Malcolm and Hoshi: The Missing Scenes

The Council

‘Weapons fire’?

Lieutenant Reed almost dropped the portion of the memory core he’d been holding as he jerked around in his seat to stare out of the front viewscreen.  His simmering guilt and bitterness over Hawkins’ death switched off as though he’d flicked a switch, obliterated for the present by larger concerns.

The ship was involved in a fire-fight and he wasn’t aboard?  And it was leaving the system?

He should be there.  He should be manning Tactical, defending his ship, defending what was left of the crew.  Eighteen people had died in the first attack, four had succumbed since, and he’d just failed to protect Corporal Hawkins, whom he’d selected to come with him on the mission and for whose safety he’d therefore been personally responsible.  Was there anything else he was going to fail miserably at?  How many other people were going to die because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time?

And suppose it was....

Her voice on the comm relayed the captain’s orders: stay put and wait for the ship’s return.  Not that they had much choice with the propulsion system’s coil assembly damaged.  She sounded excited, apprehensive, but resolute.  The sounds of weapons fire filtered through from the background, and Malcolm clenched his fists.  I should be there.  The ship was in no state to take part in another battle, they’d hardly welded the loose parts back together after the last one.  And they should have the best helmsman in the Fleet at the steering wheel, too: Travis, who was sitting beside him, listening with the same horrified concentration to the developments and doubtless feeling his own exclusion just as keenly.

It was just fate; no-one was to blame.  Just one of those things.  Except that it wasn’t, it was potential tragedy, and to be left trapped here in a half-crippled shuttlepod while Enterprise sped off into another critical situation was absolutely unbearable!

Malcolm set down the memory core component with the utmost care, because the rage that had suddenly erupted in him wanted to smash it into a million pieces.  For God’s sake don’t come out with another of your Vulcan axioms about this, T’Pol.  But then, you don’t give a toss about Trip, do you?  If he dies out there without you he’ll just be another of the few whose needs are outweighed by those of the many.

He sat back in the seat and stared at the viewscreen.  Pointlessly, of course; the battle would have moved beyond visual range long ago.  His fingers on the console in front of him flexed slightly, replaying the movements that had become so familiar to him now: letting loose hell with all the weapons Enterprise still had left.  They’d got the cannons back before he’d left, and the aft torpedo launchers were fixed more or less; his team had still been working flat out, maybe they’d have fixed one of the forward launchers as well by now, if not both of them – but they’d been pretty well mangled, and the chances were poor.  Perhaps if they’d thought to cannibalise one to jury-rig repairs on the second, they might have been able to do something... what the hell, he should have thought of it himself, but he hadn't... 

Well, he should be pretty used by now to being adrift in a shuttlepod.  At least this time they were warm and had a decent supply of oxygen – unless they happened to run into a couple more micro-singularities, or a stray Reptilian ship, or a bloody-minded anomaly, or...

You’re a real Grim Reaper, you know that, Malcolm?

Trip’s voice was suddenly so real he almost turned his head to scowl at the speaker.

How long ago now that seemed.  He heard his own voice too: I don’t want to die. What makes you think I want to die?

He still didn’t.  He wanted to live, but now there were conditions on his survival.  The sense of belonging that he’d confessed to back then had coalesced and become bonds past breaking, bonds of friendship with Trip himself, loyalty to Captain Archer, and camaraderie with his team.

And Hoshi.  He loved her.  He was no longer in any doubt about that, but somehow he’d never got around to telling her so.  He wasn’t sure of the reasons, but they centred around a confused dread of her reactions.  Maybe it wasn’t what she wanted; maybe she didn’t feel that way about him.  Maybe it would just upset the delicate balance of what they had.  Maybe she wouldn’t want the responsibility.  He hadn't been able to bear the thought of telling her and seeing nothing but pity in her face.

And now it was all in jeopardy, and he’d never told her.  If she died not knowing, he’d never forgive himself for his cowardice.

She felt something for him, surely she felt something.  The way she smiled, the way she came into his arms, the way she opened up to him like a flower... the memories now were quick agony. 

Oh, God, Hoshi, don’t die.  I couldn’t bear it if you died.

The captain was in charge.  The captain would take care of her.  If anyone could pull victory out of the jaws of defeat it was he.  For all the terrible changes the Expanse had wrought in the man’s character, his commitment to keeping his crew safe at any cost remained unaltered.  If he could save Hoshi, he would.  Malcolm no longer believed in God, but he believed in Jonathan Archer.

It wasn’t much comfort, but it was all he had.

Keep her safe for me, Captain.  Please.