"In the Cold of the Night" By Blackn’blue Rating: PG-13 (Violence, Adult Language, Adult Situations, Rampant Sexism, Politically Incorrect Social Commentary, Anger Management Issues, Cruel Laundry Stains) Disclaimer: Whoever owns the Star Trek franchise these days owns these characters. Genre: Drama Description: This is a sequel of sorts to my previous story, For Want of A Nail. The time period is several weeks later. Things are proceeding just as Daniels predicted, but there were some details he neglected to mention. This story is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or yet unborn is simply your own paranoia bothering you so don’t bug me about it. Note: Vulcan terms used in this story were stolen wholesale from the Vulcan Language Dictionary at http://www.starbase-10.de/vld/. A/N: Somebody else on this site first came up with the idea of super stinky baby poop. I have wracked my brains and I can’t remember which story I read it in to save my butt. But it fit so well with the point I wanted to make about T’Pol’s nose that I just had to steal it. Sorry. Part 3 - Conclusion: He crouched low and listened intently, breathing through his mouth as silently as possible. The enemy was out there somewhere. But the wind was getting stronger, and shifting leaves made it impossible to pick out the Vulcan’s footsteps. Massaro turned up the volume slightly on the earphones he wore. The noise suppression circuit in the headset was supposed to filter out extraneous background noises like rustling leaves, but it didn’t work for shit. The infrared goggles were at least doing their job. He could see a monochrome image of the forest as brightly as if it were high noon. His nostrils flared in atavistic reflex. The Vulcan was inhumanly fast. “What else did you expect fool?” he sneered at himself. Massaro crept forward a half step at a time, moving timidly toward the tree that Soval had ducked behind. “Three times human strength they say,” he remembered. In the Expanse, Commander T’Pol had certainly never shown any problem sparring with human men. Even the biggest MACOs on the ship had to use skill against her, brute force alone was never enough. If a Vulcan woman could face a MACO the size of an air car, what could a Vulcan man do to a human male his size? Massaro was already sweating, this thought made it even worse. He gritted his teeth and swung wide around the tree, keeping the rifle pointed at the spot where Soval had disappeared. Nothing. Relief shuddered through him and made his knees weak. Now what? Massaro scanned the area beyond the tree quickly. Then he went over the area more thoroughly, checking each bush, each mound of leaves. Nothing. Sudden cold lanced down his back and he whirled around. Nothing. Massaro spun in a slow circle. No sign of the Vulcan anywhere. He had vanished into thin air. Shit. Shit. SHIT. Massaro tried to quiet his panting. Think. He wasn’t a ghost, he was just a mortal. An alien, yes. Fast and strong, yes. But still flesh and blood. He was hiding somewhere, behind something that was blocking his body heat from the infrared goggles. All he had to do was proceed forward with extreme caution until he spotted a tell tale glow of heat, then cut loose and spray it full of bullets. Job done, and he could go home. “No!” he thought in panic. Massaro dropped to a squat and pointed the rifle into the branches above his head. Nothing. It was just the wind. The Vulcan had not climbed the tree after all. Massaro’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold the rifle. Sweat dripped into his eyes and blinded him, fogging the lenses of his goggles. His heartbeat deafened him to any other sound. He started to hyper ventilate. Why had he let Cantrell talk him into this? Stupid question. What else could he do? Without Terra Prime’s help he had nothing left now. His Starfleet career was destroyed. With a dishonorable discharge hanging over his head, and a blacklisting from Starfleet Command, nobody would ever hire him unless it was one of Mr. Cantrell’s companies. He either committed to Cantrell all the way now, or he cut his throat and got it over with. And this was his last chance to make it up to Mr. Cantrell for screwing up so badly aboard Enterprise. He bit his lip bloody as he remembered confessing to Lieutenant Reed. He had volunteered information that they didn’t even ask for. He had given them things that they had no way of even suspecting. Massaro flushed in shame. But what else could he have done? They were going to bring in those Vulcan priest-warlocks and mind rape him. He shuddered and tightened his shoulders. Vulcans. Like the one he was hunting tonight. Like that bitch T’Pol that had corrupted Commander Tucker. As fine a man as ever lived, until she turned him into a traitor to his own race. Massaro took a deep breath. He was going to do this. He was going to kill this Vulcan tonight. Then he was going to go back and report to Mr. Cantrell that he had successfully accomplished his mission. Massaro started creeping forward again, making sure to keep checking in all directions, including overhead. -&- Soval lay perfectly still, watching the human by the light of the lantern he was carrying. A moment later the light went out and Soval closed his eyes quickly. It took several seconds for his vision to adjust to the near total darkness under the trees. Only the almost imperceptible glow of Earth’s full harvest moon trickling through the branches gave him any light at all. Soval could still make out the vague shadow shape of the human standing between him and the brighter glow of the clearing. The human turned and Soval caught a quick flash from the goggles he wore. Night vision gear. He also remembered seeing some kind of helmet that covered the man’s ears. Most likely his hearing was augmented as well. If he knew in advance that he would be facing a Vulcan, it would be a logical precaution. After squatting and looking up into the tree for a moment, the human assassin straightened and began moving once more, heading deeper into the forest along the heading that Soval was originally following when he left the clearing. The cold humus pressed against his cheek was causing his face to become numb. His hands were better off, being folded together against his chest. Fortunately his clothing was well insulated. Normal Earth temperatures had become increasingly chilly to Soval as the years passed, and he had permitted himself to appreciate the logic of avoiding frostbite by arranging for his suits to carry an extra layer of thermal protection. At present, this not only added to his comfort but also provided a shield against the assassin’s heat sensors. Once the human had passed beyond earshot Soval slid carefully from under the log, emerging out of a pile of wet leaves. He remained crouched and listening. There was no indication that his motion had been detected. Carefully he tried to move his right arm. The pain was severe but the limb was still mobile. A trickle of blood could be felt, but the damage overall was much less than he had expected. Soval raised an eyebrow and considered. Apparently the human was using a small caliber rifle. Not the most logical weapon for an assassin. The range of such weapons was quite limited, and the projectile velocity was also quite low. They were designed for small game hunting, and depended on the explosive bullet to provide the shock power to kill the prey. On the other hand, they were ubiquitous across the planet and easily obtained, legally or otherwise. They could also be disposed of readily and were difficult to trace. Knowing nothing about his attacker, Soval could not assume that the assassin had access to significant resources. Perhaps a small caliber rifle was the best he could get. A shot to the head could still kill him. It would not be appropriate to forget that fact. Soval unfastened his ambassadorial sash. He moved cautiously back toward the relatively well lit clearing, but forbore to enter it. Staying within the shelter of the forest, but near enough to take advantage of the full moon’s dim light, Soval circled the clearing. Along the way he stumbled over several stones, two of which he picked up and knotted into the ends of his sash. It was not an ahn-woon by any means, but it was far better than nothing. Soval finally worked his way around to the point from which the human had emerged. He discovered a small path leading away from the clearing and promptly started following it. For now, speed was more important than stealth. His first concern must be to put distance between himself and the assassin. If there were cohorts up ahead, so be it. He would deal with them when he found them. Hopefully there would be either a vehicle or a shelter that he could commandeer, either of which might provide communications ability. In any case, when he did not return in two hours, the Security Directorate would dispatch a team to home in on his tracker signal immediately. Soval calculated that his flight to the clearing had required 26.4 minutes. From the time Draklas had departed to present was... Soval raised an eyebrow. He had lost track of time. Most disconcerting. Extreme fatigue, coupled with pain and blood loss were hampering his thought processes to a greater degree than he had realized. Finding shelter was becoming imperative. -&- Massaro ground his teeth in frustration. The Vulcan might as well have transported off the planet. Except he knew that it couldn’t have happened. No, somehow the devious old S.O.B. had managed to hide himself so well that Massaro had overlooked him. All he could do was back track and try again, using a wider search pattern this time. Sooner or later he had to find him, or his body. Maybe one of his shots had hit? Massaro considered the idea hopefully. If that was the case, the Vulcan might be somewhere bleeding to death right now. He felt much better at the thought. Massaro zigzagged his way back to the edge of the clearing and suddenly stopped with a curse. The hollow under the fallen log was plain to see now, as was the pile of wet leaves that Soval had used for cover. Seething with anger, Massaro forgot his fear long enough to close in and examine the trail. Groping through darkness had prevented the Vulcan from doing anything effective about hiding his trail. The shuffled leaves and broken branches were plain to see. Massaro glanced forward and saw where the Vulcan had reached the clearing’s edge and started to circle. Where was he going? It hit him like a club. His air car. The Vulcan was going to double back and try for Massaro’s air car. The Vulcan was running scared. A surge of new confidence burned through him. All right then. The hunter bared his teeth. Let him try to break in. Before he had time to get past the lock it would all be over. Massaro strode confidently along Soval’s trail, no longer worried. -&- The air car was securely locked. Without tools Soval