Gigi Sinclair

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a starship, a high-ranking position in the military, or a police uniform must be in want of a red-hot male lover, possibly possessed of one or more unusual sexual tastes and certainly of equal or greater attractiveness to the single man himself.

"My dear Dr. Phlox," said the good doctor's newest lady, Mrs. Elizabeth Cutler Phlox, to him one day. "I have heard on my Yahoo Group that Bermanor has been let at last. There was much squeeing and many OT references to 'The Sentinel.'"

Dr. Phlox did not look up from his treatise on the digestive system of the Pyrithian bat, which he hoped to publish in the Lancet before Whitsunday.

"Do you not wish to know who has taken it?" Mrs. Phlox continued, well used to being ignored in favour of unusual animals or buxom serving wenches.

"If you wish to tell me, my dear," Phlox replied. The present Mrs. Phlox was the fourth to hold that title, and the previous three had taught him how to react when one was speaking. He knew that if he truly wished to learn the news, he could simply read the red-faced ranting that was sure to appear on Trek Today within the hour.

"The Yahoo Group says that Bermanor was taken by a slightly dull-witted middle-aged man from the west of California. He is to take possession before Sweeps Week, and some of his staff are to move in this very Wednesday evening at approximately nine o'clock, Eastern and Pacific."

Mrs. Phlox was greatly pleased by this occurrence. The previous owner of Bermanor, a handsome young doctor named Bashir, had caused quite a stir amongst the young men of the area before returning to London in the company of a very unusual looking tailor, who had charged Mrs. Phlox extravagantly when she requested he monogram four handkerchiefs, mend three petticoats and reupholster her fur-lined handcuffs.

"What a wonderful thing for our children," Mrs. Phlox continued, so caught up in the moment that she forgot she resented Phlox's large brood and, in fact, doubted that many were his biological offspring.

"How so? How can it affect them?"

"Why, Dr. Phlox, I am surely thinking of his marrying one of them." Or at the very least, establishing a love nest that would get at least one, and possibly more, of the children out of Mrs. Phlox's house on a regular basis. "We certainly have ample choice to offer this Mr. Archer when he arrives." This was true, as Phlox's five children were as disparate as possible. The eldest, T'Polly, Mrs. Phlox sometimes believed was not quite human. "You must go and visit him."

"I shall do so," Dr. Phlox agreed absently. "And inform him I heartily consent to him establishing a relationship with any one of my children, although I must throw in a good word for my little Hoshi."

"You will not!" Mrs. Phlox countered. She and Hoshi were nearly of an age, and of all the children, it was she whom Mrs. Phlox resented the least. "You will mention them all equally, for I believe Hoshi to be not half as energetic as Trip, nor nearly as sexually alluring as Malcolm."

"They have none of them much to recommend them," Phlox replied. "They are all poorly developed and in many cases stereotypical. But if Mr. Archer is himself of such character, then it is possible he will not mind, and you will be able to see one of them ensconced at Bermanor."

"That would please me greatly," Mrs. Phlox admitted. "Now shall we adjourn to the bedroom? I need to verify a sexual position for part 18 of 'Tears of Passion'."

***

Malcolm heard of the new tenant in Bermanor from Trip, who returned from his Sunday afternoon constitutional with a smile on his face and an unusual mark on his neck.

"As I was coming down the lane from Bermanor, I chanced upon a small dog," Trip explained, when Malcolm asked how he had come about such an injury. "I bent to scratch it behind the ears, but overbalanced and fell into the ditch.

"As I was lying there, wondering whether to get up or merely spend the night contemplating the shapeliness and ironic allure of our sister T'Polly, a man accused me of causing the suicide of one of his household servants by showing her a life she could not possibly achieve, and depriving him of some really cool technology while I was at it. When I sat up to deny the charge, I saw the most wonderful pair of eyes to grace Trekshire since Lord Kim returned to Cathay, even though he was Korean."

"Who might this man be?" Hoshi looked up from her sewing with interest. Travis, the silent brother, nodded mutely and proceeded to sketch an invisible box with his hands.

"Why, he is the new tenant of Bermanor, Mr. Jonathan Archer. And he has invited us to a ball this Tuesday fortnight."

"A ball?" T'Polly appeared in the doorway with impeccable timing, as always. Malcolm often thought she must have a highly attuned sense of hearing, or perhaps just a well-annotated script. "Such an activity is illogical. However, I will go in order to observe human interaction, and also to show off these fabulous melons in a low-cut jumpsuit I purchased the last time Deanna Troi was in town."

