PROLOGUE

He pined from afar. Little looks and gestures somehow became loaded with meaning. He observed, adored, worshipped. But always from afar.

He could never find the courage to broach those barriers – duty, honour, position, rank.

Then fire rained from the sky, killing, destroying, taking life away.

After that, all he had time for was vengeance.

PART ONE

At first Trip thought he was going mad. Finally cracking under the strain of the job. The mission, the Xindi, the Expanse, the weapon, all piling onto his shoulders, one enormous weight after another, until he finally broke.

It began with voices – unintelligible whispering on the edge of hearing. He didn’t take his concerns to Phlox. Hoshi had already told him of the doctor’s take on hallucinations, auditory or otherwise, and anyway, he didn’t want to give anyone an excuse to take him away from his revenge.

He pushed it to one side as just another distraction that could keep him from his goal, and kept working. Days passed, one shift blurring into another, punctuated only by whatever new crisis the Expanse flung at him.

But he couldn’t ignore the silver-headed black walking cane the cracked onto his desk as he made to reach for another padd after yet another double shift. Surprise pushed him backwards, away from the desk, almost toppling out of his chair in haste. “What the…” Trip took a closer look at the man, perched on the other side of his desk, black bowler hat tipped back, white skivvie peeking out from under an immaculate black suit. “Shit, Malcolm! You scared the crap out of me.”

The man with the cane smiled, a broad grin of the kind Trip had never seen his friend wear before. “My apologies, sir. It appears that not only do I have the advantage of you, I have also startled and misled you.” The small man slipped off the desk, lifting his cane up to his chest as he executed a neat little bow. “My name is Owen, Mr Tucker.” The way he pronounced Trip’s name was achingly familiar, but the rest of his words had a different, more carefree cadence than those of the ship’s tactical officer. He paused, unsure. Something didn’t add up.

Owen seemed to take Trip’s silence as an invitation to elaborate. “Consider me your local friendly…bon vivant. Ex-man about town.” He waved his hands – cane and all – in a grand gesture.

Trip stared at him blankly. “What?”

Owen’s cane hit the floor with a thud. “I’m a ghost, stupid!” Half-turning, he perched himself back onto the edge of Tucker’s desk. Trip looked over his shoulder, judging the distance to the wall comm. Of course, if this was Malcolm’s idea of a practical joke, then he probably wouldn’t appreciate having security barge in.

Tough. Trip didn’t appreciate having to play games when there was still so much work to be done.

‘Owen’ was gazing around the room as if he was seeing it for the first time. “I have to say, interior design seems to have taken a nose-dive since I was last out and about.” He ran a finger along the edge of a shelf and made a show of inspecting it for dust.

“Malcolm,” Trip growled in warning.

The other man laughed. “It’s Owen, dear boy. Owen. Not Malcolm.” He snorted. “Malcolm. What a stuffy name.”

Trip scrubbed his face with his hands. He was too tired to deal with this. “Last warning, Malcolm- Owen…whatever.” He held out his finger towards the door. “Get. Out.”

He was met with an expression of pure angelic innocence. “Out? Already am, darling, already am.”

Trip’s wafer-thin patience snapped. He strode around both the desk and his uninvited guest and jabbed the intercom. “Tucker to Security.”

His heart stopped when Malcolm’s voice issued out of the tinny little speaker. “Reed here. What seems to be the problem, Commander?”

Mouth dry, Trip turned and looked back at his desk. Owen raised a hand, wiggled his fingers in a gesture of farewell, then faded away.

“Commander? Commander?”

Trip just stood there and stared.

PART TWO

He almost felt something as he watched the Captain read his short report. Archer already had so much to deal with, the hopes of an entire civilization resting on his shoulders. The last thing he needed was for his old friend, a trusted senior officer, to go off the deep end.

“Phlox says it’s a natural reaction to stress.” Archer sighed once, a heavy sound. “Deal with it, Trip. Hit the gym, go to movies, find a date, use the neuropressure stuff, whatever you need to do. I can’t afford to take you off the duty roster.”

And Trip had nodded and agreed and tried to ignore the feeling that he was being watched. “Aye, Cap’n. Won’t happen again.”