calculated the probability of being able to break in at less than 0.13%. He was considering his options when the sound of footsteps on the path told him that time for thinking was up. The low, spreading branches of a nearby maple tree provided easy access to an elevated attack position. Soval carefully coiled his improvised weapon in his left hand and waited, immobile again. The footsteps approached, stopped, then approached again. A slightly darker shadow among all the other shades paused at the edge of the trees. Then it moved forward in the direction of the dimly blurred outline of the air car. It froze in place and Soval tensed. He heard the human stop breathing. Then the rustle of clothing, and a metallic click. Soval vented the piercing kwul-tor scream of ke-ta-yatar and leaped for the shadow, swinging his weighted sash ahead of him in a whistling arc at what he judged to be head height. The two men crashed together and hit the ground. Massaro, blazing with panic strength, rammed the rifle crossways into Soval’s face and pushed with everything he had. He somehow got out from under the old Vulcan and rolled away, frantically groping for the trigger of his weapon. Soval struggled to his knees. The impact and resultant struggle had wrenched his wounded shoulder, increasing the pain by an order of magnitude. He was perilously close to losing consciousness. Looking up, he saw the outline of the assassin against the stars and heard him fumbling with the mechanism of the rifle. Barely coherent with pain and blood loss, Soval groped and found one end of his sash. He pulled his arm back and then snapped it forward in the standard ahn-woon throat attack. The stone weight on the end of the sash flew past Massaro’s head, then caught and spun around his neck like a bolo. Soval yanked with all his waning strength and dragged the young human forward off balance. Massaro dropped the gun and grabbed for the cloth band that was cutting off his air. Soval coldly struck upward with his weakened right fist and punched Massaro directly in the testicles as hard as he could. What little air Massaro had left departed abruptly and he went to his knees. Soval lunged forward and embraced Massaro tightly, reaching for the back of his neck with both hands. He caught the human’s neck in the grip of tal’shaya and applied the necessary pressure. Massaro died instantly. Too slow to release him, and too weak to hold him up, Soval let himself be dragged down with the corpse. They lay together for a time, hunter and hunted, as the Vulcan tried to regain enough breath to move again. Eventually he managed to pull himself away from the body of his would-be killer and drag his bleeding self over to the air car, where he slumped in shaking exhaustion. An unknown time later Soval heard the engines of several air cars approaching that he recognized as Vulcan made. Lights swept over the clearing, followed by security operatives dropping into position on lift belts. “Ambassador.” Soval tried to respond but had trouble forming the words. Hypothermia was robbing him of the ability to move or speak. A rapid series of commands were snapped back and forth over his head. Then someone wrapped an emergency blanket around his shoulders and two people helped him stand. A hypo against his neck took effect quickly, and Soval managed to open and focus his eyes. His chief operative, Ketan, was directing a team in securing the area. Seeing Soval on his feet brought Ketan over at a trot. “What is the Ambassador’s condition?” he demanded of the medic who was running a scanner over Soval. “Minor bullet wound in the right shoulder,” the medic reported blandly. “Moderate damage, non-lethal.” Soval pulled loose from the hands gripping him and walked over to the body of his attacker. Ketan followed closely. In the near distance every Vulcan could hear the rapid approach of Human vehicles. Many of them, all closing at high speed. “Ambassador,” Ketan insisted urgently, “we must evacuate you immediately.” Soval replied, “No.” He looked down at the body of the man he had killed for a moment. Then he knelt and removed the goggles and helmet. His breath hissed in recognition. “Massaro.” “The Terra Prime operative aboard Enterprise who stole Commander T’Pol’s genetic material?” Ketan asked stonily. “Yes.” Soval climbed tiredly back to his feet, just as a light swept down and outlined the two of them as they stood over the body. Soval glanced up and saw the logo of a planetary news service, along with a recorder aimed directly at the clearing. The Human was recording everything. The dead Human, the Vulcans standing around the body, the ambassadorial sash still wrapped around the body’s throat, everything. Well, so be it then. Soval turned and gestured for the medic. He sat down and allowed Ketan to assist him in removing his shirt, giving the reporter a clear view of his bloody back and the bullet wound. The medic went to work. -&- “Thank you, Crewman,” Captain Archer said. Crewman Gonzales unloaded the tray onto the table in the Captain’s Mess and Trip breathed in blissfully. “Steak and mashed potatoes, with red eye gravy. Oh man,” he gloated. “Hey that reminds me, Cap’n. I brought back a crate full of kasa fruit for Chef. It’s still in the shuttle pod.” “I will have the Quartermaster send somebody to unload it after dinner,” Archer told him. He waited until the crewman had left the room and continued, “Anyway, from the way you were talking earlier this Inclusion ceremony sounds like the Vulcan version of a baby shower.” “Partly,” Trip agreed evasively. “It’s a lot more than that. But partly it’s a chance for the women of the family to bring gifts for the baby.” “So what did you get? Clothes and things like that?” Archer poured them each a beer from the pitcher. “Plus a lot of educational baby toys,” Trip told him. “Things to stimulate Lizzie’s mind and develop her coordination. Some of them are pretty interesting. Some of them are cute. And some of them are just annoying.” He carved off a chunk of sirloin and started chewing it happily. “Like what?” Archer asked him in amusement, taking a sip of beer. “Well,” Trip swallowed the bite, “there is a mobile that hangs over her bed with lights and chimes. As she slaps some parts of it, it rings with different tones. Other parts light up in different colors when she hits them. So she can make up her own music and light show with it. Which is nice in the day time. But in the middle of the night when you are trying to sleep it’s not so great.” “You couldn’t accidentally on purpose lose it?” Archer spooned out some more gravy and passed the bowl to Trip. Trip slopped gravy on his lap and sighed. He set the bowl down and started mopping as he muttered, “No way. She loves the thing. Took about five minutes before she got totally fascinated. We wouldn’t dare try to take it now. That kid has an incredible set of lungs on her Cap’n. You hafta hear her scream to believe it. Comes from being adapted to that thin air of course.” He looked up. “Can I have another napkin?” Archer handed him one. “But what really echoes through the house is when she laughs,” Trip grinned with a faraway look in his eyes. “You can’t help busting out laughing right along with her. Or I can’t anyway. T’Pol just stands there fighting to keep a straight face most of the time. But I swear Cap’n, I heard her snicker once or twice. She would deny it under torture, but I heard it.” Archer’s face broke out in an incredulous smile. “T’Pol? Snickering?” Trip nodded emphatically. “There’s another toy that Lizzie got from the Inclusion ceremony that really puts a strain on T’Pol’s self-discipline just because the little squirt loves it so much. It’s some kind of exercise gadget that she can shake, or stretch, or twist, or squeeze.” Archer nodded understanding. “It drives T’Pol crazy because it goes 'urbutt' when you squeeze it,” Trip continued, “which sends Elizabeth into some kind of baby giggle seizure.” “Uh... seizure?” Archer looked blank. “Y'know what I mean, Cap’n,” Trip elucidated, “when they go ‘hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee hee shee sheesh hee-tchee-tchee-tchee-shee-hee hee hee hee hee hee*hic*hic*hic*hic*’ and then slide over off the cushion and look confused. T'Pol hates the thing.” He scooped up another bite of red eye soaked mashed potatoes reverently. “In between watching the ladies laughing, did you get any work done?” Archer inquired. “Yep,” Trip affirmed. “I went over those plans from stem to stern and back again. They are crap Cap’n. Never fly. I found seven critical flaws that would cause a containment failure before the engine even made it up to warp four, much less all the way up to warp six. Had T’Pol check me on this. She said that ‘these calculations appear to by insupportably optimistic’. The injector designs especially are, in her words, ‘astonishingly inadequate’. Those are direct quotes Cap’n.” Archer looked grim. “I will want you with me when we contact Admiral Gardner. He isn’t going to like this.” “He would like it even less if they built something that blew up,” Trip retorted. “No one doubts your conclusions Trip,” Archer said. “If you two agree that the plans are crap, then the plans are crap. I just don’t want to hear what the admiral is going to say about the time and resources that have already been spent on them.” The admiral had plenty to say, and he said it eloquently. He expressed his mind with a verve and elan that bespoke his many years of service aboard ships of the line. Trip heard it all with open mouthed admiration. “By Cochrane’s empty whiskey bottle, Admiral,” Trip said. “I would take my hat off to ya if I was wearin’ one.” “This is just exactly what we don’t need right now,” the admiral sighed. “I was hoping that at least one thing would be going right for a change. But plainly, I am paying for my sins in a past life and the karmic load is still massive. I must have been a politician.” “I take there are some other difficulties, Admiral?” Archer asked in concern. Gardner looked out from the view screen at them in resignation. “If you hadn’t called me, Jon, I was going to contact you anyway as soon as Commander Tucker returned. I wanted you to be aware of this before you left orbit around Vulcan in any case. Now, after hearing this about the designs, we may be making a change in schedule.” “What happened, Admiral?” Captain Archer asked Admiral Gardner rubbed his brow. “Three days ago former Ensign Massaro tried to kill Ambassador Soval. He failed and ended up dead himself. Soval is in the infirmary at the Vulcan compound right now. The media are going wild.” Jonathan Archer winced and glanced over at his friend, expecting another explosion. To his surprise, Trip was sitting with his mouth gaping open in disbelief, absolutely stunned. Archer had never seen it happen before in all the years he had known Trip. Too choked with anger to talk, yes. But never actually