Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Introduction
(Similar to that of "A Matter of Time" but I ask you to read it nonetheless, to avoid misunderstandings. Thank you.)

I came relatively late to Star Trek: in the late 1980s, in fact. It took TOS that long to find its way to us, behind the Iron Curtain. And though I was already familiar with other sci-fi series, namely the original Battlestar Galactica (the one and only for me), Space 1999 and The Time Tunnel, I was instantly hooked. And to the current day, TOS has remained and will always be my absolute favourite. Despite the cardboard sets, the silly costumes and the often less than stellar writing. Because the stories and the characters were awesome, even though I could never warm up to Captain Kirk.

I liked The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine on their own. I mourned Voyager's many wasted possibilities. I was ambivalent towards the TOS-movies and hated the TNG ones, especially what they did to Zefram Cochrane in "First Contact". I didn't even bother to watch "Nemesis". I'm only telling this so that you can understand where I come from.

When Enterprise was announced, at first I had high hopes. Those, however, didn't last beyond the pilot. I was terribly disappointed by the whole series. It took me four tries to actually watch all of it, though there were a few things that I really enjoyed. Very few of them.

So, if you intend to read this story (which would delight me no end), here are a few serious warnings:

This is a canon AU, meaning that I take TOS canon as my rule of orientation and adjust Enterprise events to that. Which means a different view on certain events, characters and species. Like Zefram Cochrane or the Vulcans, for example.

Although I've adopted some events and a certain amount of onscreen dialogue from the series pilot, this is not a novelization of "Broken Bow". That has already been done professionally. This is a different story that won't even include any Klingons. Because, let's be honest, Klingons have been done ad nauseam, and I wanted something new.

While I work with the canon command staff, I've made some background changes, and I've also recast Captain Archer. In this story, he's called Jack and is "played" by John Barrowman (because a hero ought to have a lot of charisma) and is a bit different personality-wise. Something between Jonathan Archer and Jack Harkness.

Crewman Daniels has been promoted to Petty Officer, is the quartermaster of the ship and "played" by Gareth David-Lloyd. Other Torchwood-inspired original characters will make short appearances, just for fun. If such changes are not to your liking, please do us both a favour and hit the Back button, now. Otherwise – enjoy!

Beta read by the wonderful and generous LoyaulteMeLie, whom I owe my gratitude. All remaining mistakes are exclusively mine.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 01 – Pre-Launch Complications

It was the Earth year 2151. The TSA – NX01* starship Enterprise, based off Terra, the third planet of the Sol system, was about to leave the orbital spacedock, preparing to become the first Earth ship that would reach – and hopefully exceed – warp 5. Careful preparations had been underway for the big test for quite some time.

The humans were ecstatic, of course, and who could have blamed them? They had been waiting for this moment for almost a century – practically since the day they had made official First Contact with the Vulcans. But not everyone was happy to see them boldly go out to the stars; and some of the naysayers were more powerful than any human might have suspected.

Nor were they necessarily the people whom the humans had suspected. Which did not make the work of the mediators any easier, to put it mildly.

In the voluntary isolation of his office in Sausalito, Ambassador Soval of Vulcan was looking out into the barren gardens of the compound, beautiful in their naked simplicity. This particular complex of buildings, which served both as the Vulcan embassy and the general headquarters of the large Vulcan contingent on Earth, was strongly reminiscent of an ancient Vulcan monastery.

A fortified one.

Only its gardens – well, some of them at least – had been inspired by a small slice of human culture, namely, Japanese stone gardens.

Many of the Vulcans dwelling on Earth in some official capacity found them well-suited for meditation purposes. That they also reminded them of their hot and arid home planet was something they never discussed. Homesickness was an emotion and therefore utterly illogical. No self-respecting Vulcan would ever admit indulging in it. Few of them would ever admit, even to themselves, that logic wasn't the ultimate answer to everything.

Soval himself was one of the few who – reluctantly – accepted that sometimes a different approach could be more efficient. Especially when dealing with other species that were not as devoted to logic as his fellow Vulcans. In his more than thirty years on Earth, and before them several decades as an intelligence officer, he had met many aliens who were steered by different motivations and still managed well enough.

It would have been illogical to expect them to give up their time-proved ways and follow the Vulcan path, even if it was vastly superior.

Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations – that was the principle Surak had taught his people; and personally, Soval thought that this principle should be followed when dealing with other species.

Needless to say, many other Vulcans did not agree with his opinions. His own diplomatic attaché, S'toss, was, unfortunately, rather narrow-minded and regarded humans with the deepest contempt.

Given that S'toss was quite new on Earth, Soval could not really blame him. Humans were everything Vulcans were not – loud, rude, illogical, highly emotional, quarrelsome and often shockingly violent. One had to spend much time with them – and keep an open mind – to realize that they could just as easily be generous, brave, curious, adventurous, loyal and occasionally surprisingly insightful. Sadly, there was little chance – about 9.63 per cent, in Soval's estimate – that S'toss would ever come to the same realization.

Sometimes Soval had the impression that he was fighting a war on two fronts. Dealing with the prejudices and self-proclaimed superiority of his diplomatic attaché was almost as exhausting as enduring the absurd accusations of Starfleet – the military branch of the Terran Space Agency – that Vulcans were deliberately hindering their deep space exploration program by holding back much-needed information.

If they only knew! If they had the slightest idea who was really behind all those hindrances and why! But, of course, the very reason for using Vulcan mediators was to keep the humans unaware of the true forces that had been struggling for dominance in the recent decades.

Ignorance was truly a blessing in this particular case, as it kept them uninvolved and therefore safe.

Unfortunately, ignorance also led to resentment. The humans wanted to leave their cradle behind, wanted to go out to the stars and see the wonders of the universe. It was in their nature to do so, and all they could see was that the Vulcans would not allow them to follow their dream.

As a result, Vulcans were not the most popular people on Earth; not that they would want to win such a ridiculous contest. Still, that resentful attitude did not make it easy to make the humans listen to reason. Not even for their own good.

And now they were about to launch their first warp 5 ship. Once they had done so, they would be unstoppable… unless one wanted to bomb them back to the Stone Age. They were quite the invincible species that thrived on challenges, and once on their chosen path they rarely backed off.

The Viseeth were not happy about it. But there was nigh to nothing they could have done to stop humankind.

His doorbell rang. He did not need to glance at the clock; his inner timer told him that T'Pol would be coming to fetch him for their shared evening meditation in the garden.

"Enter," he said, expecting his science attaché to walk in.

Instead, it was S'toss who stood on the threshold.

"Ambassador, we have a problem," he said without preamble, his deeply lined, ascetic face grim. "Gerasen Gerasal has returned – but the humans have them."

Soval blinked. Repeatedly. This was indeed unexpected – not to mention highly alarming. Humans were not supposed to have any contact with the Viseeth. Not yet. Not for a long time yet.

"Give me details," he ordered, sitting back at his desk.

With the usual Vulcan efficiency, S'toss did as he had been told, and the ambassador's mood would have hit rock bottom, had he allowed himself such frivolities. Being a Vulcan of spotless discipline, he merely closed his eyes for a moment before calling his aide and ordering a ground vehicle.

He would have to go to Starfleet Medical and try to make the Joint Chiefs of Staff to see reason – an undertaking the success of which he calculated a 34.7 per cent possibility.

And that was a very optimistic calculation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the orbital spacedock above Earth, the brand new starship Enterprise was undergoing the finishing touches before her maiden voyage. For Captain Jonathan Archer – Jack for his friends; a group that included ninety per cent of all people who knew him, unless they were Vulcans – it was a childhood dream come true.

His father, Henry Archer, had been the primary developer of the first warp engine capable of reaching warp 5 and one of the principal designers of the Enterprise-NX01. Jack had learned how to build model starships by the age of eight and had not lost the dream for the stars ever since.

Henry Archer, together with Dr Takasi and other scientists, had become a close co-worker of Zefram Cochrane in developing the warp 5 engine. When Cochrane, bitterly disappointed by the constant meddling of the Vulcans that had prevented him from making the dream of his life reality, had returned to Alpha Centauri VII on board a visiting Centaurian ship, Henry Archer took over the leading of the project. For years the two had exchanged messages, but then came the news that Cochrane had left his home planet, destination unknown. He was never seen again.

Henry Archer had died from advanced Clarke's Disease in 2124, robbed of the chance to actually construct his engine, as the Vulcans had continued to hold back the development of the warp 5 program. But now his son was finally on the verge of fulfilling their shared dreams.

Jack Archer was a tall, imposing man just beyond forty, with the right height and breadth to fill out a uniform – any uniform – most flatteringly, with boyish good looks, spiky brown hair, vibrant blue eyes and more even, blindingly white teeth than any man should legally be allowed to own. He also had the matching charm to go with those devastatingly good looks and was generally considered the 'poster boy' of Starfleet.

At the moment, though, he looked considerably less imposing, cramped as he was into the tiny cockpit of an orbital inspection pod, together with his closest friend and chief engineer, Commander Charles Tucker III – a Southerner in his early thirties, who was known to use his off-beat humour to disarm people.

Tucker, simply called Charlie by almost everyone, was a head or so shorter than Jack and more lightly built – a blue-eyed blond, with a slightly mischievous face, and the best engineer since Zefram Cochrane himself. Or so people said, and he agreed with that statement without false modesty. He might not have been part of the team that had constructed the warp 5 engine, but he certainly knew it inside out. Well enough to take it apart with his own hands, blindfolded, and put it together again.

This, however, did not prevent him – or Jack, for that matter – from exhibiting a sense of wonder and excitement as the orbital pod approached the spacedock, revealing thus a small section of what would soon be their ship.

The Enterprise. The first Earth-built starship that would go beyond the speed of warp 5; the speed necessary for real, honest-to-Earth deep space exploration. Their key card to the stars.

Tucker steered the pod so that it would fly along the underside of the hull, and they both looked up through the ceiling portal of the pod to admire the section they could see.

"Ventral plating team says they'll be done in about three days," Charlie commented softly.

Jack nodded. "Be sure they match the colour to the nacelle housings," he said. "I want a good-looking ship; a real beauty."

Charlie laughed. "You aiming to sit on the hull and pose for some postcards?"

Jack cut a heroic pose and grinned from ear to ear. "You think I couldn't pull it off?"

Charlie just shook his head and kept laughing. "You're so vain!" he said.

Jack shrugged. "What can I say? It's a gift." Then he became serious again, still looking upwards to inspect the hull once more, and his expression softened visibly. "God, she's beautiful!"

"And fast," Charlie added with a proud grin. "Warp four point five next Thursday…"

"Neptune and back in six minutes," Jack said, awed. "Assuming you're mad enough to go to warp inside a solar system."

"Zefram Cochrane did, with his first warp engine," Charlie pointed out.

Jack made a grimace. "Yeah, and nearly blew up the sun in the process," he reminded his friend. "He conveniently forgot that Earth is a lot closer to its sun than his home planet. And that was by warp 1! Let's just stick to impulse until we've cleared Jupiter; I'd prefer to leave both the ship and the planet intact."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" Charlie teased.

"I misplaced it on my fortieth birthday, apparently," Jack said. "Can we take a look at the lateral sensor array?"

"Give me a sec," Charlie whipped the control throttle to his left with flourish… with a little more flourish than strictly necessary. The orbital pod rolled steeply to a ninety-degree angle as it continued along the side of the hull.

Jack looked a little queasy – as a spaceship pilot he was used to larger cockpits where he could stretch his legs, at least, and could fly the vessel himself. He definitely didn't feel comfortable in such a tiny vessel. Charlie knew that, of course, and enjoyed his friend's slight discomfort. He wasn't a mean-natured man, but he liked to bring Jack's overconfidence down a peg from time to time.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid of flying," he grinned.

Jack shot him a baleful look. "If I'm afraid of anything, it's the scrambled eggs I had for breakfast."

"Pretty soon you'll be dreaming about scrambled eggs," Charlie said darkly. "I hear the new resequenced protein isn't much of an improvement."

"Don't worry," Jack replied. "My number one staffing priority was finding the right chef. I think you'll be impressed by Crewman Williams. And I happen to know that our quartermaster brews the best coffee on the planet. It's a marvel."

Charlie rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. "Your galley's more important to you than your warp core. That's a confidence-builder."

"A starship runs on its stomach, Charlie," Jack said absent-mindedly; something had caught his attention. "Slow down. There. Those are the ports that buckled during the last test. They need to be reinforced."

Charlie nodded, grabbed a stylus and a PADD and made a note. With his hands off the controls, the pod drifted slightly towards the Enterprise, until it bumped gently into the hull.

Charlie winced. "Sorry."

Jack craned his neck to inspect the point of impact.

"Great! You scratched the paint," he complained in the accusing tone of an automobile aficionado whose beloved oldtimer had just been damaged. Before Charlie could apologize again, however, the comm. unit chirped.

He tapped a control. "Orbital Six."

"Captain Archer, sir?" a comm. voice asked. A very nervous voice.

"Go ahead," Jack said, with the sinking feeling of impending doom.

He was soon proved right.

"Admiral Forrest needs you at Starfleet Medical right away, sir", the nameless voice told him, obviously relieved.

"Tell him we're on our way." Jack broke the connection and looked at his friend and chief engineer unhappily. "What do you think this could mean, Charlie?"

"There's only one way to find out," Charlie replied philosophically.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Rhys Williams could barely believe his luck when the official note from Starfleet arrived, informing him that he'd been selected as Chef for the brand new, experimental warp 5 ship. Not that he wouldn't be up to it – on the contrary. He was a bloody gifted cook, if he might say so himself. And why shouldn't he? It was the truth, after all.

And that turned out to be a disadvantage. The brass wanted him at Headquarters all the time, to enjoy his excellent cooking themselves. Especially as he had established himself as an expert of alien cuisine early on. Even the Vulcans declared his cooking "acceptable", which was the greatest praise one could expect from them.

But Rhys Williams hadn't joined Starfleet, hadn't left his native Wales, hadn't resettled to bloody San Francisco to stay there. He wanted to see the stars, dammit, to see new worlds, meet aliens in their own environment, not just at diplomatic events on Earth.

Now it seemed that his long-nurtured dream would come true. His Tad and his Mam were excited about the news and very proud of him... though also a bit worried. Sadly, Charys – his long-time girlfriend – found this the last straw and broke up with him, saying that a long-distance relationship that counted in light years instead of miles was simply not her thing and she was fed up with his 'daft obsession' anyway.

Rhys didn't really mind. This meant he was free now, and no force on Earth could keep him grounded any longer.

He was undeniably nervous as he went down the corridor connecting Enterprise with the spacedock. At the end of it he was stopped by an armed guard in a Starfleet uniform, who asked his name and his business there. Once he handed over his IDC, he was finally admitted into the ship.

"Quartermaster's office's on Deck D, Section 4," the guard told him, explaining the shortest way to get there.

On his way down he couldn't help noticing that the ship still made a somewhat unfinished impression. The walls were bare steel, no paint on them, the floors weren't carpeted at all... and Captain Archer wanted to launch in three days? Rhys sincerely hoped that the engines were in a better shape.

Reaching the quartermaster's office, he knocked and was called in. Behind the unmarked door was an almost claustrophobically small room with barely any furniture in it; unless one considered a fully computerized desk, a rolling chair and an old-fashioned coffee machine – the latter proudly displayed on its own small table, together with other coffee-making paraphernalia – as furniture.

A surprisingly young man with a round, friendly face, observant blue eyes and a slightly upturned nose sat behind the desk, his uniform as crisp as if it had just been freshly laundered and pressed, every single lock of his brown hair in neat order. Upon Rhys's entering, he put away the stylus he was working with on a touch-screen and rose.

"Crewman Williams, I presume," he said with a friendly smile and extended a hand. "Welcome aboard. I'm Petty Officer Ifan Daniels."

He had the same soft Welsh lilt in his voice as Rhys himself, which surprised the newly minted chef. In his four years in San Francisco he had never met a fellow Welshman.

"You're Welsh too?" he blurted out.

Petty Officer Daniels grinned. "Born and raised and damn proud of it, yeah. Lately from Cardiff but actually born in Newport. And you?"

"I hail from Bangor but lived in Cardiff for a long time, too," Rhys grinned right back. "Man, that's great! You're the first landsman I've ever met here. Are there more of us aboard?"

"Just Crewman Cooper from Maintenance, but she's from Swansea and doesn't actually speak Welsh; not much anyway," Daniels explained. "And then there is Lieutenant Reed, who's English to the marrow of his bones and not a particularly sociable bloke. Seeing that he's the chief of security that probably isn't a bad thing; though he does seem to have a stick up his arse. Or more likely an iron rod," he added with a grin.

"That's the English for you," Rhys nodded sagely. "I'll stick to my actual landsmen, then. I s'pose you and me'll get to work together a lot."

"Quite often, in fact," Daniels replied. "I'll be dubbing as the Captain's personal steward, too."

"How's that?" Rhys asked in surprise.

Daniels shrugged. "He likes my coffee. I offered him a cup, he called it 'orgasmic' and declared that my talents are wasted in this office. I think if commanding officers still had manservants he'd draft me for the job."

Rhys frowned. "He fancies you? Ain't there rules against that sort of thing in the 'Fleet?"

Daniels laughed. "I don't think he does. As far as I can tell, he flirts with everything that has a pulse; it's like breathing for him, but one doesn't need to take it seriously. I think he regularly drives the Vulcans mad with it,"

"That's hardly something we should worry about," Rhys said. "Not on this ship."

"I'm not so sure," Daniels said thoughtfully. "If I've learned anything about Vulcans, they're nothing if not persistent; and sneaky. I wouldn't be surprised if they managed to put one of them on the ship. So you better freshen up your vegetarian recipes; you might end up preparing veggies on a daily basis."

"Are there other vegetarians among the crew?"

"A few that I know of. But unlike Vulcans, they're willing to eat fish. I'll give you a list."

"Do Vulcans require a completely vegan diet all the time?"

"Yes. They refuse to kill other living things to eat; or so they say."

"But plants are living things, too," Rhys pointed out. "What's the logic in that?"

"Apparently, Vulcan logic draws the line at life forms that can run away or fight back," Daniels commented dryly. "Don't ask me."

"I won't," Rhys said agreeably. "I'd like to know about galley staff, though."

"Crewman Cunningham will be your full-time aide," Daniels told him. "He isn't the gifted cook you are but has worked both on ship's galleys and in planetary barracks for six years and has managed to get on with everybody and not to poison anyone. The rest of your staff will rotate between the stewards and maintenance; menial tasks don't require trained personnel."

Rhys nodded in agreement. "All right. I'll settle in my quarters, which will take about ten minutes; then I'll take a look at the galley. Doing the inventory and stuff."

"Inventory lists have already been transferred to the galley terminal," Daniels said. "I'll send you the list of vegetarians and other specific requirements, like known food allergies, shortly."

"Known favourites would be helpful, too," Rhys said.

"I'll look into it," Daniels promised. "Right now I can only tell you that Commander Tucker is very fond of pecan pie."

"That's a beginning," Rhys promised. "Thanks, Petty Officer."

"The name's Ifan," Daniel corrected, smiling. "Or Ianto, if that's what you prefer. We're Welsh; we ought to stick together."

"That's hardly appropriate towards a superior officer," Rhys said, concerned.

Daniels shrugged. "I'm a non-comm, just like you. There's no need to stand on ceremony." He handed Rhys a PADD. "Here's everything you'll need for the first time. For anything else, just ask me. I know everything. That's my job," he added with a wink.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Jack reached Starfleet Medical, an aide took him immediately to an ICU anteroom: a dimly-lit chamber with a large window looking into an IC room of the highest technical level the institution had to offer.

On the biobed the most unusual creature was lying, unconscious, with countless tubes and monitoring devices attached to its slender body. Despite not wearing any clothes, it didn't appear naked, because its dark mahogany skin was covered with an elaborate pattern of meandering white lines and patches. Besides, it did not have any visible external genitalia. A small team of doctors and nurses were busily tending to it while two armed security guards in Starfleet uniforms stood watch.

In the anteroom, a heated discussion was taking place upon Jack's arrival, between three Starfleet officers and three alien dignitaries. A fourth alien – startlingly similar in appearance to the patient in the ICU room, but wearing some kind of uniform – was standing in the background, as if it were a mere observer.

Jack recognized the three officers as Admiral Maxwell Forrest, Admiral Daniel Leonard and Commander Williams (not even remotely related to his newly hired galley chef, of course). The flowing robes, pale skin and pointed ears of the three dignitaries revealed them as Vulcans. One of them was Ambassador Soval, a well-known fixture at Starfleet Headquarters whom Jack had known since childhood, and he had already met the ambassador's new aide, a completely humourless guy named S'toss. The third one, a coldly attractive woman, was unknown to him.

And he had never seen one of these unusual people before, with their strangely flecked and patterned skin. They looked like they were covered in giraffe hide... or cow, more accurately.

Jack entered the observation room just in time to hear Commander Williams, a handsome, middle-aged, olive-skinned man with jet-black hair, demanding angrily:

"Who was chasing him... her... whatever?"

"We do not know." Soval, like most Vulcans, could have been of any age between forty and a hundred and eighty, but his iron grey hair revealed that he had most likely passed two hundred already. Vulcans rarely started greying before hitting their second century.

Unless it was a premature effect, caused by the stress of his current assignment, that is.

"They were incinerated in the methane explosion, and the farmer's description was vague at best," he added.

Admiral Leonard found that answer less than satisfactory, if the redness of his round face was any indication.

"How did they get here?" he insisted. "What kind of ship?"

"They were using some kind of stealth technology." S'toss, the ambassador's aide, had a hollow, deeply-lined face and looked, in fact, older than Soval, despite his still black hair. "We are still analyzing our sensor logs."

"I'd like to see those logs," Commander Williams said with deceptive calmness. Jack knew better, though. Williams represented Starfleet Intelligence and counted as one of the most dangerous people on the planet.

Ambassador Soval seemed mildly agitated by the idea, shooting the quiet observer in the background an uneasy glance.

"The Viseeth made it very clear that they want us to expedite this."

"It happened on our soil!" Admiral Leonard's already flushed face became an alarming shade of red, and his moustache trembled with ill- concealed anger.

"That is irrelevant," S'toss replied stiffly.

Admiral Forrest, who had listened to the debate with a certain level of resignation, found it prudent to intervene before his colleague completely lost it and wrung the Vulcan aide's scrawny neck... or something like that. Not that it would have been such a great loss, but it would have led to all sorts of diplomatic problems.

"Ambassador, with all due respect, we have a right to know what's going on here," he said in a calm, even voice. "This is still supposed to be our planet. We need to be able to protect ourselves from a possible invasion."

"You will be apprised of all pertinent information," Soval said, looking vaguely offended.

Commander Williams gave him a thin, wintry smile.

"And just who gets to decide what's 'pertinent' information?" he asked mildly.

Jack chose this moment to stroll into the observation room and nodded at Admiral Forrest in greeting. "Admiral…"

The conversation stopped and everyone turned to him.

"Jack." Forrest nodded back in obvious relief. "I think you know everyone."

"Not everyone." Jack walked to the window and looked down at the intricately patterned creature on the biobed. Then he looked at the similar being in the background, and finally at the Vulcan woman. "Care to make the introductions, Admiral?"

"Subcommander T'Pol is a science attaché to the Vulcan contingent headquartered in San Francisco," Forrest explained.

The Vulcan woman nodded in greeting, which Jack simply returned. There was no use wasting his charm on one of the pointy-eared icicles. He'd learned that the hard way long ago.

"And the… patient?" he asked.

"It's a Wisent," Admiral Leonard said, making a face as if the word left a bad aftertaste in his mouth.

"A Viseeth," S'toss corrected with an ill-concealed sneer.

Leonard shrugged in indifference. Jack looked from the patient to the alien in the background, then back at the admiral, questioningly.

"Where'd they come from?"

"Oklahoma," Commander Williams replied laconically.

Jack's jaw hit the floor with an almost audible thud.

"At least our patient here does," Admiral Forrest explained. "A corn farmer named Moore shot her with a plasma rifle. Says it was an accident."

Jack looked down at the patient again. "Her? That's a woman?"

If it was, she certainly lacked some significant bits of female anatomy.

"Man… woman… neither, actually… or both," Commander Williams said. "It's all the same with them. We decided to refer to them as she; it's easier that way."

Jack whirled around and glared at the commander in suspicion. "You've met these people before?"

"Not directly." Williams shot the quiet observer in the background a glare of unabashed disdain. "They're not the most forthcoming people. They prefer using Vulcan mediators in their dealings with other species. We've heard of them, yes, but this is the first time I've actually seen one."

"Be grateful that Ambassador Soval and I have maintained close contact with Berengaria VIII since the incident occurred," S'toss said haughtily.

"Berengaria VIII?" Jack echoed. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though he was quite sure that no Earth ship had ever been there.

"Apparently, it's the Viseeth homeworld," Williams told him.

"This gentleman… lady… whatever… is some sort of courier," Forrest added. "Evidently, she was carrying crucial information back to her people."

"When she was nearly killed by your farmer," Soval commented pointedly.

There was a short, uncomfortable silence, then Admiral Forrest cleared his throat. "Ambassador Soval thinks it would be best if we put off your launch until we've cleared this up," he said carefully.

"Well, isn't that a surprise?" Jack drawled with a wide, unpleasant smile. "You'd think they'd have come up with something a little more imaginative this time. After all, they've been playing this game all my life."

Soval did that… thing with his eyebrow Vulcans usually do; that thing that suggested an eyeroll without actually rolling his eyes.

"Sarcasm aside, Captain, the last thing your people need is to make an enemy of the Viseeth Assembly," he warned.

Jack had the impression that he meant it.

"If we had not convinced them to let us take the corpse of their courier back to Berengaria VIII, Earth would have much bigger problems to face than our so-called 'meddling'," S'toss added nastily.

"Corpse?" Jack repeated with a frown. "Is she dead?"

He didn't wait for an answer, walking to the door leading to the ICU instead. He opened it and signalled to one of the doctors, who approached readily enough.

"Excuse me," Jack said to the doctor, a humanoid alien in hospital garb, with a high forehead and ridges running up from the outside of his eye sockets. Is this… creature dead?"

The alien doctor shrugged, not questioning his security clearance in the matter.

"Her autonomic system was disrupted by the blast but his redundant neural functions are still intact, which…" he began with a slight, distinctive accent, but Jack interrupted him.

"Is she going to die from these injuries?"

The doctor shrugged again. "Not necessarily."

"Thank you, that's all I needed to know," Jack turned back to the observation room to challenge the Vulcans directly. "Let me get this straight... you're going to disconnect this… person from life support... even though she could recover. Now, where's the logic in that?"

"We're doing no such thing," Soval replied coldly. "The Viseeth need the information this person is carrying. A member of the Assembly has come to extract that information telepathically. In the circumstances, there is a ninety-six point seven probability that the process will have a lethal effect on the courier. Unfortunately."

"And you'd let them do it?" Jack asked in shocked disbelief.

"We do not condone it," Soval said tonelessly. "But it is their decision. If you understood the complexities of interstellar diplomacy you would…"

"So that's your diplomatic solution?" Jack interrupted, his temper rising. "To close both eyes and let them do what they want? Allow this other one to take the patient's mind apart and throw the rest of her away like a broken, empty shell?"

Unlike Soval, who seemed decidedly uncomfortable with the solution, S'toss remained completely unfazed. "Your metaphor is crude, but accurate."

Jack gave him a smile full of teeth – the unveiled threat in it would have made a Klingon flinch.

"We may be crude, but at least we don't condone murder!" He turned to the Starfleet brass. "You're not going to let them do this, are you?"

"The Viseeth demand immediate access to the courier's mind," Soval said. "They also want the body back, without delay."

Jack ignored him, glaring at Forrest instead. "Admiral?"

"We… may need to defer to their judgement," replied the admiral carefully. "They've been dealing with the Viseeth for a long time and know them better than we do."

"We've been deferring to their judgement for a hundred years!" Jack snapped. "They've held back our space exploration with flimsy excuses from the start."

"Jack!" Forrest tried to soothe him, but Jack had had enough. He knew he was crossing the line but he couldn't help himself.

"How much longer?" he demanded. "How much longer are we letting them dictate us what we may or may not do on our own damn planet?"

The Vulcan science attaché gave him a cold, judgemental look. "Until you've proven you're ready," she said.

Jack bit back his usual reply 'I've been born ready' as the Vulcan probably wouldn't have understood the innuendo anyway. The pointy-eared clowns had no sense of humour.

"Ready to what?" he asked with an unpleasant smile.

She looked up to him through her impossibly long eyelashes. For a supposedly unemotional Vulcan it was an almost sensual gesture. Almost.

"To look beyond your provincial attitudes and volatile nature," she replied in a condescending manner.

"Volatile?" Jack laughed. He stepped closer, deliberately violating her comfort zone and took unashamed delight in her discomposure. "Sweetheart, you have no idea how much I'm restraining myself from knocking you on your pretty ass." He enjoyed her discomfort a moment longer, then he turned back to the admirals. "These… cow people are anxious to get their courier back? Fine. I can have my ship ready to go in three days. We'll take her home... alive. What the others do with her afterwards is their decision."

Soval gave him a glare that was, surprisingly enough, more worried than condescending. "This is no time to be imposing your ethical beliefs, Captain Archer."

"At least we still have some," Jack retorted, "despite being all barbarians in your eyes."

Forrest, ignoring them both, turned to Admiral Leonard. "What do you think, Dan?"

Leonard, too, seemed more than a bit unsure.

"What about your crew, Jack?" he asked. "Your communications officer has to be replaced. You haven't even selected a science officer or a CMO yet".

"Three days, that's all I need," Jack said confidently.

The Vulcans seemed fairly alarmed by this; Soval particularly did not seem to believe what he was hearing.

"Admiral..." he began to protest, but Forrest was very obviously fed up with all that Vulcan interference.

"We've been waiting nearly a century, Ambassador," he said. "This seems as good a time as any to get started."

"Listen to me!" Soval insisted, a bit more agitated than it would be strictly acceptable for a Vulcan. "You're making a mistake!"

Jack couldn't hold back any longer. The laughter simply bubbled out of him. Actually, it was more than just laughter; it was, in fact, a high-pitched, fairly embarrassing giggle.

"When your logic doesn't work, you raise your voice?" he taunted the Vulcan. "Obviously, you've been on Earth too long."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As the Vulcans left with annoyed huffs – well, the blank-faced Vulcan equivalent of it anyway – and with their silent observer in tow, Admiral Forrest turned to Jack with a gleam in his eye that had not been there before.

"I had a feeling their approach wouldn't sit too well with you," he said with a crooked smile.

"You did it deliberately," Jack realized, his wide, white grin reaching his eyes for the first time. "You counted on this result, that's why you called me in!"

The admiral laughed. "Guilty as charged."

"You're a sneaky bastard, sir," Jack declared with pure admiration.

"I am," Forrest admitted readily. "I'm as fed up with this constant Vulcan meddling as you are. But Jack… this is probably the most important mission in the history of Starfleet. The first time we really get out to the stars on our own. Don't screw this up."

"I won't," Jack said simply.

"Good," Forrest nodded. "Now, off with you and get ready; you've got an awful lot to do and only three days to get it done. We'll keep the… err… patient safe for you."

"May I ask, Captain, who's your current choice as a communications officer?" Commander Williams asked softly in the last moment.

Jack, nearly out of the door, turned back, his jaw set. "Hoshi Sato," he replied promptly.

The intelligence officer shook his head. "Impossible. Choose somebody else. There are plenty of good linguists in Starfleet."

"Yeah, but none of them is an exolinguist who speaks thirty-two languages, including several Vulcan dialects," Jack pointed out.

"None of them sits in prison for high treason, either," Williams reminded him.

Jack shrugged. "There were extenuating circumstances. They had her mother!"

"You can't have a felon as a member of your senior staff, Jack!" Admiral Leonard said, frustrated.

"Yes, I can," Jack returned. "If you folks had her records wiped clean."

"Why would we want to do that?" Williams asked reasonably.

"Because she's the best," Jack argued. "She can instinctively understand the syntax of the oddest alien languages and has an ear more sensitive than the best instruments. I need her."

Forrest shook his head. "It won't work, Jack. Not even if we pulled all strings we can. According to reports, she's developed severe claustrophobia in prison."

"Being shut into a windowless two by three metre cell for an indefinite time could do that to a person," Jack commented dryly.

"And you think she'll be able to endure shut into a spaceship for years?" the admiral asked doubtfully.

Jack shrugged again. "A spaceship is a helluva lot bigger than a prison cell."

"It won't be easy to pull those strings," Williams warned. "Starfleet Intelligence doesn't take high treason lightly. My superiors may have their problems with the very idea."

"And rightly so," Jack allowed. "In this particular case, however, you can use the Vulcans as a pressure tool. Soval has worked with her during the Klingon crisis and was impressed by her abilities… well, as impressed as a Vulcan could ever be by a lowly human."

"I doubt Ambassador Soval would lie for us, saying he requested Sato as part of the mission," Forrest commented dryly.

"That's not necessary," Jack said. "The point is, she's used to working with Vulcans. She speaks their main dialects; and should they plant a spy on board for our first mission somehow, if this person tries to send secret messages to the Vulcan High Command, Hoshi will find and decrypt them. We'll need that advantage."

"She's not a decryption specialist," Williams said.

"Not officially, she isn't," Jack agreed. "But her grandfather used to be one, and he taught her and her brothers a good deal. Against her extraordinary hearing, not even a Vulcan will have a chance. And she worked on the updated version of the universal translator for a long time, and can work around any bugs the thing might still have."

The admirals knew that Jack was right. That still didn't mean it would be easy to haul Hoshi Sato out of prison. High treason was a serious offence, no matter the motivation. Still, a compromise should have been possible here.

"If we do this, she won't get back her rank," Forrest said. "She'll have to start from the bottom again, as a lowly Ensign."

"I think that will be the last of her concerns," Jack said dryly.

"And she'll have her freedom restricted," the intelligence officer added. "To the ship and wherever else duty calls her. Nowhere alone. And no contact with her family, especially with her mother, except recorded messages that will be thoroughly examined before sending them."

"By whom?" Jack asked.

"By the intelligence officer we've already assigned to this mission." At Jack's attempt to protest, Williams raised a hand to stop him. "Be reasonable, Captain. Due to the fairly delicate nature of this mission you will need an intelligence officer on board."

"And you just happen to have a candidate," Jack said bitterly.

"We do," Williams admitted, indicating that he was speaking for his superiors, too. "One who's a trained security officer, an excellent marksman and knows more about the weapons systems of your ship than the engineers who've built it. You've chosen well, Captain."

Jack stared at him in confusion – until realization hit like a brick wall. "Lieutenant Reed? He's one of you?"

Williams nodded. "We all started at Starfleet Security. He'll do a good job."

Jack hesitated for a moment, but he knew that in the end he'd have to give in. Besides, an intelligence officer he knew was better than any spies they might plant on his ship without his knowledge.

"All right, I understand," he finally said. "And I'm sure Hoshi will, too."

"I still can't promise anything for certain," Williams clarified. "Section 31 will have their concerns; and rightly so. But I'll do what I can. You'll have my answer within two hours."

Notes:
TSA is an abbreviation for "Terran Space Agency", basically the control authority of Starfleet. Not a canon term, of course.
Ambassador Soval's aide is called Toss in canon. I added an 'S'-prefix, to fit Vulcan tradition.
Originally, Trip was supposed to be called Charlie by everyone.
It is established in DS9 that going to warp inside a solar system could trigger the system's sun to go nova.

Chapter Text

Chapter 02 – Compromises

Had Ambassador Soval been anything but a Vulcan, he would have felt a great deal of satisfaction from the discomfort of Admiral Forrest. As a Vulcan, he stood above such petty feelings – above any feelings in general – of course. Still, seeing the human squirm did give him a sense of tolerant amusement, and he was determined not to give the man what he needed… not without a price, that is.

"How can I be of assistance today, Admiral?" he asked politely.

Maxwell Forrest gave him a baleful look. "As if you didn't know already."

"Indeed I do," Soval admitted. "However, official requests still need to be voiced, as you know, Admiral. So; what, exactly, do you want from me?"

"Information," Forrest tried to curb his anger; from a human, it was an impressive – albeit futile – attempt. "I need to know everything there's to know about the Berengaria system; and how to get there."

"To tell you everything would require several of your weeks; a time span that you definitely do not have at the moment," Soval steepled his fingers in the stereotypical Vulcan gesture of contemplation. "I can, however, give you the basics. Berengaria is a red giant, orbited by thirteen planets. The seventh and eighth are both Minshara-class; the other eleven are actually huge asteroids with no atmosphere. Berengaria Seven has three moons, named simply Alpha, Beta and Gamma... or rather after the equivalent three letters of the Viseeth alphabet, which would have no meaning for you. These are the only natural satellites in the system."

"Do both M-class planets have sentient life?" the admiral asked.

"No," Soval replied. The dominant inhabitants of Berengaria Seven are a species of winged reptiles, which measure nine to fifteen feet in length. Fortunately, they are docile and strictly herbivorous. The Viseeth gave them a name that has the same meaning as the English word dragon; though, of course, they are by no means mythical creatures."

"But they don't live on the same planet as these dragon things, do they?" Forrest asked.

"Not originally, no, though they have long established large colonies on Berengaria Seven as well," Soval explained. "The two Minshara-class planets are so close to each other that they are clearly visible on each other's night sky like large moons. Berengaria Seven is a lush jungle world. Berengaria Eight, the actual Viseeth homeworld, is only marginally cooler and drier. Aesthetically both planets are quite appealing, even though the high vapour levels in their atmosphere are challenging for the Vulcan system that has developed on a desert world."

"So you've been there?" Forrest clarified.

Soval nodded. "Of course. Vulcan and Berengaria Eight have maintained diplomatic relations for several millennia. The Viseeth are one of the oldest species in our quadrant of the galaxy."

"Does this mean that you can provide us with the coordinates and the necessary star charts to the Berengaria System?" the admiral pressed on.

"We can; and we will," Soval declared with dignity. "Under one condition; which, I fear, your friend Captain Archer will not like."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As almost everything a Vulcan had ever said, that predicament was an understatement. In this particular case it could have been called the understatement of the century. Jack Archer all but exploded into the face of his commanding officer upon hearing the news.

"They want us to do what?" he demanded.

"They want you to take Subcommander T'Pol with you as your temporary science officer," Forrest repeated calmly.

"I don't need a science officer!" Jack exclaimed angrily.

"Yes, you do," Forrest replied. "Every ship built for deep space exploration needs one; more than just one, in fact. And you don't even have a single one yet."

"Well, I certainly won't choose a Vulcan; and one from Soval's lackeys, at that!" Jack growled. "Besides, this is not the actual mission yet. We'll just deliver the cow lady... gentleman... whatever to their home planet; then we turn around and come back."

Forrest raised both eyebrows. "You don't see the first ever visit to a previously unknown planet as part of your mission? Jack, you disappoint me!" Jack grinned involuntarily, and the admiral continued. "However, to get there in the first place you'll need the Vulcan star charts. Which they're only giving us if you take her along for the trip. It is that simple."

"To spy on us," Jack muttered angrily.

The admiral nodded. "Most likely, yes. But it's only for this one trip, Jack. Once you're back, she'll be gone. And she's a scientist. A good one; I've seen her credentials. She might prove useful."

"A bloody nuisance, more likely," Jack muttered.

"Perhaps," Forrest allowed. "You'll have to work with less than cooperative aliens who are immune to your legendary charm in the future, Jack. Consider her a chaperone; as an opportunity to learn working with her people."

"Yeah, sure," Jack pulled a face but the admiral was not in the mood to continue an argument he saw as pointless.

"This is not up to discussion, Captain. You wanted this mission – you've got it. You'll have to live with the conditions it comes with."

"Ain't I the lucky guy?" Jack muttered.

But he was bested by the bloody Vulcans once again and he knew it. There was nothing left for him but to clench his teeth and live with it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was doubtful that the knowledge would have made Jack Archer any happier, but he wasn't the only one completely lacking any enthusiasm about the arrangement made between Ambassador Soval and Admiral Forrest. T'Pol was not happy with the arrangement, either. As a trained and disciplined Vulcan officer, however, she accepted it without protest, of course.

She had been instructed to report to duty in the next morning, local time. That meant she still had the chance to wrap up her current duties and leave everything in correct order and ready to be picked up upon her return.

Therefore, like once in every local week during the last two Earth years, she sat down at her computer terminal at exactly 1500 hours local time to compose her report to High Command. This was one particular aspect of her duties as science attaché that she found tedious. She had little enough to report and nothing that would not turn up in the reports of other junior diplomats or researchers who also had to send in weekly reports.

Personally, she saw no logic in sending in multiple descriptions of nothing. They were supposedly here to study humans, their ways and their technology in more depth; and to tutor and guide them. But how could they have learned anything of importance when they practically never met any humans, save for official meetings?

Leaving the Vulcan compound was, if not expressly forbidden, empathically discouraged, with the reasoning that all the violence and uncontrolled emotionality humans displayed on a regular basis could do serious damage to a young and as-yet inexperienced person's mental shielding. And that was something no Vulcan could afford. They needed to remain in control, all the time.

It was sound reasoning, beyond doubt. Still, T'Pol did not think any of them would be truly so weak that they would need constant protection. They were an old and strong race. They had faced worse threats during their long history and emerged unscathed. She had served on more dangerous posts during her career and survived.

So she had chosen to use her chance while they were still not forbidden to leave the compound. On several occasions, she had disguised herself as a human and went out to explore the night life of San Francisco, visiting several establishments the locals favoured in their spare time.

She had to admit that she was reluctantly impressed. Yes, humans were loud, illogical, often overly emotional, treacherous and steered by their base instincts more often than not. On the other hand, as T'Kahr Soval had repeatedly pointed out in a private conversation, they were also inventive, passionate about their work, gregarious, impulsive and sometimes downright brilliant. She could never know which side of them would surface in any given situation, and she admitted that the challenge was... stimulating.

Just like the infinite facets of their music.

The excursions had stopped after she had given a particularly obnoxious human male with aggressive sexual interest for her a bloody nose. S'toss, T'Kahr Soval's diplomatic attaché had been icily outraged about the incident, and now she was forbidden to leave the compound on her own. She did not truly mind. She did not like the part of herself that had surfaced in the face of that particular emergency.

T'Kahr Soval, though, disagreed with her.

"You should not consider your heritage a burden, T'Pol-kam," he often said. "I imagine it can appear like that sometimes; but it will also enable you to understand humans better than anyone else among us. One day that can prove useful."

She suppressed a rather un-Vulcanlike snort. Her so-called heritage had caused her nothing but trouble, all her life. And having been assigned to the human ship supposed to take an important and gravely injured Viseeth courier home – one that had obviously been chased across half the galactic quadrant already – had the unpleasant taste of punishment… if not downright exile.

Although the order came from and was personally delivered by T'Kahr Soval, she suspected the hand of S'toss in it… and that of his influential supporters in High Command. It was a disquieting thought that promised nothing good for her future career.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A little later on the same day two uniformed Starfleet officers were standing in the transporter alcove of the Enterprise, watching as a shipment of cargo containers materialized on the transporter platform. The one with a lieutenant's stripes on his uniform was a buttoned-up Englishman in his early forties, with wavy dark hair and a thin, animated face. The other one, a dark-skinned ensign in his mid-twenties, seemed so excited to be there in the first place that he couldn't stop grinning.

"I heard this platform's been approved for bio-transport," he said.

"I presume you mean fruits and vegetables," the lieutenant stepped up to the platform to examine the cargo. "I hope you mean fruits and vegetables."

The ensign shook his head. "No, I mean security chiefs and helmsmen."

The lieutenant, who happened to be aforementioned security chief of the ship, frowned. "I don't think I'm quite ready to have my molecules compressed into a data stream."

The ensign shrugged. "They claim it's safe."

"Do they indeed?" the lieutenant mused, not really convinced. "Well, I certainly hope the captain doesn't plan on making us use it."

The ensign laughed. "Don't worry, from what I'm told, he wouldn't even put his dog through this thing."

The lieutenant gave him a jaundiced look. "And who could have possibly told you that, Ensign Mayweather?"

"Oh, but that would be telling," Mayweather replied with twinkling eyes. "Let just say that they have big cow eyes, brown hair and a gap between their front teeth."

The lieutenant rolled his eyes. "You shouldn't take anything Crewman Cooper tells you to face value. She has a very vivid imagination."

"Yeah, but she works in Engineering, and everyone knows that Commander Tucker is one of the captain's oldest friends," pointed out Mayweather. "Besides, she heard it from the quartermaster, so it must be true."

"Not necessarily; Petty Officer Daniels never met the captain before this assignment," the lieutenant opened one of the newly arrived boxes and breathed a sigh of frustration. "This is ridiculous. I asked for plasma coils and they sent me a case of valve sealant. There's no chance I can have the weapons online in three days."

The ensign looked at him in surprise. "What's the emergency? We're just taking an injured alien back to their homeworld. Why would we need weapons?"

The lieutenant pulled a face. "Because, apparently, the others are taking offence that we are taking their courier back and not their pet Vulcans. These cow people seem a shady lot."

Mayweather frowned. "Cow people, Mr Reed?"

"Apparently, they are called the Viseeth," Lieutenant Malcolm Reed explained. "Have you ever met one? You've travelled the farthest of us all."

Mayweather shook his head. "Not in the flesh. I've heard of them, of course. Every space boomer has. They're something of a legend in outer space but they rarely put in an appearance."

"Well, you'll get your chance this time," Reed promised. "Care to come to Engineering with me? I'll have to complain about my plasma coils, though, no doubt, Mister Tucker will reassure me that my equipment will be here tomorrow," he put on a horribly fake Southern accent, clearly trying to imitate the chief engineer. "Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant."

They smiled and headed to Engineering together. Around them crewmembers were putting finishing touches on the ship, working at wall panels and opened deck plating. They had to thread carefully not to step on anyone's fingers or bump into people.

"Is it me, or does the artificial gravity seem a bit heavy?" Mayweather suddenly asked.

Reed took a few measured steps. "Feels all right to me... Earth sea level."

"My father always kept it at point eight G," Mayweather smiled, reminiscing. "He thought it put a little spring in his step."

"After being raised on cargo ships, it must've felt like you had lead in your boots when you got to Earth," Reed paused at an opened wall panel, where a young, brunette female crewman was tuning a series of power conduits with a small device. "You may find that if you re-balance the polarities, you'll get that done a bit faster, Crewman Cooper," he said.

The young woman gave him a grateful, gap-toothed smile. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"It did take some getting used to," Mayweather said, referring to Reed's previous comment, as they continued down the corridor towards Engineering.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To be perfectly honest, the newly assigned chief helmsman of the Enterprise had expected the engine room of the brand new starship to be spacious and brightly-lit. It was, however, none of those things. Instead, he and Reed found themselves in a somewhat cramped place, not much larger than the engine room of his father's cargo ship… although considerably cleaner and better equipped.

The engineering crew was swarming all over the place like a colony of extremely busy ants, making it look even more cramped, while getting the ship ready for launch. A lean, blond man, with a commander's stripes on his duty uniform – doubtlessly the chief engineer of the ship – was working atop the warp core, extended horizontally across the room.

"Okay, Alex, give it some juice!" he shouted down; Mayweather recognized the Southern drawl Reed had tried to imitate previously.

A somewhat oriental-looking crewman below threw a series of levers, and a pulsing pillar of plasma coursed through the warp core.

"Beautiful!" the chief engineer shouted. "Lock it off right there!"

He ducked and weaved through various outcroppings and slid down an access ladder, dropping to the deck below. He eyed the warp core with proprietary pride; then he noticed something and frowned. Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a handkerchief and polished off a small smudge on the casing.

"I believe you missed a spot," Lieutenant Reed said, amused, as the engineer was inspecting his handiwork proudly.

The engineer pulled a face. "God beware us from British humour! You've brought company, Lieutenant?"

Reed nodded, making the introductions. "Commander Tucker, Ensign Travis Mayweather. He just arrived."

Tucker ducked under the rail and extended his hand. "Our space boomer, right? Welcome aboard, Ensign; it is good to have someone around who's actually worked in an engine room before."

Mayweather shook his hand, but couldn't keep his eyes off the engine. "How fast have you gotten her?"

"Warp four," Tucker replied proudly. "We'll be going to four-five as soon as we clear Jupiter. Think you can handle it?"

"Four point five..." Mayweather repeated in awe.

Reed cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but if I don't realign the deflector, the first grain of space-dust we come across will blow a hole through this ship the size of your fist."

Tucker waved off his concern. "Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant. Your equipment'll be here in the morning."

Reed and Mayweather exchanged wryly amused looks and the security chief rolled his eyes in exasperation.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the dimly lit interrogation room of Starfleet's high security prison in Guantanamo – a prison that did not officially exist and to where people tended to vanish without a trial an without any hope to be released, ever – Jack Archer was looking with interest at the planet's supposedly best exolinguist. In the drab orange coverall and with the security manacles still fastened around her ankles, Hoshi Sato seemed one thing above all else: broken. Her eyes were lifeless and her expression so dull that Jack wondered if the prisoners were fed drugs to keep them better under control.

Such a treatment would have seriously endangered his plans. He needed Hoshi at her brilliant self, not as a broken shell. Yet there was a distinct possibility that if she'd indeed been given drugs, that brilliant mind of hers had taken serious, maybe irreparable damage. She was a certified genius; and the mind of a genius was a delicate thing to keep in balance. Was the spirited young woman he'd known only eight months ago still in there somewhere?

"Hoshi," he said in a low, urgent voice. "Do you recognize me? I'm Jack Archer; we worked together on the Warp Five Program last year."

It might have been wishful thinking, but it seemed to him as if something had stirred in those lifeless eyes.

"Commander," she said tonelessly.

"Actually Captain now, but who cares?" Jack grinned at her.

She nodded. "Your ship," she said. "It's finally completed."

The unasked question Have I been here for so long? hung between them in the air.

"We're still applying the last touches," Jack admitted. "But she'll be ready to go in two days' time. Trip's promised."

"Then she will," she replied simply; having worked with Charlie Tucker, she knew he was as good as his word.

"I'm still hunting down the last members of the command crew," Jack continued. "I got free hand to pick whomever I want… including you."

That announcement earned him a smile, albeit a bitter one.

"Yeah, sure. As if Starfleet Intelligence would ever let me out of here… except in a coffin."

"They will," Jack said. "Sure, they're not happy about it, but this is an emergency. We have to launch earlier than planned, and we have to deal with an old and powerful alien race; we can't afford any misunderstandings."

"What does it have to do with me?" she asked. "You need a diplomat."

"No, I need an exolinguist; a damn good one, with an ear for subtle detail no-one but a Vulcan might be able to notice."

"Then you should take a Vulcan with you," she pointed out.

"I do… and believe me, it's not voluntarily," he confessed with a grimace. "Which is the other reason why I need you. No-one else speaks all major Vulcan dialects. Most likely not even the best intelligence officers. I need your ear, Hoshi; and I need your brains."

She remained silent for a while. "You really could get me out of here?" she finally asked, still not quite believing it.

Jack nodded. "I can and I will. There will be limitations, though. You'll be on probation for the next five years, which is the planned length of our first deep space mission. You'll be restricted to the ship or whatever planet we might visit. You'll start climbing the ladder from the bottom again, starting from square one as a green ensign. If you prove yourself, you can leave after the mission is completed as a free woman and do with your life whatever you want. Your record will be wiped clean."

She stared at him in shocked disbelief. "How many strings did you have to pull to achieve this?"

He shrugged. "Actually, it was Commander Williams who pulled the strings, although I suspect that Ambassador Soval had a hand in it, too. He still remembers your role in that particular conflict with the Klingons and voiced the opinion that it would be illogical to waste a talent like yours."

Her smile was just a tad more honest now. "That's Vulcan memory for you."

"No," he replied. "That's acknowledging true genius if they see it. Not many people would be able to learn several poly-guttural dialects constructed on an adaptive syntax in a matter of two weeks. That's exactly the ability we'll need on our first trip. Even the brass understand that… reluctantly," he patted her cold, clammy hand. "I've brought your new uniform; go and change and let us get the hell out of here before anyone could change their minds."

"Speaking of which," she said while standing hurriedly to follow his instructions, "last time I was in the condition to check, the Vulcans were opposed to our warp 5 program."

"They still are," Jack replied with a shrug and a grimace. "But we agreed to make a few compromises."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"What compromises, exactly, are we talking about, sir?" Lieutenant Reed asked calmly.

He was sitting in a nondescript office somewhere in the headquarters of Starfleet Intelligence in Annapolis with Commander Williams and the man he had hoped he would never see again. The man who'd given him the reason to transfer back to the fleet.

The man whom he had only ever known as "Harris".

"The Vulcans insisted on sending Subcommander T'Pol along with the first voyage of the Enterprise," Williams explained. "She may be a scientist now but she used to work for the Ministry of Intelligence, which means she's thoroughly trained in the Vulcan ways of espionage."

"How quaint," Reed commented blandly. "I presume you want me to keep an eye on her, sir?"

"Not only on her," Harris spoke up. "Starfleet Intelligence has agreed to release Ms Sato from Guantanamo because Captain Archer insisted on having her on board for the mission. This will be a five-year indentured service during which she must be constantly monitored."

Reed shook his head. "I'm not the right man for the job. I'll have more pressing duties; and besides, she know who – what – I am… what I was. I was the one who arrested her, after all. I shot her, for God's sake!"

"Exactly," Harris said with the expression of a cat that had just got the cream; but he refused to elaborate.

"Does Captain Archer know about this?" Reed said, dreading the answer. He'd left Section 31 because he wanted to leave such assignments behind; but apparently, it wasn't quite that simple.

"He knows you're an intelligence officer assigned to his ship for security reasons," Williams replied. "He doesn't know, however, that we've planted there Soccorro as well, with the specifically assigned task to monitor Sato."

"Blimey!" muttered Reed angrily. "The mission hasn't even started yet, but Section 31 has already undermined it."

"Nonsense," Williams said sharply. "Soccorro is our plant, not that of the Section; and she'll be an asset for your security team. She knows about eighteen ways to kill a man with a salt shaker."

"Is that her ultimate task?" Reed asked. "To terminate Ms Sato with extreme prejudice, should she behave suspiciously?"

"Not without your express order," Williams said. "She's just the means to reach that goal if needs must be. The decision is entirely yours."

"Wonderful," Reed said sarcastically. This was exactly what he'd hoped to escape by transferring back to the fleet.

"And don't forget, Lieutenant: Captain Archer must not learn about Soccorro's true identity; or about her special task," Harris added with a thin, unpleasant smile. "He's a very impulsive man. He might do something… foolish if he knew. This mission is of utmost importance for mankind. It must not be endangered for personal reasons."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Since when do we have Vulcan science officers?" Charlie Tucker demanded angrily

The senior officers of the Enterprise – minus Hoshi Sato and the alien doctor named Phlox, whom Jack had hired directly from Starfleet Medical – were gathered in the captain's Ready Room for a pre-flight debriefing. A rather routine briefing, all in all.

Until the captain dropped the bombshell, that is.

"Since we needed star charts to get to the Berengaria system," Jack replied. "No Earth ship has ever been so far out. We need directions. Reliable ones."

"So we get a few maps... and they get to put a spy on our ship?" Charlie asked hotly.

Jack gave him one of those false one hundred thousand megawatt grins. "Admiral Forrest says we should think of her more as a chaperone. Like Mary Poppins… just with pointy ears."

"I wonder if she can also fly with the help of an umbrella," Mayweather snickered, but Charlie was not in the mood for jokes.

"I thought the whole point of this was to get away from the Vulcans," he muttered angrily.

Jack shrugged. "Needs must, Trip. A not-so-short trip to Berengaria VIII and back, then she's gone… and we can keep Hoshi in exchange. In the meantime, we are to extend her every courtesy."

"In that case you might want to cut back on the flirting, Captain," Lieutenant Reed said quietly. "I heard Vulcan women have difficulties with understanding innuendo."

Jack grinned at him like a shark. "I'm sure that as an intelligence officer you've got a great deal more first-hand experience with Vulcans than the rest of us together," he said. "I'll leave the personal touch to you, Lieutenant; the two of you seem to have a lot in common. And when two icebergs collide, the resulting crash can be fun to watch, I think."

Mayweather laughed at that, but Charlie stared at Reed in open-mouthed shock. "He's a spy?"

"Intelligence officer," Reed corrected. "Yes, I was one; but I've transferred back to the fleet."

"How convenient," Charlie growled. "She spies on us, you spy on her – what a fun mission this is going to be – not! I'd be more comfortable with Porthos on the bridge than with either of you, to be frank."

Jack's Beagle, hearing his name, wagged his tail enthusiastically at Charlie. Jack, however, shook his head tolerantly.

"Try to be a little more open-minded, Trip," he chastised his chief engineer. "Right now we don't have a science officer, and if she was chosen to serve off-world, she must be good at what she does."

"She also served on the science vessel Seleya several years," Reed added. "Deep space missions are an old hat for her."

"And at least Hoshi will be glad for the chance to practice her Vulcan while she's aboard," Jack said.

"Assuming she's gonna lower herself to our level," Charlie said nastily.

"We should welcome her without prejudice; then she might consider it," Ensign Mayweather replied innocently.

Charlie opened his mouth to make an acerbic comment but the door chime prevented him from answering. Jack sighed and plastered a big, fake smile on his face.

"Here we go," he sighed; then he called out. "Come in."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The door opened, allowing T'Pol in. Without the flowing robes Vulcans generally preferred, she seemed surprisingly small in the regular Starfleet uniform. She was slim and trim, but her broad shoulders clearly showed that she wasn't the least fragile. With her short-cropped hair she might have looked like a young boy but the uniform revealed more from her curvaceous figure than the Vulcan robes would. The Flower Fairy she certainly was not.

She marched directly to Jack, ignoring everyone else in the room and handed him a PADD.

"This confirms that I was formally transferred to your command at oh eight hundred hours," she said in an even, emotionless voice. "Reporting for duty."

There was an uncomfortable silence while Jack studied the PADD. T'Pol's face remained inscrutable but her nostrils flared briefly – it was obvious that something smelled rather unpleasant to her. Looking around distractedly (as distracted as a Vulcan could ever get), her eyes finally fixed on Porthos, lying in the corner, his tail waggling a mile a minute.

At least Jack looked up from the PADD and noticed her discomfort.

"Is there a problem?" he asked with a frown.

"No, sir," T'Pol replied stiffly.

Reed cleared his throat in apology. "Captain, Vulcan females have a heightened sense of smell," he intervened smoothly.

Jack looked from the Vulcan to the dog and grinned with unholy glee, realizing he'd found a button to push.

"Oh, I forgot," he said with false compassion. "I hope Porthos isn't too offensive to you."

"I've been trained to tolerate offensive situations," T'Pol replied with an attitude of well-studied superiority that promised nothing good for future cooperation. Charlie picked up on her attitude and gave Jack a mock-alarmed look.

"I took a shower this morning," he said innocently." How about you, Captain?"

This was an ages-old joke between them, based on the (never proved) fact that Jack was prone to sweating while Charlie was not. In truth, they were both fastidious like cats… unless Charlie had to crawl elbow-deep onto the bowels of his engines.

"Men!" muttered Hoshi, who had just arrived, loud enough for said men to overhear and exchanged a look of deep female understanding with the Vulcan. "Permission to enter, Captain?"

"Granted," Jack gestured towards the empty seat next to Reed, which Hoshi deliberately ignored, walking around the table and taking the seat next to Mayweather instead. She looked very young, even a little lost in her new uniform, and kept giving Reed nervous glances when she thought she was not being observed.

Jack noticed those glances, of course, and made a mental note to find out the reason for them later. For now, he chose to make the necessary introductions first.

"I'm sorry, Subcommander. Let me introduce you our senior staff. This is Commander Charles Tucker III, our chief engineer. Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, chief of security and tactical officer when the need arises. Ensign Travis Mayweather, chief helmsman. And, last but not least, Ensign Hoshi Sato, communications officer and exolinguist extraordinaire, with the sharpest ear on the entire planet. Everyone, this is Subcommander T'Pol, our science officer."

"The captain is exaggerating, as always," Hoshi told the Vulcan woman. "You'll get used to it… eventually."

"Unlikely, but I shall try," T'Pol replied dryly.

"Hey, telling others that you're the best isn't exaggerating!" Jack protested. "You are, and you know it. Or else you wouldn't have taught at university in your spare time at the age of twenty already!"

"A lot of people teach at university as post-graduate students, Jack," Hoshi said tolerantly.

"Yeah, but no-one is as good as you are," Jack replied. "Or as our Mr Tucker here."

"Charlie," the chief engineer corrected. "I'm called Charlie. Except by the captain here, who likes to call me Trip."

"A rather… unusual name… for a male person," T'Pol commented dryly. "T'Rip would be a female name on Vulcan."

"It's because I'm the third in the line of my family to wear that name," Charlie explained.

"I will try to remember that," T'Pol said, obviously finding that particular detail unnecessarily and irrelevant.

Jack was just about getting thoroughly fed up with her attitude and found it necessary to lay down the law right at the beginning.

"Let me set something very straight, Subcommander," he said coldly. "While you may not share our enthusiasm about this mission, I expect you to follow our rules... what's said in this room and out on that bridge is classified. Privileged information, if you want to put it that way. I don't want every word I say being picked apart the next day by the Vulcan High Command… or in Commander Williams's office," he added with a hard glance at Reed.

The chief of security had the decency to avoid his glance, but T'Pol stared right into his eyes.

"My reason for being here is not espionage," she stated calmly. "My superiors simply asked me to assist you."

"Your superiors don't think we can flush a toilet without one of you to assist us," Jack commented bitterly.

T'Pol hesitated for a moment before answering, as if seeking for the best way to phrase some unpleasant truth.

"I did not request this assignment, Captain, and you can be certain that when the mission's over, I'll be as pleased to leave this ship as you'll be to have me go," she finally said. "But you should consider this: you are about to travel to a sector of deep space where no human has gone before. Vulcans have. I have. I have served on a Vulcan science vessel for years and have visited thirty-six different planets of the Minshara-class…"

"Planets capable of supporting humanoid life," Hoshi translated for the other humans.

T'Pol ignored the interruption and went on unerringly. "So yes, there is a strong possibility that I actually might assist you in this mission. If for no other reason then because I have already had contact with the Viseeth and you have not," she glanced down at Porthos who had left his cosy corner and was now sniffing her leg. "If there is nothing else..."

Jack deliberately waited for a moment, letting Porthos sniff away. Yes, it was juvenile, but he found her discomfort, quite frankly, hilarious.

"Porthos!" he then said in a warning tone and the dog obediently moved back to its bed. Jack then turned back to the Vulcan. "That'll be all... for now."

T'Pol turned around and left the room, leaving four amused men and an embarrassed Hoshi behind.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In Sickbay, Dr Phlox was watching his currently only patient with interest. Like every space-faring race, the Denobulans had heard about the Viseeth but never actually got to see one in the flesh. Not even most physicians. Phlox was only an exception because he'd signed up to the Interspecies Medical Exchange program organized by the Vulcans, and Vulcans were the only known race having regular contact with the Viseeth.

Well, there were the Deltans, of course, but those were even less forthcoming with information.

By anyone's measure, the patient was beautiful, despite being hooked up to a dozen tubes and monitoring instruments. With that delicate face, like that of an Earth woman of African origins, that lush black hair, that intricate pattern covering their mahogany skin… they really looked like a work of art.

"She looks a bit like a fire salamander," commented Crewman Cricket Yee, walking up to the biobed.

She was one of the medical technicians, a dedicated young woman with short, dark hair. Phlox gave her a fond glance; he might have been the only actual doctor on board, but the short time he'd spent here revealed that medical personnel had been well and thoroughly trained.

"That is not surprising," he replied. "According to the Vulcan medical database, to which I, fortunately, have access as a participant of their medical exchange program, the Viseeth evolved from an amphibian creature not unlike an Earth salamander – only a lot bigger."

"You mean they're actually amphibians?" Yee asked in surprise. "She looks entirely human… well, save for the lack of external genitalia."

"The humanoid form has developed on many different worlds because bipedal locomotion and the use of hands are practical," Phlox explained. "In the inside, however, all these humanoid species are quite different. Take the Vulcans, for example: their hearts are in the place you humans have your livers, and their blood is based on copper, not iron."

"But these… these cow people have to procreate somehow, haven't they?" Crewman Ator Tamras, another female medical technician on duty, asked.

Anyone else Phlox would have reprimanded for calling the Viseeth cow people – which, unfortunately, almost everyone on board did – but Crewman Tamras was a Hindu. Coming from her it could have been interpreted as a sign of respect.

"They do," he replied. "However, by them it happens via asexual insemination."

"You mean they lay eggs?" Yee clarified, her eyes as big as saucers.

Phlox nodded. "As far as I know they have special breeding tanks – or pools, for individuals that prefer a natural environment – where they lay their eggs and then mutually fertilize each other's eggs. They are all hermaphrodites, you see. Like Terran snails."

"That's really sad; having the equipment for both sides and still not being able to use any of it for fun," Jack Archer sauntered into Sickbay and looked down at the beautiful alien woman that was, sadly, no woman at all. "No wonder they get on with the Vulcans so well; neither of them is familiar with the concept of fun."

"I can't say anything about the Viseeth," Phlox replied, "but if you made a little more effort to actually know the Vulcans, instead of seeing the enemy in them, they might surprise you," he re-checked the readings and turned to Jack. "What can I do for you, Captain?"

"I just came to check on our passenger," Jack replied.

He looked around with interest and picked up a jar that was filled with viscous pink fluid. Tiny corkscrew organisms flitted through the liquid as he turned the jar back and forth, studying the creatures' reaction.

"Love what you've done with the place, Doc," he commented. "It's really home-y, with pets and all. Never thought a sickbay could include an entire alien zoo."

Phlox got a bit alarmed by Jack's casual handling of the jar. "Those are immunocytic gel worms. Try not to shake them, Captain!"

Jack hurriedly handed the jar to Crewman Yee who placed it back to its proper place, without seeming particularly bothered by its contents. Medical personnel seemed to have adapted to their chief medical officer in record time, apparently. Which, in his book, was a good thing, especially on a journey heading for the great unknown.

"So what'd you think of Earth?" he asked, while Crewmen Yee and Tamras continued taking other articles out of a large packing case and putting them to their pre-assigned place.

Phlox beamed at him. "Intriguing. I especially liked the Chinese food. Have you ever tried it?"

Jack laughed. "I've lived all over the planet, but you can get it everywhere. Nowhere as good as in San Francisco, though. But actually, I meant what you think about our people."

"Ah!" Phlox nodded in understanding. "Well, you're a fascinating species, you humans. Anatomically are somewhat simplistic, but what you lack biologically you make up for with your charming optimism... not to mention your egg drop soup. Be very careful with the blue box!" he added, alarmed again, when Jack picked up a small blue box with breathing holes on either side. Some unseen creature was skittering within.

"What's in there?" Jack asked, not really sure that he actually wanted to know the answer. He got one anyway.

"An Altarian marsupial," Phlox explained. "Their droppings contain the greatest concentration of regenerative enzymes found anywhere."

"Their droppings?" Jack had the vague feeling that he might become sick.

Phlox gave him one of those creepy smiles. "If you're going to try to embrace new worlds, Captain, you must try to embrace new ideas. That's why the Vulcans initiated the Interspecies Medical Exchange. There's a lot to be learned," he added philosophically as Jack handed him the blue box.

"I'm sorry I had to take you away from your program, but our doctors haven't even heard of these Viseeth," Jack said. "Dr Harper, who'd been originally selected as the chief medical officer of Enterprise, is a passable exobiologist, but the Vulcans would never let him access their medical database."

"And he has the worst bedside manner on the planet," Crewman Tamras commented. "Letting him treat an important alien dignitary would have lead to a galaxy-wide diplomatic outrage."

"Yes, but he can patch you together with a piece of surgical wire and some sellotape, even if he finds you in several pieces, " Jack returned. "I will pull him in, as soon as we're back, so get used to the thought of working with him. It's bad enough that I was forced to draft Dr Phlox for our first mission, but I had no other choice."