It was late. The smaller of the two gyms on board was a still, empty, echoing space with no-one else in it. He knew he should be in bed, pretending to sleep, but he couldn’t find it in him to go back to that room.

Trip was afraid of what he might find waiting for him there.

He had stripped down to shorts and a Starfleet issue tank top, and the blue material was clinging to him, wet with sweat, as he threw methodical, rhythmic punches at the heavy bag. Two three four five, change sides, repeat.

“I say, YUM-MY!”

Trip grabbed the swinging bag between padded fists and pressed his face into the leathery surface. “No, no, please, no…”

He heard the unmistakable click of the cane on decking as his unwelcome visitor walked around behind him. “Nope, sorry. No denying it. Yum with a capital mmh!”

Trip looked up. Malcolm’s face, still shaded under that ridiculous bowlers hat, looked back with a lascivious expression. “What are your feelings on dating the dead, by the way? Just so I know whether I’m destined for a broken heart here – metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Piss off,” Trip growled.

Owen just stood there and affected being hurt. “Oh, you wound me, sir. And I’ve only just arrived.”

Trip turned his back and walked over to the weight bench to retrieve his towel. “You’re just a damned hallucination, so go away.” He felt ridiculous, and just a little unsteady. Was this what it felt like to loose your mind?

He felt – actually felt – Owen brush past him to straddle the weight bench. His eyes were now kind. “No, you’re not hallucinating, or dreaming. I am a ghost.” He smiled, just like Malcolm used to, and brushed his hands through the seat of the bench. “I died centuries ago, in the war. But I was just too full of life to merely fade away.” He leaned towards Trip slightly. “I’m a ghost. But that doesn’t mean I’m not real.” His hand reached out and rested itself on Trip’s forearm. It had weight, and texture, and warmth. It felt real. Helplessness battled with despair and confusion. Perhaps he had already lost his mind?

“I want to thankyou, Trip. It’s been a long time since there’s been anyone interesting enough to me who could see me.”

He frowned, trying to struggle for the meaning in that sentence. Owen seemed to read his expression. “Not everyone can see me. Most can’t seem to…process, I guess, what their senses are telling them is real. And out of those who can, I can choose who I want.”

“Why me?”

Owen’s eyes lowered, as if in sadness. “Some people just can. They see ghosts all their lives. Its just part of their world view. Sometimes, a relation or descendant can make the connection.” He looked up again, meeting Trip’s gaze. “And sometimes, just as a dead man has too much life to die, a living man is too close to death to truly live. You’re such a man, Trip. Drifting further and further into the border states.” He tapped the bench again, then passed his hand through it. “Drifting closer to this.”

Trip felt like his entire world spinning out of control. Without a word, he turned and fled. Owen watched him go, then faded away.

PART THREE

Trip didn’t know where to turn. There was once a time when he would have rushed straight to Jon – explained his problem, talked it through, found a solution. But Archer had bigger worries now. Trip couldn’t bring himself to become one of them.

In recent years, Malcolm had become another possibility, a man he knew he could confide in and trust with his secrets. But the mission into the Expanse had changed the dynamic of their friendship. Besides, this ghost, this Owen, wore Malcolm’s face. How could he explain that without revealing emotions he’d rather leave buried?

There were others, certainly, that would allow themselves to be taken into his confidence, but none that Trip trusted enough with this. He took to working double shifts all the time, staying at his post long after he should have left. When concerned colleagues finally pestered him away from the engines, he took to haunting the corridors. He started to wonder whether he himself was a ghost. He avoided his quarters until he was almost passing out with fatigue. He refused to even enter the gymnasium unless it was crowded with people. He lingered in the mess, taking forever to eat the smallest morsels. He was terrified to be by himself.

He still felt alone and vulnerable, even when surrounded by crew. He doubted his sanity almost constantly. He began to resent the concerned looks he was receiving, took to be brusque and rude to Hoshi, to Travis, to Malcolm and Jon whenever they inquired as to his health or expressed concern over his gaunt features and haunted eyes.

Owen was waiting for him when he barrelled into his quarters after escaping again from Malcolm’s pitying stare.

Trip pulled up short, then closed and locked the door behind him. “Nice outfit.”