shocked into immobility. “I can certainly see what you mean, Admiral,” Archer said worriedly. “Why haven’t we heard anything about this? The Vulcan authorities haven’t said a word to us about it.” “I gather,” Admiral Gardner told them, “that the Vulcans are trying to minimize the spread of this news back home as long as possible. Sure, it will get out eventually. But T’Pau wants to let us much insulating time pass as she can before it becomes common knowledge. It also gives us time to track down where Massaro has been hiding and who set him up for this.” “Set him up?” Trip roused up at last. “What do you mean by that, Admiral?” Gardner grimaced. “Soval was lured to an out of the way place for an ambush. Oddly, somebody placed an anonymous tip with the local cops about five minutes after Soval was dropped off. Even more oddly, the decoy who lured Soval to the ambush point deliberately allowed him to notify his aide where he was going, who he was going with, and let him take a tracker with him. That sound strange to you?” “Oooo Kaaay,” Trip leaned back in his chair and blinked. “That makes no sense at all. In fact, why bother with an ambush? Why not have the decoy just dump him out somewhere, then take off and shoot him from above?” “Exactly,” Gardner. “It gets more interesting. A few minutes after the tip to the local police, another anonymous tip was sent in to the news media. But this tip came from a different location, using a different communications protocol, with a different voice. The two recordings don’t come close to matching. Plus somebody gave Massaro a small caliber hunting rifle to do the job with. The kind of thing you take rabbit hunting. To kill an adult Vulcan! No gentlemen, Massaro was a patsy. He was meant to fail.” “Terra Prime probably considered him disposable after his failure on Enterprise,” Captain Archer mused. “Most likely,” Gardner said grimly. “But they are getting more use out of him dead than they did alive. With the news pictures of Massaro dead on the ground and Soval and his men standing over the body, Terra Prime is stirring up a hornet’s nest of rumors and innuendo. Everything from conspiracy theories about Vulcan hit squads, to implications that Earthgov was forced to let the Vulcans kill him or face invasion.” “Oh by the...” Trip buried his face in his hand and started rubbing his forehead in extreme pain. Archer just sat there shaking his head in rank disbelief. “Surely, Admiral,” Archer protested. “Surely even the most ignorantly xenophobic Human can’t possibly believe such ridiculous tripe.” “It doesn’t take a majority, Jon,” Gardner said sadly. “All it takes is a sufficiently strident minority to put a real strain on diplomatic relations. By itself this one incident is not that serious. But add it all together with everything else that has happened recently, and all of it riding on the coat tails of the Xindi attack, and you can see why we are worried.” “I suppose so,” Archer said sadly. Gardner continued, “There is one more thing. I know you have both been briefed about General Skrilla’s daughter, Tenla? The young Andorian woman who was kidnapped on Vulcan?” They nodded. “The decoy who lured Soval to the ambush point was Andorian. He identified himself as Draklas, a member of the Andorian delegation for the new embassy they just opened in Toronto. Except there is no such man.” Trip threw up his hands. He stood up and walked over to look out the window into space, shaking his head. “Beautiful,” Archer growled in disgust. “That is just utterly beautiful. These cloak and dagger games give me indigestion.” “The Andorian embassy,” Admiral Gardner said carefully, “has declined to cooperate with the investigation into this matter.” Archer closed his eyes and sighed. “What are your orders, Sir?” he asked in resignation. Gardner rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “I think I am going to modify them a bit from what I originally had in mind. Commander Tucker?” “Yes, Sir?” Trip turned away from the window and walked back to the view screen. “You mentioned that Com-, Lady T’Pol helped you check over the design plans? She had no objections to doing that?” Trip looked surprised. “No, Admiral. No problem there. Why would she?” Trip wondered. “What about,” Gardner hesitated, “if we assigned you to modify and make improvements to them. Would she be willing to assist you with that as well?” Trip straightened thoughtfully. “On what basis, Admiral?” Trip asked. “T’Pol resigned her commission because Vulcan tradition demands that the mother be the primary care giver for a baby. At least until they are old enough to go to school. She is not going to let anything interfere with that.” “Understood,” Gardner said. “I was thinking of a civilian consultant position. We would reimburse her on a per task basis, with her free to set her schedule at her own convenience.” Trip looked intrigued. “I can ask her. I can sure ask her, Admiral. Tell the truth, she misses Enterprise.” He added hurriedly to both of the men listening, “Not that anything in the galaxy would ever drag her away from taking care of Lizzie. No way. But you gotta know that after spending all those years working for the Vulcan High Command, then aboard Enterprise with all we have been through, well... Settling down to changing diapers and filling bottles is a little tame.” “I can well imagine,” Gardner said. “How long do you think it would take the two of you to fix those designs? Turn them into something that might actually be workable?” “Oh man, Admiral,” Trip ran his fingers through his hair. “That’s the kind of question you can’t really answer until you get into it. A case like this is like tipping over dominoes. Finding one thing always affects ten more things that have to be changed too. I couldn’t even give you a realistic estimate until we put some time in on the actual work. If you want a guess I would say at least a year, maybe more. Maybe a lot more.” Gardner winced but nodded. “We should have had you in on it from the start. I argued in favor of it, but I was out voted. Now I get to say I told you so, but it just doesn’t feel very satisfying for some reason.” He grimaced. “So I am going to lose my chief engineer after all,” Archer said. “I am afraid so, Jon,” Gardner told him. “We can’t afford to waste any more time spinning our wheels with this. Not if we want warp six within our generation. Unless you think there is someone else out there who can get the job done for us quicker?” Archer sighed and laughed at the same time, shaking his head. “You’ve got me, Admiral. Trip is the best we’ve got. I just hate to lose him.” “Hess can handle things Cap’n,” Trip told him earnestly. “Seriously,” he looked at both officers, “I want to recommend Hess as my replacement right up front. She is the best on my team. She is smart, she gets along with everyone on the team and they all respect her. You couldn’t do better than Hess, and that’s a fact.” “Noted,” Archer nodded. “You have mentioned Hess before. Her performance reviews have never been less than top notch. It is a little bit soon for a promotion, but not unheard of.” He turned to the screen. “Admiral Gardner, based on Commander Tucker’s recommendation, I would like your approval to promote Hess to Lieutenant Commander and place her in charge of engineering.” Gardner smiled. “It’s your ship, Jon. Your ship and your crew.” Archer returned his smile. “Thank you, Sir.” “Now, speaking of that aforementioned ship and crew, Jon,” Admiral Gardner continued. “As soon as Commander Tucker has been delivered to his new duties, you are going to Andoria.” “Yes, Sir?” “Things are tense, Jon,” Gardner told him. “First with Terra Prime kidnapping that girl on Vulcan. Now with this situation where a mysteriously non-existent Andorian supposedly lures Soval into an ambush.” “You don’t believe Soval, Sir?” Archer wondered. “I just don’t know, Jon,” Gardner muttered. “The Vulcans claim they are turning over a new leaf. I would like to believe that they are. I hope they are. But they have been manipulating us about one thing or another for a hundred years. And they have been lying to the Andorians even longer. Look at P’Jem. We can’t afford to take chances.” He saw their expressions. “Look, I personally like Soval. He seems like a decent guy. But he also works for his government, just like us. He obeys his orders, just like us. Even if he might not like them personally, he would still obey them.” Trip’s indignant look suddenly relaxed into uncertainty. Archer tightened his lips and nodded. “Understood, Admiral.” “So you, Jon, are going to Andoria to smooth feathers. You will travel with diplomatic credentials, and once you arrive you will get in touch with our embassy there. The paint isn’t even dry on the walls in that place. I would hate to have to close it before we finish moving the furniture in,” Gardner said. “Try to keep that from happening, will you? Coordinate with Ambassador Jenkins, she can get you up to speed on current conditions there. Make contact with Commander Shran and see if he will still talk to you. Do what you can for us, Jon. Meanwhile I will try to put out fires on this end.” “Will do, Sir,” Archer acknowledged. Gardner told Trip, “Commander, I want you to return to Vulcan and report to our embassy compound in Shi’Kahr to get the paperwork taken care of for your new assignment. You will be reporting directly to me, is that clear? If anyone tries to give you grief about that, just refer them upstairs and I will make sure it doesn’t happen again. All you worry about is getting those plans done.” “Yes, Sir,” Trip said. Gardner nodded. “All right then, Gentlemen. I have a press conference in twenty minutes. Then a meeting with the Tellurite ambassador in an hour and a half. Then I need to swing by the Vulcan infirmary and visit Ambassador Soval. Then I have the joy of trying one more time to convince the Andorians to cooperate with us in finding out who this Draklas guy is. Wanna trade jobs?” They both recoiled at the thought and Gardner signed off looking tired. -&- Thyren walked upstairs from the concealed tunnel and waited in front of the door to be scanned. After the sensors had finished analyzing him, a cover slid aside to allow him to input his access code. Then another plate slid aside to permit him to provide retinal and DNA identification. Finally the door lock disengaged and the portal opened. He walked into the lower basement of the Andorian embassy. Lethos glanced up from the work table. “I regret the necessity. I would not have called you in from your field work if it were not imperative.” Thyren waved it off impatiently. “Of course you would not. That is understood. What has happened? Did you find one of them?” “In a sense, yes.” Lethos had an odd look on his face. He pushed a small box across the table. Thyren gave it a quick examination. It looked unremarkable. A simple cardboard box. The kind that