"How exciting!" Hoshi squealed, and then, because she was meant to be an expert in languages, added, "Muy bueno."

"I do not believe I should leave the house," Malcolm protested. "Crime has increased at least twofold since we came to Trekshire, and I do not feel safe leaving our valuable collection of family silver and blinking gadgets open for anyone who cares to chance by with an extensive lock-picking kit, a ladder, a means of cutting the communication lines and the technological ability to deactivate the alarm system."

"Pish tosh, Malcolm," Trip replied, as Hoshi returned to her sewing and Travis began "Man Walking Against The Wind." "You must meet Mr. Archer. He is a most handsome and accomplished gentleman, and from the pictures I found of him on the Internet, he is hung like a bull moose."

Malcolm remained unconvinced, but agreed to attend the ball so that he might better keep an eye on his beloved family. And because Trip indicated there was a strong chance something pineapple would appear on the buffet table at some point in the evening.

***

Mr. Archer was good-looking and uncomplicated. He had inherited his fortune from his industrialist father Sir Henry Archer, designer and manufacturer of the first steam locomotive to sport aft thrusters and a series of attractive, if ultimately useless, blinking lights. The Archer heir himself had held many jobs, lately researcher of gazelle mating habits at Oxford University. Before purchasing Bermanor, he had resided in the pleasant, quiet village of Syndication with his longtime companion, a naval admiral named Albert who had gone out one day to buy a package of rolling papers and had never returned.

Mr. Archer had lived a cold, lonely life since then. He had not been much interested when his new neighbour, Phlox, came from Denobula Cottage to welcome him to the neighbourhood. Archer had low expectations for Trekshire, but when his beagle had found the attractive man lying in the ditch near his property, Archer had been smitten.

The man introduced himself as Trip Tucker Phlox in a distinctive accent that Archer could imagine being either endearing or grating like the sound of nails on a chalkboard. Archer found it endearing, and immediately conjured up a fictitious ball as an excuse to get to know Mr. Tucker Phlox better. Now, of course, he needed to organize such a ball, lest the extensive Phlox family grow suspicious when they arrived at Bermanor to find only Archer, standing in a pair of leopard print boxer shorts and growling at their eldest son.

***

Despite his reluctance to attend, Malcolm admitted to being impressed by Archer's large ball. One of that size hadn't been seen in Trekshire since the departure of Baroness Janeway, who had always had the biggest balls in the county.

Archer himself seemed only to have eyes for Trip, and Malcolm watched indulgently as they swept around the dance floor, occasionally pausing to take a swig of whiskey or to laugh over something Malcolm thought was called "water polo", although he didn't know of any horses that could swim that well. Hoshi, too, seemed to be enjoying herself, receiving attentions from a number of handsome young men, pretty young women, and someone who looked like a potato that had been in the cupboard so long it had begun to grow shoots. Travis was even lurking more obtrusively than normal, and appeared to be doing so in the company of an equally silent, dashing young military gentleman.

Relaxing, Malcolm went to help himself at the buffet table and, as he was testing the promised pineapple sherbet, soufflé, ice cream and tacos, heard Archer's voice from the other side of the tapestry.

"Come, Hayes, I must have you dance."

"I think not," another voice replied. Malcolm assumed this was Mr. Hayes, one of Archer's friends from the City. "You know I do not care for expending energy fruitlessly."

"But there are many benefits to be gained from such labour," Archer continued, and Malcolm fancied he could hear the squishy, slightly off-putting sound of a wink. "And there are many attractive partners."

The other man, Hayes, snorted. "You seem to have claimed the only attractive man in the room for yourself."

Archer sighed, and Malcolm felt a surge of fraternal pride, not to mention a diminished desire to garotte Archer with his own garters, when Archer said, "It is true, Trip is the most beautiful creature I ever laid eyes on. But his brother Malcolm is also quite handsome and, from what I've heard, a real machine in the sack. Shall I request an introduction on your behalf?"

Malcolm glanced up and caught Hayes's eye briefly, before turning back to his selection of pineapple.

Hayes yawned derisively, as only a Londoner could. "He is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me, and I am in no humour at present to give consequence to pineapple-eating rejects. You had better return to your partner and enjoy his talents, because you're wasting your time with me." Hayes stomped off broodingly, and Malcolm, deciding not to ruin Trip and Archer's first date, chose not to use the deadly technique he'd learned from a visiting Malaysian swordmaster. That would have to wait until after Trip's wedding.