Owen threw his red-clad arms up in delight. “Aha! He speaks, and not just insults!” Trip ignored him and began moving around his quarters, tidying up padds, pushing his boots back under his bunk. “Well, almost. Trip, dear boy, at the risk of sounding selfish, if you keep ignoring me, I’ll have no one left to hang about with.” As Trip looked up, Owen shrugged. “I generally find, as a rule of thumb, the dead to be a terribly boring lot.”

Trip stood sharply. “There are others?”

Owen nodded slowly. “A few. Not everyone becomes an apparition, you know? And few are as stylish as I.”

Trip crossed his quarters in two strides and grabbed Owen by the lapels of his jacket. “My sister. Lizzie. Lizzie Tucker. She was killed by the Xindi…could she…can you…”

Owen studied the fear and the hope battling in the other man’s eyes. “I can look. But…but I don’t think you should get your hopes up…”

Trip shook him, hard. “I don’t care! Just look!” His voice cracked slightly. “Please? Please, just check.”

Gently, Owen placed his hands over Trip’s. “Very well, I’ll try.” Slowly, he blurred and faded from view.

Trip unclenched fists that were now just holding air, and stood back. Glancing at the chronometer, he sighed and started to pace.

Too soon – not soon enough – Owen was back. One look at his face told Trip everything he didn’t want to hear. “No…”

Owen reached out one hand, touching Trip’s arm. “I’m sorry…”

Trip felt like he was hearing the news all over again. “No…no…” Like in a dream he felt himself fall to his knees and curl up on the harsh industrial carpet.

Owen dropped to his knees beside him. “Shh, Trip. Shhh.” Shifting so he was sitting beside the living man, he gently guided Trip’s head into his lap. “Shhh, let it go. I’m here…shhh.” He softly stroked Trip’s hair as he murmured soothing sounds.

Trip stayed on the floor, curled up and shivering. The logical, rational part of his mind was tallying up for him the ridiculous nature of his situation. He was in a foetal position on the floor, and he couldn’t stop shivering. He was being comforted by a ghost who felt, sounded – heck, even smelt real.

And Lizzie was truly gone.

Trip bit back a sob. The hands stroking his head tightened on his shoulder. “Don’t bottle it up. Let it out.” He could almost hear Owen smirk. “It will be our little secret.”

Trip felt his whole body shudder as tears continued to stream down his face.

PART FOUR

It was easy to forget that Owen was a dead man. It was even easier to talk to him. Trip no longer cared whether or not he was loosing his mind. It was easier not to worry, to take each day as it came.

His new philosophy had Owen’s whole-hearted approval.

“Carpe diem, my friend.” He raised his cane as if in toast. “Seize the day, damn the torpedoes, and full steam ahead!”

Trip snorted with laughter and raised his very real, very full glass in response. “Amen to that.” He knocked back the slug and considered another. In his own mind, he and Owen were having a drinking session. In truth, he was drinking alone. Owen may feel real, but it seemed there were very solid limits when it came to being tangible.

‘Who cares,’ he thought to himself as he poured a double. ‘He’s still the best company on the ship.’ “Here’s to seizing the day. One for me and one for you.” He knocked it back in one belt. Owen applauded heartily, and Trip couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. When Owen was like this, the resemblance to Malcolm was minor. In his own mind, he decided he liked that face best when it was grinning.

The door chimed, startling him out of his reverie. “Enter,” he yelled. ‘Speak of the devil.’

Malcolm was a picture of sober propriety. “Commander, I just stopped by to drop off the power/yield ratio test results we’ve been waiting on.” He took in the single glass, the half-empty bottle, the smell of alcohol in one smoothly disapproving glance.

Trip reached out and took the padd. “Thanks, Malcolm. I’ll check this out in the morning, but I don’t think we’ll have much of a problem.”

Behind Malcolm, Owen had risen to his feet and was studying Malcolm with a critical eye. “I don’t see the resemblance, personally. I’m much better looking for a start.”

Trip tried to turn his bark of laugher into a sudden coughing fit. “I…*cough*…I’m sorry, Malcolm, do go on.” Desperately, he caught Owen’s eyes with his own and tried to telepathically send a message. ‘Knock it off!’

“Are you quite alright, Commander?”