was used on this planet for shipping small packages routinely. “Open it,” Lethos requested. Thyren complied. He stared fixedly at the contents. “Interesting.” He looked up. “Was there anything else?” “There was,” Lethos told him. He held up a Human data cartridge. “I have scanned it of course. There is nothing dangerous in any of it. No poison, no biotoxin, nothing explosive. Nothing dangerous in the entire package.” “Except the package itself,” Thyren stated flatly. Lethos smiled in agreement. He turned and slipped the data cartridge in the room’s terminal. Thyren watched as the large wall screen brightened. It showed an outdoor Earth scene. There was a small Human dwelling off to one side of the view. The rest of the view was taken by a grassy yard, surrounded by a tall privacy fence. The terrain was steeply sloping. The time of day appeared to be early morning or late evening, judging by the long shadows. There was no sound to the recording. A door in the swelling opened and a human male stepped outside. The recorder focused in on the Human’s face and froze movement for a few seconds. Thyren tensed in recognition. He had studied that face day and night ever since beginning this mission. It was one of the three Humans that they had confirmed as having been the last to see Tenla alive. This one had been identified by the Human authorities as Louis Johanson. There could be no possible doubt. “I see that you recognize him as well,” Lethos remarked. Thyren hissed, “Yes.” His eyes never wavered from the screen. Motion resumed on the recording. Johanson looked directly at the recorder, his expression becoming surprised, then puzzled, then angry. He said something, then he strode toward the recorder with a dangerous look in his eye. At approximately the halfway point a quick flicker of light denoted a weapon flash. Johanson stopped in shocked disbelief, then dropped in his tracks. The recorder approached the fallen body and looked down. Johanson was plainly dead. The recorder zoomed closer to the corpse, and a pair of hands wearing skin tight black gloves appeared in the field of view. One of the hands was holding a knife. The other hand picked up Johanson’s left hand and showed it to the recorder, separating the smallest finger and applying the knife to the base of it. One quick slash sufficed to sever the digit, along with the silver ring that encircled it. The recorder drew back and showed some material being sprayed over Johanson’s corpse. In seconds the body became to emit fumes and shrivel, along with the clothing it was wearing. The shriveled remains started to blacken and char. Within minutes nothing was left of Louis Johanson but ashes, drifting away in the wind. The recording ended and the screen went dark. Thyren looked at Lethos. Then he turned back to the box and looked at the finger inside, taking special note of the silver ring it bore. “It certainly looks the same,” he admitted. “It also bears DNA that matches the traces we found on Vulcan, when we analyzed Tenla’s ground car,” Lethos told him quietly. “General Skrilla will appreciate this,” Thyren said, equally quietly. “Do you think it will satisfy her, for the Humans to kill them privately this way?” Lethos wondered. Thyren offered, “As long as her daughter is avenged, I really doubt that General Skrilla is going to be overly concerned about ways and means.” -&- Crewman Gonzales went off duty and headed for his quarters at a brisk walk. Ordinarily he would hang around for a while in the kitchen and chat with his friends, or drop in at the gym to shoot a few hoops. But today he had something urgent to take care of. His roommates were still out. Good. Two were on duty this shift, the other one never showed up in their quarters except to shower and sleep. And only then when his girlfriend forced him to. Gonzales still felt his gut tighten nervously as he opened his locker. He felt only marginally better once he activated the anti-monitoring field. At least now the security cameras and microphones were disabled. Gonzales pulled out what appeared to be an ordinary PADD. He entered the proper instructions and plugged in a small device at the side. Then he spoke quietly, “Ground Mole from Sky Hawk.” He waited with his guts in a knot for the reply. “Sky Hawk this is Ground Mole. Go ahead.” “Turncoat is running back to his hole. Repeat, Turncoat is jumping ship. He’s all yours.” “Understood. Not a problem. Ground Mole out.” The satisfaction in the distant voice came through clearly. Gonzales deactivated the transmitter and reset everything. He left his quarters with a feeling of deep relief. He really had not been looking forward to the job anyway. Now to find Matilda Wu and let her know that their part of the mission was off. He really hoped she wouldn’t be too disappointed. Pissing off Matilda was never safe nor wise. Ensign Davis stroked the communicator switch with his thumb and smiled. So Tucker was coming back down. Couldn’t leave his green-blooded piece alone huh? All right then. So much the better. They would take care of the traitor down here. And maybe while they were at it, they would sample the Vulcan themselves. Find out just what she had that would make a man willing to give up his whole world and his entire species. Davis went to find Schmidt and Richardson. They had some planning to do. -&- Josiah Cantrell was at peace with the world. He sighed with heartfelt satisfaction and pushed his plate back. “Jacob, you have outdone yourself this time. The filet mignon was fit for an emperor.” Jacob Svengali grinned at his boss. “Keep piling it on Josiah. If you’re not going to pay me a living wage, at least I can get some appreciation.” Both men chuckled. Svengali continued clearing the table. “Is Susan still upstairs?” Cantrell asked idly. “It’s a shame she missed out on this. I told her too much of that Tex-Mex chili at lunch would tear up her stomach, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Typical woman.” “I think she went outside,” Svengali waved vaguely. “Probably headed for the hammock.” Cantrell stood up. “I will go see about her.” Svengali frowned. “You coddle that broad too much Josiah,” he said bluntly. “It doesn’t pay to get attached to them, you know that. Sooner or later, they all turn on you.” Cantrell sighed and looked at his old friend. “I know Jacob. But I can enjoy it while it does last can’t I?” he asked a touch wistfully. Jacob shook his head in disgust and went back to gathering dishes. Cantrell walked outside. The September sunset was an explosion of crimson and orange, fading into purple and indigo. The glowing outline of the regal oaks still wore their warrior’s golden armor against the coming attacks of slashing ice and screaming wind. For now though, all was still cool and calm. The loudest sound to be heard was the distant whinny of a mare as she imperiously summoned her colt. Cantrell smiled again. How he truly loved this place. Someday, he brooded, he would have to see about siring an heir. It wouldn’t be right not to pass it on. After seventeen generations, the land would pine and waste away without a Cantrell to tend it. Perhaps Susan? He snorted and immediately rejected the thought. No. It would be the ultimate in stupidity to breed one of his concubines. It was dangerous enough allowing a woman to live in his home and sleep in his bed every night. But to give one full control over his blood? Over his family’s future? Never going to happen. No. He would have to hire a host mother, and then arrange to have her eliminated afterward. It would take a lot of searching and selecting to find one fit to bear his seed. The hammock was empty. Where could Susan have gone? Cantrell strolled casually across the grounds with his hands in his pockets, enjoying the fresh air and his full belly, in no particular hurry. The riding stable was empty, and her horse was in the stall. Josiah’s forehead wrinkled. Slowly he paced around to the rear of the house. There was movement in one of the windows of the guest cottage. Cantrell let his shoulders sag. He closed his eyes and shook his head in disappointment. Then he straightened up and put on a smile. Stepping toward the door, he walked into the cottage with a look of casual inquiry on his face. Susan jumped and whirled around. “Oh! Josiah,” she was flustered. “You startled me.” Susan was flushed and nervous. Her eyes kept moving. Cantrell nodded to himself. Confirmed. He really felt a touch of sadness about this one. “What are you doing out here Susan?” Cantrell asked cheerfully. “Is your stomach ache better?” She visibly got a grip. “Yes. Thank you for asking. Much better.” Susan headed for the door. “I was just looking around. I haven’t been out here much and I was curious, that’s all.” Cantrell didn’t move out of her way. Susan stopped in front of him, looking up and swallowing. “What have you got there?” Josiah asked curiously, pointing to the newsreader PADD in her hand. “Oh nothing,” Susan said quickly, with terror flashing in her eyes. “Just the newspaper.” “Oh good,” Cantrell purred. “I haven’t had time to read it yet. May I?” Before she could react, or come up with some excuse, he plucked it from her fingers. Josiah quickly scrolled back to the most recently viewed pages and stopped when he found the picture she had been examining. Massaro’s body, with a close-up view of his face. He glanced up from under his eyebrows at Susan, who had gone absolutely ghost white. “Old news Susan,” Cantrell said calmly. “Several days old. How long have you been worrying about this? You should have come to me with your concerns. I could have settled your mind days ago.” Susan looked bewildered. But somewhere in her eyes was a frantic desire to believe him. “You can? I mean... I didn’t know what to think Josiah. I saw that picture and... I mean... It looked... I mean it looked exactly like the man who stayed here. It... I couldn’t... I just...” She floundered desperately. Cantrell took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He shook his head and smiled a tiny smile. “Susan, Susan. Don’t you trust me yet? have I ever given you cause not to trust me? Have I ever lied to you?” She started to relax a trifle. Cantrell reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, as he often did. “I promise you darling. Let’s go back to the house where we can sit down and get comfortable over some coffee, and I will explain everything. All right?” She managed a smile and nodded in relief. Cantrell leaned over for a quick kiss and stepped to one side so she could precede him through the door. As Susan stepped in front of him, Cantrell stiffened his hand like an ax blade and struck the back of her neck with all the strength in his back and shoulders. Her neck snapped with a dull crunch, like a rotten stick. Susan’s body slumped to the floor. Her bladder and bowels cut loose as she went down, leaving her corpse to lay in a stinking puddle. Cantrell looked down in disgust. Josiah stepped outside and pressed a button on his belt. Less than two minutes later Joe and Mike came racing up from different directions. Cantrell did not look directly at either of them. