Strange New Worlds IX

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Smirking inwardly, Malcolm trotted out into the open corridors of the Enterprise.

  Hoshi was hurrying down the corridor toward the turbolift, preoccupied with studying a data padd on the Kintarran language. She nearly missed the flash of movement as a small figure scurried around the corner ahead of her.

  “Porthos?” she called into the now-deserted corridor. Frowning, she quickened her pace and turned the corner in time to catch a glimpse of a wagging tail disappearing down the corridor toward the mess hall. Hoshi muttered a few choice Klingon words and broke into a run. She was already late to meet with the captain. She hadn’t slept since yesterday, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten, and she was worried about Malcolm. If Porthos managed to get himself lost in the bowels of the Enterprise, on top of everything…

  Hoshi was nearly in a full-out sprint by the time she reached the mess hall. Without even pausing to look around, she flew into the room, searching for the small dog. That was her first mistake. Her second mistake was that she had chosen to enter the mess hall at top speed fifteen minutes after the gamma shift had ended on a blueberry pancakes day.

  Little did Hoshi know that only moments before Malcolm had made the exact same mistake. Fortunately for Malcolm, he had been more alert to his surroundings; and even though he had no traction, he was small enough that crashing headfirst into the crewman pouring maple syrup for the line of hungry gamma shifters had no effect on either the man or the dog. Un fortunately for Hoshi, even though she had traction, she was also trying to avoid frantically stepping on the beagle—and though Hoshi Sato was small for a human, she wasn’t that small. Malcolm saw her look of shock, and had the presence of mind to duck under the nearest table.

  Thus it was that scene that Captain Archer stepped into when he entered the mess hall and found it strewn with blueberry pancakes and fallen crewmen, many of whom had apparently been sprayed with maple syrup. Glancing down, he found Hoshi sitting on the floor, drenched with the sticky substance, but triumphantly holding up a wriggling dog who was the only creature in the room (apart from Archer himself) that was not dripping syrup.

  “I’m sorry, Captain,” she said guiltily, starting to stand and grateful for the firm hand at her elbow that prevented her from falling headfirst into the table when she slipped on the puddle of syrup she had been sitting in. “This is all my fault. You see, I was chasing Porthos, and—” Archer held up a hand to forestall any more explanations.

  “Hoshi, it’s…you look terrible. When was the last time you slept? Or ate?” he asked, his manner changing from reassurance to concern when he saw the circles under her eyes.

  “Well, I’ve been busy—”

  “Hoshi, you are officially off-duty for the next four hours. Captain’s orders,” Archer stated firmly when she started to protest.

  “But, sir! Malcolm is still missing, and the Kintarran language—”

  “Hoshi, you’ve done all you can. The UT is having no trouble with the specs you gave it, and we still have yet to get our scanners working through the alien shielding. Go back to your quarters and get cleaned up, I’ll have Chef send some food to you. I promise I’ll call you immediately if we find Malcolm—after all, you’re still our best translator.” He smiled reassuringly at the ensign, and she reluctantly nodded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Oh, would you mind taking Porthos with you? I don’t know how he got out, but my door lock might be malfunctioning. At least he won’t escape from your quarters if you’re in there with him. I’ll come pick him up after my shift is over.” Hoshi nodded again and slowly walked out of the mess hall. Archer rubbed a hand wearily over his face and turned to survey the rest of the room, wishing his security officer was here.

  Damm it, Reed, he thought, feeling the beginnings of a headache, if you’re not alive when we find you, I’ll kill you.

  The tall, tangerine-colored lizard was alternating from staring bemusedly into the habitat cage beneath him, and exchanging thoughtful glances with his turquoise companion.

  “Perhaps we were wrong, Ta’kha; this creature is just as amusing as the little one.”

  Ta’kha was frowning. “Yes, Puor, but I had thought this species was more intelligent than this one leads me to believe.”

  Puor shrugged his neck frill. “Perhaps it is the other way around. Perhaps the small one was controlling the large ones.”

  “That is an intriguing idea.”