Phlox smiled at him broadly. "Please, no apologies! What better time to study human beings than when they're under pressure? It's a rare opportunity. And your Viseeth passenger... I've never had a chance to examine a living one before. The database can't be compared with the real thing."

Jack nodded in agreement. "We'll need about eighteen days to reach Berengaria VII," he then said. "Any chance the patient will be conscious by then?

"There's a chance they'll be conscious within the next ten minutes," Phlox replied. "Just not a very good one."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Eighteen days, Doctor. If she doesn't walk off this ship on her own two feet, we won't stand much of a chance with her people. Or with the Vulcans, for that matter."

"I'll do the best I can," promised Phlox. "Optimism, Captain!"

He gave Jack another one of those wide, inhuman grins that reminded one disturbingly of Batman's enemy, Joker. Realising that he'd got all he was going to get out of his temporary chief medical officer, Jack took one last look at the alien patient and headed for the door, missing his originally chosen doctor already.

Owen Harper might have the worst bedside manner in Earth's medical history, but at least one always knew what to expect of him. Jack preferred it that way.

Chapter Text

Chapter 03 – To Boldly Go…

"It is 07.50 hours Earth standard time. You are expected on the observation deck in 24.01 minutes, Subcommander," the impersonal voice of the board computer said, and T'Pol resurfaced from her meditative state to acknowledge the pre-scheduled warning. 24.01 minutes were more than adequate to change from her meditation robe into a Starfleet uniform and join the launch celebration.

Those were Vulcan minutes, of course, based upon the beating of the Vulcan heart and the logic of units of ten. A hundred Vulcan heartbeats equalled one Vulcan minute. In human terms, based on standard time measurement, a Vulcan's heart beat two hundred and forty times per minute. Thus a Vulcan minute equalled twenty-four standard seconds and twenty-four Vulcan minutes equalled ten standard ones.

Such conversion calculations might have confused a human at first. For T'Pol, the announcement of the computer signalled that she was due on the spacedock's observation deck in the equivalent of ten Earth minutes.

She rose from her kneeling position gracefully, drew the curtain in front of the small niche holding the ancient meditation statue – now glowing with a holographic fire from its hollow centre rather than a real one – and went to change into the bland human uniform she would wear for the duration of the mission. She would have preferred a Vulcan one – Earth fabrics felt generally unpleasant on the dry Vulcan skin – but T'Kahr Soval had advised her to blend in, to avoid unnecessary provocation, and she saw the wisdom of his advice. At least the coverall was easy to put on… a fact that left her a spare moment to go through her mental checklist before leaving her quarters.

She reached the observations deck in time, of course. Anything else would have been unacceptable. A large group of invited guests was already there, including various high-ranking Starfleet officers, a contingent of alien dignitaries – Vulcan was, as always, represented by T'Kahr Soval, with S'toss and a few junior diplomats in tow – and more were still coming.

For Starfleet, this was an event comparable only with the first official contact with an alien species – the Vulcans – almost a century ago. Not surprising that they wanted to throw the biggest farewell party for the heroes of the new era that they could whip up in such a short time.

The senior staff of the Enterprise stood a little apart, gazing at the small section of their ship that could be seen through the observations window. After a moment of hesitation T'Pol went and joined them, earning a somewhat surprised look from the captain and a glare of icy outrage from S'toss. Surreptitiously, Ensign Sato shifted positions, putting T'Pol between herself and Lieutenant Reed. T'Pol noticed it, of course; this was something she would have to research eventually.

She knew of Ensign Sato's imprisonment, of course, and that Lieutenant Reed used to be an intelligence officer before transferring back to the Fleet. But there was obviously some history between these two and she needed to know what it was. Fortunately, she had the means to find it out. Having worked for the Vulcan Ministry of Intelligence did have its advantages.

The low hum of conversation now quieted and all eyes turned with anticipation to Admiral Forrest who was entering the observations deck at that very moment. Like all humans present, the admiral was flushed with excitement; a sentiment that even T'Pol understood. This was a great day for humans – even if High Command did not approve – and giving the farewell speech for the maiden voyage of the first ever warp 5 ship built on Earth was an honour, even for an admiral.

Such things only happened once in a lifetime – if one was very, very lucky.

"When Zefram Cochrane made his legendary warp flight ninety years ago... and drew the attention of our new friends, the Vulcans, we realized that we weren't alone in the galaxy," Forrest actually managed to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his tone, which was admirable, given the circumstances. "Today we're about to cross a new threshold. For nearly a century, we've waded ankle-deep in the ocean of space... now it's finally time to swim."

Actually, Cochrane himself had been a Centaurian who had relocated to Earth decades earlier, after an encounter with an Earth ship still travelling at sublight, but most humans did not know that. Not even all those present. So they all applauded enthusiastically. The Vulcans, who knew the truth, of course, observed them stoically.

"The warp five engine wouldn't be a reality without men like Doctor Cochrane and Henry Archer, who worked so hard to develop it," Forrest continued. "So it's only fitting that Henry's son, Jonathan Archer, will command the first starship powered by that engine."

"That is our clue," Jack said quietly. "Let's go, people!" Then he raised his voice. "Permission to board ship, sir!"

Forrest nodded. "Granted. Good luck, Jack… to all of you."

"Thank you, sir," Jack saluted, and while the admiral continued his speech, he led his command crew to the door that opened into the corridor connecting the observations deck with his ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
This was not the first time that T'Pol entered the bridge of the brand new Earth ship but once again, the difference between it and the elegant, airy design of Vulcan ships hit home almost painfully. True, part of the reason was that the bridge had not been quite finished yet. The floors and walls were mostly naked steel, with source light coming from a series of glowing panels. There were no carpets on the floor, no wood panelling on the walls like on other Earth ships she had visited before – just the command chair in the centre, surrounded by the various duty stations.

Jack Archer took the Captain's chair as if he had been born to occupy it. The rest of the command crew went to their respective stations: T'Pol to Sciences, Mayweather to the helm, Ensign Sato to communications and Reed to Tactical. Crewman April Jacobson was already sitting at Operations.

At the control station of Engineering Charles Tucker III was represented by his second-in-command, Lieutenant Anna Hess. She hailed from Valhalla, one of the earliest human colonies from the previous century and looked like a Valkyrie: six foot tall, ash blond, with icy blue eyes and equipped with ample charms, as Tucker discreetly put it.

Hoshi switched on the main viewscreen of the bridge, on which archival footage of an elderly Zefram Cochrane was running… a small detail from his speech during the ground breaking ceremony for the Warp Five Complex thirty-two years previously.

"On this site, a powerful engine will be built... an engine that will someday let us travel a hundred times faster than we can today," Cochrane was saying. "Imagine it. Thousands of inhabited planets at our fingertips. And we'll be able to explore those strange new worlds... and seek out new life and new civilizations…"

"Split screen," Jack ordered. "Show me an external view of the ship!"

Hoshi obeyed, and now they could see on the right side of the screen the live feed from the external cameras of the spacedock. The mooring lines were snapping away in bursts of frozen vapour while on the left side of the screen Cochrane was finishing his speech.

"This engine will let us go boldly... where no man has gone before."

His image was replaced by that of the observations deck and the invited guests. They were all watching the same thing that could be seen on the right side of the screen: the Enterprise in the spacedock, ready to launch. Everyone (save perhaps the Vulcans) held their breath.

In Engineering, Charlie Tucker was standing before the now throbbing warp core, also holding his breath. He had been waiting for this moment all his adult life.

On the Bridge, Jack leaned forward in his big chair. "Take her out... straight and steady, Mister Mayweather. Full thrusters."

Mayweather grinned from ear to ear. "Aye-aye, Captain!" he replied enthusiastically.

His hands moved on the console, quickly and surely, and the great ship began to move out of its berth. It appeared lean and masculine on the screen – a majestic sight with its twin nacelles that looked as if it had actual wings. Everyone watched with bated breath as it cleaned the spacedock and moved into open space.

"We're clear, Captain," Mayweather reported a moment later. "Jupiter in twenty-two minutes by half impulse."

"No need to dawdle, Ensign," Jack replied, his eyes very bright. "Go to full impulse. Let's see what this baby is capable of."

If possible, Mayweather's grin grew even wider. "Full impulse it is, sir!"

As they accelerated to full impulse power, the external cameras showed the small, russet globe of Mars fly by. Ahead of them a crescent of Jupiter was already visible and kept growing, filling out into the entire planet.

Jack tapped a button on the arm of his chair. "Trip, we are about to clear Jupiter within the minute. How are you doing, down there?"

One of the smaller screens showed Charlie working at the warp core, which was now pulsing at full power. He looked up at the comm unit, grinning like a loon, too. "Ready when you are."

"Prepare for warp one," Jack ordered, trying to keep his voice steady. It was not an easy task. "Programming ready?"

"Programme set for standard warp entry, Captain," Crewman Jacobson reported, excitement clearly noticeable in her voice.

"Course laid in, sir," Mayweather looked up to Jack, his grin impossibly wide. "Request permission to get underway."

T'Pol was the only one not infected by the general euphoria. Studying her readouts, she frowned and turned to Jack. "Captain, the coordinates are off by point two degrees."

"Thank you," Jack replied with exaggerated gratitude. He would not let her spoil the moment they had all waited for so long. "Mr Mayweather, correct course and then let's go. Ahead warp one."

"Accelerating to warp one, sir," Mayweather acknowledged. "Here we go… warp point five… warp point seven, ...point eight, ...warp one, sir."

A small section of Saturn's rings was still visible when the Enterprise burst into warp and was swallowed by subspace.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the time they had done one-third of their planned route, routine had slowly settled in. The relief crews of the second and third shift had grown more comfortable with the new ship, getting a feel for the real thing after the simulators.

At the moment they had afternoon shift, according to the ship's internal time, which meant that Charlie Tucker was off-duty. Theoretically. He considered the fact that he was still crawling along the uncomfortably cramped service tunnels – called Jefferies tubes after one of the ship's designers – merely as recreational activity.

He was the chief engineer, after all. And he still had plenty of time before the pre-scheduled dinner with the captain.

Climbing up a ladder through a narrow passageway, he resurfaced in an empty corridor where, according to the latest routine check, some conduits needed to be examined. As he reached the top, he looked up to locate the conduits in question… and froze at the sight of Ensign Mayweather, sitting comfortably on the ceiling, reading an e-book.

"You're upside down, Ensign," he said, recovering from his surprise.

Mayweather grinned, clearly proud of himself. "Yes, sir."

"Care to explain why?" Charlie inquired. That couldn't be comfortable.

"I'm relaxing," Mayweather explained. "Old habit. When I was a kid, we called it the sweet spot. Every ship's got one."

"Sweet spot," Charlie repeated, intrigued... and just a bit cross. As an engineer, he should have known that; should have deduced that such spots ought to exist.

Apparently, this was another example of practice over theory when it came to space travel.

Mayweather nodded. "It's usually about halfway between the grav-generator and the bow plate. Takes a while to find it in a new ship, though."

"How did you get up there?" Charlie asked. "With magnetic boots?"

Mayweather laughed. "Nah, it's actually rather easy," he pointed to a thin conduit that crossed right below him. "Grab hold of that conduit."

Charlie reached for the conduit, a little bewildered. "And now?"

"Now swing your legs up," the ensign instructed; as Charlie hesitated, he repeated. "Swing your legs, sir."

Still a bit suspicious, Charlie swung his legs up, and to his amazement, they stayed up. His curled body was floating in zero G.

"Wow!" he breathed in awe.

He did have ample experience in zero G, of course – working outside the ship in an EVA suit provided one with enough practice in that area – but experiencing this inside the ship, without an emergency shutdown of the artificial gravity, was truly amazing.

"Now let go," Mayweather encouraged him, grinning.

Charlie released his grip, his entire body floating in mid-air. He laughed in delight, turning slowly. He tried to control his movements, but this was very different from working in an EVA suit. He miscalculated the angle and ended up crashing onto the ceiling where Mayweather was sitting.

"Ouch!" he hissed, rubbing his head.

"Takes practice," the ensign commented. "Starfleet should train their people in zero G situations a lot more than they currently do… if only so that they won't be completely helpless, should the grav-generators fail."

"I'll add this to my report," Charlie settled in next to him. "And you guys did this all the time?"

"That and more," Mayweather replied. "Ever slept in zero G?"

"Slept?" Charlie echoed. "We're not flying a twentieth-century spacecraft, Ensign."

"You don't know what you've missed," Mayweather returned. "It's like being back in the womb."

Charlie laughed; then, after a moment, he asked, curiously. "Captain tells me you've been to Trillius Prime…"

Mayweather nodded. "Took us three years to get there; of course, the Horizon's top speed is warp two, so twenty-four light years was a long trip for us… pardon the pun, sir."

Charlie waved away his concern. "Never mind. Where else have you been?"

"To Draylax and both the Teneebian moons, among other places. Including the Vega colony."

Charlie whistled. "Sounds amazing. I've only been to one inhabited planet besides Earth... nothing there but dust-dwelling ticks," he paused. "Draylax… that's in the Beta Quadrant, isn't it?"

"In the Epsilon Indi system, yeah, orbiting the third sun, a K-class star," the ensign replied. "The only other inhabited planet of the system orbits the primary star, an orange dwarf; but the Smurfs are not very welcoming to visitors."

"Smurfs?" Charlie laughed. The ensign shrugged.

"They are small, compared with humans, and they are blue and have white hair, so… Smurf. Aside from the antennae, of course."

"Oh, you mean the Andorians!" Charlie realized. "I've seen pictures but as far as I know there hasn't been any contact between them and us."

"No official contacts anyway," Mayweather replied. "They don't like Vulcans – or anyone connected to them. We never encountered them, but other boomer ships have, and they say it's better to get out of their way. They are very aggressive."

"Angry Smurfs in space," Charlie murmured, bemused. "I guess growing up a boomer has its advantages. I'll tell the captain to consult you regularly. Your experiences will be invaluable for us."

"Why would he need me?" Mayweather asked in surprise. "I'm sure that Vulcan science officer of us knows more about all known species in the galaxy than us boomers counted together."

"Perhaps," Charlie allowed. "But at least I'm sure I can trust your input," he carefully rose and turned around to float back to the floor. "Speaking of which, I must go. I'm invited to dinner with her and the captain in twenty minutes, and I have an appointment with a shower first. Crawling around in the Jefferies tubes is smelly work."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later Charlie was walking through the mess hall, which was fairly busy so at dinner hour. A dozen or so crewmembers were sitting at long metal tables, helping themselves at the food line, and getting drinks at a row of beverage dispensers. He spotted a group of his engineering crewmen at one of the tables, having dinner.

One of them, Crewman Fletcher – nicknamed Mr Tall, Dark and Hilarious by the women – saw him while setting down his platter and called out across the room. "Got an empty seat here, Commander."

Under different circumstances Charlie would have accepted the offer. He preferred a laid-back exchange with his crew; it was better for the working atmosphere and besides, he was an easy-going guy by his very nature. Tonight, however, he had to decline.

"Sorry, Fletcher, not tonight," he said, heading towards the small door at the end of the room. "Dinner with the boss."

"Some people have just been born lucky," Fletcher chuckled. Charlie winked at him and opened the door to the captain's mess.

It was a small, nicely-appointed room with a table for four – although, if necessary, six people could have been seated at it –covered by a white tablecloth. The room was warmly lit by two holographic candles at the centre of the table. At the moment, three of the four chairs were occupied by Jack, T'Pol and, to Charlie's surprise, by Lieutenant Reed.

"Oh, Trip, good," Jack looked up as the chief engineer entered. "I was about to ring you," he indicated the chair at his left. "Sit down."

"Sorry," Charlie took the proffered seat. "I had to take a shower first, after crawling around in all those Jefferies tubes all day. You should've started without me."

"It would have negated the very reason for his little get-together," Jack pressed a button to call the steward.

"I thought this would be more than just dinner," Charlie reached for a bread stick in the nearby basket, bit down… and frowned. "What is this?"

"Vulcan bread," Jack replied, grinning. "I thought we should broaden our culinary horizon a little."

"It is called Kreyla," T'Pol added. "You should try it with Flavinit butter."

To demonstrate her meaning, she cut off a piece from her own bread stick, speared it onto her fork and spread a blob of spicy-smelling, yellow butter over it. Then she ate it in two bites.

Charlie followed her example a little doubtfully – and was surprised by the pleasantly spicy taste. "This is actually good!"

"Hoshi suggested me to give it a try," Jack explained; then he gave the stony-faced Reed an amused look. "What about you, Lieutenant? Don't want any new experiences?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline, sir," the tactical officer replied stiffly. "I'm allergic to tropical grasses."

"Grasses?" Charlie frowned. "This is butter, man!"

"Which is derived from the Flavinit plant, a Vulcan orchid," Reed replied in a clipped tone.

"Your knowledge of my homeworld is impressive," T'Pol said dryly," if not completely unexpected, knowing of your previous allegiances."

"What do you know about that?" Jack asked in suspicion.

"I used to work for the Vulcan Ministry of Intelligence," T'Pol replied, completely unfazed. "I still have my connections."

"Great!" Charlie commented sarcastically. "We're surrounded by spies; well, ex-spies anyway. And I thought this mission would be about space exploration."

"It is," said T'Pol calmly. "Which is why my connections – and those of Lieutenant Reed – could prove life-saving. There are dangers out there only we ex-spies, as you call us, are aware of."

"Like what?" Charlie demanded.

"That is a topic we'll discuss after dinner," Jack intervened.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As if on clue, the door leading to the galley opened and in walked Petty Officer Daniels, carrying four plates of food.

"Pok'tar and T'mirak rice for the Subcommander, with compliments from Chef," he said, placing the first plate in front of T'Pol. "Pot roast for the rest," he added, distributing the other plates among the three men.

Charlie eyed the Vulcan's plate curiously; the dish seemed like assorted grilled vegetables. "Looks delicious," he commented.

T'Pol tried a forkful, chewed thoughtfully and raised a surprising eyebrow. "This is… most acceptable. Your cook is quite good at preparing Vulcan food."

"You should try his egg Benedict," Jack said. "It's a dream."

"I shall consider giving it a try," T'Pol replied evenly. She did not truly intend to do so, of course – Vulcans generally did not eat animal products – but she thought it better to keep that piece of information to herself.

"Tell Chef I said thanks," Jack beamed at Daniels, who simply nodded and retreated to the galley.

For the next twenty minutes or so they ate in silence. After Daniels had collected their empty dishes and brought them dessert – pecan pie for the humans and N'gaan shake, made of soy milk, for T'Pol – Jack cleared his throat.

"To come back to the actual reason for our meeting today; Subcommander T'Pol has offered to shed some light at the background of the whole Viseeth situation."

"A Vulcan, offering information voluntarily," Charlie leaned back in his chair with a smug expression on his face. "Never thought I'd live long enough to see that."

"Trip!" Jack warned; then he looked at T'Pol. "Well, Subcommander. We're listening."

T'Pol placed her glass on the table.

"The situation with the Viseeth is a delicate one," she began. "Which is why Ambassador Soval empowered me to tell you as much as I know, to avoid letting you stumble into a danger you are unfamiliar with."

"And you couldn't tell us all this before launch?" Trip asked.

"No," she replied. "The people who have pursued Gerasen Gerasal – that is the name of the Viseeth courier in your sickbay – are largely unknown to us. They use some kind of stealth technology, therefore they could have infiltrated Starfleet Headquarters. We could not take that risk."

"It seems to me that these Viseeth are the key to all this," Reed said.

"They are," T'Pol agreed. "They are one of the oldest races that still exist in corporeal form."

"Wait a minute, you mean there are races that don't?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"Of course," T'Pol replied. "This is a simple matter of evolution. Once an intelligent species has reached a certain level of development, they naturally evolve into a state of pure energy."

"What is the fun in that?" Charlie teased.

That earned him a superior Vulcan eyebrow.

"Do not be concerned, Commander," T'Pol said dryly. "Your species will not be in danger to reach that state for a very long time to come."

"And yours will?" Reed asked.

"Unfortunately, Vulcans still have a long way to go yet as well," T'Pol admitted. "Evolution has its own pace. Trying to push it forward would only result in tragedy, as your Eugenic Wars have proved not so long ago."

"Have you ever met such an evolved being?" Jack asked.

"Once," she replied. "We had a… misunderstanding with one of our neighbours and they intervened to present bloodshed. It was a short yet very impressive demonstration of psychokinetic powers we could not even begin to imagine."

"Who are these people?" Jack was fascinated by what she'd just told them.

"We do not know," T'Pol said. "They never told us the true name of their species or where they originate from, so we simply call them the Peacekeepers. That was our first encounter with them for several millennia; and we cannot be certain that the ones in the historic records are indeed the same people."

"It must be hard to make out the difference between two blobs of living energy, especially with thousands of years between encounters," Charlie said, grinning. "But what does this have to do with the cow people… I mean, the Viseeth?"

"The Viseeth, like the inhabitants of Antos IV, are a very old and advanced race," T'Pol explained. "Unlike the other ancients, however, who do not meddle with the affairs of the younger races, they chose to keep an eye on the balance of power in our galaxy and keep it…well… balanced, through careful manipulation."

"I thought that was the Vulcans," Jack said nastily.

"An understandable mistake," T'Pol replied. "The Viseeth do not like to interact with the younger races directly. They lack the necessary aggression to get their will; they apparently outgrew it somewhere along their evolutionary journey."

"So they simply use your people as muscle?" Jack asked.

"That is an apt comparison," she said. "As soon as we have developed our first faster-than-light engine, the Viseeth arranged a meeting in space between us, the Deltans and themselves. They revealed us their role in keeping up the balance of power and asked us to act for them as mediators."

"And you said yes?" Reed asked. "How did you know they were telling the truth?"

"They are a telepathic species," T'Pol said. "So are the Deltans; and so are we. Our leaders examined the proof very carefully and made the decision to accept the offer."

"It didn't help you popularity with other races, I guess," Charlie said.

"That is correct, yet also immaterial," she replied. "We are no mindless servants of the Viseeth. They consult us about the problems we have to deal with, and we decide from case to case whether or not we want to be involved."

"And what are your actual criteria?" Reed inquired quietly.

"The ultimate goal is to keep up the balance of power; to prevent one species being subjugated by a more advanced one," T'Pol explained. "For that reason, we sometimes have to slow down the technical development of the one or other world, until their neighbours have also reached a similar level."

"Is that what you're doing on Earth?" Charlie frowned. "But we were never a threat for the Centaurians! In fact, they've always supported us in our efforts to develop our warp engines further. Just think of Dr Cochrane!"

"That is true," T'Pol said. "Unfortunately, some one hundred years ago an unexpected new development has begun. Forces we still could not identify have begun to seed hostility among the younger races. The Klingon crisis was just one of the alarming signs that somebody is trying to undermine our efforts to keep up the galactic peace."

"And I presume that the courier in our sickbay has found something crucial, or they wouldn't have tried to kidnap or kill her," Jack said slowly.

T'Pol nodded. "Exactly. Or, at least, our adversaries believe so. We shall not know it for certain until Gerasen Gerasal regains consciousness and we can ask them."

"Do you speak her language?" Reed asked.

"No; but like all Viseeth who keep contact with my people, they speak flawless Vulcan. However," she pulled a PADD out of her inner pocket and handed it to Jack," we have put together a linguistic database during the long time of our association. Your exolinguist may find it useful."

Jack switched on the PADD and opened one of the audio files. The language spoken by a female voice sounded like a series of low hisses, tongue clicks and melodic whistles.

"The pronunciation may be a hindrance," T'Pol said, almost apologetically.

Jack shook his head. "Not for Hoshi. The language she couldn't unravel and learn in record time hasn't evolved yet."

"Captain, do you really want to entrust Ensign Sato with such sensitive information?" Reed frowned.

Jack gave him an icy look. "I entrust you with it, don't I? Despite your… let's say, shifting loyalties. At least I know Hoshi and what to expect from her."

"Do you indeed?" Reed returned coldly.

"Yes, I do," Jack replied. "And before you ask, T'Pol knows about Hoshi's past… as does Commander Tucker. What I would like to know is why she seems to panic every time you're in the same room."

"Perhaps you should ask her, Captain," Reed said stiffly.

"I already have; she refused to tell me," Jack scowled. "Now, I'm aware of the fact that part of your assignment is to keep an eye on her. It was part of the deal. But let me warn you, Lieutenant: should I learn that you've threatened her, or harassed her in any way, I'll make you regret it."

"By all due respect, sir, I'd like to see you try," Reed said coolly.

"No," Jack answered in a deceivingly mild voice. "Believe me, you would not. I am as easy-going a guy as they come, but I protect those who are mine."

"I thought every member of this crew were 'yours', sir," Reed said.

"Those whom I've chosen, yeah," Jack clarified.

"You did choose me," Reed pointed out.

"No," Jack said. "I chose Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, security officer, as my tactical expert. What I got is a former intelligence officer whose previous career can be summarized with a single word: Classified."

"They are one and the same, sir," Reed stated.

"I'm not sure they are," Jack said quietly. "And until I am, I can't trust you unconditionally, Lieutenant."

"I see," Reed clenched his teeth. "In that case I shall endeavour to deserve your trust, sir."

"You do that," Jack replied simply. "Well, if no-one else has any more questions, then you're dismissed."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Reed was the first one to leave, in tightly controlled anger, T'Pol almost immediately on his heels. Charlie stayed behind for a minute.

"Do you want me to try finding out what's between Hoshi and Reed?" he offered.

Jack shook his head. "I don't want to put any more pressure on her. She's still traumatised. I hope she'll tell us out of her own free will once she'd settled in."

"And if she doesn't?"

"Then I'll find other ways to find out," Jack said grimly. "T'Pol isn't the only one with connections."

"And if you happen to find out something not to your likin'?" the thickening of Charlie's drawl clearly showed his distress.

Jack's bright blue eyes were cold like ice. "Then God may have mercy with Lieutenant Reed… because I won't!"

Chapter Text

Chapter 04 – The Invisible Foe

Having reached the half-way mark of their voyage without any serious problems, Jack decided to give the new engines a real push. Meaning to accelerate to maximum travelling velocity which, in the Enterprise's case, was warp four point five. When the new ship had proved that it can hold that speed for a considerable length of time, they would make an attempt to go to the speed limit. But this wasn't the time for that just yet.

Of course, they timed the test for the morning shift when Charlie Tucker would be on duty down in Engineering and Mayweather on the bridge. For this, they needed their best men (and women). Including T'Pol, Hoshi and, much to Jack's dismay, Lieutenant Reed.

The bridge was very quiet, tense with anticipation. The only sound that could be heard was the low hum of the engines as the ship picked up speed and the stars streaked along behind the large windows. They had been travelling at warp four point two for several hours by now.

"Seems okay to me," Jack declared; then he looked at Mayweather. "Why don't you try four-three?"

Mayweather grinned and slowly increased their speed. There was a slight change of pitch in the sound of the ship's engines.

"Warp four point three, sir," Mayweather reported proudly.

For a moment they all listened, waiting for something to happen. It didn't.

"Not much of a change," Reed finally summarized what everyone was thinking.

Everyone but Hoshi, that is.

"I don't know..." she began nervously, avoiding to even looking in Reed's direction. "Does anybody else feel that?"

"Feel what?" Jack asked, concerned.

He knew that Hoshi's ears were more sensitive to any changes than the best instruments. Which was whey he'd wanted her on his ship.

"Those... vibrations," she explained. "Like little tremors."

"You're imagining it," T'Pol said coolly.

"No, she isn't," Jack said. "She just has the best ear on this ship."

"It is possible that the hull plates would vibrate stronger with increasing speed," Mayweather offered. "I know this is a brand new ship, but things like that happened on the Horizon all the time."

Jack nodded, glad to have someone with Mayweather's experience on board. "Let's test that theory. Bring us to four-four, Ensign."

Mayweather did as he'd been told, with an almost manic glee in his eyes. A tiny shudder was now clearly felt by everyone, and the deep sounds of engines working as the ship accelerated were more audible than before.

Hoshi grabbed the sides of her seat, looking as if she'd become sick any moment. "There! What do you call that?"

T'Pol consulted the readings on her console.

"The warp reactor was recalibrating," she said calmly. "It shouldn't happen again," then she added in Vulcan, only for Hoshi to understand. "There is nothing to fear."

Hoshi shot her a grateful look but before she could have relaxed, a small alarm sounded at Reed's station.

"Now what?" she asked anxiously.

"The deflector's sequencing," Reed explained in a slightly condescending manner. "It's perfectly normal."

Hoshi clearly doubted that but didn't dare to argue with him. T'Pol glanced at her in well-concealed concern.

"Are you all right, Ensign?" she asked in Vulcan. "Would you like to go to your quarters and lie down?"

"Ponfo mirann!" Hoshi hissed angrily, humiliated and near to tears

T'Pol's only answer was a raised eyebrow.

Not understanding what they had been talking about, Jack became concerned that they were heading to a cat-fight and tried to intervene.

"It's easy to get a little jumpy when you're travelling at thirty million kilometres a second," he said with one of his big, fake grins. "Should be an old hat in a week's time."

Another tone was heard and Hoshi tensed immediately… but it was only the intercom signal. Jack taped a button on the arm of his chair. "Archer."

"This is Doctor Phlox, Captain," the distinctly accented voice of the Denobulan answered. "Our patient is regaining consciousness."

"On my way," Jack stood. "Hoshi, with me! T'Pol, you've got the bridge!"

He saw Reed's jaw clenching as he headed for the turbolift, with Hoshi in tow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When they reached Sickbay, the Viseeth was still lying on the biobed, her large eyes wide and wild with fear, and she was making hissing and clicking sounds, intermittent with low whistles. She seemed very agitated. A security guard armed with a plasma rifle stood watch, eyeing her warily.

"Ghlungit !tak nekleet!" she shouted.

"What's wrong?" Jack asked.

Hoshi worked on her PADD furiously, punching buttons and frowning.

"The translator's not locking onto her dialect," she explained unhappily." The syntax won't align."

"What if you tried Vulcan with her?" Jack suggested. "T'Pol says they all speak it. Tell her we're taking her home."

Hoshi nodded in understanding and said something that sounded in Jack's ear like "Etek tu tatau ha-ket" – or something similar. His Vulcan was practically nonexistent, save for a few phrases of formal greetings, so he completely depended on Hoshi in this.

"Ltrunghi !krgltt!" the Viseeth snarled.

"That didn't sound Vulcan," Jack commented.

Hoshi shook her head. "She wants to know who we are."

Jack shrugged. "Tell her. But stick to Vulcan. It's safer that way."

Hoshi nodded again. "Etek nem-tov Kominh. Tu nem-tov fi'yel-hali Enterprise," she told the Viseeth.

The eyes of the alien widened even more. "Wilat t'nash-veli yel-hali nevintor?" she demanded.

"She's asking for her ship back," Hoshi translated for Jack.

"Nice to know that she did have one to begin with," Jack muttered. "Say it was destroyed."

Hoshi dutifully translated the statement into Vulcan and braced herself for an angry outburst. But the alien only closed her luminous eyes for a moment; then said a single word. "Suliban."

Jack looked at Hoshi askance; she shrugged.

"I'm going to need to run what we've got through the phonetic processor," Jack sighed and Hoshi shrugged again in apology. "I'm sorry, Captain... I'm doing the best I can, but that particular word wasn't in the Vulcan database T'Pol gave us. And it's not Vulcan, either. In fact, it doesn't show up in any of the languages I know."

"Because it's not a word," Phlox intervened. "It's the name of a rather unremarkable species that I've met briefly, right before coming to Earth."

"What a coincidence," Jack commented grimly.

"You think these Suliban were chasing her to Earth?" Hoshi asked doubtfully.

Before Jack could have answered, though, the entire ship shuddered as it dropped out of warp. Hoshi instinctively grabbed Jack's arm.

"That's the warp reactor again, right?" she asked, although she had the gut feeling that it hadn't been.

Concerned, Jack tapped the nearest comm button. "Bridge, report."

"We've dropped out of warp, sir," T'Pol's calm voice answered. "Main power is…"

A brief burst of static interrupted her, then the comm went dead. The lights started to flicker and the medical consoles of Sickbay began to go out, one by one.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the bridge, Lieutenant Reed stared at his console as it went out under his hands… literally

"I think I saw something off the starboard bow..." he muttered.

"Try to be more precise, Lieutenant," T'Pol said calmly. "What did you see?"

"I don't know," Reed admitted in frustration. "It may have just been the sensors going down..."

"That would be a rather unlikely coincidence," T'Pol stated wryly. "Remember, unknown forces with stealth technology have already tried to get hold of our… passenger."

Reed shot her a baleful look across the darkened bridge, still smarting over the fact that the captain let her in charge.

"Your suggestion, Subcommander?" he asked, with added emphasis on her rank.

T'Pol ignored his attitude. "Switch to auxiliary power and go to intruder alert," she ordered.

"Communications are dead, Subcommander," Hoshi's replacement, Crewman Baird reminded her.

"I am aware of that fact, Crewman," she replied evenly. "However, switching to auxiliary power will allow us to give one general warning before that source might be affected as well," she gave Reed a piercing look. "Do as I told you, Lieutenant, before it will be too late."

Realizing that she was right, Reed swallowed his wounded pride and carried out her orders.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With the warp core having shut down spontaneously, Engineering was submerged in complete darkness. The duty crew, including Lieutenant Hess, Ensign Sandra Massaro and Crewman Rostov's entire team, were using handheld beacons, trying to find the reason for the sudden power loss. Charlie Tucker had already tried to contact the captain several times, but the comm panel stubbornly remained dead.

"Dammit!" he swore under his breath. "Fletcher, lock off the coolant tanks! I don't want them blowin' into our faces, should the power suddenly return."

"Already done, Chief," Fletcher assured him.

At that moment, the consoles began to glow weakly, as auxiliary power came online, and Lieutenant Reed's posh voice echoed through the entire ship.

"Attention all hands, this may be your only warning. Intruder alert! This is not a drill! We have potentially hostile intruders on board. Security teams, report to your assigned posts and begin a complete sweep, starting with Sickbay. I repeat: this is not…"

Before he could have finished the sentence, auxiliary power was cut off, too, and everything went dark again.

"What the hell was that supposed to mean?" Anna Hess asked in her harsh German accent. Her people might have lived on the Valhalla colony for over a century, but that didn't make her Standard sound any better.

Charllie shrugged. "I don't know any more than you do, Anna, but since they're startin' the sweep in Sickbay, I guess this had somethin' to do with our passenger."

"Do you think they'd try to sabotage the engines – whoever they are?" Rostov asked in concern.

"Afraid they might," Charlie replied grimly. "So stay focused, people, and let's try restorin' power. I hate bein' helpless!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sickbay was pitch dark, too, save for the beacons Jack, Hoshi and Dr Phlox were using to check their surroundings. The Viseeth was hissing anxiously, still restrained to the biobed. Chirps and whistles came from the various alien life forms the doctor had brought with him in a low-tuned cacophony.

"Auxiliary power should've kicked in by now," Jack muttered.

As if on clue, power did return briefly; long enough for them to hear Lieutenant Reed's warning. Then everything went dead again.

"Well," Jack commented grimly. "That explains things."

The Viseeth became more and more agitated; the pitch of her hisses rose half and octave as she tugged on her restrains with surprising strength. Jack's ears began to hurt.

"Do you know how to tell her to shut up?" he asked Hoshi who, growing more nervous by the minute, flashed her beacon from wall to wall.

She growled something to the Viseeth in Vulcan, but it had no effect whatsoever. Phlox scanned her with a small, handheld device of Denobulan design that had its own power source.

"Her pre-frontal cortex is hyper-stimulated," he said with a frown. "I doubt she has any idea what she's saying."

"Sedate her if you have to," Jack ordered. "I need to get to the bridge," and with that he headed for the door… until Hoshi's low, urgent voice stopped him.

"Captain, there's someone here", she murmured, moving her beacon across one of the bulkheads.

"Hoshi..." Jack didn't exactly say it, but it was clear he thought she was being paranoid.

She didn't give up so easily, though. "I'm telling you, there is someone..."

She stopped as her beacon illuminated a humanoid shape. Like a chameleon, it had taken on the appearance of its background and was barely visible. Once discovered, the figure leapt back into the darkness.

They only realized that the Viseeth had suddenly fallen silent when she spoke again, in a low, well-articulated manner, "Suliban."

Jack swept their surroundings with his beacon and found a second figure, perched like a spider high on a wall; however, this one was not camouflaged.

"Fuller!" Jack hissed to the guard watching over their passenger.

Crewman Fuller raised his rifle in the same moment as the second intruder leapt to the ground, where a third one quickly darted into the shadows. Fuller fired at them. The bright red plasma bullets illuminated the room in a series of quick, stroboscopic flashes.

The scene caused memories of her arresting resurface in Hoshi's mind and she panicked. Crouching low to avoid the gunfire, she kept erratically scanning with her beacon.

"Behind you!" she shrieked, spotting motion behind the guard.

Fuller whirled around to take aim but was a nanosecond too slow; or rather, the intruder lunging at him was too fast. He hit the deck hard and his weapon went sliding across the floor.

Jack's body moved before his conscious mind would have found the time to catch up. He lunged and rolled towards the weapon in one fluid movement, grabbed it and fired while still in motion. The intruder got hit with a full salvo and flew backwards until the bulkhead stopped it.

Jack grinned. "I'll never say a word against Starfleet's survival camp again!"

But it wasn't over yet, as the Viseeth's agitated whistle reminded him. He scanned the surrounding area of the biobed – and spotted one of the intruders directly over the ceiling, like a spider in its lair. In the next moment the creature leapt; simultaneously, Jack was knocked off his feet; his beacon rolled away, uselessly.

For a moment, Sickbay went dark and silent. Only the agitated clicking and chirping of Phlox's little creatures could be heard… and, distantly in the background, a low-pitched whine they could not identify. But Hoshi was sure it didn't belong to the usual background noise of the ship. She'd already grown familiar with that.

"Captain?" she murmured worriedly, though she was quite sure Jack hadn't heard it.

But before she could have voiced her concern, warp power came back online with a great surge, and the lights and consoles began to come alive, one by one.

Light came back as well, and they all blinked until their eyes get used to the brightness again. Crewman Fuller, still dazed from the impact, slowly pushed himself into sitting position and groaned. Phlox rushed to his aid, scanning him.

"Mild concussion," he diagnosed. "I'll give you a hypospray against nausea; otherwise you'll be as good as new in a day or two."

Hoshi carefully straightened her back; it tingled from the crouching position she had maintained for some time. As she looked around, she saw one of the intruders, dead, sprawled just inches from her. Disgusted, she edged away a bit.

"Captain," she said, fighting down her nausea with sheer willpower. "We've got one of them."

"Yeah," Jack replied slowly. "Unfortunately, they've got one of us, too."

Following his glare, Hoshi saw that the biobed was empty.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Ten minutes alter they were back to the bridge, sitting at their station – with the exception of Jack, who was standing behind his chair, arms crossed, anger radiating from his whole bulk like a black cloud.

"We've got state-of-the-art sensors on this ship," he growled. "Why the hell didn't we detect them?"

"If these guys are the same people who'd chased the cow lady to Earth, they were probably usin' the same stealth technology," Tucker pointed out. "The same technology our Vulcan friends refused to tell us about."

"Mister Reed thought he detected something right before we lost power," Mayweather offered helpfully.

Jack gave Reed, who was working his console furiously, a cold glare. "Did he now? And I was to be told that – when exactly?"

"The starboard sensor logs recorded a spatial disturbance," Reed replied evenly. "You were in Sickbay, sir."

Charlie sauntered over to Tactical and peered over Reed's shoulder.

"Looks more like a glitch," he commented.

Hoshi gave him a wounded look. "Those weren't glitches in Sickbay."

"I didn't say you were wrong," Tucker said soothingly. "Besides, even glitches need to be reported," he said with emphasis," and analysed, for safety purposes."

"Which is why I want a complete analysis of that disturbance," Jack said.

"You'll get it, Captain," Tucker was already heading for the turbolift.

Jack turned to Reed. "Where do we stand on weapons?"

"I still have to tune the targeting scanners..." Reed began.

"What're you waiting for?" Jack interrupted. "Or we can just give the task to Crewman Fuller. He knows the ship's torpedo systems better than anyone else; he helped design them, after all."

"That won't be necessary, sir," Reed answered stiffly and looked at his second-in-command, Paul Foster. "Lieutenant, take over for me here."

"Aye, sir," Foster stepped up to the tactical console as Reed left.

"Captain," T'Pol spoke quietly. She had vacated the captain's chair upon Jack's return and went back to the science station.

Jack ignored her. "Dr Phlox seemed to know who these are," he said to Hoshi. "Go and get everything from him. And see if you can translate more from what the cow lady said."

"Right away, sir," Hoshi replied crisply and left.

"Captain," T'Pol tried again. Jack turned to her. "There's no way you could have anticipated this. I am certain Ambassador Soval can make the Viseeth understand."

For a moment Jack's face darkened with fury. Then he forced himself to hold back… for the moment anyway.

"You're the science officer," he said in a clipped tone. "Why don't you help Trip with that analysis?"

"The astrometric computer in San Francisco will be far more effective," she suggested.

Jack gave him a thin, unpleasant smile. "We're not going to San Francisco, so make do with what we've got here."

T'Pol looked at him in honest confusion. "What for? You've lost the Viseeth. Your mission is over."

"I didn't lose the cow lady," Jack corrected. "She was taken. And I'm going to find out who took her – and get her back."

"How do you plan to do that?" T'Pol asked in a slightly patronizing manner. "Space is very big, Captain... a shadow on your sensors won't help you find them. This is a foolish mission."

Jack withstood the urge to hit her… barely.

"Come with me," he spat, heading for his ready room. T'Pol dutifully followed.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Once the door closed behind them, Jack whirled around.

"I'm not interested in what you think about this mission," he snapped. "So take your Vulcan cynicism and bury it along with your repressed emotions."

Not the least intimidated, T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "A little more control over your emotions would do you good, too, Captain. But you have misunderstood me."

"You called our mission foolish," Jack growled. "What's there to misunderstand?"

"The reason why I was saying it," she replied. "Captain, the information Gerasen Gerasal is carrying might be crucial for the outcome of the Viseeth's struggle with their unknown enemy; an enemy that would use every method to get it. We do not know who is behind this… this campaign to sow conflict in our galactic quadrant, but one thing is certain: they are much more powerful than you are. They have technology this ship, state-of-the-art it might be according to Earth standard, cannot match. You simply do not have the means to find Gerasen Gerasal; let alone rescue them."

Jack smiled grimly. "Despite having spent years on Earth and having worked for your Ministry of Intelligence, you don't know much about humans, do you? One of our best traits is to grow with the challenges we're facing."

"Perhaps," she allowed. "But this is not the right moment to prove that particular theory. Too much is at stake."

Jack smiled mirthlessly. "I've been listening to you Vulcans tell us what not to do all my life. I watched my father work his ass off while your scientists held back just enough information to keep him from succeeding. He deserved to see that launch. You may have life spans of two hundred years; we don't."

T'Pol knew about the fate of Henry Archer, of course. T'Kahr Soval had mentioned with regret how that brilliant mind (for a human anyway) had been destroyed, little by little, by the disease; it was a terrible waste indeed. And it was understandable, on a purely theoretic level at least, that Jack Archer felt a bit vengeful towards her people on his late father's behalf.

It was illogical, of course. Her people had not given Henry Archer the disease; nor had they known the means to stop it. But that did not change the fact that – had the Vulcans been a little more forthcoming – he would have been able to finish his work and see his engine fly with his mind still more or less intact.

She did not feel guilty. Guilt was an emotion, and a particularly useless one at that. Besides, she had no part in the whole affair. Still, perhaps to atone for the mistake of her people, she would do her best to help Henry Archer's son on this impossible mission.

"You are not going to be contacting Starfleet to advise them of our situation," she said.

It was not really a question, but Jack answered it anyway.

"No. I'm not. And neither are you," T'Pol raised a sceptical eyebrow but Jack ignored the gesture. "Now get the hell out there and make yourself useful."

After a momentary lack of any motion to show her disapproval, T'Pol turned on her heels and did exactly that. Jack turned to the window and looked out at the stars streaking by at low warp.

The cow lady – no, he corrected himself, she had a name, even if it was a ridiculous one; perhaps they could shorten it to G.G. – was somewhere out there, in the hands of her enemies. Because he, Jack Archer, insisted on taking her home personally. If she was to be tortured, maimed or killed for the information she was carrying, it would be his fault.

Perhaps they would have taken her from a Vulcan ship, too. But it was more likely that she'd have been safer on a Vulcan behemoth than on the barely finished, experimental Earth vessel. Yet he had insisted, and he had been within his rights, so she was now in grave danger.

He hoped they could find her in time. Not just because of her importance but because she was now his responsibility.

The chirping of the comm unit interrupted his brooding. It was Hoshi.

"Captain, you should come to Sickbay," she said. "Dr Phlox would like to show you something."

"On my way," he replied, heading for the door.

For some reason he doubted he'd like what Phlox wanted to show him.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 05 – The Face of the Enemy

Sickbay was dimly lit, except for a single bright surgical lamp shining down on the dead intruder on the autopsy table. It looked largely humanoid: bipedal, with an unusual dappled texture to its skin, a bald head and reptilian eyes. Having donned a lab coat, Phlox now had his hands deeply inside the opened chest of the creature, enthusiastically picking through the entrails.

Hoshi had retreated to the farthest corner of the room, trying very hard not to become sick. Jack forced himself to look on. There was information to be had; information that they desperately needed if they wanted to find their passenger.

"What have you found, Doctor?" he urged.

"Our abducted patient was right about one thing," Phlox replied. "He is a Suliban. But unless I'm mistaken, he's no ordinary one."

Jack frowned. "Meaning?"

"His DNA is Suliban, but his anatomy has been altered," the doctor explained. "Look at this lung."

Jack peered into the open chest cavity but couldn't see a thing, except a lot of blood and gore and he said so. "What am I supposed to see, Doctor?"

"Five bronchial lobes, you see?" Phlox pointed at the head of the bio-bed, which showed an intricately complex biological diagram.

"And that's too much?" Jack still didn't have a clue.

"He should only have three," Phlox told him. "And look at the alveoli clusters. They've been modified to process different kinds of atmospheres."

"Are you saying he's some kind of mutant?" Jack clarified.

"Yes, I suppose I am. But this was no accident, no freak of nature," Phlox replied conversationally. "This man was the recipient of some very sophisticated genetic engineering."

Jack shuddered. For him, for every human, that term was forever associated with the horrors of the Eugenic Wars. Phlox, on the other hand, was like a kid in a candy store. He picked up a thin instrument and activated it. A deep red light came on. Phlox shone the light on the Suliban's dappled face. After a moment, he moved the light away.

"What do you see, Captain?"

"The skin has changed colour!" Jack realized. "It perfectly matches the hue and intensity of the light source! How is that possible? Even a chameleon needs time to adapt to its environment!"

"Subcutaneous pigment sacs," Phlox explained; but he clearly wasn't done yet. "Watch this."

He tapped a control on the instrument, and the colour of the light changed to blue. He turned the light onto the Suliban's clothing; when he moved it away, the clothing, too, had adapted to the colour.

"A bio-mimetic garment," he explained. "But the eyes are my favourite."

He lifted an eyelid, exposing a super-dilated pupil glowing with phosphorescence.

"Compound retinas. He most likely saw things even your sensors couldn't detect."

"It's not in their genome, though?" Jack asked.

"No, certainly not," the doctor said. "The Suliban are no more evolved than humans. It's very impressive work, though. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Jack couldn't truly share his chief medical officer's excitement about this discovery. On the contrary: it filled him with unease. It was bad enough that their passenger had been abducted. That she'd probably been abducted by genetically enhanced alien super-soldiers didn't make things any better.

"What do you know about them?" he asked. "Where do they come from?"

The bare facts would suffice at the moment. He could get the details from Hoshi later.

"They're nomadic, I believe," Phlox replied thoughtfully. "No homeworld that I'd know of. I examined two of them years ago... a mated couple... very forthcoming and cordial."

"Probably belonged to a different subspecies," Jack muttered. "Very well, Doctor, carry on. I want an extremely detailed list of all possible genetic modifications done to this guy, compared with what they're supposed to be like."

"Certainly, Captain," the Denobulan replied cheerfully. "This will be the most interesting examination I've done since I came to Earth."

"Good for you; at least somebody is going to have a field day," Jack looked at Hoshi. "Come with me. I think it's time to see what Trip and our resident Vulcan have found."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They found the chief engineer and T'Pol working at a station near the warp core. The screen displayed various sensor data. Tucker seemed eager to find something – anything – that could prove useful; the Vulcan was detached as always.

"How about this?" Tucker was pointing at some data when they were entering the room.

"It is just background noise," T'Pol replied coolly. "Your sensors are not capable of isolating plasma decay."

"How can you be so damn sure what our sensors can do?" Tucker demanded, insulted on his ship's behalf.

T'Pol gave him the superior Vulcan eyebrow. "Science attaché, remember? Vulcan children play with toys that are more sophisticated."

Hoshi, this being her first time in Engineering, looked around intrigued, but she got a little hesitant as they approached the pulsing warp core.

"Are you sure it's safe to stand so close to that?" she asked, only half-jokingly.

Lieutenant Hess, sweaty and smeared with dust and oil and other unidentifiable substances from the top of her white-blond head to the point where her open zipper allowed unhindered view at her generous cleavage, looked up with a wicked grin.

"Don't worry, girl," she winked at Hoshi. "Granted, it's very… phallic, but it won't attack you. We've trained it properly."

Hoshi became beet read with embarrassment. Anna Hess was ship-wide known for her rather dirty mouth, but she would not have expected her to talk like this in the presence of the captain – and of her immediate superior.

"Having any luck?" Jack asked before the argument between the chief engineer and the science officer could have escalated.

Tucker gave the blank-faced Vulcan a poisonous glare. "Not really."

"My analysis of the spatial disturbance Mister Reed saw indicates a stealth vessel with a tricyclic plasma drive," T'Pol replied with scientific precision.

"If we can figure out the decay rate of their plasma, we'll be able to find their warp trail," Tucker added.

T'Pol shook her head. "Unfortunately, your sensors weren't designed to measure plasma decay," she pointed out.

Jack gave her a baleful look. "Anything you can do to rectify that?"

"I am not certain…" T'Pol began but Jack interrupted her.

"Anything you'd be inclined to do about it?"

"As I said, Captain: I am not certain," she replied evenly. "I can try modifying the sensors but I cannot guarantee that it will work."

"There are no guarantees in space; I may be new to deep space exploration, but even I know that much," Jack returned. "But we don't have many alternatives. Give it your best try. Trip, give her a hand."

"Aye, Captain," Tucker replied dutifully - he didn't look happy.

"And keep me informed," Jack added, striding out of Engineering with Hoshi in tow barely able to keep up with him.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He led her directly to his Ready Room and gestured her to sit. She obeyed, looking nervous.

"I'm sorry, Captain, I'm still trying to get a grip on the language of the Viseeth," she began without preamble. "It's so little what the Vulcans could provide on data and I'm… well, not really at my best yet. Perhaps won't be ever again."

"You will," Jack replied encouragingly. "I know how brilliant you are, Hoshi; I've seen it often enough. Just give yourself some time."

"Time is not something we have right now," she reminded him. "I don't want to let you down, sir."

"You won't," he said confidently. "But you will need time to get your footing," he gave her a piercing look. "How are you holding out, Hoshi? Be honest with me."

"I'm doing well enough, all things considered," she answered slowly. "It's good to work with you and Charlie Tucker again; and T'Pol is not as bad as she seems, either. Granted, Dr Phlox is a little creepy, but…"

"What about Lieutenant Reed?" Jack asked quietly.

Hoshi froze. "I don't have much to do with Lieutenant Reed," she replied.

"I know," Jack said; he recognized an evasive answer when he was given one. "You avoid him like the plague whenever you can. If you still have to be in the same room, you act like a frightened rabbit."

"I always act like a frightened rabbit, ever since… well, since," she added a bit lamely. Jack shook his head.

"No, you don't. You are wary around people and obviously traumatized, which is not surprising after all that you've gone through in recent years. But with Reed it's different; I'd go as far as to say personal – and I want to know what it is. Where do you know him from and what has he done to you?"

Hoshi curled about herself in the seat. "I… I don't think I can talk about that, sir."

"Jack," he corrected gently. "You can, Hoshi. You must. You'll never be able to focus on your job around him otherwise, and that could get you killed. It could get us all killed."

"No pressure, eh?" she murmured.

Jack leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "I can't afford the luxury. I need you at your best. We can battle your demons together, but only if you tell me the truth. Friends, remember?"

"Friends," she agreed. That was what they used to be before… well, before. Before everything in her life would go to hell. She didn't doubt that he honestly wanted to help her. She was just not sure that he could. Not any more than he already had by saving her from prison, that is.

"Right," Jack continued to apply gentle pressure. "Friends are supposed to be honest with each other. So tell me: what has Malcolm Reed done to you?"

Hoshi still hesitated. It wasn't that she wouldn't trust him; she just didn't want to get him in trouble by sharing her knowledge about their armoury officer.

"Perhaps it will help if I tell you what I already know," Jack continued. "I know that Malcolm Reed used to be with Starfleet Intelligence. Presumably with one of the Black Ops units, since practically his entire career is classified. I also know he's been manipulated into his current position with the express orders to watch you; at least that was the partial reason. Commander Williams admitted that much, and I'm not naïve enough to believe he told me the whole truth. But you know Reed from before, don't you?"

Hoshi nodded.

"Where from?" Jack insisted.

To his shocked surprise, instead of answering, Hoshi pulled down the zipper of her uniform jacket and hitched up her top to reveal an ugly wound on the left side of her chest. It had clearly been caused by an energy weapon; the shot had presumably burned through her entire torso and scarred badly. It was also a mere inch from where her heart would have been hit.

Jack was appalled. "Reed did this? When?"

Hoshi nodded. "When I was arrested. He led the unit that stormed the Terra Prime hideout. I… I was there to deliver the information they wanted in exchange of my mother's life. The cell leader used me as a living shield… but you know as well as I do that Starfleet Intelligence doesn't negotiate with terrorists…"

"He shot the leader through you," Jack realised, feeling sick to his stomach.

Hoshi nodded and covered the wound again.

"They did their best to save my life afterwards, though," she said with bitter irony. "They needed somebody to make an example of, after all."

"But the scarring…" Jack said. "Surely, 22nd medical technology could do better than that?"

"You don't really expect them to waste a tank full of expensive, experimental regeneration gel on a terrorist, do you?" Hoshi returned dryly. "I guess it was part of teaching me a lesson; the lesson that I no longer counted as a human being with human rights."

Jack shook his head in dismay, unable to say anything for a while, which was a first for him.

"You had a great deal of luck," he finally said. "That shot could have burned right through your heart."

"It would have," Hoshi agreed, "if I didn't have a little anatomical anomaly; my heart is positioned an inch or so higher than the human norm."

"Oh God!" Jack stared at her in open-mouthed shock. "He was trying to kill you, to really kill you!"

"I'm sure it was nothing personal," Hoshi said dryly. "People like him are trained to aim to kill. It's part of their job, I suppose. It's just hard to run into him every day."

"No kidding!" Jack said with a mirthless bark. "Listen, Hoshi, if he tries to harass you, if he gets too close to you, if he as much as looks at you the wrong way, you come to me. Immediately."

"And you could do what exactly about it?" Hoshi asked doubtfully.

Jack gave her a grin that would have made a shark proud. "Not about the issue… about him. If he hurts you again, I'll kill him. Slowly and very, very painfully."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Hoshi laughed but couldn't help being touched. "Even if you had a snowball's chance in Hell against a Special Ops agent, which you don't, you can't risk the mission just for me."

Jack shook his head. "You don't understand, Hoshi. You're a friend. I'd put you before anything or anyone. Especially before a spy that has been smuggled aboard my ship under false pretences."

"How that?" Hoshi asked. "You picked him yourself, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I thought I was picking a capable security officer," Jack replied. "A good one; but not a killer and a spy."

"He must be good at what he does if he was chosen for Black Ops," pointed out Hoshi reasonably.

Jack nodded. "I'm sure he is. I'm just not comfortable having somebody like him on board. Especially not somebody who tried to kill a friend of mine, no matter the reasons."

"I'm not very comfortable with that part, either," Hoshi admitted. "But for better or worse, you're stuck with him, at least until this mission is completed. And who knows? He might prove useful… for things no other member of the crew would be willing to do."

Jack frowned. "You mean dirty work."

"It might become necessary," Hoshi replied with a shrug. "And if it does, why shouldn't you assign the man to the task who's been specially trained to deal with it?"

"True," Jack admitted. "I don't have to like it, though… or him."

"No, but you must treat him civilly," Hoshi said. "He's not your enemy… not yet. Don't turn him into one."

"I don't want to," Jack assured her. "It's just… I can't really trust him and I keep asking myself: if Starfleet Intelligence has managed to smuggle one spy aboard, how many others may there be?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"He's very perceptive," commented Ensign Soccorro in Reed's tiny security office, where she was watching the live feed from the captain's Ready Room.

She was a tall, athletic woman with dark skin and short-cropped back curls, with enough sex-appeal to make a convent of Tibetan monks dazed with lust. How she'd ended up doing security work was everybody's guess.

They'd have been even more baffled had they known that she was actually Black Ops; but fortunately, only Reed knew that.

And T'Pol, of course, but neither of them suspected that. Starfleet Intelligence tended to underestimate Vulcans because of their generally non-violent attitude, which was a mistake, but not even intelligence officers were perfect.

"And fiercely protective about those he considers his," Reed answered to Soccorro's comment. "Like every good leader."

"It could become a problem, though," Soccorro warned him. "What if he has to choose between his crew and his mission one day?"

"Oh, he'll choose the mission, no doubt about hat,' Reed replied dismissively. "He's been obsessing about making his father's dream true all his life. He won't endanger it for personal reasons."

"That didn't sound like that just now," Soccorro pointed out.

"What people say and what they really do are often two very different things," Reed said. "The captain has a short temper, especially if people he cares for are threatened. But he also has an analytical mind and a strong sense of duty; he'll do what he has to do, personal feeling notwithstanding."

"It's still a case of divided loyalties," Soccorro insisted.

Reed shrugged. "Which is why we have to pussyfoot around Ensign Sato. She's one of the captain's pressure points. Commander Tucker is the other one."

"And he already hates your guts," Soccorro added dryly.

Reed shrugged again. "Nobody likes spies, Ensign. Not even the ones in their own rows. They'd gladly roll off the dirty work onto our shoulders but they still don't like us. We are deceiving them, after all, so it is understandable, I'm afraid."

"Was that the reason why you requested to transfer back to basic Security?" Soccorro asked with an ironic eyebrow. "Did you want to become 'one of the boys' again?"

"I know it was naïve of me," Reed answered with another shrug. "I should have known that once they've laid hand on you there would be no way back. I was a fool, clearly."

"Do you regret it?" Soccorro asked. She didn't need to explain what.

Reed nodded. "I do. But it's too late for that. We have a job to do and we're going to do it, whether we personally like it or not."

"I have no problems with the job," Soccorro said. "And you should come clear with yourself about your loyalties, sir, or else you won't be able to do your jobs – either of them."

"I know," Reid said grimly. "Very well, Ensign; carry on watching Sato while I keep an eye on the Vulcan. This is a delicate mission; the future of Starfleet depends on it. We can't afford any mistakes. Not on our end; or on that of the captain's."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"That damned lyin', backstabbin' son of a bitch!" Charlie Tucker wasn't a man prone to swearing, especially not in female company – even if said female was a Vulcan and therefore indifferent to his foul mood.

What he had just seen made his blood boil, though.

"I doubt that Lieutenant Reed's ancestry would play any role in the manner he carries out his duty," T'Pol replied, completely unfazed by the chief engineer's outburst. "Besides, to my knowledge he is the legitimate child of an old and respected English family."

"And your knowledge about us is fairly extensive, huh?" Tucker grinned, despite his anger. Vulcans could be unintentionally funny, taking everything for face value.

"Of course," she replied. "I, too, was an intelligence officer once. And even as a diplomatic attaché, I did have my sources."

"I bet you did," Tucker muttered. "You've managed to bug Reed's office, after all, and he's one paranoid son-of-a-bitch where security is concerned."

"Human males are often very arrogant," T'Pol replied simply. "That leads to the tactical error of underestimating females – human or otherwise."

"Probably, yeah," Tucker allowed. "I'm still wonderin' how you've managed to enter his office unnoticed… unless you'd manipulated the internal sensors in advance."

"There was no need to do so," T'Pol told him. "I never actually entered the office."

"So you had help," Tucker realised.

"In a manner of speaking," the Vulcan admitted. "Although I seriously doubt that Crewman Cooper was aware of the true nature of some of the repair work she had to do in the security office."

Tucker shook his head in reluctant amazement. "You're a sneaky girl and no mistake! How did you do it? Have you manipulated Anna's maintenance roster?"

"Nothing so crude," T'Pol said serenely. "I merely added a few slight modifications to the regular maintenance list regarding internal communications. It helped that Lieutenant Reed had ordered a feed from his own office to his quarters. Establishing a parallel link was child's play."

Tucker could barely hide his amusement over the paranoid Englishman falling into his own trap. Then a thought occurred to him.

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

"Because you are the executive officer of this ship, aside from being its chief engineer," T'Pol replied simply. "You need to know what is going on behind the captain's back; even if he does not know."

Knowing that Vulcans phrased their statements very carefully as a rule, Tucker thought about the whole issue for a moment – and came to an unexpected conclusion.

"So you don't want me to warn the captain just yet?" he asked.

It wasn't really a question but T'Pol answered it nonetheless. It was a Vulcan thing as Tucker had long learned, thanks to him having worked with Vulcan engineers for years.

"Not yet," she said. "Captain Archer has many impressive qualities but being a good actor is not among them. It is better if you and I watch Lieutenant Reed and his helper… or helpers, should there be more than just one."

"How likely is that?" Tucker asked.

"Roughly ten point two three per cent," she answered without hesitation. "Such missions are usually the more successful the less people are involved. But it is not entirely impossible that there are more. We must be thorough and very careful."

"Oh, I will be thorough, don't worry," Tucker said through gritted teeth. "So thorough that they won't even know what's hit them, once I'm done with them."

T'Pol regarded him with the clinical look of a doctor who wanted to make the correct diagnosis.

"You are unproportionally upset about this," she stated. "Why? Captain Archer was told in advance that Ensign Sato would be under constant surveillance, was he not?"

"He was informed about Reed… long after he'd picked him, believin' him to be a simple, down-to-Earth security officer," Tucker answered grimly. "No-one bothered to tell him about Soccorro – or any additional spies that might or might not be hidin' among us."

"Of course not," T'Pol said matter-of-factly. "That would negate the reason of their very presence."

Tucker shook his head angrily. "You don't understand, do you? These are our own people, spyin' on us!"

"And that upsets you," T'Pol said. It wasn't a question.

"Of course it friggin' upsets me!" Tucker exclaimed, his exasperation obvious. "They're our people. They're supposed to be on our side!"

"What makes you believe that they are not?" T'Pol asked calmly. "Ambassador Soval does not doubt that Starfleet Intelligence is very much behind this mission of yours. Our analysis has proved their sincerity."

"They've got a funny way showin' it," Tucker muttered angrily.

"They are trying to ensure the success of the mission with all the methods at their disposal," pointed out T'Pol. "And the fact is, intelligence services tend to have more efficient methods to deal with adversaries than regular security."

"I don't see them dealin' with anythin' at the moment," Tucker replied. "It's us they're spyin' on: you, Hoshi, the captain. You've just told me to be careful, haven't you?"

"And you should be," she said. "Intelligence officers – spies as you call them – can be ruthless when they think they have to, in order to get the job done. I know what I am talking about; I used to be one."

"So you think Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Soccorro could be a threat to us?" Tucker asked. "To Hoshi or you? To the rest of us?"

"I have reasonable doubts where Lieutenant Reed is concerned," T'Pol replied thoughtfully. "He officially requested to be transferred back to regular security; presumably because he found the demands of intelligence service incompatible with his conscience. I found no such records about Ensign Soccorro."

"And yet Reed was pushed into Jack's way by Starfleet Intelligence," Tucker said.

T'Pol nodded. "True. But Intelligence generally outranks regular security in such matters. Lieutenant Reed might not have had a choice."

"And they dare to accuse Jack of divided loyalties!" Tucker muttered angrily. "By the way, are you sure they couldn't have watched us watchin' them watch the captain? God, this is worse than a 20th century spy movie!"

"Quite sure," T'Pol said calmly. "I have established a scattering field around your office. If they tried to listen to us, all they would get would have been a highly technical conversation beyond their understanding. Now, I believe we should give our sensor modifications a final check and then bring them back online. Time is of an issue if we want to find Gerasen Gerasal while they are still alive."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 06 – The Gateway

Enterprise Starlog, Captain Jonathan Archer. Date: April 16th 2161

We've been tracking the Suliban's ship for ten days, thanks to our Science Officer, who came up with a way to tweak the sensors. We've already come far beyond where any Earth ship has gone before, with the possible exception of some very adventurous space boomers. Not even Ensign Mayweather knows a thing about this area of space; we are completely dependant on the Vulcan star charts we were given by Ambassador Soval.

"Computer, pause."

A quiet ping acknowledged the execution of his order and Jack glanced at Porthos who was lying on his doggie bed in the corner, his chin resting on his paws and watched him with bright brown eyes.

"Did you think she'd be of any help on this mission? It's not what we're used from Vulcans, is it? Even if old Soval did give us those star charts."

The Beagle wiggled his tail as if in agreement and Jack grinned. Porthos was really the ideal audience. And he really needed to complete this log entry before anything else would come up. This mission had already turned out very differently from everyone's expectations.

"Resume log," he said and the computer beeped.

I have no reason to believe that the Viseeth is still alive, but if what T'Pol told me is true, it's crucial that we try to find her. Unfortunately, so far we haven't found any reliable clues as if her fate.

"Computer, pause," he switched to intercom. "Archer to T'Pol. Report."

"If you feel like coming to the Bridge, Captain, now would be a good time," the cool, even voice of the Vulcan answered.

"On my way," Jack looked at his dog. "Well, Porthos, it seems we may have found something. Computer, delete log entry."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The sight that greeted him as soon as he reached the Bridge proper was… surprising, to say the least. All Bridge personnel were staring at the viewscreen which showed a distant orange planet before the background of the star-dotted blackness of deep space. It was a beautiful sight: like an amber pendant in a velvet-lined jewellery box.

"A gas giant, isn't it?" Archer said. "A Class Six or Seven, from the looks of it, I'd say."

"Class Seven," T'Pol supplied

Archer rolled his eyes. "I stand corrected. Does it have any significance for our mission or is it just sitting there, looking pretty?"

"Aesthetical aspects are of no significance in this case," T'Pol replied. "We do have a problem, though. The Suliban vessel dropped to impulse three point four seven hours ago and altered course. Their new heading took them through the outer radiation belt of the gas giant."

"Does this mean we've lost them?" the captain asked incredulously.

"Yes," T'Pol admitted reluctantly.

Archer closed his eyes for a moment to bring his anger under control; then he turned to Mayweather. "Move us in closer."

"Aye, captain," Mayweather's fingers danced on his console.

They couldn't feel the ship move, but the orange planet suddenly grew larger, filling the viewscreen.

"Anything?" the captain demanded.

Reed consulted his sensor screen with a frown and shook his head. "The radiation's dissipated their warp trail. I'm only picking up fragments."

Archer's mien hardened. "You always give up so easily, Lieutenant?" Then he turned to T'Pol. "Suggestions?"

The Vulcan nodded. "Lieutenant, run a spectral analysis of the fragments," she said to Reed.

"There's too much distortion," Reed protested. "The decay rates don't even match. I don't understand…"

"I believe I do," T'Pol rose from her seat at Science Station #1 and stepped closer to the viewscreen. "Calculate the trajectory of each fragment, Crewman Bennett," she ordered the dark-haired, elegant woman working at Science Station #2.

"What for?" Reed asked, clearly having no clue what they were supposed to be looking for.

