Chapter 6: Tension

Trip stalked towards the gym in a foul mood. Not only had the damn Limey made it more than clear that he didn't like him much, on top of it the Brit's security crew had also caught two of his engineering crewmen red-handed, as they scrambled to remove some of the listening devices when the alarm had sounded, not knowing that they were already in the possession of the ship's security officer. That two of his own engineering crew had been working for the corrupt High Command felt like a very personal insult.

Massaro and Ngoma had been two of the more quiet members of his team and even Anna had sometimes had her troubles working out how to handle them – and she was the people's person extra-ordinaire. Well, now they at least knew why.

He couldn't find anything bad to say about the efficiency with which the ship's uptight security chief had done his job – he certainly knew how it's done – but that didn't mean the damn Brit couldn't use a darn good attitude adjustment. They would be going out for months, maybe even years cooped up in a small space. There was no place in such a close space for someone, who acted like he was preparing to slay Highlanders at the Prestonpans.

Since the small gym required time booking, he knew the Brit was currently the only one using the small facility and now was as good a time as any to get it over with. He wouldn't want to confront him where subordinates could hear it. Whatever problem the uptight guy had, it didn't warrant undermining his authority in front of non-coms or junior officers.

The door to the gym opened and he found his fellow officer pummeling the punching bag, swearing fiercly under his breath, in Gaelic, which was a surprise, considering that the security chief was more English than that King they stubbornly kept retaining, despite Britain having long since stopped being an isolated nation. They had been one of the last nations to step under the umbrella of the United Earth government and they insisted on having a King or Queen, no matter what.

On the other hand it was equally unusual that he, as a supposed redneck, would know any foreign language, let alone the old dialect of the Irish. Being an Irish Folk aficionado wasn't a very common 'affliction' in the south as many of the descendants of Irish immigrants preferred the northern states. It wasn't hard to guess that he was the topic of the Lieutenant's vulgar soliloquy as he offered several rather outlandish theories about his mother's ancestry and her preference for rather uncommon intimate partners while continuing to punch the hapless leather bag in a veritable rage.

"Do we have a problem, Lieutenant?" he asked in flawless Irish Gaelic. While the Brit obviously thought he would be safe from being found out unloading on a fellow officer verbally, he had actually chosen the one who appreciated a good Paddy Reilly tune and could practice the language once in a while when he visited his brother Jay in Dublin.

He had to force himself not to laugh out loud about the Lieutenant's 'deer-in-headlights' look. He was obviously ill-prepared for being caught by the same officer whom he had just cussed off fiercely. Trip enjoyed seeing the momentary look of defeat in the other man's eyes. But Reed was a former spook. He had probably gotten himself into and out of more tight spots than the sole vibrator in an all-girls boarding school, so Trip didn't feel like gloating just yet. As expected the Brit shook off the momentary shock with trained ease after mere moments and noticed that the man fixed him with a steely glare that would come in very handy to intimidate lesser opponents.

"I'm afraid I don't understand your question, sir."

"Oh you don't?" Trip replied sarcastically. "Well let me help you then. You made it quite clear that you don't think much of me during the meeting this morning. You probably think I spend my evenings on a mechanical bull hollering 'yee-haw' all the time. Well, you are mistaken, Mister. Whatever problem you have with me, you better tell me right now."

"Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Who am I? Stalin?" Trip asked with an indignant snort. "Of course you've got permission to speak freely. In fact I would like to ask you do so before we end up getting into each other's hair in front of subordinates."

"I never implied you were an idiot, but you have to admit that your conduct is less than professional. This isn't a cruise ship in the Caribbean."

"It isn't a barracks of the Royal Navy either, Lieutenant," Trip spat. "If you want to be a drill sergeant, parading and shouting orders all day, then go and join the fucking Navy. This is a ship of exploration and Starfleet isn't the army."

"I do not think it is your right to decide where I should serve!" the Lieutenant shouted back and Trip wondered why the man, who could so far give T'Pol a run for the money in terms of suppressing his emotions, was suddenly reacting quite openly hostile. True, he hadn't delivered his riposte in the most diplomatic fashion, but the sudden outburst of the otherwise very controlled Brit was a surprise.

His face had been red from the exertion, but it had now gone pale in anger and he could see the rage in the man's eyes. Every fiber in his body screamed at him to back away, but that would definitely not help right now.