  “If that is the case, then perhaps these creatures are valuable. Perhaps many others would pay to have one of these to display.”

  Ta’kha’s tail waved. “But it was very hard to acquire just this one. Surely it would be even more difficult and dangerous to capture many more.”

  “Perhaps we don’t need that many. Perhaps we only need one more.”

  There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then both aliens turned to gaze introspectively into the habitat cage, where the pale human was alternately yelling nonsense words at the Vossk in the next display and attempting to scratch his ear with his foot.

  Upon reaching her quarters, Hoshi keyed the door open and deposited the dog on the floor, after making sure the lock was properly set. Then she turned and eyed herself in the full-length mirror next to her closet.

  “Drat, I was hoping the captain was exaggerating,” she muttered as she sized up her appearance. Malcolm’s ears pricked at the sound of her voice, but his attention was absorbed in looking around the room. He had never been in the linguist’s quarters before, at least not for more than a moment or so after handing her some data padd, or stopping by to escort her to lunch. He was taking the opportunity to search for possible security hazards when her voice, still speaking in the easy tone people adopt when addressing animals, caught his attention. Malcolm turned toward her…and froze when he actually caught sight of Hoshi.

  She was trying to comb sticky tangles out of her hair, smiling at him in the mirror. What had paralyzed Malcolm, however, was the fact that Hoshi’s uniform and regulation blues were lying in a sticky heap on the floor, while Hoshi herself was wearing only syrup and a towel.

  Bloody daft! Malcolm berated himself silently, while trying not to stare at Hoshi. He should have realized that she would need to clean up! And she, not realizing who he really was, thought nothing of undressing in front of the captain’s dog! Malcolm managed to look hurriedly away before Hoshi began to realize anything was amiss, but the sound of her frustrated sigh and the click of her comb on the dresser prompted him to involuntarily (bloody canine instincts!) glance back up.

  “I’m just going to have to wash this out first, I think,” Hoshi said, grimacing at her reflection’s hair. “I’ll be out in a bit, Porthos, don’t chew anything up, okay?” Malcolm frantically tore his gaze away from his shipmate as she moved toward the bathroom door, hands at her towel. He flinched slightly as he heard the towel land in the pile of sticky clothes on the floor in a soft swoosh of fabric and finally breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of the bathroom door closing.

  His relief, however, was short-lived. He couldn’t attempt to communicate with Hoshi now! How embarrassed would she be if she knew her superior officer had hidden in her room and watched her undress? That wasn’t precisely what had happened, of course, but Malcolm was not willing to risk the potential damage to his friendship, and chain of command, with Hoshi. He needed to get out of this room before she finished her shower.

  Unfortunately, this was much easier said than done. In Archer’s quarters, Malcolm had used his security override to open the doors. The same tactic was sure to work with Hoshi’s door…if Malcolm had a way of reaching the keypad. He sat below it, staring nearly straight up, and realized just how much trouble he was in.

  Hoshi stepped out of her bathroom, no longer sticky and wrapped in her favorite fluffy robe, to find Porthos jumping at the keypad for her door.

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” she scolded, catching the beagle mid-leap. “You are staying right here, whether you like it or not.” She se
ttled onto her bed, keeping a firm grip on the small dog, who struggled in her arms. Attempting to calm him down, Hoshi began to tell him about her day, but since this consisted mainly of their efforts to find Malcolm, she instead found herself thinking about all the terrible things that could be happening to him. She let her monologue trail bleakly off, her grip on the beagle loosening.

  “Oh, Porthos, I hope he’s okay!”

  Malcolm wanted to swear out loud when Hoshi snatched him away from the door, but instead he contented himself with the knowledge that she had given him the perfect opening. All thoughts about sparing her dignity vanished and he scrambled to find a way to show her who he really was.

  Malcolm vaulted easily from Hoshi’s lap onto her desk, scattering her notes on Kintarran grammar onto the floor and prompting a dismayed cry from the linguist.

