"Paradox: Revelations" By Distracted Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. I just borrow them to have a bit of fun. Genre: Romance, Action/Adventure Description: Trip and Tolaris bond while imprisoned by the Romulans. (Just kidding!) T’Pol deals with the perils of command, Hess finds someone she can spill the beans to, and T’Mir finds an unexpected ally in her quest to prevent the nightmare of her timeline of origin from coming true. Ensign Norfleet ran a hand through his spiky brown hair and kept his eyes fixed on the sensor display. He dared not take his attention away from it since having a new bodily orifice reamed out by the acting captain the last time he’d delayed more than two seconds in his response to her request for information about the two shuttles that had just departed orbit around Kreptagh Prime. And I thought following Elena Sanchez around was gonna be boring, he thought wryly. When Harris had arranged for his assignment to the Enterprise security staff with specific instructions to monitor Elena Sanchez-Archer’s activities after her intimate connection to the leader of Terra Prime became known, he’d thought it was a ridiculous babysitting assignment. The woman was obviously not a Terra Prime agent. He’d been present when she’d voluntarily assisted with the capture of Bill Buchanan, the clandestine leader of Terra Prime. Section 31 evidently thought otherwise. He had no idea what the domestic terrorism guys were smoking. The woman was obviously head over heels for Archer. The idea that she was a double agent for Terra Prime was patently ridiculous. Not only that, but Elena Archer could identify him as a Section 31 agent. Sending him to watch her had been convenient from a certain point of view. He was completely familiar with her case and required no additional briefing to know precisely what to look for. The tactical experts greatly underestimated her intelligence if they thought that a change of hairstyle and clothing would prevent her from recognizing him, though. He’d spent the entire trip avoiding her like the plague. Fortunately, his regular security duties rarely required him to share the same space with the captain’s wife. Avoiding special security details had been a bit more challenging, but Dr. Phlox hadn’t yet gotten wise to the fact that his occasional convenient migraine headaches were feigned. Norfleet had been forbidden to reveal his mission even to Lieutenant Commander Reed, his titular commanding officer, although he’d been told to go to Reed with any information he might recover concerning Terra Prime activity on Enterprise. Thus far, all his clandestine bugging of Elena Archer’s surroundings had revealed was that Jonathan Archer was one hell of a lucky man. “Dominatrix to Enterprise. We’re tracking a cloaked Romulan shuttle via the homing beacon in one of the tactical helmets,” came Agent Seven’s voice over the comm. “I’m transmitting the beacon frequency now. Tolaris is on board the shuttle. So is Commander Tucker.” Norfleet’s eyes left his sensors at Commander T’Pol’s swift intake of breath. He looked at the acting captain in puzzlement. She was looking at the viewscreen with a completely flat and emotionless expression on her face. He blinked, and then assumed that he’d imagined things until he caught sight of her fingers gripping the armrests of the command chair so tightly he was certain that they’d leave dents in the metal. “Acknowledged, Dominatrix,” replied T’Pol in an even voice. She paused for several seconds. Her grip never let up. “Ensign Norfleet, attempt a transporter lock on any human or Vulcan biosign in the vicinity of the signal and beam it aboard.” Norfleet shook his head. She knew just as well as he did that a functioning tactical helmet prevented a transporter lock on its wearer. He tried anyway, and couldn’t even penetrate the shuttle’s shields for a sensor scan. He looked up. “Their shields are up, Commander. I can’t get a lock,” he said. She didn’t answer for a moment. Her voice sounded a bit strained with her next words. “Target phase cannons on the source of the homing beacon.” Norfleet did so. Her intent was obvious. To allow the Romulans to retain custody of both their own agent and a high ranking Starfleet officer with invaluable technical information in his head would be a tactical error. It was just like a Vulcan to be perfectly willing to blow up Tucker in the process. Vulcans made useful technological allies, but they were still a little cold-blooded for his tastes. He was fully prepared to follow her orders, though. He’d certainly obeyed cold-blooded orders many times before. “Phase cannons targeted, Commander,” he replied. Then he waited. The signal continued to move toward the Romulan base ship. It was now in ideal firing range. Still, she said nothing. Norfleet glanced around the bridge. MacNamara, at the communications console, had his eyes fixed on the commander’s face in disbelief. Lieutenant Mayweather kept his attention on the helm display, seemingly unaffected by the suspense of the moment, until Norfleet caught sight of his left hand gripping the console in front of him while he operated the controls one-handed. The entire bridge crew seemed to be holding their collective breaths. “Commander?” prompted Norfleet. “It’s in range.” “Hold your fire, Ensign,” returned T’Pol brusquely. “Stand by. Notify me when the shuttle reaches the outer limits of firing range.” What’s she waiting for? wondered Norfleet. “Cat O’ Nine to Enterprise. Our sensors show that you have a weapons lock on the Romulan shuttle,” came Captain Archer’s voice over the comm. “We have direct orders to take Tolaris alive. Do not fire.” Norfleet was certain that he didn’t imagine the sudden relaxation of the commander’s posture and the abrupt release of breath from her lips. “Acknowledged, Captain,” she replied. Without looking behind her, she said in a calm and unaffected tone of voice, “Stand down, Ensign.” What the hell? thought Norfleet. How does Archer expect to get them back alive? If they reach the Romulan ship, we’ll just have to destroy the ship. What the frack does he think he’s doing? