Malcolm and Hoshi: The Missing Scenes

In A Mirror Darkly Part 2

Curiosity was not, generally speaking, a survival trait in the Empire. You obeyed orders if you wanted to go on living, especially if you were serving aboard a warship.  And if you were a woman, you slept with whoever you had to.

If you were the captain’s woman and there were doubts about who exactly was going to end up being the captain, then life got a little complicated.  Fortunately, Captain Forrest had seemed to harbor some affection for her (not enough to rely on, but enough to make him somewhat ... open to persuasion); whereas Commander – now Captain – Archer was an ego-maniac so thirsty for the recognition he felt he’d been denied that he’d take it from pretty well any source.  Well, as long as that particular source had a beautiful body and was good in the sack, which was one of the reasons she’d got her lieutenant’s stripes, though it had also helped that she was good at arranging for one or two of the competition to be quietly assassinated.

Right now the situation had straightened itself out.  Forrest had unfortunately died, trapped in his ship in the Tholians’ web-shaped energy field.  She’d felt vaguely sorry when it happened, but it made life more straightforward, insofar as she knew who’d be humping her from now on.  Now the survivors from Enterprise were aboard the Defiant attempting to deal with the most pressing of the remaining problems – a saboteur hiding somewhere in the vast maze of corridors and access tubes and crawl-ways that made up this huge, complex vessel.

She was naturally interested in the interrogation of one of the hapless slaves who’d been part of the cargo that had been stolen along with the ship itself.  Any display of power acted on her as an aphrodisiac, and as she sat in the captain’s quarters watching the feed from the briefing room, she had leisure to admire Sergeant Mayweather’s powerfully built frame and the cool, calculating way he delivered one brutal blow after another into the body and face of the whining slave who was unwisely trying to resist Archer’s interrogation.

“Not very scientific.  But effective.”

The voice made her jump slightly.  She’d allowed herself to become so enthralled by the action on the screen that she’d missed the sound of the door swishing open in the next room.  And that kind of carelessness on an Imperial warship could easily be your last.

Reed was standing in the doorway.  Leaning in it actually, arms crossed, with an expression of mild disdain on his face as he surveyed the viewscreen.

Red suited his dark coloring, she thought.  And it wouldn’t show blood so much. Given his proclivities, that would come in handy, though his specialty really lay more in getting inside his victims’ heads and destroying them from there.

“I’m surprised you’re not in charge of the interrogation,” she replied, wondering what he was here for and remembering what had happened last time he and she had been alone in a room together.  Unfinished business, you might call it.

“That kind of technique doesn’t need a specialist,” he said scornfully.  “Whereas you, on the other hand...”

She eyed him.  A certain amount of trepidation accompanied the thought that few people in the Empire were better at weighing up the smallest physiological changes, and that watching Mayweather at work had been ... well ... stimulating.

And it appeared that Captain Archer would be occupied for some time with the interrogation.

“It seems you picked the right side after all, Major,” she said sweetly.

“It seems so, Lieutenant.”

He was intelligent and dangerous, far more of either than Archer, who was pitifully easy to manipulate if you knew which strings to pull.  Though there was always an element of risk in manipulating anyone who had that kind of instability; there was always a chance that the captain would perceive some unintended slight and lash out in childish, dangerous rage.

Reed had no strings.  Except, perhaps, an unexpected one called loyalty that for some mysterious reason attached him to Archer – and that one, perhaps, would someday form the noose that snapped his neck...

No strings.  But he hadn’t come here to discuss the weather.  And if he wanted to watch the interrogation, there were display screens on the Bridge.

It never hurt to have as many irons in the fire as possible.  And it appeared that his loyalty had limits, at least when it came to picking up an invitation she was at pains to extend by once more unzipping her standard Regulation top in front of him.  The thought did occur to her that he was serving two aims – finishing what he’d started back in his quarters that day, and testing just how loyal she was to the captain.

Well, hell.  Loyalty?  To Archer?  In the Empire, you were loyal to yourself.  And just for once, she felt like giving way to impulse.

The Defiant uniform came off far more quickly and easily than his old MACO outfit would have done.  She, of course, had plenty of practice in shedding her uniform quickly and efficiently when the occasion demanded. During the course of getting out of it now her fingertips brushed against the slender little knife in its sheath stitched into the back seam, but at present that didn’t figure in her plans.  For one thing, he’d be ready for it, and she wanted to survive what was going to happen next.

The time they had would probably be limited.  He didn’t bother with much by way of preliminaries, not that she needed it.  His body was hard and smooth and muscular, slimmer and more compact than Archer’s. Fleetingly she wondered whether he’d kill her afterwards anyway, but decided the risk was worth it. 

Apart from wanting to get his interest, just in case his ambition went anywhere sometime in the future, hell, she was horny just looking at him.

Soon she was gasping.  And it wasn’t mostly for effect, like it was for Archer, who’d make a bull in a rodeo look subtle.  Shortly after that the gasps weren’t for effect at all. 

Oh – Oh God – yes –

“T’Pol to Major Reed.”  The intercom on the desk squawked.  “Bring another prisoner to the Briefing Room.”

“Acknowledged.” Give him his due, he didn’t even sound out of breath, which was really quite an achievement, considering the position he was in and what he’d been doing right up till that point.

The faint click of the channel closing unleashed hell.  He naturally wouldn’t want to be delayed in bringing another victim for Travis’s fists to demolish, but on the other hand he clearly disliked leaving unfinished business behind him.  She could approve of that, insofar as the next two minutes left her able to think about anything but what was happening in her groin as he emphatically finished the business that had brought him here.

She watched him pull his uniform back on.  He was still utterly in command of himself, still alert and dangerous.  The skills of such a man were wasted on a fool like Archer, very much as hers were.

Life was full of possibilities.  Some were admittedly more remote than others, and some were downright risky, but that was life in the Empire.  A pity; that one odd flaw in the man would probably render him surplus to requirements if and when her plans came to fruition.  Although from what she’d just seen of Mayweather’s physique, she wouldn’t go entirely without consolation if that happened.

He paused in the doorway just before he left.  She thought for a moment he was going to speak, but he just looked at her with those narrow, intense gray eyes.

Their gazes locked.  For just a moment they shared something; something that might have been regret, if time and place and the world had been different. 

Then he was gone, and she slipped into the shower.  She’d need to clean up quickly before she put her uniform back on.  To go by the way the prisoner on the screen was whimpering now, the one Reed had gone to fetch would be unnecessary.  She was supposed to have slipped off the Bridge to get something to eat and drink, and if she didn’t get back to it soon and Archer found her missing it would be another excuse for him to throw a hissy fit.  Really, the sooner her plans could be implemented, the better.

But just for now ... they weren’t quite ready.

She still hadn’t found the right opportunity to introduce herself informally to Sergeant Mayweather.  In her experience, handing out a beating often left a man keen to prove his virility in ... other ways.  Yes.  In the Mess this evening she just might drop by his table for a friendly word.

Because only a fool dwelt on ‘maybes’ and ‘might have beens.’