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and growled, “Clean up.” He walked toward the house. The bodyguards went inside to find exactly what they expected. Mike spoke, in a high and gentle voice, “What a rancid mess. Again. What does this make him, three in the past two years?” “Yeah,” Joe answered. He bent over to estimate the size of the body and examine the injury. “I’d say this one is a prime candidate for being thrown off a horse. I’ll get the cart, you saddle her gelding.” -&- Hanson powered up his air car and entered the destination code for Tokyo. He sat back and waited for the San Francisco traffic control computer to work its way down the queue to him. The communications terminal announced an incoming call with a code he recognized. Hanson activated the security scrambler and answered. “Hanson here. Go ahead, Mr. Cantrell.” “Any luck, Fred?” Cantrell’s voice sounded a bit snappish today, and Hanson made a mental note to tread carefully. No telling what might have rubbed him the wrong way. “No, Sir. Johanson disappeared into thin air,” Hanson replied diffidently. “I have checked everywhere. But I still have a team on the job. As soon as they learn anything they will let me know.” “Probably picked up a hooker somewhere and is laying around stoned out of his mind,” Cantrell growled. “If he is I will hang him by his own guts when I get my hands on him.” Hanson felt queasy. He was far from sure that Cantrell was exaggerating. They signed off and the lawyer tried to settle his nerves by reviewing the notes for his next meeting. He finally got clearance from traffic control and joined the stream of commuters who were heading out over the Pacific. Hanson relaxed against the cushions as his car climbed to an easy 15 kilometer altitude and leveled off, heading west at Mach two. He smiled and started to look back down at his notes when something in his engine rumbled. Hanson’s eyes snapped to the controls. The entire panel was dark and dead. He leaned forward and flipped several switches, no response. Then the engine cut off. Instantly, the car started to drop like a rock. Hanson vented a grunt that was more than half scream and stabbed at the communicator. No response. Nothing was working. Nothing at all. A few more seconds of futile effort convinced him that it was hopeless. He pushed back and yanked the emergency ejection lever. It didn’t move. Ice crawled along his spine and sank deep into his soul. Hanson twisted and contorted his body to look at the side of his driver’s seat. Somehow the ejection mechanism had been deactivated. All of the standard connections were missing. He tried to think past the primitive horror that ripped through every nerve in his body. Above all other deaths, Hanson feared the falling death. His eyes were dragged to the front window, where the blue perfection of the ocean beckoned, growing ever closer with each precious breath. Tears flowed down his face and he tried to pray in his final seconds. He managed a feeble, “I’m sorry,” just as the water rose up to strike like the avenging wrath of Lady Justice. The boat was small and sleek. It was low to the water, dark in color and inconspicuous. It was built for speed. It slid to a stop beside the wreckage with nearly silent grace. The single occupant surveyed the floating debris, looking for something. He picked up a pole with a hook and reached over to drag Hanson’s arm closer. Part of the shoulder was still attached. Reaching down with a pair of clippers that had jagged jaws, muchly similar to the teeth of a small fish, the boatman snipped off Hanson’s smallest finger. Then he let the arm splash back into the water and started the engine again. The boat’s wake did not disturb the scavenging sea creatures for long. -&- Captain Archer looked disbelieving. “Are you sure, Ambassador? When I last spoke to Admiral Gardner he seemed adamant that Starfleet needed to find out who Draklas was.” Ambassador Jenkins took another slug of beer and burped tiredly, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “I am sure, Captain,” she said ruefully. “After hounding my ass for a week to do everything but seduce the entire Andorian High Command if I had to in order to track this guy down, they send me a communique yesterday to drop it like a hot potato. It is verboten. Don’t ask. Don’t even bring it up in casual conversation.” “But they didn’t say why?” Lieutenant Reed asked thoughtfully. “Nope,” the ambassador told him. “Just drop it. But on the plus side I am happy to report that old man Gardner says things are much less tense back home. Somebody has somehow managed to mollify the Andorians by doing something, for someone, somewhere. But I am not supposed to ask about that either, and neither are you apparently.” She finished off her beer and smacked the mug down on the table in frustration. “I wonder of Shran knows anything that he would tell me,” Archer speculated. “Captain,” Reed hesitated. “If I may. I recommend that for the moment we let sleeping dogs lie. Unless I am mistaken, this situation sounds somewhat familiar.” He gave his commanding officer a look. Archer scowled, but eventually nodded. “At least,” Captain Archer said philosophically, “I will have the chance to restock my supply of Andorian ale.” -&- T’Pol ran the simulation again. Still inadequate. Even at the lowest settings the field collapsed immediately. Therefore, the material specifications would have to be revised for the plasma field generator coils. Which would require that the power output ratings be recalculated. Which would mean that the transmission cables would have to be redesigned and re-spec’ed. Which meant that the material specifications for the cable terminals would need to be revised. Which meant that the impedance values for the entire power supply subsystem was completely out of balance and would have to be redesigned from scratch. Down the hallway she heard her adun’s voice echoing. “Don’t give me that look of disdainful cuteness Lizzie. Just because you are three times as strong and half again as fast as the babies that Daddy learned on, doesn’t mean that you are going to squirm out of here butt naked.” T’Pol smiled to herself. When she agreed to accept Admiral Gardner’s offer, Trip had enthusiastically offered to help take up the slack with child care duties. T’Pol was dubious, but agreed to let him make the attempt. From the sound of things, she was going to be doing most of her consulting work while Elizabeth napped. “Come back here!” Trip’s yell brought T’Pol half out of her chair. She hesitated, not wanting to make him feel inadequate. But not wanting to stand by and let catastrophe proceed unhindered either. “I will tape you to the bed little girl, don’t think I won’t,” Trip declared in a no nonsense tone of voice. Elizabeth’s answering giggle declared that she knew he was bluffing. “Oh, you don’t believe me?” T’Pol stood up and waited, torn by indecision. “You just hide and watch then, young lady. See if I don’t- you get your feet out of there!” T’Pol made a beeline for the bedroom. She found Trip and Elizabeth both covered in powder, as well as the bed, the floor, and two of the walls. Trip had so far managed to get a shirt on Elizabeth, which she was in the process of taking back off. Meanwhile, as soon as Trip would get one side of the diaper fastened, Elizabeth would kick her way into getting her opposite foot into the seat of it and push it off. All the while, the child was engaging in the kind of back bending, twisting, jackknife contortions that can only be achieved by infants. T’Pol moved in smoothly and suggested, “I found a discrepancy in the field generator coil specifications, Trip. You should double check my results. If I am correct, we will need to redesign the entire plasma field power system from the ground up.” As she spoke T’Pol tactfully reached over and grabbed the baby’s ankles in one hand, pulled the diaper up between her legs and spread the front across her belly, and fastened down each side with two quick motions. Trip stood panting from his efforts and looked abashed. “Maybe I should,” he accepted the bone she was throwing him. “I told Admiral Gardner at least a year, but it could be a lot more. Beginning to look like a year won’t even get us well started, with everything so messed up in these. What were those fools thinking?” Trip shook his head in disgust. “A lot of this is basic stuff. Things that anyone should already know. Well established things.” “Well established to you,” T’Pol pointed out, picking up Elizabeth and reinserting her into the shirt, despite the baby’s best efforts to thwart momma’s plan. “Because you were the one who established them. On Enterprise, by trial and error.” Trip got a strange look on his face. “Never thought of it that way.” He watched T’Pol picked up the old diaper and make a face. Even wrapped, the odor was profound. She promptly closed her nostrils and carried it at arm’s length to the disposal unit. “I really wish I could do that,” he told her. “Shut my nose off that way. I wonder why it is that when you take Human formula and run it through a hybrid metabolism, what comes out the other end would knock a buzzard out of the sky.” “Human baby waste does not smell that bad?” T’Pol asked. “Not anywhere near,” Trip swore. “No worse than Lizzie’s when she is taking the Vulcan formula. I wonder what a Human baby would put out if they tried Vulcan formula?” “I am not curious enough to make the experiment,” T’Pol said distastefully. She shifted Elizabeth to her other arm and led the way back to their home office. As they entered, Trip paused to admire the new wall hanging. When he returned from Enterprise, Trip had brought along a printed and framed copy of their marriage certificate. It now hung proudly in the center of the wall over their twin desks. T’Pol saw him checking it out. “If you wish, we can also obtain a copy of the family record that documents our bonding. That is the only official record here on Vulcan. Such matters are handled privately within the clan.” “I’d like that,” he told her with a fond smile. “We could hang them together.” Trip sat down and added, “It’s a good thing we have a backup copy. Right now the only record of our marriage is the one on Enterprise. It’s official, we are legally married under Earth law. But if we ever move to Earth and you decide to apply for citizenship, we will have to file the record with Earthgov’s planetary database. And if anything happens to Enterprise,” he concluded, “this will be the only existing record that we were ever married.” “My family’s record will still exist,” T’Pol reminded him. “Details of marriage and blood lines are kept private within the clan. But