***

Mrs. Phlox was delighted by the attention Mr. Archer was showing Trip. Almost daily, Mr. Archer would arrive at Denobula Cottage with an offering of pecan pie or football videos, and Trip was very eager to receive his company. The fact that Mr. Archer had been previously involved, with a naval admiral no less, diminished his eligibility not one whit, especially given the fact that Trip was himself less than virginal.

Mrs. Phlox still remembered the scandal that had threatened to sink the family when Trip had allied himself with a very strange engineer named Allen—from Yorkshire, Mrs. Phlox believed she was—and had even been with child. A few months in a discreet maternity home in the countryside, and an even more discreet adoption afterwards, had solved that problem, and Mrs. Phlox was thrilled Trip, and indeed, the entire Phlox family, were receiving a second chance.

Mrs. Phlox would have enjoyed chaperoning their visits herself, but she was being besieged by requests for a follow-up to Part 26 of "Tears of Passion" and had no time to spare. Instead, she asked Malcolm to stay with his brother and his gentleman caller, knowing she could rely on boring, pedantic, humourless Malcolm to inform her of any unsavoury goings-on, most likely with flowcharts and diagrams.

Malcolm detested chaperoning Trip and Mr. Archer. They were smug and self-absorbed, had insufferably nauseating conversations about love and devotion and who would save whom if they were trapped in a caved-in building in the middle of a desert. Trip had even told Mr. Archer all about his scandalous affair with the Yorkshire-born engineer, Allen, and the child that had resulted. Far from being put off, Mr. Archer had declared that once he and Trip were married, they would find this child and bring it up as their own, Yorkshire roots or no.

The only thing worse than spending time alone with Trip and Mr. Archer was when Mr. Archer's friend Mr. Hayes accompanied them. Malcolm had never come across a more disagreeable person. He was sour and unpleasant, he complained about everything from the weather to the conversation to the safety measures in place at Denobula Cottage. The final straw came when Hayes informed Malcolm he'd seen tighter security around Napoleon's home on St. Helena.

Wasting no further words, Malcolm put his training under the King of Siam to good use and flattened Hayes with a single punch to the jaw.

"Now, now, gentlemen," Archer protested, but Hayes had already flipped Malcolm onto his back.

"Come on, guys," Trip joined in, stepping backwards as Malcolm and Hayes rolled across Trekshire Common, locked in a fierce embrace. "Can't you save it for the reception?"

Malcolm ignored them both, concentrating only on bringing as much pain as possible to Hayes, while avoiding Hayes's illegally sharpened codpiece. Although he would never admit it, the proximity of Hayes's body caused a most unseemly stirring in Malcolm's loins, and he knew he would be spending much time with a bucket of cold water and a copy of "Victorian Beauties" when he returned to Denobula Cottage.

Both Malcolm and Mr. Hayes were both bruised and bloodied by the time Mrs. Phlox appeared on the Common, her skirts askew and her PDA clutched in her hands.

"We are dishonoured!"

"What?" Mr. Hayes looked up from where he had been writhing on top of Malcolm's body. Malcolm butted him with his forehead, and as Mr. Hayes lay gasping on the grass, stood up and brushed the leaves from his bodkin and his jerkin.

"Travis and Lieutenant Corporal Chang are living in sin! We are ruined!" Mrs. Phlox collapsed sobbing onto the ground. Malcolm stepped over her and took the PDA. Scrolling through her feedback messages and collection of graphic photo manipulations, he came to an email from Travis, who did indeed claim he and the Lieutenant Corporal, whom he had met at Bermanor, had set up house in the slum-ridden Trekshire district known as Deep Space Nine, the area no true Trekshire resident could pass without spitting.

"I didn't know Travis could write," Malcolm said, astonished, as Mr. Archer helped Mrs. Phlox to her feet and Trip added,

"An' ah was that close to landin' me a rich 'un."

***

Malcolm was not surprised when Mr. Hayes, bounding cad that he was, headed for the hills at the first sign of trouble. Malcolm, Mr. Archer and Trip helped their stepmother back to Denobula Cottage, where T'Polly and Hoshi were waiting in the drawing room.

"You realize," Mr. Archer said sadly, as he dropped Mrs. Phlox onto the chaise ottoman, "That I cannot marry you, Trip. Much as I would like to, the name of Archer would not withstand the terrible, outrageous, incredible scandal of your brother shacking up with some guy."

"It is logical," T'Polly replied for them all. "However, despite my aloof yet simmering demanour this past two'month, I shall miss you, Mr. Archer!"