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol closed her eyes briefly, and then inhaled and exhaled deeply, attempting to slow the pounding of her racing heart. Her barriers were completely down, shredded from within by her desperate attempts to contact Trip within their bond in the seconds before she’d nearly been forced to end his life. He was alive, but deeply unconscious. His death would have been painless. It had been a sound decision to destroy the shuttle. The situation demanded it. The captain’s order made no strategic sense whatsoever, but she grasped on to it like a lifeline, using it to justify her actions. Perhaps he knows of a way to achieve our objective without loss of personnel, she thought, attempting to assess the situation logically. She contemplated the probable outcome of their current predicament as her heart rate approached Vulcan norms. She realized then, that her action, or lack thereof, had very likely placed the ship in grave danger. They could not allow the Romulan ship that they had been observing to leave the system with the captives. A battle was inevitable. It had finally happened. Starfleet frowned on shipboard relationships for good reason. Emotional attachments affected command decisions. Her judgment had been compromised by her feelings for her husband. In her efforts to avoid harming him, she had endangered the entire ship. It was an inexcusable lapse for a command level officer. She contemplated her options. I could ask to step down as First Officer, and simply retain the Science Officer position, she mused. But then, unless she took a demotion, she’d still be the highest ranking officer on the bridge if the captain were to become disabled. It was an unsatisfactory solution that still left her in the chain of command. There were only two remaining options. I will have to leave Enterprise when we reach Earth. That’s the only way to prevent this from happening again. I will request posting on Columbia, or on one of the new Daedalus class battleships… or perhaps I should simply resign my commission and return to Vulcan… Starfleet would be unlikely to award her a command of her own, and unless she had command, she’d be forced to adapt once again to the command style of an unpredictable human captain without the help of her mate to provide useful information or to act as an outlet for her frustration. It was a daunting prospect. Returning to Vulcan would be preferable. She tried to imagine what her life would be like there. Assistant Professor T’Pol of the Vulcan Science Academy, she thought broodingly. Her training was sufficient for such a position, providing her reputation didn’t affect her appointment. Trip could take leave if he survived their current mission, perhaps twice yearly, and spend a few days with her in her family home, where she’d live the rest of the year in complete isolation. The solitude would give her time for meditation and contemplation. The prospect would have been quite attractive to a normal Vulcan, she decided. It was unfortunate that she was no longer entirely normal. “Dominatrix to Enterprise, requesting entry into shuttlebay one,” sounded Captain Archer’s grim voice over the comm. He sounded if he’d already realized what her delay had cost them. “Prepare a security team to receive a high risk matter transport directly to the brig. We have a hostage situation. The Cat ‘O Nine is right behind us.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Centurion Arrhae blinked in the sterile glare of the holding cell lights. As soon as the whole body tingle of matter transport had resolved, he’d found himself in a very difficult position. He tightened his arm about his captive’s neck defiantly and pressed his disruptor firmly to the man’s temple, expecting to be dead at any moment. The ring of security guards in blue uniforms faced him from all sides. Each of them had a phase pistol pointed at him. He straightened and glared at them fiercely, preparing himself for the inevitable, but instead of the sound of multiple phase blasts he heard a cool female voice. The voice was speaking Vulcan. “Release your hostage and relinquish your weapon. You will not be harmed.” He turned his head to confront his captor, and found himself face to face with the most exquisitely lovely female he’d ever had the opportunity to meet. She was very young, almost a child, but the expression in her piercing blue eyes was far from childlike. “If you do not release your hostage, however, you will be shot,” she continued flatly. Her face showed no emotion whatsoever, but he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was anticipating