if proof of the information is ever needed it can easily be obtained.” Trip pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s a relief.” He turned to his terminal. “Now let’s see what kind of mess they made with those field coils. How bad did you say they were?” T’Pol activated the controls to send him her simulation results. Trip put on an expression of extreme pain. -&- Lethos and Thyren sat stiffly before the monitor. The older Andorian woman who faced them from the screen wore an expression of grim satisfaction. “You have confirmed the identification?” she snapped. “Yes, General,” Lethos assured her. “The DNA analysis matches the second suspect samples taken from your daughter’s ground car in Shi’Kahr. The one that the Human’s identified as Frederick Hanson.” General Skrilla’s antenna drew back and flared widely into the position of intense pleasure. “How did he die?” she demanded. Lethos looked at Thyren, who answered, “There was no recording this time, General. Public newscasts report that his air car failed at a height of 15 kilometers. He fell into the planetary ocean and died on impact.” She smiled. “So he had plenty of time to realize his fate? Time to know that he was going to die, and to feel fear?” she asked, savoring the words. “Most definitely,” Thyren promised her. The old woman’s eyes gleamed. “Only one remains,” she whispered. “I had begun to doubt Shran, when he swore to me that these Humans were as honorable as the Vulcans are treacherous. But I see now that he spoke truth. They are trying to make it right, as best they can.” “We are still seeking information about this last one, General,” Thyren informed her. “This Jacob Svengali. I have traced him to the eastern part of this continent. I have further confirmed that he is indeed highly placed in the chain-of-command for the Terra Prime group. Their former leader, Paxton, was killed by his own men in punishment for his failure on Mars. There is now conflicting information on where the real power lies. But we will find him, General. Sooner or later, we will find him.” General Skrilla looked narrowly at Thyren, “You make them sound Klingon.” “They are as brutal as Klingons,” Thyren told her, “but without the slightest trace of any honor code to restrain them. I have come to believe that this is the reason most Humans are so meticulous about following their own rules. It is because once they break free of the controlled structure provided by their code, they become little better than animals.” General Skrilla flexed her antenna in understanding. “Continue with your work then. But something tells me you may not be required to finish it.” She bit out these last words savagely and joyfully. The screen went blank. The two operatives traded significant looks. It was two days later that General Skrilla’s prediction came true. Lethos and Thyren were going over a paper map of North America, which was spread out on the table before them, when the communications monitor beeped to signal in incoming message. Which was impossible. Lethos snapped upright and stared in shock at the terminal. Thyren remained frozen, bent over the work table. “I thought you said it was sealed.” “It is,” Lethos sounded shaken. “Not only sealed. It is deactivated!” “Apparently not anymore,” Thyren noted. He approached the terminal as if afraid it had grown teeth and pressed the button to receive the incoming message. The screen cleared to show a view of Earth from space. Obviously it was being beamed in from one of the planet’s weather satellites. The view zoomed in on North America, shifted east, then moved to follow the course of the Mississippi river south. At the junction of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, the viewpoint zoomed in again and then shifted southeastward. Finally the view stopped and hovered over an area. The view zoomed once more, tightening down until a collection of buildings could be seen. A picture of Jacob Svengali’s face was superimposed on the view screen. Planetary coordinates were displayed. The view froze in place and remained unchanged from that point on. It took them 47 minutes to gather weapons and reinforcements from the Imperial Guard troops assigned to the embassy. While they prepared for the attack, the ambassador’s staff worked feverishly to gather as much intelligence as possible about the target. What they found ensured that the Andorians went in loaded for bear. The farm was unnervingly quiet. Thyren led his squad eastward around the perimeter of the main building cluster, scanning for life signs. His fighters were tense and ready for anything. But nothing appeared except the grazing animals Humans used for riding. Lethos reported similar results form the other side of the compound with his team. The Andorians checked all of the outbuildings carefully, moving in toward the main house fully certain that they were heading for a trap. The small dwelling at the rear was empty. Careful scans and visual checks revealed no signs of Humans anywhere. Lethos growled in raging frustration. “They were warned! They have escaped!” Thyren urged calm. “Even if they have, we have learned much. We know where he has been hiding. We know who has been hiding him. We have more names. We have more connections. We have more useful information.” He looked at the house. “I have no doubt that there will be even more useful data inside. If we can get it without blowing ourselves up.” He gestured to his ordnance experts to lead the way. The two bomb specialists entered with meticulous precision, scanning every millimeter of the way. They moved through the house one room at a time until the reached the dining area, where they stopped. “Sub-Commander Lethos. We have found the occupants. They are here. Dead.” When Lethos walked into the dining room he stopped and blinked in rank disbelief. This was the most bizarre thing he had ever seen. Not even the lowest level slums on Rigel could offer a sight to compare to this. Behind him, he heard several of his hardened veteran fighters start to gag. Thyren walked up beside him, obviously shaken. Four Human bodies were arrayed neatly on the floor, side by side. Their limbs were arranged in the typical pattern for Human burial, with the legs together and the hands carefully folded together on the chest. On the dining table above and behind the bodies, four brightly polished metal platters were laid out. Each of the platters was occupied by one of the severed heads of the four bodies. Only one thing broke the pattern. One of the bodies was missing a finger. On the floor between Lethos and the bodies was a much smaller metal platter. On this smaller platter lay a severed finger. Thyren whispered, “I have read,” he choked, “I have read an old Human legend that spoke of something like this. I do not think that this was meant entirely for us Lethos. I think we should take the finger and leave. Quickly.” “Agreed,” Lethos said in a shaky voice. He stooped and gathered up the severed digit and backed toward the door, somehow unable to turn his back on the macabre spectacle. The Imperial Guardsmen followed them out with relief. No one spoke a word on the way back to the embassy. -&- Trip carefully adjusted the frame. “How’s that?” he wanted to know. T’Pol eyed it carefully. “It appears level, and parallel with the other one,” she judged. Trip stepped back in satisfaction. The Vulcan marriage record, with its elaborate calligraphy, provided a sharp contrast to the machine printing of the Starfleet marriage certificate. Trip thought it was a nicely ironic statement of the contrast between the cultures. The emotional Humans produced documents that were sterile and utilitarian. The strictly disciplined Vulcans made documents that were beautiful works of art. “It’s too bad we don’t have a birth certificate for Lizzie to put up,” Trip said regretfully. “She deserves to have some kind of documentation to commemorate her. The very first child born to a mixed marriage like ours.” T’Pol walked over and slipped an arm around his waist. “Does it really matter so much to you, Husband?” Trip thought for a minute and shook his head. “Naw. Not really. I guess my people are always making noises about who was first at something, and trying to pin it down. But in the long run what difference does it make? People argued for centuries that Christopher Columbus was the first European to discover America. Then they found a ruined settlement that showed Vikings were there centuries before him. Then some guy built a ship like the ancient Egyptians used and proved that they could easily have sailed across the Atlantic even centuries before that. And who cares anyway at this late date?” He turned around and smiled at her, returning her hug. T’Pol leaned forward and rested her head on his chest. “Anyway,” Trip said in a moment, “since our little trailblazer is taking her nap, how about you and I go explore the kitchen and see what we can discover for dinner?” -&- Davis set the shuttle pod on the plateau using lowest power thrusters to minimize dust. Richardson and Schmidt made a final check of their weapons while Davis started scanning the area. “Aside from wildlife,” Davis reported, “all I see are one Human and two Vulcans. All three are west by 10 degrees northwest. Distance 450 plus meters.” He glanced up. “That way,” he pointed. “Beyond those two rocks. Readings say there is a path there, leading to a house. All three are in it.” Richardson, the security ensign, was the only one of the three with significant training in this kind of work. Under his direction they approached the house with extreme caution, moving in leapfrog fashion. One would advance while the other two covered him. Then the next would advance. Then the third. When they finally reached the house Richardson assigned Davis to circle around and cover the rear door, while he and Schmidt prepared to assault the front. Davis reported softly, “One Human and one Vulcan at the front of the building. The other Vulcan bio-sign is alone near the back. It reads very weak, like it’s hurt or something.” Richardson sent back, “Don’t take any chances. Even a sick Vulcan is dangerous. On my signal we go in together fast. Davis, you find and neutralize that third Vulcan ASAP. Then move in to reinforce us. Schmidt and I will move in from the front before they know what hit them. Ready?” The other two signaled that they were in position and ready. “GO!” Trip was setting the table when he heard the door crash open. He dropped the plate he was holding and dashed for the front, just as an explosive charge detonated at the back of the house. “ELIZABETH!” T’Pol screamed and leaped, disappearing down the hallway. Two Humans came through the doorway wearing nondescript coveralls. Trip fell back to the kitchen and frantically looked for something, anything he could use as a weapon. A carving knife in a butcher block caught his eye. He grabbed it just