"You will see soon enough; if my theory is proved," T'Pol turned to another science division crewman. "Crewman Shiva, recalibrate the sensor array – narrow-band, short-to-mid-range."

Jan Shiva, a gentle-faced young woman of Indian origins, acknowledged the order and carried it out with calm competence.

"Measure the particle density of the thermosphere," T'Pol continued.

Soon, the graphic displayed on the viewscreen changed again and Archer gave a low whistle.

"Your instincts were right," he said to T'Pol. "Those fragments weren't from one Suliban ship."

T'Pol refrained from the reminder that Vulcans didn't act on the basis of their instincts. Especially not Vulcan scientists.

"They were from fourteen," she said instead. "All within the last six hours. I believe we have found what we were looking for."

"A Suliban base," Archer said grimly. "Within the atmosphere of a gas giant. I must admit, it's ingenious."

"That remains to be seen, Captain," T'Pol answered calmly. "I also must warn you: the sensor array may not work at its peak capacity within the radiation belt of a gas giant. It was not constructed for that."

"Duly noted," Archer turned to Reed, grinning like a shark. "How are your targeting scanners, Lieutenant?"

"Aligned and ready, sir," the armoury officer replied with a matching grin.

For a moment he was showing his true face; or, at least, the face of the man he had been not so long ago: a true predator. Jack wasn't sure he liked it; but at the moment this was exactly what he needed.

"Bring the weapons online and polarize the hull plating," he ordered. "Ensign Mayweather, lay in a sixty degree vector. We're going in."

Caught up in the moment of recklessness, Mayweather grinned from ear to ear as he carried out his orders, and Enterprise began her slow descent through the orange gas. The viewscreen showed the gaseous layer rushing past; the ship's running lights could barely cut through it. Everyone was understandably tense.

"Sensor resolution's falling off at about twelve kilometres," Hoshi reported; the atmosphere on the Bridge grew even tenser.

Archer shot Mayweather, who was intensely working on the helm controls, a worried look. "How are you doing there, Travis?"

"I'm okay, Captain," the young man replied, without looking up from his instruments. "So far anyway."

"Our situation should improve," T'Pol promised, busy at her own console. "We're about to break through the cyclohexane layer."

"Somehow I don't find that thought very promising," Reed muttered under his breath but nobody listened to him.

All eyes were on the viewscreen as the orange layer of gas gave way to an even denser layer of roiling blue liquid. The ship instantly began to tremble violently.

"I wouldn't exactly call this an improvement," Archer huffed, trying to stay in his command chair. "What the hell is this anyway?"

T'Pol, looking calm and fascinated, activated a small viewer at her station and peered into its eyepiece.

"Liquid phosphorous," she murmured, sounding more surprised as any Vulcan ever had. "I would not have expected that beneath a layer of cyclohexane."

Archer withstood the urge to roll his eyes… this time. "Does that help us on any way?"

"Theoretically – yes," T'Pol replied calmly. "At least we should have the sensor array back to full capacity in twelve point three seconds."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As usual, her prediction proved correct. After a few more seconds of intense shaking, Enterprise finally descended into a clear layer. Only the external sensors showing the roiling gasses above reminded them that they were still in the atmosphere of a gas giant. It had the impression of being underwater in a submarine, really.

Surprisingly enough, Hoshi was the first to recover from her white-knuckle anxiety and react to the insistent beeping in the background.

"We've got sensors," she reported, her voice almost steady.

"About time," Archer turned to Mayweather. "Level off," then to Crewman Shiva. "Go to long-range scans."

"Aye, sir," Shiva switched to long-range scanners and began to sweep the area in front of them.

"Any sign of other ships?" Archer asked.

"I am detecting two vessels... bearing one-one-nine mark seven," Shiva reported, "moving away in the distance."

Archer looked at T'Pol. "Are they Suliban?"

"Presumably, Captain, based on their ion trail, which is similar to the one from the ship we have been pursuing," the Vulcan answered, peering into her hooded scanner.

"I want to see them with my own eyes," Archer swivelled his chair to Hoshi's direction. "Put it up."

Hoshi threw a switch and a moment later they were all staring at the viewscreen – with the exception of the Vulcan, of course – eager to have their first glimpse of their adversaries

"Interesting design," Archer commented. "Quite small, too."

"About twice the size of one of our shuttlepods," Lieutenant Hess supplied, checking the readings of the Engineering station.

"And those nutshells are supposed to have warp capacity?" Archer found that hard to believe.

"Actually, they've got both, impulse and warp engines," Lieutenant Hess confirmed.

Archer turned to Reed. "Weapons?"

"Presumably," Reed mock-quoted the Vulcan. "But we're still too far away for any details."

"Well, take us closer, Ensign," Archer ordered impatiently.

Mayweather, however, was staring at the control screen of the navigational sensors with eyes as wide as saucers.

"Sir, I'm picking up something at three-forty-two mark twelve," he reported. "It's a lot bigger."

"Onscreen," Archer ordered.

Hoshi adjusted the focus of the sensor array and the image of the two small ships on the viewscreen got replaced by that of a huge, intricate structure right ahead of them. It was impressive, to say the least.

"Ever seen anything like that?" Archer asked their resident Vulcan.

T'Pol shook her head. "No, Captain. I would suggest a quick yet thorough sensor sweep for further reference."

"Do it," Archer agreed. "All sensors – get whatever you can! The slightest data fragment could decide between life and death later."

Ignoring the dramatics, T'Pol set to work with the usual Vulcan speed and efficiency... and not only for the safety of the ship. If the Suliban had somehow become a much bigger threat than anyone had suspected, the Viseeth would need data; and so would the Vulcan Science Directorate.

Unfortunately, the insufficient human sensors didn't provide her with the details she would prefer.

"Captain," she said quietly. "We need to get closer."

"And risk being detected by that thing there?" Reed protested. "It would be suicidal!"

"Your concern is duly noted," T'Pol answered dryly. "However, I believe the value of the data we will be able to collect if we get closer outweighs the risks. We need to know what we are dealing with… as you humans like to say."

Archer hesitated for a moment; then he made a decisive nod.

"Go tighter," he ordered Mayweather, who carefully edged the ship closer to the structure; then he looked at Hoshi. "Maximum magnification."

Hoshi tapped a control and they got a closer view at the structure – and a unique view it was, for sure: that of a massive, spiral-shaped space station. A few individual cell ships were engaging and disengaging from it in what seemed regular traffic.

"Analysis," Archer ordered.

"The structure seems to be comprised of hundreds of smaller, modular Suliban ships - again, presumably Suliban – which are interlocked to form a space station," T'Pol reported.

"Interlocked in what way?" Archer asked.

"Magnetically, it seems," Lieutenant Hess answered instead of T'Pol. "A rather clever concept, in fact. In case of an overwhelming threat they can just disengage and flee in hundreds of different directions."

"Does it also mean we could destroy the helix by simply de-magnetizing the ships?" Archer asked.

Lieutenant Hess shrugged. "Theoretically, yes. But for that to work you'd have to be in the centre of the structure when setting off the demagnetizing device. Which would be beyond suicidal. Sir," she added belatedly.

"Work on the device nonetheless," Archer ordered; then he turned back to Hoshi. "Bio-signs?"

"Over three thousand... but I can't isolate a Viseeth, if there is one," Hoshi admitted unhappily.

She was saved from her captain's potential dissatisfaction, though, when the ship suddenly jolted.

"That was a particle weapon, sir," Reed reported. "It seems we've been detected."

"You think so, yeah?" Archer returned dryly; then he looked at T'Pol. "Seen enough?"

"For now," the Vulcan replied, completely unfazed by the sparks flying from various damaged consoles. "I suggest we return to the phosphorous layer and… regroup, I believe, is the expression."

"Agreed," Archer looked at Mayweather. "Take us up, Travis. Mr Reed, I want you to track all approaching cell ships. Hoshi, analyse the lifesign readings. Lieutenant Hess, have Trip send me the damage report and the repair schedules. T'Pol, I want a thorough internal scan, focused on but not restricted to Sickbay. We must understand how did the Suliban manage to infiltrate the ship; and how can we prevent that from happening again."

"Aye, sir," a chorus of five voices acknowledged his orders, and he nodded briskly.

"Briefing in exactly thirty minutes. Dismissed."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later the senior officers congregated in Enterprise's conference room, each of them aimed with a PADD containing their detailed report. They didn't seem particularly optimistic – which the exception for Hoshi, who was practically beaming… for the first time since she had come aboard.

Her excitement was positively endearing, so Archer asked her first. "What have you found, Hoshi?"

"Non-Suliban bio-readings," she replied promptly, pointing at the long column of bio-data appearing on the viewscreen of the conference room, next to a small section of the Helix.

"Any idea what they could be?" Archer asked.

"No, Captain," Hoshi admitted, her excitement flagging. "They do not match the data Dr Phlox gave me… or anything we've got from the Vulcans about the Viseeth."

"I am currently running them through the medical database but it hasn't come up with any matches yet," Phlox added. "Of course, the database has hundreds of species filed away, so it may take a while."

"Understood," Archer said. "This doesn't mean that our… passenger isn't somewhere on the Helix, though."

"True," Reed allowed, "but how are we supposed to find her? That is an aggregate structure out there, comprised of hundreds of vessels. Finding a single alien in there would be like looking for a needle in a haystack."

"At least we know where the haystack is… not that it would help us a lot," Tucker commented philosophically.

"I believe I can be of some help here," T'Pol said. "As per Captain Archer's orders, I have scanned the entire ship for unusual readings that could have explained the seemingly effortless abduction of Gerasen Gerasal, and I found… this."

All eyes turned to the viewscreen, trying to make sense of the unusual readings… with very little success.

"Are those residual subspace particles?" Tucker asked uncertainly. "But… that's not possible!"

"It should not be," T'Pol agreed. "And yet it is the unquestionable fact that there was a short period of subspace particle emissions in Sickbay – for twelve point six eight seconds, to be precise. At about the same time when Gerasen Gerasal was taken, I may add."

"Does that mean that she was actually abducted into subspace?" Reed asked doubtfully. "And the attack of the Suliban was merely a distraction?"

"Not necessarily," Dr Phlox supplied. "According to my examinations, the genetic enhancements the Suliban have received would enable them to survive in subspace… for a limited amount of time."

Reed shook his head. "That seems a little far-fetched for me."

"And yet we cannot deny the presence of residual subspace particles," Tucker pointed out. "There's no way those subspace emissions could have spontaneously happened within the ship."

"Which means, we might be able to find our missing passenger through scanning for subspace emissions within the Helix," Archer realised.

"Theoretically," T'Pol replied with emphasis. "However, to test this theory we must come a great deal closer to the Helix… and Enterprise would not be able to withstand a coordinated attack of hundreds of Suliban ships."

That was the depressing truth, of course, but Archer was not about to give up the first chance they might have had to find the Viseeth.

"Which is why we'll be sneaking in through the back door," he turned to Reed. "Lieutenant, would the grappler work in a liquid atmosphere?"

"I'm not sure, sir," the armoury officer admitted.

"We'll make it work, Captain," Tucker promised. "Give me twenty minutes for the modifications. What are you planning? Capturing a Suliban ship?"

"Exactly," Archer replied with a wide, white grin. "It's time that we repaid the Suliban the visit. T'Pol, can you adjust the tricorders so that they'd detect subatomic particles?"

"They will be ready by the time Commander Tucker is done with the grappler," the Vulcan said simply.

Reed shook his head in bewilderment. "Sir, this is insane! Even if the Viseeth is there, it would be almost impossible to break them out."

"I know," Archer grinned at him ferally. "That's why I take you with me – and T'Pol." Several jaws hit the floor simultaneously, but he continued, unfazed. "Travis, as soon as the grappler is online, we'll go in again."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Despite Reed's doubts, in two hours' time they had fought a short skirmish with three patrolling Suliban cell ships and captured one of them. Hoshi had been ordered down to the Launch Bay to help translating the inscriptions on the little vessel's instrumental board, while Archer was trying to familiarize himself with the ship's systems with the help of a detailed graphic displayed on the launch control screen.

"Are you sure you can fly this thing, Jack?" Tucker asked, concerned.

"Let's hope so," Archer replied. "Otherwise we can forget the entire mission… and that will be only the beginning of our problems."

"If the Vulcans are right," Tucker pointed out.

Archer shrugged. "They usually are. It's just the way they present it that irritates the hell out of me."

"And yet you're taking T'Pol with you," Tucker said.

"She's our Science Officer," Archer reminded him. "And she knows more about the biology of the Viseeth than Phlox; if the cow lady is injured, she can provide first aid."

"True," Tucker allowed. "But taking her and Reed with you, without anyone else there to watch your back… isn't that just a little risky?"

"I need the best people for the job, Trip. The best scientist – our junior crewmen have no experience, you know that – and the best security officer, which is Lieutenant Reed, whether we like it or not. This ship is very small; I can't take more than two additional people with me, or we wouldn't be able to squeeze the cow lady between us. Even so, it will be a very tight squeeze."

"As if that had ever bothered you," Tucker laughed. "You just want to get up close and personal with her, admit it!"

Archer grinned at him unrepentantly, but he had no time for a witty reply because the snap doors opened and in walked Lieutenant Reed, carrying two silver equipment cases. Archer's eyes lit up in excitement.

"You're finished then?"

The armoury officer nodded and put down the cases on one of the storage surfaces. "Do you want to see them, sir?"

"Sure," Archer said, biting back a comment about the stupidity of that question.

Reed flipped open the lid on one of the cases, revealing a rectangular device.

"This thing should reverse the polarity of any maglock within a hundred meters – according to Engineering, that is," he said with a side glance in Tucker's direction; then he indicated the controls. "Once you've set the sequence, you'll have five seconds."

"You mean you'll have five seconds," Archer corrected. "This is your job, after all. What's in the other case?"

Instead of answering, Reed flipped open the other equipment case and pulled out two Starfleet-issue hand guns with pistol-grips. He handed them to Archer, who grinned ferally again.

"Ah. Our new weapons."

"They're called phase-pistols," Reed explained. "They have two settings: stun and kill. It would be best not to confuse them."

"True," Archer replied coldly. "The stun setting may not work on the Suliban, seeing all those genetic enhancements. Set them to kill, just to be on the safe side."

Three pairs of eyes turned to T'Pol expectantly, waiting for a Vulcan lecture against violence and mindless killing. To their surprise, it never came – quite the contrary.

"It would be illogical to hold the lives of terrorists in higher esteem than those of your people; or that of Gerasen Gerasal," T'Pol said in agreement.

"Why, thank you," Archer said after having picked up his jaw from the floor. "And since we all seem to be in agreement here, let's go and get our passenger back."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They piled into the small ship, all three of them. It was a tight fit, despite both T'Pol and Reed being slightly built. Fortunately so was the Viseeth they were supposed to bring back, so – with some effort – it was theoretically doable. Still, it promised to be an uncomfortable ride, both there and back.

The launch went without noticeable complications and soon they were heading downward, while Enterprise remained hidden in the blue gas of the phosphorous layer. It was indeed as bumpy a ride as expected, and they were all relieved when the cell ship finally came into position to dock in to the Helix.

The docking procedure itself promised to be a bit tricky, too.

"Docking interface online," T'Pol reported. "Coaxial ports ready."

"Open," Archer ordered.

T'Pol hit a control. "Continue," she said."

Archer took the steering mechanism in both hands, and eased the ship downwards carefully. The blue phosphorous clouds began to thin out – and then they abruptly broke through into clear space. The trembling of the ship finally stopped. But they saw nothing in front of them.

"Where is it?" Reed asked in confusion. "It was right here."

"Bank starboard, ninety degrees," T'Pol instructed their captain, studying the control screen. Archer corrected their course and in the next moment the enormous Suliban Helix appeared directly below them.

"There you are!" Archer said triumphantly.

"Not quite yet," T'Pol corrected. "That's the upper-support radius. Drop down right below it and start a counter-clockwise sweep. Another two point six degrees… another zero point four. Right there. You can dock the ship now."

Through the window, they could see a circular airlock protruding from the Helix. They exchanged a look, then Archer nodded. After some skilled and careful manoeuvring he managed to line up the ship with the airlock and, with a series of whirring mechanical sounds as the docking ports locked into place.

After a moment the hatch opened to reveal a poorly-lit corridor. They stared at it for a heartbeat, then Archer rose from the pilot's seat – uncomfortably low and narrow for a man of his size – and grabbed the equipment case containing the magnetic unlocking device.

"Let's go, people," he said. "We have a damsel in distress to save."

They poured out of the cell ship, relieved to be able to stretch their cramped limbs. T'Pol held the Vulcan-issue tricorder in front of her to follow the faint track of subspace radiation that might aid them in finding their missing passenger.

"The emission is emanating from this direction," the Vulcan said, leading them down the corridor and then turning to the left, into a narrow little passageway that ended in front of a closed door. T'Pol scanned the door... and frowned. "This is odd."

"What?" Archer snapped, which seemed to have no effect whatsoever on the Vulcan.

"I register tetryon emissions, Captain," she replied.

Archer raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"Tetryon particles are supposed to be unstable in normal space," she explained.

That didn't really tell Archer anything, though. He said so, and T'Pol tried to explain further.

"Tetryons are elementary particles that can only exist in subspace," she said. "They can be registered during warp transfer but become unstable when coming in contact with normal space. It should be impossible for them to exist here… yet, obviously, they do."

"Where is the source of the emissions?" Archer asked.

"According to my readings in the room behind this door," T'Pol answered. "But I cannot be certain until I have seen the room itself."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Archer flashed that shark-like grin of his. "I'm sure Mr Reed will be able to force his way through the door. They do teach such things in spy school, don't they?"

Reed didn't take the bait. "Indeed, sir, they do," he replied simply.

Then he opened a wall panel the other two hadn't even spotted yet and inserted a laser welder into the circuits behind it. The circuits were fused in mere seconds and the door slid open, revealing an empty room – some sort of cargo bay, perhaps.

With the not insignificant difference that a large section of the wall was pulsating – as if the metal itself has come alive, and was undulating in perpetual waves – and rippling. Both men stared at the phenomenon with their mouths literally hanging open. T'Pol's face was as expressionless as only that of an extremely surprised Vulcan's could be.

Archer was the first to find his voice again. "What the hell is that?"

T'Pol edged closer to the wall to perform further scans.

"The structure of the bulkhead is being altered on a subatomic level," she replied matter-of-factly. "The metal itself is in a state of quasi-molecular flux."

"In a what?" Reed asked.

"The quasi-molecular flux is a molecular state in which constituent atoms are altered from their normal composition and energy state," T'Pol explained pedantically.

Archer eyed the wall with wary suspicion. "What is causing it?"

"I cannot offer a theory, Captain," the Vulcan admitted. "According to the Vulcan Science Directorate this should not be possible in normal space. And yet it is happening, here and now, in front of our very eyes. I am picking up a subspace particle stream emanating from that bulkhead ahead of us. It appears to be composed of spatially-inverted tetryon particles, originating from a tertiary subspace manifold."

Archer kept eyeing the rippling wall with steadily growing unease. "I have no idea what are you talking about, but that's not a good thing, is it?"

"Correct, sir. Something from that deep in subspace shouldn't be able to exist in our universe. But there it is."

"Yeah, there it is," Archer echoed. "And the unusual readings in Sickbay led us right here."

"Correct, sir."

"Does this mean that the Viseeth we are looking for is probably behind that… whatever it is?"

"That is a logically justifiable theory," T'Pol allowed. "However, we do not have any empiric proof."

"Then it is high time we find some, isn't it?" Archer said grimly, stepping closer to the rippling wall. "What is this… thing in the middle of the distorted area?"

"Lacking any more scientific definition I would call it a tear in space," the Vulcan said reluctantly. It was not like her to use such un-scientific terms, but for the first time since they had arrived, Archer found that he had begun to understand what was happening.

"Are you telling me this is how the cow lady has been abducted into subspace?"

T'Pol nodded. "It would explain why we found no Viseeth bio-signs on the entire Helix… or why subspace seems to be leaking into normal space."

"I see," and, surprisingly enough, he did, really. "Does she have any chance to survive there?"

"Not for long," T'Pol replied grimly. "Perhaps long enough for whoever was behind their abduction to forcibly gain access to their memory engrams."

"Which, again, wouldn't be a good thing, would it?"

"It would be a disaster of galactic proportions, Captain."

Archer nodded. "I thought so. In that case, people, we don't really have a choice. We must go through this… tear and bring her back."

Chapter Text

Chapter 07 – Bogeymen in Space

Archer's announcement led to a moment of stunned silence – right before Reed would start to protest.

"Captain, you can't be serious! How are we supposed to get through metal that is in a state of quasi-molecular flux? Human flesh is not supposed to survive that!

"No, it is not," T'Pol agreed, still scanning the bulkhead that was getting worse – distorting like crazy, in larger waves. "Unless a gateway is opened, of course."

"What do you mean?" Archer asked.

T'Pol studied her tricorder thoughtfully. "Captain, the tetryon emissions have intensified. They seem to be focusing in this direction…"

She held up the instrument as if tracing an invisible stream of particles through the air, toward a tiny rupture that had suddenly appeared in the middle of the rippling bulkhead, swirling, distorting the area around it.

"It is apparently coalescing here," she continued. "They are reading as a point of subspace energy."

Archer eyed the small tear warily. "It appears to be the beginnings of a large spatial rupture."

"That is exactly what it is," T'Pol said. "And the way the tetryon emissions are modulating it is like somebody is controlling the flow of energy. This is not a natural phenomenon… and it is expanding."

"At which rate?"

"According to my calculations we will be able to pass through it in five point six one minutes," T'Pol replied. "In theory. To my knowledge it has never been done before."

"No time like the present for a first attempt," Archer said philosophically. "But if the rupture expands so quickly, would it not endanger the stability of normal space?"

T'Pol nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed, Captain, there is an eighty-seven point six per cent probability for that."

"Damn it, sometimes I hate to be right," Archer muttered. "Any ideas how to seal the rupture?"

"No, Captain. I do not know of any such precedence ever happening. However, the Viseeth have explored subspace for millennia longer than even Vulcans have. Perhaps Gerasen Gerasal will be able to suggest a method that might work."

"Assuming she is on the other side of that… thing," Archer gestured in the direction of the spatial rupture. "Can you tell it for sure?"

"No, Captain. The spatial rupture is creating severe nucleonic interference. It is impossible to obtain positive bio-signals through it."

"Not even by tracking the tetryon emissions?" Reed asked.

T'Pol shook her head. "The emissions are coming from a tertiary subspace domain. Unfortunately, subspace has an infinite number of domains – like an enormous honeycomb with an endless number of cells. Isolating the exact cell the emissions are coming from is simply not possible with our level of technology. Tetryon particles have a random momentum. Our sensors are unable to track them."

"In other words: we have to go through and see with our own eyes," Archer concluded.

T'Pol nodded. "That is correct," she checked the rupture again. "And the rupture is large enough to do so now."

"Could it be harmful to cross a phenomenon like that?" Reed asked.

"I have no sufficient data to answer your question, Lieutenant," the Vulcan replied flatly.

"Then let's go and see it for ourselves," Archer said. "I'll go first; T'Pol, you follow. Lieutenant, you take the rear."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Surprisingly enough, they felt nothing while crossing the tear in space – not even a slight prickling of the skin. Archer felt cheated… sort of. He'd just done something no man – or no Vulcan, apparently – had done before, and it didn't even register physically that he was in subspace now – or was he?

The room behind the rupture was large, but dark all around, so that its true dimensions could rather be felt than actually seen. There was a single pool of very bright light shining down on what seemed to be an oddly-shaped metal examination table with a foot rest and a slightly elevated top.

The figure lying on the table was clearly their Viseeth passenger, her chest and arms trapped under a flat metal restraint that had buttons and blinking lights on the outer surface. Various tubes and indicators were attached to her chest and arms, feeding who knows what sort of liquid into her veins and supposedly collecting data. On the left side of the table a metallic swing-arm was attached, ending in a scissor-like tool with curved, ragged blades, one considerably longer than the other.

The whole scene had a distorted quality – surreal and dream-like, as if their perceptions had been altered. From the surrounding darkness strange, odd-sounding noises could be heard: high pitched, rapid clicks, vaguely resembling the noises made by a woodpecker while looking for worms.

Archer moved to get closer to the examination table but Reed grabbed his elbow in a vice-like grip. The armoury officer shook his head and pointed at himself, signalling that it was his job to take point while scouting out a potentially hostile and dangerous place. Archer let him. He was right, after all.

The slim Englishman moved closer to the middle of the room, noiselessly and with a cobra-like grace. He was clearly in his element, and Archer reluctantly admitted that he might prove useful for the mission yet. Still remaining outside of the central pool of light, Reed tried to estimate the status the Viseeth was in.

It did not seem very promising. Her large, liquid eyes were wide open yet unresponsive, her expression was blank. She had clearly been heavily sedated and was semi-conscious at best. Reed was about to go closer and try freeing her when some sixth sense stopped him mid-move.

Only now did they realize that – barely visible in the darkness – several shadowy figures were rustling about, making the clicking sounds. In the same moment when Reed froze, one of them came out of the darkness, gliding on the smooth metal floor of the chamber as if on wheels and approached the examination table.

It was wearing some sort of hooded metallic robe – perhaps their version of a hazmat suit – hiding almost its entire body. Only two bulbous eyes and a beak-like mouth were visible in the shadow of the wide hood.

The alien moved a small pedestal next to the examination table on the left side. There it reached out with one clawed, three-fingered hand, picked up one of the bizarre-looking tools that lay on the pedestal, moved the tool into the light and began to wave it around the Viseeth's head, which had been shaved clean and resembled a mottled skull without the lush dark locks.

The tool sent out a strange, unpleasant noise, as if the alien was scanning its captive; but it had to be more than just a scanner because even semi-conscious, Gerasen Gerasal moaned in pain and her slim body jerked violently, trapped under the metal restrain. Archer thought to have heard the snapping of several bones and he clenched his fists in helpless rage.

The alien pulled the tool away, as if to read it; then moved it back into the light and began to wave it around Gerasen Gerasal's head again. Once more, the tool sent out that awful noise and the Viseeth moaned and jerked again, her entire body covered in sweat… or rather in some milky white substance.

After a moment the alien retreated into the darkness. The clicking, chattering noises intensified, as if they were discussing the results.

"Now!" T'Pol whispered. "Gerasen Gerasal is losing subdermal fluids; Viseeth are basically amphibians, this could be fatal for them!"

The two men nodded in understanding and moved closer to the examination table, phase-pistols on the ready. Suddenly one of the aliens turned around, holding a wicked, scissor-like tool with two curved, jagged blades, like the one fastened to the swing-arm only much larger, clearly preparing to cut the Viseeth's skull open.

Without thinking, Reed aimed his phase pistol and fired at the alien, blasting it back into the shadows. Archer followed suit when another two of the aliens became aware of their presence and rushed towards them. The clicking sounds turned into panicked screeches.

"Can you get her out of it?" Archer asked T'Pol who was trying to figure out the workings of the controls on the console over the Viseeth's chest.

"I am trying my best, Captain."

After several fruitless attempts, the Vulcan touched another control. The console automatically rose off Gerasen Gerasal's chest, feeing her. T'Pol was still hesitating to move her, though, because there were several tubes connected to the Viseeth's neck like some kind of alien IV-lines. The tubes were attached to a small instrument that was next to the platform.

"We take that thing with us," Archer decided. "Let Dr Phlox find a way to separate her from it. Can you carry her?"

"Certainly," T'Pol picked up the Viseeth as if she had been a rag doll and wedged the box feeding the tubes under her arm. "I suggest we hurry up before more of these aliens would turn up."

"My thoughts, exactly," Archer fired another round of shots into the darkness, just to be sure, and then he began to run towards the rupture that had considerably expanded during their presence in the alien lab. "Let's go!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They stumbled through the "tear" into real space and hurried back through the corridors to where their captured Suliban cell ship was still docked. Only when they'd placed the Viseeth into the small aft compartment did they realize that Reed was still carrying the maglock case.

"Damn it," Archer said resignedly. "We're only half-done. We can't leave the Helix intact."

"You two go, sir," Reed said. "This is my job."

Archer raised an eyebrow. "Lieutenant, I might not particularly like you but that doesn't mean I want you dead."

"I don't intend to die, sir," Reed answered. "However, your first priority is to bring the cow lady back to Enterprise, so that Dr Phlox can save her. You can find me by tracking the tetryon emissions once I've dismantled the Helix – they are only untraceable in subspace."

"And then what?"

"Then you can use the transporter to bring me back aboard. Or rather Commander Tucker can."

"And this from the man who swore never to use the transporter," Archer grinned humourlessly.

Reed shrugged. "It beats being dead, sir… but we don't have the time to keep arguing. You must go, as long as you still can."

"He is right, Captain," T'Pol said quietly. "We will have to come back anyway, to try sealing the rupture, once I have searched the Viseeth database for possible solutions."

Archer hesitated for a moment but then he nodded decisively and climbed into the Suliban ship. T'Pol followed him without a backward glance.

Reed hurriedly retreated into the corridor and sealed the airlock before him. Checking his wrist chrono, he waited five minutes to give the others the time to launch and get into safe distance. Then he put down the equipment case to remove the maglock. Attaching the rectangular device to the nearest wall, he put in his earplugs and activated the maglock as Tucker had shown him.

Then he went to his knees, covering his head.

He didn't have to wait for long. Almost immediately, a low-pitched whine began to sound, quietly building up in volume and intensity. Exactly five seconds later the device emitted a blinding energy pulse that radiated in all directions.

As soon as the light receded, Reed clambered to his feet again to see if the maglock had actually worked. The first signs seemed promising: the corridor under his feet began to tremble with the rumbling sound of docking ports unlocking. Looking down, he saw the floor separating right in front of him. The entire corridor split apart. Forcefields flashed on as the interlocking elements making up this section of the Helix lost coherence.

He was on his own, with a spatial rupture and an unknown number of mysterious and obviously hostile aliens in his back.

"Well," he muttered, checking the energy packs of his phase-pistol, "I hope that transporter really works as well as Commander Tucker swears."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile the Suliban cell ship was trying to make it back to Enterprise, dodging the various pieces of the disintegrated Helix that were flaying in all directions aimlessly around them. It was only thank to Jack's extraordinary skills as a pilot that they didn't collide with either a large chunk of debris or with other fleeing ships.

With one eye on the sensor readings and the other one on the Viseeth whose condition was becoming critical, T'Pol still could spare the captain a quick glance of appreciation. She had not expected the human to be this good at the controls of an unknown vessel, regardless of his reputation.

When they reached the rendezvous point, however, Enterprise was nowhere to see.

"I don't get it!" Archer muttered angrily. "This is where they're supposed to be!"

"It would be safe to assume that Enterprise was forced to move, in order to prevent detection," T'Pol answered calmly. "The locator beams of the Suliban were already getting closer when we departed."

"Fantastic," Archer muttered. "In which case we may never find them again."

"That is a reasonable assumption as well," T'Pol admitted. "Captain, I suggest we break radio silence. With all the signals going to and fro between the Suliban ships, we may get through to Enterprise undetected."

"Assuming Enterprise will be able to single out our signal from all that cacophony," Archer murmured pessimistically.

"You have repeatedly stated that Ensign Sato's ear is better than any instrument on board," T'Pol reminded him. "I believe it is time to let her prove it. We have no time to waste, Captain. Gerasen Gerasal cannot hold on to life much longer. And when they die, everything we have done so far would be pointless."

Archer knew she was right, of course, and he nodded reluctantly.

"All right. Try hailing the ship and see if Hoshi is listening."

After several attempts and endless, tense moments they were both relieved to hear Hoshi's somewhat distorted voice telling them that Enterprise had located them and to stay right were they were.

"Hurry up," Archer replied. "And tell Doctor Phlox to be ready for a patient in critical condition."

"Human or Vulcan?" Hoshi asked anxiously.

"Viseeth," Archer said. "And have Trip fire up the transporter; we'll have to go back for Lieutenant Reed."

"That would be a risk for Enterprise the parameters of which we cannot safely calculate," T'Pol warned him.

Archer nodded. "I know. But I'm not leaving anyone behind; not even someone sent to spy on me. Hoshi, see to it that Trip carries out my orders."

"Aye, Captain," and with that, the connection broke again.

"Well," Archer said unhappily, "let's hope our people are the first one here and not the Suliban."

"That would be unfortunate," T'Pol answered with customary Vulcan understatement.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When they finally set down the ship in Launch Bay Two, Phlox was already waiting for them with two med techs and a gurney. After a quick scan, his expression became alarmed and he sent forward one of the med techs to prepare the operation theatre.

"And get me a plasma infusion unit ready!" he called after the woman. "We must replace the body fluids as soon as possible."

"Yes, doctor," she replied dutifully and ran.

Phlox and the other med tech placed the semi-conscious patient on the gurney and were already wheeling it to the turbolift when Archer caught up with them.

"Doctor, what's wrong with her?" he asked.

"I've run a resonance tissue scan to screen for infections," Phlox explained, not even slowing down their progress. "I found none; but there have been attempts to drastically change the patient's biochemistry; presumably to enable them to survive in a normally lethal environment… for a while anyway. I must undo the results, partial though they may be, or else the patient won't survive in our environment. If you'll excuse me, Captain, I really don't have the time to chat right now."

And with that, he vanished in the turbolift cabin, together with his patient and his med tech.

"Let's go to the Bridge and see what we can do to get our armoury officer back, then," Archer said to T'Pol.

Charlie Tucker was visibly relieved when they entered the Bridge and vacated the captain's chair in a hurry.

"Welcome back, Jack," he said. "And congratulations; you've done it. What's next?"

"We go back for Lieutenant Reed," Archer replied. "Is the transporter ready?"

Tucker made an unhappy grimace. "It is; but we can't obtain a positive lock on him, due to the severe nucleonic interferences created by the spatial rupture."

"You mean we can't transport him out unless we close the rupture first?" Archer clarified.

"Afraid so," Tucker admitted glumly.

"I see," Archer turned to T'Pol. "Have you given any thought how we might close the rupture?"

The Vulcan nodded. "I cannot offer you a solution that would guarantee one hundred per cent success, Captain. However, we can try closing the rupture with a coherent graviton pulse."

Archer looked at his chief engineer askance and Charlie Tucker nodded thoughtfully.

"Since we can isolate the exact subspace domain the emissions are coming from, thanks to the readings you've brought back… yeah, we might be able to do it. The only problem is: we'd have to do it at the source."

Archer frowned. "You mean somebody has to go back where Reed is?"

"With a portable graviton pulse generator, yeah," Tucker said grimly. "Or it won't work. I'll better warn my people not to take apart that Suliban cell ship just yet."

"Good idea," Archer grinned mirthlessly. "Well, let's go and do this before the Suliban recover from their surprise!"

"Captain," T'Pol intervened quietly. "You cannot go; not again. Having succeeded in retrieving Gerasen Gerasal, it is of primary importance that you deliver them to Berengaria VIII. It can make all the difference how the Viseeth will see humans in the future."

"What does it matter who will actually be takin' her home?" Tucker asked in confusion. "She will be brought home. Ain't that the important part?"

"It is," T'Pol allowed. "But the Viseeth are a peculiar people with a very strong sense for protocol."

"And that coming from a Vulcan," Tucker muttered.

T'Pol gave him her best Vulcan eyebrow. "Oh, believe me, Commander: compared with the Viseeth, my people are positively…. bohemian, I think the expression is."

Both Jack and Charlie tried very hard to imagine a bohemian Vulcan – and failed.

"I'll take your word for it," Archer finally said. "All right, I'll send Travis; he's the only pilot aside from myself I'd trust with a Suliban ship. He's almost as good as I am."

Tucker grinned. "Actually, he's better; at least his reflexes are. Have you seen his Academy results in the simulator?"

"Have you seen them?" Archer glared at him suspiciously.

"Of course I have; I'm your executive officer, remember?" Tucker stepped to the nearest comm unit. "Tucker to Engineering. Alex, get yourself a portable graviton pulse generator and come to Launch Bay Two with it. Oh, and tell Anna he's in charge until further notice; I'll be unavailable for a while."

He broke the connection and turned to T'Pol. "You willin' to help me with the final adjustments?"

"Affirmative," she replied. "Time is an issue here, after all."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
But even with T'Pol's help, it too over twenty minutes to reprogram the graviton pulse generator so that it would – hopefully – bring the desired results. In the meantime the scattered Suliban ships began to reorganize themselves.

"That ain't no good," Tucker swore under his breath. "It's only a matter of time till they'll start lookin' for Enterprise again. We won't be able to return with the Suliban ship. Damn it, and I was so lookin' forward to takin' it apart and see what makes it tick!"

He looked genuinely insulted over his lost chance. Archer couldn't really blame him. This was a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and they just had to give it up. It was frustrating, but there was nothing they could have done about it.

"If we'll have to rely on the transporter you can't go, though," he said. "I want you at the controls. I don't trust that thing, and you're the one who knows it best."

After a moment of mutinous silence Tucker reluctantly nodded.

"All right," he said unhappily. "Alex, it seems you've won the race this time. I trust you not to screw up the job."

"I won't, Chief," Crewman Gaeta promised earnestly and climbed into the tiny ship next to Mayweather.

The others hurriedly cleared the launch bay.

"I'd better go to the transporter room and keep an eye on them," Tucker turned to T'Pol. "And since this has been your idea, I hope you won't mind goin' down to Engineerin' and watchin' over the process."

"Not at all," the Vulcan replied serenely and left.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Trapped in what was left of the central segment of the Suliban Helix , with the steadily expanding spatial rupture in his back and nothing but a forcefield between him and the vacuum of space, Lieutenant Malcolm Reed began to wonder if Captain Archer had abandoned him, after all.

Not that he would blame the captain, if he had. Their first priority was to save the Viseeth and to take her home, preferably in one piece. According to T'Pol, this mission was of crucial importance for the fate of the known galaxy, and while Reed didn't trust Vulcans in general, he knew they were better informed about interstellar politics than humans.

So yes, he'd have understood had they chosen to continue the mission and not to jeopardize it for his sake. That didn't mean he had to like it, though; and while he generally wasn't a coward – a coward wouldn't have lasted long with Section 31 – he shuddered from the thought what would happen to him once the rupture expanded wide enough for the aliens to cross over.

Therefore he got as close to crying with relief as a reserved Englishman with a stiff upper lip (one who was also a ruthless intelligence officer) could ever get when he heard the segment's only still functioning airlock open.

The first one entering was Ensign Mayweather, his phase-pistol on the ready. Him followed Crewman Gaeta from Engineering, carrying some rather heavy-looking equipment. Seeing Reed, Mayweather nodded and put away his gun.

"It's good to see you, Lieutenant," he said. "Ready to blow this joint?"

"Absolutely," Reed eyed the portable monstrosity with interest. "Is that a graviton pulse generator?"

"Yep," Alex Gaeta put down the thing that appeared to weigh a ton and started working on the settings. "Travis, can you give me a hand with this?"

"What do you need it for?" Reed asked.

"We're trying to seal that hole behind you with a coherent graviton pulse, sir," Gaeta explained. "According to Subcommander T'Pol it should neutralize the tetryon emissions."

"Should?" Reed echoed.

Gaeta shrugged. "She couldn't guarantee that it would actually work; the method has never been tested before. But the chief thinks it's our best shot so we'll give it a try," he checked the settings with the help of some obscure info on his PADD and nodded. "We're all set up."

Mayweather flipped open his communicator. "Mayweather to Enterprise."

"Go on," Archer's tinny voice answered.

"We're ready to go, sir."

"Well, what are you waiting for, then?"

"Understood, Captain. We'll begin in three seconds," Mayweather nodded to Gaeta. "Start pulse in three."

"Aye, sir," Gaeta touched a few controls. "Coherent graviton pulse in three… two… one… now!"

One last touch and – accompanied by a low, humming noise – an almost completely transparent bundle of white energy rays was emitted from the generator, sizzling on the surface of the rupture… which started to shrink slowly, evenly.

"Mayweather to Engineering," Travis spoke into his communicator. "The graviton pulse is having an effect. The tetryon emissions have decreased by nineteen per cent."

There were triumphant noises at the other end of the connection, and T'Pol's calm voice answered. "Carry on, Ensign."

In the next moment, however, the rupture sent out a flash of light.

"What the hell was that?" Reed asked, worried.

"Nothing good," Mayweather consulted his scanner, then spoke into his communicator again. "Chief, additional subharmonics have appeared. They're reinforcing the tetryon emissions," he consulted his scanner again. "They appear to be counter-acting the graviton pulse."

"And with excellent results," Gaeta warned. "The rupture is beginning to expand again."

It was indeed. Reed could see he tear in space widening slowly once more.

"Looks like somebody is fighting back," he commented grimly. "Can we strengthen the graviton pulse?"

Mayweather and Gaeta exchanged unhappy looks.

"I really have no idea, sir," the engineer confessed. "This is unknown territory for us all."

"Try setting up a random frequency shift," Tucker's voice intervened. "If we can keep them from guessing our pulse modulation they might not be able to compensate."

"You've got it, Chief," Gaeta was already working on the adjustments, and for a moment or two it seemed to work too. The rupture started to shrink again; and then, with another flash, it began to expand back.

"It isn't working, Chief!" Gaeta complained in frustration. "They are too fast! I haven't even finished the resequencing when they've already adapted!"

"Program the emitters for full spectrum pulse compression," T'Pol's voice answered instead of Tucker's. "Channel all of the graviton energy into a single burst and see if they can handle it."

She was clearly guessing, which wasn't a good thing. If a Vulcan had to lower themselves to such unscientific methods then the situation was clearly desperate. But what other choice did they have?

Gaeta reprogrammed the emitters again, and this time the rupture kept getting smaller and shutting down. At the same time the entire segment began to shake.

"It seems we've been found out and the locals are unhappy with us," Reed commented cynically.

"Captain, the rupture is closing down," Mayweather reported in, "but the Suliban have found us and now we're getting shot at."

"Trip, can we get them out of there yet?" Archer's voice asked.

"No, Cap'n," Tucker's voice, heavily accented as always when under stress, answered. "There's still too much nucleonic interference. They must seal the rupture before we could even think of usin' the transporter."

"And how?"

"One more burst should suffice," T'Pol's voice, as calm as ever, said. "Give it another try, Mr Gaeta."

"Yes, ma'am!" Gaeta replied enthusiastically and did as he'd been told.

This time the rupture kept shrinking until it vanished entirely. Unfortunately, the Suliban kept shooting at the segment just as enthusiastically.

"Mission accomplished," Gaeta reported in. "Chief, this would be a good time to get us out of here."

"Don't lose your pants, I'm workin' on it," Tucker's voice answered.

For a moment nothing happened, save for the room shaking with the increasing number of hits by particle weapons. Then everything went dark, and when they could see again, they had already reappeared in Enterprise's transporter room.

"Bridge, we have 'em!" Tucker reported in.

"Good job, Trip," Archer's voice answered in obvious relief. "Send Travis up to the Bridge; I want to put at least a parsec or two between us and this place as fast as the engines can bear it."

Chapter Text

Chapter 08 – Silent Encounters

While Enterprise was hurling through subspace towards the Berengaria system, the senior officers – with the exception of Travis Mayweather, of course, since he was currently flying the ship – congregated in the captain's ready room to discuss the next tasks along their journey. They were all relieved to hear that the Viseeth was most likely to make a full recovery, given enough time.

"I've managed to stop the biochemical changes induced by their abductors and it's only a matter of time until their system cleans itself from the remaining traces," Dr Phlox explained, obviously very content with himself.

"That's good news; but who were those guys and why did they want to change her?" Archer asked.

The Denobulan shrugged. "As I've already told you: the purpose of the changes had to be that they would survive in subspace – at least long enough to be thoroughly questioned. As for the species, I have no idea. The Vulcan database has no aliens registered that would match your descriptions. I can only assume that they live in subspace and have created this… gateway to normal space with the express intention to experiment on our Viseeth passenger without endangering themselves."

"What for, though?" Tucker asked. "What could they possibly want from the cow lady?"

"Their memory engrams," T'Pol answered without hesitation. "It is logical to assume that the unknown aliens and the Suliban are working together towards an as yet unknown goal. The Suliban had not caused any problems for other space-faring species until a few decades ago; we must assume that somebody encouraged them to play a, let us say, more active role in interstellar politics."

"At about the same time when the first genetically enhanced Suliban appeared on the galactic stage," Dr Phlox added.

"And when, exactly, did that happen?" Reed asked.

"Opinions differ greatly about that," T'Pol replied. "The first confirmed record dates from 2137; but there are unexpected events of violent nature where the participants could not be identified beyond doubt. Including several outbreaks of unrest within the Klingon Empire that could easily have led to civil war and were clearly orchestrated by outside forces. Those might have been the Suliban – or, at least, one Suliban faction that is generally known as the Cabal – but we have no proof."

"That would mean, though, that the puppet masters of the Suliban might also hail from subspace," Reed said thoughtfully.

The Vulcan nodded. "It is possible. But, as I said, we have no proof. Perhaps when Gerasen Gerasal regains consciousness they will be able to tell us more – if they are willing."

"Why wouldn't she?" Tucker shrugged. "We've risked a lot to save her pretty ass, after all."

"You forget that it was a human who shot them in the first place," reminded him the Vulcan. "The Viseeth are not used to violence and do not know how to deal with it. Gerasen Gerasal may be more… worldly than the others, seeing that they have dared to go out on an intelligence-gathering mission on their own; but after the events on Earth, they would find it difficult to trust humans – any humans – again."

"In that case it would be best if you were the one to communicate with her," Archer said.

T'Pol inclined her head in acceptance.

"I cannot dispute that, Captain. It is fortunate that you have invited Doctor Phlox along for this mission. As far as I know Gerasen Gerasal has no reason to mistrust Denobulans."

"And you know a lot about these things, don't you?" Reed commented softly.

"Yes, I do," T'Pol replied simply.

"Fortunately for us," Archer gave his armoury officer a quelling look and Reed dutifully shut up. "How long to Berengaria VIII yet?"

"Barred any unexpected events, ten point three seven days by steady warp four," T'Pol replied.

"We can't keep up warp four all the way!" Tucker protested. "The hull platin' took some damage in the fight with the Suliban; and there is a lot of internal damage we have to repair on our way."

Archer sighed. "What is the maximum speed you can give us?"

"Warp two point eight," Tucker replied promptly. "Warp three point five in the case of absolute emergencies, but only for short bursts. I'm sorry, Cap'n, but you know as well as I do that we launched before Enterprise would have been fully finished. Without a proper shakedown cruise – which we never had – I won't dare to take any unnecessary risks. The cow people just will have to wait a few days longer. It can't be helped."

"The longer it takes us to get to Berengaria VIII, the greater the risk of further attacks," Reed pointed out. "Let's be reasonable about this, Captain: it would be naïve to expect from the Suliban and whatever allies they may have to leave us alone. There will be other attempts to recapture the Viseeth… or to kill her – and us, too, if they don't want any witnesses."

"I know this is far from being over," Archer said. "But if Trip says it won't be safe to go beyond warp two point eight, then I won't take that risk. He knows the ship better than any of us… including me. And I grew up with the blueprints!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That was such an obvious truth that the others couldn't argue with it. There being no other pressing matters at the moment, Archer dismissed his officers – with the exception of Hoshi who was supposed to help him put together his preliminary mission report – and signalled Petty Officer Daniels that he was ready for the next infusion of caffeine.

The young Welshman appeared mere moments later, with a thermos in hand and with Chef Williams in tow. That in itself wasn't surprising – Chef often checked in with the captain about menu choices – but this time he seemed a bit anxious.

"Is there a problem, Chef?" Jack asked, while Daniels distributed his heavenly coffee between him and Hoshi.

"Not as such," Williams replied. "It's just so, Captain, that Lieutenant Reed's birthday is coming up, and I thought I'd make a special dinner for him…"

"That's a good idea," Jack said. "Mr Reed put his life at risk to get us off the Suliban Helix; it's only proper that we do something nice for him in exchange."

"Yes, Captain, but I haven't got a clue what to cook for him," Williams complained. "I've got lists of food allergies and favourites and preferences and dislikes from the entire crew but none of them is any help with finding out what the lieutenant's favourite food is."

"We know he's allergic to tropical grasses; he told us as much himself during that first dinner with you and Subcommander T'Pol, sir," Daniels added, "but that's all."

"You should ask one of his friends," Jack suggested.

"He doesn't seem to have any," Daniels commented cynically. "Not aboard this ship anyway; which is hard to believe, given his sunny personality," the comment practically dripped sarcasm. "As for whom he might have known before, it's classified, like the rest of his service record."

"You should try asking Ensign Soccorro," Hoshi suggested. "They appear to be close; well, as close as Lieutenant Reed is capable of being to anyone."

"They are?" Jack was honestly surprised. "I never noticed."

"You never had a personal reason to watch him closely, sir," Hoshi replied quietly. "I'd offer to contact his family and ask a few questions but I'm afraid he'd misinterpret my efforts."

Jack shook his head. "You stay out of this, Hoshi; I don't want you to get in trouble for such an insignificant little thing."

"Contacting his family may be a good idea, though," Daniels said thoughtfully.

Jack nodded. "Then do so, Mr Daniels. I'm sure you'll be able to make some discreet inquiries."

"I'll do my best, sir," the quartermaster promised, and with that the two Welshmen left on their personal mission.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
During the following days, while the Engineering crew was working around the clock to finish the necessary repairs as soon as possible, Petty Officer Daniels did his best indeed to find out what Lieutenant Reed's favourite food might be. He did everything short of asking the man himself.

First, he contacted Reed's parents – who turned out not to even know what position the lieutenant had taken aboard Enterprise. They didn't seem to know what he liked to eat, either, as he had apparently always eaten what was put in front of him.

Next, Daniels talked to Reed's sister. Unfortunately, she didn't have any idea what her brother liked to eat, either, although she did remember that Malcolm had gone for a week without eating once.

Daniels also asked Reed's uncle and his two spinster aunts, but all they knew was that their nephew occasionally ate – those had to be rather rare occasions in Daniels's opinion, given how whippet thin the man was.

As a last resort, he contacted a certain Lieutenant Mark Latrelle, supposedly Reed's best friend while at the Academy, but Latrelle couldn't tell him anything conclusive, as they had lost touch shortly after graduation. Presumably when Reed joined Starfleet Intelligence, from which point on keeping in touch with previous acquaintances generally wasn't encouraged.

Latrelle did remember, though, that the both of them used to favour a restaurant on the Embarcadero during their training, but he supposed that Reed had only gone there because of a pretty waitress named Maureen as, to his knowledge, Reed hated fish.

"No, he doesn't," Chef said when Daniels told him about his so far unsuccessful investigation. "Last week I served sea bass and he ate it quite eagerly."

"That is the problem, don't you see?" Daniels replied sourly. "He eats everything. It's just near-impossible to find out what he likes."

"Somehow I don't think Lieutenant Reed likes anything… or anyone," Williams muttered. "Not even dessert. The only time he went for seconds was when I made pineapple cake."

"That's odd," Daniels said. "We know he's allergic to tropical grasses and plant enzymes – among half a dozen other things. It was the first thing I put on the lists. And pineapple certainly contains a great deal of bromelin. Are you sure he wanted seconds from that cake?"

"Quite sure," Chef replied. "He thought I didn't see it, as I was working in the back of the galley and no-one else was there at the time, but yeah, he did take seconds. He fetched a generous slice of that cake from the refrigerator with his own hands."

"Then we've got our answer," Daniels blow up a great breath in relief.

Williams, however, wasn't so sure about that. "And if we're wrong?"

The quartermaster shrugged. "Then we're wrong. We've done our best. I really don't see whom else we could ask."

"What about Ensign Soccorro?" Chef asked.

Daniels rolled his eyes. "Do you want to have your nose broken for meddling in her private life? I don't; that woman is a menace. Pineapple cake it is, and if the Captain isn't satisfied with the results, he can still order Lieutenant Reed to confess the truth about his food preferences."

"That would kind of undermine the idea of a surprise dinner," Chef pointed out.

Daniels shrugged. "Which is why I didn't ask him directly. No, I think pineapple cake is our best shot."

"To which he's allergic," Chef reminded him.

"Apparently, that didn't keep him from eating it before," Daniels replied. "Well, I have things to do, Rhys. Should you get a better idea, contact me. I'll inform the captain."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Archer accepted the news without comment. At the moment he had more pressing concerns. The Viseeth had regained consciousness and – contrary to T'Pol's prediction – was quite willing to talk to him.

This was the first time Jack saw her (he decided to think of the Viseeth as a she, as humans generally did, even though they knew she wasn't truly female) really awake and was stunned by her strange beauty. As if a fire salamander had taken on human shape.

The fact that her abductors had shaven her head clean only intensified the likeness.

"I wanted to thank you for getting me out of… wherever I was," she said. She had a low-pitched voice and spoke a grammatically flawless Standard, though her k-s and t-s sounded like hard clicks and her c-s and s-s were more like hisses than actual consonants; probably due to the sound of her natural language.

"The Vulcans told us it would be very important to get you home as soon as possible," Jack replied with a shrug. "I apologize in the name of my people that you were shot on Earth. As far as I'm told, the farmer who did it had never seen an extraterrestrial before and simply panicked. Still, we're sorry it happened."

"It is understandable," she replied with a negligent wave of a long, fine-boned, webbed hand. "Your species is still very young. You will get used to strangers in another century or two. It takes time."

"You are very understanding," Jack said in surprise; it wasn't at all how T'Pol had predicted the Viseeth would react.

She laughed; it sounded like a series of clicks and low whistles.

"Oh, I am something of an anomaly among my people," she admitted. "Which is why I ended up as an intelligence officer… something that has not existed among us for centuries. Literally."

"I see," and really, based on what they'd learned about the Viseeth (mostly from the Vulcan database), it sounded rather unusual.

"I believe we have not been officially introduced yet," she continued. "My name is," the following long string of clicking and whistling sounds made no sense for Jack whatsoever, "but you can call me Gerasen Gerasal. That is the name I use when dealing with other species."

"It's still a mouthful," Jack said. "Would you mind if we shortened it to G.G. as we usually do with long names where I'm coming from?"

She shrugged. "Not at all. The full one is just a substitute, too."

T'Pol seemed slightly scandalized by the manner in which Jack treated the Viseeth, but he didn't really care.

"G.G. it is, then," he said. "Now that we've cleared all the technicalities, what can you tell us about your abductors?"

"Not much, I fear," she replied thoughtfully. "In all the time my people have been explored the cosmos, we've never came across a species like them. Of course, we never ventured into any subspace domains, as we are not fit to survive in subspace outside our ships."

"But you were abducted by them, weren't you?" Jack tried to clarify. "Or did the Suliban take you?"

"I honestly cannot tell," she replied. "At the time they took me from your Sickbay, I was hibernating – that is what my people do when gravely wounded. It cuts our recovery time down to a half. When I came to, I was already in that lab, attached to their machines, and they were experimenting on me."

Her flecked skin formed goosebumps for a moment, which Jack interpreted as the Viseeth version of a shudder.

"What did they do to you – and to what purpose?" he asked.

"It is the theory of your Doctor Phlox that they wanted to change my biochemistry, so that I would survive in subspace; at least long enough for them to extract my memory engrams," she replied. "I tend to agree."

"But why?" Jack asked. "What do you know that's of such importance for them?"

"I cannot tell," seeing his annoyance, she raised a placating hand. "No, Captain; I really cannot. You see, I have no conscious memory of the knowledge I am carrying. Our brains are so constructed that we can store great amounts of information in them, fully compartmentalized from our conscious minds. Once stored away, we no longer have access to that information, unless a strong telepath unlocks it for us or we are connected to a memory machine."

"Which is what exactly?"

"A very advanced piece of psychotechnology that translates memory engrams to visual documents," she explained. "It is a technology we do not share with anyone, not even with our closest allies; therefore the information in my head can only be accessed on my homeworld."

"Which means that any delay could lead to another attack from the helpers of your adversaries, driven by the intention of recapturing you," Jack concluded.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted her head to the side, lizard-like. "Correct."

"Dammit," Jack said conversationally. "And we've left Spacedock without our weaponry fully installed. This is going to be fun…NOT!"

"I am sorry for causing you so much trouble, Captain," she seemed honestly apologetic.

"Don't be; it was my decision. Hell, I fought for the chance like a madman." Archer looked at T'Pol. "Have Mr. Daniels assign proper quarters to our guest. I'll take a look at the repairs and then I'll have a word with our armoury officer about defensive measures."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The progress report from Engineering turned out very satisfactory. Charlie Tucker had clearly picked a highly skilled, enthusiastic crew that didn't mind working long, gruelling hours.

"If we can keep up the speed, we'll be able to safely go to warp three within the hour," he promised.

"That would be grand," Jack took a deep breath. "Apparently, we may count on further attempts to abduct – or kill – our passenger. I'd be glad if we could at least run away, since we don't have any big guns to shoot at the bad guys."

Charlie nodded, well aware of the problem. "We'll do our best, Jack."

"Good. You've got a great team here, Trip; the best in the Fleet. If anyone can do this, they can. Carry on and keep me informed. I'll be on the Bridge."

Jack rode the turbolift up to Deck One and stepped out onto the Bridge just in time for Reed to look up from his control screen and report, "A vessel is dropping out of warp, Captain. Twelve kilometres dead ahead."

"What a coincidence," Archer commented dryly. "Put it up."

Reed threw a switch on his console and a sleek, flattened shape with green highlights came into view. The alien ship seemed to be semi-translucent and glowing green from the inside like an oddly-shaped Christmas ornament.

Archer glanced at T'Pol. "Looks familiar?"

The Vulcan shook her head. "I do not recognise the configuration."

"Right," Archer muttered. "It would have been too easy that way. Hail them!"

Hoshi pushed a button and nodded to him, signalling that the healing frequencies were open. "You can speak, sir."

Jack cleared his throat and plastered his biggest smile on his face. This was a First Contact situation, after all – his very first one.

"This is the Starship Enterprise. What can we do for you? My name is Jack Archer. We're on a mission of exploration from the planet Earth."

There was no answer whatsoever and Jack looked at his communications officer with a frown. "Hoshi?"

"The channel's open, sir," Hoshi seemed every bit as confused by the lack of any answer as he was.

Jack decided to make another attempt, turning up his legendary charm another notch.

"Do you need assistance?" still no answer. "If you don't want to talk, that's fine but, you dropped in on us, so I think at least a word of greeting would be appropriate.

Again, there was no answer. Instead, the mystery ship turned about and went to warp.

Jack stared at the empty screen in bewilderment. "Was it something I said?"

"Unlikely," was T'Pol's dry answer.

Jack turned to Reed. "Did you get anything on sensors?"

The armoury officer shook his head with an unhappy scowl. "No."

"No what?" Jack echoed, irritated.

"No bio-signs, no propulsion or weapon signatures, no readings at all," Reed clarified. "Either it is a fully automated vessel or they have very advanced shielding."

"That's odd," Jack said. "Are there inhabited systems nearby?"

"None," T'Pol replied promptly, without the need to consult her star charts – which showed that Vulcans were every bit as prone to showing off as other people.

Archer shook his head in bewilderment. "Why fly right up to us just to give us the silent treatment?"

"Maybe they got our signal but it didn't make any sense to them," Hoshi suggested. "Our translator is far from perfect."

"I would not take offence," T'Pol said. "Not every species has motives that can be understood in human terms."

"Oh, I'm afraid they have motives we'd understand all too well," Archer said grimly. "Don't you find it the least bit suspicious that a ship impenetrable to our scanners shows up out of nowhere right after we've rescued G.G. from that alien lab?"

"We have no proof that there is a connection between the two events," T'Pol pointed out reasonably.

"Yeah, but we don't have any proof that a connection doesn't exist, either," Archer returned. "This is too much of a coincidence for my peace of mind."

"You humans tend to jump to conclusions without sufficient empiric data," T'Pol commented. There was no judgemental undertone for a change; just a statement.

"Yeah; it's called a hunch," Archer replied. "It's saved the lives of unnumbered people a lot of times."

"Captain," Mayweather interrupted, right on clue. "The alien vessel has returned."

Archer eyed the viewscreen in suspicion. "Has it now? Guess we weren't so uninteresting after all."

"They dropped out of warp five hundred kilometres dead ahead," T'Pol reported, consulting her hooded scanner.

"I had to reverse engines to keep from banging into them," Mayweather complained.

Archer looked at Hoshi. "Let's try this again."

Hoshi opened a channel. "Go on, sir."

Archer cleared his throat. "Welcome back. I was hoping we'd have an opportunity to meet again. The primary mission of my ship is to make peaceful contact with other species. If there's anything we can do to assure you of our intentions."

He paused. Hoshi shook her head. Jack shrugged.

"Well, it's been nice talking to you," he went on. "Let's do this again sometime."

"I'm picking up something," Hoshi interrupted.

"Can you translate it?" Jack was galvanized at once, but Hoshi just shook her head again.

"I don't think it's a language."

In the next moment an eardrum busting sound ripped through the Bridge.

"We're being scanned," T'Pol replied, cringing slightly. A thin trickle of green blood was coming out of her ear. For her sensitive Vulcan hearing the sound must have been physically painful.

Before anyone could have reacted, the glowing green ship fired several shots as it passed overhead.

"Hull plating!" Archer shouted.

"It's offline!" Reed reported unhappily.

"Hard about," Archer ordered, but Mayweather shook his head.

"They've gone to warp, sir."

"Of course they have," Archer rubbed his eyes tiredly and took a few deep, calming breaths. "Everybody okay?"

"Damage reports are coming in, sir," Reed answered. "No one's been hurt."

The addition this time hung about them in the air, unspoken.

"At least something," Archer frowned. "What the hell was that about?"

"It would be safe to assume that they wanted to disable us, so that they can search the ship thoroughly without being disturbed," T'Pol suggested.

Archer gave her an alarmed look. "You think they're after G.G.?"

"As you said, Captain: it would be too much of a coincidence otherwise," she answered.

"Captain," Reed offered, "when they fired their weapon they dropped their shielding for about two seconds and I was able to take some scans."

"What did you get?" Archer asked, energized.

"Bio-signs," Reed said, sending the data to T'Pol's science station. "At least fifteen, maybe more."

The Vulcan ran a quick search; then she shook her head. "Their DNA does not match anything in our database."

"It's a good thing they're gone," Reed commented. "I doubt very much our torpedoes could've penetrated their shielding."

"Stay on long-range scanners," Archer ordered. "If they come anywhere near us, I want to know. T'Pol, with me!"

He turned around and strode off with barely controlled anger.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 09 – Power Play

T'Pol wasn't really surprised that Archer would drag her down with him to Engineering. Few things that humans did could still surprise her. She did find it unnecessary, yes, given that the man had received a status report less than half an hour ago, and it was unlikely that Commander Tucker would have been able to view the most recent damage caused by the alien ship.

But she had learned by now that the captain of Enterprise had a deeply emotional connection to his ship; even if that made no sense for a Vulcan. It was just a ship, after all. A means to travel in space. Nothing more, nothing less.

Thus they went down to Engineering… or at least that had been Archer's intention. They didn't have to go quite that far, though, as they ran into Tucker and one of his engineers, Crewman Dillard, in the corridor.

"That support frame's bent," Tucker was saying, just as Archer and T'Pol turned into the subsection. "We'll need to reinforce it."

Crewman Dillard nodded and started up with the welding torch immediately.

"How bad is it?" the captain asked quietly.

Tucker gave him a haunted look. "If that last shot had been about a half a metre higher, we'd be lookin' at stars."

Archer looked at the crewman with the welder. "Hold it a minute." It was difficult to carry on a discussion through that background noise.

"There were thirteen people workin' in this section, Cap'n, including yours truly," Tucker continued. "If that bulkhead had blown…" He shook his head in distress and walked away in search of further damage.

Archer looked at T'Pol. "Did your people run into as many hostile aliens when they first went into deep space?"

"It was a different time," she replied diplomatically.

That earned her a surprised look. "How so?"

"There were fewer warp-capable species," she clarified. "And those who were there were much older and wiser than us. In a manner, we Vulcans are the bridge between the old species and the new ones. We came too late to be counted among the old ones; yet, in a sense, we are too old for the young ones to be comfortable with us."

"And vice versa," the captain said.

She inclined her head. "That is also true."

Archer sighed. "At least you were equipped to handle the threats you were coming up against; unlike this ship. I think it's time we do something about that."

"What are you suggesting?" T'Pol asked after a moment of consideration.

The human shrugged. "Enterprise was fitted with phase cannon ports, but since we left Spacedock a few weeks ahead of schedule the cannons were never installed," he explained as they stepped into the turbolift. "I think it's time they were. Theoretically, we should head back to Earth."

"That," T'Pol said dryly, "is not really a possibility right now. Even if we had not gone more than half the distance to Berengaria VIII, doing so would be dangerous. Gerasen Gerasal would not be any safer on Earth than they are on board this ship."

"I know that," Archer said a little impatiently. "Which is why I'm about to discuss the matter with the two people who can do something about the problem… or so I hope." He stepped to the wall communications unit of the turbolift and switched to shipwide announcement. "This is the captain speaking. Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, meet me in the Armoury immediately."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Are you really sure we can do this on our own, given the circumstances?" Jack asked some ten minutes later. "I mean, the armoury team at Jupiter Station is specifically trained for this kind of work…"

"My engineers are just as good as they are," Charlie Tucker stated confidently. "And most of the stuff we need is already on the ship anyway."

"Just give us two weeks, Captain," Reed added with the same confidence and not a little eagerness, clearly wanting to show what he could do.

Jack shook his head. "We don't have two weeks, Lieutenant. We're expected on Berengaria VIII within the week; a deadline we may not be able to keep, given the current state of our engines. And we have other systems that need to be overhauled after that last attack."

"My people can help out," Reed offered. "A few of them have a degree in engineering, and the rest are thoroughly trained in the maintenance of weapons systems on a starship. Crewman Fuller in particular."

"I know that, Lieutenant," the captain sighed. "The question is, however: do we have the slightest chance to install the phase cannons and do all the necessary repairs while on our way to Berengaria VIII with the best speed the engines are capable of? Which would be, at the moment…?" He trailed off with a questioning look in Tucker's direction.

"Still warp two point eight," Charlie answered promptly. "We've been fortunate where the engines are concerned. But the other repairs will slow down the work here."

"I see." Jack turned to Reed. "Lieutenant, we all know that your training goes well beyond that of a simple armoury officer, even if the details are classified. So I'm asking you, with that fact in the back of my head: can you and your team do this?"

"Yes, sir," Reed answered without hesitation. "We may not even need two weeks for it… if Engineering is willing to give us a hand."

"Of course we are," Charlie said, "but there is only so much repair work that can be safely postponed. It won't be easy, for either of us."

"There's another problem," Reed added. "Enterprise was designed to carry three of those phase-modulated energy cannons. Currently we have one; and it's only a prototype."

Tucker stared at him in shocked surprise. "Does this mean that not only do we have to get the one we have up and runnin', we also need to build two more from scratch? You're kiddin' me, ain't you?"

"No, sir, I'm not," Reed answered bluntly. "And it's not as if we had a choice here. The cannons are rated for a maximum power output of five hundred gigajoules. With that kind of firepower we'll be more than a match for the alien ship that attacked us."

Charlie scratched his head. "I don't know, Jack. I just don't know. Installin' the cannons is one thing, but buildin' them from scratch… I was trained to build engines, not weapons, and the same is true for my crew."

"We've got the parts," Reed reminded him. "And my crew has the know-how. Lieutenant Foster was part of the construction team. We can do this."

"I hope you're right," Jack sighed, "because turning back is not an option. Not now."

"We'll do our best, Cap'n," Tucker promised, looking a lot less sure about the outcome than he'd probably have liked to.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next couple of days were spent in frantic work. Everyone with the slightest technical knowledge was roped in to help with the simple repairs, so that the engineers and the technicians with more thorough training could work on the cannons.

Everyone pulled double shifts, including medical personnel who were watching out for signs of over-extension and patched up those injured as a result of small accidents. Fortunately, no-one was seriously hurt, with the sole exception of Ensign Kimball, who got sprayed with hot plasma when Crewman Cooper carelessly threw her a tool and missed, hitting a plasma pipe.