Trip tried to bludgeon his way out of it. “Fine, Lieutenant, just something going down the wrong pipe.” He banged on his chest and faked a cough or two for good measure. One look at Malcolm’s face told him his little act was going down like the proverbial lead balloon.

“Though I have to admit,” Owen went on blithely. “I can see the attraction. He does have that whole ‘mad, bad and dangerous to know’ vibe down pat, doesn’t he? Do you think he practices it in front of the mirror?”

This ‘coughing fit’ was even worse than the first. There was a real look of concern of Malcolm’s face now.

Owen went in for the kill. The sudden expression of calculated innocence was Trip’s only warning. “I could sneak a peek if you like.” He looked Malcolm up and down. “I for one would love to see what kind of concealed weapon he has under those clothes, if you get my meaning.”

Trip was certain he felt something burst, trying to keep the laughter in. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, he escaped from the situation with brute force. “If that will be all, Lieutenant?”

Malcolm was too well-trained an officer not to take the hint. “Yes, sir. Good night.” He turned smartly and left.

Owen trailed him right to the door before turning back to Trip, making a show of fanning his face. “Wonder what he’s hiding under all that pretty reserve.”

Trip shrugged and capped the bottle. “I have no idea.”

PART FIVE

Trip wondered if there was a maximum capacity for accepting weirdness. Was there a point where your brain just shut off, unable to cope? Or did the human mind just keep adapting and adapting and adapting..?

He turned to answer a query from Rostov, no longer surprised to see Owen standing by the young engineer’s shoulder, looking over the dials with an air of detached interest.

Anomalies rewriting the laws of physics. Ghosts learning the basics of modern warp engineering. Just another shiny happy day in the Expanse.

Grabbing Rostov and his toolbox, Trip headed for the input manifold array at the rear of engineering. Popping the cover to the access tube, he crawled in before reaching back to take the toolbox Rostov was handing to him.

Crawling on his hands and knees, pushing the box ahead of him, it was only a minute before he dropped out into the slightly larger maintenance access area. As Rostov bent over to open his own toolbox, Trip saw Owen pass through the wall behind him. Trip quickly poked out his tongue at the ghost

Unlike Trip, Owen didn’t have to worry about who heard him. “You’re just sore that I don’t have to ruin the knees of my nice trousers.”

Rostov stood again, blocking Trip’s view of the ghost and preventing even a silent reply. Instead, he chose to focus on the task at hand. “Okay, lets see if we can get the flow rate above 80% capacity.” Bending to the task, he was aware of Owen leaning over his shoulder, watching and learning. It was a simple task to fit the re-machined part. As he stood back up, he noticed that Owen had drifted over to take in the readout display that took up two walls and extended up along the ducting into the access shaft. “Ready?”

“Ready,” echoed back to him from both man and ghost. Shaking his head in mild amusement, Trip keyed in the new activation sequence. “78…79…80…81…82…”

From around the corner, he heard Owen’s voice. “Trip – this dial here on this valve….the…” he could almost hear the ghost racking his memory for the correct terminology. “The input manifold coolant pressure gauge. Its up past 120. Is it meant to do that?”

“Shit,” Trip cursed as he cut the flow and diverted power to the regulators, trying to contain the disaster building in the conduits. “Both of you, get out of here!” He shouted as the board suddenly surged, spraying him with sparks. A thick greasy smoke began to fill the small space as the fire sparked and exploded. “Rostov! Owen!”

Lungs burning, eyes streaming, Trip staggered towards the access tube back to engineering, alternatively coughing and calling out for both Rostov and Owen. Slumped over the lip of the access hatch he found Rostov. Touch told him that the young engineer was badly burnt. Heaving, Trip struggled to drag him fully into the access tube. Slumped across the hatchway, Rostov was blocking the doors to the section, preventing them from closing, feeding the fire with precious oxygen. But the fumes from the fire were filling his lungs, making each breath an agonizing struggle. Strong as he was, he couldn’t quite pull the limp weight across the threshold to relative safety.