  “Porthos! I need those to help Malcolm!” Malcolm barked sharply when she said his name, unable to think of any other way to call attention to himself. She glared at him.

  “You owe Malcolm your life, mister! Don’t you want him back?” Malcolm solemnly nodded. Hoshi froze.

  “Porthos, did—? No, of course not. You can’t actually…understand me.” Malcolm yipped. Hoshi stared at him.

  “Wait—Porthos…can you understand me?” Malcolm nodded again, hoping Hoshi wouldn’t faint. Instead, she got more excited.

  “I don’t believe it! Wait, you got all excited when I mentioned Malcolm—Porthos, can you help us find him?” Malcolm wanted to dance for joy; she was so much more perceptive than he had hoped! He nodded again.

  “Do you know where he is?” Hoshi demanded, staring intently into Malcolm’s eyes. He nodded once more, slowly. “Where?” she asked, her voice a whisper. Malcolm looked helplessly at her, but was saved the trouble of attempting an answer by, of all people, Archer, who knocked on the door to Hoshi’s quarters. When the captain entered, he found his linguistics officer staring at his dog.

  “Hoshi? I…figured out how Porthos got out of my quarters.” Hoshi lifted her gaze to look at her captain in amazement, unable to believe he was concerned with such a thing at a time like this. His next words, however, stilled the rebuke on her tongue.

  “He used Malcolm’s security override.” Both humans now turned to stare at the beagle, who did his best to shrug innocently.

  “Malcolm, if that’s really you in there, bark twice,” Trip ordered, peering into the beagle’s eyes. Ensign Travis Mayweather, seated on an unoccupied biobed, snickered softly, and sang under his breath what sounded suspiciously like, “Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me, twice on the pipe if the answer is no.” Malcolm glared coldly at them both. Travis’s song faltered and died; Trip grinned broadly.

  “That’s him, all right! No one gives the evil eye like Malcolm!”

  “Of course it’s him,” Archer snapped. “The question is: how?”

  “Now that,” Doctor Phlox said from behind them, “is actually quite fascinating.” The doctor was positively beaming. Even T’Pol, examining the console the two had been working at, looked intrigued. The rest of the command crew turned expectantly toward the physician.

  “Now,” Phlox began, “the beam that Lieutenant Reed was hit by was intended to stun—to ‘knock out.’ In this case, the reference is much more literal. When a being is hit by the beam, their consciousness is forcibly pushed out of their body for the briefest of instants. When their mind returns, the body has already shut down. The mind itself then shuts down for a brief period of time, which can be adjusted by modifying the beam strength.”

  “But that sounds like the mind should automatically return to its own body,” Archer objected, “so why is Malcolm my dog?”

  “I’ll let T’Pol explain that,” Phlox said, stepping aside. “Vulcans have been studying this sort of thing for years, of course. Sub-Commander?”

  “The beam that hit Lieutenant Reed was most likely set for a normal Kintarran,” T’Pol explained, glancing at the console. “This would have been too high of an energy signature for the lieutenant’s body to deal with. However, he was also holding Porthos. The excess energy, instead of simply overloading Lieutenant Reed’s systems, somehow drained into the dog.”

  “So both of their minds were thrown away from their bodies,” Trip said thoughtfully.

  “But that doesn’t explain how they switched bodies,” Travis pointed out.

  “Lieutenant Reed and Porthos did not switch bodies,” T’Pol disagreed, “they switched minds. Immediately after he was hit, just as the system overload was beginning, Lieutenant Reed threw Porthos away from his body. He was also making a mental ‘toss’ with his mind, in order to ensure the dog’s flight path. Therefore, when his mind tried to return to his body, it was closer to Porthos’s body, and vice versa. At least,” and here T’Pol looked faintly displeased, “in theory. I have never seen this phenomenon before, and I doubt it could be duplicated without years of research.” She paused a moment, then added, “I believe Lieutenant Reed wishes to say something.”