Needless to say, Reed was furious with Cooper and had her reassigned to the galley until the repairs were done.

"Chef can keep an eye on her," he muttered angrily. "Hopefully she won't poison anyone due to her lack of attention."

Despite this little episode, both the repairs and the weaponry update were going on promisingly, and Jack Archer had just begun to relax a little when T'Pol looked up from her hooded viewer.

"Captain, I'm detecting a ship dead astern," she reported. "Eight thousand metres."

"Let me guess," Jack said wearily. "Our shadow?"

"Closing to seven thousand," T'Pol said, instead of answering the rhetorical question; not that there was any need. "Six thousand."

"Polarise the hull plating," Jack ordered Ensign Burke who was standing in for Reed at Tactical.

But it was already too late. The alien ship opened fire again and Enterprise shook violently under the force of their attack.

Through the communications system Reed's sharp voice could be heard. "Reed to Bridge." No-one had the chance to answer him, all being busy picking themselves up from the floor. "Armoury, report. Get to your stations. Move!"

The lights went out on the Bridge and came reluctantly back at half-force. Displays were flashing on and off all around.

"Warp drive is offline," T'Pol reported.

As if on cue, everything went black.

"Main power is down," the Vulcan added, somewhat unnecessarily.

"Torpedoes!" Archer ordered.

"Tactical systems are down," T'Pol said.

"Why don't you save time and tell me what isn't down?" Archer snapped, at her.

His obvious irritation didn't impress the Vulcan one bit.

"The outer doors in Launch Bay Two are opening," she said, completely unfazed.

"Seal them," Jack said.

She looked up at him calmly. "I cannot."

Jack muttered a vile oath and stormed out of the Bridge, determined to get down to Launch Bay Two, no matter what.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he reached his destination, flanked by two security guards he had summoned on his way down, the view offered to him was enough to freeze his blood. Two engineering crewmen were lying on the floor at a junction, clearly unconscious. A pair of grey- skinned, vaguely humanoid figures with very long legs were crouching over the crewmen, doing… something strange with beams coming from their hands.

"Hey!" Jack shouted, protective instincts gaining the upper hand; those were his men, dammit, and no-one was allowed to hurt them. Especially not stick-limbed aliens with heads like mushrooms. "Get away from those men!"

He fired his phase pistol, but it had no effect on the big eyed alien with a vertical mouth slit and no nose. The aliens rose unhurriedly and left, heading towards Launch Bay Two.

"Follow them!" Archer snapped at the security guards; then he activated the nearest comm unit. "Archer to Sickbay."

"Phlox here, Captain," the annoyingly cheerful voice of the Denobulan answered immediately.

"Report to E deck, section seven," Jack ordered. "This is an emergency."

"On my way," Phlox replied and signed off.

Barely was the connection broken when another call came in.

"Security to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead."

"The aliens are gone, sir," the security officer sent after them reported. "They've launched their shuttle."

At the same time another hit rocked the ship. Hard. Jack had to grab the bulkhead for support.

"Bridge, report!" he shouted.

"The alien vessel has gone to warp," T'Pol reported. "But that last shot damaged our port nacelle. We are venting drive plasma."

"Wonderful," Jack commented sarcastically. "Now, let's pay Sickbay a short visit; we'll have to be back on the Bridge as soon as we can."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sickbay was an eerie place, with only the emergency lights on, which gave everything a dull, reddish glow, and the creatures of Dr Phlox chirping agitatedly in the background.

"How are they doing, Doctor?" Jack asked, looking down at the seemingly lifeless bodies of Crewmen Jenkins and Naiman.

The Denobulan sighed. "I've stabilised them, but they were subjected to some rather invasive scans."

"Will they be all right, though?"

Frankly, Jack did have his justified doubts about that, as both men were just staring at the ceiling with unblinking, glassy eyes, clearly unaware of their surroundings.

Phlox shrugged. "There could be some residual neurological damage, but I'm doing everything I can."

"I'm sure you are. Thank you, Doctor." Jack turned to T'Pol. "Have you ever heard of anything like this?"

"No," she admitted.

Jack pressed on. "Are there any Vulcan records of a species that uses similar tactics? And I don't care how classified they might be."

T'Pol remained unimpressed. "None that I know of, Captain."

Which didn't mean there weren't any such records at all, of course, and Jack knew that.

"Dig in deeper," he said. "Find out what you can. I want to know who those guys are."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
T'Pol acknowledged the order with a dignified inclination of her head, even though she had no idea how she would find out anything about a species that wasn't even recorded in her database. At least, the preliminary search hadn't turned up anything.

Perhaps Gerasen Gerasal would be of assistance. The Viseeth had been searching deep space for millennia. If the aliens belonged to an old race, one that hadn't had much interaction with other people in recent centuries, the Viseeth might still know them.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an urgent call from Engineering. "Tucker to Archer."

"Go ahead." The grim tone of the captain revealed that he was expecting bad news.

He was not disappointed.

"We've got a plasma leak," the chief engineer reported unhappily.

"How bad is it?" Archer asked after a tense moment.

"Under control, but our port nacelle took a lot of damage," came the reply.

Archer closed his eyes. This was about the worst news he could have been told, given their current situation.

"How long before we can go to warp?" he asked.

"A couple of days," Tucker admitted glumly. "I'm sorry, Cap'n, but we just don't have the manpower to do it any faster. Not with all the other things we gotta be doin' at the same time."

"Not your fault." Archer clenched his jaw for a moment to get his temper under control. "We're done with running away. We'll make our stand here and now. What about impulse power?"

"That's the good news," Tucker replied, clearly relieved that he could give the captain some. "It should be back online in a few minutes."

"I'll take all the good news I can get." Archer looked at the Denobulan. "Keep me posted, Doctor."

"Naturally, Captain," Phlox replied absent-mindedly, his eyes on the control screen above Crewman Naiman's head.

"Captain," T'Pol said carefully as they were heading back to the Bridge, "with your permission, I can see if there are any Vulcan ships within scanning range. I am sure they would come to our rescue."

"I'm sure they would," Archer replied with a thin smile. "After all, G.G. is too important to let her fall into enemy hands again. But the Vulcan High Command is two days away at warp six. Do you really think these… Shroomies would sit patiently out there, waiting for the arrival of a Vulcan battleship?"

"Shroomies, Captain?" T'Pol echoed in confusion.

Archer shrugged. "Their heads look like mushrooms. We have to call them something, since we don't know who they are."

"That is not a very scientific term you have chosen, sir," she commented.

"Perhaps not," the captain allowed. "I promise to use their real name as soon as you've found out what it is. If you'll excuse me, I need to see how things are progressing in the Armoury."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As one could have expected, tempers were running high in the Armoury, with Tucker, Reed and several crewmen working feverishly on the phase cannons.

"The stabiliser on cannon port two checks out okay, sir," Crewman Escobar reported

Reed gave him an annoyed glare. "Port two or port one?"

"Port one, sir," Escobar corrected himself. "Sorry."

"Get it right," Reed snapped. "And then start on those beam emitters."

"Yes, sir," Escobar grimaced but did as he'd been told.

Reed ignored him and crawled into the Jeffries tube where Charlie Tucker was already working.

"Targeting scanners will be online in an hour," Charlie told him.

"We should be aligning them by now, not installing them," Reed muttered angrily, removing the covering from an access panel.

"Perhaps you should tell the bad guys to stop shootin' at us till we're finished here," Tucker replied sarcastically. "You were a little hard on Eddie. Everyone's busting their tails to get this job done."

Reed opened his mouth but got an electric shock before he could say anything. "Ow!"

"You okay?" Tucker asked, suppressing a grin. Seeing their intrepid armoury officer sucking on his thumb was just too funny.

Reed removed the thumb from his mouth and scowled. "Yes, fine. I told them to depolarise these relays!"

"What were you trying to do?" the chief engineer asked.

"Bypass the EPS grid," Reed said.

Tucker stared at him in bewilderment. "Why?"

"Well, we could draw power for the cannons directly from the impulse engines," the armoury officer explained.

Tucker thought he wasn't hearing right. "Are you trying to make this blow up in your face?"

"The relays were rated to handle that much power," Reed argued.

Tucker shook his head. "What if there's a surge?"

"I've thought of that. These inverters were designed to cut in at the first sign of an overload."

"No way!" Tucker said decisively. "We're doin' this by the book, or we'll end up blowing a bigger hole in ourselves than the bad guys."

"I've run a dozen simulations," Reed insisted. "It's an acceptable risk."

Tucker gave him a glare that would have frozen Hell over. "When it comes to modifying ship systems, why don't you let the chief engineer decide what's an acceptable risk?"

"With all due respect, sir: if we do this by the book, those aliens are likely to be back before we're done," Reed said coolly.

"Why must you security types always say 'With all due respect' right when you're about to become really disrespectful?" Tucker mused; then he turned serious again. "Look, Lieutenant, I want to get this job done as quickly as you do. But not if it means takin' shortcuts that could get our people killed."

"I understand, sir, but…" Reed tried to continue arguing, but Tucker interrupted him.

"I guess we common Fleeters have a different view about which risks are acceptable than those who trained you at spy school. Unfortunately for you, I still have the last word about this particular topic."

"Yes, sir," Reed answered icily and went to check the installation of the targeting scanners.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Charlie Tucker and his team kept working deep into the simulated night of the ship. He'd told Reed the honest truth when he said he wanted the job done as quickly as possible. Enterprise was his baby, after all, as much as she was Jack's, and he didn't feel complete himself as long as something was wrong with her.

Fortunately, he'd picked a devoted team that felt the same way about her.

"Don't you ever rest?" Jack's voice startled him so much that he almost hit his head on the edge of a console. He hadn't expected the captain to come down to Engineering in the middle of the night – although, knowing Jack as well as he did, he probably should have.

"You know, I can't sleep without the warp engines online," he answered ruefully. "If I don't feel those vibrations, something just doesn't seem right."

He regretted the admission as soon as he'd spoken; being familiar with Jack's dirty sense of humour, he was sure some sort of innuendo was coming.

Jack, however, just shook his head in mild exasperation. "Well, I hope you get them fixed soon because you look like hell."

Charlie took in the captain's dishevelled look, the dark shadows under his eyes, and ginned humourlessly. "You shouldn't be talkin', Cap'n."

"Perhaps not," Jack allowed; then he spared the control screen a fleeting glance. "How's it coming?"

"It'll be online by the end of the day tomorrow, guaranteed," Charlie promised; then, since Jack was already there, he roped the captain in to help them. "Could you check the dilithium alignment for me?"

"Sure." While not an engineer himself, Jack had learned enough from his father to perform such simple tasks. "Point oh-six microns. We need to be very thorough, Trip. We'll be on our own until we reach Berengaria VIII."

Charlie nodded in agreement; this wasn't really news for him. "Let me know if it drops below point oh-three. Is there really no way of gettin' some assistance?"

Jack shook his head. "T'Pol found no Vulcan ship within scanning range. If she had, we'd be expecting a Surak class ship tomorrow, oh-so-politely offering to help us."

"Well, the Vulcans would have loved that," Charlie commented with a crooked smile. "Towin' the pride of Starfleet to its very first destination."

"This is the one time I wouldn't really mind it," Jack admitted, checking the dilithium flow again. "It's holding at point oh-five."

"Keep an eye on it," Charlie replied automatically; then what Jack had just said sank in and he blinked in surprise. "You wouldn't? But you were the one who fought the hardest to get us out here!"

"I never said we didn't belong out here!" Jack classified. "I just wish we'd have launched with all our systems online. Especially weapons."

"If we hadn't launched when we did, they'd have sent the cow lady back to Berengaria VIII in a box," Charlie reminded him.

"I keep reminding myself of that." Jack's shoulders slumped visibly. "But the honest truth is, Trip, that I rushed us out of Spacedock because I had something to prove, and I risked the lives of eighty-one humans, a Vulcan, and a Denobulan to do it."

"Don't forget Porthos," Charlie joked, trying to lighten the mood. Jack had such an over-developed sense of responsibility; it needed to be put into perspective sometimes.

The captain recognised the effort and smiled tiredly. "Thanks."

Charlie, however, wasn't done yet.

"Think about it," he said. "In the old days, astronauts rode rockets with millions of litres of hydrogen burnin' under their seats. You think they said, 'Gee I'd love goin' to the moon today but it seems a little risky'?"

"It's not the same," Jack said wearily.

"No," Charlie allowed. "But I think if you asked anyone on board whether they thought this mission was worth the risk you'd get the same answer from every one of them. Otherwise they wouldn't have signed up in the first place."

"Let me know when we're ready to go to warp," Jack said after a lengthy pause, and Charlie recognised it for the gratitude it meant. They never really needed big words between them.

"Aye, sir."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
T'Pol made sure her presence would be welcome before visiting the Viseeth in the quarters assigned to them. Gerasen Gerasal might have proved surprisingly open-minded for one of their kind but that did not mean she was entitled to violate proper protocol.

Fortunately, Gerasen Gerasal declared themselves willing to meet her privately, and so she made her way to their temporary quarters at once.

The environmental controls had clearly been adjusted in the guest quarters according to Viseeth norm, for the air was warm and humid and the gravity somewhat lowered compared with the rest of the ship. T'Pol estimated it to be about 0.8 G. The Viseeth was wearing a silk dressing gown in human fashion, which surprised T'Pol a little, as their people generally didn't wear clothes, at least not while in their own environment.

"A compromise regarding human sensibilities," Gerasen Gerasal slid a webbed hand down the dark, jewel green silk. "They do have an odd relationship with nudity. Do you believe it comes from their gender binarism?"

"Hardly," T'Pol replied dryly; Vulcans also had two clearly defined opposite genders, after all. "They are merely young; and not being a telepathic species, they necessarily pay more attention to superficial traits."

"Perhaps," allowed the Viseeth; then they offered her a breathing mask. "No need to overtax your lungs with all the vapours mine need to function properly. And now tell me how I can help."

T'Pol accepted the mask – it would have been illogical and unreasonable to refuse it – and then she sat down to tell Gerasen Gerasal all about the attack and the intruders. The Viseeth listened with the typical focused intensity of their people.

"Do you have visual records?" they then asked.

"No actual ones," she replied. "Most ship systems were down, including the security cameras. But the captain put together a phantom image with the help of the computer." She handed the Viseeth a PADD. "He calls them Shroomies because of the shape of their heads. Do you know the species? I did not find them in the database."

"That is because they supposedly died out several hundred millennia ago," Gerasen Gerasal, replied, studying the phantom image with the Viseeth equivalent of a surprised frown. "We had no idea that some of them may still exist."

"So you know them?" T'Pol clarified.

The Viseeth nodded. "If they truly are who they seem to be, then yes, I do know them. They are called the Elachi. And if they are, then we have a problem."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 10 – Ghosts From the Distant Past

It was almost time for first watch when Lieutenant Reed got back to Cannon Port One. To his surprise, he found Commander Tucker already there. The chief engineer seemed about as exhausted as Reed felt.

"Have you still got those guns of yours hooked up to the impulse engines?" Tucker asked.

Reed suppressed a sigh. The bloody Yank just couldn't leave it alone, could he?

"I'm just about to start disconnecting them now," he answered resignedly.

"Hang on a minute." Tucker stared him right in the eyes and asked slowly, with emphasis on every single word, "You're sure this'll work?"

Reed held his stare without blinking. "Yes, Commander, I am."

Tucker took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself for what he was about to say. "Then based on the recommendation of the Armoury officer, the Chief Engineer finds the level of risk acceptable."

For a moment Reed was too gobsmacked to say anything. This was more than just an olive branch – this was Charles Tucker III acknowledging his superior expertise where weapons were concerned. He definitely hadn't expected that, considering the executive officer's open hostility towards him.

"You do?" he finally said. It wasn't the most intelligent reaction, he realised that, but he was simply too surprised to come up with anything better – something that didn't happen to him often.

Tucker nodded. "Let me be brutally honest with you, Lieutenant: I don't like you. I don't like what you are; or the way you got aboard Enterprise. But what little is not classified from your service record says that you're damn good at what you're doin', and so I'm willin' to give you the chance of showin' it."

This was probably the most back-handed compliment Reed had ever received (not that he'd had many of those), but still a compliment. And if Tucker could put aside his personal feelings for the good of the ship, then so could he.

"In that case, if the Chief Engineer wouldn't mind getting his hands dirty, I could use some help," he said.

Tucker looked down at his own hands and grinned. They could hardly get any dirtier; but then again, grime belonged to the usual routine of a dedicated engineer.

"Let's do it," was all he replied.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"And just who the hell are these Elachi?" Captain Archer demanded.

He was sitting in the Situation Room with the Viseeth, T'Pol and Dr Phlox, everyone else being too busy with the repairs.

"A race that was thought to have perished two hundred thousands of your years ago," Gerasen Gerasal answered. "They served as a warrior caste for the Iconians, operating out of bases hidden in subspace. Even then, they were rarely seen, preferring to use automated probes and drones, rather than sending living Elachi into battle. It is highly unusual for them to enter a target ship in person. They must have had a good reason for doing so."

"If they are truly Elachi," T'Pol added. "There is a fifty per cent possibility that we are dealing with a species of similar physiology."

"Assuming that they are Elachi, though, it raises the question of how did they manage to survive the Iconians by two hundred millennia," Dr Phlox said thoughtfully.

"It would be helpful to know who the Iconians were," Archer returned a little snappishly.

"An ancient, highly advanced civilization that had mastered the technique of dimensional transport across interstellar distances," Gerasen Gerasal explained. "They were all believed destroyed by orbital bombardment that devastated the surface of their planet. The destruction of the Iconian homeworld was one of the reasons why my people decided to take up the role of guardians, to support the balance of power in our part of the galaxy."

"It has been speculated that the Iconians did not all perish in the attacks, but rather used their advanced transporter technology to escape to other nearby planets," T'Pol added. "The similarity between the Iconian language and Dewan, Iccobar and Dinasian has been cited as evidence to support this belief."

"That may be true, but all those people died out at least a hundred thousand Earth years ago," Phlox pointed out. "They are barely more than a couple of footnotes in history books.

"Do we know anything in particular about these Elachi – assuming that's what our visitors are?" Archer asked.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted her head to the side with that semi-reptilian gesture again.

"I am afraid I cannot help you with any details, Captain. This is ancient history, even for our people. My field is contemporary politics. However, our historians certainly will be able to help you, once we have reached Berengaria VIII."

"For that we'll have to get there in one piece first, though," the captain commented sourly.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted her head back to vertical position.

"You humans are a resourceful people. I trust the ability of your crew to get us there safely."

Archer grinned mirthlessly. As much as he trusted Tucker and his ability to work miracles, a little help beyond moral support would have been nice. But it seemed they were on their own in this.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Captain's starlog, September 1, 2151.

It's been two days now with no sign of the alien vessel that may or may not belong to a supposedly extinct race the Viseeth had once known as the Elachi. Whoever they might be, they are clearly a warp-capable species with a technology that is likely more advanced than our own.

Whether they are in any way connected to the subspace-dwelling aliens – to whom Commander Tucker refers as 'the fish monks' – that held our passenger captive, is still unknown. The only known facts are that we've been attacked three times since leaving Spacedock, twice by races not even the Vulcans had heard of before, and that all our attackers reportedly possess technology we can only dream about.

This has turned out one hell of a shakedown cruise – and it's far from over yet. But we're ready – as ready as we can be, given the circumstances. My crew has managed to do in forty-eight hours what would've taken the armoury team at Jupiter Station at least a week. To say that I'm proud of them would be an understatement.

We're currently preparing for our first test. Everybody has their fingers crossed, including me. I'll be suggesting both Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed for the Starfleet Order of Commendation for services that go well beyond the demands of duty.

"Computer, stop recording and save log entry."

Jack rose from his chair and threw Porthos a piece of cheese (which he shouldn't have done, he knew, but this was a singularly important event and Porthos deserved to celebrate with the rest of the crew) before stepping out of his Ready Room onto the Bridge. The place, the brain of his ship (just as Engineering was its heart) was thrumming with excitement.

Reed wasn't present, of course. He was down in the Armoury to personally oversee the first test. Jack still didn't like him very much, but he had to admit that the man knew his job and took it seriously.

"Have you found a suitable target?" he asked T'Pol, who was sitting in her usual place at Science Station One.

"Yes." the Vulcan called up the image of a crater-pocked asteroid on viewscreen. "A Class-D asteroid with a passing likeness to Ceres, found in your own solar system, Captain. It has a silicate surface with considerable nickel-iron deposits but no atmosphere whatsoever."

Jack eyed the rocky surface of the asteroid doubtfully. To the naked eye it didn't look all that different from certain Earth regions – the Rocky Mountains, for example.

"You're sure there's nothing down there?" he asked.

"Yes, Captain," T'Pol replied, letting the readings run across the viewscreen over the visuals.

"Not even a microbe?" he insisted. "I don't want to blow up something that could evolve into a sentient species in a couple of billion years."

She didn't roll her eyes. That would have been vulgar – in Vulcan terms at least – and she didn't do vulgar.

"There is nothing there," she replied with infinite patience.

Jack let it go. He activated the comm system instead. "Archer to Lieutenant Reed. Have you got a lock?"

"Yes, Captain," Reed's voice answered.

The captain eyed the picture again and spotted a ragged rock formation that looked like some sheer cliff would look on Earth. In the terms of an asteroid it counted as a big mountain.

"Let's start small," he said. "Shave a couple of metres off the top of that peak."

It sounded like blasphemy, really; the cliff was beautiful in its ragged, weatherworn way, as only a passionate climber like him would appreciate. Well… not exactly weatherworn, of course. Weather as such didn't exist on a Class-D asteroid. The rock formations of this nameless world had more likely been shaped by cosmic phenomena and meteorite impacts.

It was still a shame that they had to damage the work of countless millennia – but needs must, as his father would have said.

"Acquiring the target," Reed's voice said with military precision. "Full power to the primary coils."

"Split screen," Jack said to Hoshi. "Give me external sensors along the hull. This I want to see."

Hoshi nodded and threw a switch. Half the viewscreen was now showing the hatches opening on the underside of the saucer section and the cannons emerging, while the other half still showed the asteroid surface.

"Phase cannons one and two standing by," Reed reported.

"Mister Reed, the honour is all yours," the captain replied.

The Bridge crew watched with fascination the two cannon beams turn the mountain into a crater. At the same time the lights flickered briefly, sparks flew from several consoles and the unmistakable stench of burned-out circuitry filled the Bridge.

"Lieutenant," Jack said with forced calmness while Crewman Rostov at the Engineering console called for atmospheric filters, "I just asked for a little off the top."

But Reed was clearly too busy to listen to him just now.

"Ensign Soccorro, check the cannons." His tense voice could be heard clearly. "Be careful down there. The blast yield was ten times what we expected."

"What happened?" Jack asked impatiently.

"Something overloaded the phase modulators," Reed answered.

"The plasma recoil blew out relays across decks C and D," Charlie's voice added from Engineering. "Although I don't understand how it could happen. We checked everything twice."

"I believe I can at least partially answer that problem, Commander," T'Pol swivelled with her chair to face her CO. "Captain, I am getting an anomalous reading from Launch Bay Two."

Which wasn't really surprising – the captain's thoughts went instantly to the fact that it had been in the corridor leading to Launch Bay Two where the Shroomies had attacked Crewmen Jenkins and Naiman. Apparently, they'd done more than endangering human lives by aggressive scanning – as if that hadn't been bad enough.

Jack was getting seriously annoyed by these guys.

"Commander Tucker, Mr Reed, meet me in Launch Bay Two," he ordered. "Subcommander, you're with me. It's time for us to find some answers. Travis, you've got the Bridge."

And with that, he marched off the Bridge, leaving it in the capable hands of his chief helmsman.

"Ooh, power!" Mayweather joked, waiting for the door to close behind the captain. He did not leave his station, though. He could use the navigation sensors to keep an eye on their surroundings.

The others on the Bridge laughed, despite their concerns – which was exactly the result he had been aiming for. Luckily for him, the captain had already left. Somehow he had the feeling that Archer wouldn't have appreciated the joke.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At first sight Launch Bay Two didn't look any different than it did at any other time. Nonetheless, Reed, Jack and Charlie entered cautiously, phase pistols drawn. T'Pol followed with a scanner, seeking for the source of the unusual radiation.

It was Charlie who spotted a round object by the upper walkway. An engineer's eye was trained to see anything that might be out of order.

"There," he said. "What's that? 'Cause it sure as hell ain't part of the original design of this place."

T'Pol inched closer, scanning the… thing thoroughly.

"I am afraid I cannot answer your question, Commander," she then said. "I have never seen anything like this; and the technical database has nothing similar on file, either."

The mobile scanners were all hooked up to the board computer, making the databases easily accessible at all times.

"You think that's what's causing the power surge?" Jack asked.

"It is very likely," she replied. "It is putting out a tremendous amount of energy. Over six hundred megajoules."

He looked at the other two. "Opinions?"

"They're toying with us, sir." Reed was clearly angry but it didn't seem to influence the clear, analytical working of his mind; he was really almost Vulcan in his mindset. "They want us to know they can destroy us whenever they want, even with our own weapons."

"They want us to surrender G.G," Jack realised. "They will destroy us if we don't, but they'd prefer to take her alive."

"And then destroy us," Reed commented cynically.

"Undoubtedly," agreed the captain. "I wonder if they're watching us right now? Listening to us?"

"Most likely," Charlie replied, consulting T'Pol's readings. "Whatever this little gizmo is, it's tapped into most of our systems including internal sensors and communications on every deck."

"Is it, now? Well, what better way to give them a friendly little warning." Jack stepped to a wall panel. "Hoshi, activate visual sensor J-15."

"All yours, Captain," Hoshi's voice answered a moment later.

Jack looked up where he knew the visual sensor was nested.

"I assume you planted that device because you wanted to learn more about us," he said. "I'll be happy to give you a quick lesson. We're not here to make enemies, but just because we're not looking for a fight doesn't mean we'll run away from one. You may think you've left us defenceless, but let me tell you something about humans. We don't give up easily and we will not surrender our vessel. We'll protect Enterprise any way we can."

With that, he raised his phase pistol and destroyed the round object.

"Nice speech, Cap'n," Charlie commented, and Reed nodded in agreement. Only T'Pol remained unimpressed.

"Unfortunately, our adversaries still have the better arguments," she said dryly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It took Commander Tucker and his engineers the rest of the day to repair the additional damage caused by the overload of the phase modulators, even though Lieutenant Reed's people had helped them, pulling double shifts voluntarily.

Captain Archer entrusted the Bridge to T'Pol – it wasn't as if they could have gone anywhere – and went to Engineering, to offer his help as well. He did not have the temperament to just sit idly in the command chair and wait, he explained.

In the current situation a Vulcan was much better suited to doing that, he argued.

T'Pol agreed with him about that, and accepted this repeated sign of trust from the captain's side with her usual calm indifference; at least on the surface. In the relatively short time she had spent aboard Enterprise, in constant interaction with humans instead of in the 'splendid isolation' of the Vulcan compound in Sausalito, she had begun to see why her mentor would find these people so endlessly fascinating.

They were walking, breathing contradictions, every single one of them. Working with them this closely would be the challenge of a Vulcan's life – but challenges had always inspired and fascinated her, since early childhood, much to her mother's chagrin. She found her current assignment… most agreeable, and had begun considering requesting to make it a permanent one.

Assuming that they survived the current crisis, of course.

Admittedly, her unique heritage had played a role in her fascination with the unknown – a fascination that went well beyond the level of scientific curiosity accepted from and encouraged in the average Vulcan. But she was not an average Vulcan; a fact that often frightened her, despite T'Kahr Soval's encouragement to explore that side of her nature… within safety limits, of course.

Until now, she had always refused to do so. Tapping into the well-tamed fire of the Vulcan soul was dangerous enough; the times of pon farr were proof enough of that. Releasing the tight control she kept over her emotions, even marginally, would be magnitudes worse; and no matter how inspiring the challenge, she could not be certain that the results – the new knowledge gained – would be worth the risks.

Perhaps another visit to P'Jem would hep her clear her mind. After all, had not P'Jem been the place where her forefather had found peace in the last decades of his long life full of personal struggles?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A beeping sound interrupted her thoughts. She rose from the command chair to peek into her hooded scanner… and closed her eyes for a moment. Had she been human, she would have sighed. As a Vulcan, she refrained from such an emotional reaction; she simply activated the comm system and called the captain to the Bridge.

Only moments later the sliding doors opened and in walked Captain Archer, tense as a bow. "Report!"

"They have returned," T'Pol told him, putting the image of the sleek, arrow-shaped alien ship on the viewscreen.

As before, it glowed gently from the inside with a pale golden light. It would have been an aesthetically pleasing sight, had the ship not represented such a serious threat.

"Where are they?" the captain asked; the image didn't give them either distance or direction.

T'Pol consulted her instruments. "Closing from astern, twenty thousand metres… Fifteen..."

The tension on the Bridge became palpable. Everyone remembered what the alien ship was capable of doing; even with the temperamental new cannons installed, there was no guarantee that they could match its firepower.

Ensign Mayweather was the first to voice his concerns. "Should I try evasive manoeuvres, sir?"

"No." Captain Archer stepped up to the helm to take a closer look at the viewscreen. "Come about, and hold our position." He reached over the ensign's shoulder to press the comm button. "Bridge to the Armoury. Guess who's back."

"We see them," Lieutenant Reed's grim voice answered. "Both forward cannons are charged and ready, sir."

"Get a lock and stand by," Archer ordered, taking his place in the command chair; then he looked at T'Pol. "Any changes?"

"They've stopped," she told him. "Eleven thousand metres."

"We're being hailed," Ensign Sato added nervously.

"Now they want to talk?" The captain rolled his eyes. "Put it through."

Sato looked a little anxious – though again, she always looked anxious, even without Lieutenant Reed in the same room – but carried out the captain's orders. To everyone's surprise, it was Archer's own, distorted image, as if seen through thick, discoloured glass, that filled the viewscreen, and parts of his message, sent to the alien ship a few hours previously, came through the speakers, recombined and repeated again and again.

" … defenceless. Prepare to surrender your vessel. You are defenceless. Prepare to surrender your vessel…"

"Shut it off!" Captain Archer turned away in disgust. "They can't even make their own threats!"

"They probably don't need to," Ensign Mayweather commented quietly, as the alien vessel moved closer, growing steadily on the viewscreen, ominous in its approach. "Ten thousand metres… nine..."

"Mister Reed," the captain said calmly – more calmly than he probably felt. Sometimes humans could hide their emotions surprisingly well. "Both cannons, fire."

T'Pol had a monitor screen linked to the Armoury. She watched Malcolm Reed, his uniform sleeves rolled up to his elbows, push a button, his hands looking almost too large for such a slender man.

On the control screen, the officers on the Bridge saw the forward phase cannons emit bright red twin beams that, however, sizzled harmlessly on the shields of the alien ship and were presumably absorbed by them.

Captain Archer looked at T'Pol questioningly. "Any results?"

"I'm reading a fluctuation in their shielding, but it's marginal," the Vulcan answered.

"Five thousand metres," Ensign Mayweather warned.

The captain jumped to his feet. He couldn't keep the frustrated accusation out of his voice as he demanded, "Is that the best we can do, Lieutenant?"

In the Armoury Lieutenant Reed was pushing buttons and throwing switches on his control panels like a concert pianist playing a particularly demanding piece.

"Even if these cannons had been installed at Jupiter Station, they wouldn't be any more effective than they are now," he answered, a little defensively.

"What about yesterday?" the captain asked. "I saw you blow something up the size of Mount McKinley!"

"Yes sir, but that was due to an overload," Lieutenant Reed reminded him unhappily. Doubtless the memory of that still rankled with him, since he had been the one to assure the chief engineer that the modification would work without risk to the ship.

"Can you overload them again?" Captain Archer asked.

T'Pol's reaction to the idea was one of mild scandalisation – for a Vulcan. She doubted that the humans had noticed anything.

Lieutenant Reed, on the other hand, sounded positively shocked. "Sir, after the damage from the first time the plasma recoil would probably knock out two decks!"

The captain knew that, of course. But desperate times required desperate measures, as the humans liked to say, and T'Pol knew him well enough already to know that he was not one to back off easily.

"Can you overload them again?" he repeated the question with emphasis.

She saw Lieutenant Reed exchange a look with Crewman Fuller who was standing at the control screen opposite him; Fuller nodded.

"I believe so," the armoury officer said. "But, sir…"

"I'd rather knock out two decks than surrender this ship," the captain interrupted. "Trip, is there a way to handle the recoil?"

"Hold on a minute." Commander Tucker, currently also in the Armoury, checked something on another control screen. "I think there actually might be…"

"How?" Lieutenant Reed asked doubtfully.

Commander Tucker shrugged. "All that excess energy's got to go somewhere. Why not put it to use?"

"Three thousand metres," Ensign Mayweather warned.

Commander Tucker was working on his control panel with a concentration that would have made a Vulcan engineer proud. "If we repolarize the gravity plating to absorb the recoil, then we can shunt the energy to structural integrity."

"Sounds good to me," Captain Archer said.

It could work; T'Pol knew it; even though there was no guarantee that it actually would.

Lieutenant Reed, however, was a lot less optimistic. "The grav-plating wasn't designed to withstand that much force," he protested.

"We all understand the risks, Lieutenant." The captain returned to his chair. "Get started."

"Aye, sir." The armoury officer obeyed unhappily.

"One thousand metres," Ensign Mayweather announced ominously.

The captain gripped the armrests of his chair hard enough to leave finger-shaped dents in the padding. Permanently. "Lieutenant?"

"Stand by." Lieutenant Reed looked at the chief engineer. "Commander?" His senior officer nodded and the lieutenant released a breath he had clearly been holding for a while. "We're ready, sir," he reported.

"Then fire!" the captain snapped impatiently.

Once again, Enterprise emitted twin red beams. This time, however, the beams burrowed themselves into the shields of the alien ship, which rippled briefly – and then collapsed, leaving the vessel unprotected.

There were explosions all over the Bridge, too, though. Evidently Commander Tucker's ingenious solution had not been entirely successful.

"Their shields are failing," T'Pol reported calmly, holding onto the edge of her station.

"Torpedoes!" Captain Archer ordered. He was clearly not taking any risks. The Shroomies wanted a fight? He would give them one they weren't going to forget so soon.

T'Pol hurriedly slammed down her mental shields to remain untouched by the human's volatile emotions. She could not afford a mistake right now.

On her monitor Lieutenant Reed looked at Crewman Fuller, whose expertise in the ship's torpedo systems surpassed even his own, and nodded. Fuller pushed some buttons and the sleek, gleaming silvery torpedoes went sliding into their launch tubes with deadly, soundless elegance.

Crewman Fuller pushed a sequence of other buttons. The torpedoes launched, hitting the alien ship directly, and causing a series of explosions all over it. The ship turned around and fled, leaking bright green plasma. Ensign Sato would later compare it to breaking up some Earth child's toy to see what was inside – but it was much more significant than that, of course.

Captain Archer stared at the viewscreen with grim satisfaction. He even got up to walk closer, watching the enemy run, with their proverbial tail between their legs.

"Bridge to Armoury," he then said. "Everything okay down there?"

"We blew out the plasma relays on B deck but it's nothing we can't take care of," Commander Tucker replied, his voice almost jaunty in spite of the damage. "What about our 'friends'?"

"I have a feeling their repairs are going to be a little more extensive," the captain said, darkly amused. "How'd the cannons hold up?"

"Fairly well," Lieutenant Reed answered with justifiable pride. "I'll have them back online within the hour. The aft cannon should be working by the end of tomorrow."

The captain shook his head. "Give your people the chance to show their skills. Once you've got the front cannons back online, take a break. Trip, you too. All senior officers are required to meet in the captain's dining room at 18:00 hours, sharp."

"Aye, sir," the two men answered in unison, not really sounding happy. He closed the comm link, however, not apparently regarding their dissatisfaction as a serious matter.

"Captain," Ensign Sato interjected, "I could try to reach Vulcan now. Whatever might have blocked our communications, it's gone now."

"Presumably some kind of jamming field," T'Pol suggested.

The captain walked over to her station. "Well, I see no reason for us to contact the Vulcan High Command now. Do you?"

"No," she replied simply.

"Glad we agree." He turned to Ensign Sato. "What do you think, Hoshi, should we start dropping those subspace amplifiers you mentioned the other day? People would appreciate the chance to speak with their loved ones... especially after what's just happened."

Ensign Sato fairly beamed at him. "I'll get on it at once, sir."

"No, you won't," the captain corrected. "You're supposed to be at that dinner party too. Take a break. Second watch has deserved a chance to shine as well."

Unlike the other officers, Ensign Sato seemed to know why this particular dinner was so significant – and she did not seem at all eager to participate. "Sir, I'm not sure about it…"

"But I am," the captain interrupted in a tone that brooked no argument. "You can't hide from him all the time. You have the same right to be on this ship as he does; actually, more so. I may have hand-picked you both; but I picked you for who you are. I picked him for what I thought he was – and I proved to be wrong about that. So no; no chickening out. That's an order, Ensign."

"Aye, Captain," the communications officer replied dismally.

"Travis, resume our previous course," the captain turned to their helmsman.

"Gladly, sir," Ensign Mayweather replied, his smile wide and very white in his dark face.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As ordered, the senior officers gathered in the captain's ready room at 18:00 hours, sharp.

At first, the atmosphere was tense, almost uncomfortable. Reed and Mayweather were invited to the captain's table only for the second time, both of them, and they were fiddling with their eating utensils nervously. Hoshi had taken the seat between Charlie Tucker and Mayweather and tried not too look at anyone around the table. T'Pol, on Archer's right, observed the situation with detached scientific interest.

Charlie himself was completely relaxed, used to the company of the captain; and, of course, so was Phlox, who watched the situation with the curiosity of an anthropologist who'd just been given the chance to study some primitive tribe close up.

The tension didn't even begin to ease until Petty Officer Daniels showed up with a bottle of champagne and a tray full of champagne flutes. To everyone's surprise, he wasn't wearing his uniform but a tuxedo and a bow tie, of all things. God only knew how he'd hidden the things so far – they certainly weren't part of a quartermaster's regular equipment. But again, neither was a coffee maker.

Daniels made a great show of popping the cork and pouring the champagne. The officers laughed and applauded – with the exception of T'Pol, of course; and Jack began to hope that the evening could be saved, after all.

When everyone had a flute in hand – again, with the exception of T'Pol, who never touched alcohol – Charlie Tucker stood and raised his.

"To our mysterious friends," he announced. "I wish I could've seen the looks on their faces."

"Hear, hear." Reed lifted his arm and clinked his flute to Charlie's in newfound camaraderie.

To be honest, Jack seriously doubted that anyone could have seen any kind of expression on the Shroomies' faces – they barely had any faces, after all. But he wasn't about to ruin his friend's joke.

"Don't get too used to drinking on duty," he said instead, and the others laughed dutifully. Well; T'Pol raised an eyebrow at the very least. "But you all did your jobs pretty damn well today. I'd say that deserves a little celebration."

"Aside from the actual reason, sir?" Petty Officer Daniels interjected with a somewhat smug smile.

Jack gave him a stern look, but he ignored it in favour of distributing his magic coffee… well, tea in T'Pol's and Hoshi's case.

Charlie grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "If you really want to thank us, how about lettin' us sleep in tomorrow?" he asked his friend and captain. "I sure could use twelve straight hours of sleep. Or a little more."

Jack laughed. "Permission granted." Then he looked at Daniels. "Mr Daniels, have you managed to acquire that component that I've asked for?"

"Certainly, sir," Daniels smiled politely. "Chef insisted on carrying it in all by himself, though."

He pushed the button to open the door and allow Chef Williams to come in. The big, good-natured Welshman came, carrying a large plate with the most amazing cake on it most of them had seen in a very long time. It was rectangular, covered in blue, red and white frosting in the likeness of the Union Jack, the old British flag.

Across it was written in white frosting, with elegantly swung letters:

All eyes turned to the dumbfounded armoury officer, whose mouth was literally hanging open in shock.

"Well, I think the writing says it all," Jack said, grinning broadly. "But since we've gone all the way, we may as well do it properly."

He nodded to Charlie and the two of them broke into the traditional birthday song Happy Birthday to you. After a moment, Hoshi and Travis joined in; even Phlox tried to do so, even though he could not really carry the tune.

T'Pol remained icily silent. Never had she felt so out of place among humans since she had first sat foot on Earth. Her previous hopes to be able to live and work among them permanently now appeared inappropriately optimistic.

It took Reed several attempts to overcome his shocked surprise. Jack was both startled and faintly amused to see that the man appeared almost overcome with embarrassment at anyone knowing, much less caring, about his birthday.

"You really shouldn't have gone to any trouble," he began, but Chef Williams interrupted him.

"Oh, no trouble at all," he beamed. "Stop with the stiff upper lip, Lieutenant, it was my pleasure. How often do I get the chance to bake an honest, down-to-Earth birthday cake?"

He carefully placed the heavy plate on the table and offered the cake slicer to Reed. "Would you like to do the honours?"

"Certainly." Suddenly seeming incongruously eager, like a little boy on his birthday party, Reed took the slicer, cut out a segment of the cake – and looked at the filling in delight.

"Pineapple!" he exclaimed. "That's my favourite. How on Earth did you know?"

Chef and Daniels exchanged extremely smug smiles.

"We have our sources," Daniels finally said.

"Good work," Jack praised them; then he looked at Reed expectantly. "Well, Mr Reed – you willing to share?"

Looking oddly touched, the armoury officer could only nod as he began to distribute generous chunks of the delicious pineapple cake among his fellow officers.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 11 – Here There Be Dragons

Due to the additional damage caused by the mysterious alien vessel, in the end it took Enterprise twelve additional days to reach the Berengaria system.

Fortunately, with the jamming field created by the 'Shroomies' gone, they had been able to contact the Synodium, as the Viseeth government was called. Thus for the second half of the last leg of their journey they were accompanied by a cloud of small, automated defence vessels that looked very much like a swarm of angry insects, buzzing around industriously while gleaming in dark, jewelled colours.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" Hoshi watched them on the viewscreen with interest.

She wasn't an engineer, but her chosen profession had still made her technically savvy, so she could appreciate the efficiency of the little ships as much as their design.

"And deadly," T'Pol commented. "They are steered by the brain waves of a navigator sitting in a well-protected dome, down on one of the planets, and can therefore be as fast as the metal they are constructed of can bear."

"Somehow I think this alloy can bear a lot," Jack Archer said; then he looked at T'Pol. "But… haven't you said that the Viseeth can no longer summon the necessary violence to fight their enemies?"

"Not physically," the Vulcan corrected. "And they would not initiate any act of aggression against others. That does not mean, however, that they would not – or could not – defend themselves if they have to."

"How so?" Reed asked with professional interest.

"These drones are purely defensive weapons, constructed to disable the propulsion and weapons systems of any hostile ship," T'Pol explained. "Their reach is limited, though, which is why they could not come to our aid sooner."

"Better late than never," Jack said philosophically. "Would it be possible to contact their border patrol to express out thanks?"

"We do not have a border patrol, Captain," the low, melodious voice of the Viseeth answered, and Gerasen Gerasal entered the Bridge. "But it is possible to speak with the technician on duty from the Defence Directorate if that is your wish."

"I would not advise doing so," T'Pol said before Archer could reply. "No offence, Captain, but most Viseeth are a great deal less tolerant than Gerasen Gerasal. Most of them would refuse to speak any other language than their own; even Vulcan."

"I could deliver the standard greetings and expressions of gratitude, at the very least," Hoshi offered shyly. "That is, if you want me to do so, Captain."

Half a dozen humans and one Vulcan turned around to stare at the communications officer with identical, shocked surprise.

"Since when do you speak Viseeth?" Jack asked. "I've been told repeatedly that it's impossible for humans to learn."

"Not impossible," Gerasen Gerasal corrected. "Just very difficult… unless one has an extraordinary ear for languages, as Ensign Sato does. I have been teaching her since my recovery."

"I thought the Viseeth would never teach their language to other people," T'Pol said, clearly insulted – or as close to being insulted as any Vulcan was capable of.

"As a rule, we do not," Gerasen Gerasal agreed. "However, it is very rare that we would find a person with such a gift as Ensign Sato's. We value such rare gifts and are more than willing to nurture it." She turned to Hoshi. "Please, contact the Defence Directorate through this channel."

She reached over Hoshi's shoulder with a slim, elegant hand and hit a series of buttons. Then she tilted her head apologetically. "And let me speak with them… just in case. You are showing great progress, but my people can be a little… particular about correct pronunciation."

Hoshi looked at Jack, received his nod of permission, and opened the channel.

A moment later another Viseeth appeared on the viewscreen: beautifully patterned and bald-headed like Gerasen Gerasal, although with broader, blunter features… a lot less feminine-looking, despite the fact that all Viseeth belonged to the same dual gender. He – because the difference in appearance involuntarily suggested a male persona – seemed less than pleased about having to bother with lesser species, but Gerasen Gerasal's presence forced him to remain civil, at the very least.

The two Viseeth led a short, rapid-fire conversation full of hissing and clicking noises – Hoshi noticed that the pitch of their speech went higher the more irritated they grew – then the contact abruptly broke. Gerasen Gerasal stretched her long neck briefly – a gesture that probably indicated annoyance among her kind.

"My apologies," she said. "Stariva Stadrani is a rather short-tempered individual… and a great supporter of the isolationist faction."

"Which is why he took a job in the Defence Directorate, I suppose," Jack said.

Gerasen Gerasal inclined her head. "Indeed, Captain. I admit that your quick conclusion surprises me."

Jack shrugged. "It makes sense. Will he try to prevent us from entering the system?"

"Hardly." Gerasen Gerasal made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a derisive snort. "And even if he and his fellow isolationists tried, they would not succeed. I am a member of the Synodium, and as such I outrank everyone else save for my fellow councillors." The words were followed by that high, chirping sound associated with laughter. "I am a member of what you humans call the upper echelon, and a senior member of the Synodium. There are only a few dozens of us."

"Does this mean we'll be actually allowed to go down to Berengaria VIII?" Jack asked.

"To Berengaria VII," Gerasen Gerasal corrected. "As Subcommander T'Pol has no doubt told you, we rarely allow strangers to set foot to our homeworld. Even Vulcans are hardly ever permitted, despite our long-time alliance. We use our sister planet for diplomatic contacts, rare though they may be."

"So you leaders have to hop planets whenever they want to meet someone?" Charlie Tucker raised an eyebrow. "Sounds unnecessarily complicated."

"As I said: it is a rare occasion," the Viseeth replied. "Most of our people do not want to leave the homeworld; that is one of the reasons why we use Vulcan mediators in our dealings with other people. But technically it is not really complicated to get from one planet to the other. Not with telenavigation."

"Tele… what?" Charlie Tucker, generally uninterested in politics, was suddenly all ears.

"It is the Antosian method to travel," Gerasen Gerasal explained. "I do not truly understand the scientific purpose behind it, but basically, you get the travel route programmed into your brain; then you enter the station where you depart, walk the virtual matrix and leave the station at your destination mere seconds later. We received the technology from the Antosians several hundreds of your centuries ago, and they have been maintaining the system ever since."

"Oh!" Charlie's hopeful expression turned to disappointment. He'd have loved to get a glimpse of such amazing technology, but it seemed unlikely that he'd get the chance.

"Perhaps one day," Gerasen Gerasal said, as if she'd read his thoughts.

Which she probably had. Viseeth were short-range telepaths who didn't have to touch somebody to read them like the Vulcans did. Then she turned to Jack.

"Captain, you must understand how very rare it is for my people to permit access a young species like yours even to our sister world. Therefore I ask you to choose your delegation very carefully – and to keep it small. We cannot provide the isolationist faction with more arguments to close our borders completely."

"Why would they want to do so?" Reed asked. "It's my understanding that your people have accepted their role as guardians voluntarily."

The Viseeth tilted her head in agreement.

"We did. But until a hundred of your years ago, we were used to carry out our role from a dominant position. Ever since our mysterious adversaries emerged, that dominance has been questioned. As a mammalian species, you probably cannot understand how threatened that makes us feel."

"In other words: when met with an equally strong adversary, your people simply panicked," Jack summarised.

"That is a crude yet basically correct way to put it," Gerasen Gerasal admitted. "However, it is not the strength of our adversaries that makes us afraid: it is their chaotic nature. As amphibians, our entire life is based on the biological necessity of cyclic order; and that need for order has been transferred to every aspect of our existence during the long path of our evolution."

"And that's why you picked the Vulcans as mediators," Reed realised. "Because they're every bit as obsessed with order as you are."

"Again, crude but accurate," Gerasen Gerasal said. "We do not deal well with unpredictability; and you humans have the reputation of being highly unpredictable – at the best of times."

"And these aren't exactly good days for any of us," Jack nodded, obviously understanding the message. "Very well; I promise to choose my team very carefully."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
By the time they entered geosynchronous orbit above Berengaria VII, Jack had already made his decision. He chose Hoshi (for obvious reasons), T'Pol (to balance out human unpredictability, as he jokingly put it,) Reed (even though they were not allowed to carry anything resembling a weapon on them; Reed could kill a Klingon with a salt shaker in sixty different ways and probably had done so before) and Tucker, just because.

T'Pol of course, protested against Tucker's presence, pointing out that the volatile nature of the chief engineer might endanger the mission, but Jack would be damned if he robbed his old friend the chance to see an alien world for the first time – and such an amazing one at that. So he put down his foot; and Trip promised to behave.

Seen from orbit, Berengaria VII was an amazing sight. For starters, it was ringed – unusual for a non-gaseous planet, although not entirely unheard-of – and exquisitely beautiful. Most of its surface was covered in water, with small continents scattered across it like pebbles. The three moons of the planet glittered amidst the rings like jewels in the folds of a shawl of turquoise gauze.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you, Captain?" Mayweather asked with ill-veiled longing to go down to the planet. "Navigating the shuttlepod through those rings won't be easy."

Jack grinned at him. "You may have broken my Academy records, Travis, which I'll never forgive, but I'm not a dotard yet, either. All those training runs among Saturn's rings will pay off, I'm sure. You keep my ship safely in orbit; that will be tough enough."

"Aye, sir," Mayweather replied unhappily.

"Captain," T'Pol intervened quietly, "we should leave now. The Viseeth do not appreciate unpunctuality."

"Right," Jack activated the intercom. "Captain to Away Team: meet me in Launch Bay Two in five minutes."

That they were already present when he went down to Launch Bay Two showed how eager his team was to go.

"Shuttlepod One prepared and ready to launch, sir," Crewman Haynem, the duty officer, reported crisply.

"Thank you, Crewman." Jack turned to the Viseeth, gesturing towards the shuttlepod. "After you, Ma'am!"

Gerasen Gerasal climbed into the small vessel wordlessly.

T'Pol followed suit, handing Jack a PADD on her way in. "We are expected on the Hirena continent," she said. "These are the coordinates."

"Understood." Jack waited until his passengers were all safely seated, and then gave the order to depressurize Launch Bay Two.

It was time to see a real alien world with real aliens on it – even if their mission of deep space exploration had yet to begin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Navigating amidst the myriad pieces of ice and space debris that made up the spectacular rings of Berengaria VII proved trickier than he had expected. But he hadn't held the Academy records on the simulator for over a decade (until Mayweather broke them in his final year) for nothing. After some flashy flying (including a couple of kamikaze tricks to avoid collision with random meteorites) he cleared the rings with the shuttlepod still in one piece and set it down safely in the landing area assigned to them in central Hirena, one of the small western continents.

For a moment they all sat quietly, the humans trying to regain their balance, while T'Pol was unhurriedly preparing herself for the planetary conditions. Not only did she put on a breathing mask, she also donned a broad belt weighed down with padded iron packs.

"The surface gravity of Berengaria VII is roughly two-thirds of the Earth norm," she explained, seeing the confused looks of the humans. "As a Vulcan, born and raised on a heavy-gravity world, I would be at serious disadvantage without the additional weight. Also, the planet has a very damp atmosphere, which would be harmful to my lungs."

"Shouldn't we take similar precautions as well?" Jack asked worriedly.

The Vulcan shook her head.

"That would not be necessary. Human lungs are well-suited to breathing humid air. Commander Tucker and Ensign Sato will have it the easiest, being used to Florida and Brazil, respectively. As for the lesser gravity, as long as you refrain from sudden movements, you should be all right."

Jack accepted the answer and they climbed out of the shuttlepod to take their first look at an alien world – with the possible exception of Reed, that is.

Viewed from on its surface, Berengaria VII was as exquisitely beautiful as seen from orbit. Its rings were visible even in daytime, like swathes of translucent gauze scintillating in shades of blue and green in the pale rose sky, as the system's primary, a red giant, was just slipping below the horizon.

The air was heavy and humid and very warm, making it somewhat hard to breathe. Even Hoshi and Trip, more used to damp, warm places than the rest of them, were glistening with sweat within mere minutes. Reed looked like somebody who would keel over any moment but managed to go on by sheer willpower.

They were standing in the middle of a meadow, verdant and fecund with wild grasses and shrubs that had spear-shaped, shiny dark green leaves and small delicate flowers in deep, jewelled colours, predominantly red, hot pink and amber, but indigo and white could also be seen.

A range of low hills surrounded the meadow on three sides, with the unbroken green wall of a natural jungle towering behind them. On the fourth, the western side, there was a lake, its waters burnished in shades of emerald and amethyst as the sun sank behind it.

In the middle of the lake there was a large island, covered with the same semi-tropical flora and crowned by a strangely organic-looking building of an indeterminate shape, parts of it being obscured by the towering trees. It seemed to have been composed of frozen water, glittering in jewelled colours – mostly emerald green, pale gold and azure blue.

"That is our destination," Gerasen Gerasal told them. "The governing body of the Berengaria VII colony has it grown here because this area was naturally less wooded than the other continents."

"Grown?" Tucker echoed in surprise. "How?"

"Biotechnology," the Viseeth replied simply. "Due to our biology we are more tightly bound to our planets of origin than other species – but that also means we can use their resources in ways few other species can."

"Grown…" Tucker repeated in amazement, eyeing the semi-living building that looked vaguely like a giant cauliflower with irregular side branches.

Jack, however, had other, more practical concerns. "How do we cross the water? Do you have boats or something?"

"Of course not!" Gerasen Gerasal replied in obvious horror. "This is the only spawning lake on Hirena; we would endanger our young by soiling the water! No; we have a simpler and faster method to get to Central Island."

She touched something on her utility belt, and in the next moment they were all standing at the entrance of the oddly shaped building.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
If possible, the lighting in front of the government building was even more beautiful than their landing place. The sunlight gleamed through high pink clouds while the ghostly reflection of the rings shimmered in the darkening waters of the 'spawning lake'. Low bushes lined the nearby bank of the lake, richly hung with amber-coloured, near-translucent fruits that had a striking resemblance to cloudberries. Small, winged reptiles – barely longer than a Terran dragonfly and as semi-translucent as the fruits themselves – hung upside-down from the berries or flitted around in pairs or singly, singing in a high pitch at the upper range of what human ears could still perceive.

"Ékanthon," Gerasen Gerasal said, giving them a fond look. "They are our equivalent of insects. They can change their colour to match their surroundings, like Terran chameleons – only faster."

She held out a hand and one of the mini-dragons sat down on her palm, gradually darkening until it matched perfectly the mahogany hue and white pattern of her skin.

"We keep them as pets," she added, blowing at the glittering little animal to send it its way. "They are strictly herbivorous; we also call them fruit dragons."

She turned around and laid her palm on the front door that was patterned like a seashell and glittered as if made of mother-of-pearl. A moment later the door simply vanished, allowing them to enter the building. Gerasen Gerasal led them directly to a round platform in the middle of the foyer.

"The conference room is on the top level," she said. "Do not be disturbed; using the peristaltic space for the first time can be a little unsettling, but you will get used to it. I assure you, it is perfectly safe – another piece of Antosian technology we have been using for millennia."

Before they could have asked her what the hell peristaltic space was supposed to be, they were… sucked upwards, there couldn't be any better word for it. The gleaming walls hushed by them at alarming speed, until an invisible hand seemed to pick them up and set them down on a platform that might or might not be the same as the one they had started from.

The Viseeth had been correct: it was an unsettling experience. Even Jack, who usually didn't even know how nausea was spelled, felt a little green around the gills. Hoshi seemed to have fared little better. Reed looked likely to throw up any moment, and the tip of Tucker's nose was suspiciously pale.

Only T'Pol appeared completely unfazed – but again, she'd had previous experience with the thing. Besides, she was probably busy fighting the lack of proper gravity at the moment.

"Here we are," Gerasen Gerasal announced, and touched the ornate door right in front of them to open it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The room behind the door was unexpectedly large and airy – they were obviously in the branched-out upper section of the building. At first it also seemed to be empty – until four other Viseeth entered through another door. As soon as they had taken some pre-determined position, a long table with ten seats emerged from the floor, first as shapeless blobs of indefinable biomatter, but taking on solid form in mere moments.

The Viseeth sat without a word and Gerasen Gerasal gestured the visitors to do the same. The whole thing happened in eerie silence; it wasn't the most encouraging atmosphere. The unknown Viseeth were bald, every single one of them, their expression unreadable.

They weren't wearing any clothes, save for utility belts, with one exception. This one seemed much older than the others, their skin faded to ash grey which, Jack supposed, had to be their equivalent of ageing, and they wore something akin to a Roman toga, only made from some shiny, dark green fabric that looked like silk.

It was this individual who turned first to Jack, then to Gerasen Gerasal. The latter remained silent for a moment; then she, too, turned to Jack.

"Tilin Trasal requests a direct telepathic connection, for the sake of better understanding," she said. "They assure you that they shall not look into anything personal; just what has references to this mission."

Jack shifted position uncomfortably. He didn't like the idea of the ancient one poking around in his head; on the other hand, they had at least asked, although they clearly could have done so without his permission… or his knowledge, for that matter. Besides, most Viseeth probably didn't talk too much, not with spoken words. Why should they, if they could talk mind to mind?

He glanced at T'Pol, who gave him a barely perceptible nod. The thought of relying on a Vulcan's guidance wasn't entirely comfortable either, but who else had previous experience with the Viseeth?

"All right." He gave in, and leaned back in his seat, which seemed to adapt to the change of position without delay. "What do I do?"

"Nothing," Gerasen Gerasal replied. "Relax and let us do all the work."

Jack tried desperately to suppress the associations coming up unintentionally at that. The wave of tolerant amusement coming from Gerasen Gerasal revealed that he hadn't been very successful. He just hoped that the other Viseeth, being basically asexual, wouldn't have the references to take offence.

Then he felt the touch of something utterly ancient and utterly alien in his mind and all frivolous thoughts were blown away, as if swept up by a hot wind. Not having had any telepathic contact before, at first he seriously panicked, afraid of losing himself completely. It was obvious that the Viseeth Elder was not used to dealing with minds as fragile as the human norm and could easily have damaged him beyond repair, without actually meaning it.

After the first moment of blind panic, however, he could feel another identity enter their connection. By means far beyond his comprehension, he recognized Gerasen Gerasal, and her support was as calming as a cool breeze on a hot day.

"Do not be afraid," she 'said', though there were no real words, just a profound understanding. "Follow my lead; I shall guide you."

And thus they continued, Gerasen Gerasal's mind stretching out like a shield between him and the Elder's relentless probing, so that he would not suffer permanent damage, while Tilin Trasal sifted though his memories regarding the Suliban intrusion, Gerasen Gerasal's kidnapping into subspace and the attack by the mysterious alien ship as if they were leafing through a book. They kept their promise; nothing else was touched.

Despite the unpleasant side effects – like a splitting headache and some nausea – it was an interesting experience. His less than detailed memories (those of the Shroomies for example) were brought into sharp focus that was nearly painful – like when a shadowy corner gets illuminated by a too-bright torch. Suddenly he could remember minute details he wasn't even aware of having marked in the first place.

Interesting, yes, but utterly exhausting.

"That is enough," Gerasen Gerasal said, speaking out loud. "He cannot endure much longer; not at the moment anyway. His species is not suited for this kind of communication, and he is of no use to us when he is dead."

At least that was what she said, according to Hoshi's subsequent report; at the time, Jack was incapable of hearing it. In any case, the Viseeth Elder let go of Jack's mind, and Gerasen Gerasal slowly, carefully guided him back to full consciousness. He resurfaced feeling as if he'd been saved from drowning in the last moment.

"He will need to rest and restore his strength," she then said to T'Pol. "Rooms have been prepared for you on the lower levels, with the environmental controls set for your respective needs. We shall hold council once he has fully recovered and my memory engrams have been extracted and analysed."

"Are we allowed to explore the immediate surroundings?" T'Pol inquired. "I imagine that Ensign Sato in particular would enjoy doing so. She used to live in a tropical jungle for an extended period of time."

"Naturally," one of the older Viseeth answered; it sounded as if they were no longer used to actual speech and their vocal cords had gone rusty. "We shall assign one of our young to act as your guide."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
With that, they were summarily dismissed and relocated to the guest rooms that had been adapted to Vulcan and human needs, respectively. T'Pol was relieved to be able to put down the weighted belt and the breathing mask and immediately retired to her room to meditate.

The humans, however, were eager to see more of this incredible world, and as soon as they made sure Jack was all right and were assured that he would be sleeping in the next couple of hours, they signalled their intention to go outside. They were asked to wait for the arrival of their guide.

Soon thereafter an amazing little creature came to fetch them. It basically looked like a half-sized Viseeth, but its skin was pale yellow, with dark brown patterning, like the negative image of an adult's skin patterns. It was bald-headed, naked save for the obligatory utility belt everyone seemed to wear here, and – unlike the adults – seemed excited to meet them.

"Greetings!" it chirped happily; to their surprise, it spoke a passable enough English. "Apologies for the delay; I needed time to learn your language. It is a remarkably illogical one; very interesting!"

The three Enterprise officers (sans Reed) smiled involuntarily. The little thing was so cute, so very different from its stone-faced elders.

"I am Mishih," it continued. "The Elders assigned me to show you around." It looked doubtfully at their uniforms with its huge, liquid dark eyes. "You won't be very comfortable in those clothes outside, though. You should wear less."

Tucker and Reed exchanged uncomfortable looks but Hoshi simply nodded and stripped down to her tank top and pants without delay. After a moment of hesitation the two men followed suit (although mildly embarrassed) and they could finally go outside.

Night had fallen during their meeting with the Viseeth Elders, but that did not mean actual darkness, not on this planet. The rings of Berengaria VII glittered on the night sky, draped across it like the planet's own personal Milky Way,' in the folds of which her sister planet, Berengaria VIII – the actual Viseeth homeworld – seemed to rest like a marbled glass ball. Also, the density of stars was much higher than on Earth's night sky, peppering the firmament with uncounted bright dots, their light twinkling as it was filtered through the thick, humid atmosphere.

The heavy, spicy scents in the air were much stronger than they had been upon their arrival, due to the night-blooming flowers becoming active, Mishih explained as he led the visitors down to the edge of the water. The dark surface of the spawning lake was rippled as little, tadpole-like creatures – patterned the same manner as Mishih – poked out their heads and chirped at the visitors excitedly.

"They are this cycle's spawn," Mishih explained, "not exactly sapient just yet. It takes us eight cycles to develop full sapience, and another eight to complete our transformation to air-breathers. I only emerged from the waters half a cycle ago myself and have a long way before me until I become fully adult."

"How long does it take?" Hoshi inquired.

"That is different for each individual," Mishih replied, "but usually we require between ten and sixteen cycles on land to complete our physical and mental growth. Which is when we receive our permanent name and assume our place in the family."

Considering that a Viseeth 'cycle' was approximately four Earth years – Berengaria being a large sun – that meant the average Viseeth would reach maturity in about a century, give or take a decade. But they were an extremely long-lived race. They had no reason to hurry up.

Before any of the visitors could have asked another question, something huge blotted out the light of the stars. An enormous, winged creature, shimmering in the reflection of the rings like pale gold, flew over their heads, its long, thorned tail meandering behind it lazily. It drew a wide circle above them; then it touched down near to the lake (fortunately a little further along the shoreline), threw back its large, frilled head and opened its mouth wide. A burst of fire escaped its mouth, and the thorn-like things seaming its sides and tail deflated like punctured balloons. Then it laid its head on its foreleg, closed its eyes and apparently fell asleep.

"Was that… is that a dragon?" Hoshi could barely contain her fascination. "A fire-breathing one and all, like in the legends?"

"Our dragons draw hydrogen from water and store the gas in those sacks along the sides of their abdomen and tail," Mishih explained as if it were nothing unusual; for a Viseeth, it probably wasn't. "The sacks serve the same function as the swim bladder in Terran fish, offsetting much of the dragon's weight by the buoyancy of the lighter-than-air components. When no longer needed, the excess hydrogen travels to the dragon's mouth, where it is exhaled and ignited by electrochemical means, as you have just seen, so that the animal can rest comfortably."

"Incredible!" Reed commented; the others had never seen him so amazed by anything that wasn't a weapon before. "I wonder if similar creatures have once lived on Earth during the dinosaur age, giving birth to our planet's numerous dragon legends."

"If they have, no proof has been found so far," Hoshi said a little sadly. "A shame, really – they are so beautiful!"

"They are," Mishih agreed. "Unfortunately, they are also quite lacking in sense – and often more affectionate than is convenient; especially those that are fully grown."

"What do you mean?" Tucker asked, eyeing the sleeping dragon warily.

Mishih gave him a sour look. "Can you imagine a dragon of this size that wants to cuddle with you? Trust me; it isn't an experience you'd want to ever repeat."

"So, how do you keep them from smothering you?" Reed looked at the slender young alien doubtfully.

Mishih showed him a flagon with a dispersion head. "With applied biochemistry. We spray a compound at them they find disgusting, so they back off. It is quite harmless, really. The smell isn't even unpleasant – not for us anyway – but the dragons hate it. Come now; there are many other beautiful things to see."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 12 – Decisions

The Enterprise Away Team spent the night in the government building, enjoying the impersonal but flawless Viseeth hospitality. In the morning even Jack was fully recovered again, and after a copious – albeit strictly vegetarian – breakfast, he was ready to face the new day.

Sure enough, right after they had eaten, they were summoned to the council chamber again. To their surprise, aside from the Viseeth Elders, there was also a venerable-looking, silver-haired Vulcan present, wearing the long, ornate robes of the Diplomatic Corps, as well as a breathing mask and a weighted belt.

"This is Minister Solkar, currently overseeing the Science Directorate." T'Pol, who obviously knew the man, introduced him. "He was sent with information regarding the Iconian Empire, and to help analyse the situation."

"Peace and long life, Captain Archer." Solkar offered the traditional ta'al greeting, which Jack returned… with some difficulty.

"Live long and prosper," he muttered darkly.

The last thing he needed was another damned Vulcan to stick his long nose into his affairs. But since they were all guests of the Viseeth Synodium, and since the Viseeth and the Vulcans had probably become allies before mankind had learned to use fire, there was little he could have done about it.

The elegantly raised Vulcan eyebrow revealed that he hadn't done a very good job of hiding his displeasure.

"I assure you, Captain, that my presence here has nothing to do with your performance which, by the way, has been impressive so far," Solkar said. "I was summoned by the Viseeth Elders because we Vulcans have more… recent experience with non-biological technology and actual warfare. My task here is to help analyse Gerasen Gerasal's memory engrams from a technical and tactical point of view; nothing else."

"If you say so," Charlie Tucker muttered under his breath; but, of course, not quietly enough for the acute Vulcan hearing.

"Indeed I do," Solkar replied evenly. "I ask you, Commander, to curb your hostility over previous slights from the side of my people, may they be real or imagined. At the moment we have more pressing issues to deal with."

"Have you extracted the memory engrams then?" Jack asked hurriedly, before Trip could put his foot into his mouth again.

"We have," Gerasen Gerasal, more accustomed to actual speech than the other Viseeth, answered grimly. "And the results are as inconclusive as they are unsettling."

"Which means… what exactly?" the captain inquired, sick and tired of how everyone was beating around the bush.

"It means that there is indeed a full-scale invasion planned, but we still cannot tell who is orchestrating it," Minister Solkar replied. "The size of the enemy fleet is considerable, it seems, and the technology one we have never encountered before."