He struggled on, refusing to give in, his vision blurring around the edges as he fought the fire for oxygen. Rostov suddenly became a light weight. A warm, welcome English voice was whispering in his ear. “I’ve got him Trip. Let go and give me room to move him.” Instinctively obeying the calm voice, Trip scooted back, barely feeling the burns on his hands and forearms. As the hatchway to the maintenance section slid shut, sealing off the fire, Trip blinked away the soot and sought out the two men. The clearing air of the access tube revealed the glossy red burns covering most of Rostov’s face and upper torso.

Coughing up smoke from his lungs, he looked up at Owen. Some hysterical part of himself noticed that Owen’s white suit was immaculate. “Thanks,” he managed to choke out.

Owen smiled and patted Trip’s shoulder, warm and reassuring. “No problem, darling. Rest. I’ll keep watch.” Trip let friendly hands guide him into a sitting position against the tube walls as the voices of his engineers honed in onto the site of the explosion.

PART SIX

“So apart from a few ground-in scorch marks on the walls in there, everything is repaired and back up and running.”

Archer nodded as he picked up a padd. “That’s good to hear, Trip. Phlox tells me that Rostov will be cleared for light duty in a day or two.”

Trip nodded, having already dropped by the infirmary earlier that day to check on his engineer. “Yeah. Doc says that he’ll only have minimal scarring, if at all. We were lucky this time, Capt.”

Jon picked another padd up slowly, not meeting Trip’s eye. “Yes. Now, perhaps you could explain something, Trip.” He held up the padd. “Phlox mentioned to me something Rostov said, and I had him write it all up for me as part of his report.” Jon thumbed the thin device on and began scrolling down the text, reading out snippets as he went. “I heard the Commander swear and order ‘you two, get out’…I was burnt and struggling to find the hatch, but I clearly remember hearing the Commander call two names, mine and someone else’s – I think it might have been ‘Owen’ or ‘Oden’ or similar…as I was passing out, I heard him say something to someone else, but Lieutenant Hess (with whom I checked) says that the Commander was unconscious by the time her team arrived at the site of the accident…” Jon dropped the padd with a clatter. “Trip, was there someone else in there with you?” Barely waiting for a response, he continued. “Because I checked our crew manifest. We have a Crewman Larissa Olin, who works in life sciences, and an Ensign Rowen Dyer, who is attached to Hoshi’s department. Neither of them were anywhere near engineering, or had any reason to even go into the shaft. So I’m left wondering who it was you were talking to. Then I remember why the name sounded familiar.” Jon picked up another padd. “Your own report, Trip. The hallucinating episode you had in your quarters four months ago. The ghost you saw – you said he introduced himself as ‘Owen.’” Jon tossed the padd down with the others and rubbed his temples. “What I guess I’m asking here is, are you still having these hallucinations, Trip?”

Trip held up his head and looked his Captain straight in the eye. “No sir, I’m not hallucinating.” He sat there for the rest of the interview, face impassive, until finally Archer relented and dismissed him.

Owen was waiting in the turbolifts. “You lied to him.”

Trip jabbed the button for the engineering deck. “No, I didn’t. He asked me if I was hallucinating.” He looked over at ghost and grinned. “He didn’t ask me if I was seeing ghosts.”

Owen laughed and tossed his cane from one hand to the other and back again. “Devil in the details. When did you get to be such a good liar?”

Trip smiled. “When I started playing strip poker with someone who hasn’t been laid in nearly three centuries.” Whistling an old blues ditty, Trip slipped out of the lift and strolled down the corridor, leaving a gaping Owen behind.

As the doors hissed shut, Owen stepped through them and jogged to catch up. “Well, at least I have an excuse!” he huffed.

Trip stopped, glancing up and down the corridor before speaking. “What do you mean?”

Owen smirked smugly and continued walking, swinging his cane. “Well, when was the last time that you had the big O? You know what I mean, when your toes curl and your eyes roll back and you can’t think because your brain has liquefied.” He turned and poked his finger into Trip’s chest hard enough to make the other man step back. “Hard. Hot. Heavy. SEX!” As Trip huffed, Owen grinned. “While you think about it, I’m just going to duck down to the locker room. The MACO morning training session must be about over, and I don’t want to miss the steamy shower show now, do I? Ta-ta” Wiggling his fingers, he faded out like a Cheshire cat with a cane.

Trip stood in the middle of the corridors, mouth gaping, until a crewman turning the corner spurred him into action. With a purposeful stride, Trip headed to the Armoury.

