multiples.  We’re going to watch him age, and then we’re going to have to watch him die.  And there won’t be a damn thing any of us can do to stop it.  I hope everyone else on board is looking forward to that, because I can tell you I’m bloody well not.”

“Yes.  I’d thought of that too.  And I’m sure the captain has as well.  But we’re doing this for Trip – our Trip.  Because otherwise, the chances are he’ll just lie there in Sickbay till he dies.”  She felt her eyes stinging with tears at the thought.  “But we’ve done it now.  We’ve got to go through with it.  And as far as I’m concerned, the best way of coping with it is to, well, act like everything’s normal.  Just act like it is Trip.  He deserves that, if nothing else.”

“I’m not an actor.  Not in situations like this.”

“No.  But you’re a good man.  And this has got to be really hard for Sim.  Look at it from his point of view.  He has this tiny life span, and the rest of us ... well, by comparison, the rest of us must seem practically immortal.”

Malcolm grimaced.  “Perhaps it’s the reminder of my far-from-immortality that bothers me most, if I’m honest.”  He paused, and then went on in a low voice, “I went to see Trip, after the accident.  Phlox says people in a coma can hear, sometimes.  I sat there and talked to him, and I could find all sorts of things to say ... telling him about the repairs, and the armoury, and this, and that, God only knows what I was talking about by the end, reciting bloody poetry for all I know....  Phlox finally threw me out and told me to go get some sleep.  But the point is, I could talk to Trip.  This isn’t Trip.  What am I supposed to say?”

“I don’t think you’ll need to say anything,” she said, smiling gently.  “I guess being able to talk enough for four people all by himself must be in the genes.  You’ll be lucky if you can get a word in once he knows who you are.”

“Hmm.  That’s a fair point.” Sitting back in the chair, he sighed a little.  “This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“I think it will to you too, when you see him.  And ... afterwards.”

“Yes.  ‘Afterwards.’ When we have to tell Trip what we did.  And if he wakes up soon enough, we’re going to have to introduce him to Sim just in time for the last few days of Sim’s life. Which is going to freak Trip out big-time, let alone the rest of us; I know it would me.... This whole thing is going to take some getting over.”  He brooded a little longer, and then sighed again, more audibly.  “All right.  Just for you.”

“No, Malcolm.  For Trip.  Because I know you’re his friend, and you’ll help him though it.”  They were in the Mess, and in open view of others; she couldn’t reassure him with a caress, but after checking nobody was looking in their direction she tried to convey her feelings with a glimpse of the smile she reserved only for him. 

He must have caught it, for his mouth softened imperceptibly, as it always did for her.  Then he stood up.  “If I’m going, I’d better go now, before I lose my nerve.”

“You want company?”

“No, Ensign.  Believe it or not, I can find my way to Sickbay on my own.  God knows I’ve spent enough time there.”  Only a close observer would have detected the twinkle that took the sting from his words.

“I’ll see you on the Bridge then, Lieutenant.”  Her voice was appropriately neutral. 

His only response was a nod.  She watched him exit the Mess, and reflected that there were some hard days coming for them all.  And this was probably only the beginning of what the Expanse might demand in payment for success.  If indeed it could be purchased at all.

She shivered.