"We as you Vulcans, or does this include the Viseeth as well?" Reed tried to clarify.

"Both of us," Gerasen Gerasal answered simply.

"What about the Shroomies?" Tucker asked. "Are they really the same people you used to know back in the Stone Age?"

"Again, we cannot tell," the Viseeth admitted unhappily. "They do bear a striking resemblance to the Elachi we have believed to be extinct. But the Historic Databases have several fungal-based species on file, and they all look very similar. We would need a DNA sample to be certain."

"You have DNA samples on file from species that have died out a hundred thousand years ago?" Hoshi couldn't quite hide her surprise.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted her head to the side – the Viseeth equivalent of a shrug. "Do you not have DNA samples from various subspecies of dinosaurs on file? And they died out a significantly longer time ago, if I am not mistaken."

"Yes, but the dinosaurs were a species that originated on our own planet," Hoshi pointed out. "They are part of our history."

"Just as the Elachi are part of ours," Gerasen Gerasal countered. "They have been our neighbours for a very long time. In fact, the Elachi homeworld – Gamma Vertis IV as your star charts know it – is only two galactic sectors away."

Minister Solkar gave her a speculative look. "You never told us that Gamma Vertis IV was thought to be the Elachi world of origins. I wonder why."

"It was of no significance," Gerasen Gerasal responded with a certain amount of annoyance; clearly, humans weren't the only ones pissed off by Vulcans occasionally. "The planet is dead; it has been dead for hundreds of millennia. And so have the Elachi."

"Are you sure that they are?" Reed asked thoughtfully. "What if the Shroomies have been hiding in subspace for the last hundred thousand years and have now decided to come back and give everyone who'd driven them out in the past a bloody nose? That would explain the technology none of you have ever seen before."

"No-one can survive in subspace for that long," the Viseeth argued. "The ones who experimented on me tried to change my biochemistry drastically, so that I would survive long enough for questioning."

"True; but we have no solid data to build a working theory what fungal-based lifeforms can survive and adapt to," a new voice said, and the humans turned around in surprise.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
None of them had noticed the tall, dark-skinned woman of regal posture who had apparently been sitting in a shadowy corner all the time. She rose now and came over to them, offering her hand to Jack in human fashion.

"Greetings, Captain Archer. I am Fre'ema Agyeman-Mardah Yannes from Alpha Centauri III; Doctor of Xenobiology. I was partaking in the Medical Exchange Program on Vulcan when I was called in as an expert by Minister Solkar."

Which made sense, actually. Alpha Centauri was one of those rare systems that not only boasted three habitable planets, but each of those planets had brought forth its own sentient species independently. Additionally, some ancient race known only as the Preservers had relocated a surprisingly large number of highly educated slaves from Ancient Greece – mostly from Alexandria – during a period of several hundred years to Alpha Centauri VII, where those had merged with the indigenous Rijil people, thus creating the first hybrid subspecies in the known galaxy. Therefore xenobiology had always been a scientific discipline the various peoples of the Alpha Centauri Concordium of Planets were exceptionally good at.

They were all quite human-looking, too. The pretty doctor with the ungodly long name could have blended in anywhere on Earth – until someone caught a glimpse of her eyes. Which were red. Blood red irises encircled by dark grey rings, with long, raven lashes and thin, arched eyebrows as if painted on with a hair-thin brush. She wore her thick, jet-black hair in a short ponytail on the top of her head.

"Pleased to meet, you, Doctor…" Jack trailed off uncertainly.

"Doctor Yannes," she supplied. "That's the name I use when dealing with other species. The meaning of my full name wouldn't tell outsiders anything, so why bother them with it, right?"

"Oh; I heard about that!" Hoshi said. "You are a Mo'ari, aren't you? And the individual elements of your name contain information about family, tribe and the province of your origins, don't they?"

"That is correct." Dr Yannes looked at her in pleased surprise. "Are you a linguist? This is the first time a Terran has showed any understanding of our naming customs."

"Yeah, but Hoshi here is the best exolinguist on the planet… on our planet, I mean," Jack explained with almost proprietary pride.

"Fantastic!" Dr Yannes beamed at Hoshi. "Perhaps we can keep in touch after this mission is completed. I'd like to see if a human is capable of learning my mother tongue."

"I'd like that very much," Hoshi answered shyly.

"Let us focus on the mission first." Minister Solkar turned to Jack. "Captain Archer, I know that your ship has suffered some damage on the way here. Still, would you be willing to undertake another journey before you return to Spacedock for the necessary repairs?"

"That depends," Jack replied carefully. "Where are we supposed to go and what are we supposed to do there?"

"Since we could not eliminate the possibility that the Elachi were, in fact, behind the most recent attack, I find it necessary that somebody should visit Gamma Vertis IV and see if it is still abandoned," the Vulcan explained.

Jack nodded. "That makes sense. But why Enterprise? Could your ship not make the trip even faster?"

"It could," Solkar agreed. "But our adversaries are no doubt familiar with Vulcan ship designs, and our presence would, as I believe your people say, 'tip them off' that we are suspicious of them. Enterprise, however, is a brand new ship class; and your people are new to deep space exploration. It would be completely believable that you would visit even a dead planet if it appeared interesting enough."

"You mean other people believe that we're crazy anyway, so they won't be surprised if we go there," Jack corrected.

Solkar didn't even blink. "That is an accurate summary," he replied.

For a moment the captain seriously considered wringing the Vulcan's scrawny neck, but then he decided to give the minister the benefit of the doubt and assume that it had been a pathetic attempt of joke. After all – as Soval's predecessor as the Vulcan ambassador on Earth – Solkar had ample experience in dealing with humans. He might just have been trying to lighten the mood.

Yeah. And pigs might be able to fly.

"Which is as good a disguise as any," T'Pol offered helpfully, referring to Jack's comment. "Unfortunately, Enterprise's science department is far from being complete. The closest thing they have to a xenobiologist is Dr Phlox, and while he does have a lesser degree in xenobiology, he is not the specialist that would be needed for this particular mission."

"I can go with you," Dr Yannes volunteered. "My turn with the Medical Exchange Program is almost over anyway, and I would welcome the chance to take part in deep space exploration. I've never been any further than Vulcan."

Solkar looked at Jack. "Would Starfleet agree to take a civilian with you – and an extraterrestrial at that?"

Jack shrugged. "Sure, why not? It isn't as if they could prevent Soval from parking T'Pol under our noses whether we wanted her or not; and Admiral Forrest had no objections when I hired Dr Phlox, who isn't a Starfleet officer either. Neither is he human; but the crew got used to him quickly enough."

"No doubt due to the doctor's extremely gregarious nature," T'Pol commented dryly.

"Well, what can I say?" Tucker drawled. "We lowly humans like it when people talk to us, instead of judgin' us with extreme prejudice."

"Trip," Jack warned quietly, "not now! We are trying to co-operate here; let's not undermine the process before it actually starts."

Tucker gave him a mirthless grin and pretended to glance at his ears. "What happened, Cap'n? Your ears seem to be a mite pointier than usual."

"And you've made better jokes," his CO retorted. "Try to hold back a little, would you? I'm actually interested in this mission."

The engineer muttered something unintelligible but fell silent. Jack turned back to Solkar. "Minister, is there anything on that dead planet that could endanger either my ship or my crew?'

"Not to my knowledge," the Vulcan replied. "But we did not expect a direct attack on your ship so close to the Berengaria system either, so we must count on the possibility that there are risks on Gamma Ventris IV as well."

"Fair enough," Jack said. "Now, since we're being open and honest with each other, could you tell us a little more of what GG here had in her head? Just so that we'd get an idea what we're facing?"

"We can do more," Gerasen Gerasal replied, after a moment of wordless consultation with her Elders. "We can show you the visuals; the same visuals we all saw via the Memory Machine. As I said, however, they are not conclusive."

"How did you get the information in the first place if you can't understand it yourself?" Reed asked, bewildered.

"Through mental projection, from a Suliban woman on Rigel X," the Viseeth answered simply.

"A Suliban? You expect us to trust the information coming from a Suliban?" Jack was well and truly shocked. Too shocked to even try to hide it.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted her head to the side. "Not all Suliban are terrorists or mercenaries, Captain. In fact, even some of those who are a member of the Cabal have come to their senses and realized that the price they paid for their genetic enhancement was too high. Sarin was one of those converts; and she gave her life to enable me to escape Rigel X with the knowledge she had given me."

"And you ran directly to Earth?" Jack shook his head. "What did you hope to find there?"

"I could not go straight to Vulcan," the Viseeth explained. "That would have been too obvious. Earth, however, has no real weight in interstellar politics yet; I hoped that they would not look for me there – but obviously, I was wrong. My plan had been to ask the Vulcan contingent on Earth for asylum, but my ship was damaged by the Suliban fighters pursuing me, and I crash-landed in some agricultural area."

"Oklahoma," Tucker supplied. "The place is called Broken Bow."

Where the first human Gerasen Gerasal met had panicked and promptly shot her. But he wasn't about to mention that within the earshot of the other cow people. Even if they already knew about it… in theory.

"Thank you," she said, and it seemed that she was thanking him for more than just for supplying the place-name on Earth. "In any case, the Synodium appreciates your efforts to bring me and the intel safely home. It has been decided to allow you to see the visuals, if that is what you wish."

"You bet it is," Jack said, a little bewildered, because wasn't it exactly what he'd just asked a few minutes ago? Apparently, the Viseeth were every bit as long-winded as the Vulcans when it came to the sharing of information. "Lieutenant Reed here is our armoury officer; I'm sure he'll have valuable insights about the military aspect of the planned invasion."

Reed glanced up, not-quite-successfully hiding his surprise. Captain Archer had just proved – and that not for the first time, either – that while he personally disliked having an ex-Starfleet Intelligence officer aboard his ship, he nonetheless appreciated the knowledge and abilities of said officer and was more than willing to utilise them.

Not many Starfleet captains would have done the same.

"I shall endeavour to do my best, sir," he promised quietly.

"Good," Jack said. "Hoshi, look out for any written signs that may show up. I know you've worked with what little we have about the Suliban language, but..." He turned to Gerasen Gerasal. "Do you know anything about the language of these… these Elachi?"

She held another wordless conversation with her Elders; then she nodded.

"According to the Historic Databases, they did not have a spoken language of their own, since they had no vocal cords at all. We have no idea how they communicated with each other – some suppose it happened chemically – but they used the classic Iconian alphabet for writing."

"Has the Suliban language anything to do with Iconian?" Hoshi asked.

The aliens present exchanged thoughtful looks, In the end it was Minister Solkar who answered.

"None that we have found. If the aliens attacking your ship were Elachi, this alliance cannot be any older than a hundred of your years – considering the actual age of the Elachi as a people, that is a very short time."

"I'm sure it is," Jack said, a little impatiently. "Can we see the records now?"

"Certainly." Gerasen Gerasal made a negligent gesture with one hand, and one of the walls promptly turned into a three-dimensional holographic viewscreen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At first, all they could see were stars, the Eridanus and Berengaria systems clearly recognizable, which meant they were seeing a fairly large section of known space. Earth and the Centauri system were not depicted, though.

Then entire swarms of ships showed up, consisting of various sizes and designs, all heading for Vulcan and Berengaria respectively. Some of them were clearly Suliban; a small fleet was made up of the arrow-shaped, green-glowing ships like the one that had attacked Enterprise on her way to Berengaria VII.

The largest number, however, was made up of ships of unknown design, from small fighters through frigate-sized vessels to huge dreadnoughts. All of them had distinctly-gleaming energy shields.

As the enormous fleet advanced, entire wings peeled off from time to time, heading for the Rigel system, for Klingon space and for other, nearby worlds, all inhabited by sentient species. The invaders, whoever they might be, were obviously hell-bent on exterminating all sentient life in their way.

"What do you think, Lieutenant?" Minister Solkar asked Reed, once the demonstration was over.

"This appears to be a pre-emptive strike," the armoury officer answered thoughtfully. "Those ships are heading for the homeworlds of the technically most advanced species in the known galaxy. They clearly intend to wipe out the most likely sources of resistance before they move on to the weaker, more primitive worlds."

The Vulcan nodded. "Our analysis has reached the same conclusion."

"Bu why didn't the display show either Centaurus or Earth?" Jack asked. "It isn't that I'd want them to come for us, and I know that we still count as a planet of barely literate savages, but the Centaurians are an old race."

"Not nearly as old as the Viseeth or us," Solkar corrected calmly. "There is a distinct possibility that the enemy is not even aware of the existence of humans – or any of the Centaurian peoples – yet."

"Which means that gettin' involved is practically paintin' a big fat bull's-eye on our backs," Tucker commented, with a side glance at the Vulcans.

"It doesn't make such a big difference," Reed answered before Solkar or T'Pol could. "Sooner or later, they'd have come for us, too, seeing that we've become a space-faring species. At least we're forewarned now – not that we have anything that could stop that armada." He turned to Solkar. "Have you?"

"We do have battleships, yes," the minister replied. "But not nearly enough. Even if we could persuade the Andorians and the Tellarites to join forces with us – which is doubtful at best – it would not be enough."

"What about the Klingons?" Reed asked. "They're being targeted too; and I'd think a race of warriors like theirs would enjoy a challenge."

"Unless they choose to side with the enemy and help wipin' us out for good," Tucker said darkly.

"That's certainly a possibility," the armoury officer admitted. "And even if they did remain on our side, I'd hate to make our collective survival dependant on a race whose highest ambition is an honourable death in battle."

"Amen," Jack commented softly.

"Speaking of which," Reed continued, turning back to the aliens present. "Do you have any idea where those ships will be coming from? That would be useful to know."

"Agreed," Minister Solkar said. "Unfortunately, the display only shows us the fleet from the point on where they will enter known space. Clearly, this is a direction given to their allies, pointing out targets, as they already know where the fleet will be coming from."

"Haven't you tried to calculate their trajectory?" Malcolm asked. "That might give us an idea of their starting point."

"It would; and we have," the Vulcan answered patiently. "Unfortunately, the only known cosmic phenomenon lying in that direction is the Delphic Expanse."

"Which is – what exactly?" Jack asked.

"A vast area of space approximately fifty light years from here," Solkar explained. "While its exact dimensions remain unknown, our scientists have estimated it to be around two thousand light years across."

"That's a lot of space to hide an armada in, no matter how large," Reed commented.

"Indeed," Solkar agreed. "However, its size is not the only problem. Entering and exiting the Expanse is extremely hazardous, due to thermobaric clouds that surround the area. Travel through the Expanse is further complicated by numerous subspace anomalies that litter the area at random; these anomalies are responsible for a number of inexplicable events."

"Such as?" Jack pressed on.

Solkar looked at T'Pol "Subcommander?"

"Some twenty years ago, a Klingon vessel emerged from the Expanse, with its crew anatomically inverted, but still alive," she said tonelessly. "Similar events have led several species from outside the Expanse to ban both entry and exit."

"Based on what we've just seen, the latter probably ain't such a bad idea," Tucker said.

"Perhaps," the Englishman allowed. "But I don't really think that anyone could stop that armada once they decide to come out."

"I was afraid you were gonna say that, Lieutenant," Jack said grimly. "Well, ladies and gentlemen; it seems we need more and, before all else, more detailed intel. So, assuming that Admiral Forrest agrees, I will take Enterprise to Gamma Ventris IV and see what we can find there."

Minister Solkar inclined his head politely. "Thank you, Captain. In case you need assistance with the most urgent repairs, my ship can offer spare parts as well as helping hands."

Jack looked at his chief engineer. "Trip?"

"We have enough people for the job," Tucker said. "But spare parts would be welcome. We've patched up the damaged nacelle, but I'd sleep better if we could replace some of the parts."

"Compose a list of the parts you need and have Subcommander T'Pol send it to my ship," the minister said. "If we have them, we shall deliver."

"Thank you, Minister," Jack said politely. "I believe we should return to Enterprise and start preparing her for the journey."

"One more thing, Captain," Gerasen Gerasal said. "I find that my people need to have an eye witness on Gamma Ventris IV. I would like to come with you, if you permit it."

Jack shrugged. "Sure, why not? We've already grown used to you; and Hoshi will enjoy learning more from you, won't you, Hoshi?"

"Very much so, Captain," Hoshi replied.

Jack turned to T'Pol. "What about you, Subcommander? I know your assignment said 'until we reach Berengaria VII', but we could really use an experienced science officer on this trip."

T'Pol looked at Solkar; the minister nodded. "I agree with Captain Archer; your presence may prove helpful. I shall clear it with High Command."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"And the Vulcans agreed to everything?" Admiral Forrest asked in surprise. He was sitting in his office in San Francisco, clearly getting more and more bewildered as he listened to Jack's report.

Jack nodded. "Both they and the other cow people seemed highly unsettled by the news our cow lady has brought them. And, according to Lieutenant Reed, they have very good reasons to be unsettled."

Forrest looked directly at him – across the distance of a hundred or so light years. "Speaking of Lieutenant Reed – how do the two of you get on, Jack? I know you weren't happy to find out who – and what – he really was."

"I'm still not happy with it," Jack said bluntly. "I'm particularly unhappy with his role in Hoshi's arrest. I don't know if I'll ever be able to deal with that. But the man is a highly capable officer who's saved the ship – and the cow lady – almost single-handedly, and that is something I value very much. We need him and what he can do, and that's the honest truth. We don't have to like him, but he’s crucial to the survival of both ship and crew.”

“How is Ensign Sato dealing?” Forrest asked.

“Better than expected,” Jack smiled. “Aside from fleeing the room if she can whenever Reed is present, that is.”

“You’ll have to do something about that,” the admiral warned. “A situation may emerge in which the two of them will have to work together; she must be able to do so.”

“I know,” Jack sighed. “I’m working on it.”

“Work faster,” Forrest ordered. “Or else we’ll have to call her back. We can’t afford to have a senior officer on a ship of deep space exploration who can’t work with her colleagues – for whatever reason.”

“Frankly, Admiral, I’d have problems working alongside somebody who’d nearly killed me, too,” Jack said dryly. “On the other hand, she’s made friends with both T’Pol and the cow lady, so there are two very good arguments for her abilities. I don’t think any other human has befriended a Vulcan before – not to mention a Viseeth."

"I know she's good at what she does, Jack," Forrest replied patiently. "But she must learn to work with Lieutenant Reed; for the sake of the whole ship and for her own sake." He paused, looked to the side and sighed. "I must go. Keep me informed, Jack. And be careful – you're about to go deeper into uncharted space than any man has ever gone before, including the space boomers. Forrest out."

Jack deactivated the subspace radio and sighed too. He knew he should have addressed Hoshi's problem with Reed weeks ago, but he hadn't wanted to traumatise her any further. Still, the admiral was right, of course. They needed to at least start work on the problem before leaving for Gamma Ventris IV. This was no longer a mere shakedown run. They would soon be heading to potentially dangerous territory.

He pushed the intercom button. "Archer to Ensign Sato."

"Go ahead, Captain," came Hoshi's prompt answer.

"Come to my ready room, Hoshi; we need to talk."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Enterprise spent the next two days in the Berengaria system. While Charlie Tucker and his engineers were working on the most urgent repairs, the Viseeth offered the rest of the crew the chance to visit Berengaria VII – in very small groups. Doctor Yannes came onboard to acquaint herself with Doctor Phlox and the rest of the science department and – after some brief but intense negotiations between Starfleet Command and the Vulcan High Command – T'Pol received temporary Starfleet officer's patent, with the field rank of a full commander, and was assigned as the new executive officer of Enterprise.

While most humans were a bit offended by the last part, Charlie Tucker, who had filled the post of the first officer until now, couldn't have been happier.

"Executive officers have to deal with ungodly amounts of paperwork," he explained to Reed while they were re-checking the new pulse cannons for what had to be the third or fourth time; they had lost count. "I've got more than enough paperwork due to my actual job, and frankly, I'm deliriously happy that I won' have to work with the entire crew instead of just with my engineers."

"I wouldn't want to be the executive officer, either," Reed agreed and put the diagnostic monitor into sleep mode. "I've got enough to do with the weapons and the training of my people." He straightened his back, popping a cartilage in the process, and grimaced. "Speaking of which: I have to go. The captain ordered me to test Ensign Sato's skills with hand weapons."

"He did what?" Charlie stared at Reed in shock. "He ordered you to test Hoshi?"

"Odd, isn't it?" Reed grinned humourlessly. "I tried to talk him out of it, but he seems to believe that it would be a good idea… for whatever reason."

"I don't get it," Charlie muttered. "Are you tellin' me Jack ordered you to go to the shootin' range with Hoshi? Alone?"

"He did. In fact, he expressly forbade anyone else to be present."

"That tears it," Trip stood, too. "Cap'n must have gone insane. I'm goin' to have words with him. Serious words."

Reed caught his arm. "Please, Commander, don't. I'm sure the captain gave those particular orders for a good reason. Besides," he added quietly, "how else could any of you ever believe that I'm no longer a threat to her?"

"I'm not sure it's that easy," Tucker said darkly.

"Neither am I," the lieutenant confessed. "But orders are orders, and it's time for me to go. I'll be in the Armoury afterwards, should you need me."

"Thanks but I'll pass," Tucker muttered angrily, but only when the armoury officer was safely out of earshot. It would be of no use to alienate Reed even more because of Jack's hare-brained orders.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the same time T'Pol was discussing matters with Minister Solkar aboard the Vulcan courier ship Lamarr, enjoying the Vulcan conditions aboard and their respective cups of hot seya in unabashed relief.

"Your progress will be closely monitored, of course," the minister said. "Captain Vanik will follow your course with the Ti'Mur from a proper distance; and the High Command has already dispatched the Seleya to patrol the area along our side of the Expanse."

"The Seleya?" T'Pol frowned; she had served on that ship for several years and still considered many members of the crew as close acquaintances. "But it is a science vessel, not a battleship."

"Exactly," Solkar nodded. "What could be more natural than a science vessel mapping a previously uncharted area?"

"True," T'Pol allowed. "But they still would not have sufficient weapons to defend themselves against as much as a single wing of the armada we have seen."

"Neither would a battleship," her elder pointed out. "And the presence of one would immediately raise suspicions." He paused for a moment. "I am aware of the fact that we are putting a good ship and a highly capable crew at risk, Subcommander. So are they; and they have accepted the risk, for the good of Vulcan, since the good of the many is more important than the good of the few…"

"… Or that of a single person," T'Pol finished for him. "Is that why I am going with Enterprise, Minister?"

"Partly," Solkar replied with brutal honesty. "You must have observed that the territory of the Star Empire was missing from the attack plan. That could mean two things. Either our distant cousins are already in league with the enemy, or the attackers want to wipe out single systems before they regroup and go for larger targets."

"And you want me to find out which of the two is the truth." It was not a question but Solkar answered it nevertheless.

"Who would be better suited than you? The route to Gamma Ventris IV will take Enterprise close to the Rihannsu border. Keep your ears and eyes open."

"Am I supposed to tell Captain Archer about it?"

"Not unless you will have to face Rihannsu forces. There is no need to embarrass our entire race without a very good reason."

"I understand," T'Pol said. "I believe, though, that it is a mistake."

"Your objection is noted," Solkar replied coldly. "Follow your orders, Subcommander, and let us deal with the humans. I have considerably more practice at it than you."

"Respectfully, Minister, I still believe that we should be more open with them," she insisted. "Our secrecy has led to enough resentment already."

He lifted a superior eyebrow. "We cannot and will not accept responsibility for undisciplined human emotions. You will not speak to Archer about the Separation and its consequences, and that is final."

"Should it not be my decision, Minister?" T'Pol asked, every bit as coldly. "It is my life that will be greatly disturbed, should the truth come out."

"Kroykah!" Solkar hissed. "Should that ever happen, Subcommander, the violation of your privacy will be the least of your problems. This discussion is finished. Return to your duties aboard the human ship, but do not forget to whom you owe your allegiance."

"I will not." T'Pol stood and raised her hand to the traditional ta'al greeting. "Peace and long life, Minister."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 13 – Transfigurations

The journey to the Gamma Ventris system – situated two galactic sectors away up the spiral arm – required eighteen days, despite the extensive repairs done in orbit of Berengaria VII. Both Jack and Charlie Tucker were afraid of pushing the engines too far, and Gerasen Gerasal agreed that a few more days wouldn't matter and they would be better off safe than sorry.

Only the senior officers knew why they were heading this particular direction. But since this was their first true exploratory mission in deep space, the science department was buzzing with excitement like a beehive during the entire journey. And when they finally arrived and the first Away Team was deployed, everyone sat in front of the viewscreens, either on the Bridge or in the Mess Hall, eager to watch their progress.

Movie Night didn't even come close to this, as Petty Officer Daniels so elaborately put it.

The Elachi planet of origin, now a dead world, was the fourth of a total of nine planets orbiting a red giant. Originally it must have been Class M… or perhaps closer to Class N, although not entirely covered in water. Now it was little more than a lifeless rock, where a dead ocean covered most of the surface, its dark waters lapping listlessly against the barren coasts. Seen from space, the rocks appeared to be red, but from close-up they proved to be of a shade that was closer to rose and purple than true red.

"The ocean is completely lifeless," Dr Yannes reported, finishing her preliminary scans. "There's nothing alive, not even any single-cell organisms."

Her voice was somewhat distorted by the rebreather she was wearing – the composition of what was still left of the planet's atmosphere was noxious to most humanoids – but that fact couldn't hide her excitement.

T'Pol nodded distractedly while continuing her own scans. She found that the ocean was interesting in its own right nonetheless, as its dark emerald waves rolled out to the shore under a mauve sky. The colours formed a strange, grim harmony that matched the deadness of the entire world.

Due to the unusually high density of stars in this sector, Gamma Ventris IV didn't know true night. The sky was forever brilliant with stars, and the system's primary glowed in carmine shades among them, like a big, fat ruby amidst tiny, scattered diamonds, swollen and red as it had already entered the final stages of its existence. Soon – in astronomical terms – it would begin swelling more and more, until it swallowed the nine planets it had given life to a long, long time ago.

Ensign Mayweather had set down the shuttlepod in the middle of a natural amphitheatre of rock in the middle of the one small continent the planet could call its own. As the freshly-minted executive officer of Enterprise, T'Pol had been assigned the task of leading the Away Team, and she had selected Dr Yannes, Crewman Novakovich and Crewman Cooper to accompany her; the latter individual at the request of Chef, who had wanted her out of his hair, as she was doing more damage in the galley than she was actually helping.

"She won't be able to do much harm on an already dead planet," Chef had argued, "and I really need a break from her clumsiness."

T'Pol hadn't been very keen to allow the plague of the lower decks, as Crewman Cooper was generally called, to go down to a potentially dangerous planet with them. But she stood in Chef's debt for providing her with excellent Vulcan meals, and Vulcans took such obligations very seriously. Besides which, she couldn't tell Chef the true reason of their visit on Gamma Ventris IV, as it was strictly confidential.

Therefore she consented, albeit reluctantly, and Crewman Cooper was now standing on the soil of an alien planet – a chance many other crewman would give an arm for – grimacing unhappily at the surroundings, but otherwise remaining silent.

For the time being anyway. Her senior officer had no illusions that it would remain so much longer.

T'Pol remained silent as well. She found the planet actually quite beautiful in its deadness, but was careful enough not to say such things to the humans. They usually had a very different view on things.

"Subcommander," Ensign Soccorro, one of the two security personnel also assigned to the Away Team by Lieutenant Reed, interrupted her thoughts. "I'm reading an interconnected chain of natural caves under those hills, sixteen degrees westward from our current position. Perhaps we'll find something of interest there."

"A logical assumption," T'Pol replied. "You, Crewmen Novakovich and Cooper, come with me. Ensign Mayweather and Crewman Namod, you remain with Doctor Yannes and keep scanning for remains of advanced technology as well as for signs that anyone has lived here in the last hundred thousand years."

"Aye, Ma'am!" Mayweather answered crisply, while the big, burly Armoury crewman Namod, a man of few words but many expressive shrugs, simply nodded.

T'Pol flipped open her communicator. "T'Pol to Enterprise."

"Go ahead," Archer's voice answered.

"Ensign Soccorro has found a system of natural caves, sir," T'Pol reported. "We are going to divide our party. Three of us will investigate the caves; the other half of the team will continue the scans on the surface."

"That is a good idea," the captain said. "Be careful, though; and keep me informed."

"Yes, Captain," T'Pol closed her communicator and looked at the others. "You have your orders. Let us go."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Finding the entrance to the cave system proved easier than expected. They simply followed Ensign Soccorro's readings, which led them to the opposite site of the amphitheatre, about a kilometre from their landing point, arriving in front of a sheer rock wall that didn't seem any different than all the other rock walls around them.

"There's nothing here!" Crewman Cooper complained. "It's the same bloody rock as anywhere else!"

Ensign Soccorro rolled her eyes. "To the naked eye perhaps," she replied, clearly restraining her annoyance with considerable willpower. "My readings clearly show that the entrance must be right behind this wall."

"And how are we supposed to open it?" Cooper demanded. "Shoot our way through the rock?"

"I wouldn't advise doing that," Ethan Novakovich studied his own readings. "It seems to be something behind that rock. Something organic." His voice betrayed surprise; from their readings from orbit, the planet had been assumed to be completely lifeless.

"Show me." T'Pol held out an imperious hand. Novakovich handed her the scanner and she, too, studied the readings for a moment. "Indeed, those are organic residues. No higher life forms, though. The closest equivalent would be algae or fungi."

"Fungi?" Ensign Soccorro echoed, frowning. "Wasn't this planet once populated by a fungus-based life form?"

"That was one hundred thousand years ago," the Vulcan replied, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on the ensign.

Lieutenant Reed had clearly briefed her beyond the basic necessity, which actually made sense. She was a Starfleet Intelligence agent, working for him without the captain's knowledge. Lieutenant Reed had sent her to be his eyes and ears on this away mission; she needed to know why.

In this particular case T'Pol found her presence agreeable. Soccorro's knowledge of the nature of their mission meant that she would not stumble heedlessly into danger as some human security officers tended to do. And she was highly trained and tough as nails – a welcome contrast to Cooper.

"Can we risk entering the caves, by whatever means we can gain entrance?" Novakovich asked in concern. "There could be spores in there; or bacteria. We should have brought hazmat suits."

"That is a distinct possibility," T'Pol agreed, "but protective suits are not necessary. The rebreather masks can protect our airways efficiently. Set your filters to maximum and you will be safe."

"Let's scan the rock wall for density variations," Ensign Soccorro suggested. "When we map the thinner, weaker area, we can estimate the size of the doorway."

This idea made perfect sense, and they soon found out that the door – assuming that there was a door camouflaged in the seemingly unbroken rock wall – was fairly small. None of them would be able to pass through it standing upright… but that wasn't really surprising, Soccorro commented.

"The captain said the Shroomies weren't any taller than perhaps five feet," she added.

"We still cannot tell for certain that the aliens invading Enterprise had anything in common with the former inhabitants of this planet," T'Pol reminded her.

"At least they seem to be of a similar size," Novakovich said. "I wonder if the outline of the door would react to simple mechanical impulses."

"You mean we should find an edge and just push?" Soccorro asked, bewildered.

From a security point of view that probably wasn't such a good idea. No doubt this was why it had not occurred to her immediately.

Novakovich shrugged. "As good a method as any. And Crewman Namod certainly could push hard enough."

Had the man in question with them, instead of watching over Doctor Yannes, he would have squared his shoulders proudly. All that food he consumed all the time had to go somewhere.

"What's the glowing stuff on the rock?" Crewman Cooper suddenly asked.

Novakovich had been studying the contents of his PADD, and frowned up at her. "What are you talking about? There's nothing there."

"Well, there wasn't when we got here – but there is now," Cooper replied slightly nervously, and pointed.

The others followed her pointing finger and saw, indeed, a large fluorescent patch that had appeared silently and mysteriously in the lower right corner of what they supposed to be the entrance door.

"Looks like moss," Novakovich commented, now consulting his scanner. "But how can it be? I thought the planet was dead."

"Mostly dead, it seems," T'Pol corrected, also scanning the patch thoroughly. "Lesser life-forms can be dormant for a surprisingly long time; algae, mosses and fungi in particular."

"But what woke it up?" Soccorro asked.

"My guess would be: our torches." Novakovich eyed the alien moss with wary interest. "It must be a photosensitive species; which makes sense on a planet so poorly-lit as this one."

"That is a logical conclusion," the Vulcan agreed. "Take a sample, crewman, but make sure to seal the testing tube airtight. We cannot know what breathing in possible spores might do to lab personnel."

Novakovich did as he'd been told, working carefully but she could tell that it was with barely suppressed excitement. Given the human propensity for excitement, she could guess at his emotions; certainly, it was just moss, but still an alien life-form – one that nobody had seen for a hundred thousand years. Even a Vulcan scientist would have felt the discovery to be noteworthy.

"Done, Ma'am," he reported five minutes later.

"Hey!" Crewman Cooper, whom they had temporarily forgotten, called out on a note of fear. "The wall! It's opening up!"

They turned around and indeed, the outlines of the small door were now glowing weakly and the door itself slowly began to turn inwards. Beyond it a long, dark corridor became visible, with glowing patches on its rough walls similar to the one outside.

"Are we going in, Ma'am?" Novakovich asked eagerly.

"Not without security measures," Ensign Soccorro insisted before T'Pol could answer. "We should call Enterprise for reinforcements, Ma'am. More security; and perhaps some engineers, too. We must make sure the door won't fall shut behind us."

"Or one of us could stay behind and open it again," Cooper suggested.

The Security officer shook her head. "We don't know why it opened now, so we can't be sure what the mechanism is. We must secure the door safely. With the help of Starfleet technology, which we know is gonna work."

"I concur." the Vulcan flipped open her communicator. "T'Pol to Enterprise."

"Go ahead," Archer's distant voice answered.

"Captain, we have found the entrance to the cave system, but we will need a second team down here. Preferably engineering technicians and more security. We have opened the door – by accident, in truth – but we need help to keep it open. It is not large, but it appears to be heavy, and we do not know what mechanism operates it."

"One moment." The captain presumably consulted his chief engineer about the issue; then he spoke again. "Trip says he'll send you Rostov and his team. They are an innovative bunch; they'll find a solution."

T'Pol nodded to herself; she knew the team in question. "Very good, Captain. We shall expect them in half an hour then."

"Nah; Trip wants to test the transporter," the captain replied. "You can expect them in a few minutes."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
According to that promise, about six minutes later they heard the high-pitched whine of the transporter beam and Crewman Rostov and his team arrived. They came well-prepared, too, carrying a couple of the heavy titanium wedges used on transport ships to secure the cargo.

"We can't know how stable that door is, of course," Mikhail Rostov explained, "but a few of these babies should do the trick."

"A very practical solution," T'Pol agreed. "Carry on, Crewman."

The engineering team didn't need any more encouragement. In a very short time, they wedged the door – if a quadrilateral piece of unhewn rock could be called a door – permanently open, and Crewman Kelly volunteered to go in with the research team as well, in case some technical support would be required.

T'Pol accepted the offer, ignoring Crewman Cooper's angry grumbling that she was a technician, thank you very much, and could deal with whatever technology they might find inside the caves. Which was not entirely untrue; she was a good enough technician, as long as she could focus on the task at hand.

Unfortunately, that was rarely the case.

The Vulcan pretended not to hear her whining; there were more pressing issues to deal with. She sent Ensign Soccorro forth – it was standard procedure to allow security to take point – and followed as second, since she had the most sophisticated equipment. Novakovich was third in line, directly followed by Julia Kelly; Cooper trailed sullenly after them.

The tunnel led them straight into a large, more or less dark cave, the first of several indicated by their scanners. To begin with, the only illumination was provided by their torches, but after a few minutes small, glowing patches – similar to those on the door – appeared all around them on the walls and the ceiling of the cave. It was an overwhelming sight.

"Amazing!" Novakovich breathed. "It looks like the Waitomo Glowworm Caves on the North Island of New Zealand – I never thought that simple moss could produce the same effect!"

"This is more than just simple moss," Soccorro said. "Look at the pattern in which they're arranged. It's almost like a star chart."

"It is a star chart," T'Pol corrected. "No natural phenomenon could possibly create an irregular pattern like this. Those are clearly stellar constellations, depicted by the means of photosensitive moss; an ingenious solution."

"I can't recognize any of those constellations, though," Novakovich complained.

"Neither can I," the Vulcan replied, "but that is not surprising. What we are seeing here is most likely what the skyscape looked like – seen from the surface of this planet – a hundred thousand years ago. We must make extensive records and compare them with the historical star charts in the database. That way we might be able to define how the positioning of the stars had changed between the creation of the cave and the present date."

Without waiting for instructions, Novakovich pulled out a holocamera and began systematically recording the living, glowing star chart.

After he was done – which took some time – they went on to the next cave. It was somewhat smaller than the first one; and here, too, the photosensitive moss began to glow on the walls as soon as they entered with their torches.

This time, however, the glowing patches formed oddly decorative symbols.

"Iconian lettering," T'Pol declared, switching her scanner to recording mode. "Perhaps we can make sense of them with the help of the historic database; or Gerasen Gerasal can read them. Crewman Novakovich, continue with the rest of the team to the next cave. I will follow you when I have finished here."

Ensign Soccorro hurried forward in case Novakovich would need protection. Dead world or not, regulations clearly dictated that no-one should enter unknown territory without back-up. Cooper followed them, uninvited, while Kelly remained with the Vulcan. Again, regulations dictated this.

Barely had the rest of the team left when T'Pol's communicator beeped.

"Novakovich here," the excited voice of the young scientist said. "Ma'am, I think you really need to see this."

"On my way." She pressed her scanner into Julia Kelly's hands. "Take over for me, Crewman."

Kelly simply nodded and continued with the scan while T'Pol walked to join the rest of the team in the next cave. This one looked… well, the best comparison would have been a strange mix between a botany lab and the zoology exhibition of some alien museum.

The walls were covered by translucent half-globes that looked like glass but were, in fact, made of some sort of thin membrane – whether of plant or animal origin, it would have been hard to tell without a thorough examination. Some of them were small, barely the size of tennis balls, others larger than the head of a grown man. In each of them was a conserved specimen of various species, not one of which any of the Enterprise crew had ever seen before.

In the middle of the cave stood a long, low table made of the same rock as the cave itself; the only difference was that it was smooth and polished, with container boxes cut into its surface, which was covered with that transparent membrane again. Under the transparent covering a series of oddly-shaped dishes could be seen – perhaps the Elachi equivalent of Petri dishes and test tubes. Some of them were empty, others still contained samples of unknown origin.

"What the hell is this?" Novakovich asked with a frown. "Some sort of lab?"

Soccorro shook her head. "Unlikely. That would mean these… things had been sitting here for a hundred thousand years. Is living tissue supposed to keep that long?"

"Not according to our current level of scientific knowledge," T'Pol replied. "However, we cannot know for certain how advanced Elachi technology actually was."

"Or has become in the meantime," Novakovich said, consulting his readings. "'Cause this stuff here isn't any older than four hundred years, tops."

For a moment the surprise silenced everyone.

"But – but wasn't he planet supposed to be dead?" Cooper burst out.

Novakovich shrugged. "It is dead… save for the photosensitive moss. That doesn't mean somebody couldn't have used it as an extensive lab from time to time. In fact, a mostly dead world would provide a much cleaner environment than an inhabited one. Better for the test results, in any case."

"Four hundred years seem to be a bit long for a gap between two experiments, though," Soccorro commented.

T'Pol shook her head. "Not necessarily. It depends on the nature of the experiment… and on the average life expectation of the people doing the experiment."

Novakovich frowned. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean, ma'am."

"The Elachi were known as a long-lived species," she explained patiently. "We know very little about their life cycles, but it appears from this evidence that they have returned to this place periodically for some reason."

"Could it be that they have to return to their planet of origin to procreate?" he asked thoughtfully. "Certain species have to do that, too… return to their birthplace, I mean. Salmon, for example."

"There are no data about the procreation method of the Elachi," T'Pol admitted. "Your theory has its merit, Crewman; but we need to find actual evidence that they – or anyone else – has indeed visited the planet during the last four hundred years." She flipped open her communicator. "T'Pol to Dr Yannes. Doctor, have you found any sign of spacecraft landing on the planet?"

"Negative," the Centaurian scientist replied. "If there has been anyone, they either had transporter technology or landed in some other area of the continent."

"Or underwater," Mayweather added, in the background.

"Well, if the Shroomies were here, we can count out the transporter," Soccorro commented. "If they had the technology, they wouldn't have boarded Enterprise via shuttlecraft."

"Not necessarily," argued Kelly, who had briefly interrupted her scans and joined them "They might not have wanted to take the risk of beaming into an unknown environment."

"Besides," Novakovich added, "we still don't know if the Shroomies and the Elachi are the same species or not."

"True," the Vulcan said. "We will have our answer once we have compared the samples left behind by the invaders of Enterprise with the ones we can collect here. In order to collect those samples safely, however, we will need hazmat suits. Photosensitive moss is one thing; handling conserved tissue samples of complex organisms can be more risky."

The others nodded in agreement and T'Pol contacted Enterprise to ask for the necessary equipment – and for even more reinforcements. It seemed that they would have work to do for at least another couple of hours yet.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Half an hour later another Away Team – consisting of security officers, and engineering technicians – arrived via shuttlepod, carrying hazmat suits, more airtight containment boxes and scanning equipment. T'Pol sent them forward to continue exploring the cave system; she wanted to know if it had another exit somewhere. Her own team, in the meantime, put on the hazmat suits and began with the collecting of tissue samples.

"I suggest that we start with the covering from this lab table, assuming it is one," Dr Yannes said. "Hopefully, the samples still there won't become contaminated."

"Unfortunately, there is a fifty per cent chance of that," the Vulcan replied. "Our very presence here may already have contaminated the cave with germs harmless for us but potentially deadly for any local species."

"We did not expect to find here anything that could be harmed," pointed out Dr Yannes.

"True. But since we cannot transport the entire table, we will have to take that risk. We must also work quickly, to shorten the time of our own exposure as much as possible."

"Do you believe we are at risk, despite the hazmat suits?" Novakovich asked in surprise.

T'Pol suppressed the very un-Vulcanlike urge to shrug. Humans were hopeless when it came to taking all possible aspects under simultaneous consideration.

"We are dealing with unknown technology here, Crewman, developed by a largely unknown species. We simply cannot know if our protection will prove to be adequate or not."

"Let's use a laser scalpel," Dr Yannes suggested. "I'll cut the covering away and Crewman Novakovich can collect the samples while you do the scanning."

T'Pol found that a logical suggestion and they set to work while Crewman Kelly returned to the previous cave where she still needed to finish recording the Iconian inscriptions.

Neither Novakovitch nor any of the others paid close attention to Crewman Cooper, who was wandering around the cave… lab… whatever. She, too, was wearing a hazmat suit but had pulled off the headpiece, probably finding it too stifling, and was examining the transparent half-globes on the wall.

She stopped beside one of the larger ones, peering at it as though she though she made out the shape of something familiar inside.

"Hey, Ethan!" she called out to him, poking at the elastic shell with an ungloved hand. "Isn't this a baby Shroomie in here or what?"

Novakovich looked up… and blanched at the sight.

"No, Gwen, don't!" he cried out in alarm. "We don't know how strong those things are!"

But it was already too late. The slightly leathery skin of the half-globe burst under Cooper's hand like a balloon when touched by a burning match and the specimen within dropped out – right into her face. She swatted at it reflexively, and the thing, whatever it had been, exploded into a small cloud of dust. She let out a high-pitched scream that would have shattered glass had there been any – and then fell to the floor and started convulsing violently.

For a moment everyone froze and stared at their shipmate in shock. Novakovich was the first one to recover.

"Dammit!" he swore. "Subcommander, we must order a Level Two quarantine. We can't allow anyone without protection to enter this cave. And we can't have Cooper return to Enterprise via shuttlepod, not even in a hazmat suit."

"Agreed." T'Pol took out her communicator to contact the ship.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Crewman Cooper was sedated heavily and beamed up to Enterprise, where a Level Five force field had hastily been raised around the transporter platform to prevent any possible contamination. Even so, Crewman Haynem, the engineering technician operating the transporter, had been ordered to put on a hazmat suit – just in case. Also, the captain ordered that the immediate area of the ship surrounding the transporter should be cleared and isolated.

"Transport complete," Haynem reported to the Bridge. "Force field in place and holding. What now, sir?"

"Get out of there but set the force field to collapse in two minutes," the voice of Tucker answered. "Once you've left, we're gonna lower the temperatures to the freezin' point; hopefully, that will turn any possible germs inactive long enough for the med techs to put Cooper into a stasis tube and take her to the decon chamber… if we're real lucky."

"Understood, sir." Jeff Haynem carried out his orders and left the transporter chamber in a hurry.

Ten minutes later two medical technicians in protective gear came running with a gurney, to which a cylindrical stasis unit with a transparent lid was fastened. Instead of simple hazmat suits, they were wearing the light version of the regular space suits, the ones that would not be enough during space walks but that would protect them from the freezing temperatures in the transporter chamber.

"All corridors between here and the decon chambers have been evacuated," Dr Phlox told them via their helm communicators. "You can go in now; and do hurry up. The shorter the exposure, the lesser the chance to catch something that is indifferent to extreme cold. Besides, I would prefer to expose Crewman Cooper to such temperatures for as short a time as possible."

"Acknowledged," Medical Technician Makhlouf looked at his colleague Tamras. "Let's go in, shall we?"

She nodded and keyed in the opening code – in emergency mode the slide doors couldn't be opened by simply pushing a button. Then they rushed in and put Cooper into the stasis tube within two minutes. All that training at Starfleet Medical apparently paid off; they could do things like this in their sleep.

"We're done here," Makhlouf reported in. "On our way to Decon Chamber One. You can start with the decontamination of the transporter, Commander."

"The sooner the better," they heard the chief engineer muttering. "I just hope our decon measures will be enough."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The two medical technicians hurried down the empty corridor with the gurney as fast as they dared. No-one knew if Cooper had been contaminated with anything, and if so what it had been, but the thought of being potentially exposed to something unknown was not a pleasant one. They were both relieved when they reached the decon area and could push the gurney into the larger room.

Decon Chamber #1 served both as a quarantine area and an isolation lab, its main purpose being to treat crewmembers who got infested with alien germs, parasites… whatever. Medical personnel could work in there as in a normal examination room and put the adjoining lab to good use while still keep the other medical areas safe.

Dr Phlox and Medical Technician Yee were already waiting for their patient, in full hazmat gear.

"We'll take over from here," the Denobulan said. "Go to Decon Chamber Two and run the full program before getting out of those suits. After that, you should be safe."

They ought to be. Space suits provided a completely closed environment for the person wearing them.

"Let's use the medical scanners of the isolation lab to take the first readings," Phlox ordered Crewman Yee. "Doctor Yannes will join us as soon as she's back on board, but we can gather a lot of data in the meantime."

The medical technician nodded, and they started working.

"That's odd," she commented, after the first sequence of scans had run its cycle. "I'm seeing here something that isn't supposed to be part of the human metabolism."

"Let me see." The Denobulan stepped closer, frowning at the readings. "You're right. These seem to be spores of some sort."

"Could she have inhaled them when that… thing exploded into her face?" Yee asked.

The doctor shrugged. "She most likely did; but that doesn't explain why these spores are so active inside her body. We've put her in cryogenic suspension. Her body should be inactive."

"It is… mostly," his assistant pointed out. "But since the spores ain't a natural part of her, they could have a much higher tolerance to extreme temperatures. Which can only mean one thing…"

"…that she was definitely infested with something," Phlox finished for her. "The question is: what was it and what is it going to do to her."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"The presence of spores could mean algae, moss or fungi; possibly ferns, too, although we haven't seen any down there," Dr Yannes summarised their meagre findings for the senior officers a couple of hours later. "We don't know what exactly those conserved specimen were and we can't go down to collect more samples. Thanks to Crewman Cooper, the whole cave system is contaminated."

She seemed to consider that fact a personal affront; but again, she was a xenobiologist and the accident had just robbed her of the chance to study a previously unknown biotope. Scientists tended to take such things personally.

"What we do know," she continued, bringing her burgeoning anger under control, "is that it was some sort of genetics lab; whether for simple research purposes or whether they were trying to modify certain indigenous species – or to create brand new ones – is unclear."

The humans present shuddered in unison; but they were prejudiced against genetic improvements due to their fairly recent, horrendous experiences during the Eugenics Wars. Gerasen Gerasal, on the other hand, approached the problem from a more scientific point of view.

"Can you specify what the spores are doing to Crewman Cooper's body?" she asked.

The Centaurian doctor shook her head. "I have nothing conclusive to report… yet. It appears, however, that something is happening to her on a molecular level. Something that isn't supposed to happen within a human body."

"Please, specify," T'Pol requested.

The xenobiologist shook her head again. "I cannot. All I can tell is that there are chemical processes happening that no mammal – or indeed no animal-based life form – should be capable of. Only plant life. And even of plant life only the lesser forms."

"The ones procreating by the way of spores," the Vulcan concluded logically.

Dr Yannes nodded. "Exactly. If it didn't sound like bad science fiction, I'd say those spores are changing Crewman Cooper's DNA – but that is impossible."

"Actually, it is not," the Viseeth said grimly. "I have finished reviewing the data provided by the historical databases about the Elachi. It appears that their reproductive process involves infecting common humanoid species with fungal spores that gradually consume the host body and coalesce into a newborn Elachi. The process effectively kills the previous owner of the body and creates a new mind."

"What?" several human officers asked in unison. Even Dr Phlox seemed a bit shocked.

Gerasen Gerasal nodded. "What is even worse, due to the genetically encoded racial memory of the species, each new individual created this way is born with the full general knowledge of the Elachi… although being born is not the correct term for the process, of course."

"Semantics!" Archer waved impatiently. "Are you telling me that Crewman Cooper is turning into one of those Shroomies?"

"That is an extremely crude simplification of the problem but yes, it is a distinct possibility, Captain," Phlox said. "We can't be sure that's what is actually happening, but we can't exclude the possibility, either. We'll have to wait for further symptoms to emerge."

"What kind of symptoms?" the captain asked.

The Denobulan shrugged. "That's the problem, Captain; we don't know. Nobody has ever witnessed the process – well, nobody who'd have lived to take notes, that is. We'll be the first."

"Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm, Doctor," Archer said dryly, "but this is one scientific achievement I could have lived without. Can we be sure by now that the Shroomies invading our ship were, in fact, Elachi?"

"We are still running the analysis," Dr Yannes answered. "The samples we've brought back from Gamma Ventris IV are numerous, but – unfortunately – some of them got contaminated when Crewman Cooper caused that… that container, I believe would be the best word for it, to burst. So far we can only prove certain genetic similarities between the two species. But, as I said, we are still working on it."

"We must not forget that one hundred thousand years is a long time," the Vulcan added. "There could have been mutations… especially if the Elachi as a race have lived in alien environments during this time and were forced to adapt."

"Fungus-based life forms are usually good at that sort of thing," Dr Phlox agreed. "Even complex ones."

"Why did they have to return to Gamma Ventris IV in order to procreate, then?" Tucker asked. "Wouldn't that make them extremely vulnerable?"

The Denobulan shook his head. "I don't think that's the case. My theory would be that the lab we found contained preserved genetic samples in case they needed to refresh the gene pool; nothing less, nothing more."

"You mean like a gene bank?" Archer clarified, and the doctor nodded.

"Exactly. I imagine that from time to time they would return to keep tab on potential mutations – or to correct them."

"In which case we might just have dealt their entire species a death blow by destroying the lab." Dr Yannes looked disturbed by the thought of having caused accidental genocide. "The fact that it was an accident does not change the eventual outcome."

Lieutenant Reed, who had been listening to the scientific conversation with a slightly bored air so far, shook his head.

"I doubt that a species that has prevailed this long would have made the tactical error of putting all their eggs in the same basket," he said. "In fact, I'm quite certain that they have a lot of such labs scattered over the known galaxy. Besides, who can tell for certain that all they were doing down there was merely done for the furthering of their species?"

"What else would they have the lab for?" Dr Yannes frowned.

"Infiltration," Reed answered promptly. "They procreate by transforming other species into their own. Who can say that the transformed individuals won't keep their original memories? In which case the Elachi can learn a great deal about us by merely collecting Crewman Cooper once her transformation is complete."

"I seriously doubt they're gonna learn all that much from Cooper of all people," the chief engineer commented cynically.

Reed, however, shook his head. "Think about it, Commander: she may be somewhat scatter-brained, but she is a Starfleet-trained maintenance technician. Her brain contains a great deal of technical data about Starfleet ships in general and about Enterprise in particular. Knowledge that could make us extremely vulnerable."

"So what are you suggesting?" the captain asked. "Should we simply execute one of our own just because she might become a threat?"

His chief of security gave him a grim look. "Are you certain that she's still one of our own, sir? Because if I understand correctly what I've learned today, she might be on her way to become one of them."

"Or she might just have a fungal infection; although I admit that the chance for that is slim," Dr Phlox replied in Archer's stead. "I suggest complete isolation and constant observation, Captain, until we can be sure what's really happening."

"And once we are sure, then what?" Archer asked.

The usually kindly face of the Denobulan was uncharacteristically grim. "I'm afraid the decision would be yours alone, Captain. The burdens of command."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that," Archer said sourly. "Very well; keep me informed. We'll cross that bridge when we reach it."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 14 – Following the Trail

For the next fortnight Enterprise remained in standard orbit around Gamma Ventris IV. Not because anyone would have wanted to stay there, merely out of necessity. Doctors Phlox and Yannes wanted to observe the condition of Crewman Cooper, while T'Pol and the rest of the science department worked on simulations at Stellar Cartography, trying to identify the various stellar bodies and constellations depicted on the walls of the caves on the planet below.

Both tasks turned out more time-consuming than anyone would have thought, and both yielded disappointingly little results. At least the changes in Cooper's condition were visible to the naked eye, too – if one knew what to look for.

"Actually the changes are rather dramatic," Dr Phlox explained. "She is rapidly losing weight and her muscle tissue is turning into a spongy consistency. She has also become very sensitive to light, so we had to lower the light in the decon chamber by sixty per cent."

"Are these changes irreversible?" Archer asked. "Can we stop them, at least?"

Phlox and Dr Yannes exchanged helpless looks.

"We wouldn't know how," the Denobulan finally admitted. "This is the normal evolutionary process for the species… and a rather quick one at that. In our estimate it will take about another ten days for the patient to be fully changed… and to stop being Crewman Cooper entirely."

"Is she a risk for the rest of the crew?" Reed asked. "Can she infest others the same way she was infested?"

"Not in the current state of her evolution," Dr Yannes replied. "At least we don't think it could happen before she has completed the change. After that… we simply have no way to know. Insufficient data, as the Vulcans would say."

The armoury officer nodded, as if he'd have expected the answer; then he turned to Archer. "Captain, may I ask what you intend to do with Crewman Cooper, once her transformation is finished?"

Archer frowned. "What do you mean?"

"She is becoming a member of a species that has clearly demonstrated its hostile intents," Reed clarified. "Keeping her on board, even in quarantine and under guard, would put ship and crew at unpredictable risk."

"So what do you suggest?" Tucker demanded angrily. "Should we simply shoot her? Are you forgettin' that our weapons ain't no good against the Shroomies? Besides, who would do the shootin'? You?"

"If I had to, in order to protect ship and crew then yes, I would do it," Reed answered coolly. "And I would succeed, too. The aliens invading Enterprise were wearing protective suits. She has no such thing."

"Unless she grows one organically as part of the process," Gerasen Gerasal pointed out. "We have no way to tell what an Elachi is truly capable of; what little data we have about them is a hundred millennia old. In one thing, however, Lieutenant Reed is correct. The… person currently undergoing transformation would be a great risk for us all."

"We can't simply start shooting people just because we are afraid!" Archer protested.

"Not people in general," the Viseeth agreed. "But Elachi are a little more than just people. You have seen them in action."

"If I may, Captain," T'Pol intervened smoothly, 'I would suggest leaving Crewman Cooper back on Gamma Ventris IV. As a fully transformed Elachi she would have the necessary abilities to survive there."

"Perhaps," Reed allowed. "But if she gets picked up by her fellow Shroomies, we'll be back to Square One."

"It is a risk," the Vulcan agreed. "But statistical probability tells us that if that happens at all, by the time it happens her knowledge of Starfleet technology would be outdated and thus represent no imminent danger."

"Cap'n, you can't really be considerin' leavin' her behind, all on her own!" Tucker protested. "You could as well have her shot on the spot and be done with it!"

"Not exactly," T'Pol corrected. "Shooting her could lead to having the quarantine room filled with spores that may or may not have the capacity to get through the biofilters and contaminate the entire ship. We simply cannot tell. Sending her down to Gamma Ventris IV, on the other hand, would mean that she could survive, at the very least."

"Like a giant walking mushroom," the chief engineer muttered.

That earned him a raised Vulcan eyebrow.

"Commander, the… individual in Decon Chamber Two is already a giant walking mushroom, as you have so elaborately put it. Crewman Cooper has already ceased to exist. I understand that this fact is not easy to accept for you; it is nonetheless the truth. And the longer she… it remains on board, the greater will be the risk of further contamination."

"She's right, sir," Reed said grimly. "It will be hard enough to get her to the transporter chamber safely; the sooner we get rid of her the better for us all."

"You won't care that deep within she's still a human bein', would ya?" Tucker muttered nastily. "Just kill 'em and have the problem solved; ain't that your solution for everything?"

"That's enough, Trip," Archer intervened before the armoury officer could reply. "This is my decision to make, and like it or not, T'Pol and Mr Reed do have a point. Leaving her behind is still more humane than having her killed – which, apparently, would be every bit as risky as keeping her on board would be."

"So we are leaving her behind?" Mayweather asked. Of all the senior staff, he was the one who had known Crewman Cooper best, and the thought made him accordingly uncomfortable.

The captain nodded soberly. "I don't like it any better than you all, but I don't see any other way, either. Now, let us discuss the practical side of the process later. Doctor," he looked at Phlox, "work with Trip and T'Pol on the method that would mean the lowest risk for ship and crew. I want this done as soon as possible."

"Of course, Captain," the Denobulan replied, more subdued than usual.

Archer nodded. "Good. Now, I'd like a preliminary report on the star charts we've found in the caves. Any new discoveries?"

"One, so far." T'Pol consulted her PADD. "We have identified a planet fourteen point two light years from this system, bearing…" she rattled down a string of numbers only Archer and Mayweather could understand. "It is one of several planets marked with a symbol, the meaning of which we do not know. But the planets marked this way seem to create a network with hundreds of light years between the furthest individual junctions."

"You mean the distance isn't always the same?" Archer clarified.

The Vulcan shook her head. "No, Captain. Our calculations suggest that originally that might have been the case; but the systems in question have drifted apart at different speeds. There are a number of factors that can influence the drifting process: the gravity of neighbouring stars, the presence or absence of singularities and so on."

"But can this… this 'network' be used for its original purpose, whatever it might have been, despite the changed positions of the planets involved?" the captain asked.

T'Pol raised an eyebrow in the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug.

"We can hardly answer that question without knowing the actual purpose of the network, sir," she answered dryly.

"Perhaps a visit to this particular planet would help us find a few answers," Reed suggested.

Archer nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I'll report in to Admiral Forrest. Mr Mayweather, plot a course. We'll break orbit as soon as we've delivered Crewman Cooper – or whatever she is now – to the planet below us. Dismissed."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To say that Admiral Forrest wasn't happy about the news would have been an understatement.

"Are you sure there isn't any other solution, Jack?" he asked. "It wouldn't be good for crew morale to leave one of them behind on an uninhabited planet."

"With all due respect, Admiral, that… creature in the isolation chamber is no longer one of my crew," Archer replied. "Phlox, Gerasen Gerasal, Dr Yannes and T'Pol are all in agreement about that… and about the risk keeping a hostile alien on board would represent."

"Yes, but none of those people are human," Forrest pointed out. "Crewman Cooper is… or was, in any case. The crew might react badly to her being effectively abandoned on Gamma Ventris IV."

"They would react even worse if they started turning into Shroomies, too," the captain of Enterprise returned wryly. "We can't guarantee our ability to to prevent further contamination, sir; and we can't risk our first warp 5-capable starship falling into hostile hands. Even Lieutenant Reed agrees with that."

"Which means we can count on the support of Starfleet Intelligence in this," the admiral sighed. "Very well. We've given you command of Enterprise because we needed somebody in that command chair who could make hard decisions if push came to shove. It would be hypocritical to complain about such decisions now. We'll allow you to handle things at your discretion, Jack, but be careful. I have the feeling that the Vulcans will be watching your progress – or the lack of it – closely. My latest discussion with Ambassador Soval made me suspect that there are certain factions within the Vulcan High Command that would love to see you fail. Starfleet Command out."

Jack stared at the empty screen for a moment and sighed. This wasn't the news he'd hoped for, but he wasn't particularly surprised, either. Vulcans weren't a homogenous people; any more than any other species would necessarily be.

"Well, we'll have to deal with them when they start interfering again, won't we, Porthos?" he asked rhetorically, giving the Beagle a forbidden morsel of cheese.

Porthos wagged his tail and grinned at him as only a dog totally devoted to its master could grin… with or without a treat.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
For the next two days Phlox, T'Pol and Charlie Tucker worked on the safest possible way to transport the creature that had been Crewman Cooper down to Gamma Ventris IV, and after that had been accomplished, Enterprise could finally break orbit.

It was a rather grim departure, morals plummeting into previously unknown depths after the captain's ship-wide announcement in which he had explained the reasons of his decision and the memorial service they held for Gwen Cooper who, for all means and purposes, no longer existed. There weren't many on board who had actually liked her, and what had happened to her was at least partially her own fault, but she had been one of them, after all. She might have been a nuisance – well, she had been one – but she had been their nuisance, and her fate made people more aware just how dangerous space they had been so eager to explore for so long, truly was.

But there was nothing they could have done to about it, save for preventing others from sharing her rotten luck. They set out a number of warning buoys that would inform any passing ship that the planet was contaminated and under quarantine, and then headed for their new destination.

"How long until we reach the planet?" Hoshi asked another four days later.

The initially sombre mood aboard ship was beginning to lift, and although Crewman Cooper's fate was not forgotten, people were coming to terms with it. Hoshi was having lunch in the Mess Hall with Lieutenant Hess, Tucker's second-in-command, and Crewman Novakovich from the science section.

"We should be there within the next hour," Anna Hess replied. "We've been travelling at low warp because we still had to do a great deal of small repairs, but we're almost as good as new now."

"I hope I get to go down with the Away Team again," Ethan Novakovich enthused; then he looked at Hoshi's soup bowl and pulled a face. "How can you eat that stuff?"

Hoshi shrugged. She was giving Vulcan Plomeek broth a try and found it surprisingly pleasant.

"It's healthier than that," she replied, indicating the T-bone steak on Novakovich's plate.

"At least this tastes like something." To demonstrate his meaning, Novakovich smeared an inordinate amount of mustard onto his steak.

Hoshi gave him a doubtful look.

"I guess it just takes a more discriminating palate to appreciate Vulcan cuisine," she returned primly, causing Anna Hess to suppress a giggle.

Vulcan seasoning was indeed a bit subdued, like everything associated with Vulcans it seemed, but she liked the taste nonetheless. Besides, after the incredibly bland prison food everything still seemed excitingly spicy. She was rediscovering old delights every day… not that she'd had the chance to try Vulcan food before.

Her riposte successfully silenced Novakovich, and they continued eating their lunch in peace. Barely were they done when Hoshi and Novakovich were summoned to the Bridge.

"I guess that means we've arrived," Anna Hess commented, rising from her seat. "I'd better return to Engineering; the Chief may be needed on the Bridge, too."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Hoshi and Novakovich reached the Bridge, Tucker was already there indeed, as well as Gerasen Gerasal and the rest of the senior staff, with the exception of Dr Phlox. They were all looking at the viewscreen that showed a beautiful blue planet. It couldn't have been any more different from Gamma Ventris IV.

Novakovich hurried over to Science Station #2 and started a surface scan without being ordered to do so.

"Well," Archer said, eyeing the view with interest," this is certainly a lot prettier than expected. I wonder if somebody lives here?"

"There's a lot of plant life but I don't read any cities or agriculture," Novakovich reported.

"Maybe they live underground or in the water," Mayweather suggested. "Or in heavily shielded areas."

"Is that snow on those mountains?" Hoshi asked in awe. She hadn't expected an alien planet to look this much like home.

"The planet has a breathable atmosphere," T'Pol cut in, clearly fed up with all the speculation. "Seventeen per cent oxygen, eighty one per cent nitrogen."

"Sounds like home," Tucker commented, grinning.

Archer rolled his eyes. "Any people?"

"The planet supports a diverse ecology, but there are no signs of humanoid life," the Vulcan told him.

He frowned. "Well, somebody must have a claim on it, otherwise it wouldn't be marked. Mr Reed, scan for marker buoys, beacons, man-made satellites… anything."

"None in range, sir," the lieutenant reported after a moment. "Looks like no one's planted a flag just yet."

Archer sighed. "Then we'll have to take a closer look at the surface. Something of interest has to be down there. Trip, prepare a shuttlepod."

Tucker stood to leave while the captain turned to Ensign Mayweather. "I like the looks of the northern continent. See if you can find a good place to set down."

The helmsman was grinning like a loon. "Yes, sir!"

Archer was already moving to join Tucker at the door when T'Pol's voice stopped him.

"Captain. There are a number of protocols you may want to consider."

"Protocols?" the captain echoed.

"Vulcan ships would begin by sending automated probes down to collect more detailed scans," his science officer explained. "If the planet proved to be Minshara-class, we would then conduct a geophysical survey from orbit."

"Minshara-class?" Travis repeated blandly.

"Suitable for humanoid life," Hoshi translated.

"Why can't they just call it an M-class planet like everyone else?" Mayweather muttered under his breath.

"How long would all that take?" Archer inquired, ignoring his helmsman's rhetoric question.

"Six or seven days," the Vulcan said promptly, and Tucker – still at the door – looked at her in exasperation.

"You expect us to sit up here for a week, depending on the probes, instead of looking for clues on the surface? You said yourself that this planet must have been important in some way! You said it was marked!"

"This planet was marked a hundred thousand years ago," T'Pol replied with unshakable calm. "It is unlikely that seven more days would make any significant difference. "

"They might, if the Shroomies have come out of hiding; and we know that they have," Archer said. "I understand that you have a more cautious approach, but I've got the feeling that we can't afford wasting our time." He looked at Tucker. "Get the pod ready; we're going down."

Tucker left the bridge and the captain turned back to his science officer. "I'd like you to put together the survey team. I assume that's not a violation of protocol?"

"And I would like to go down with the survey team," added Gerasen Gerasal, who had been quietly observing things so far. "My people have an interest in this, and my scanning equipment is by magnitudes better than anything even Vulcans can offer. If you would allow me to join you, Captain, that is."

Archer shrugged. "Be my guest. Take-off in twenty minutes."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Less than an hour later the shuttlepod landed on what appeared to be a meadow on a decidedly earth-like planet. It was early afternoon, but two crescent moons could be seen in the sky nonetheless. Near to their landing spot was a lake, with eel-like fish in it, and there were yellow flowers in the grass. The surroundings were positively idyllic, and the humans took deep breaths.

"I almost forgot what fresh air smells like," Archer commented softly and Tucker nodded with feeling.

"The atmosphere contains trace elements of nitrogen dioxide and chloromethane," T'Pol reported, consulting her readings. "Not exactly the trace elements the Elachi would need, but for a short time they would be able to breathe here."

"Too bad we're on a research mission, not on shore leave," the chief engineer said wistfully. "Well, what next? We haven't found any surface structures so far – any idea how we should continue?"

"I would suggest scanning for cave systems," the Viseeth answered promptly. "If the Elachi truly used this planet for anything, they would have their facilities underground, where they were protected from direct sunlight."

"That is a logical assumption," T'Pol agreed. "In the meantime Doctor Yannes and Crewman Novakovich can continue identifying and cataloguing the local life forms for the database."

"Shouldn't we prepare a campin' site, too?" Tucker asked eagerly. "We can't hope to finish surveyin' the whole planet by nightfall; we'd need a place to sleep."