as the intruders followed him through the archway. Trip dropped into a deep crouch and lunged forward, cutting edge up, trying for a disemboweling slice. The last thing he knew was the shock of a sickening blow against his skull. T’Pol ran for the bedroom with the primal terror of her maternal ancestors ripping through her heart. She grabbed the edge of the doorway and used it to swing herself around and stopped, frozen into immobility. A grinning Human male was standing next to Elizabeth’s crib. His pulse rifle was pointing down at the crying baby. “Now what have we here?” the Human male said softly. T’Pol tensed unbearably as he reached into the crib. She started to take a step forward and he shoved the pulse rifle against Elizabeth’s belly. “FREEZE BITCH!”, T’Pol stopped moving and breathing. The Human went on, “One more twitch and you can shoot hoops through this brat’s guts.” He scooped up the baby and slung her carelessly under one arm. “Now. Move. Down the hall to the front. Slow.” Richardson and Schmidt were dragging Trip’s unconscious body into the living area when Davis pushed T’Pol through the hallway entrance. “Look what I found gentlemen?” He smiled lasciviously. “Some R&R for us after a hard day’s work. And guess what? They were hiding a little surprise up here too.” He stepped to one side so that his companions could see the baby. Schmidt scowled. “That thing was supposed to be dead. Massaro swore it died. Couldn’t that incompetent fool do anything right?” Richardson snorted. “Question asked, question answered. But I like your thought Davis.” He walked over to T’Pol, careful to stay out of arm’s reach and keep his weapon up. “She does look appetizing, doesn’t she?” He chuckled. “I wonder what she would be willing to do for us to keep us from skinning that little brat alive?” “We could use that knife Tucker tried to gut you with,” Schmidt volunteered, getting into the spirit of the game. Davis laughed. T’Pol looked hard at her adun, probing desperately for his mind. She had to learn the extent of his injury before she could make any plans. Pain. Red Human pain. Fear. Rage. Panic. Desperation. Defend. Enemy. Danger. Family. Kill. Enemy. Kill enemy. Defend family. Kill enemy. Kill. Kill. His mind was a tangle of wild emotion and animal instinct, all mixed with the agony of the blow he had taken. She narrowed her eyes. It would hurt him even more to do this, but she had no choice. Otherwise they would both die. More important, Elizabeth would die. T’Pol had lived among Humans far too long to have any illusions about these men or their intentions. No matter what they might promise, once they had finished taking their pleasure of her they would never leave anyone alive in this house. Trip must wake up. She put all her telepathic strength into a scream for aid. She howled into the most basic, primal core of his hind brain. Deep in the darkness, the animal mind that formed the root stock for the creature calling itself Trip stirred in its morass of pain. It heard something. A calling. Its mate was calling. Its mate was calling in fear. Instinctive responses that were ancient long before thought activated once more. The male animal pulled from his body’s reserves and began to burn his own flesh. Biochemical stores that would have been sufficient to sustain life functions for days under normal conditions were being ravaged and all but vaporized. All to provide the raw energy for a few explosive moments of ultimate effort. He would pay for it later. He would pay a terrible price. But if his family survived it would be worth it. If they did not, then nothing would matter anyway. Trip opened bloodshot eyes to view his worst nightmares made real. In that instant, he locked eyes with T’Pol and they both felt the unspoken understanding. “Whatever we have to do to save her.” “Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Davis sneered. “Let him baby sit while we entertain Mrs. Beauty.” Richardson kept his rifle on T’Pol, and Schmidt covered Trip. Davis sauntered over and casually dropped Elizabeth onto the couch like a sack. She bounced and squalled indignantly at the rough handling. Trip had never wanted to kill more in his life, but T’Pol’s constant sending of strength kept him on the sane edge of control. Just barely. How she was able to hold herself together through this would be a mystery to him until the day he died. Trip dragged himself to the couch. Elizabeth was scared, pissed off, pissed all over herself, and generally not a happy camper. Trip carefully picked her up and held her tightly, shushing her softly with his head down while watching the rest of the room. Davis roughly claimed the right to go first, since he was the one who found the brat. The others made only token protest. Schmidt walked into kitchen and returned with the kitchen knife, sneering. He tested the edge with his thumb significantly and licked his lips. T’Pol lifted her chin and turned to walk down the hallway, not looking at Trip. Her husband closed his eyes and prayed. Trip turned slightly and shielded Elizabeth as best he could with his arms and body, frantically trying to think of a way out. Davis watched T’Pol’s backside swaying in front of him and felt his mouth dry out. She was one hot slut. Tucker was a traitorous S.O.B., but he had to admit it. For a piece like that he could almost see the guy’s point of view. Almost. If she was Human he might buy it. But not for a green-blood. Davis shoved T’Pol into the bedroom roughly and told her, “Let’s just see how enthusiastic you can be. Remember something. We don’t have to skin her all at once, do we?” He looked into her eyes and smiled. “We can start at the bottom and work our way up, a little at a time.” T’Pol sagged and slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. “What do you want?” Her voice was low and shaking. Davis laughed triumphantly and unzipped his coveralls. He stepped in front of T’Pol and said, “Looked like your man was getting ready for dinner when we came in. Since we interrupted your meal, it’s only right that we make sure you don’t go hungry. Here’s a little snack for you. Unwrap it and enjoy.” T’Pol stiffened. Davis put his pulse rifle against her temple and snarled, “Do it!” She raised her hands and opened his underpants, pulling his genitals free. Davis relaxed and spread his legs, anticipating the pleasure to come. T’Pol reached one hand around his shaft and began to caress his testicles with the other hand. Davis threw his head back and moaned. “Mmm. That’s right bitch. Now suck it.” T’Pol glanced up. His eyes were closed and the pulse rifle was pointing down, with his finger off the trigger. She shifted her right hand to grip a single testicle. Then she cupped her hand around it and dug in with her fingers, clamping down as hard as she could grip while twisting and yanking down with all the strength in her enraged Vulcan shoulders. Davis emitted a sound that could best be described as supersonic. His eyes flew open and he started to bend and buckle at the same time. T’Pol’s left hand flashed up to his throat. Before he could make a sound loud enough to alert his cohorts, her fingers encircled his windpipe and dug in. A quick twist of the wrist, with some help from her carefully manicured fingernails, and Davis’s windpipe parted company from his neck, crushed flat. T’Pol then reached up to press firmly against the major blood vessels along both sides of his jaw, cutting off oxygen flow to his brain and inducing blackout in seconds. T’Pol caught his falling pulse rifle before it could hit the floor. With her other hand she steered the toppling corpse onto the bed, making a rueful note that they would need to replace those sheets. Human blood stains were almost impossible to remove from Triaxian silk. She focused hard on Trip, sending reassurance and warning to get ready. Over and over she pushed it, trying to break through his fog of rage and shame and pain. Finally she thought that he had picked up her message. T’Pol slid over to the weapon cabinet and pulled out Trip’s phase pistol and a scanner. Then she sidestepped to the doorway. Laughter echoed down the hallway. “Not making much noise are they?” the one called Schmidt said. “One of them has their mouth full,” Richardson replied humorously, “wanna bet which one?” “Hard to say. With a rack like that in front of him a man would get tempted,” Schmidt chortled. “Hey Pretty Boy, are they are firm as they look?” “Aw, he don’t wanna discuss it Smitty,” Richardson gibed. “Look. He’s bashful.” Both men laughed cruelly. T’Pol decided that they were as distracted as they were ever likely to be. She knelt close to the floor and stole a swift glance around the doorway. Neither were in view of the hallway. She slipped out of the bedroom and began stalking her prey. A picture flickered into her mind. Trip on the couch holding Elizabeth. Schmidt standing next to them, and Richardson facing the couch, two paces away. She concentrated on her position in the hallway. Then she heard Trip begging hoarsely, “Can I please get her some water?” “What for?” Schmidt growled. “Vulcan’s don’t need water.” “She’s half Human. You know that. Please!” Trip blubbered. “Is there any decency in you at all? She’s just a baby!” “Shut your whining. All right. Go get the puppy some water then. Just quit crying about it,” Richardson snapped in disgust. “Thank you,” Trip whimpered, sounding pitifully gratefully. T’Pol heard him shuffling toward the kitchen. A few seconds later she received a dim image of him holding Elizabeth tightly, crouched down beneath the table. It was time. She lunged around the doorway in a low crouch and moved laterally across the room, firing the pulse rifle in a constant series of short bursts. Schmidt went down with his chest a smoking ruin. Richardson hit the floor rolling and returned fire, singeing T’Pol’s hair and forcing her to dive behind Trip’s favorite recliner for cover. Richardson lunged for the door and made it outside before T’Pol could get off another shot. She took position beside the door and tried sniping after him, but once he made it into the rocks near the house it was hopeless. Trip slapped the comm unit and hit the emergency code. “Embassy here.” “Hammer” “Acknowledge Hammer. Tac Alert activated. Situation Report?” “We got hit. Three Human. Two down. One running. Need reinforcements.” “Acknowledge. Reinforcements en route. ETA 31 minutes. Maintain and secure position. Maintain contact until MACOs arrive.” Trip turned and faced T’Pol, who pushed what was left of the door as close to shut as possible and come to stand beside him. “You heard ‘em hun. Stay here and hold the fort.” He pulled his phase pistol and the scanner from the waistband of her pants. “The other one’s dead, right?” She nodded. “But you are not going out there Trip. There is no reason -” “Yes there is T’Pol.” Trip looked very serious. “You heard what they said.” Her