  Since the sight of the beagle standing on his hind legs and waving his little front paws wildly in the air had most likely prompted this remark, everyone was inclined to agree. The dog pointed with his nose at the console, sat up as though begging, and finally chased his tail in a circle. The others stared for a moment before Hoshi hesitantly said, “I…think he wants to know how he can switch back.” Malcolm nodded.

  “That should not be a problem,” T’Pol said, “as long as Lieutenant Reed’s body is still alive, I should be able to help him ‘switch back’ through a mind-meld.”

  “I thought you said you wouldn’t be able to duplicate the process,” Archer said. T’Pol favored him with a long look before answering.

  “I won’t be trying to duplicate it,” she said in that too-patient tone that Trip was sure all Vulcans were taught as children, “I will simply be releasing the minds to return to their bodies of origin, not forcing them into the wrong body.” Phlox nodded in understanding; the four humans pretended to do the same.

  “Right then.” Archer briskly took charge again. “Travis, Trip, continue working on breaking through the Kintarran shielding. T’Pol, I’d like you to work with Phlox on finding a way to reverse this process that’s at least ninety percent foolproof—I’m not risking my armory officer in an unsafe procedure. Malcolm, if the doctor’s finished with you, I’d like you to remain with Hoshi in her quarters.” Archer consciously paused for objections.

  “Sir!” Hoshi protested, at the same time Malcolm let out a rather high-pitched yelp. Archer sighed, trying to ignore his growing headache, and held up both hands to forestall any arguments from the pair.

  “Hear me out! Hoshi, I meant what I said about you getting food and rest, and I know you got neither since the last time I saw you. And Malcolm, unless you want everyone on the ship to know about your predicament—” At that, the beagle shook his head furiously, and if it were physically possible for dogs to blush, his fur would have been bright red. Archer nodded in understanding. “—I can’t have you wandering around all by your lonesome. So your choices are to either remain here in sickbay, or stay with Hoshi.”

  On the whole, Malcolm thought his chances of survival would be higher on his own, but he noticed Archer hadn’t listed that among his options. Since he wasn’t ready to spend the rest of the day being scanned and prodded by Phlox, Malcolm decided to take his chances with Hoshi. At least he might get some food in the linguist’s company. Hoshi grimaced, but apparently thought twice about arguing with her captain, and simply nodded.

  “Good, if that’s settled, then we all need to get back to work.” Archer, Trip, and Travis hurried out the door, while Phlox ran a few more scans on Malcolm. Finally he declared that the dog would be allowed to leave sickbay, but that Hoshi was to stay in contact with Phlox and/or T’Pol just in case something happened. Feeling she would agree to almost anything to get out of there, the ensign was finally able to make her escape with the dog, whom she managed to a
void looking at—at least until they reached her quarters.

  Puor strolled lazily through the menagerie, ostensibly searching for his mate, but knowing exactly where he would find her. Sure enough, Ta’kha was once again standing outside the human’s habitat, tapping notes into the handheld database she carried.

  “Ta’kha, perhaps you have done enough for the night? Perhaps we can eat,” he said, letting his neck frill droop. She glanced at him, obviously upset.

  “I have been running scans on this creature all afternoon,” she said irritably, “and your plan will not work, Puor. From my calculations, this species is incapable of producing large litters. I would guess that they rarely produce more than one offspring at a time. And from the information exchange with their ship, I estimate that it takes up to twenty egg-cycles before full maturation! That is much too impractical for our purposes.” Puor could see from the stiffness of her tail that his mate was most displeased by this revelation. He was a bit disgruntled himself, but…

  “Perhaps we need not abandon our plan, but merely change it? Perhaps we make the creature exclusive—to zoos and rarity collectors only, and keep the only breeding pair here in the menagerie. If we perhaps acquire several females, we can keep them here for several egg-cycles and sell only the female offspring; then, in a few cycles, we can charge more for an impregnated female—”

  “With the understanding that male offspring will be returned to the menagerie and half the price refunded?” Ta’kha said, her eyes narrowing shrewdly.

  “Of course, or perhaps a second impregnation instead of a refund.” He could already see his mate’s tail relaxing as she calculated expenses versus profit.