PART SEVEN

“…then Tanner holds up the screwdriver and asks ‘so where does this go?’”

Trip laughed and reached out to pour the wine. “Please don’t tell me you said ‘up your ass’?”

“No, of course not.” Malcolm held his glass out, then lifted it to his lips. He waited until Trip took a sip. “What I said was ‘shove it up there sideways.’”

Half a year of hanging with someone no-one else could see or hear had given Trip a great set of gag reflexes. Even so, he very nearly spewed the mouthful all over the table. He finally managed to swallow. “Had to wait til I took a sip, huh?”

Malcolm sipped his own drink demurely. “I thought it worthy of the punchline.”

Trip just laughed and picked up his knife. “Bastard,” he said fondly. They were alone in Trip’s quarters, eating a late supper supplied by Chef. Owen, approving of Trip’s seduction tactics (using the explosion as the impetus for an emotional epiphany), had taken to tactfully vanishing during the ‘dates.’ Privately, Trip suspected he was hanging around the crew woman’s shower block.

But this was officially Date Number Six. With luck, it would justify the mental capitalization he had placed on it. Trip had high hopes for this evening…

The com system burst into life. “Senior officers, please report to the situation room.”

…of course, he hadn’t planned on Murphy’s laws of dating. Putting aside his cutlery, Trip was gratified to see a tiny moue of disappointment flit across Malcolm’s features before the mask of a calm professional slammed into place. “We’ll need to hurry.”

Nodding, Trip retrieved his boots and pulled them on as Malcolm covered the dishes again and opened the door. Moving swiftly through the corridors to the situation room, Trip hoped that whatever this latest emergency was, it wasn’t big enough to completely wreck his grand plans for Date Number Six.

Hoshi followed them into the situation room, tying back her hair as she walked. “Any idea what’s happening, Commander?”

Trip shook his head. “No idea, Hoshi.”

A sing-song voice rang across the room, but no-one else reacted. “Time to call the class together!” Trip glared at Owen, sitting perched on a console besides the main monitor. Owen merely grinned and picked a speck of dust off his dun-coloured safari suit.

The doors hissed again to admit Archer and T’Pol. The Captain got straight down to business. “Our scans have detected a shielded facility at the coordinates suggested by the Xindi database. If we’re correct, this is the facility where the targeting systems are being developed.”

Malcolm chimed in. “Sir, if we could gather data on how they target their weapons, we may be able to develop effective countermeasures to jam the systems.” He shrugged slightly. “That may become a very useful ability if we have to take the Xindi head-on.”

Archer nodded. “Agreed, lieutenant, but that’s a secondary objective. Take a team, try to get the data if you can. But I want that facility out of commission before we leave this system. Understood?”

“Sir!”

“Good. Coordinate with Major Hayes. Take whoever you need.”

Trip chimed in. “I’d like to go as well, Cap’n. I’m probably the best equipped to get the data out.” He turned to nod at Hoshi. “We’ve been developing a modified scanner module, sir. Kind of a field-kit for data hacking. Might prove useful here.”

Archer nodded curtly. “Okay, you’re on the team.” He looked around the table. “We launch in an hour. Dismissed.”

As the meeting broke up, Trip heard Owen squeal and clap in delight. “Field trip!”

PART EIGHT

The shuttle came in fast and low. Behind him, he heard the small MACO team shift in their seats. He could sympathize. There was nothing worse during a hairy descent than to have to just sit there and think about how much danger you were in.

Travis had offered to pilot the shuttle down, but in the end it had been decided that it was too risky to have three senior officers on the away team. Trip could understand now why Travis seemed so disappointed. Flying like this was exhilarating stuff.

Setting down in a small clearing about two kilometres from the shielded area, Trip wished that they had made more progress with the Suliban cloaking systems. He felt exposed with the shuttle just sitting there.

At least it seemed that Owen had decided that being dead was no excuse for being in danger and had stayed on the ship.

Waiting for the MACOs to secure the immediate area, Trip checked that the modifications to the scanner were online and working. Obeying a signal from Malcolm, he ducked out of the shuttle, sealing the hatch after him. Moving quickly and silently, he followed Malcolm into the forest surrounding the facility.

