Chapter 4: The (half-)naked Truth

Tholos' antennae were planted firmly to the back of his head as the horrible whining sound of a ship crossing a vortex filled the bridge again. Only for the second time Captain Reed had ordered the maneuver to be performed and with a sense of satisfaction he noticed that this time all weapons systems stayed online. The long after-duty hours with Lieutenant-Commander T'Len and her second in command, Lieutenant Trak had paid off. The vortex generator still strained the ship's systems, but at least the number of blown EPS relays would be less catastrophic than last time.

The warrior inside him did not like the fact that they were recalled from the front lines, but the fact that they would become part of a project to build a ship like none of them had seen before was an equally honorable endeavor. The Captain was obviously upset about something. Taking the risk of vortex travel to get back to Earth that quickly was a sure sign of a problem.

All Captain Reed had spoken about was 'a security situation', but one did not need to be a telepath to see that the situation in question was a serious one. Whenever the Captain became quiet, there was trouble brewing and the concerned glances that their finally returned first officer kept sending him confirmed the theory.

The mood of the Captain could only mean that the 'security situation' would have affected Commander Tucker and Captain T'Pol as well. The friendship between Captain Reed, his wife and the two Enterprise officers was well known. Among the Andorians on Buran they were simply known as 'The First Quad'. While neither humans, nor Vulcans shared Andorias biological trait of four-way marriages, the relationship between the two couples ran much deeper than that between most pairs of Andorian couples that formed the traditional quads.

"We are exiting the vortex," Grev, the Tellarite pilot reported.

"ETA to Jupiter station?" Malcolm asked.

"Ten minutes to the outskirts of Sol system, sixty-three minutes at half impulse to Jupiter station."

"Okay, you're with me to the ready room, Tholos. Hoshi, you have the bridge."

"Aye, Sir," Hoshi and Tholos answered in unison and the Andorian followed him off the bridge.

"There has been a bomb blast on Jupiter station," Malcolm started without preamble, as soon as the door had closed behind them. "A Terrorist group called 'Humanity First' has claimed responsibility."

"Do we know anything about them?" Tholos asked, seeing what the Captain's mood was all about.

"They are regrouped Terra Prime supporters. It's only a minority group, but big enough to be able to plant a bomb on Jupiter station and kill thirty-two station workers. It's our job to bring them down and secure the station."

"I understand. I will assemble a search team."

"Not so fast, warrior," Malcolm said. "That will be my job. Yours is to provide security for both Buran and Enterprise. The search and destroy mission will be conducted by Enterprise forces."

"Do you deem our troops too inexperienced?" Tholos asked and Malcolm could hear the distinctly offended undertone in Tholos' voice.

"No, I don't," Malcolm tried to calm his tactical officer. "But our security team has four Vulcans and eight Andorians in it. Since part of the operation may perhaps take place on Earth, we'd stand out a bit, wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed. I apologize," Tholos answered.

"No need to apologize," Malcolm replied with a chuckle. "You defended your people and I expect nothing less from a good leader. You will have to make do with your security team alone. Our MACO's are as useless as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking contest and will be replaced. But that takes a few days. I will take Enterprise's MACO's and security team with me, so your team will have to handle security on both ships. I'm counting on you."

"You can rely on us Captain," Tholos proclaimed proudly. "How far will the ships be docked from each other?"

"Not far," Malcolm said, satisfied that Tholos had immediately jumped into the mission by considering its logistics. "Enterprise is docked to the station and we will dock on their ship, so you will have them both right next to each other."

"Understood Captain. I will brief my team immediately."

"You do that," Malcolm agreed with a nod. "Dismissed and good luck, Lieutenant."

"Thank you Captain."

With a loud clunk Buran docked on Enterprise's starboard port and the airlock pressurized. As soon as the indicator went green, the door opened and a determined looking Malcolm stepped through.

"Hey Malcolm," Trip greeted him enthusiastically.

"Hi Trip. There's time for the pleasantries later, I need you, T'Pol, your MACO's and your security team in cargo bay one in fifteen," Malcolm said and walked off, giving Trip's new rank insignia a cursory glance.

"Has he been like that for long?" Trip asked Hoshi, who had come in after Malcolm. He greeted her with a hug. "Good to see you."

"Can't say for sure," Hoshi sighed. "But he definitely was like that when he picked me up from the hospital on the station. You would think he would have gotten the hint when I waited for him in our quarters naked as a jaybird after his shift was up, but he went straight to his desk and started playing with his strategy schematics."

"How was he supposed to know the difference, Hoshi," Trip cackled. "You don't wear anything in your quarters most of the time."

"Not true," Hoshi mock-protested under chuckles. "I normally wear panties."

"Makes all the difference, honey," Trip said with a grin and indicated her to follow him.

"Seriously though, he takes such things hard," Hoshi explained as they made their way to the conference room to greet T'Pol. "He hasn't spoken to his own family in years. We are his family now. For him it's like someone tried to blow up his brother's house."

"He's not alone with that feeling. Ask me how T'Pol and I felt about you guys being at the front line on the other end of the quadrant," Trip replied. "But he can't become obsessed with it. He'll end up like I almost did in the Expanse."

"Well, by the look of it, things aren't exactly safe here either," she reminded him.

"Not yet, but trust me, when Malcolm's done with the place you can keep your door unlocked and not a pencil gets stolen."