Archer shook his head. "Nobody is staying overnight. This place may look idyllic, but we can't tell if it's safe or not. We can always return in the morning if we have to."

Tucker had a rebellious look about him, but before he could have continued arguing, T'Pol looked up from her scanner.

"Returning in the morning may not be necessary, Captain. I am reading a large, interconnected cave system two kilometres due west. If we march now, we can safely reach it in time."

"In time for what?" the captain asked.

"I have been analysing the weather patterns of this planet since we have entered orbit," the Vulcan replied. "There is a ninety-five point six per cent possibility of a heavy storm coming down from the mountains in approximately two hours' time."

"Shouldn't we return to Enterprise right away then?" Archer worried.

T'Pol nodded. "You should, with all unnecessary personnel. The shuttlepod would be no match for the average strength of winds here. The actual survey team, however, could safely sit out the storm in the caves – and even do some work while we are there."

The captain wasn't happy with that suggestion but realised that it made excellent sense. (Of course it did. It came from a Vulcan, after all.) Therefore he ordered everyone but the scientists back to Enterprise; he even flew the shuttlepod himself to make a point. Gerasen Gerasal protested, of course, wanting to stay on the planet's surface, but Archer put his foot down. The last thing he wanted was to enrage the government of the most powerful alien species in the known galaxy by unnecessarily endangering their observer.

Charlie Tucker, on the other hand, was allowed to stay behind, in case the survey team ran into technical problems. The chief engineer had studied the data the Viseeth could provide about Iconian technology (little though it might have been) and was therefore reasonably confident that he would be able to deal with whatever they might find.

(Jack had made good-natured jibes about overconfidence leading to a fall. Trip had pretended not to hear them.)

As soon as the shuttlepod had left, the survey team began trekking towards the caves. Considering that the Vulcan took over the lead, it promised to be a long and arduous march.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"Captain," Reed greeted Archer when the latter entered the Bridge, vacating the command chair for him. "You chose the right moment to return; I was just about to contact you."

"What for?" The captain dropped heavily into his chair; it was good to be back where he belonged.

"To show you this." The armoury officer put the image of part of the planet on the viewscreen; a little flash could be seen in the very area of the northern continent towards which the survey team was currently heading.

"And what exactly is 'this'?" Archer asked, frowning at the image on the screen.

Reed shrugged. "Some sort of projectile, launching from the surface, sir. It's very small and has an oddly erratic trajectory; perhaps malfunctioning."

"Could it be a weapon?" Mayweather asked worriedly.

"If it is one, it's not very effective, seeing that it can't even keep a steady course," Ensign Ansara, currently at Tactical, replied.

"Zoom on to it," the captain ordered. "Maximal magnification."

Ansara carried out his order and in the next moment the image of a spheric blue orb appeared in the middle of the viewscreen. The… thing – presumably a probe of some sort – was whirling around itself erratically, with energy tendrils arching from it at random.

"Looks like a scanner or something similar." Alex Gaeta, standing in for Tucker at the engineering controls, offered her judgement. "Chief would perhaps know; he's been studying Iconian technology a lot lately."

"Unfortunately, he's not available right now." Archer was already regretting his decision to leave Trip behind, near to this mysterious 'scanner' that had suddenly appeared. "Hoshi, call GG to the Bridge; perhaps she can tell us what the hell this thing is."

Hoshi did as she'd been told and Gerasen Gerasal came to the Bridge willingly enough… only to freeze mid-motion as soon as she spotted the unknown object on the viewscreen.

"Captain," she said urgently, "you must destroy this thing immediately. If you allow it to scan your ship, Enterprise will destroy itself within days."

Archer did not waste time with asking questions first. He merely glanced at his armoury officer.

"You heard the lady, Lieutenant!"

The Englishman nodded and activated the comm. "Reed to Armoury. Lock onto oncoming target and fire at will. It must be destroyed without delay."

"Torpedo launchers One and Two armed and ready," the voice of Lieutenant Fuller answered. "Locked on target… and firing."

They could follow on the viewscreen as the missiles homed in and hit the scanner… probe… whatever. It went up in a spectacular fireball.

"Target destroyed, sir," Fuller reported, somewhat unnecessarily.

Archer leaned back in his chair in relief.

"Care to explain what this was about?" he asked the Viseeth.

Gerasen Gerasal shrugged. "I wish I could, Captain. But all I know is that whenever one of our allies encountered a probe like that, within a very short time there were mysterious malfunctions in all ship systems, leading to the destruction of the ship. We never found out the reason, although our scientists assume that the probe downloads some kind of malware into a ship's computer core while scanning it."

"It is a weapon, then," Reed said.

The Viseeth nodded. "In a manner, yes. Which can only mean that this planet used to be an Iconian outpost once."

The armoury officer frowned. "It seemed to be malfunctioning, though; had its course not been so erratic, we wouldn't have had the time to shoot it down."

"That is possible," allowed Gerasen Gerasal. "Iconian technology is superior, but it is also very old. Without maintenance it could be deteriorating."

"But if there is a weapon, shouldn't there be also a control centre?" Ensign Ansara suggested. "Most likely down on that planet? That thing had to come from somewhere."

"There must be indeed." The captain activated the comm system. "Archer to T'Pol. Subcommander, while you're marching to those caves, scan for advanced technology. We've just been forced to shoot down some sort of alien probe; it could only have come from the planet."

"That is a logical assumption, Captain," the calm voice of the Vulcan replied. "It would also explain the presence of the considerable amount of neutronium we are reading in the direction we are currently heading for."

"I thought neutronium couldn't be found naturally, except in the core of neutron stars," Archer said with a frown.

"It cannot," T'Pol answered calmly. "Therefore we must assume that we will find an artificial structure once we reach our destination." She paused; then she continued in a slightly more… urgent manner. "Captain, I must disconnect now. My readings tell me that the storm is coming down from the mountains faster than expected. We must increase speed if we want to bring ourselves into the safety of those caves in time."

"Understood," the captain said. "Keep me informed. Archer out."

They disconnected and Archer leaned back in his chair morosely. This was going to be a long wait; and he hated waiting.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Down on the surface of the nameless planet – nameless according to the Vulcan star charts anyway – T'Pol informed the rest of the survey team about the recent events. Commander Tucker was understandably upset that he had missed the appearance of the alien probe (which engineer wouldn't be?) but he didn't have the time to dwell upon his loss, with the storm coming down on them. They shouldered their equipment and followed T'Pol.

The Vulcan didn't hurry, by Vulcan standards, and yet the speed she picked up proved to place considerable strain on the others. She marched with long, measured, ground-eating strides, while the humans nearly jogged after her. Even so, it took them several hours – three point four Vulcan hours, according to T'Pol's inner chronometer – to reach a small, amphitheatre-like formation, presumably carved out by the retreating glaciers during the planet's most recent ice age, surrounded by ragged peaks.

Such formations were not unknown on Earth, either, Crewman Novakovich commented, where they were called a cirque and typically had a tarn in their middle. Apparently, he had seen such cirques in a northern area called Alaska.

It was an aesthetically pleasing sight, T'Pol found. But natural aesthetics were not her concern at the moment. Her interest was caught by a definitely artificial construction in the middle of the cirque – a construction that also turned out to be the source of the neutronium readings.

"It looks like two swimming pool filter covers, glued together," Tucker commented, and the other humans laughed.

Since she lacked the necessary reference, T'Pol ignored the comment.

"This could be the control centre for those probes the captain spoke of," she said instead. "Unfortunately, we shall not have the time to search it before the storm hits. We must seek shelter immediately."

"What about inside that thing?" Tucker asked.

The Vulcan considered the suggestion.

"We can try," she then decided. "But I want to find those caves as well, just in case. Doctor Yannes, you and Crewman Novakovich will keep searching for the cave entrance. Crewman Namod will secure you. Commander Tucker, Ensign Soccorro and myself will try to enter the structure. We all have to hurry, though. In my estimate the storm will hit in twenty-three point six eight of your minutes."

"Sounds like a Vulcan estimate to me," Tucker grinned, while the others went on in search for the cave entrance.

T'Pol ignored him again.

"Let us search the structure and document our findings for the database," she said, taking out her communicator to contact Enterprise. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

"Go ahead."

"Captain, we have found an artificial structure. The construction is unknown to me, but we are going to transfer pictures. Perhaps Gerasen Gerasal can identify it."

"Will you have the time for a thorough search before the storm hits?" the captain asked.

"Unlikely," she replied. "We are going to do a preliminary search and then seek shelter in the caves – assuming that the rest of the team finds the entrance."

"Let's hope they do," Archer said. "The safety of the team has priority. The structure will still be there in the morning. Enterprise out."

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 15 – The Iconian Legacy

They walked around the structure that was relatively small from close-up – about the size of the Bridge of Enterprise in diameter, although roughly twice as high. There was no outward sign of an entrance, but when they had come almost full circle, suddenly the outline of a rectangle appeared on the previously smooth metal… and in the next moment the neutronium wall within that outline simply wasn't there any longer. In its stead, there was an opening: a doorway without a door, leading into a dimly lit, circular room that seemed to occupy the entire ground level of the structure.

"Fascinating," T'Pol commented languidly, while both humans were busy picking up their jaws from the floor. "A unique method of matter-energy transfer; and a controlled one, too."

"Are we gonna take a closer look?" Tucker asked eagerly.

"I'd advise against going in," Ensign Soccorro warned. "This is unknown technology, beyond our understanding; even beyond yours, I presume." She looked at the Vulcan, who nodded.

"True enough. We must leave at once if we want to reach the caves in time."

"We could take shelter inside the structure, now that we've managed to open it," the chief engineer insisted. "It's been sittin' here for two hundred millennia – it won't be toppled over by a storm, no matter how strong it is."

"Perhaps," T'Pol allowed. "However, there is a strong possibility that we might not be able to leave again when the storm is over. We do not have the means to blow a hole in a wall made of neutronium."

The chirping of her communicator interrupted their dispute. "Yannes to T'Pol."

"Go ahead, Doctor."

"Subcommander, we've found the entrance to the cave system. The first room appears to be empty; we saw no sign that anyone had ever lived here. The entrance is fairly wide, though; we might need to go further in to be safe from the storm."

"Be careful," the Vulcan said. "The fact that the first cave is empty does not mean that no-one is hiding deeper within."

Dr Yannes acknowledged the order and disconnected.

Tucker looked at T'Pol expectantly. "What now? Are we goin' in or are we turnin' around to run after the others?"

His tone revealed clearly what he felt about the second option.

T'Pol consulted the scanner Gerasen Gerasal had lent to her.

"It appears that nature has taken the decision out of our hands," she finally said. "Our chances to reach the protection of the caves are slim. Logic dictates that we seek refuge within the structure; and since we will be already there, we can explore the inside during the storm."

Soccorro grinned at Tucker. "That was Vulcan-ish for 'I really want to know what's in there.'"

"And this time I happen to agree with her," the chief engineer replied a little shortly; whatever he might think of Vulcans in general and their science officer in particular, he was not sharing a joke with Reed's lapdog at her expense.

T'Pol either didn't get the joke, which was possible, or she didn't care – which was far more likely.

"Let us enter the structure," she said. "Ensign Soccorro, you first; you are already armed. I will follow and scan for possible dangers. Commander Tucker, you take the rear."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" The chief engineer saluted smartly. Theoretically, he outranked T'Pol in the ship's hierarchy, but she had command of the survey team and was thus entitled to give him orders. Soccorro was already moving forward, phase pistol drawn and at the ready.

They stepped through the miraculously-present opening directly into the circular room. Hidden lights came alive all around the inner walls, giving them a much better view of everything inside… which was mostly advanced machinery of unknown purpose.

The walls were covered with controls and conduits. Directly across from the entrance the wall showed the silver outlines of three gateways. In front of these, in the centre of the room, stood a pentagon-shaped table – presumably a central console of some sort – about waist high. Over the middle of the table, under a large, translucent dome, a softly glowing blue globe hung, seemingly in thin air. It was flecked with the same bits of reflective material as the probe they had recently destroyed. Around the dome, extending to the edge of the table, were countless coloured keys.

There were also flat screens set in each of the five angles of the table. Each screen had a different geometric shape – a square, a triangle, an octagon, a pentagon and a rectangle. There was alien script beneath the screens and on certain parts of the control walls. T'Pol scanned it with her borrowed Viseeth device, while Tucker roamed the room with interest and Soccorro watched their backs.

"Seems to be Iconian," the chief engineer commented, referring to the script.

"It is Iconian," the Vulcan answered dryly. "But the purpose of these instruments remains a puzzle to me."

"Well," Tucker said, pointing to a set of symbols, "this seems to be a manual override of some sort."

He touched the keys, and a low humming filled the room. The light within the globe intensified. Soccorro stiffened, her hand on the phase pistol tightening. Suddenly white-blue rays – much like lightning – lanced out from the globe. They struck the panels on the back wall and intersected in the room between the central console and the silver arches to form a gateway – basically an opening in the fabric of space. It spun slowly. Each time it came around a new image appeared through the opening, and for several revolutions the Enterprise officers watched it, stunned.

"It makes one full revolution every one point eight one minutes," T'Pol stated, consulting her scanner.

At the moment, the gateway showed the courtyard of a house with an alien-coloured sky, the full spectrum of which the human eye couldn't even interpret. After that came a desert scene with a bizarrely-shaped city in the distance, then a street with iron balconies and pastel stucco walls, then a grassy field with odd-looking animals grazing on it….

Tucker walked forward and kept staring in wonder.

"That was not the manual override," Soccorro commented.

"No," T'Pol agreed. "Mr. Tucker seems to have activated a still-functional Iconian gateway by accident."

"Those scenes could be holographic images," Soccorro suggested.

"Unlikely." Tucker stepped forward and thrust his arm through the gate. To the eye of the beholder, from his elbow downwards the arm had disappeared. T'Pol froze for a moment in the face of such foolishness, but Soccorro reacted quickly, thanks to her security training. Leaning forward, she grabbed the chief engineer by the shoulders and pulled him back just as the scene changed.

"With all due respect, sir, that was a very stupid thing to do," the ensign said, her tone sharp with reprimand. "You could have lost that arm, had the gate switched while you were still holding it inside."

Tucker shrugged. "Well, at least we know it ain't no holograph." He glanced at the still astounded Vulcan. "Do you think if I stepped through to investigate, it would really be takin' me to other places?"

T'Pol regained her calm… with considerable effort. "I suggest you curb your typical human impulsiveness, Commander. As Ensign Soccorro has correctly pointed out, you could have lost your arm. And no, we are not stepping through the gateway. We might not be able to get back, and that is a risk we cannot take."

"Why not?" Tucker asked, challenge clear in his voice. "Wasn't this how the Iconians travelled? Steppin' across light years as easily as we would cross a room?" He gestured in the direction of the gateway, his animated face glowing with excitement. "Those worlds might be in distant sectors of our galaxy!"

"Indeed; most likely without a way back," the Vulcan answered dryly. "As alluring as it might be to be taken beyond the confines of this planet with a single step, the risk is getting lost forever is inordinately great."

"We still may have to take that risk," Soccorro interrupted their argument. "The door at our backs seems to have just closed."

She waved with her phase pistol into the direction where the neutronium wall had just re-formed behind them. The door through which they had entered the building was gone and no trace of it could be detected anymore.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the meantime, the rest of the survey team was making themselves comfortable at the cave. They had moved all equipment to a safe distance from the cave entrance, but for the time being they remained outside, enjoying the undisturbed nature and watching the stars.

"That's it, to the left of that trinary cluster," Novakovich said, pointing up.

Crewman Namod, admittedly not the sharpest tool in the toolkit, stared at him in confusion. "What?"

"Our sun," Novakovich explained.

Namod gave him a doubtful look. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, positive. I'm a scientist, remember? It's odd seeing it from this far away, though," he added wistfully.

Namod still didn't seem convinced. "I dunno. It seems just another speck of light no different than any other."

Novakovich opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden sharp pain lacing through his head stopped him. He cringed, pressing both palms to his temples.

"Are you all right, Crewman?" Dr Yannes asked in concern.

"Headache," Novakovich replied through gritted teeth. "I'm prone to them when the weather changes abruptly. If it's all right with you, Doctor, I'd like to lie down for a while."

Before the Centaurian could reply, a sudden powerful gust of wind blew through the small lighting in front of the cave. It came from the south-west, nearly knocking them over.

"It would be best for us all if we retreated into the cave," Dr Yannes said. "Looks like the storm has finally caught up with us. We'll need shelter, now."

"What about the others?" Namod asked; Novakovich had already retreated into the cave.

"I'll inform them; and the captain," she replied.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"The wind storm's moving quickly across the northern continent," Lieutenant Reed reported. "It looks like a nasty one."

"It is," Dr Yannes said. "According to Crewman Namod it must be gusting at eighty kph."

Archer grinned. "Trip would say that's nothing compared to a hurricane coming up through the Florida Keys."

"Try flying through an ion storm at warp two," Mayweather added.

"That may be so, sir," Reed said in concern, "but I'd recommend pulling them out nonetheless. I've got a shuttlepod on standby."

"We can't do so until the rest of the survey team has reached the shelter too." The captain leaned closer to the communications unit. "Archer to Dr Yannes."

"Yes, Captain."

"Mister Reed thinks we should come down and get you. Have you heard anything from T'Pol?"

"Not since we've arrived here," the xenobiologist replied. "They were about to enter the structure in the middle of that 'cirque' as Crewman Novakovich called it."

"I can't reach them either, Captain," Hoshi reported worriedly. "They could be in serious trouble."

"I'd advise coming down right now, though," Dr Yannes said. "A landing under these circumstances might be difficult. We'll be protected until the winds diminish; and so will be the others if they've found a way into the structure."

"And what if they haven't?" Reed asked quietly. "We must make an attempt to contact them. Crewman Namod is massive. He wouldn't be knocked off his feet by a bit of wind."

Archer gnawed his lower lip for a moment. This wasn't an easy decision to make. Should he leave the survey team to fend for themselves and thus risk losing them – or should he risk even more lives by going down for them?

"All right," he finally said. "We should at least try to contact them before the storm hits full force. We'll keep an eye on it and warn you when it's time to turn back. No unnecessary heroics, Crewman, and that's an order."

"Understood, Captain," the big, beefy security officer replied stoically.

"I hope so," the captain muttered. "Keep me informed, Doctor, and let us know if you need anything."

"I will, Captain. Yannes out."

Archer looked at his armoury officer. "Keep the pod on standby, just in case."

"Aye, sir," Reed replied crisply.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Down in the caves under the planet's surface, Crewman Namod opened one of the field kits and took out a phase pistol and a torch, fastening them both on his heavy utility belt. Then he picked up a few sizeable stones, bound them in two handkerchiefs that could have been mistaken for small tablecloths and hung them on his belt as well.

"What are you doing?" Dr Yannes stared at him, a bit baffled.

Namod shrugged his massive shoulders. "You heard the captain. He wants me to go out and look for the rest of the team. A bit of extra weight can come in handy in a strong wind."

"Ingenious," the Centaurian admitted. "Be careful, though."

"Doctor, I never did a rash thing in my whole life," the man assured her. "I'm always careful – I'm still alive, ain't I?"

It would indeed have been hard to imagine Namod who, as Lieutenant Reed had once put it, was 'built like a brick shithouse', doing anything in haste. So Dr Yannes reluctantly allowed him to go.

Novakovich, clearly fighting a raging headache, was peering suspiciously at shadows further into the cavern.

"What if this is all a trap, though?" he presently asked anxiously. "What if the Vulcans are secretly allied to these Shroomies and are about to compromise our mission? They never wanted us out here; and if anything happened to Commander Tucker, we'd have to turn back. His engineering team is good, but not half as good as he is. No-one knows the warp five engine like he does. Without him we'd be lost."

Dr Yannes rolled her jewel-like eyes in exasperation. "You're being grossly paranoid, Crewman!"

"Perhaps," Novakovich muttered darkly. "That doesn't mean I'm wrong."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the meantime Crewman Namod was tracing their steps backwards, heading for the small cirque they'd passed on their way to the caves. It was a difficult undertaking, with the increasingly strong wind blowing straight into his face, but he hadn't been nicknamed The Rock for nothing. Stubborn as a mule, he fought his way downwards from the entrance of the cave, despite the attempts of the storm to blow him back and shatter him on the dock face.

A little further below, the area was more wooded – that was where he planned to go, in the hope that he would find better support under the trees. Holding onto the trunks might help him stay on his feet and make better headway.

He'd almost reached the edge of the wooded area when he spotted a grey, grotesquely thin figure ambling among the trees, holding on to them for safety. The figure was small, vaguely humanoid with spidery limbs, but most definitely not human. One didn't have to be a xenobiologist to realize that at first sight.

Crewman Namod was confused. The science department had scanned the planet and declared it uninhabited, hadn't they? And the rest of the survey team had found the structure empty, too, right? Then where had this alien creature come from?

No… not just one creature – there were three of them by now, looking identical save for the fact that one of them had a green-glowing artificial eye attachment.

Now like all the ship's security officers, Crewman Namod had watched the video records on the aliens recently infiltrating Enterprise, and thus he had no difficulty in identifying one of the Shroomies if he saw one. Besides, Lieutenant Reed had warned them that they might run into the little buggers, as he called them, on this planet.

What was even worse, they were obviously heading in the same direction as he was – towards the rest of the survey team. Whom Namod had no way to warn. Therefore it was up to him to stop the aliens before they could harm his shipmates. That was what Security was for, wasn't it?

He unhooked the phase pistol from his utility belt and struggled on determinedly to intercept the skinny aliens.

"Hey!" he raised his voice to make it audible over the howling of the wind. "Where do ya think you're going?"

The Shroomies stopped – and stared at him mutely with their glowing eyes. Then the one with the eye attachment raised some sort of weapon and fired without warning. Something hot like liquid fire hit Namod in the chest and he collapsed, losing consciousness.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
At the same time the personnel trapped in the Iconian structure were making desperate efforts to find a way out. While Ensign Soccorro was watching – and recording – the various scenes showing up in the gateway, T'Pol and Tucker tried to figure out the function of the controls… with limited effort.

"There's a vast underground power source which is controlled by this console." The chief engineer pointed to a bank of lights that had not been lit previously, but were now glowing brightly. "You see those lights here? Somethin's going on down there."

"Could our triggering of the gateway have caused a dramatic upsurge in power levels?" the Vulcan asked. "We are dealing with very old and possibly faulty technology here, after all."

"I don't think so." Tucker was running more scans. "It seems to me that the consoles are gettin' impulses from outside."

"But where from?" Soccorro asked with a frown. "There's nobody else on this planet, is there?"

"Not that we detected; but we could have been mistaken." T'Pol turned to Tucker. "Can you stop the upsurge in the power levels?"

"I can try."

While the chief engineer studied the instruments, Soccorro spotted something familiar in the gateway. "Subcommander," she called out. "I can see the rest of the team in a cave; well, at least Doctor Yannes and Ethan!"

The Vulcan glanced at the gateway. "That is fortunate; it seems we have a way to join the others safely. Time the rotation; I have already done so, but the gateway seems to gain additional destinations as it goes on. When the cave appears again, we are going through."

"Ah!" Tucker said contentedly. "I have access, it seems."

Symbols appeared on one side of the screens. Tucker studied them for a while; then he began to input, using the keys on the console. "This should do the trick… or so I hope."

"Ma'am, the cave with the others again," Soccorro supplied. "The rotation now seems to take six point two minutes."

"Good," T'Pol said. "Prepare to cross over the next time it appears… just in case we should not manage to stop the power upsurge. We ought to be safe enough in the cave, even in the case of an explosion."

As if on cue, suddenly the globe above the central control panel emitted a high-pitched tone followed by a beam of sickly green light. There was a sound of crackling as the ray enveloped Tucker. It travelled the entire length of his body, making him jerk uncontrollably. After a few seconds, the energy flow stopped and the chief engineer collapsed like a wet rag and just lay there unmoving, eyes open but devoid of expression, staring at the ceiling.

Soccorro whipped out her scanner to check on him.

"He's in shock," she said. "Without a medical scanner I can't be sure, but I'm fairly certain that there might be some nerve damage. How serious I can't tell. But he definitely needs Doctor Phlox, and soon."

"Unfortunately, we have an even more urgent problem." T'Pol was consulting the Viseeth scanner borrowed from Gerasen Gerasal. "Commander Tucker was right. This console did receive an outside input – one that has triggered the self-destruction protocol."

"How soon?" Soccorro was a very practical-minded woman. The situation called for action; she would allow herself a bit of quiet panicking later, in the privacy of her quarters – assuming she would get the chance to see it ever again.

"I do not know," the Vulcan replied. "If the countdown is faster than the gate rotation, we may have a problem."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the cave serving as the survey team's shelter, Crewman Novakovich was getting increasingly hysterical. He was swinging his torch around, as if looking for something… or someone.

"There's someone back there," he insisted. "I heard voices."

"Other than ourselves, there are no humanoid life forms here," Dr Yannes replied with forced patience.

"There could be something wrong with your scanner," Novakovich argued stubbornly.

The Centaurian rolled her eyes. "It's functioning perfectly."

"Are you telling me I'm imagining things?" the crewman demanded. "It's not safe here. We should leave."

"Where do you propose we go?" she asked impatiently. "Back out into the storm?"

"It's better than being trapped in here!"

"I'm not sure Crewman Namod would agree; he still hasn't returned, and he's better suited to survive in such conditions than either of us." The xenobiologist took another phase pistol from Namod's field kit and aimed at her increasingly irrational companion. "Slow down, Crewman, or I'll shoot you in the knee!"

Shocked, Novakovich dropped to the floor – only to jump to his feet again and dash out, screaming, when suddenly a doorway appeared out of thin air in the middle of the cave and out stepped T'Pol and Ensign Soccorro, the later carrying Tucker's seemingly lifeless body. As soon as they'd stepped out, the doorway vanished as if it had never been there.

T'Pol took an inquisitive look around. "You seem to be missing two-thirds of your team, Doctor. What happened?"

"Crewman Namod went out to look for you," Dr Yannes told her. "Captain's orders. He hasn't returned so far. As for Crewman Novakovich, he bolted in a bout of paranoia when the three of you simply appeared out of nowhere. Something isn't right with him, but I'm not a medical officer. What about Mr Tucker?"

"He had an unpleasant encounter with Iconian technology." T'Pol considered their possibilities for a moment. "He needs medical assistance, and we need to find Crewmen Novakovich and Namod, quickly."

"We won't manage on our own," Ensign Soccorro said darkly.

T'Pol nodded. "I must concur. Therefore our only choice is to contact Enterprise and ask for help." She took out her communicator. "T'Pol to Enterprise."

"Go ahead," Archer's voice answered.

"Captain, we are having several problems," T'Pol summarised the situation. "We have rejoined Dr Yannis, but Commander Tucker had an accident, related to Iconian technology. He is in shock, with the strong possibility of nerve damage. Crewman Namod is missing, and Crewman Novakovich had a paranoid episode and ran away. But the most urgent problem is that some outside impulse has triggered the self-destruction device of the Iconian structure and we have no way to know how long we have until it explodes. Nor do we know how far the blast will extend when it does."

"I see." The captain was clearly weighing their options. "Under the circumstances we have no other choice than go down and get you. Were Trip on board to operate it, I'd say give the transporter a chance, but without him…" He trailed off.

"Understood," the Vulcan answered. "In the meantime we shall attempt to find our missing crewmen. They cannot have gone too far. Doctor Yannes will keep an eye on Commander Tucker while Ensign Soccorro and I attempt a search."

"Agreed," Archer said. "We're coming down as fast as we can. Be careful. Enterprise out."

T'Pol looked at Dr Yannes. "The captain is on his way. Let us hope he gets here in time. Ensign Soccorro and I are going after our lost crewmen now. Watch Commander Tucker's condition and stay in radio contact."

The Centaurian simply nodded and began to pack the field kits, readying them for departure. T'Pol and Ensign Soccorro aimed themselves with phase pistols and scanners and went to find the missing men. The chances weren't good, but they had at least to try.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chapter 16 – Search, Rescue & A Lost Trail

Needless to say, Ensign Mayweather was moderately offended upon learning that the captain intended to fly the rescue mission himself. Understandably so. Mayweather was the best pilot in the Fleet, with the quickest reflexes and the shortest reaction time ever, and he had the records to prove it. He also had ample experience in search and rescue missions, despite his youth. Growing up as a space boomer did that to a man.

“I don’t doubt that you’re fit for this mission, Travis,” Archer replied when the younger man brought up these arguments. “But I need you at the controls, should Enterprise be attacked.”

“Are you counting on an attack, sir?” Reed asked.

The captain nodded. “Somebody sent the impulse that’s about to blow up that building down on the planet. If they decide they don’t want any witnesses, they will attack. And in that case I want my best man at the controls – and a tactically trained mind in command.”

Reed blinked in surprise. Archer entrusting him with the ship while he himself went down to get their missing crew clearly wasn’t something he’d have expected. Perhaps they were beginning to learn how to work together, after all.

Therefore the armoury officer was left in command, as the person best suited to deal with a potential attack, and the captain boarded Shuttlepod One in the company of Ensign Billy Burke from Security, who was built like a tank and armed to the teeth. He didn’t want to take more people with him, so that they’d have enough room for the wounded. Fortunately, Ensign Soccorro was a trained field medic, so they didn’t need to take additional medical personnel along.

“Let’s go,” Archer said, climbing into the pilot’s seat. “I’m flying; you’re scanning for human and Vulcan lifesigns. T’Pol and Soccorro have gone out to look for Novakovich and Namod.”

Burke whistled. “In this storm? That Vulcan lady clearly has a lot of courage. Soccorro doesn’t surprise me, she’s one crazy chick, but I thought Vulcans weren’t big on taking risks.”

“Usually they aren’t; they find it illogical.” The captain pulled a face as he ran the checklist and lifted off the pod. “But I’m beginning to believe that our resident Vulcan is a bit different. All right, we’ve cleared the ship. Start with those scans and holler when you find something.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Down on the planet’s surface, T’Pol and Ensign Soccorro were struggling forward in the raging wind storm. To offer as little surface to the wind as possible, they were crawling on all fours – sometimes even on their bellies. It was a vulnerable position, but as T’Pol had pointed out, the storm would hinder any potential enemies in the same way; and besides, they had to avoid being knocked over by the wind.

The other practical use of this position became clear when Ensign Soccorro all but stumbled over the lifeless body of Crewman Namod. The man seemed more than just unconscious: he wasn’t breathing, and his entire face was an alarming shade of blue, especially his lips.

“Shit!” Soccorro cursed. “Is he dead?”

T’Pol consulted her scanner. “I am reading minimal neural activity in the brain, so he is still alive… barely. The symptoms are similar to those of a man hit by lightning… or by high voltage electricity.”

“This wasn’t an accident then,” Soccorro stated.

“No.” T’Pol activated her comm. “Captain, we have found Crewman Namod. He has definitely been attacked, and must be taken to Sickbay if he is to survive. His condition is critical.”

“What about Novakovich?”

“We have not found any sign of him yet.”

“Stay where you are. We’re closing in on your position. There’s a clearing a hundred metres from the cave entrance; that’s where I’ll set down the ‘pod, and then we’ll continue the search together.”

“Understood.” T’Pol broke the connection and looked at Soccorro. “Is there anything you can do for Crewman Namod?”

The ensign nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’m giving him a Du-Ox shot which, I hope, will restart his breathing and I’ll continue with chest compressions until we can fix him in the shuttlepod. But he’ll need a proper doctor, very soon.”

“Dr Phlox is going to have a busy day,” T’Pol commented dryly. “Very well, Ensign; tell me what can I do to help you with your patient.”

“You can watch my back, so that we won’t end up like him,” the security officer replied. “I’ll take care of the patient and hope that the captain gets here in time.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack Archer, in the meantime, was doing his level best to arrive in time, despite the fact that the wind was throwing the shuttlepod around like a nutshell. Ensign Burke, glued to the short-range scanners, was looking for their missing people meanwhile.

“I'm reading them,” he suddenly said. “Two kilometres due west: two humans and one Vulcan; and another human, about two hundred metres from them, moving slowly away from their position.”

“That must be Novakovich,” Archer said. “Damn it, it’s not good that we’ll have to split up. I'm taking us down, as close to the cave entrance as I dare.”

“There's a lot of wind shear near the surface,” Burke warned.

“I know,” the captain replied through gritted teeth. “I can’t change it. Activate the auxiliary landing thrusters. Altitude seventy metres… forty metres...”

A sudden gush of wind unexpectedly threw them back before they could land. The shuttlepod was rocking and rolling, and Archer swore under his breath.

“Damn it! I'll have to try a different vector.”

“Starboard!” Burke warned and Archer nodded.

“I see it,” but he couldn’t quite prevent a wing tip from grazing a rocky outcrop.

“Thruster four's down,” Burke reported. “We're leaking plasma coolant.”

Archer nodded but started a third approach from yet another angle.

Burke was getting nervous. “Sir, we can't safely land in this wind with a thruster out!”

“Watch me,” Archer scowled and after a particularly bumpy approach he actually set down the shuttle right in front of the cave entrance.

Burke swallowed several times. “That was… spectacular, sir. I don’t think that even Travis could have done better.”

“I’ve been flying a little longer than he has,” the captain replied dryly. “He may have the record in the simulator now, but I still have the experience. Now, why don’t you help Dr Yannes getting Trip and the equipment in the ‘pod, while I hunt down the rest of our people? You can follow me once they’re safe.”

Burke did as he’d effectively been ordered, and Jack took a hand-held scanner to find his missing crew. Moving around on foot in the strong wind was every bit as difficult as flying through it by shuttlepod had been, but he was nothing if not persistent, and so he soon found Ensign Soccorro, trying to reanimate Crewman Namod via chest compressions, and T’Pol watching their surroundings with a phase pistol in her hand.

Even the Vulcan seemed relieved to see the cavalry arrive.

“Crewman Namod was doubtlessly hit by a strong electric discharge,” she reported. “At the moment he is still alive, but his prognosis is not good. He needs Doctor Phlox; and so does Commander Tucker.”

“I know; but we can’t leave Novakovich behind, either,” Archer said. “We’ve already lost one crewman; I’m not following that tendency if I can help it. The two of you take Namod to the ‘pod. Trip is already there with Doctor Yannes. Ensign, you stay with them. You can fly the ‘pod if needs must be; if we’re not back in twenty minutes, you’ll leave, too.”

“And leave you behind, sir? I don’t think so,” Soccorro protested.

“I don’t require you to think,” Jack replied coolly. “The injured need the doc, and if we’re not back in time we most likely won’t get the chance to return at all before that control centre blows up. Lieutenant Reed has standing orders to take Enterprise out of here when that happens, so you better get back with your charges while you still can.”

“Aye, sir,” the ensign replied unhappily, but Jack was no longer paying her any attention, his mind focused on the next task. He flipped open his communicator.

“Archer to Novakovich. Ethan, respond. “

For a seemingly endless moment there was no answer, but then they could hear the young man’s anxious voice. “Who's there? Who is that?”

“This is Captain Archer.” Jack forced himself to sound calm. “We’ve just landed with the ‘pod. I want you to get back to the cavern. We need to leave this place as soon as possible.”

Unfortunately, Novakovich seemed to have other ideas. “Go to hell!” he yelled, and broke the connection.

“He is not far from here.” T’Pol studied her scanner. “Approximately one hundred and eighty-seven point six metres ahead of us.” She waved in the right direction.

“Is he armed?” The last thing Jack wanted was to get shot by his own panicking crewman.

“No, Captain.”

“Which means he’s completely defenceless, should he run into the same people as Namod.”

T’Pol refrained from doing something as primitive as shrugging. “Captain, Crewman Namod was armed – it did not do him any good.” She consulted her scanner again. “We must hurry, sir. Crewman Novakovich’s biosigns are very erratic.”

“Where is he?”

“Moving further away, but very slowly. Our chances to catch up with him are good – if we do not lose any more time.”

“All right,” Archer said with a determined set of his jaw. “Let’s hurry up then!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
They moved on, struggling to make headway against the violent wind that was getting worse by the minute. Soon, even T’Pol’s Vulcan strength proved insufficient against the forces of nature. Laconic creature as she was, she found it her duty to point out that fact to the captain.

“Captain, this is useless. We must turn back while we still can,” she said calmly, raising her voice above the howling of the wind.

“I’m not leaving another man behind!” Archer yelled; they were both crouching desperately in the protection of some bushes.

“I am not suggesting that you do so,” she returned evenly, as if they were sitting in the captain’s dining room having tea. ”I do think, however, that under the circumstances we should risk using the transporter… assuming Enterprise can get a lock on the crewman.”

The captain didn’t seem enthusiastic about the suggestion. “Let me try reaching him again first.” He snapped his communicator open. “Archer to Novakovich. Can you hear me? Ethan?”

There was no answer… not really. Only Novakovich’s terrified screams came over the comm.

Archer’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “All right, Subcommander, let’s try your way.” He switched channels. “Archer to Enterprise.”

“Go ahead, sir,” Reed’s voice answered.

“Mr Reed, we are running out of time. Can you get a lock on Crewman Novakovich?”

“You want to use the transporter, Captain?” The Englishman sounded positively shocked. “In this storm?”

“Looks like our only choice,” Archer replied. “We tried to find him, but…” He trailed off.

“Understood. Stand by,” Reed answered crisply, clearly having overcome his shock in record time; T'Pol reflected dryly that all that spy training must have paid off. “I've got a fix, sir, twenty kilometres north east, but there’s a problem. There are contaminants in the matter stream. The phase discriminator can't seem to isolate the debris.”

“Get him anyway,” Archer ordered. “Better coming up with a few extra parts that Phlox may be able to remove than dying down here for certain.”

“Aye, sir, we’re giving it a try.” Reed paused, waiting for news from the transporter chamber; then he said in relief. “We’ve got him, sir. He’s unconscious and has twigs and leaves stuck in him, but Dr Phlox says he can remove those with minimum effort. You should return to the ‘pod.”

“We’re planning to, Lieutenant. Tell them to wait for us; and have Sickbay stand by for Trip and Crewman Namod. They’re in a bad shape.”

“Aye, Captain.” And with that, they broke the connection.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Archer and T’Pol reached the shuttlepod just slightly over the original deadline, and the captain could prove once again what an excellent pilot he was, manoeuvring them safely through the storm. Granted, it was a somewhat bumpy ride – more so than when they’d gone down to the planet – but they arrived on Enterprise in one, only slightly battered piece, and that was what counted, wasn’t it?

Jack ordered Mayweather to move the ship further away from the planet, so that the shockwaves of the explosion of the Iconian control centre wouldn’t reach them. They didn’t know enough about Iconian technology to safely predict just how far it would reach; not even the Viseeth could. After that, he went down to Sickbay to see how his men were doing. T’Pol followed him without being ordered to do so.

Sickbay was as busy as a beehive. Dr Phlox had already rid Crewman Novakovich of the debris that had fused to his skin during the transporting process, and some exotic creatures from his menagerie were doing their best to repair the damage.

“Human skin is a resilient organ,” the Denobulan said, obviously pleased with his handiwork. “These wounds should heal nicely.”

Jack nodded. That was one fewer concern for him. “What about his mental status?” he then asked.

The doctor’s happy grin dimmed a bit. “That’s not so good at the moment, Captain. Have you ever heard of tropolisine?”

“No,” Jack admitted.

“It's a psychotropic compound known for its hallucinogenic effects,” the doctor explained. “This crewman's bloodstream is filled with it.”

Jack frowned. “If it was down on the planet, why didn't our sensors pick it up?”

Phlox shrugged. “Normally, it's found in certain flowering plants. Perhaps your sensors weren't calibrated to detect it. “

“Or perhaps it wasn't there until the wind started,” T’Pol suggested. "If the compound comes from a flower, it might have been blown down from the mountains when the storm reached our position.”

“That sounds likely,” the doctor agreed.

“How long will the effects last?” Jack asked.

“Now that he's back on Enterprise, he should be all right in three or four hours,” the Denobulan promised.

Jack nodded; that sounded harmless enough. “What about Trip and Crewman Namod?” he asked.

“I’m afraid the news regarding them is not so good,” the doctor confessed, his usual optimism now considerably dimmed. “Crewman Namod was clearly hit by an energy weapon similar to the one those engineering crewmen were attacked with a few weeks ago, when Enterprise was infiltrated. Lieutenant Reed can tell you the details; he had the energy signatures compared and ran a full analysis. Fortunately, Mr Namod is a very strong individual. With some rest and the right therapy, he should be back on his feet and fit for duty in a week or two.”

“And Trip?” Jack found the doctor’s obfuscating a little suspicious.

Phlox sighed. Seeing his characteristic (sometimes a bit annoying) cheerfulness now completely gone promised no good.

“The good news is that Commander Tucker is no longer in danger of multiple organ failure,” he began. “I couldn’t find anything wrong with his brain, so he’ll be his charming self again, given enough time.”

“But…?” Jack pressed on because there was definitely a but coming.

The doctor sighed again. “But he has suffered considerable nerve damage from all that energy flowing through his body. You must imagine the effects of somebody being hit by lightning. Repeatedly. It’s a small miracle that he’s still alive.”

“Trip is nothing if not stubborn,” the captain said grimly. “What will this nerve damage cause him in practical terms?”

“It causes problems with his fine motorics,” Phlox explained. “Among other things, he now has an intermittent tremor in his dominant hand; which is particularly unfortunate for an engineer, of course.”

“Meaning what?”

“It means, Captain, that he won’t be able to do delicate repairs by himself. Or any delicate work in general. I imagine he won’t be happy about that.”

“That’s the understatement of the century,” Jack said dryly. He knew his friend would go mad not being able to work on his beloved engines anymore . They were looking forward to difficult times. “But he’s still alive, and he still has the knowledge. We’ll find a way to work around his problem; and he’ll learn to cope. I’m not giving up on him just yet.”

Before Phlox could have replied – if indeed he had anything to say in answer – the comm system chimed.

“Reed to Archer.”

“Go ahead.”

“Captain, the energy build-up under the planet’s surface is reaching critical levels. An explosion appears to be imminent.”

“On my way,” Jack looked at Phlox. “Keep me informed, Doctor; and call me any time if there are any changes.”

“Of course, Captain.” The Denobulan was turning back to his patients already.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When Archer reached the Bridge with T’Pol in tow, he found Hoshi in command, Mayweather in the pilot’s seat – and Reed, curiously, absent.

“He’s gone down to the Armoury, Captain, just in case,” Hoshi informed him, vacating the command chair in favour of her own station, while the Vulcan hurried to her usual post.

“Are we at a safe distance?” the captain asked, taking his chair.

“Yes, Captain.” T’Pol called up the readings of her hooded scanner to show on the bottom of the main viewer, which currently showed a distant view of the planet. “According to my newest calculations the shockwave is not going to reach beyond the stratosphere. We have already cleared the upper atmosphere and have established high geosynchronous orbit.”

“How much time until the explosion?”

“Unknown, sir. However, by the current speed of the energy build-up I estimate that it cannot be more than a few minutes away.”

Barely had she finished speaking when the comm system chimed. It was Reed from the Armoury.

“Captain, sensors are picking up a large explosion on the planet’s surface. It is equivalent to a Force Twelve hydrogen explosion. Blast radius is nine hundred kilometres,” he reported.

“Affirmative.” T’Pol peeked into her hooded scanner. “The dust particles entering the stratosphere will take an estimated seven months to fall back to the surface. The diminution in sunlight will have the effect of lowering the average daily surface temperature by fifteen degrees Celsius.”

“And thus another paradise was destroyed in the name of tactical advantage,” Archer commented gloomily; then he turned to Hoshi. “Show me!”

Hoshi laid the picture onto the main viewer and they all watched with morbid fascination as a huge eruption broke up the surface of the planet, not unlike the phenomenon of a volcano coming alive. However, there was no molten rock bursting to the surface, just a great deal of high technology debris that immediately went up in oddly-coloured flame, sending a massive shockwave in front of itself, which, as T’Pol had predicted, dissolved in the stratosphere.

“Chemical fire,” T’Pol said, her voice unusually grim. “The wind storm will spread it quickly, turning everything in its way into toxic waste. The centre of the storm has already passed over the explosion site, but the system spans five hundred kilometres. Half the continent will be affected.”

“Operation Scorched Earth,” Lieutenant Hess murmured. “Somebody clearly didn’t want us to study the technology down there closely… and potentially reverse-engineer it.”

“Presumably the same ‘somebody’ who shot Crewman Namod,” added Lieutenant Fuller at Tactical. “Do you think it’s been the Shroomies, Captain?”

Archer shrugged. “That’s our best guess so far. All right, people, let’s break orbit and return to our original course. There’s nothing more for us. Whatever we might have learned here has been destroyed.”

“Course to the Delphic Expanse laid in, sir,” Mayweather reported a short time later.

Archer nodded. “Good, let’s go. T’Pol, you’re in command. I’ll be in my ready room, composing my report for Starfleet Command. Send me up Mr Reed; I might need some details.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The crew returned to their regular duty as Enterprise broke orbit, heading for the Delphic Expanse again. But if Archer hoped for a little peace and quiet, he was quickly disappointed. Less than an hour after they’d returned to their original course, he was called to Sickbay, with the shocking news that Novakovich might be dying.

“I thought you said he was going to be fine,” the captain said to his Chief Medical Officer accusingly.

Phlox seemed genuinely contrite. “I did, but each tropolisine atom contains a stray neutron. When it started to break down in his bloodstream it released an undetectable toxin. I've injected him with inoprovalene but I think it may be too late. If I'd run a submolecular scan I might have anticipated the complication, but there was no reason to. At least, there didn't seem to be. I can't tell you how sorry I am, Captain.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Dr. Yannes, who was doing something… complicated with a microscope nearby. “Under normal circumstances tropolisine isn’t supposed to do that.”

“Meaning what?” Jack asked.

“It means, Captain, that either there’s something very particular with Crewman Novakovich’s body chemistry, or somebody deliberately released a so far unknown chemical compound at the same time the storm hit our landing place,” the xenobiologist explained. “Personally, I believe the latter, and once I’ve run a full analysis, we’ll know for certain.”

“But who’d do such a thing?” The Denobulan asked in shock. His doctor’s ethics made it hard for him to comprehend such actions.

“The same people who just destroyed half a planet to prevent us from studying Iconian technology,” the captain replied grimly. “What about the others?”

“They spent less time exposed,” Phlox hurriedly assured him. “We’ll start synthesizing ampoules of inoprovalene at once, nonetheless. It's imperative that we inoculate everyone who went down to the planet as soon as possible.”

“Doctor,” called Crewman Yee, the med tech watching over Novakovich, relief clear in her voice. “He’s responding to the medication.”

Phlox hurried over to the biobed and checked the readings. “You’re right, Crewman. Well, that’s one burden off my conscience. Although his odds of recovery would be a lot better if we’d treated him sooner. But at least we know now that we can deal with the problem.”

“What about Trip and Crewman Namod?”

“We’ll inoculate them first; then the rest of the survey team.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Archer looked at Dr Yannes. “Contact me when your analysis is finished, Doc. We might have to call a crisis meeting for the senior staff… well, for those who can still participate,” he added, with a sorrowful look at his best friend, who was still in a medically induced coma.

“Of course, Captain,” the xenobiologist promised. “It may take a few hours, though.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the end, it took Dr Yannes three and a half hours to run the complete analysis on the pollen. As resilient as Centaurians were as a rule, even she looked exhausted when she arrived in the Situation Room; her skin, normally a rich cocoa brown, had faded to a dull grey.

“I was right,” she said, distributing PADDs among the senior officers. “The toxin is synthetic, designed to bond with tropolisine atoms on the subatomic level spontaneously. Whoever released it, they wanted us dead; and they were familiar with the weather patterns on that planet and the peculiarities of the planetary flora.”

Archer looked at Gerasen Gerasal whom he had invited to the meeting. “Did the Iconians use biological or chemical weapons?”

“No,” the Viseeth answered promptly. “At least not to our knowledge. Their weapons were exclusively defensive, designed to disable the technology of their adversaries, just like the probe we destroyed.”

“The Shroomies are behind this,” Lieutenant Fuller declared. “I went to see Namod – he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness all day, but I caught him in one of his lucid moments, and he described his attackers.” He called up an image on the viewscreen. “This is the phantom image the computer created, based on his description. Looks familiar?”

The picture showed one of the so-called ‘Shroomies’, only with something that looked like an implant or an artificial eyepiece.

“Definitely one of the Shroomies,” Archer agreed, being the one who’d seen the intruders in the flesh, not just on the security footage. “But what’s with that eyepiece?”

“Actually, it’s an Incubator,” Gerasen Gerasal said calmly.

All humans present gave her odd looks, having a different context for that particular word. Only T’Pol remained indifferent.

“A what?” the captain finally asked.

“An Elachi scientist,” the Viseeth explained. “They were – well, apparently still are – not soldiers and thus comparatively weak, although armed with disruptor pistols. According to the Historical Database, the artificial eye attachment served – serves – both as a sensor and as a microscope.” She shook her head. “We had no idea that the Elachi were still a force to reckon with, after a hundred millennia of disappearance.”

“A scientist, eh?” Lieutenant Hess muttered. “That explains the explosion. The Shroomies needed somebody with the necessary know-how to blow up that thing down there.”

“That appears likely, yes,” T’Pol agreed. “The Elachi served the Iconians for uncounted millennia; they ought to be familiar with Iconian technology.”

“That doesn’t bode well for us, knowing what little we know about Iconian tech development,” Archer commented darkly.

“No; and there’s more,” Reed said in agreement, and called up another image on the screen – that of an arrow-shaped, luminescent green ship. “Does this appear familiar?”

“Isn’t that the ship we encountered a few weeks ago?” Anna Hess asked. “The one with the Shroomies that invaded Enterprise, tried to sabotage our ship and shot two of our crew?”

“It is,” the armoury officer replied darkly. “And it’s also the ship that seems to be following us, just outside the reach of our long-range sensors. We’re being watched.”

And in more than just one way, T’Pol thought, remembering Captain Vanik and the starship Ti’Mur also just outside Enterprise’s sensor range, following the human vessel like a bloodhound. She’d been ordered not to inform Captain Archer about being watched. So far, she had obeyed her orders. But she reserved the right to change her mind if she found it necessary.

She only hoped the Ti’Mur would actually interfere, should the Elachi decide to take even more drastic steps against Enterprise.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 17 – THE POINT OF NO RETURN

For a few days the transit of Enterprise remained largely undisturbed. The Elachi ship didn’t show up on the scanners again, even though they knew it was somewhere out there… a fact that helped Lieutenant Reed to secure top priority for the maintenance of the weapons systems.

Fortunately, there were no extensive repairs to make at the moment, and the engineering crew could manage daily business well enough without Tucker breathing down their neck. He had hand-picked every single one of them, after all.

As for the chief engineer himself, he had come out of his medically induced coma after two days and was improving slowly but steadily. As Dr Phlox had warned, there was a lot of nerve damage, and it emerged that not only his dominant hand was now unreliable, due to that intermittent tremor he had developed, but he also needed a walking aid, as his knee tended to give out without warning at random intervals.

All this didn’t help to improve his mood, of course, but Hoshi, loyal soul that she was, spent her spare time with him, helping him with his physiotherapy as well as she could, accompanying him in the Mess Hall and on movie nights, and even cancelling her training sessions with Lieutenant Reed to be able to do so.

“It’s more important to support a friend in need than to play nice with an enemy,” she declared coolly when Archer called her upon it; and that was it.

She wouldn’t back off, not in this, and Archer knew better than try making her do so. Besides, Tucker needed a friend right now. He needed as many friends as he could get, in fact.

The crewmen Namod and Novakovich were improving more quickly. Namod, being a fairly indestructible individual (as long as there was food available, preferably in large quantities), was declared fit for duty after a few days of rest.

Novakovich needed a little longer, but after a week he was released, too, with the strict order to return for counselling sessions; he and Crewman Cooper used to be close, and he was still having difficulties with accepting her fate. But at least he was allowed to work again.

Tucker returned to light duty as well; which meant that the others were allowed to pick his brain with any problems that would occur, and he could watch the control screens and run diagnostics – but that was all he could do. How long it would stay that way, and if he’d ever fully regain his fine motoric abilities, Dr Phlox couldn’t tell.

This was the status of things, and he was moping in his quarters between the half shifts he’d been allowed to spend in Engineering and his upcoming physio session, when the captain made a shipwide announcement.

“For those of you who aren't near a window, you might want to find one. There's something pretty amazing off starboard.”

At the same time Tucker could feel the ship drop out of warp.

“Senior staff, please report to the Bridge,” the captain continued.

Tucker grabbed his cane (manufactured by the engineering crew from some spare parts) and began to hobble towards the nearest turbolift.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“I've checked the Vulcan database, sir,” Reed was saying when Tucker reached the Bridge. “No previous sightings.”

“That means we discovered it,” Hoshi added in delight.

Charlie turned to the viewer to see what got them all so excited – and saw a huge comet is gliding past.

“Archer's comet,” Mayweather suggested, grinning like a loon.

The captain grinned back at him. “Take us closer, Ensign,” he ordered, and Travis acknowledged the order with the obligatory Aye, sir.

As they approached the comet, it seemed to grow steadily, and they could make out more details. Jack turned to his friend, smiling.

“Ever seen anything like that in your astronomy books, Trip?”

“Wow, that's one big snowball.” Tucker was staring at the image in complete amazement.

“The diameter is eighty two point six kilometres,” T’Pol informed them with scientific precision, missing the point completely.

Archer grinned at his fellow humans. “I always wanted to chase a comet. Maybe we should spend a few days following this one.”

“Vulcan and human scientists have researched hundreds of comets,” T’Pol pointed out. “They've proven to be little more than rock and ice.”

“Except this one's bigger than any comet humans have ever seen,” the captain retorted. “That's got to be worth a look. Stay with it, Travis.”

Mayweather nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, sir.”

“Oh, and Subcommander, would you care to make a geological analysis of all that rock? I’d like to know what’s in it.”

“As you wish, Captain.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
T’Pol collected the data from the short-range sensors and retreated with them to her own quarters, to run the analysis. As she was not only the science officer but also the ship’s XO, she had the necessary equipment in her quarters; including a secure communications station. She expected to be contacted by Captain Vanik to make a report about Enterprise’s sudden change of course, but that did not mean she could not do her job while waiting.

What she had not expected was an encoded letter from her betrothed’s family. Not now. Not after she had failed to return to Vulcan at the appointed time, and Koss had to go through pon farr without her assistance. For the very first time in his life, and then twice again.

With a certain amount of dread, she opened the letter, started the encryption program… and then stared at the words on her computer screen in something akin to a shock.

They wanted what from her?

She read the message again. It did not change; not that she had expected it to change. That would have been a highly illogical reaction. In fact, re-reading the message had been illogical in the first place, but she had been too shocked to believe her eyes.

More shocked than would be acceptable in any self-respecting Vulcan, and she was a self-respecting Vulcan. Well… as close to one as her unusual heritage allowed.

But the message remained the same, no matter how many times she would re-read it. They wanted her to “honour” an agreement that had already been broken, due to her absence from the homeworld. Where was the logic in that?

And yet this was a demand she could not ignore – or worse, refuse – without consequences. The agreement had never been officially nullified, which gave Koss’s family certain rights, according to Vulcan law.

She should have applied for the dissolving of the – barely existing – bond years ago. But it never seemed urgent, seeing that Koss had dealt with his… issues on his own well enough, and she had been occupied with her work.

Now she realized that her disregard had been a mistake; a serious one.

She wished T’Kahr Soval was within easy reach. In his time-proved wisdom he might be able to give useful advice. But Soval was still on Earth, and she would not risk talking about such a delicate matter via subspace. There could be no doubt that the Ti’Mur was monitoring Enterprise’s communications.

She suppressed a very un-Vulcanlike sigh. She could not afford to dwell on personal matters. There was a geological analysis to finish; Captain Archer was waiting for her report.

She would deal with Koss and his family after she had the chance to meditate.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fifteen point six standard minutes later she entered the Situation Room, as Enterprise’s conference room was officially (and somewhat meaninglessly) called, with the finished report in her hand.

“I have found something for you, Captain,” she said. “Geological analysis shows a considerable eisilium deposit.”

“Eisilium?” Archer repeated, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

“It is an extremely rare mineral,” she explained, curbing her scientific excitement with some effort. “However, this comet appears to contain large quantities of it.”

“I've never heard of eisilium.” Archer looked at his chief engineer askance.

Charlie Tucker shook his head. “Neither have I.”

“As I said, it is extremely rare.” T’Pol hated to repeat herself, but she could not expect these humans to recognise the importance of the find. They were not scientists, after all. “Vulcan chemists have only obtained small amounts. They have never been able to study it in detail.”

That piece of information seemed to please the captain for some reason; or perhaps the fact that they had found something important before the Vulcans did? As if it had been some kind of competition…

In any case, he gave her one of his blinding smiles. “This could be your chance, then. Can we collect a sample with the transporter?”

T’Pol did not need to consult her PADD to answer. “Unfortunately, most of the eisilium deposits are at least twenty metres beneath the crust.”

“Well, that’s it, then,” commented Tucker, a little disappointed. “That's too deep to get a lock.”

“Is there no other way to reach the deposits?” the captain asked. He, too, was clearly disappointed.

To general surprise, it was Lieutenant Reed who came up with a suggestion. “We've got the portable drilling rig, sir.”

“That could work,” Tucker admitted reluctantly; it was common knowledge that he hated agreeing with Reed on principle. “If we can get it down to the surface safely, that is."

“The comet's certainly big enough to land on,” Mayweather said thoughtfully. “We could take a shuttlepod.”

“I would advise setting down near one of the two poles,” T’Pol suggested. “If you are out of direct sunlight, the surface ice will be more stable.”

Archer’s incredibly blue eyes were sparkling with excitement already.

“How long would you need?” he asked Reed.

The armoury officer shrugged. “Shouldn't take more than three or four hours.”

Archer nodded, obviously satisfied with the answer. “You up for a little comet walk? We’ll need a demolition expert for the job.”

For some reason T’Pol had the impression that there was more behind the captain’s question than just a simple request. Was it an attempt to offer his armoury officer/resident spy the proverbial olive branch? These humans were so hard to understand sometimes.

“By all means!” Lieutenant Reed clearly interpreted the question as a peace offering and was more than willing to accept it.

Archer nodded again. “Get started then.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Reed left for the Armoury to prepare the drilling rig for transport – not to mention the explosives that would be necessary to open the way for the rig, once down on the comet’s surface. He looked happier than anyone had seen him for a long time… since his impromptu birthday party, in fact.

The rest of the senior officers returned to the Bridge, this being their regular duty shift. Besides, the main viewer provided the best possible look at the ice comet, and they wanted to enjoy the spectacular view. Only T’Pol ignored the eerily beautiful sight, collecting more data from the same comet through her hooded scanner.

Everyone’s quiet enjoyment was soon interrupted by Hoshi, though, who swivelled with her chair in Archer’s direction, reporting, “Captain, I'm detecting a vessel closing on our position.” She paused briefly before adding, “It's Vulcan – a Suurok-class battle cruiser.”

T’Pol closed her eyes, as close to despair as any Vulcan could get without giving up their tight control entirely. It was highly illogical from Captain Vanik to reveal his presence in this sector. He was supposed to observe the humans, not to interfere with their actions.

“Are they sending any ID code?” Archer asked.

Hoshi shook her head. “No, sir. I can try running their image through the database for identification, but…”

“That will not be necessary.” T’Pol looked up from her scanner, coming to a decision. “It is the starship Ti'Mur.”

“Is it now?” Archer said with deceptive mildness. “And you just happen to know that by mere coincidence?”

“Of course not,” the Vulcan replied simply. “I was informed that the Ti’Mur would be monitoring our progress.”

The captain gave her a piercing look. “Informed – by whom?”

“By Minister Solkar,” she answered truthfully. “It has been following us just outside Enterprise’s sensor range since we left the Berengaria system.”

“And you’re telling me that right now… why exactly?”

“The Ti’Mur was supposed to observe, not to interfere,” she said. “That Captain Vanik chose to show himself openly is a serious breach of protocol – and violates the agreement between you and the Viseeth.”

“Aren’t you riskin’ gettin’ in trouble for tellin’ us this?” Tucker asked.

T’Pol raised an eyebrow – the Vulcan equivalent of a shrug. “There is a ninety-four point seven per cent possibility of retaliation, yes.”

“And yet you told us anyway?” Tucker was clearly baffled.

“Commander,” T’Pol replied coolly, “due to the agreement with both the Viseeth Synodium and the High Command, I am now a member of this crew. That gives me a certain responsibility towards Enterprise’s mission as well. I must do my best to help carrying out that mission, despite potential personal disadvantages.”

Archer looked at the rest of the Bridge crew.

“I think it would be best if we played clueless,” he said. “I’d like to keep my new Science Officer a little longer.” He turned to Hoshi. “Let’s take a look at our shadow. Maximum magnification.”

“Aye, sir.” Hoshi clicked a few switches and the image of the ice planet was immediately replaced by that of the Vulcan starship.

It was an impressive sight. The deep amber-hued Suurok-class vessel possessed a long, cylindrical primary hull and a unique circular, ring-shaped warp drive, making it look like some spun glass Christmas tree ornament. Those with technical knowledge, however – that was, practically everyone on the Bridge – knew all too well that it was a powerful ship that could easily destroy Enterprise, should its captain find such an action logical.

“Hail them,” Archer ordered grimly, and when Hoshi nodded him to speak, he continued in a falsely friendly manner. “This is Captain Jack Archer of the starship Enterprise.”

The image of the Vulcan ship vanished from the viewer, giving room that of a middle-aged male Vulcan with sharp, deeply-lined features and iron-grey hair.

“I am Captain Vanik,” he said simply.

“Pleased to meet you.” Archer plastered his biggest, fakest smile over his face; it never reached his eyes, which remained ice cold.

The Vulcan captain most likely had no previous experience with humans because he clearly bought the show.

“You are a long way from Earth, Captain,” he said in a condescending manner. “Are you lost?”

As if you didn’t know why we’re here, thought Archer angrily, but he kept his amiable mask firmly pinned on.

“Not at all. Just taking a look at this comet,” he replied.

“Our sensors detected it two days ago,” Vanik said in a dismissive tone that made it clear how insignificant he thought the comet to be. “We also decided to investigate.”

“Really?” Archer gave him another saccharine-infused smile. “My Science Officer tells me that Vulcans aren't very interested in comets.”

“Actually, it is your interest in the comet that we are investigating,” the Vulcan told him.

“Are you now?” Archer retuned in false innocence. “I didn’t know this was Vulcan territory. Do we need your permission to be here?”

“Of course not…”

“Good,” Archer interrupted. “Because we plan to send a drilling team to the surface to collect core samples.” He paused, then added sweetly, “You're welcome to participate. I’m told that Vulcan scientists never had the chance to study eisilium in detail.”

If possible, the Vulcan captain’s posture became even more rigid than before. “If you have no objection, we'd like to remain here and observe,” he said stiffly.

As if we could make you leave, Archer thought sourly; but the answer he gave was neutral. “Stay as long as you want. We have nothing to hide...” But the Vulcan captain cut transmission before he could finish the sentence.

Seething inside at Vanik’s rudeness, Jack looked at T'Pol. “Can we have a word? In private.”

She rose from her seat. “As you wish, Captain.” And she followed him to his Ready Room.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Tell me about Captain Vanik,” Archer demanded, as soon as they were alone.

“There is not much to tell,” she replied. “Vanik joined the Vulcan space program seventy-six of your standard years ago. He mainly served on scout ships and the border patrol, until he became captain of the Ti’Mur.”

“Seventy-six years,” Archer mused. “Not such a long career in Vulcan terms, I understand. He must have been favoured by the brass, then, that he got command of one of the newest, strongest ship classes in the Vulcan fleet.”

“If you are assuming that he has excellent connections to the High Command and various other government circles, then you are right, Captain,” T’Pol said calmly. “He belongs to the same clan as Administrator V’Las; they are distant cousins, in fact.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t that be considered nepotism?”

“On Earth perhaps,” she replied. “In Vulcan terms, the ultimate duty of the individual is to serve clan interests; and the main purpose of the clan is to support the individual. It is not only acceptable to prefer one’s own clansmen in key positions – it is expected.”

“And what if the clansman in question isn’t fit to fill a certain position?”

“Then he or she will not be chosen, of course. That would be highly illogical.”

“And Vulcans would never do anything illogical.” The sarcasm in Archer’s voice was hard to miss, and not particularly pleasant, but T’Pol chose to ignore it.

“We do our best,” she said dryly, “but not even we are perfect.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” the captain grinned. “But if Captain Vanik has friends in high places, I'd love to know what he’s really doing here. You don't find anything strange about the Ti’Mur suddenly showing up?”

“Actually, I do,” T’Pol admitted. “Their orders were, as far as I was informed, to merely observe; you were not supposed to know that they were out there.”

“Is there a chance that they might be simply curious?” he asked.

“Unlikely,” she replied. “Admittedly, scientific curiosity is accepted and even encouraged; but not when it interferes with the carrying out of one’s orders.”

“Curious,” Archer commented. “This isn't the first time we've caught them lurking around. Remember three weeks ago, the planetary nebula?”

“That was nothing more than a survey ship,” the Vulcan said dismissively.

“So why didn't they respond to our hails?” the captain insisted. “Why'd they go to warp when we headed toward them? I'm starting to get the feeling that somebody really doesn’t want us to succeed.”

“That seems unlikely,” T’Pol said, “but not entirely beyond doubt. I find that I no longer understand the decisions made by the High Command. Not all of them, at any rate.”

“So, does it mean you’re on our side now?” Archer could barely hide his surprise.

She gave him a look full of reproach. “I do not take sides, Captain. I am merely concerned about the success of this mission. Ambassador Soval assigned me to this task and I attempt to carry out his orders – even if I have to go against the High Command in the process.”

“That might get you in great trouble with the High Command,” he warned.

“Indeed,” she replied calmly. “It is advantageous that my temporary Starfleet commission makes me independent of the High Command for the duration of this mission.”

“It still can be the point of no return for you, though,” the captain pointed out.

“In more ways than you can imagine,” she said, thinking of the personal message she had just received.

But she refused to tell the captain anything else, and Archer had no other choice than dismiss her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Reed was busy with the drilling rig down in the Armoury when Ensign Soccorro joined him her expression troubled.

“Lieutenant, would you take a look at something? I've been running diagnostics and I found some kind of power surge in the transceiver array.”

Reed did as he was asked – and frowned. “Looks like an encrypted transmission. “Where did it come from?”

“From the Vulcan ship,” Soccorro replied grimly.

His frown deepened. “And to whom was it sent?”

“Directly to the comm unit in the quarters of our new Science Officer,” she told him. “I believe the captain should learn about this – before he gets too chummy with her.”

Reed agreed with that and went directly to the Ready Room to make his report.

The captain appeared strangely disappointed by the news.

“You're sure this was sent to her quarters?”

Reed nodded. “Aye, sir. That is, Ensign Soccorro is sure; and she doesn’t make such basic mistakes.” He paused. “Did she say anything to you about it?”

The captain shook his head. “Not a word.” Again, that odd shadow of disappointment seemed to cloud his usually so bright expression. “We had an agreement. She promised not to speak to the Vulcans without telling me.”

Reed withstood the urge to roll his eyes… barely. “With all due respect, Captain, it was naïve of you to believe that she’d actually keep her promise. She was planted on board as a spy, after all.”

“She wasn’t the only one,” Archer replied pointedly. “And she took considerable personal risks by telling us about the mission of the Ti’Mur.”

“Unless it was a clever strategic move to gain your trust, sir.” Reed felt a flicker of guilt at the deserved accusation, but ploughed on stubbornly. “We won’t know for sure, unless perhaps we learn what’s in that encrypted message. I think you should have Ensign Sato decrypt it. If anyone, she’ll be able to do it.”

The captain seemed uncomfortable with the suggestion – Fleet officers could be woefully naïve and idealistic sometimes – but in the end he gave in.