The terrain was easy, and it was not long before they passed under the shielding and saw the first outlying buildings that seemed to characterize Xindi design. Using hand-signals, Malcolm dispatched the MACO attachment to distribute the explosive charges. Only then did they move deeper into the facility, ducking from cover to cover in an attempt not to be seen.

A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye had Trip spinning, weapon drawn and ready. “Bit late for that, darling.”

Trip exhaled sharply, catching Malcolm’s attention. Ignoring Owen, he mouthed ‘false alarm’ to the other man, who merely rolled his eyes and gestured for Trip to follow.

“You don’t need to go in there, you know,” Owen said conversationally, brushing smooth the brim of his traditional safari hat before plopping it back onto his head. “I’ve been having a bit of a wander, waiting for you to get here. All these huts have terminals that seem to be connected directly to main factory floor.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the largest building towards which Trip and Malcolm had been edging. “But if you want to try and get in past the perimeter guards and sensors and whatnot, be my guest!”

Trip stifled a groan. Tapping Malcolm on the shoulder, he gestured for him to wait and watch.

Owen grinned. “See, I do have good ideas every once in a while! This hut here is empty, by the way, if you want to sneak in.” The grin widened. “And if you want, one of us can stand watch and the other can duck in with you for a bit of…” he waggled his hands suggestively “…whilst the computer does its thing.”

Trip had to bite his lip to prevent himself from speaking directly to Owen. Ignoring both the ghost and Malcolm, Trip slipped around to the only door and tested the handle. Locked.

Owen sighed dramatically right by his ear. “Of course, I have to do everything.” He passed through the door like vapour – seconds later, the door slid open, unlocked from the inside. “It’s been years since my last decent criminal escapade.” He grinned broadly and stepped aside to invite Trip in with a bow. “How exciting!”

Trip strode past him and plugged his scanner into the computer terminal. Twenty minutes later they were flying back up to the ship, leaving behind an inferno that could be viewed from orbit.

Trip couldn’t tell who was more smug over their role – Malcolm or Owen.

PART NINE

Date Number Six. Lucky six. Six was Trip’s new favourite number. Propping himself up on one elbow, Trip looked down at Malcolm’s face. Reposed and relaxed in sleep, there was an innocence about him that took years off his features. He seemed less burdened, somehow. At peace.

Gently, Trip trailed a finger along the line of his jaw, gratified when Malcolm sleepily turned his face into the touch. He remained there a long moment, simply touching Malcolm, before his bladder repeated its urgent demands, forcing him out of bed to walk naked across his quarters to his small bathroom.

He washed his hands and splashed some water on his face. When he straightened, he caught sight of a familiar figure in black suit and bowler’s hat. Trip grinned. “Hey, Harvey,” he whispered.

Owen snickered. “Har har. What an original joke.” Moving to the half-opened door, he peeked out to look at Malcolm. “Three years of courtship and what do you do on your first night in bed together? You snuggle! What happened to the search for the Big O?”

Trip whapped him with his towel, completely unsurprised when it passed right through him. “It can wait til we’ve not both exhausted after spending a day blowing weapons facilities to smithereens.” Trip moved to stand behind Owen, looking out into the other room. “This isn’t like one of your famous stories, Owen. This is forever.”

Owen mimed wiping a tear from his eye. He then smiled. “Remind me to tell you the story of two people I used to know well. Henry and Vivian. Now that was true dedication to love, and to each other.” He nodded once, firmly, but his eyes seemed to be focussed on some point a long way away.

Trip laid a gentle hand on Owen’s shoulder. “So you’re sticking around?”

Owen laughed. “You think I’d haunt just anyone?” He turned around and slid his hands around Trip’s waist. “You’re stuck with me…isn’t that a horrifying thought.” Rising onto tiptoes, Owen pushed back the brim of his hat and pecked a platonic kiss to Trip’s cheek. “Now get back out there and snuggle some more.” He stepped back and playfully whapped Trip’s ass in passing. “Who knows – you may even remember where your happy button is.” He laughed, already becoming translucent. “Otherwise, I may have to come in and remind you.”

Trip watched him fade away. “Good night, Owen,” he whispered. Turning off the light, he returned to his bed.

~fin~