expression contorted in pain and she dropped her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “But nothing happened husband. I swear it. I killed him before he could do anything.” Trip’s face cleared. He reached over and touched her chin. “That’s not what I mean darling.” She looked up. “He knows about Lizzie T’Pol.” Her eyes flew wide in understanding. “If he gets back to Terra Prime and tells them she is still alive...” T’Pol’s lips pressed together, then she reached over and took Trip’s phase pistol, exchanging it for the pulse rifle. “There are extra packs for the rifle on the body. Wait 11 seconds and I will fetch them.” By the time Trip detected the air car on the portable scanner and made it to the ceremonial grounds, Richardson had already managed to lift off. He ran a lightning fast checklist of everything he knew about that make of air car, looking for weak points. There. Right there, under the main thruster housing. That spot where the fuel feed ran next to the exhaust manifold. The fireball was visible to both transports full of MACOs when they were still more than fifty kilometers away. Trip crawled out from beneath the rock ledge where he had dived when he saw the flare begin, and saw that T’Pol’s family shrine was a melted puddle of slag. He winced. NOOooooo. Oh No. No Way. There was no way by Zephram Cochrane’s pickled liver that he was going to stand up and explain to Eldest Mother T’Para how he had been responsible for this. Not gonna happen. He would move to Andoria first. -&- “Yes, Eldest Mother,” Trip sweated at attention and kept his eyes forward. “I am completely responsible. My decision. My choice. My action. T’Pol is completely blameless. I shot the air car knowing full well that the explosion would be powerful enough to cause a wide radius of damage, and that the shrine would be within the blast radius. I, and I alone, am to blame.” T’Pol sent him hopeful support through the bond. She sat with the rest of the watching family members. The Eldest Mother had called a meeting of the family Elders to discuss certain matters as soon as she learned of the events in question. T’Para lacerated him with her gaze. In fact, she peeled him, skewered him, and roasted him over a slow fire. All without saying a single word. “Were you aware that the shrine you destroyed was 3,145.68 years old?” she finally asked him. Trip winced. “No, Eldest Mother, I was not. I knew it was very old however.” “Then tell me young man, what went through your mind to justify the destruction of such an important piece of our family’s history.” The old woman could not properly be said to have an expression, not as such. It was more like she wore a face that might potentially be capable of wearing an expression, should such a thing ever become a logical option. Trip gritted his teeth. “Truthfully, Eldest Mother, I wasn’t thinking about the shrine at all. Or the family history. I was thinking about my daughter. I was thinking about how if the Terra Prime operative escaped, Elizabeth would never be safe again. And that is all I was thinking of. I am sorry I destroyed the shrine, though.” “So you are telling me,” T’Para said bitingly, “that your personal concern for your daughter was so intense that it drove every other consideration completely out of your mind? Nothing else carried any importance to you at all?” “Well,” Trip hesitated and looked unhappy, “I was worried about T’Pol and Elizabeth and...” He stopped and stiffened his spine. “Yeah, I guess I am telling you that.” “Excellent.” Trip blinked and weaved in place. T’Para looked over at T’Pol. “You chose well daughter. Stone and metal can be rebuilt. What is important is the blood, and the loyalty to the blood.” She looked back at Trip. “Other families have accepted Humans before this. A very few. But you are the first of your people to join our clan. I confess to misgivings about you. However thus far you have shown yourself to be an adequate mate to T’Pol. Continue as you have begun, and you will do well together.” T’Pol stood up. “There is one change that we must make, regretfully, Eldest Mother. For our daughter’s sake.” She stepped into the center of the meeting room and took Trip’s hand, helping his stability tremendously. T’Para eyed them both. “What change to you desire to make daughter?” T’Pol glanced at Trip. He hung his head and started talking again. This head of household thing really got to be a heavy weight sometimes. “Eldest Mother,” he told her somberly, “my people are going through a difficult time, as you know well.” T’Para nodded and, if Trip hadn’t known it to be impossible, he might have fooled himself into thinking he saw a trace of sympathy. “The members of Terra Prime who attacked us do not represent a majority of my people. They do not even represent a significant minority, they are only a tiny minority of what we call the lunatic fringe. But there are still hundreds of thousands of them.” T’Pol decided to help him cut to the chase. “It is unlikely that it will be safe for Elizabeth to reveal her true heritage among her father’s people for decades, if ever. In the meantime, she needs to be free to live as normal a life as we can give her.” “What is your solution to this dilemma then?” T’Para wanted to know. Trip looked bitter but determined. “We have discussed this at length, Eldest Mother. We believe that it would be best for Elizabeth if we change her name. Officially she is already listed as dead. Among my people I have offered the explanation that T’Pol resigned her commission and returned to Vulcan to grieve for our daughter. We can use this story to provide a cover to bring Elizabeth into the open.” “How so?” T’Para looked intrigued. T’Pol explained, “Among Humans, it is not uncommon for couples who are unable to conceive a child to adopt an orphan and raise them as their heir. We believe that since Elizabeth appears Vulcan, with only moderate precautions we will be able to present her as a Vulcan child that we have adopted.” “This is irregular,” T’Para raised her eyebrow. “As T’Pol will have told you, Trip, our people customarily raise orphaned children among other family members. Since you come to me with this, I conclude that you are requesting my collusion in crafting a ‘cover story’ whereby Elizabeth will be presented as the child of a deceased family member?” “Exactly.” Trip said. “Will you help us come up with a convincing line of bull?” He asked hopefully. T’Para’s nostril’s twitched. “Certainly. Exercising one’s creative talents is a valuable opportunity that should never be passed up.” Epilogue: After being ravaged in the Eugenics war, the ancient palace of the Kremlin had been lovingly rebuilt to its former glory. The vast architecture was regarded by the Vulcans in attendance at the diplomatic function as unnecessarily elaborate. The Tellurites were indifferent, preferring to concentrate their attention on the overloaded buffet tables. The Andorians, however, seemed to think it was the greatest thing since sliced onions. Several groups were being led through the maze by human guides, listening intently with agitated antennae to descriptions of the historical significance of various artifacts. Ambassador Soval sat on a chair at the edge of the ballroom, sipping a glass of carbonated water. He was carefully considering the best opening to use with the Tellurite Ambassador about discussions for trade routes through the Vektal cluster, when he noticed a shift in the dynamics of the crowd. The random Brownian movement of the Humans around him was broken by one individual, who drifted unobtrusively closer to Soval using a technique familiar to any intelligence agent. Alarms went off in the Vulcan’s mind and brought him to battle ready in a single breath. Soval stood up with equal casualness and watched as the human male, realizing that he had been made, turned and strolled openly in the ambassador’s direction. The human was of indeterminate age, not young but not really old either. His appearance was not distinctive, his height was average, as were his clothes. Soval nodded. Even so, something about the man tickled his memory. “Ambassador Soval,” the human said with a gracious smile. “I don’t suppose you remember me, although we have met before.” The voice did it. “Harris.” Soval raised an eyebrow. “If I am not mistaken, you have changed your facial appearance since our last encounter. New Zealand, was it not? Eleven years ago, during the unfortunate incident regarding the theft of spare injectors from one of our ships?” “Terrible,” Harris let his face turn somber. “I am so very sorry that we were unable to retrieve your property Ambassador. But at least we did capture the thieves.” “You presented us with two bodies,” Soval corrected, “that you identified as being the thieves.” Harris shrugged and spread his hands helplessly. “They resisted arrest Ambassador. Our people were forced to defend themselves. Surely you can understand this. You of all people should be able to understand this.” Soval’s face tightened. “Certainly. And the remarkable similarity between the injectors currently in use on Starfleet’s NX class ships and our Surak class vessels is surely no more than coincidence.” Harris smiled amiably. “The principles of logical efficiency are universal, Ambassador.” “Beyond question,” Soval said wryly. “How may I be of service today Mr. Harris?” “I was hoping that you might be willing to deliver a message for us,” Harris told him. “Us?” Soval asked. Harris merely looked at him directly without replying. After a few seconds Soval told him, “Go on.” “Ordinarily Earthgov has a policy of not interfering with our dissident groups. We have found through bitter experience that it is best to allow our people to have the... safety valve so to speak... of opposition groups wherein they can vent their frustrations. Otherwise Human populations tend to become restless to the point of being uncontrollable.” Harris paused and Soval nodded for him to continue. “However, Terra Prime in particular has become an unacceptable nuisance. We can no longer afford to tolerate them. They will be eliminated. Please advise your counterparts among the Andorians and the Tellurites of this, if you would be so kind.” Soval digested this for a time. “How do you plan to accomplish this?” Harris told him pleasantly, “That’s classified.” Soval raised an eyebrow. “It’s also none of your business. All you need to know is that it will be done.” He turned to leave but then paused and turned back. “By the way. Please send Commander Tucker and Lady T’Pol my congratulations and best wishes.” Soval kept a stone face. “I shall do so. I have asked you this before Mr. Harris. What branch of Earthgov do you represent? Specifically?” Harris replied, “Good night, Ambassador.” He walked away, not looking back. Finis Back to Part 2 The story is continued in Father to the Man

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