“I’ll tell her it's top priority,” he said resignedly. “You may return to your drilling rig, Lieutenant. We want to keep our schedule, after all – or our Vulcan observers may become suspicious.”

“Understood, sir,” Reed answered crisply and left, relieved that Archer had been willing to listen to him – this time.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 18 – GUESS WHO’S COMING FOR DINNER

To say that Hoshi was uncomfortable with Jack’s orders to decrypt T’Pol’s personal correspondence would have been an understatement. She was a linguist with no interest in spy stuff, as she called it; her own clash with Starfleet Intelligence – no to mention the consequences – had been enough for a lifetime. Aside from that, she was also a very private person who found it inappropriate to violate another person’s privacy.

Especially that of a Vulcan whose people were a great deal more jealous of their own privacy than any human could ever be.

Especially that of this particular Vulcan, whom she had come to respect very much in the short time they had spent aboard Enterprise.

But orders were orders and anyway, there were very few things she wouldn’t do for Jack, even without ordered to do so. Besides, there was still a faint chance that T’Pol really wasn’t playing fairly. So she went to work.

The task proved harder than she had expected. The code was insanely complex. Reed and Mayweather had already boarded the shuttlepod and left for the comet by the time she finally cracked it. As expected, the message was in Vulcan; no surprise there. She downloaded it to a PADD and went to Jack’s Ready Room to make her report.

She found Charlie with Jack; which, again, was no real surprise. Due to the neural damage suffered from the Iconian weapon he could still only do such work down in Engineering as didn’t require fine motor skills, and had to rely heavily on his second-in-command, Lieutenant Hess – which frustrated him no end. Not that Anna Hess wouldn’t be competent enough on her own, but Charlie was the kind of guy who liked to do things with his own hands.

The two men – her old friends and highly valued colleagues – gave Hoshi fond grins as she entered the Ready Room.

“Any luck?” Jack asked.

Hoshi nodded. “It’s done, Captain. Sorry it took so long. The code was pretty complex.”

“What's it sayin’?” Charlie was clearly eager to know. But there again, all his life he’d been even more suspicious about Vulcans and their possible intentions than Jack himself had been – and that was saying a lot.

“It's in Vulcan,” Hoshi replied evasively. “You'll have to run it through the translation matrix.”

“You didn't read it?” the chief engineer asked in surprise.

Hoshi shook her head. “I didn't feel it'd be right.”

The two men exchanged somewhat ashamed looks; then Jack turned back to her. “Look, Hoshi… I know you aren’t comfortable with this. And you might even be right; this might be a personal matter. Which is why I want you to read the damn message.”

“Me, sir? Why me?”

“Because it might be personal, and at the very least you’re a woman, too. If it is personal, I won’t ask you about the details. But if there’s the slightest chance that the High Command is trying to do something behind our back, I need to know about it.”

“Think about it,” Charlie added. “Once Reed learns about the transmission, he won’t hesitate to read it; and I don’t think T’Pol would be happy with him snoopin’ around in her private correspondence.”

“Understood, sir,” Hoshi sighed unhappily. “May I use your interface, Captain?”

Jack stood and gestured towards his desk. “Be my guest!”

Hoshi sat, connected her PADD to the computer interface and ran the translation program. Not that she would really need it, being quite fluent in several Vulcan dialects; she just wanted to make absolutely sure that there wouldn’t be any mistakes.

The message was quite short; but the thought of having read it made her extremely ashamed. Even though she’d been acting under orders.

“Well?” Jack asked, a little impatiently.

Hoshi looked up from her PADD. “It’s not what you might have expected, Captain. It’s a letter.”

“And? What did it say?” The captain seemed to be losing his remaining patience rapidly.

Hoshi gulped. “It's… personal.”

“How personal?”

“Very personal,” she emphasized. “Captain, you promised you won’t ask me about details – I ask you to keep that promise. I’ll tell you if you order me, but you wouldn't be happy if I did. We’ve violated her privacy enough as it is – and there’s nothing that would endanger Enterprise in any way.”

“So why the hell was it encrypted?” Jack's frustration was obvious. At a guess, he too was mortified by having effectively spied on the personal correspondence of one of his officers.

“That's what I want to know, too,” Charlie added indignantly.

Hoshi shrugged. “Maybe Vulcans encrypt all their personal letters?”

Jack shook his head in exasperation. “This is ridiculous! All they had to do was send it through regular channels, mark it personal, and we'd have left it alone. But no, they had to encrypt it, force us to start snooping…”

“Perhaps they didn’t trust us to leave it alone,” Hoshi offered quietly. “Not with Lieutenant Reed on board.”

“She does have a point,” Charlie admitted. “After all, it was Reed – or rather his right-hand-woman – who found the transmission in the first place.” He paused, frowning unhappily. “We’ve got to tell her, Jack.”

The captain pulled an equally unhappy face. “How's that going to help?”

“It's the right thing to do,” the chief engineer insisted. “At least I'll be able to look her in the eye without feelin’ guilty.”

The captain gave his oldest friend a fond look. “You're a good man, Trip Tucker.” After a moment of consideration he added, grinning, “You might want to take a phase pistol with you for that conversation.”

“I might need one,” Charlie agreed glumly. “Damn spies and their constant snoopin’!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tucker found their resident Vulcan on the Bridge, in serious scientific discussion with Crewman DePinto.

He cleared his throat nervously. “Got a minute? In private?”

T'Pol nodded and raised an eyebrow in DePinto’s direction. “Excuse us, crewman.”

Sandro dePinto returned to his station and Tucker lowered his voice almost below the human reach of hearing – which was still clearly audible to the sensitive Vulcan hearing.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said. “Lieutenant Reed found out about your message from the Vulcan ship. Well, actually Soccorro found it, but she went straight to her boss with it.”

T’Pol seemed completely unfazed by his confession. “I see no problem here, Commander. It was a personal matter.”

“Why wasn't it sent through normal Starfleet channels then?” Tucker asked.

She still didn’t seem particularly disturbed. “That takes time. The letter was important.”

“So they sent it in code?” The human rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Do you have any idea how suspicious that looked?”

The first officer gave him a look that could have evaporated a titanium asteroid. “You read my letter?”

Tucker shook his head. “No; Hoshi did. She felt pretty rotten about it, the poor girl, but, you know, Captain’s orders and all that…”

“I can imagine,” the Vulcan said dryly. “Has anyone else read the letter?” Her tone indicated that she would not have been entirely surprised if it had been circulated for general information around the ship’s notice-boards.

“Nope. Hoshi told the captain that it was a very personal matter, and Jack left it at that.”

“I see.” She remained silent for a moment. “I would appreciate it if the matter would not be made common knowledge.”

“Don’t worry, it won’t be.” He was glad to be at least able to assure her of that. “Hoshi is nothing if not discreet. She has to be, in her position as communications officer.”

“I am well aware of Ensign Sato’s outstanding qualities,” T’Pol said curtly. “If that is all, Commander, I have work to do.”

“Sure. I just wanted to apologise for, you know, violating your privacy and all…”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He trailed off uncertainly and shuffled away, clearly uncomfortable about and embarrassed because of the situation. T’Pol withstood the very un-Vulcanlike urge to shrug. What was done was done – no amount of regret would change it. They all had more important things to do.

Still, she was relieved that Ensign Sato was the only one who had read the letter. Sato was indeed very discreet, beyond the demands of her position.

If she thought she could return to her analysis, though, she was mistaken. Only minutes later the comm summoned her to the captain’s Ready Room. She suppressed a sigh, rose and crossed the Bridge to follow the call.

“I thought I'd invite Captain Vanik for a visit,” Archer told her. “If he's so interested in how we do things, he might as well come see for himself. Once he realises we're not going to blow up the galaxy, maybe he'll leave us alone.”

“I would not hold my hopes high if I were you, Captain,” she replied. “He has his orders; and he is an individual who takes those orders quite literally – which is why I find the fact that he has blatantly gone against protocol… disturbing. Still, I am sure he'll appreciate the gesture.”

“Sure he will.” The captain’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “Anyway, dinner's a good way to break the ice. I was hoping you might give Chef some menu suggestions.”

“Certainly.” T’Pol was fairly sure that Captain Vanik would find the menu disagreeable on principle, which was highly illogical, as Chef had proven surprisingly talented at handling Vulcan recipes, with most satisfactory results. She chose not to warn Archer in advance, though. He seemed so very taken with his idea.

“A little food, a little wine,” he mused, clearly reliving past experiences when the method had worked. This time, however, he was heading for a disappointment, in T’Pol’s expert opinion.

“Vulcans do not drink wine,” she reminded him, earning an expressive eye-roll in response.

“You know what I mean. Just help me make him go away.”

“To achieve such a result, may I suggest inviting Gerasen Gerasal for dinner as well, Captain? In my experience Viseeth are very good at making the more… complicated individuals of my people behave.”

Archer’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. T’Pol, who had never seen an actual Christmas tree before, had done some research into the matter; the metaphor still did not make any sense. Not beyond the fact that the captain was now beaming at her as if she had just handed him the Moon on a silver platter – another human colloquialism that made no sense. At all.

“You know, I might just do that,” he said. “Would you mind delivering the invitation to her quarters?”

“Not at all, Captain.” She rose from her seat. “If that is all…” She could feel the first signs of an upcoming headache behind her eyes. The pressure was… most unpleasant.

“Dismissed.” Archer was already back to the reports from the various sections of his ship.

<>* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
T’Pol’s first detour to the guest quarters was unsuccessful, but that fact did not disturb her too much. Since Gerasen Gerasal did not mingle with the rest of the crew and Ensign Sato was currently on duty, logic dictated that the Viseeth would be going through their daily check-up in Sickbay. Therefore that was where she headed next.

Logic, as always, served her well. Gerasen Gerasal was indeed in Sickbay, looking much better than even back at home – being subjected to the memory machine must have been rather unpleasant – studying Dr Phlox’s bizarre menagerie with great interest.

“Our medical technology is very different,” they explained. “We have not used living creatures for healing purposes for ages. Literally.”

They were clearly done with their medical check-up and Dr Phlox appeared pleased with the results. T’Pol wondered, though, why they would not restore their hair; not that any of the Viseeth on Berengaria VII would have sported any body hair, either.

“We do not grow hair naturally,” Gerasen Gerasal explained; being a telepath, they picked up her stray thought. “I underwent a nanotechnology treatment to blend in better with humanoids. Now that the crew has got used to my general appearance such disguise is no longer necessary. Besides,” they added, running a graceful, webbed hand over their finely-shaped head, “it looked ridiculous.”

“Not in the eyes of any humanoid male, regardless of the species,” Dr Phlox said with one of his wide, clown-like grins. “Long, lush hair on a female is generally considered very attractive. Well… except for Vulcans, probably,” he added.

“On the contrary, Doctor,” T’Pol corrected calmly. “Vulcan women – save for those of us who are members of the military – consider the aesthetic sculpting of their hair an art form.”

Not with the intent of drawing male attention, of course. There was no need for that in the time-honoured tradition of arranged marriages and childhood bonding – but trying to explain that to most other species would have been a hopeless undertaking, so she decided not to waste her time.

Gerasen Gerasal was familiar with Vulcan customs, of course. Therefore they simply nodded and asked how they could be of assistance.

“Captain Archer decided to invite Captain Vanik from the Starship T’Mur for dinner,” T’Pol explained. “I suggested extending the invitation to you as well – in the hope that your presence would help curbing Captain Vanik’s more… offensive tendencies.”

The Viseeth nodded again. “Certainly, I shall be glad to help. My people are partly to blame for the… problematic relationship between Vulcans and Humans. This is the least I can do to ease the situation. Besides, Vulcan cuisine agrees with me, and the human chef of this ship is surprisingly good at preparing Vulcan food.”

“Captain Archer will appreciate your help,” T’Pol said, hiding her relief; she was not looking forward to facing Captain Vanik at the dinner table alone. “Th-i oxalra,” she added formally in Vulcan.

“You are welcome,” replied the Viseeth in Standard; then they gave her a long assessing look. “You are in pain. I suggest you use the opportunity and allow the doctor to do something about it.”

“It is merely a headache.” T’Pol tried to evade but the Denobulan doctor was already approaching her, with a hand-held medical scanner at the ready.

“I should be the judge of that, if you don’t mind. Please, sit here.” He steered her to a biobed and made her sit down on the edge. “When did these symptoms begin?”

“Two days ago.” T’Pol suppressed her annoyance. Gerasen Gerasal had been right: she did have a problem, and since she was in Sickbay already, it would have been illogical not to use the opportunity to have it treated.

Her answer made the doctor frown; obviously, his other patients did not wait for days before getting help. He checked her neck and frowned again.

“Perhaps you slept in an awkward position,” he offered.

“I have not slept,” T’Pol replied.

“For two days?” the doctor asked, his disapproval obvious. “That can’t be healthy; unless you’re a Denobulan, of course. Something on your mind? It appears to be a tension headache. You know anything said between us is strictly confidential. Would you like to talk about what's troubling you?”

“No.” The mere thought of talking about her private problems – and to such a gregarious extrovert at that – filled her with deep unease.

The Denobulan gave her a thoughtful look.

“I don't know if there's anyone on this ship you would feel comfortable talking with, but if there is, it might feel good to get whatever's bothering you out in the open.” He gave her a dose of medication. “This is a simple analgesic. I can give you something later to help you sleep this evening, if you'd like.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She had no intention of asking for stronger medicine. What she needed was some undisturbed time to meditate; which was unlikely to happen before both the visit to the unnamed ice comet and the dinner with Captain Vanik were over.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
She went down to the galley next to discuss the dinner menu with Chef. Crewman Williams proved enthusiastic over the prospect of cooking up a formal dinner for a ranking Vulcan officer. He invited Petty Officer Daniels to join the conversation, since the quartermaster was known to have all inventory lists in his head and could tell them at once whether they had the required ingredients to any given recipe without having to check.

“What about Ulan soup?” It was Daniels who made the first suggestion. “It is said to be more flavourful than Plomeek soup and not so common.”

“It is,” Chef agreed. “But we might be out of redspice. I’ve used it fairly often lately.”

“We aren’t,” Daniels said with calm confidence. “If you use it sparsely, the reserves are enough for another six meals.”

“Ulan soup with Kreyla bread would be agreeable for starters,” T’Pol nodded.

“Unfortunately, I can’t offer much of a variety for the main course.” Chef pulled an unhappy face. “It’s either Pok’tar or Klentanna with Florati sauce; and the only thing I can come up with as a side dish is T’Mirak rice.”

“I suggest Pok’tar,” T’Pol said. “Florati sauce has many variables, and people from different places prefer different methods of preparation.”

Chef nodded. “Pok’tar it is; with steamed Lirs perhaps? Would that be acceptable for a VIP guest? I know it’s rather common, but it would go better with Pok’tar than the rice dish.”

“Is Lirs that thing that looks and tastes like spicy porridge?” Daniels asked with an unhappy grimace.

Chef grinned. “You’ll live – assuming you get to try it. There’s nothing wrong with porridge and besides, the cow lady likes Lirs a lot.”

“Acceptable,” T’Pol said. “I would suggest Ameelak for dessert; humans appear to like it. I was told it tastes like fried bananas.”

“It does,” Chef said. “At least then there will be something on the table that the captain likes. And hot Seya as the last course, I guess?”

“It is traditional,” T’Pol agreed. “Its absence would be unfavourably noticed.”

“Heaven forbid!” Chef produced a very convincing shudder but his eyes were laughing. “Well, it seems we’re done, then. Thank you for your help, Subcommander, Ianto.”

Daniels simply nodded and made to leave.

T’Pol, however, took notice of the overly familiar address and gave Chef a disapproving eyebrow. “Crewman Williams,” she said coolly, “is it appropriate to address a superior officer in such a manner?”

Chef looked mightily uncomfortable, but the quartermaster just laughed.

“Subcommander,” he replied, that peculiar lilt in his accent – the one Crewman Williams also had – thickening considerably, “we might be both non-comm Starfleet personnel, but first and foremost we’re both Welsh. I asked Rhys to call me by my given name. I don’t expect you – or anyone else on board – to understand.”

“I have given up the effort to understand humans as hopeless after my first year on Earth,” she commented dryly; her headache was getting worse. “I shall not attempt to do so now. Good day, Petty Officer, Crewman.”

She left the galley, her temples throbbing. Thanks to her Vulcan discipline, she was able to compartmentalize the pain, but its echoes kept breaking her concentration, despite the medicine she had received from Dr Phlox.

Perhaps the doctor was right. Perhaps speaking about the unfortunate situation would help. Thinking over the possibilities, there was really only one feasible choice. She stepped to the nearest comm unit and activated it.

“T’Pol to Ensign Sato. Ensign, would it be possible for you to meet me in my quarters after our shift ends?”

She waited until Hoshi acknowledged, then she returned to the Bridge. Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Mayweather were down on the ice planet, on a potentially dangerous mission. Her personal problems could wait.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the meantime Reed and Mayweather were having the time of their lives – for various reasons.

“I've never stood on a comet before.” The armoury officer looked around on the frozen vista in awe.

“Has anyone?” Mayweather burrowed his hand in the snow, regretting that he couldn’t actually feel it through the protective gloves.

“Not to my knowledge; the almost complete lack of gravity would make it impossible.”

“How is it that we can actually stand on the surface, then?” the young helmsman wondered while helping Reed to drag the drilling rig out of the shuttlepod.

“It’s the eisilium deposits,” Reed explained. “According to our resident Vulcan it’s some kind of super-dense stuff; denser than osmium, even, and therefore very heavy.”

“That’s good news for gravity.”

“But bad news for the drill,” Reed pointed out. “We’ll have to be very careful with it.”

“Do you think we’ll find anything else except that eisilium stuff, sir?” Mayweather took the charges out of their box and handed them to Enterprise’s demolition expert.

“History.” He placed the charges in a pre-set pattern. “The beauty of ice is that it records everything like a blank page. The farther down you drill, the farther back in time you go.”

Mayweather nodded absently and looked around with a wistful smile. “I've only seen snow twice in my life. I wish we could…”

He was interrupted by Reed’s communicator beeping. “Archer to Lieutenant Reed.”

“Go ahead, sir.”

“How are you doing, Lieutenant?”

“We've just set the charges, Captain, and are ready to go.”

“I'm sure I don't need to remind you we're being observed.” Archer’s voice sounded grim, even through the communicator.

“No, sir.” No, he didn’t need the reminder. He had dealt with Vulcans – including Vulcan intelligence officers – often enough to be very, very careful.

“We want this to go as smoothly as possible,” the tinny voice of the captain continued. “Make a good impression.”

“In that case, sir, you might want to inform the Vulcans we're about to make a very loud noise,” Reed answered with a wolfish grin.

They distantly heard the captain give Ensign Sato the respective order, and then finally the word came, “Blast away, Lieutenant!”

“Understood, sir.” Reed looked at his companion. “Let’s find some cover, Ensign; these are very powerful charges.”

They crouched down behind a huge ice pinnacle and the lieutenant set off the charges with practiced ease. They made a very loud noise indeed – or would have, had the comet possessed anything resembling an atmosphere. But even soundlessly, it was a rather spectacular explosion.

“Impressive,” Mayweather judged when the whirled-up snow had slowly settled again, as he inspected the resulting crater.

“I was hoping for a little more symmetry,” replied the armoury officer in a falsely mournful tone.

Mayweather rolled his eyes.

“I'll get the drill,” was all he said. “We need to fix it in position.”

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 19 – SECRETS, INSULTS AND LIES

While Reed and Mayweather were busy with the drill on the comet’s surface, Alpha Shift went off-duty. Hoshi made a detour to her quarters for a quick wash; then she rode the turbolift to Deck D, where the guest quarters and those of the senior officers were situated. She was supposed to meet T’Pol in her quarters before the dinner with the Vulcan captain.

She found their resident Vulcan sitting on the floor, meditating with candles. It took her a moment to realise that the candles were sculpted from some alabaster-like stone, with holographic flames.

It made sense, actually. Jack would never give permission to use open flames in the closed environment of a starship. Nor would Vulcan logic find them acceptable, most likely.

“You wanted to speak with me, Subcommander?” she asked uncertainly. Despite having been invited, she felt like an intruder.

The Vulcan gave her a fleeting glance. “Yes. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting. Please, sit down.”

“Sure.” Hoshi sat on the floor, crossing her legs comfortably, and looked around with interest. T’Pol’s living room was almost empty, save for the computerized desk that came with it. The air was warm and dry, the lights dim, and the gravity set clearly higher than the Earth norm. Vulcan conditions, obviously. “I've never seen your quarters before. They are even more Spartan than mine, and I get a lot of comments on that.”

“Sombre surroundings are helpful for meditation,” T’Pol replied. “You should try it.”

“Perhaps I will. God knows, I could use help with getting my issues under control,” Hoshi sighed. “Yoga and meditation kept me sane in prison… well, as sane as I could hope to remain anyway. I’ve neglected my exercises since coming on board, though; that was a mistake, but there were too many distractions.”

The presence of Malcolm Reed being the main one. But she didn’t want to talk about that right now.

“I can teach you methods you may find useful to achieve better focus,” T’Pol offered unexpectedly.

“Thank you; I’d like that very much,” Hoshi was surprised; touched, even. Who would have expected a Vulcan – any Vulcan – to reach out to a human? “But I’ve come to talk about you today. So, what can I do for you?”

“Doctor Phlox believes that it might help if I were to discuss my problem with someone in whom I felt comfortable confiding,” T’Pol explained.

“And you want to talk to me?” The young comm. officer felt even more surprised. Sure, they got along well enough, but she would never have expected the solitary Vulcan to confide in her – or in anyone on board, honestly. “If it’s – if it’s about the contents of your letter,” she ploughed on, blushing at the memory of her intrusion on such a private matter, “I'm not sure I'm going to be much help. I've never been betrothed, and the few relationships I’ve been in were all very short-lived. Men – human men at least – don’t like taking second place behind a woman’s work. . Are you sure you wouldn't rather talk to Ensign Kimball? She's married.”

“Speaking with someone else would mean more people knowing about my situation,” pointed out T’Pol. “I would rather avoid it becoming an issue of ship-wide gossip. It is a deeply private matter. I was assured that I can count on your discretion.”

“Sure, I won’t breathe a word about it,” Hoshi promised. “I’m still not sure what your problem is, though.”

“You read the letter.”

“Yes, I have, but the only thing I could understand is that the family of your… betrothed, was it?” T’Pol nodded. “That they demand from you to return to Vulcan immediately and go through the koon-ut-kali-fee – which, if I’m not mistaken, is the Vulcan equivalent of a marriage ceremony.”

“That is correct.”

“I still don’t see the problem. Do you no longer want to marry the guy, what’s his name…?”

“Koss.”

“Not an S-name, huh?” Hoshi commented in surprise.

“Different clans have different traditions for naming their children,” the Vulcan explained, “although all female names begin with a T, to signal the person’s betrothed status. Usually, only those related to Surak’s clan give their sons S-names; or the ones extraordinarily devoted to his teachings.”

“And Koss’s family isn’t.” It wasn’t really a question, but T’Pol nodded nevertheless. “Still, he must be a decent guy if you decided to marry him in the first place.”

“I did not.” Her voice was flat. “Marriages on Vulcan are arranged during childhood. When we were both seven Vulcan years old, our minds were telepathically bound together by a priestess in a ceremony known as the koon-ut-la. I've only met Koss four times since then.”

“They expect you to spend your life with a guy you've only met four times? How is that supposed to work?”

“It is assumed that we would eventually develop an affection for one another. Most Vulcan couples do, given enough time. The telepathic bond between spouses is usually very… intense.”

“Not in your case, apparently,” Hoshi commented.

The Vulcan inclined her head. “No, it is not. But that was to be expected. A bond like that needs to be cultivated to grow in intensity.”

“How?”

“There is a custom called ten’chara, in which betrothed spouses briefly communicate telepathically with each other, while their families discuss the couple’s future. Ten’chara is used to begin the bonding process for marriage and is usually performed once a year.” T’Pol paused. “Koss and I have only performed ten’chara four times in our entire lives.”

“Why?”

“My work has kept me away from Vulcan for decades.”

“And?” Hoshi was still not getting it.

“Vulcans are touch-telepaths, Ensign. To be able to communicate telepathically, we need physical contact. Only mated couples after decades of sharing are capable of reaching each other through their bond while in different places.”

Hoshi nodded. Things were starting to make sense at last. “So his parents sent you an ultimatum? He doesn't have a say?”

“His parents planned the union. It's their decision – at least theoretically.”

“While in reality…?” She trailed off expectantly.

The Vulcan remained silent for a minute or so, obviously struggling inwardly. “Have you ever heard of the pon farr?” she finally asked.

Hoshi nodded. “I’ve read about it in some ancient Golic text when I was learning High Vulcan. It is the mating madness, isn’t it?”

“Indeed; a periodically occurring chemical imbalance in our males that can drive them mad or kill them – unless they mate or purge the madness through ritual combat.”

“It’s still happening in these days?” Hoshi was shocked. “And what about the women?”

“Unbonded women, or those with a very weak bond, are not – or only superficially –affected. It is a strong bond that triggers the pon farr in the woman, while her mate goes through the blood fever.”

“And how does this affect your bond with Koss?” Hoshi asked. “Since it’s obviously a weak one and all that?”

“When it is not possible to unite with his promised one, either due to death or the sheer impossibility of returning home, the male is free to choose a different mate in a declaration called koon-ut-so’lik.” T’Pol explained. Then, after a long, meaningful pause, she added. “Koss declared koon-ut-so’lik when he first experienced pon farr, since I was beyond his reach at the time, serving on board of the science vessel Seleya.”

“Does this mean that he’s basically married to another woman now?” Hoshi tried to clarify. Even though she was fluent in Ancient Golic, the whole concept was very confusing.

“No,” T’Pol said. “His bond with the other female was a temporary one. Those can be broken by an experienced healer with relative ease.”

“That’s what his parents want? To break his bond with the other woman and make him marry you? Why now?”

“Our koon-ut-kali-fee was supposed to take place while we were in the Berengaria system. When I decided to remain on Enterprise, instead of returning home with Minister Solkar, Koss's parents were insulted that I would put off our – their – plans in order to serve on a human vessel.”

Hoshi thought about the problem for a moment. “You can go home with the Ti’Mur, though, can’t you? Why don't you go marry Koss, then come back?”

“It's customary for a husband and wife to reside together for at least one Vulcan year.”

“But it doesn’t have to be on Vulcan, does it?” The ensign was thinking furiously. “Maybe he can come to Enterprise?”

“He is an architect.” T’Pol seemed dangerously close to resignation… for a Vulcan anyway. “It would be illogical for him to live aboard a starship.”

“True, he wouldn’t be of much use here; and Enterprise isn’t a pleasure cruiser,” her companion agreed. “Well, I guess it all comes down to what you want, in the end.”

“That is irrelevant,” the Vulcan said tonelessly.

Hoshi shook her head in fierce determination. “No, it's not. It's very relevant. Do you want to go back and marry this guy, spend a year with him, ten years, a hundred years, or do you want to stay on Enterprise?”

“I have an obligation,” pointed out T’Pol. “This union is very important for my family; for reasons I am not allowed to discuss.”

“You've got an obligation to yourself as well,” was the obvious reply. ”When I allowed others to use my family to make me give them what they wanted – it got me in prison, where I’d still be rotting away if not for Jack Archer. And even so, I’m gonna be in indentured servitude for the next five years! Everyone has got the right to make their personal choices – even Vulcans.”

“You have learned our language,” said the Vulcan after a lengthy pause. “You have studied our customs, as far as an outsider could. You ought to know that our commitment to tradition outweighs personal choices.”

“Believe me, I know all about tradition and how it can cripple one’s freedom,” Hoshi laughed bitterly. “I’m Japanese, but our family has lived in England for two centuries. To keep their cultural roots, my parents tried to out-balance that fact by being so conservative that I was the laughing stock of my schoolmates. They even tried to arrange a marriage for me with an acceptable Japanese man – and arranged marriages went out on Earth with slavery. In theory anyway. Tradition is fine, but only as long as it doesn’t undermine your entire future.”

“That might be true for you,” T’Pol replied slowly. “My obligation is to my culture, my heritage. It has to take precedence.”

“It sounds to me as if you’d be trying very hard to convince yourself about that. Did it ever occur to you that you might have postponed the wedding because subconsciously you wanted to get out of it?”

“That would imply that my subconscious mind controls my decisions.” The customary Vulcan stiffness was back. “It doesn't.”

“Really?” Hoshi raised an eyebrow in a mock copy of the Vulcan gesture.

“It is not supposed to,” T’Pol reiterated. “However, my family is in a somewhat… delicate position in such matters.”

“Of which you can’t speak.”

“Correct.”

“Then I’m sorry but I really don’t know how to help you.”

“You already have.” T’Pol paused again. “I did not give you much on which to base your advice; I apologise for burdening you with my problems.”

“Don’t.” Hoshi waved away her concern. “That’s what friends are for, isn’t it?”

“I would not know,” answered the Vulcan after a moment of consideration. “I never had a human friend before. Are we friends… in human terms?”

“Not yet,” Hoshi smiled. It was touching to see this highly capable, experienced woman (who was probably twice her age) struggle with such simple concepts as human friendship. “But I’d like to give it a try. What about you?”

The Vulcan considered the offer unhurriedly. “That would be agreeable,” she finally said. “Thank you, Ensign.”

“Hoshi. My name is Hoshi.”

“I am aware of that fact. Thank you, Hoshi.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jack Archer had not expected their dinner with the captain of the Ti’Mur to be a joyful event, despite the fact that Gerasen Gerasal had accepted the invitation and promised to run interference if she had to. Jack’s expectations (or the lack thereof) were proved correct, almost as soon as they sat down to eat.

Other than the Viseeth and T’Pol, he invited Charlie Tucker and Doctor Phlox to the event; the former because he had worked with Vulcans before, the latter because he most likely knew more about Vulcans in general than anyone else aboard Enterprise – anyone who wasn’t Vulcan themselves, that is. Jack would have liked to invite Hoshi as well, if for no other reason than because she spoke Vulcan fluently, but he could hardly justify having a junior officer present. Besides, with six people around the table his private dining room was quite crowded already.

The meal, of course, was excellent. Jack wasn’t into vegan diet, but even he had to admit that Chef had a knack for turning the blandest ingredients into something thoroughly enjoyable. The Ulan soup in particular was rich in hot, spicy flavour.

Gerasen Gerasal clearly agreed with him in that point because she was obviously enjoying her soup very much. Jack wondered briefly what it would taste like for her amphibian taste buds; then he pushed that thought from the focus of his attention and turned to their guest.

“If I'm not mistaken, you're flying a Suurok-class ship.”

“You are not mistaken.” The Vulcan’s tone strongly discouraged any further inquiries, but Jack wasn’t giving up so easily.

“You can get her up to, what, six, six point five?”

“Six point five.” If possible, Captain Vanik’s tone grew even more forbidding. He clearly didn’t expect his host to see that as a challenge.

“I'd love to get a look inside those nacelles,” Charlie Tucker commented innocently.

Vanik stiffened so much that Jack feared his spine would snap; not that that would have been such a tragic loss. “Our warp systems are classified.”

“Now isn’t that a surprise?” Charlie grimaced a bit at his main course; he wasn’t a fan of vegan dishes. “With such accommodatin’ allies, who needs enemies?”

“Trip!” Jack said in a warning tone; then he turned back to their guest with a big, fake smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I apologise on behalf of my chief engineer, Captain. He’s always eager to learn from your people and frankly, I can’t really blame him. Vulcan ships are amazing. A few years back I was a guest aboard a Maymora-class ship, the Yarahla. Captain Torak. Do you know him?”

“Not personally.” Vanik’s voice was emotionless, as it could be expected, but something in it suggested disapproval – whether towards his fellow Vulcan captain or the fact that Torak had allowed a lowly human on board his ship, was hard to tell.

“I met Captain Torak at a joint interspecies meeting last year,” Phlox said with one of his unnaturally wide smile. “He is a remarkably open-minded person… for a Vulcan,” he added, giving Vanik a wink that was ignored.

“That he is,” Jack agreed hurriedly, before his chief medical officer could put his foot even deeper into his mouth. “We made a run to a dark matter nebula. He let me help set up the graviton telescope. Most fun I've ever had on a space walk. Those Vulcan EV suits are something else, like you're flying around inside your own little starship.”

“You are easily impressed,” Vanik said condescendingly.

“No, I’m really not,” Jack replied. “But if you mean I haven’t lost my sense of wonder yet, then I agree. I hope I’ll never dry up in the inside so much that I won’t be able to appreciate all the amazing things we’re about to encounter.”

The addition like you hung between them unspoken. The following silence was anything but pleasant… until Gerasen Gerasal decided to run interference.

“Is something wrong with your Pok’tar, Captain?” she asked innocently

The Vulcan almost startled. Gerasen Gerasal had blended in with her surroundings so well until then that he had probably forgotten about her presence. Telepaths could do that: surrounding themselves with telepathic ‘white noise’, so it would seem as if they weren’t even there.

“No,” Vanik said after a moment.

The Viseeth tilted her head to the side with that lizard-like gesture of hers. “If it is not to your liking, I am sure Captain Archer can have something else prepared for you. Humans are accommodating by their very nature; and Chef Williams is quite gifted at preparing Vulcan dishes.”

“I have already eaten,” Vanik replied stonily.

“Really?” Jack found that Gerasen Gerasal faked surprise very convincingly. “Why would you do something so illogical – unless, of course, you wanted to deliberately insult our hosts?”

Deathly silence fell over the room. Jack was biting the inside of his cheek so as not to laugh. Charlie, for his part, didn’t even try to hide his grin.

“Perhaps he was saving room for dessert,” he offered right on cue as the petty officer arrived with the Ameelak, served in small, quadratic glass bowls.

Temperatures in the room dropped another ten degrees or so.

“Well, since you obviously like to watch us, I thought we could make it easier for you,” Jack said, addressing Vanik again, while the others – even T’Pol – were enjoying their dessert. “Commander Tucker can give you a tour around. Enterprise may not be Suurok-class, but she's quite a ship.”

“Perhaps another time,” the Vulcan said stiffly. The conversation came to another screeching halt.

In the meantime Daniels collected the used dishes and brought in the hot Seya, a spicy tea that traditionally closed formal Vulcan meals.

“Tea?” he asked the Vulcan.

Vanik refused to accept. “I only drink water.”

“I’m afraid the chances of you being offered water on this ship are slim, Captain,” Phlox said in a falsely cheerful voice, his tone making sure he was well aware of the true meaning of his own words.

Offering water was a gesture of friendship and trust in Vulcan tradition. These were things that Vanik had yet to earn from the captain of the Enterprise, and was unlikely to earn any time soon.

“I think I must agree with the doctor’s prediction,” Jack said with a smile that was colder than a snow storm on Rigel X. “Well; this was a singularly unpleasant experience. One that I’m not eager to repeat in the foreseeable future.” He rose from his seat, and his officers, including T’Pol, automatically followed suit. “I'm sure you're eager to get back to your ship so I'll trouble you with just one last question. How long do you plan on spying on us?”

The Vulcan rose, too, his face unreadable. “If we were spying, Captain, you would have never detected our presence.”

“Perhaps not,” Jack agreed. “Which is likely the reason why we only caught you now. I’d love to know what’s in that comet that’s so important that you gave up your cover for it, but I don’t expect you to tell me. The Vulcan who’d be honest with us has to be born yet.”

“Your attitude towards us borders on paranoia, Captain,” Vanik stated. “Your inexperience and your arrogance are your enemies, not us.”

“If that isn’t the pot callin’ the kettle black,” Charlie muttered angrily, and – despite his annoyance – Jack couldn’t quite suppress a grin at the identical blank look on the faces of the two Vulcans. Before he could have – reluctantly – reprimanded Trip, though, the comm unit beeped.

“Captain, you should take a look at this.” Hoshi’s voice sounded anxious. “Travis and Lieutenant Reed are having problems.”

“On my way.” Jack opened the door and waved in Crewman Burrows, the security officer on duty. “Please show Captain Vanik to the launch bay.”

“Aye, sir.” Burrows gestured in the direction of the door. “This way, Captain.”

The Vulcan turned around and headed towards the door. Before leaving, however, he looked back for a moment and gave T’Pol a cold glare.

“Shan sha'tuhllar ak ko-mesh,” he said; and then he was gone.

Charlie stared after him with a frown. “What'd he say?”

Instead of answering, T’Pol turned and left the room too.

“Ask Ensign Sato,” Phlox suggested, on his way out. If the survey team was in trouble, he might be needed in Sickbay.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“What happened?” Jack asked, stepping onto the Bridge.

“We hit a layer of magnesite and cracked a drill bit, but we've replaced it,” Reed’s voice answered through the comm.

“Good.” Jack looked at the image of the comet rotating on the main viewer. “What’s the problem then?”

“The comet's rotational axis shifted when they set off the charges,” reported Lieutenant Foster, Reed’s second-in-command. “In about two hours the shuttlepod will be facing the star.”

“Did you hear that, Lieutenant?” Jack asked. “You may want to pick up the pace a little bit. The temperature's going to shoot up by a couple of hundred degrees. I want you out of there before then.”

“We'll be done with time to spare, sir,” Reed’s voice answered.

Jack rolled his eyes. Self-confidence was good but caution was better. Especially in a situation like this.

“Be sure you are,” he said. “Archer out.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Unfortunately his doubts soon proved well-founded. The survey team was finished and packing up to leave when Travis slipped and fell back into the crater they had blown, wrenching his knee in the process. It took Reed considerable effort to help him out of the trap and back to the shuttlepod, and when the armoury officer returned for their gear and the core sample they had taken – they didn’t want to go back to the ship empty-handed – a white dawn was already looming below the horizon.

He had just returned to the pod when there was a cracking sound and a network of cracks appeared in the ice in front of him. By the time he stored the sample in one of the safety boxes, the cracks were starting to become crevasses.

“I hope I never see snow again,” Mayweather muttered as Reed helped him into the pilot’s seat. “Igniting thrusters for lift-off… now.”

As soon as he started the thrusters, alarms began bleeping frantically, there was another cracking noise and the pod fell through the weakened surface ice without further warning. When they were finally caught in the deeper layers, they were badly shaken up, though aware things could have been much worse.

“You all right?” Reed asked, worried about his already injured shipmate.

“No,” Mayweather replied, holding his injured knee that he had bumped against the control board. “We should have never ignited the thrusters.”

“Well, it's not like we had a choice,” Reed commented reasonably; then he saw they had an incoming transmission and answered it. “Reed here.”

“You two okay?” Archer’s voice asked.

“More or less.” The Englishman gave their young pilot a worried look. “How far did we drop?”

“About eighteen metres,” the captain replied. “Don’t worry; we'll get you out of there in a few minutes.”

“We're not going anywhere,” Reed said dryly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“And how, exactly, are you planning to get them out of there, Captain?” Lieutenant Foster asked doubtfully.

“With the grappler; or do you have a better suggestion?”

Foster shook his head. “Too bad our chief pilot’s the one stuck inside the comet,” he said. “This will require some tricky flying, sir.”

“Well, aren’t we lucky to have a captain who’s just as capable of flying the ship?” Jack returned sarcastically; then he looked at his friend. “Trip, I want you to direct me. You know these systems better than anyone else. Lieutenant, you’ll do the manual part. Bring the grappler online.”

Foster nodded and Charlie humped, with his cane at his side, to watch the readings. “It won’t be easy, Jack,” he warned the captain. “The mouth of that chasm's a little narrow.”

“Don’t worry, I'll get you in close enough.” Jack felt the great ship come alive under his fingers as he worked the controls to fly low over the comet. It was a heady feeling, and for a moment he envied Mayweather who could do this all the time. “Do you see them?”

“Bring us in another fifty metres.” Charlie kept guiding him with tense attention. “Two metres starboard. A little more.”

Jack followed Charlie’s instructions precisely. Precision flying was one of his strengths, even though he did feel a bit… rusty. He synchronised to the rotation and brought them in even closer. In the end, though, all his efforts were in vain. One of the grapplers did hit the pod, but the other missed. And when they tried to pull out the little vessel with just one grappler, they lost it. The eisilium deposits were disrupting the maglock. The grappler gave way and the pod tumbled back down again and landed with a thud.

“They've fallen another nine metres,” T’Pol reported.

Jack let out a frustrated sigh. “Let's try it again.”

“Captain, they're moving out of the sunlight,” the Vulcan warned. “The surface ice is recrystallising.”

“In less than an hour that chasm will be sealed up again,” Charlie added unhappily.

And when that happened, they wouldn’t have a rat’s chance to get the two men out of it in time. Jack knew that just as well.

“Then we'd better hurry.”

“There is another option, Captain,” T’Pol injected. “The Ti’Mur has a tractor beam that won't be affected by the eisilium.”

Jack stared at her in shocked disbelief. “You’re seriously suggesting that I ask that arrogant son-of-a-bitch for help?”

“You don’t have to, sir,” Hoshi interfered softly. “They’ve just hailed us, less than a minute ago. Captain Vanik offered to assist us. We can simply accept.”

“We can do this on our own,” Jack replied stubbornly.

“Sure we can, but will we be done in time?” Charlie asked. “I don't like him any more than you do, Captain, but a tractor beam sounds like a pretty good idea right now.”

“Vanik expects you to refuse his offer,” T’Pol added quietly. “He sees humans as arrogant, prideful. Are you going to prove him right? You can save your crewmen, or you can let your pride stand in the way. You are human. You are free to choose.”

There was a strange emphasis in her voice when she said that, making Jack wonder what she truly meant by it. But she was also right, and he knew it.

“Very well,” he said, defeated. “Hoshi, hail the Ti’Mur and tell Captain Vanik we’d be grateful for his assistance.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two hours later Reed and Mayweather were back on board, a bit battered but in one piece and not frozen solid yet. Not entirely. They brought with them the core piece (which the science department snatched at once) and a great deal of data they had collected.

While Mayweather’s knee injury was being treated in Sickbay and Reed was taking a hot shower – a very long one – Jack contacted the Ti’Mur again, to offer sharing said data. His offer, just like Charlie’s request to take a look at the tractor beam’s specifications, was refused. Not that he’d expected any different.

“We'll be leaving within the hour,” Vanik said at the end of their conversation. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“You've done more than enough.” Like Charlie, John would have loved to learn more about that tractor beam, but since that was out of question… “See you around.”

With that, the transmission ended, and Jack turned to T’Pol. “This won’t be the last time we see the Ti'Mur, will it?”

“Unlikely,” she agreed; then, after a short pause, she added, “Captain, with your permission, I'd like to transmit a message to the Ti'Mur, to send to Vulcan.”

Jack nodded. “Go right ahead. Hoshi can help you with the encrypting, so that you’ll get done in time. She managed to crack that code pretty quickly… for a mere human.”

“Thank you, Captain, but I do not believe it would be necessary to encrypt the message. It is a simple personal matter, after all.”

“Yeah, but we don’t want High Command to realise that you’ve spilled the beans to us,” Jack pointed out. “Let them believe that you’re still their brave little… observer,” he corrected himself just in time before he’d slip up and say spy, “just to be on the safe side.”

“Spilled… ‘the beans’?” she repeated in mild confusion. “Captain, I do not remember any accident involving Terran vegetables during my stay aboard this ship.”

Jack grinned. “It’s just an expression. Ask Hoshi, perhaps she can tell you where it comes from.” He rose. “You’ve got the Bridge. I’ll be in Sickbay to see how Travis is doing.”

He left. T’Pol stepped to Hoshi’s station and gave her a data chip. “Perhaps the captain is right. I would appreciate your help with the encrypting of this message, Ensign.”

Hoshi did not correct the formal addressing… this time. They were both on duty, after all. “Have you come to a decision?” she asked instead.

“I requested a postponement,” the Vulcan replied.

“So the ball is in their court now?”

“The ball…” T’Pol frowned slightly; it was an unusual sight on the face of a Vulcan. “Ensign, I believe I shall require your help with colourful human expressions. The more I am exposed to them, the less sense they make to me.”

Hoshi laughed. “They can be confusing, even for humans coming from a different tradition. Why don’t you make a list as you encounter them, and I’ll explain them one by one – if I can.”

“I would appreciate that,” T’Pol answered formally. “Now to my message… do you think we can get it sent within the hour?”

“Sure. It’s all part of the service,” Hoshi beamed at her and shoved the data chip into the corresponding slot of her console.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 20 – THIRD STRIKE – THE PILGRIMS

After their encounter with ‘Archer’s Comet’, as the treacherous celestial body had been nicknamed by the crew – and with Captain Vanik and his ship – Enterprise continued her journey to the Delphic Expanse. To general relief, the following week went by without any mentionable events. As great as adventures might be, one needed a break between them from time to time, as Crewman Fletcher put it.

People used the break to catch up with overdue issues – or simply with sleep. To everyone’s great delight, Crewmen Naiman and Walsh - the two engineers first attacked by the Elachi intruders - had waken up from their medically induced coma in a relatively good shape, even though Naiman had been understandably shocked when he learned about Crewman Cooper’s final fate; the two had been quite close. Closer, perhaps, than what was considered acceptable by the non-fraternisation rules. Therefore further counselling sessions had been prescribed.

Ensign Mayweather’s wrenched knee had been treated by Doctor Phlox, and while he was still restricted to light duty, at least he was no longer confined to bed rest. Those four days had been enough to drive an active young man like him up the bulkheads.

For the first time since the accident, Phlox had allowed the young helmsman to take half of his shift on the Bridge, and he was eager to grab the chance. He was still limping a little – mostly because he had been ordered to be careful with his damaged ‘knee – as he hurried towards the turbolift… and nearly missed it as the door began to close.

“Hold the door!” he shouted.

A hand must have touched the sensor surface within, for the door slid back open obediently. He stepped into the cabin and found Hoshi there, ready to report for duty as well. She smiled at him – that shy, lovely smile that’d had him weak-kneed ever since they came on board… not that he’d give himself a rat’s chance. She was older than him, a certified genius – and the captain’s personal friend. Still, it was nice to have her as a friend and a colleague. At least they shared an interest in movies.

Which reminded him…

“Where were you last night?” he asked.

“I had a session with T’Pol,” she explained. “She’s teaching me Vulcan meditation techniques.”

“That must have been… strange.” Travis stopped himself from saying dull in the last possible moment.

“In a sense,” Hoshi admitted. “The Vulcan brain has a different structure and, as a result, it works differently from ours. Using their techniques is very efficient, as T’Pol would tell you, but also tiring for a human. I decided to turn in early after our session.”

Travis still couldn’t understand why anyone would want to meditate like Vulcans did but decided it wasn’t his business.

“Well, you didn't miss much,” he said instead.

That piqued Hoshi’s interest. “What did they show?”

“Night of the Killer Androids,” Travis replied darkly.

Hoshi laughed; it was a lovely sound and way too rare to hear. “That bad?”

“We've got fifty thousand movies in the database,” he muttered unhappily. “There must be something worth watching.”

Hoshi gave him a coy look. “You could always read a book, you know.”

They laughed. It was an old argument between them. Travis, being more the visual type, preferred movies to books, while Hoshi (although she liked movies too) kept telling him than only books would help to develop a vivid imagination.

Since there was little chance of them solving this particular disagreement any time soon, they dropped the topic and stepped out of the lift cabin, directly onto the Bridge, where they found Reed holding down the fort.

“Lieutenant.” Travis nodded politely and went straight to his station, relieving the crewman on duty. Hoshi did the same.

Reed nodded back. “Ensigns. Enjoyed the show last night?” he then asked Travis, who pulled a face.

“Not really. What about you, sir?”

The armoury officer adopted one of his many stiff-lipped British non-expressions. “Those were two hours of my life I’d rather have back.”

“I can’t blame you.” Mayweather checked the readings of his console… and frowned. “Sir, I notice we’ve changed course. May I ask why?”

“There's a stellar nursery not far from here,” Reed told him. “We detected several ships inside and Captain Archer thought we might go say hello.”

His extremely dry tone left no doubt what he thought about the idea, and Hoshi suppressed a smile. It was so very like Jack Archer to change course, just to find out what kind of people lived in this region.

Personally, she could relate. New people meant new languages and, as Doctor Phlox had put once, there was so much to learn! She was looking forward to new experiences.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It took them another three hours at warp two to reach the stellar nursery – a spectacular nebula of cosmic gases in which stars were being formed, giving off bursts of ultraviolet light. It was a fairly amazing sight with its glowing kaleidoscope of intense colours.

“The Straya-Ralash Nebula,” T’Pol commented. “One of the more spectacular phenomena in this area of space. It was first registered by the scout ship Ozhika, a hundred and twenty-three point seven of your standard years ago, but never actually charted.”

“So, Vulcans ain’t interested in nebulae, either?” Charlie Tucker, who had come up to the Bridge for a better look, asked mockingly.

T’Pol ignored him with practised ease.

“An interesting name,” Jack commented. “Does it have a meaning?”

“Straya-ralash is one of the Vulcan consonants, its written form consisting of three separate horizontal glyphs,” Hoshi answered in T’Pol’s stead, and the Vulcan nodded.

“That is correct.”

“That’s all?” Jack asked, clearly disappointed. “Your people named a phenomenon like this after a letter of your alphabet? That’s so… so lame!”

“Vulcan astronomers do not give cosmic phenomena random names based on their personal fantasy,” T’Pol said dryly. “They use a logical system based on the letters of the Vulcan alphabet – and a number code, if necessary. This system gives instant information about the phenomenon’s location related to the galactic core.”

“It may seem a bleak solution to you who are quite new to the wonders of the cosmos, Captain,” added Gerasen Gerasal, who had also come to the Bridge to take a look. “But from the practical point of view the Vulcan method works extremely well. Which is why my people adopted it millennia ago – it worked better than our own. It is no shame to learn, even from a much younger people.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack wasn’t quite willing to change his opinion about it just yet. Instead, he turned to Mayweather. “What have you got, Travis?”

“We found one of the ships, sir,” the pilot replied eagerly.

Jack nodded. “Put it up.”

Mayweather threw a switch, and the image of an extremely unspectacular ship – one that had clearly seen better days – appeared on the viewscreen, backlit by the gorgeous colours of the nebula.

“It appears to be a transport vessel,” T’Pol commented, not bothering to tell them what she might have based her estimate on.

“Hail them,” Jack ordered, and Hoshi was only too happy to obey,

“They're responding,” she reported, putting up onto the screen the image of a bald alien with blunt reptilian features, horn-like ridges above nonexistent eyebrows and large scale plates rather than skin. “The universal translator is adapting to their language surprisingly well.”

“Can I help you?” the alien asked in a tone that was more bored than anything else.

Jack stepped into the focus of the cameras. “My name is Archer. I'm captain of the starship Enterprise. We're from Earth. We thought we'd introduce ourselves.”

“Pleased to meet you.” If possible, the alien sounded even more bored. Meeting previously unknown people was clearly old hat for it. “What do you want?”

“Nothing.” Jack was slightly taken aback by the other’s obvious lack of enthusiasm. “We're new to this region and we're eager to make contact with other species.”

“Oh.” This was clearly a new concept for the alien because it became momentarily speechless.

Jack used the opportunity to continue his campaign of making friends. “If you don't mind my asking, what brings you here?”

“A job.” The alien found its voice again. “I'm escorting a group of spiritually minded men on a pilgrimage to the Great Plume of Agosoria.”

“To the… the what?” Jack was temporarily confused.

He wasn’t the only one. Even Gerasen Gerasal and T’Pol exchanged blank looks.

“Every eleven years, one of the protostars gives out a neutron blast,” the alien explained in the same bored tone. “These gentlemen believe it's a sacred event. If you ask me, I think it's just another ball of hydrogen.”

Jack tended to agree. He found the idea that space-faring species would mistake cosmic phenomena for mythical events ... odd, to say the least. Still, the sight might be worth seeing. T’Pol seemed to think so, too; but there again, she was a scientist. She more likely wanted to take some readings than immerse herself in any supposed spiritual value the experience might be believed to have.

“When is this Great Plume due to erupt?” she asked.

“Tomorrow,” the alien told her.

She looked at Jack. “Captain, since the Straya-Ralash Nebula has not been charted so far by either Vulcans or humans, it would be a good opportunity to collect some data. A protostar with such a regular cycle is a rare phenomenon in this area of space.”

“Why not?” Jack actually liked the idea of being first at something. “Mind if we join you?” he asked the alien.

It shrugged indifferently. “It's your time to waste.”

That didn’t sound too promising – or friendly – but Jack wasn’t about to give up just yet. This was a first contact situation, after all; one that appeared to be peaceful, for a change.

“I'd like to extend an invitation to you and your passengers to visit Enterprise,” he continued, putting on the most charming grin he could manage.

Unfortunately, his efforts were clearly wasted on the alien.

“I'll ask them if they're interested,” it said, its own lack of interest glaringly obvious. “I prefer to stay with my own ship.”

“Understood.” No, actually Jack could not understand how someone – anyone – could dismiss the opportunity to take a look at a ship like Enterprise. First Vanik and now this… reptile guy. What was wrong with these people? “Thank you for your efforts, Mister…?”

“Fraddock”, the alien said. “Captain Fraddock.”

And it ended the transmission without a further word.

“Charming,” Charlie commented sarcastically. “So, are we havin’ guests?”

“We might,” Jack replied. “I’d order Chef to prepare something but we have no idea what these people eat.”

“Asking them once they are here – assuming there will be any coming – would be the most prudent line of action,” T’Pol suggested.

“Or you could order a buffet meal with both normal and vegan dishes,” Hoshi said. “That way they can make their own choices and explore Earth cuisine.”

Jack gave her an encouraging smile. “You’ve always been so practical-minded, Hoshi.“

And on that note he contacted his quartermaster to issue the necessary instructions.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, former Starfleet spy – pardon, intelligence officer – found Captain Archer’s idea of inviting onboard a bunch of previously unknown aliens (whose true intentions they couldn’t even guess) a bloody unreasonable one. To put it mildly.

“Sometimes I really can’t understand Starfleet’s poster boys,” he complained to Ensign Soccorro, who could be relied upon to keep such improper utterances strictly private. “He wants to give them a tour of the ship, too – what for?”

Soccorro shrugged. “He’s very proud of the ship. And frankly, he has every reason to be proud.”

“Yes, and the best way to endanger both ship and crew is to let a bunch of strangers loose on board,” Reed commented darkly. “I hope he's not planning to show them the Armoury.”

“God, I hope he isn’t.” Soccorro shuddered at the thought. “A reprimand for insubordination wouldn’t look well on my record – or yours, sir.”

Neither of them would allow the strangers to enter the Armoury, regardless of the captain’s orders. Ultimately, they both answered to Starfleet Intelligence; but a confrontation with their immediate superior wouldn’t have been a good thing.

“Let’s hope these so-called pilgrims aren’t the types who'd go around stealing military secrets,” she added.

“And how are we supposed to know that?” Reed asked glumly. “We're not familiar with these species. They aren’t even in the Vulcan database. I know. I checked.”

“I thought you would, sir.”

“They shouldn’t even be on board,” the armoury officer continued, ignoring her comment. “At the very least tactical systems should be off-limits. And Engineering.”

Soccorro nodded, in complete agreement with him. Then something caught her attention and she frowned at her control screen. “Sir, starboard targeting sensor's out again. Should I call Engineering?”

“No. I'll take care of it.” Reed scowled. “It'll only take a moment. And then I’ll go to the docking port. I want to take a good, hard look at our…guests when they arrive. I leave the Armoury in your capable hands, Ensign – keep it safe!”

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant.” She pulled a sleek weapon – one that definitely wasn’t regular Starfleet issue and couldn’t even be recognised as a weapon at first sight – from under her console and laid it onto the instrumental board. “No-one will enter here without your express orders. Not even the captain.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Having readjusted the annoyingly recalcitrant targeting sensor, Reed went on to the docking port, where Archer, Tucker and T’Pol had already congregated to welcome their visitors. It was a pressurised area, so he could enter without delay and join his fellow senior officers, just as the hatch opened and half a dozen people stepped out onto the metallic deck.

These were the most bizarre-looking aliens he had ever seen – and he had seen his fair share of bizarre creatures, considerably more than any other human on board Enterprise, with the possible exception of Ensign Mayweather. After the first contact with the Vulcans, Denobulans, Klingons and the various Centaurian subspecies, people at Starfleet Intelligence tended to joke that all aliens looked like humans, only with bumps on their foreheads, pointy ears or odd eye colours. Even the Viseeth appeared surprisingly human to the naked eye.

The Shroomies and Gerasen Gerasal’s abductors were the first truly… alien aliens he had met. And now these people.

The creature that appeared to be the leader of the group was bipedal with a slender humanoid body, but there all similarities ended. It was tall, a couple of inches taller than Archer even, its skin a pale purple with streaks of crimson. It had an elongated face with three pairs of green eyes (with slanted yellow pupils) that were arranged vertically and separated by thick ridges. A feature vaguely resembling a nose was situated between the upmost pair of eyes, and it seemed to have an additional, heart-shaped orifice in the centre of its forehead – an organ the purpose of which Reed couldn’t even begin to guess.

Still, it sounded ordinary enough as it bowed to Archer and introduced itself in a hoarse, male-sounding voice.

“Greetings. I'm Prah Mantoos. May Agosoria embrace you into his cycle of renewal.”

“Errr… thanks,” the captain replied, a little bewildered. Then he collected himself again. “Welcome aboard. Captain Jack Archer.” He extended his hand. “It's customary on Earth to greet someone with a handshake.”

The alien grabbed Archer’s hand with his own three-fingered one and squeezed carefully. Then he made a sweeping gesture towards the rest of his group. “These are my fellow celebrants. We've travelled many light years from different worlds to watch this event.”

He named the others but Reed couldn’t mark all the names at once. It didn’t really matter; Soccorro was monitoring the event and recording everything for further analysis.

Archer introduced his senior staff, and with the formalities out of the way, Prah Mantoos gestured to one of the pilgrims wearing the same style of hooded blue robe as himself, who brought forth from some fold within it a glass circle with etchings, in a stand.

“For you, Captain,” Mantoos declared, handing the thing over to Archer.

The captain nodded his thanks. “It's beautiful. What exactly is it?”

“A clock,” Mantoos explained. "It charts time from the beginning of the universe.”

Reed suppressed a derisive snort. Granted, the etchings were pretty, but the so-called clock didn’t seem to have any working mechanism… or generally any means at all of doing anything. He sought out T’Pol’s attention and the Vulcan gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. Malcolm decided to snatch the thing at the first possible opportunity and take it apart to see what made it tick – or whether it would represent any threat. He had the feeling that at this particular time T’Pol would be more than willing to contribute her own efforts.

Mantoos now stepped back, changing places with another pilgrim. This one wore brown and seemed to have both reptilian and mammalian traits: an elongated torso, long arms and just one pair of big reptilian eyes. Its head was crowned by a long twin structure resembling a hollow crest, not unlike that of the trumpet-headed dinosaurs from Earth’s past.

This second alien bowed politely, too, and handed a long bottle of red liquid to Tucker.

“Voo-Sinteel,” it explained in a high-pitched, almost falsetto voice. “It's a spirit traditionally consumed as the Plume reaches its full brilliance. You'll find it enhances the experience.”

“Mmm, I'm sure it does,” the chief engineer replied with interest, and Reed hoped by God he would be able to snatch the bottle too, if their resident technological wizard was stupid enough to try drinking the stuff.

Had they all skipped survival training at the Academy?

He decided to keep an eye on their visitors personally. Lieutenant Foster and Crewman Fuller were more than capable of dealing with Tactical and Security between the two of them, even if he summoned Soccorro to help him.

Melting into the shadows, he prepared to follow the aliens everywhere, and deal with them if he had to. That was what he did best, after all.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Sure enough, his suspicions proved well-founded. Their intrepid captain and over-enthusiastic chief engineer must have skipped survival training indeed, because not only did they take the visitors on an extended tour of Enterprise – including such sensitive places as Engineering, where they had no business whatsoever to be – but Commander Tucker also felt it necessary to reveal far too much highly sensitive information about the working of their engines, while boasting about their excellence.

Reed could understand that Tucker was intensely proud of the ship he had helped to build. He had every right to be. But did he not realise that by revealing too many details of the ship’s warp drive processes he was also revealing their potential weak points to virtual strangers whose true intentions they didn’t know? And one of them apparently a warp field theorist at that!

Talk about ‘coincidences’!

“It makes one wonder if the Vulcans weren’t right about us,” he commented to Soccorro who had just joined him on the catwalk above Engineering. “Perhaps mankind isn’t ready for deep space missions yet. Not with such a suicidal attitude.”

“At the very least starships’ commanding officers should go through the same training as ours,” Soccorro agreed, watching with mild distaste as Commander Tucker spouted crucial details about his beloved engine. “They are dangerously naïve.”

“Unfortunately, that would mean making them aware of the existence of Section 31, which Starfleet Intelligence cannot afford. Not yet; perhaps never,” the armoury officer pointed out, consciously blanking out Tucker’s anecdote about how they had momentarily lost the primary magnetic constrictors and the backup during their training tests.

“About a billion positrons cut through the platin’ on three decks,” the chief engineer was telling his audience with a great deal of dramatic flair. “Nearly caused a hull breach. We spent a month redesignin’ the system. It hasn’t given us a single problem since.”

“That may be true,” Soccorro said, responding to Reed’s comment about Section 31, “but Starfleet can’t afford losing ships due to their senior officers’ stupidity. I have a very bad feeling about this, sir.”

“You’re not the only one,” Reed muttered, watching as one of the aliens – one that had the same horn-like ridges above its eye sockets as Captain Fraddock – drifted unobtrusively away from the group. “Bloody hell, what’s that bloke doing?”

They were not close enough to interfere, so they had to watch helplessly as the alien’s arm became uncannily flexible and then reached into part of the engine and pulled connections before its owner rejoined the group.

“I knew they were up to no good!” Reed exclaimed venomously.

“What are we gonna do, sir?” Soccorro asked, practical-minded as always.

“We’ll wait until the group leaves Engineering,” her boss replied. “Then I want you to find Lieutenant Hess, tell her what happened and have her repair whatever was sabotaged. If necessary, have her shut down the engines.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“I’ll hunt down our visitor, tie its limbs in a knot and throw it into the brig,” Reed answered coldly. “We’ll see how it likes to be sealed in an airtight compartment… preferably without air.”

“Allowing it to breathe might prove useful if we want to question it.” Soccorro checked on her hidden weapon. “They’re leaving. Good hunting, sir. Have fun.”

“Oh, I will, don’t worry,” he replied with a feral grin.

There were aspects of being a spy and an assassin that he found deeply distasteful, which was why he had requested a transfer back to the regular Fleet. Hunting down intruders, terrorists and any other scum that were threatening Earth in general and the respective places to where he was assigned at any given time, however, gave him both a heady adrenaline rush and a feeling of deep satisfaction.

He checked on his weapon (that wasn’t exactly Starfleet-issue, either), and then he fixed on the direction the group had taken and slipped through the maintenance exit.

The hunt had begun.

Chapter Text

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 21 – THIRD STRIKE
PART 2 – THE HUNT

As it were, Lieutenant Reed wasn’t the only one unhappy with Captain Archer’s over-generous treatment of their visitors. Even though unhappy wouldn’t be the term easily applied to a Vulcan. What T’Pol was experiencing at the moment could have been best described as mild irritation.

She, too, disagreed with the captain’s decision to give the strangers such a detailed tour of Enterprise, finding it illogical and risky. Captain Vanik might have been unnecessarily rude and arrogant, but in one thing he had been right: the specifications of one’s own ship ought to be confidential and not to be given to any strangers.

As she could not do anything to prevent such foolish actions, however, she chose to focus on keeping the ship safe in these perilously unknown surroundings. Soon enough, that proved to be the right choice, as Hoshi turned her seat towards the Captain’s chair.

“We're being hailed by Captain Fraddock,” she reported.

Now that was unexpected, as uninterested as the alien had seemed in them earlier.

“He's probably calling about the weather,” Mayweather commented, only half-jokingly. Space boomers could notice changes in the area of space they were crossing that most Starfleet officers might miss, and he’d been keeping an eye on the external sensors all the time.

“On screen,” T’Pol ordered; she checked the sensor readings and identified the signs of an upcoming plasma storm.

Hoshi threw a switch and the bizarre-looking alien appeared on the main viewer.

“You might want to focus your sensors on that plasma lightning up ahead,” it warned them.

“We are aware of it,” the Vulcan replied calmly.

“You ever been in a plasma storm?” The alien on the viewscreen asked.

“Twice,” T’Pol was as unshakable as always. Her answer seemed to reassure the alien.

“Then you know it can get a little bumpy,” it said. “I suggest we try and go around it.”

“Agreed,” T’Pol turned to Mayweather. “Ensign…”

“I'm already on it,” Mayweather’s hands were practically flying over the flight controls. “I just hope I’ll be quick enough.”

A moment later his concerns proved to be justified as the deck shuddered under their feet. Another moment later the comm system came alive.

“Archer to the Bridge,” for the time being Jack sounded annoyed rather than worried. “Report.”

“We are circumnavigating a plasma storm, Captain,” T’Pol replied evenly. “It is just turbulence from the outer edge.”

“They're very common in this region,” the six-eyed leader of the alien ‘pilgrims’ could be heard in the background. “I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

“So you say,” Reed, following their saboteur like a bloodhound, muttered through gritted teeth when the ship shuddered again. “I’m sure your cronies would pull you out in time, should things become really serious,” he switched on the secret channel that connected him to his office. “Soccorro, what the hell was that?”

“That one hit our port bow,” Soccorro, holding down the front for him, replied grimly. “Power's down on C-Deck, subsection four. No other damage.”

“Not yet,” Reed muttered. “I’m getting a really bad feeling about this, Ensign. Send a team to the Viseeth’s quarters and tell them not to let anyone in without my express orders. Not even the captain.”

“That won’t go down well, either with the Viseeth or with the captain,” Soccorro warned.

“I don’t care,” Reed returned. “They may still be after the Viseeth, which means we have to protect her by any means necessary. I’ll go there myself as soon as I can, but I’m a bit busy right now. You have your orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

After a moment of consideration Soccorro summoned Ensign Alana Hart to Reed’s office. Unlike herself, Hart was not a Starfleet Intelligence officer… but she wanted to become one, and thus Soccorro was quite certain that she could cont on her being ruthless enough for the job.

“Listen to me carefully,” she said. “The lieutenant is following a saboteur and believes that the Viseeth might be targeted. I’ll have to go over and protect her, but I need somebody here to keep the Armoury secure. No-one, not even the captain is supposed to enter here until Lieutenant Reed has given his okay; and certainly no-one of those visiting aliens.”

“Don’t worry,” Hart replied grimly, “they wouldn’t.”

“Set your phase pistol to stun and prepare to shoot first; we can still ask questions later if we have to,” Soccorro handed her a second phase pistol. “This one is set to kill. Should the aliens be immune against the stun beams, don’t hesitate to use it. Try to incapacitate first, but kill them if nothing else helps.”

“Understood,” Hart pocketed the second pistol. “You’ll defend me on the court-martial, then, when the captain throws me into the brig for insubordination, right?”

“I won’t have to; Starfleet Intelligence will,” and with that, Soccorro ran off to the VIP quarters.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Gerasen Gerasal was understandably surprised when a security officer they had not met before rang their doorbell.

“What can I do for you, Ensign…”

“Soccorro, ma’am,” she supplied. “We’ve got a saboteur on board; Lieutenant Reed sent me to protect you, just in case.”

“I thought human security officers worked in teams,” Gerasen Gerasal stepped aside to let her in.

“We do,” she replied, “but if we placed a bunch of guards in front of your door, the saboteur would know we’re expecting him and might back off. This way we have the surprise effect on our side.”

“Do you know who the saboteur is?” Gerasen Gerasal asked.

Soccorro shrugged. “Somebody who came aboard with these alien pilgrims. My guess would be a Suliban, since they’re really good at blending in.”

“That they are,” the Viseeth agreed. “But who are those alien pilgrims you’ve mentioned? I wasn’t aware of any visitors on board.”

“We’ve met a ship transporting some jokers that consider a cosmic phenomenon regularly occurring in this stellar nursery a sacred event,” Soccorro explained. “They’ve come here to witness said event… or so they say. The captain, in an overly optimistic effort to make new friends, invited them over to watch the event from the Mess Hall.”

