"What is that thing?" Trip asked. Malcolm had called him down to his quarters to show him an oval object he had recovered from the Ferengi."A jewelry box, I'm assuming," Malcolm answered. "Those are precious stones in their raw state embedded into the casing."
"Uh-huh. And, exactly what are you doin' with it? Shouldn't you be returnin' it to one of our female crew?"
"I've already tried. But each and everyone denies it belongs to her. I'm only left to assume that this is a remnant of a previous acquisition raid."
"Sounds reasonable. But what'd'ya want me to look at it for?"
"Open it." Malcolm leaned back in his chair, a wry grin on his face.
Trip picked it up. He turned it around and around. He poked, prodded and pushed. Finally, he gave up. "Where's the damn clasp?"
"Well, if a chief engineer can't find it, what do you expect of a mere security officer?"
"Malcolm, I don't have time to play games," Trip heavily sighed, slumping his shoulders. "What'd'ya want from me?"
"No time to play games?" Malcolm spoke with a twinkle. "Well, all right, then, if that's how you feel. Perhaps I need to go to someone else for assistance."
Trip looked at Malcolm. Malcolm looked at Trip. Each man's mouth slowly spread into a broad smile. A shinning glint lit up both their eyes. "T'Pol," they said in unison.
"The casing is certainly a gold alloy. However, I will need to do a metallurgic scan," T'Pol declared, turning to pick up her instrument. "I am more curious to know, however, why you are taking such an interest in it."
"Security precaution, Subcommander," Malcolm had a ready answer for that one. "Also, as a security matter, you understand, ahhhem ..."
"The Lieutenant would like to know" Trip stepped in, "how you picked the key off of that Ferengi. He had ... um ... an interestin' story to tell."
"It's in my report."
"Yes, well, of course," Malcolm tried to buck himself up. "However, you did not file a security copy."
"I was not required to," T'Pol cut him short. "The interior of this object is filled with biological material. Fetal tissue, if I am not mistaken."
"What??" both Malcolm and Trip exclaimed.
"My egg," Phlox exclaimed. "I was wondering when you would return it."
"Your ... egg?" Trip had a queasy feeling. "Ya mean that's how Denobulans ..."
"Tush, Commander," Phlox laughed it off. "This is a dragon's egg."
"Thank God," Malcolm said with relief. And then with alarm, "What? Is that thing going to hatch? Aboard my ship? Not bloody likely."
"At ease, Lieutenant. My little precious is dormant at the moment. She needs a mother's loving attention to hatch. Or a surrogate, such as myself, who understands her needs, thermologically speaking."
"Yer not," Trip began, "plannin' to become a Mom any time soon, I hope."
"And raise a 12-foot dragon, here? Tut, tut, Commander."
"Yer right. Does sound kinda dumb when ya put it that way."
"I am rather intrigued," T'Pol said. "How does an egg come to be encased in a gold alloy and encrusted with precious minerals?"
"Mmm ... Denobulan dragons are interesting creatures. Their digestive and reproductive systems are connected. They spend years eating the raw materials found on our world. It makes their eggs completely unbreakable. No one has yet destroyed a dragon's egg."
"Why'd'ya even have one?" Trip asked.
"The alloy has a unique property. Steeped in certain solutions, its enzymes cause chemical reactions that make for some very potent medicines. Very valuable, these eggs. And very rare. Aren't you, my precious," Phlox cooed at his egg, before turning around to place it down.
"Rare, how rare?" Malcolm took his turn.
"Dragons have seven-year mating cycles. I find it puzzling that neither you nor Mr. Tucker seem to know anything about this egg. I was under a different impression." Phlox stroked his egg like a loving mother.
"Why just this morning," Phlox continued, "you, Mr. Reed, came asking about the seven-year mating cycles of different females. Although, come to think of it, you were rather vague about which species of female. And then, not one hour later, Mr. Tucker came to ask the same questions."
Phlox turned around to witness a curious little drama playing out before his eyes. Two very red-faced officers were standing at ramrod attention, being stared down by an even stiffer Vulcan. No one was saying a word. Finally, the Vulcan turned with a smart snap of the heels, and clicked out of sickbay.
"Are you all right, Mr. Reed?" Phlox asked.
"I have to go now," Malcolm said, and briskly walked away.
"Mr. Tucker?"
"Bye." And was gone, too.
Phlox turned back to his egg. "Was it something I said?"