"No it isn't, but you are running around here like you'd be more comfortable in a MACO uniform," Trip ranted. "We have certain rules and those must be followed, true. But their enforcement is the captain's job, not yours, got it? If you have a problem, then take it to me instead of taking it out on a fucking punching bag that doesn't fight back."

"Preposterous!" the younger officer sneered at him. "You know full well that if I knocked your redneck arse to the floor, I'd find myself court-martialed the next day."

"Not if I challenged you to a sparring match," Trip growled and took a pair of boxing gloves that were hanging on the wall. Using his teeth for help he fastened them and looked back at the Lieutenant, who was glowering at him. He threw him a packaged mouth protector, biting on the one he had unpacked for himself. Once they were ready they took their positions on a mat that was usually used for training judo or other forms of martial arts.

"So what is it, Lieutenant?" he taunted him, barely understandable due to the mouth-piece. "Would you prefer to punch this here leather bag and develop theories about the sexual preferences of my mother or are you man enough to take on an opponent, who actually fights back?"

"I'm ready," the Brit replied curtly and the two men started skipping and bouncing around each other with quick steps, trying to find an opening in the other man's defenses.

The door to the gym opened and Hoshi came in, fairly out of breath, followed by T'Pol, who looked like it wasn't any sort of effort at all to run at full speed across half the ship. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw her worst fears proven true. The boxing match looked like it had gone on for a while already as both men had redecorated each other's faces quite thoroughly.

Lieutenant Reed's lip was swollen and blood trickled from a cut on his right eyebrow. Commander Tucker seemed to have taken quite a lot of abuse as his right eye was swollen shut and his complete right cheek and temple were covered in partially dried blood. Some of it had dripped down on his muscular chest, leaving traces of dried blood on his torso.

"What the fuck are you two doing?" Hoshi shouted and forcefully slung her arms around Lieutenant Reed from behind to stop him from advancing on Commander Tucker again. She saw how T'Pol 'arrested' Commander Tucker. Both men tried to struggle free for a while, but they had thoroughly drained each other of most of their energy and were unable to escape the grip of even someone as small as herself. Following T'Pol's example she directed her captive to a bench, forcing him to sit down, and making sure there was enough distance between the combatants.

"What kind of stupid testosterone bender did you two go on?" she raged, pacing the room in front of them. "How old are you? Fifteen?"

"Ensign," T'Pol interrupted, but Hoshi didn't feel like being calmed down. "I'm not done yet, T'Pol."

"Can't you guys work out a better way to settle your differences than punching the fucking shit out of each other?" she fumed She knew she was treading on thin ice cussing off two superiors with the probation hanging over her head, but she didn't care. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was a guy who settled his arguments with his fists. The disappointment that Malcolm had taken part in it cut deep.

She saw that both men looked at her completely dumbfounded. She didn't know if that was because they had punched each other's brains out of service or because they had assumed this 'shy wallflower' wouldn't ever say shit even if she had a mouthful of it.

"Don't look at me like you don't understand shit, Malcolm," she said and to her chagrin she heard her own voice break. "All the time you have that damn stick so far up your ass you're gagging on it. You can't even return a smile to save your life. But when you get your knickers in a twist because Trip doesn't act as aloof as you, you lose it?"

"Yeah, you should really learn how to return a smile, Malcolm," she heard a sarcastic voice from behind and froze. "But don't try it with that face, Lieutenant, because at the moment you look like the aftermath of a tragic farming accident."

Hoshi did of course know who that voice belonged to, and turned around slowly. The scowling captain stood near the entrance, leaning against the wall.

"C-captain," she stammered.

"Surprised, Ensign?" he said. "Do you really think security won't call me if two of my bridge offers run through the corridors as if their hair is on fire? Not that they could have hidden it anyway. Look at them. They look like poster boys for reconstructive surgery."

"We had noticed the building tension between Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed. Unfortunately we were too late to prevent the altercation," T'Pol admitted.

"So much is obvious," the Captain replied. "Subcommander, Ensign, please escort these two gentlemen to the brig. Make sure you separate them. We don't have a morgue on board."

Hoshi watched the door shut behind the retreating captain. "Great, just fucking great," she swore in defeat.

Trip woke up in the brig. Shortly after having been delivered there by a distinctly reproachful looking T'Pol he had fallen asleep from the exhaustion. It was amazing how T'Pol managed to get her mood across with little modifications to her face expression. When he sat up he saw Lieutenant Reed sit on his bunk in the neighboring cell.