“And barely have they come on board, we already have a sabotage at our hands,” Gerasen Gerasal commented dryly. “What a coincidence.”

“If you believe in coincidences,” Soccorro countered.

“I do not,” the Viseeth said. “Which is why I would like to take a look at these so-called pilgrims.”

“I can tap into the security feed through your computer terminal,” Soccorro offered.

“Please, do,” Gerasen Gerasal ushered her into the living/working are of their quarters. “I apologize for the environmental conditions. We are an amphibian species and prefer it hot and wet.”

Soccorro waved off her concern.

“Don’t worry. I grew up in the Everglades. I’m used to hot and wet,” she keyed in her security password and called up the recorded image of the alien ‘pilgrims’ meeting Archer at the docking bay. “Anything that seems familiar to you?”

“Oh, yes,” the Viseeth said grimly. “The leader of that group looks suspiciously like the archive pictures of the Heralds.”

Soccorro frowned. “The what?”

“According to the history files I’ve had the chance to study ever since we left the Berengaria system, Heralds were originally a lesser humanoid species native to the planet Iconia,” Gerasen Gerasal explained. “Not the Iconians themselves, but both shared a very close common ancestor; like humans and apes, actually. They were genetically engineered by the Iconians to be their personal servants and companions. After being uplifted to become self-aware, the Heralds were developed to have only the male gender; just as all Iconians are said to have been exclusively female.”

“But how did they procreate then?”

“By parthenogenesis; although the actual Iconians rarely did. Their numbers are said to have always been low, as their lifespan was counted in millennia. The Heralds, though, used to be quite numerous at the height of Iconian power, since they ran the Iconian Empire for their masters. Apparently, they were modified to fit a specific purpose while still in utero; and they were also imprinted to have devoted loyalty to the Iconians.”

“So, they were basically a slave race, brainwashed as embryos already to serve willingly and happily,” Soccorro, among whose ancestors had also been slaves, commented bitterly.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted their head to the side in that lizard-like manner of theirs.

“The Iconians had several servitor races. The Heralds and the Elachi were – well, obviously still are – only two of them. And perhaps the beings that abducted me into subspace were also such a race.”

“And now, apparently, the Suliban, too,” Soccorro frowned unhappily. “Do you believe it’s ultimately the Iconians who are behind the recent events?”

“That is a possibility we cannot ignore,” the Viseeth replied thoughtfully. “But we can only hope to find out the truth once we’ve reached the Delphic Expanse. The answers, if there are any, have to be there… somewhere. Finding them won’t be easy, though.”

“That doesn’t sound very promising; not with all these Iconian servants circling our ship like vultures,” Soccorro was interrupted by the ship shaking violently and swore in Spanish. Then she contacted the Armoury. “Hart, what the hell is going on?”

“The plasma storm is moving in our direction,” Alana Hart reported. “Ensign Mayweather is having trouble getting around it. We're losing main power; according to Commander Tucker, the last bolt struck the warp manifold.”

Soccorro wasn’t an engineer but even she knew what that could mean. “Any news from the lieutenant?”

“None. Everything all right on your end?”

“So far, yes. But that can change quickly. Be watchful. I’ll contact you as soon as I know more.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The alien visitors having left Engineering, Charlie Tucker collapsed in his chair. Keeping up the appearance of a healthy and carefree man – as well as that of a cordial host – had taken its toll.

“Status report,” he said, just as the lights went off.

“We've got an antimatter cascade, Chief!” Alex Gaeta reported, alarmed. “If it reaches the warp reactor we're going to…”

He didn’t need to go into detail. Not for a fellow engineer. In the next moment a series of small explosions happened – then the lights came back on. Gaeta checked one of the – miraculously undamaged – control screens and released a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding.

“I think we're all right, Chief,” he said, a little bit bewildered. “The cascade stopped in its tracks.”

“Just like that?” Tucker asked with a frown. They both knew how impossible that would be.

“It seems so,” Gaeta replied with a helpless shrug.

“We need to find out what really happened,” Tucker gnawed on his lower lip. In times like these he hated the fact that he couldn’t crawl into the inside of his machines anymore. “I want every conduit in this room double-checked, just in case something like this happens again. Call in off-duty personnel if you have to, but consider it as top priority.”

“Understood, Chief.”

Gaeta and his on-duty colleagues went to work like the well-oiled team that they were. Fortunately, there was no need to call in more people. After only half an hour, Crewman Rostov called out.

“Chief, can you get over here? I think you need to see this.”

Tucker climbed to his feet with some effort and hobbled over to Rostov who was standing at one of the antimatter junctions.

“What do you have, Mike?”

“Can you feel it?” Rostov guided his hand up into the open panel. “This junction stopped the cascade from reaching the warp reactor.”

“How?”

“Somebody got in here and disconnected it from the primary antimatter feed. If they hadn't, that cascade would have continued right into the reactor core, and…”

“…and this ship would have gone up just like the Great Plume of Agosoria,” Tucker finished for him. “One of us?”

Gaeta, who had joined them to view the evidence, shook his head. “I’ve already asked. Nobody seems to know anything about it.”

“Perhaps it was one of those pilgrims,” Rostov suggested. “One of them is a warp field theorist, after all; and he would not want the ship to go up while he was still on board… assuming that he is a he, that is.”

“You should ask him, Chief,” Gaeta added. “The two of you seemed to get on like a house on fire.”

Tucker found that a sensible idea and – learning that the visitors had already returned to Captain Fraddock’s ship - he made a call and asked for the warp field theorist whose name was apparently Sonsorra. After a few moments a sallow face appeared on the screen: a somewhat triangular, grey-green face, dominated by large reptilian eyes. The hollow crest parting the alien’s skull made the resemblance to small dinosaurs even stronger.

“Commander Tucker,” it said in its hissing voice. “How can I be of assistance?”

Tucker explained the situation, but the alien appeared every bit as clueless as he was.

“As far as I know none of us went anywhere near that conduit,” it said. “But I shall ask the others on your behalf.”

“Thank you,” Tucker said. “If anyone comes forward, you'll let me know?”

“Oh, you'll be the first,” the alien assured him and disconnected.

Tucker exchanged wary looks with his fellow engineers.

“Did I hear sarcasm in that last sentence?”

“If you did, then so did I,” Gaeta replied. “What’s more, it appeared to me that the good Sonsorra wasn’t happy about the whole affair.”

Tucker shook his head. “I don’t think he was goin’ to sabotage the ship. That would have cost him his life.”

“We don’t know that, Chief,” Rostov argued. “Just because they used a shuttle, they could have a particle transporter that is much more precise and powerful than ours. I think you ought to warn the captain.”

“I will,” Tucker said. “Let’s hope we’re safe for the moment. We’ll have to be extra vigilant when these people return in the morning, though.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The next morning found Jack Archer in his quarters, morosely pondering over the most recent events – and over Tucker’s warning. Suddenly having invited all those people to watch the Great Plume from the Mess Hall didn’t seem to have been such a good idea, after all.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Porthos who started barking. With a sigh, he rose and went to the cupboard to get out the canned dog food, muttering in annoyance.

“I know, I know, your breakfast is two hours late. Don't give me that look. If it's any consolation I missed my breakfast, too.”

He filled the bowl with food and placed it in front of Porthos. The Beagle, however, kept barking.

“What's the problem?” Archer frowned; it was uncharacteristic for Porthos not to attack his food enthusiastically, especially if he had been forced to go without longer than usual. Unless… “You're not getting any cheese, just so that we understand each other!”

Still ignoring his bowl, Porthos stopped barking and started growling menacingly, which could only mean one thing: there was an intruder in their quarters. Canine sense of smell was much better than human eyesight in such things. Archer moved to the comm when a disembodied voice stopped him – speaking in English.

“If you're thinking of calling for help I'd advice against it. I'm not the one you should be worried about, Captain.”

Archer whirled around, trying to find the owner of the voice. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”

Near the entrance of his quarters the air warbled briefly, and a man-shaped figure in a skin-tight jumpsuit materialized – based on the autopsy performed by Doctor Phlox a few weeks earlier unmistakably a Suliban.

“My name is Silik,” he replied. “I came abroad with that group of visiting pilgrims – fortunately for you.”

“What do you mean?” Archer wouldn’t call the stealthy presence of a Suliban on his ship fortunate, but he was careful enough not to say that.

“I mean the antimatter cascade that would have reached your reactor core had I not interfered. I thought you might want to thank me for saving your ship… and your life,” Silik added dryly.

“I might,” Archer allowed, “if I knew what the price would be.”

“For now I just want you to call of your bloodhound that is trying to find me,” the Suliban replied.

Archer had an inkling whom the alien meant. “You mean Lieutenant Reed?”

Silik shrugged. “I don’t know his name, but he is good. He nearly caught me not so long ago. I can’t afford being caught; not while those so-called pilgrims are here. If they knew I was trying to talk to you, the repercussions against my people would be severe.”

Archer considered that for a moment; then he came to a decision.

“All right,” he activated his comm. “Archer to Reed. Lieutenant, come to my quarters immediately.”

“Now?” Reed sounded nothing short exasperated. “Captain, I cannot…”

“Yes, you can, and you will,” Archer interrupted. “Now. That’s a direct order, Lieutenant,” he broke the connection and looked at Silik. “I just hope I won’t regret this.”

“We both might regret this, Captain, but as far as I can see, this is the only way to survive – for both of us,” the Suliban replied grimly.

Before Archer could have reacted to this, his door buzzer sounded and he let Reed in. The Armoury officer was understandably startled when he spotted the Suliban in his commanding officer’s quarters.

“Captain, do you know who this man is?”

“His name is apparently Silik and he’s clearly a Suliban; one of the genetically enhanced ones,” Archer answered calmly. “But he has something to tell us, and since he was the one who stopped the antimatter cascade and thus saved us all, I think we ought to at least hear him out.”

“Under protest…” Reed muttered, clearly unhappy that the hunt had been called off.

Archer rolled his eyes.” Your objections are noted, Lieutenant,” then he turned to the Suliban. “Well, Mr. Silik, we are listening.”

“I have to go back to the beginning,” Silik began. “But as long as Prah Mantoos and the others are not on board, you aren’t in immediate danger, so we can afford a little delay. And it’s important that you understand the background facts. Even so, it might sound a bit too fantastic for you to believe.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Archer flashed one of those too-bright smiles at the alien that never truly reached his eyes. “I’m capable of believing as many as six impossible things before breakfast. And I haven’t had breakfast yet.”

The Suliban couldn’t understand the reference, of course, but Reed stared at his commanding officer in dark amusement. “I didn’t know you were fond of the classics, Captain.”

Archer grinned, and this time it was actually genuine.

“My grandmother placed great emphasis on a classical education. She didn’t want me to become, and I quote, an ignorant technopath like my father,” he looked at Silik apologetically. “Don’t mind us. That was a cultural reference among English-speaking humans. Now, you wanted to give us some historical background, I think?”

Silik nodded. “Yes, Captain. You have to understand that my people have left the homeworld about three centuries ago, as you count time. Our sun underwent a series of unforeseeable changes and the homeworld became uninhabitable. Fortunately, we were already capable of interstellar travel by then and became space nomads, in search of a new homeworld.”

“Have you found one?”

“Not as such, but we’ve established several small colonies across the neighbouring sectors. We’ve always been a very adaptable species, even without the genetic enhancements.”

“Speaking of those, how did you come to them?” Archer asked.

“Roughly eighty of your years ago we’ve been approached by a species called the Solanae…”

Archer looked at Reed. “Ever heard of them?”

Reed shook his head. “No, sir.”

And if he hadn’t heard of them, no other human on board would have.

“But you have encountered them,” Silik said, “on our Helix that you’ve demagnetized.”

“You mean those fish monks that experimented on our Viseeth passenger?” Reed tried to clarify.

Silik shrugged. “I don’t know what fish monks are. Solanae, however, are a race whose molecular structure is based on solanogen: a substance that is only stable in subspace. They reside in a tertiary subspace manifold and can’t survive unprotected in normal space. They can, however, transport individuals from normal space to their subspace domain; and so did they contact us and made their offer.”

“What kind of offer?” Reed asked.

“They offered us genetic enhancements,” Silik explained. You must understand that as a nomadic people without a homeworld we weren’t particularly respected among other space-faring species. The individual colonies had to fend for themselves, without anyone protecting their backs… and often lost. The chance to become stronger, faster, with much better technology to our disposal was too good to let it slip through our fingers. At least that was what many of us thought – and thus the Cabal was born.”

Archer nodded thoughtfully. “I can see the attraction; but what did they ask for in exchange? ‘Cos I doubt that they had enhanced you out of the goodness of their hearts; assuming that they have hearts.”

“They wanted our help with abducting other life-forms to study them,” the Suliban replied. “At least that was what they said, and since they released those life-forms afterwards, we believed them… at first.”

“For what purpose did they want to study other life-forms?” Reed asked.

“We don’t know,” Silik admitted. “Perhaps they wanted to find a way to live in normal space. But after a while we found out that they sometimes conducted lethal experiments on those they had captured; and that was when some of us raised their voice against future cooperation,” he paused, and despite the lack of visible emotions upon his impassive face, the two humans could clearly see his grief. “My sister Sarin was the driving force behind the separation movement.”

“Sarin?” Reed echoed. “Wasn’t she the one…?”

“… who gave the information to the Viseeth on Rigel X, yes,” Silik finished for him. “She paid with her life for that.”

And these… these Solanae had your people kidnap the Viseeth to learn what she had found out, right?” Archer concluded.

The Suliban nodded. “That is correct. They – or rather their masters – were not happy about our failure; and about the loss of the Helix.”

“Their… masters?” Reed trailed off questioningly.

“The Solanae were one of the servitor races of an ancient people called the Iconians, whom they served as a scientist caste,” Silik explained. “It is speculated that their inability to live in normal space is the result of some major scientific effort gone terribly wrong at the height of Iconian power. I don’t know if that’s true or not. I don’t know whom they are serving now; them and the Elachi that you’ve also encountered. Whether it’s the Iconians or Prah Mantoos’s people or someone else entirely. But I do know that something really big is about to come through, soon.”

“We know that,” Archer said. “But what made you come to us and reveal all these things? Won’t they consider this treason and retaliate?”

“The retaliations have already begun,” Silik answered grimly. “When we lost the Viseeth – and the Helix – one of our colonies has been attacked, all inhabitants captured and imprisoned on a derelict Iconian space station within the atmosphere of a gas giant. They use our people to enforce our further cooperation.”

“I think I see where this is going,” Archer said. “You want our help with freeing your people.”

“Well, I’ve saved your people,” Silik returned. “The least you could do is returning the favour.”

“And how do we know that you’re telling us the truth?” Archer demanded.

“You don’t,” Silik replied simply. “Just as I don’t know if you’d hand me over to Prah Mantoos tomorrow when they return. But as I see it, we’re both threatened by the same enemy; an enemy that is much stronger than the both of us together. Somebody had to make the first step.”

“Not to mention that you have nowhere else to go for help,” Reed commented cynically. “Neither the Vulcans nor the Viseeth would move a finger.”

“Not yet,” Silik agreed. “Not until their worlds get under attack. And by then it will be too late.”

“And what makes you think we can free your people?” Archer asked doubtfully. “We have no means to beat Iconian technology. That much has become painfully obvious on Gamma Ventris IV.”

Silik grinned. It had a strange, clown-like effect on his spotted face.

“As I said, Captain, it is a derelict outpost. Which is why it’s used as a prison.”

“Used by whom?” Reed asked warily.

“By a local species called the Tandarans,” Silik explained. “They are… humanoid, as, I think, you call every people even vaguely resembling yourselves, and about the same technical level we were when we had to leave the homeworld. They never liked having us in the neighbourhood, and they liked the fact that our technology developed much faster than their even less.”

“Can you blame them?” Archer said reasonably. “You were given an unfair advantage, after all.”

Silik shook his head. “No, Captain. We’ve developed our technology on our own. The Solanae only gave us the ability for an evolutionary leap – they never handed us down anything ready-made. The Tandarans are what you would call a xenophobic species. They fear and mistrust others that do not look like them.”

“You appear to know a great deal of us; what we do and what we say,” Reed commented in suspicion.

Silik shrugged. “Your databases are extensive. We managed to download some of them when we took the Viseeth. In any case, the Tandarans barely tolerated us in their sector after the loss of the homeworld. They raided our colonies time and again, took our technology by force, and abducted our people to work for them. And when the Cabal was born and we finally could defend ourselves, they summarily declared us as a people of terrorists. That prison I mentioned… it has been used for over a hundred of your years.”

“Were it the Tandarans who destroyed your colony?” Reed asked.

The Suliban nodded. “They were. But we must assume that they had help – through third parties, most likely. They would mistrust and fear Prah Mantoos and his allies even more than they fear and mistrust us.”

“I see,” Archer gave the issue some though. “You do realize, of course, that if we manage to free your people – which is by no means certain – everyone would think that we are in league with the Cabal. No offence intended, but that is not a reputation I intend to gain.

“None taken,” Silik replied, clearly unaffected. “We’ve become what we are out of necessity, and even if Sarin was right and the price was too high, we cannot change what has been done. You, however, appear to be a resourceful species. I’m sure you can make it seem unintentional. That way we can both keep what we want: you your reputation and I my people.”

“I cannot make a decision like this on my own,” Archer said. “At the very least I’ll have to consult my senior officers – and the Viseeth.”

Silik shrugged again. “It is your choice how you do it, as long as you intend to do it. Well, I must leave now before my presence here becomes obvious.”

“How are you supposed to leave without being spotted?” Reed asked.

The Suliban grinned; it seemed like a grimace – and a painful one at that.

“I have my ways. Just make sure your people will chase me all across the ship to keep up appearances. We don’t want Prah Mantoos and his allies to believe that we’ve suddenly become best friends.”

With that, he began melding with the surroundings again – but not without a parting shot.

“Oh, and Captain? If I were you, I’d get rid of that pretty clock the pilgrims gifted upon you… unless you want to face another antimatter cascade in the foreseeable future. I won’t be here to prevent it again, after all.”

Chapter Text

“Could he be right?” Archer asked Charlie Tucker and T’Pol only minutes later, after having called them to his ready room. “Could this… thing,” he waved in the direction of the ornamental ‘clock’,” have caused an antimatter cascade?

Tucker shrugged. “Hard to tell. “It doesn’t seem to do anythin’ at all.”

“Your equipment might not be advanced enough to detect what it is doing,” T’Pol pointed out. “If it is based on Iconian technology, not even the Viseeth might have the right tools to do so.”

“It can’t harm to ask,” Archer looked at Reed. “I presume you have somebody keeping an eye on GG?”

Reed gave him the wounded look of a man who had been unjustly accused of neglecting his duty. “Of course I have, sir,” he activated his comm “Reed to Soccorro. Everything all right on your end, Ensign?”

“Not really, sir,” Soccorro’s voice sounded as apologetic as anyone on board had ever heard her. “Just a moment ago a Suliban appeared in our… observer’s quarters and made a surprisingly clumsy attempt at shooting her with a particle weapon.”

What do you mean with clumsy?” Reed demanded, while Archer and Tucker exchanged worried looks.

“It missed, sir,” Soccorro explained. “From a distance of less than two metres. Anyone would have scored a lethal hit from that close… even Novakovich, and he never manages to hit his target during practice.”

“Is GG unharmed?” Archer asked.

“She is a bit shaken, sir, but otherwise OK,” Soccorro assured him. “She thinks this had to be a distraction of some sort, but the reason for it is unclear.”

“I’ll fill you in later,” Reed promised. “Stay with our guest,” he switched channels. “Reed to Hart.”

“Go ahead, sir,” Alana Hart replied immediately.

“Ensign, we’ve got a Suliban loose on the ship,” Reed informed her. “I want you to lock down every outer door and exit hatch. Post security teams on all decks.”

“Understood,” Hart replied crisply and broke the connection.

Tucker looked at Reed in amusement. “Ain’t that a bit over the top, Lieutenant?”

Reed shrugged. “He wanted a good chase. I’m giving him one. Besides, my people can use the drill… even if they don’t know it is a drill. Besides,” he added cynically, “there is always a fifty per cent chance that he was lying through his genetically enhanced teeth, in which case we’d do well to eliminate him.”

Archer shook his head. As much as he was trying to think of Reed as of any other member of his crew, there were moments like this when the mask slipped and the ruthless, efficient intelligence officer emerged.

“Nothin’ against your people, Lieutenant, but I don’t think they’re getting’ him,” Tucker, who was entertaining similar thoughts, drawled. “Unlike him, they can’t squish themselves through the gaps between conduits in the bulkheads.”

As if trying to prove him right, the comm chirped. It was Lieutenant Hess, currently in charge of Engineering.

“Chief, on B-deck, service junction 59, somebody is trying to bypass the lock out codes for Launch Bay Two.”

“Don’t interfere, wait for security,” Tucker ordered, while Reed was already at it.

“Soccorro, he’s trying to get into Launch Bay Two. Meet me there, I’m on my way.”

He ran off towards the next turbolift, phase pistol on the ready. Archer shook his head.

“He really is like a bloodhound, isn’t he?”

“That’s Starfleet Intelligence for ya,” Tucker commented dryly. “My money’s on the Suliban, though. I bet he’s havin’ a couple o’ asses up his sleeve.”

Again, the comm chirped to prove him right. This time it was Mayweather.

“Captain, there’s a vessel approaching, not bigger than a shuttlepod. It’s Suliban.”

“His means to escape,” Tucker stated the glaringly obvious. “He’s planned this all the way, to the smallest detail.”

“He’d be a fool not to,” Archer leaned towards the comm “Hoshi, give me a split screen: outside view and the inside of Launch Bay Two.”

Hoshi acknowledged the order and the required images appeared on the main screen of the ready room. On the left side they could see hatch number four open and Reed hanging onto a rail to stop being suckered into space. He then dropped his phase pistol and crawled onto a walkway with considerable effort. At the same time the Suliban appeared out of a Jefferies tube and calmly dived out of the ship through the open hatch.

“Sunuvabitch! Tucker exclaimed.

Archer shrugged. “Well, we knew they can survive in a vacuum for a short time… in theory. Now we have the proof.”

“Useful, that,” Tucker allowed.

In the meantime Reed managed to get out of the bay, closed the launch doors and recompressed the area. The other side of the screen showed Silik free-fall for the Suliban pod.

“Captain,” Mayweather reported in, "the Suliban vessel just took something in and went to warp. Should we go after them?”

“No,” Archer replied after a lengthy pause. “Let ’em go,” then he looked at T’Pol. “Now that the current crisis is over and the so-called pilgrims have left, we should get rid of our Trojan horse.”

“He means the clock,” Tucker explained helpfully. “What should we do with it?”

“I believe that in the light of the current events Lieutenant Reed would enjoy a little target practice,” T’Pol said dryly. “It would help with the fine-tuning of the targeting sensors, too.”

“Has the transport ship left?” Archer asked. “I don’t want them to know that we’ve destroyed their ‘generous’ gift.”

“They have already gone beyond sensor reach,” T’Pol replied.

“Good,” Archer said. “As soon as the… err… clock is destroyed, we can resume course.”

“Which course, though?” Tucker asked. “Do we know where this Iconian outpost is?”

“I’ve found this data chip on my desk after Silik left,” Archer handed the item in question to T’Pol. “I assume it contains information.”

“Or a virus that can knock out every system on board,” Tucker muttered, clearly not trusting their new ally.

T’Pol nodded. “That is indeed a distinct possibility, Commander. I shall view the data on my PADD; it is not connected to any board systems, for this very reason.”

“Ya’re really takin’ every possibility under consideration, ain’t ya?” Tucker drawled.

T’Pol gave him the Vulcan eyebrow™. “This is standard practice on all Vulcan ships, Commander. The more complex the board systems are, the more vulnerable they become. Having an independent PADD is merely a logical precaution.”

“One that comes in handy right now,” Archer intervened smoothly, before Tucker could have put his foot into his mouth again. “Please, analyze the data, Subcommander. When we know what’s on this chip, we can discuss what we should do next.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Surprisingly enough – or perhaps not so surprisingly after all – T’Pol only needed half an hour to view and analyze the contents of the data chip.

“There is a detailed star map of the Tandaran sector,” she reported on the impromptu senior staff meeting, to which Gerasen Gerasal and Dr. Phlox had also been invited.

“How detailed?’ Reed asked.

“Extremely detailed,” T’Pol said. “Colonies, military outposts, major trade routes, regular military patrols, every important settlement on Tandar Prime – everything that might be of interest for somebody who wants to slip into Tandaran territory undetected.”

“Meaning the Cabal,” Archer commented.

T’Pol nodded. “That is correct.”

“But they have stealth technology,” Mayweather pointed out. “Why don’t they simply use that?”

“Apparently, the Tandarans have found a way to neutralize Suliban stealth technology,” T’Pol explained. “They are a thoroughly militaristic society, which means that scientific and technological research is focused on that area. They have also been fighting an open war with the Cabal for fifty-four point two of your years.”(1)

“Long enough not to make much of a difference between the Cabal and the civilian Suliban population that they had been harassing long before the Cabal would be born.”

“Also correct, Captain. Logic states that a few well-placed hints about the destroyed colony being in league with the Cabal might have been enough for them to take what they believed would be preventive actions.”

“Not even knowing that they were, in fact, workin’ for the fish monks or the Shroomies or whoever is behind those,” Tucker summarized.

“It is also highly unlikely that the prisoners would ever be set free, no matter how faithfully the Cabal followed their orders,” Reed added. “Those Tandarans are fanatics, it seems. And fanatics don’t listen to reason; or keep any promises.”

“Especially as they did not make any promises,” Mayweather said. “And the Iconians – or their servants – won’t let such useful bargaining chips out of their grip.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” Archer asked, addressing everyone present. “Do we go and free those Suliban prisoners?”

“I say we go for it,” Tucker said. “Firstly, they haven’t done anythin’ that would justify the destruction of the colony and the imprisonin’ of the whole population. And secondly, that way we could make an ally… a powerful one. The Iconians, or whoever is behind this, are clearly out to get us, too. You know the sayin’: the enemy of my enemy…”

“… is still my enemy,” Reed finished, quite differently than it was meant. “I’d advise caution, Captain. We still don’t know who’s behind the Cabal and the others. But we do know what an unpleasant enemy the Tandarans could be if provoked.”

“Well, in that case we should make it look like an accident,” Archer said with a wolfish grin.

Gerasen Gerasal tilted their head to the side – the Viseeth equivalent of the Vulcan eyebrow.™

“How could you possibly free the population of an entire colony by accident?”

“See these dotted lines?” Archer dragged the tip of his index finger along one. “These mark military zones that are forbidden to enter. But how could we, bumbling human beings from Earth and brand new to deep space know that? We are explorers; and gas giants are worth a closer look, don’t you think?”

“You intend to enter the forbidden zone closest to the prison by ‘accident’ and hope that the Tandarans would capture us and put us in the same prison?” Reed tried to clarify.

“Not us as the entire ship,” Archer corrected. “Just a small team in a shuttlepod, supposedly on a survey mission.”

Reed shook his head. “They’d never fall for it. It’s too obvious.”

“On the contrary,” T’Pol said calmly. “Based on the psychological profile of the average Tandaran military mindset, there is a seventy-two point nine per cent chance for the captain’s plan to work.”

“And a twenty-eight point nine per cent chance than they would simply shoot the ‘pod to smithereens without warning,” Reed countered.

“There is a certain risk involved,” T’Pol allowed. “Still, the chances for success are much better than they would be if we tried a frontal attack on the prison.”

“What about our shadows, though,” Mayweather asked. “We know we’re being followed by both the Shroomies and the Vulcans. Don’t you think one of them – or both – would interfere?”

“Not if we play our part well,” Archer said. “We need to create a lot of communication about ‘discovering’ first the gas giant and then ‘a strange structure within its atmosphere’. Then we’ll decide to investigate, using external comms all the time. The Vulcans know that we like poking our noses in everything, from ice comets to the Great Plume of Agosoria. They’ll think it’s another one of our ‘useless’ survey trips.”

“And the Shroomies?” Tucker asked.

Archer shrugged. “They are out for our blood anyway. But I think they won’t show themselves; they’ll let the Tandarans deal with us.”

“You keep saying us,” Captain,” Reed said. “Does that mean you’ve already chosen the unlucky ones who’re going to play the bait?”

“It’s been my idea, so I’ll go,” Archer replied; then he looked at Mayweather. “And I’m afraid the other one has to be you, Travis. You’re the one with the most experience when it comes to aggressive alien races.”

“I thought that would be T’Pol,” Tucker grinned.

The Vulcan shook her head. “The Tandarans know about Vulcans, though we had but a few short encounters with them. If I were present, they would never ‘buy the captain’s story’, as I think is said on Earth. Unfortunately. I must admit a certain scientific interest for that derelict Iconian outpost.”

“So would I,” Gerasen Gerasal admitted. “Even an only partially functional station would enrich our knowledge about Iconian technology enormously. However, I’m afraid that the Elachi would destroy the station with everyone on board before allowing us to study it.”

“Does one of those small ships have enough firepower to destroy a space station?” Reed asked doubtfully.

“That is unlikely,” Gerasen Gerasal said. “But they don’t need weapons for that. If they are familiar with Iconian technology, and we know they are, they can trigger the self-destruct mechanism remotely, and no-one would know what happened.”

“Too bad; but we can’t change it,” Archer shrugged. “Let’s focus on our little jailbreak scheme for the time being. We might get our chance to study Iconian technology later.”

“Or not at all,” Tucker countered unhappily. Like T’Pol, he’d have loved to take a closer look.

Archer shrugged again. “I can live with that, too. We have a job to do and very little time to plan it carefully, so let’s do it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hon-shun Grat, a highly decorated officer of the Tandaran military, was bored out of his head. He was a cultured, affable man with a distinguished career; he would have deserved a position in the Tandaran Regime, where his keen, tactical mind could have been put to good use against the Suliban. Instead, he had been forced out of position and made the commander of Detention Complex #26.

That was beyond insulting. Any idiot could run a detention complex, if only they had enough armed soldiers to keep the prisoners under control and enough capable technicians to maintain the defence grid. Even his block-headed executive officer, Hon-teelo Klev, could have done it on his own.

Grat knew all too well why he had ended up in this miserable place. To get a good position, one had to have good relations to the Central Magistrate’s Office… which he had not. He had made the mistake of… affiliating with Agent Terr'ana, for whom somebody higher up in the hierarchy also had an interest. It was that simple. His excellent personal achievements were not enough to balance out that mistake.

He put that thought out of his conscious mind with some effort and walked over to the telemetry centre to fight off boredom. Usually, the listening technicians on duty were just as bored as he was – after all, who in their right mind would dare to approach a forbidden military one? And one in the atmosphere of a gas giant at that?

Not this time, though. The ranking tech – a hon-tesh, as regulations demanded, and an experienced one, too – looked up at him with carefully controlled excitement.

“I was just about to call you, sir. We have a vessel approaching our location.”

“What kind of vessel?” Grat asked.

The technician briefly raised one shoulder in apology. “Unknown, sir. It isn’t registered in our database. Presumably a space-faring species our forces have no encountered yet.”

That was one possibility, of course. Space was huge and more species discovered the stardrive – the means of interstellar travel – each day. Still, one couldn’t be careful enough.

“Perform a complete scan,” Grat ordered. “I want everything about propulsion, weapons, shields – if they have any – and biological data of the crew. Have you picked up any communications?”

“Yes, sir. They use a different frequency than our forces, but one we can isolate easily.”

“Put it on speakers. Lay a translation matrix over it and give me any visuals we might have.”

The hon-tesh related the order to his various subordinates and moments later the image of the unknown vessel appeared on the main surveillance screen. It was the most bizarre spacecraft Grat had ever seen – and he had seen his fair share of alien vessels. This one, however, didn’t even look like a vessel. The closest analogy would have been the lungfish of Reyla Province.

Unlike most habitable planets, Tandar Prime had no extensive oceans. Most large bodies of water were sweet water seas. Only in Reyla Province could one find huge, shallow, interconnected saltwater swamps, full of revolting creatures – and the lungfish, with its oversized, flat head and unproportionally long hind legs was the most revolting of all.

That was, basically, what the alien spacecraft looked like: dull grey, with a large, round, flat primary section, a cylindrical “body” that joined it by the way of a bent “neck” and two long, thin… tubes that might or might not have been some kind of propulsion system.

Huge black symbols ran around the primary section – perhaps the name of the vessel or some other sort if identification? If so, it was technically unwise. One should never give away such important details.

“Sir,” the hon-tesh said,” they are deploying a smaller spacecraft.”

“Heading?” Grant asked, assuming the worst; he always did.

The head technician checked the coordinates and frowned. “It’s heading directly for us, sir.”

“Is there any communication between it and the main craft?”

“Coming in, sir,” the hon-tesh switched on the speakers; on one of the control screens the transcribed communication between the two vessels could be read simultaneously in Tandaran Standard.

“You have entered the outer atmosphere,” it read, while a cool, emotionless female voice (at least Grat thought it was female; one could never be certain with aliens) was speaking

“The viewscreen is fuzzy,” a presumably male voice answered. “Can we clean up the signal? I’m flying blind here!”

“I'm trying, sir,” another female-sounding voice replied. “There's a lot of EM interference.”

“I am not certain what we expect to accomplish here,” the first, female-sounding voice again. “There are four gas giants in your own solar system.”

“None of them are class nine,” the male voice countered. “I think this one's worth a closer look.”

"Terrific," Grat muttered under his breath. "Space newbies are discovering our secret base by accident, out of scientific curiosity."

As if proving him right, the first voice spoke again, sounding mildly surprised.

“Sir, I am reading an anomalous power signature in the lower atmosphere – and a considerable number of bio-signs.”

“Interesting,” the male voice sounded suitably excited. “Let’s move closer, Travis!”

“It is one hundred kilometres below you,” the cool female voice again. “The gravity is pulling you deeper into the atmosphere. At your current altitude the pressure is fifteen thousand gsc.”

“That's well within our hull tolerance,” the male voice said confidently.

“For the moment,” the female voice replied. “But at the rate you are sinking, you will have an hour at most.”

“You sound uncomfortable, Sub-Commander,” the other female voice commented, sounding mildly amused.

“I am merely stating facts,” the first one replied icily.

“We have entered an eddy of liquid helium,” a new voice, also male-sounding, presumably the pilot of the small craft, interrupted. “We're clear.”

Which meant that the aliens have come into visual range with the base. The hon-tesh turned to Grat questioningly.

“Shall I launch the interceptors, sir?”

“Yes,” Grat replied after a moment of consideration. “Force their craft to land in the docking bay. After they’ve been detained, send somebody to download he database of the craft. I want to learn as much as possible about them before sending a report to the Central Magistrate.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On the bridge of Enterprise, the senior staff — minus Archer and Mayweather — was watching as the Tandaran patrol ships forced the shuttlepod to land on the station.

"Phase One is accomplished," Reed stated. "They've been brought in. What next?"

"Now we wait," T'Pol replied calmly. "Sciences and Engineering will perform thorough scans to keep a steady lock on the captain and Ensign Mayweather; and you, Lieutenant, report to sickbay for the necessary cosmetic alterations."

“Are ya sure it would work?” Tucker asked doubtfully after Reed had left. “What if they find out he ain’t no Suliban?”

“The Tandarans have no reason to assume that somebody would pretend to be Suliban,” T’Pol explained patiently. “They most likely make DNA tests on the captain and Ensign Mayweather to see if they are no Suliban in disguise.”

“Yeah, but what if they make regular head counts?” Tucker argued, “They’d notice havin’ an extra one.”

“That is unlikely,” T’Pol said. “They have just detained an entire colony here. There is a ninety-two point eight per cent probability that Lieutenant Reed would manage to hide in plain sight. He has been trained to do so, after all.”

“Still seems a way too simple plan to me, with considerable risks involved,” Tucker said stubbornly. “We should have thought of something more… elaborate.”

“The more elaborate a plan, the greater the chance that something would go wrong,” T’Pol pointed out with unshakable Vulcan calm. “Logic dictates to build in as few pitfalls as possible. There are considerable risks, yes. But by eliminating as many possible mistakes as we can, we enhance our chance to succeed.”

“Subcommander,” Hoshi interrupted their argument,” the Tandarans have just accessed the pod’s database. They are trying to download all data.”

“Excellent. You have not made it too easy for them, I presume?”

Hoshi gave her a wicked grin. “I’ve made it just difficult enough for them to congratulate themselves after having succeeded. They won’t even imagine only getting some carefully selected data; and that they’ve opened a way for me to their database.”

"Good work, Ensign. Keep watching their communications, we need to be one step ahead of them all the time."

"Yes, ma'am. I won't be a problem since we got their language in the Vulcan linguistic database."

"Where d'ya have that from?" Tucker asked in surprise.

Hoshi shrugged. "It was my graduation gift when I've finished studying advanced exolinguistics at the Vulcan Language Institute in Sausalito. My teachers found my language skills... adequate and thought the database would help me improve. What?" she said a little crossly when her (human) crewmates fell in shocked silence. "Vulcans can appreciate the skills of other people, even if they don't make a big show of it!"

“That is correct," T'Pol said, "yet of no particular importance at the moment. Let us focus on the task at our hands. Ensign Sato, have you managed to access the database of the station?"

Hoshi nodded. "Yes, ma'am. I've piggybacked the signal they used to download the data from Shuttlepod One and am copying their data right now."

"Try to download any technical details about the station itself that you can find," Gerasen Gerasal, who had been watching the events silently, suggested. "We still know way too little about Iconian technology. We'll need everything we can learn."

"Do you believe the station might have a weapon like the planet that belonged to the Iconian gateway network?" Tucker asked the Viseeth.

Gerasen Gerasal shook their head. "Unlikely. To begin with, that weapon needed a large underground generator to function properly. It would be hard to establish something like that on such a relatively small space station. Besides, if there were still functioning Iconian technology, the Elachi would never have allowed the Tandarans to use the place."

“Besides,” T’Pol supplied, “an automated weapon like the one we encountered would have already reacted to Enterprise’s presence. The probability that the Tandarans might have discovered and reprogrammed one is less than point five per cent.”

“Let’s hope so,” Tucker muttered.

“Hope has nothing to do with it, Commander,” T’Pol returned coolly; then she looked at Hoshi again. “Anything from the station yet, Ensign Sato?”

Hoshi shook her head. “Nothing, Subcommander. Lots of traffic between the base and the patrol ships and one coded message sent to the Tandaran homeworld, but no attempt to contact us so far.”

“Perhaps they are busy tryin’ to study the data downloaded form the ‘pod’s database,” Tucker suggested.

“Possibly,” T’Pol allowed. “Let us do the same. That will give Doctor Phlox sufficient time to do a thorough job on Lieutenant Reed.”

“Any life-signs from the Cap’n yet?” Tucker asked.

Hoshi shrugged apologetically. “No; I can’t reach either of them. The Tandarans must have confiscated their comms.”

“If they have, they will contact us, soon,” Gerasen Gerasal said. “They do know about Vulcans, but your species is new for them. They won’t give up the chance to learn more.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hon-shun Grat was grateful to have Agent Terr’ana on the station; and not only because of his personal interest in her. Keyla was one of the best when it came to data analysis… or to infiltration. While it might have been a personal tragedy that their small colony, newly-founded on an asteroid in the Tandar system, had been destroyed by the Cabal and her husband, an environmental engineer, killed with the rest of their family, for the military she was a real gain. Her talent would have been wasted on an insignificant mining outpost; and her person was definitely wasted on someone like Terr.

It was mere coincidence that she’d be on the station right now. Her current task was to gather intel on one of the Cabal leaders; someone named Silik. To cover her true identity, she had undergone cosmetic altering, giving her vague alien features and colouring. Grat had no idea what species she was disguised at – or if such a species actually existed in the first place – but he still found her beautiful. Even though it was a shame that the sweet little detail on the bridge of her nose had to be removed. But the long, lush hair and the distinctive markings along her temple and long, graceful neck gave her an exotic touch…

With considerable willpower, Grat forced his thoughts away from the object of his desire and back to the task at hand.

“What have you figured out so far?” he asked.

Keyla laid an electronic notebook onto his desktop.

“They are from a planet called Earth,” she replied, adding the galactic coordinates. The vessel they serve on is called Enterprise. The older man’s name is Jonathan Archer; he is apparently the commanding officer of their vessel. The younger one is Travis Mayweather; he is their pilot and comes from a family of space nomads.”

Grat studied the pictures of the two men with interest. They looked basically like Tandarans, just without that distinctive detail on the bridge of their noses each Tandaran had.

“What has the genetic test shown?”

“They belong to the same species,” Keyla replied, “and they are definitely not Suliban.”

“What are they then?”

“They call themselves humans. They appear to be relatively new to deep space exploration; Enterprise is their first vessel with advanced stardrive. They can’t reach the same velocity as a T’Khasi ship, but they are fairly close.”

“Sounds harmless,” Grat said. “Perhaps they have found us by coincidence, after all.”

“Or perhaps their minders use them as camouflage to spy on us,” Keyla returned dryly.

“Their minders?”

“Take a look at the crew manifest.”

Grat followed the suggestion and didn’t even have to search for long. While the crew generally belonged to the same species as their captives, there were two that did not. He dismissed the Denobulan; they were a known quality and generally harmless. The other one, however…

“I see what you mean,” he said. “This… Earth is clearly a T’khasi protectorate. The T’khasi are a shrewd people. Installing their agent as the second-in-command allows them to keep up their image of non-interference, while their puppets do the dirty work for them,” he rose. “Continue analyzing the data; find out everything you can about their mission. I think it’s time that I talk with Captain Archer.”

Chapter Text

Grat's conversation with the human starship captain brought frustratingly little results. The man was either incredibly naive — surprising but not entirely unlikely for someone in his position; they were newbies to deep space exploration, after all — or a consummate liar.

"He could also be mind-controlled by his T'khasi handler," Keyla pointed out. "According to their database, the T'khasi did their level best to keep them contained in their system. And even now that they have done their first steps to the stars, they had to accept a T’khasi controller on board."

“He certainly seemed anxious enough to report back to his ship,” Grat agreed. “I could not permit that, of course.”

“Of course,” Keyla echoed with a faint smile. “We do have rather strict regulations, after all. But perhaps you should call them personally and explain the situation. Just to put their minds at ease.”

“Perhaps I will,” Grat smiled back at her somewhat ferally. “We don’t want to upset the T'khasi, do we?”

“That would be unwise,” Keyla nodded. “They tend to be unpredictable when upset; and that ship is heavily armed. Our interceptors would be no match.”

“I know,” Grat said sourly. “I’ve been telling Central Command for years that places like this ought to be better defended. They always refused to listen, oh so sure that no-one would be able to find us in the atmosphere of a gas giant. And what happened? A new race, making their first steps towards deep space, stumbled over us due to simple curiosity.”

“Perhaps Central Command will be willing to listen now,” Keyla offered.

“Hardly,” Grat replied with a snort. “More likely they’ll blame me, creating false evidence against me with the help of my oh-so-loyal second in command, Hon-teelo Klev. That one has had his eye on my position since he first set foot on this station.”

Keyla shrugged. “What did you expect from someone whose own brother has been chummy with the Suliban rats since childhood?”

“Klev severed ties with his brother over that,” Grat reminded her. She shrugged again.

“Just because he enjoys beating up the rats for sport, it doesn’t mean he is trustworthy.”

“I never said I trusted him,” Grat reminded her; then he activated his comm unit. “Let’s get this done with. I hope we’ll get visuals; I’d like to see the inside of this ship.”

Mere moments later he got his wish… and couldn’t help being impressed. He had expected the same bland ugliness inside that the vessel displayed on the outside – but that was not the case. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Unlike the narrow, utilitarian command centres of Tandaran battleships, the bridge of the Earth ship was airy, aesthetically arranged and elegant… even though it did make a somewhat unfinished impression. (Which made sense, considering that they had apparently launched before time and in a great hurry, according to their database.) With the commanding officer’s chair in a central position, the workstations of the different divisions were arranged in a circular pattern, each with its own control screen and elaborate instrumental board. At each station a human crewmember was sitting, wearing identical uniforms, save for the differently coloured shoulder parties.

At each station, save for the command chair. In that, a female T’khasi sat, in the unnaturally erect pasture of her kind. She was wearing the same kind of uniform as the humans, which was a bit surprising – or perhaps just a way to blend in. Her pale face, with the sharp cheekbones, upswept eyebrows and large, pointed ears, had something of a fennek, the quick, deadly predator of the Neveg desert in Kilthar province, and her eyes were ice cold.

Superficially she could have seen as attractive, even with that smooth nose bridge of hers, but Grat knew better. T’khasi were cold, merciless and dangerous, the females twice as much as the males. Everyone knew that.

“Greetings,” she said in a deep, cool voice. “I am Subcommander T’Pol, executive officer of the Earth ship Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?”

“I am Colonel Grat,” Grat answered, Keyla having found the human equivalent of his military rank in the shuttlecraft’s database, “commanding officer of this outpost.”

“Then I presume you are having our captain and chief pilot in custody,” the T’khasi cut directly to the core of things.

“I have,” Grat admitted. “They have entered our military zone. We had to make certain that they weren't infiltrators.”

“That was certainly not their – our – intention,” the T’khasi said. “This is a ship of exploration; the very first of its kind. Humans are a species of great scientific curiosity. They merely wanted to study a gas giant; no-one of us expected to find an outpost in its atmosphere.”

“Their curiosity almost got them killed,” Grat commented dryly. “Fortunately, our interceptors didn't vaporise your shuttlecraft.”

“That was indeed fortunate,” the T’khasi’s face showed no emotion, but there was just a hint of threat in her voice. “Perhaps you should establish warning bakes around the planet to prevent such misunderstandings.”

“I'll pass that along,” Grat said, carefully keeping all sarcasm out of his voice. He might even do just that. Now that the existence – and the location – of the station had become known, secrecy no longer was a true option.

Unless Central Command chose to bury that knowledge, together with the alien infiltrators. Which would have been the safest solution anyway.

“I would like to negotiate the release of Captain Archer and Ensign Mayweather,” the T’khasi continued.

“I'm afraid I don't have the authority to release them,” Grant actually managed to sound apologetic. “We have very strict regulations. They'll have to appear before a magistrate on Tandar Prime. But the hearing should be brief. I'll explain that this was just an innocent misunderstanding. A transport will be here in three days.”

There was a moment of silence while the T’khasi absorbed the information, her face as smooth and emotionless as the marble masks in the Tombs of Atuan.

“May we attend the hearing?” She then asked.

The question caught Grat unaware. He couldn’t come up with a plausible reason to deny the request off the top of his head, but there was no way he – or anyone from the military – would allow a T’khasi to set foot on Tandar Prime.

“Again, I don’t have the authority to decide that,” he finally said. “When you arrive at Tandar Prime you'll be contacted by the Central Magistrate's Office and clear it with them.”

“We will need the coordinates,” the T’khasi said as a way of acceptance.

“I'm sending them now,” Grat nodded to Keyla who provided the requested coordinates from her own console.

Aboard the Earth ship, the T’khasi’s eyes briefly flickered towards her control screen; then she inclined her head formally. “Thank you, Colonel.”

“Good luck to you,” Grat replied and added, after ending the transmission, with a dark smile. “You’ll need it.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Ensign Sato,” T’Pol turned to Hoshi after the screen had gone dark, “Please compare the coordinates sent us with the ones on the data stick provided by the Cabal.”

“You think they’re plannin’ to send us somewhere else than Tandar Prime?” Tucker asked.

T’Pol nodded. “Colonel Grat was uncharacteristically cooperative for a Tandaran military officer; especially one that is – how do you humans say it? – that is outgunned by Enterprise.”

“So he is probably lurin’ us somewhere where the really big guns are?”

“That would be only logical. They cannot let us go, not after we have discovered the station… and the deported Suliban civilians on board.”

“They are clearly not planning to,” Hoshi said. “According to Silik’s data the coordinates are those of an orbital defence platform above Tandar Prime. One with enough firepower to destroy an entire fleet.”

“They wanna make it look as if we’d attack the platform to justify blowin’ us off the sky!” Tucker realized. “And then making the Cap’n and Travis a show process!”

“That is a logical assumption,” T’Pol agreed. “Which is why we can’t allow the captain and Ensign Mayweather to remain in their custody,” she touched her comm unit. “Bridge to Sickbay.”

“Phlox here,” the cheerful voice of the Denobulan replied.

“What's your status?” T’Pol inquired.

“Finishing as we speak, though I'm not completely happy with the nose,” Phlox replied.

“It does not have to be perfect; it’s enough if it’s convincing,” Reed commented in the background.

“I concur,” T’Pol said. “Please send the lieutenant back to the situation room, Doctor. His expertise is needed.”

Only minutes later Lieutenant Reed arrived in the situation room; or rather a Suliban, who spoke with his voice, did. Doctor Phlox might not have been happy with the nose, but for the casual observer the illusion was perfect.

Tucker whistled. “Not bad. The clothin’s different, though.”

“I’m pretending to be an unenhanced Suliban,” Reed pointed out. “Doctor Phlox based the clothes on those of the couple he had examined a year or so ago. I’m supposed to blend in, not to draw attention.”

“It is adequate,” T’Pol said in a tone that ended the banter immediately. “Let us see how we can get the lieutenant down to the station.”

“We must be quick,” Tucker said. “As soon as the good colonel realizes we ain’t on our way to Tandar Prime, he might decide takin’ drastic steps.”

“Their patrol ships cannot endanger Enterprise,” Reed reminded him. “However,” he added, putting the image of the station on the viewscreen, “there’s something that might.”

The design of the station was oddly alien: it appeared unbalanced, as if somebody had taken a handful of spikes and welded them together at one end. There were extensions at the free ends of some of the spikes, though, that Tucker found familiar.

“Those are clearly proximity sensors,” he said, "and not part of the original design; much more basic.”

“According to the data provided by the Cabal, they were originally designed by the Suliban,” T’Pol replied. “The Tandarans acquired a lot of technology from those living in the Tandar System… one way or another.”

“If we come in low from the east, we should be able to evade their proximity sensors,” Reed suggested.

“That would be the best approach,” T’Pol agreed; then she pointed at something in the middle, where the ‘spikes’ met. “This appears to be a pulse cannon. One powerful enough to cause serious damage to Enterprise.”

“It'll be my first target,” Lieutenant Foster, Reed’s second, promised darkly.

“I would prefer to avoid direct confrontation,” T’Pol said. “Even if we manage to take out their main weapon, they would still have time to execute the captain and Ensign Mayweather.”

Gerasen Gerasal, who had been listening wordlessly so far, now raised a webbed hand.

“I am no strategist, but something just occurred to me,” they said.” We do have a record of the impulse sent by the Elachi to trigger self-destruct on that planet with up the Iconian gateway, don’t we?”

T’Pol looked at Hoshi who nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“If we can reproduce the impulse and send it to the station, it might trigger a station-wide alarm, right?” the Viseeth continued.

“Perhaps,” Tucker allowed. “But haven’t we just established that the Shroomies wouldn't let the Tandarans play with their station if any weapons were still functionin’?”

"Besides, our intention is to rescue the deported Suliban civilians, not to blow them up, together with the station,” T’Pol added dryly.

Gerasen Gerasal rolled their expressive eyes. “I’m not suggesting blowing up the station; I seriously doubt we could do it, even if we tried. Iconian technology was extremely redundant, with built-in safety mechanisms, or so it’s said. But if we can trigger any alarm, that would cause a lot of confusion and make the evacuation of the station necessary, in which case freeing both Captain Archer and Ensign Mayweather and the Suliban easier.”

T’Pol, Tucker and Reed exchanged calculating looks.

“It could work,” Reed finally allowed.

“But only if we feed the impulse directly to their board systems,” Hoshi spoke up. “We still don’t know how the Shroomies detonated the outpost by remote control; however, I can do this from any communications junction on the station.”

“Can you actually recognize such a junction?” T’Pol asked.

Hoshi nodded. “I’ve been studying the data collected on the gateway planet thoroughly.”

“Then you can show me how to do it,” Reed said.

Hoshi shot him an exasperated look. “By all due respect, Lieutenant, NO, I can’t. You are no communications expert and you don’t speak – or read – Tandaran. I do. And it would take Doctor Phlox about five minutes to give me a ridge on my nose like the Tandarans have.”

Tucker, who was at least as protective towards Hoshi as Archer himself, tried to protest, but T’Pol overrode him.

“Ensign Sato is right,” she said. “Time is of vital importance here, and she is best qualified for this task,” she looked at Hoshi. “Report to Sickbay, Ensign, and tell Doctor Phlox that he has ten minutes,” she turned to Tucker. “Considering the… sensitive nature of our next move, it would be prudent if you operated the transporter, Commander.”

Tucker simply nodded in agreement and was already on his way out.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Fifteen minutes later two Starfleet officers – disguised as a Suliban male and a Tandaran female, respectively – were heading down to the transporter room, carrying a PADD with the necessary data (Hoshi), several small explosives (Reed) and phase pistols set to stun (both).

“Are you sure you can do this?” Reed asked. At her unfriendly glare he hurriedly corrected himself. “I mean, to do this with me? This is a mission where we need to trust each other unconditionally.”

“Are you planning to shoot anyone through me again?” Hoshi asked coldly.

Reed, not expecting such a blunt question from the usually timid exolinguist, was moderately shocked. “Of course not!”

“Then I have no problem with this,” she returned. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to focus now. I’m not exactly comfortable with the thought of my atoms being scattered in the transporter beam.”

“Then why did you volunteer?” Reed could certainly understand her being uncomfortable with the transporter. He was uncomfortable with it, too.

Hoshi shrugged. “It is my fear versus the captain and Travis’s life; it wasn’t really a complicated decision.”

“It could be your life at stake, too, should anything go wrong,” Reed reminded her.

“I only have a life thanks to Captain Archer,” she said simply. “This is the least I can do.”

In the next moment they reached the transporter room where Tucker was already waiting for them anxiously.

“T’Pol has brought Enterprise in position and found a relatively safe spot for you to beam in,” he said. “If yer gonna do this, we need to hurry.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Hon-teelo Klev was not a happy man, just like his commanding officer, although for different reasons. For starters, he disliked being called simply Klev, having been Klev-ano for almost two decades. But when his wife divorced him for being the brother of a Suliban supporter, he lost the honorific title of a married man — and the honoured status of a married man.

The fact that he had long severed ties with his treacherous brother did not count. Not for his ex-wife and not for his military superiors.

Unlike Hon-shun Grat, Klev appreciated being dispatched to the detention camp. It gave him the chance to work out his frustration on those who had caused his bad luck in the first place: the Suliban rats. The fact that his brother’s mottled buddy had ended up among them, too, was only an added bonus.

Having learned the hard way what consequences it could have for the entire clan if as much as one family member became chummy with the mottled rats, he made it his special task to see that not one of his subordinates would fall into that particular trap. There was no room for misplaced empathy, and he saw to it that the lower ranks understood the importance of that.

He was therefore accordingly outraged when he spotted a young, pretty female hon-hae, wearing the uniform of the technicians, in low-voiced argument with one of the prisoners. He always knew that enlisted personnel were annoyingly undisciplined but were they stupid, too? Grasping his stun baton hard, he hurried up to her side… only to realize with a shock that they were doing… something with one of the main communications junctions.

“Hey, you,” he called out in outrage. “What the hell are you doing there?”

The female technician turned to him with well-feigned innocence. A lesser man would have probably fallen for the act.

“Officer Reddik and I are in a disagreement about the maintenance of this junction, sir,” she replied. She had an exotic accent he could not place at the moment, but that was the least of his concerns right now.

“That… creature is certainly not an officer,” he spat, “and you know all too well that fraternizing with the prisoners is severely punished.”

“Well, that is new for me but not really surprising,” she replied smoothly; then she nodded to the Suliban. “All done, sir.”

She called that… thing ‘sir’? Was she simply insane or, what was much worse, a filthy collaborator? Klev adjusted the stun baton in his grip and lunged at her without warning. He only noticed the foreign-looking weapon in the Suliban’s hand when it was too late. A heavy stun beam hit him like a brick wall and he lost consciousness.

He couldn’t hear the comm system coming alive all over the station. A low, heavy rumbling filled every deck and a mechanical, alien-sounding voice began what was obviously a countdown.

Kandar se… Kandar ere… Kandar mose…

“What is this?” Reed asked, mildly alarmed.

“Iconian warning,” Hoshi recognized. “The same one the away team heard on the planet with the gateway. Our trick has clearly worked.”

“Then let’s get the captain and Ensign Mayweather and get off the station, just in case it has worked too well,” Reed, who still had vivid memories of the explosion that destroyed half the unnamed planet’s surface, said grimly.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Archer and Mayweather had a hard time behind them. Both had been repeatedly interrogated by Colonel Grat and Major Klev, respectively, and beaten up for being uncooperative. Fortunately for them, Charlie Tucker had managed to beam down an ersatz communicator to them, and – thank to the fact that Hoshi had triaxiliated the signal, so that it couldn’t have been picked up even in the middle of Starfleet Headquarters – T’Pol had been able to tell them about the plan.

The other fortunate factor was that they had made contact with some of the detained Suliban. Those were not in league with the Cabal, but some of them were experienced pilots and highly capable engineers; plus they knew where the confiscated Suliban ships were being kept. With suitable distraction they would be able to get to the ships and flee the station in a dozen different directions, so they stated.

Things got even more complicated by the fact that Archer had been put into isolation right before the whole action would start, thus separating him from Mayweather, who was allowed to remain in their cell. That made it impossible for them to coordinate any further moves. Everything depended on Enterprise now.

Mayweather was eating when the countdown started. He immediately put the bow away, ready to bolt whenever someone came for him. A moment later there was a knock on his door and in came a Suliban he’d never seen before, which was just a tad suspicious.

“Can I help you?” He asked. “I don’t think we’ve met yet.”

“Actually, I’m here to help you,” the Suliban answered; it took Travis a moment to realize that the alien was speaking English… with a very familiar accent.

“Lieutenant Reed?”

The ‘Suliban’ grinned. “Call me Reddik. Oh, you look worse than I do. What happened?”

Mayweather pulled a face. “Long story. How'd you get down here?”

“Transporter. I think I'm finally getting used to it.” Reed’s voice revealed that he was anything but; Travis wisely decided not to comment on that fact.

“Are you sure you weren't detected?” He asked instead.

The armoury officer shook his head. “No, thanks to Ensign Sato. She kept the sensors occupied.” He then got two phase pistols out of his knapsack. “Congratulations, Ensign. Your case is about to be dismissed. Now, where is the captain?”

Travis took the map of the station out of his pocket. “The isolation block is here. He's in one of these cells.”

“I'll find him,” Reed promised. “Ready to blow this joint?”

“More than ready,” the helmsman listened to the alien voice that was still counting down in that unknown language. “Is that Iconian, by any chance?”

“According to Ensign Sato it is. Now if we want to go, we shouldn’t waste any time. Are your Suliban buddies in position?”

Mayweather nodded. “All we need is somebody to blow the hatches to the hangar bay open. I guess that’s where you come in play, sir.”

“It will be my pleasure; quite literally,” Reed said with a wolfish grin, very recognizable even in his Suliban disguise. “Let’s go!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When the alarm started blaring through the comm system, Hon’shun Grat was shocked beyond measure. No-one had ever heard that alarm since the Tandaran military took over the station a hundred or so years previously.

No-one had ever heard it; but every commanding officer of the station knew what it meant.

It meant that the station was about to explode and needed to be evacuated immediately.

It was not known where that knowledge came from; it had simply been there from the beginning. The evacuation protocols had been there for just as long. All he needed to do was to give the evacuation order and thing would go in their pre-organized way.

First, the computer databases – those they actually had access to – were to be wiped. No enemy of Tandar Prime was allowed to get their hands on them, especially the Suliban. Cabal or not, was there really a difference?

Secondly, all non-military personnel were to be evacuated. That meant non-enlisted technicians and medical assistants, even though their percentage had been lowered steadily in recent decades.

Thirdly, the military troops were to board their interceptors and the one troop transporter docked at the station, take off at once and establish observing positions in safe distance to document what was going to happen.

An evacuation of the Suliban prisoners was not foreseen.

Which left only one question open: Why was the station about to explode?

Actually, the question wasn’t that hard to answer if he thought about it. The humans must have had something to do with it. The humans or rather their T’Khasi handler. It wouldn’t have been anyone else. How they found a way to initiate the explosion was a mystery; but they weren’t going to get away for it.

Wasn’t it fortunate that he had their captain in the isolation cell as a bargaining chip?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It didn’t take Hoshi long to hack into the comm system and determine Jack’s location. Getting there, on the other hand, proved a bit more complicated in her Tandaran disguise. She had to avoid any higher-ranking Tandaran officers so that she wouldn’t blow her cover; and that took time. Too much time. It was frustrating, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t risk being evacuated together with the Tandaran personnel; escaping from one of their ships wouldn’t have been easy.

In the end she managed to reach Jack’s isolation cell without being spotted. The scene she found there was not promising, though. A Suliban lay in front of the half-opened cell door, knocked out cold; at second sight she recognized him as Lieutenant Reed. And, based on the voices coming from the cell, Jack was in a heated argument with somebody… with Colonel Grat, she identified the voice.

“You have no idea what you've done,” the Tandaran was positively fuming. “You haven't freed these people, you've condemned them.”

“Condemned to what?” Jack returned coldly. “To live their lives as actual people who have the right to choose their own way?”

“They have no rights,” the Tandaran spat. “They lost them the moment the Cabal began attacking us. Do you know how many people the Cabal have murdered? How many ships they destroyed? Colonies?”

“And how many ships and colonies have you destroyed?” Jack asked. “I’m told that it was you who’ve started this war, long before the Cabal came into existence.”

Hoshi was so distracted by the argument that she almost screamed when someone grabbed her from behind and covered her mouth with his hand. Fortunately, it was Reed, who had just picked himself up from the floor.

“Quiet!” The armoury officer hissed. “Watch my back; I’m getting the captain.”

Hoshi nodded mutely and watched the Englishman-distinguished-as-Suliban sneak into the cell noiselessly like a big, graceful cat. There he rammed the Tandaran from behind hard enough for Grat to drop his weapon, which Jack picked up immediately.

“Let’s shut him in the cell,” the captain said. “We need to go, now!”

Reed followed his orders, and then they took a run for the shuttlepod, with numerous Suliban around them also heading for the hangar bay. The emotionless mechanical voice kept counting down.

Kandar sete… Kandar ne… Kandar qetar… Kandar jet… Kandar piqe…

“Do you think the station will really blow up?” Hoshi asked breathlessly when they finally reached the ‘pod.

Jack took the pilot’s seat and started the checklist immediately, with Reed sliding into the co-pilot’s place next to him. Mayweather was already there but gladly let his captain take control, battered and beaten up as he was.

“I don’t know,” Jack replied, “But I don’t intend to wait and find out. Hold on, people, this is gonna be a rough ride.”

He kick-started the engines, taking off in a fairly reckless manner that made Hoshi a bit nervous; but again, time was definitely a factor here. Next to him Reed was contacting Enterprise, reporting in and asking T’Pol about the Tandaran interceptors.

“They shall not pose a threat,” the Vulcan told him. “They are occupied with evacuating all station personnel and protecting the troop transporter.”

“And the Suliban?” Jack asked.

“Their vessels are breaking orbit.”

“All right. Be ready to do the same as soon as we’ve docked in. Should the station really blow up, that could lead to some spectacular fireworks within the atmosphere of this gas giant – fireworks that would be better watched from safe distance.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Good. We'll see you in a few minutes.”

“Tell the Doctor to meet us in Sickbay,” Reed added. “Ensign Mayweather will need medical assistance; and my skin is really starting to itch.”

“I shall let him know.”

With that, T’Pol broke the connection and Jack continued heading towards Enterprise at a breakneck speed. He wanted to get out of the atmosphere before the station blew up; if it would blow up at all. But if it did, that would be one hell of an explosion. They’d seen first-hand what Iconian technology could do, back on that nameless planet with the gateway. Multiplying that with the factor of it happening in the atmosphere of a gas giant perhaps not even Warp 5 would be enough to escape the shockwave unharmed.

It was fortunate that the system had no inhabited planets.

Mayweather must have been calculating the possible effects, too, because he sounded just a little bit anxious. “Captain, think they'll make it?”

“You mean the Suliban?”

“Yes. Their ships are quite small; I wonder how far they can get in them in such a short time.”

“They area a nomadic people; I bet their ships are tough,” Archer breathed out in relief when Enterprise came into visual reach right in front of them. “And I’m sure Silik and his cronies will keep an eye on them and intervene if necessary. At the very last they’ll guide them out of Tandaran space safely.”

“Do you think they’ll be all right, though?” Hoshi asked. “This particular group had settled on Tandar Prime three generations ago. Will they get used to nomadic life again?”

“I don’t know,” the captain admitted, steering the ‘pod into the landing bay with a steady hand. “All I know is that our debt to Silik is paid.”

“Which means all bets are open again,” Reed commented pessimistically. “We can’t count on him not shooting us in the back next time we run into each other.”

“I see the cosmetic changes left your sunny disposition untouched, Lieutenant,” Archer set the ‘pod down and waited impatiently for the bay to be re-pressurized. “Report to Sickbay, all three of you and get cleaned up.”

“What about you, Captain?”

“I’ll be on the Bridge to see what happens.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Contrary to everybody’s expectations, the station did not blow up in the next twenty minutes. It didn’t blow up in the next twenty hours, either; and when two days later it was still in one piece, the Tandarans cautiously returned to look for Hon-sun Grat, Hon-teelo Klev and the few others who had not made it out in the last minute.

They found everyone alive, albeit a little battered. The station itself, though, was beyond repair. Whatever had happened when the false alarm had been initiated, it burned out the power entirely. Having just used the advanced technology without actually understanding it, the Tandarans had no means to reset it.

The loss was considered grievous by the Central Magistrate. Not only did they lose one of their detention centres, they had also lost their only beachhead in a star system that – while unable to support life on any of its planets – was rich on rare and important minerals, necessary for the construction and fuelling of spacecraft. They had to count on others encroaching into their territory, now that they no longer had an outpost to watch over it.

The repercussions were accordingly severe. Hon-sun Grat and Hon-teelo Klev were called back to Tandar Prime, got debriefed and court-martialled. They lost their rank and were expelled from the military. Fortunately for Grat, his late wife’s family had close ties to the Security Magistrate, and so he got hired, in all secrecy, as an intelligence agent, with the main agenda of gathering information about humans in general and Enterprise’s mission in particular.

“We have extrapolated their course,” the High Commander of the Security Magistrate displayed a star map on his monitor. “Currently they are heading towards an area their database calls the Arachnid Nebula. You and Agent Terr’ana will follow them by way of a courier ship built for high travelling velocity. It has only minimal weaponry, so make sure you won’t be spotted. Don’t try to be a hero; we need information, first and foremost. This isn’t one of your pompous military campaigns. Also, Agent Terr’ana will be in command. She has ample experience with such missions and knows where the priorities lie. You’ll be there to protect her. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

As humiliating as the loss of his rank and his military career was, Grat delighted in the fact that he’d go on a lengthy two-man mission with Keyla, of all people. She was smart, ruthless… and hotter than the lava pits in Halytha Province. Who knew, they might even get close and personal during the mission; something for which had been no chance in the detention complex with its ever-present observance cameras.

But even if it never happened, he’d get the chance to seek revenge on these cursed humans who had crippled his station, allied themselves with the Suliban rats and destroyed his career. That was a comforting thought. It didn’t make up for his loss, but it was something to look forward to.

That, and the chance to spend time alone with Keyla.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
During this time the starship Enterprise was travelling with Warp 3 towards her next goal, her clueless captain and crew not even suspecting that they were being followed by another less than friendly party.

They dared their first bold steps to the distant stars, to boldly go where no man has gone before, to find new friends. Unbeknownst to them they were also making enemies at an alarming rate.

But as the executive officer of another famous starship will say two centuries on the future:

Fate protects fools, little children and starships named Enterprise.
(Commander Riker in TNG, Ep 2.11: Contagion)

~The End – for now~