"Well, I will keep my door locked," Hoshi insisted with a mischievous grin.

"Wouldn't want someone to walk in on ya letting 'em catch some fresh air, hm?" he agreed with a chuckle.

"Your stage, Malcolm," Trip, freshly-minted Fleet Captain, said after everyone had assembled. Malcolm had been so determined to get started that he had seemingly even missed the new pips on Trip's shoulder. Only after Trip, T'Pol and Hoshi had made it to cargo bay 1, he had noticed them and congratulated Trip.

"Okay, everybody," Malcolm explained. "I don't want to waste time on this, so let's get straight to the point. I want Jupiter station turned upside down. Every removable panel I want removed and checked. Master Sergeant Cole – your people will do that. You are to wear EVA suites in case the terrorists have planted chemical or biological agents."

"Aye, Sir," Cole replied. "I request Crewman Tilman from Lieutenant Taylor's team. She's an expert on chemical warfare."

"Tilman, you're with the MACO's," Malcolm ordered curtly. "Taylor, you split your team in two halves. Set up shop on Bozeman and Whitehorse. I want each and every station worker given the third degree. If there are terrorist sleepers among them I want them ratted out. If something sounds fishy or they refuse to answer, threaten them with a mind-meld. That usually has them talking in a bloody hurry. Everybody with even mildly xenophobic views is to be reported."

"Aye, Sir," Taylor acknowledged and immediately started to assign people to teams.

"T'Pol, you and I will pay a visit to an old friend. Hoshi will do a number on your eyebrows and Krelik has fashioned a hijab for you. We're going down disguised as an Arab couple. I'll have Krelik nail a fake beard to my face. We'll meet in Feezals office in thirty minutes for the skin tanning."

T'Pol acknowledged with a nod and left with Hoshi.

"And I'm here for what?" Trip asked, feeling somewhat lost.

"You will do what the pips on your shoulders say, mate," Malcolm said dryly. "You'll be the captain of both ships and will coordinate the operation. Hoshi has setup an office on Buran with secure communication lines to all teams and Starfleet Headquarters. She'll support you on it. Trust me, you'll be busy enough."

Malcolm handed Trip a couple of PADDs with the operation details. "Meet up with Hoshi, after she's done turning your wife into Sheherazade."

Malcolm and T'Pol were sitting in their underwear in the decon chamber as the radiation in cooperation with a white paste, the ingredients of which they had avoided to ask about, started to darken the tone of their skin to make them look more convincingly like people from the middle east region.

"Is something wrong, Malcolm?" T'Pol asked when she noticed Malcolm's disbelieving look.

"I didn't know you've taken to wearing a bikini for underwear," Malcolm stated with a chuckle.

"I usually do not," she admitted. "But I want to prepare a surprise for Trip. When Hoshi and I were acquiring a sun tan on Vulcan, we did so without clothing of course, but at the time Trip imagined me with what he calls tan lines in his sleep. I decided that this temporary change in skin tone will provide him with the opportunity to find out if he finds them agreeable on the live subject. This bikini provides a much more aesthetically agreeable pattern than my normal underwear."

With a raised eyebrow she watched Malcolm almost falling down in laughter.

"Who would've thought that two years ago," Malcolm said still cackling. "You decide to fulfill one of Trip's fantasies, which means at some point you'll surprise him in your birthday suit. And you talk about it as if it is the most Vulcan thing in the world."

"People change, Malcolm," she said. "Two years ago you wouldn't have spoken to me if duty didn't require it, much less about private matters and you certainly wouldn't have been comfortable with me in the decon chamber."

"That's true," Malcolm admitted, suddenly turning serious. "I must admit I can't understand how you and Hoshi can even think about such things at a time like this. I mean Hoshi waited for me stark naked in our quarters and it didn't take a scientist to work out what she wanted. You make plans for giving Trip a sexy surprise. But as much as I wanted to enjoy my time with Hoshi that night, I couldn't put that before planning our work. Someone tried to kill the two of you for Pete's sake."

"These may be trying times, but Trip and I refuse to lose our private life over it. It is the nature of war that every day may be our last. Before we found out that Trip's aging process has been altered, I had surrendered to the knowledge that I would survive my beloved by sixty years or more. I decided to use every day I have him by my side, rather than bemoaning those days when he will be gone. The fact that we now may have similar lifespans doesn't change that decision."

"Well, Hoshi does have that problem now," Malcolm said wistfully.

"Possibly," T'Pol agreed. "The more important it is, that you don't waste the days you have with her. As early as tomorrow our ships could fall victim to a Romulan attack and our lives could come to a premature end. There is no logic in reducing our life solely to duty while we still have it. It took me a long time to learn that."

"I never thought I'd hear such a pep talk from a Vulcan," Malcolm said with a smile. "But like always you make perfect sense. I just hope Hoshi likes men with beards."

"Will you keep it?" T'Pol asked.

"Only as long as our skin needs to revert back to its original tone, means a week or so," Malcolm explained. "If I took it off, I would have tan lines on my face and those don't look sexy. They look ridiculous."

The pair entered a dark alley. The recent rain had left the ground soaking wet and the few street lights reflected in the puddles. Steam emanated lazily from a manhole cover, making the surroundings look like the set of a third-rate spy movie.

"It appears the setting of human spy movies are not a cliché," she commented.

"They are a cliché," Malcolm said with a sarcastic snort. "But Harris always had a penchant for kitsch."