Choking back a sob, T'Polly ran from the room, her fabulous melons bouncing in her low-cut jumpsuit. Mr. Archer left a moment later, to return to Bermanor and pack his things. Trekshire no longer held the allure it once had. Trip retired to his room to start a lifetime of spinsterhood and to think about buying a couple of cats, a DVD player and a DSL line, while Mrs. Phlox sought comfort in her husband, who had given up the Pyithian bat and was trying to use a sponge to clone a better son, who just happened to have all of Travis's memories.

"I never would have thought this of Travis," Hoshi confided, as she poked at her sewing. "Es muy, muy terrible."

"Si," Malcolm replied. And there was only one thing he could do about it.

Deep Space Nine was a treacherous area. Malcolm knew of only two Trekshire residents to enter it and survive, an Irishman named O'Brien and the Swedish Worf, and both of them had roots and connections in the much more prosperous Next Generation district to fall back on. Deep Space Nine was a den of iniquity and exploitative lesbian kisses, and Malcolm knew he would have to tread very carefully indeed.

The address Travis had given in his message was for a run-down building near the salacious Promenade. As he arrived, Malcolm averted his eyes from a ridge-nosed woman having sex with what appeared to be a bucket of Jello, and from a young black man reciting a sonnet to the lobes of his Ferengi lover. Since Malcolm wasn't an attractive young woman, he didn't fear the shimmering trill that lay on the ground, but he was careful to avoid the strange-looking talkative creature who told Malcolm he had lost all his money at dabo and surely an upstanding citizen like Malcolm would be able to lend him a few bars of latinum for a sniff of Romulan ale.

When he found the building, Malcolm knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. He was beginning to think he had made a serious mistake in coming here, when he peered in the window and saw Mr. Hayes coming down the stairs.

"It was you!" Malcolm accused, after Mr. Hayes had figured out how to unlock the door and let him in.

"What?" Mr. Hayes scowled.

"I knew Travis wouldn't do this by himself. You put Chang up to it. You didn't want Archer to marry Trip, so you arranged this scandal to destroy our family. You are a true cad, sir. And your fashion sense leaves much to be desired."

Mr. Hayes looked genuinely taken aback. "You are mistaken, Mr. Reed Phlox. I put Lieutenant Corporal Chang up to nothing. Rather the reverse."

Malcolm wasn't listening. He started up the stairs, only to have Mr. Hayes grab him from behind. Malcolm tumbled backwards, landing on top of Mr. Hayes in an undignified heap at the bottom of the stairs. "I came to tell Chang to marry Travis," Mr. Hayes explained from his position. "The last thing I want is for you to be hurt by a scandal. You see," he stood up, dumping Malcolm to the floor, and looked down soulfully. "I love you, Malcolm."

Malcolm hesitated. Certainly, Mr. Hayes evoked feelings no other man, not even Dr. Phlox's handsome and virile young doctor friends evoked in Malcolm, but it was, after all, Mr. Hayes.

"And," Mr. Hayes added, as if he was possessed of some trick of physic that allowed him to decipher Malcolm's humours, "I have five hundred pounds per annum, and am possessed of a small yet well constructed home, Maco Place, in the popular Extraneous Characters district of Trekshire."

"I see," Malcolm replied, taking Mr. Hayes's offered hand. "Why didn't you say something earlier?"

***

Never in her wildest dreams had Mrs. Phlox expected such good fortune for her husband's family. Trip and Mr. Archer and Malcolm and Mr. Hayes were married in a double wedding at Trekshire's finest cathedral, the Las Vegas Hilton, while Travis and Chang had a quieter ceremony in the village of MediaWest. Thanks to the influence of the Hayeses, they were able to leave Deep Space Nine for the greener pastures of Original Series, where they spent a lot of time with their neighbours, Lord Kirk and Monsignor Spock.

Once she got over the loss of Mr. Archer to her brother, T'Polly decided to return to her former ways, cutting her hair, covering her melons and becoming a lecturer on bioethics and xenobiology at Christ College, Cambridge. Hoshi stayed at home and was an indispensable aid to Mrs. Phlox, keeping track of feedback she needed to reply to and conventions she was going to attend. Dr. Phlox published his treatise on the Pyrithian bat and began another on the sponge, while Mrs. Phlox herself divided her time between Bermanor, where Archer and Trip were raising his daughter with Allen as well as a few beagles, a clone, and the household servant who turned out not to have committed suicide after all, and home, where she was on Part 89 of "Tears of Passion" and still receiving at least one positive review a week.

And Malcolm, for his part, was ever grateful to the forces of nature—and to Bermanor itself—which had conspired to bring him together with his dear Mr. Hayes.