his refusal. She seemed to be looking forward to it. The impression puzzled him. The girl was Vulcan. Where was her celebrated Vulcan pacifism… her emotionless objectivity? His people had spent centuries building a civilization, bloodily battling amongst themselves for dominance because her people had unilaterally decided that their way was the only acceptable way. How dare she presume to abandon Vulcan ways? An irrational anger filled him. “I defy thee,” he replied severely in the archaic Vulcan dialect still used by his clan in their most sacred rituals. “Thy soldiers will no doubt fire upon me regardless, therefore will I keep my honor intact.” The corner of the Vulcan female’s mouth twitched minutely upwards. He clenched his jaw. He would not be a source of amusement for this near-infant! A tight-lipped middle-aged human male in uniform spoke from behind the ring of guards. He spoke a language unfamiliar to Arrhae. The girl responded briefly, never taking her eyes from the disruptor in the Romulan’s hand. Then she met Arrhae’s eyes again. “The captain has asked me to give you his guarantee. He gives his word that if you release your hostage and relinquish your weapon you will not be harmed. I also give you my word as a Vulcan,” continued the girl emphatically. Arrhae’s eyes narrowed. The girl had strange eyes. His gaze wandered to the ring of phaser bearers. Several of them had a similar eye color. The connection between that and her unusually expressive voice hit him abruptly. “Thou art no Vulcan,” he told her disdainfully. The young woman’s eyes widened a trifle in surprise. She raised a brow. “You are quite observant, Romulan,” she said in a tone which just perhaps might have held a trace of grudging admiration. She regarded him consideringly. “You are correct. I have human blood as well… but my word remains true,” she told him. “The human beneath your arm is a low-ranking officer within the ship’s security force. He is of no great importance. If the captain truly wanted you dead, he would have already given the order to fire. As it is, he has no intention of killing you or of wasting useful personnel unless you make it necessary. Put down your weapon.” Arrhae regarded the man in his grip with new eyes. The human’s face was dust streaked and covered in perspiration, but he stared fixedly ahead with his jaw clenched, making no sound. Even with a disruptor to his temple, he refrained from begging for his life. It was likely that he didn’t understand a single word the Vulcan had said. Either that, or his pride… or honor… prevented him from speaking. Arrhae felt an unwanted kinship with the human security officer, and was suddenly reluctant to take his life. “And what will become of me if I do thy bidding?” asked Arrhae bitterly. “My team has been defeated. My honor is destroyed. I cannot return to my ship, for my commander will assume rightly that I live because of cowardly surrender and kill me himself, and if I remain here, no doubt I will remain a captive. That is no choice. I would prefer to die.” Abruptly, he pushed his human captive away from his chest, the muzzle of his disruptor swinging from the human’s temple toward his own. Before his self destruction could be accomplished, however, his body was intersected by not less than three simultaneous phase pistol stun blasts. He dropped to the floor. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “What happened?” asked Archer in an appalled tone of voice. T’Mir knelt on the floor next to the downed Romulan and pulled his disruptor from his limp fingers with peculiar gentleness. She stood then, and looked down on his hooded figure with an inscrutable expression. “He wished to die rather than remain captive,” she told Archer somberly. “Will he live?” asked Archer hopefully. The prospect of presenting Starfleet Command with a real live Romulan rather than just a Romulan agent was starting to cheer him up just a bit. “I should get Phlox to take a look at him.” “That won’t be necessary, Captain,” interjected T’Mir hastily. She reached for the bioscanner that the security patrol’s medic had pulled out and wrested it from him briskly with her one good hand. “I’ll take care of this.” She met Archer’s eyes squarely with a determined look on her face. “Lock me in with him. Then leave. When I am finished, you’ll have all the security information you’ll need to retrieve my…” she paused and looked away. She looked flustered, if that were possible for a Vulcan. “You’ll have what you need to retrieve Tolaris and Commander Tucker,” she finished finally. Archer eyed her in disbelief. Would she actually do it? Wouldn’t that make us just as bad as Tolaris? he thought. He didn’t say it, though. He simply looked at her for a moment, and then nodded. He left her there and walked away without looking back, meeting up with Malcolm as he passed out of the secured area. “Make sure she gets what she needs, but give her some privacy,” he told his chief of security brusquely. “I want a two man security team stationed here with the two of them at all times, and no weapons in the holding cell.” Lieutenant Commander Reed’s eyes widened for a moment, and his head turned to follow the petite Vulcan as she joined their captive on the floor of the cell, kneeling at his head and passing the bioscanner over his body. Malcolm’s attention returned to the captain. “Crewman Ramirez just briefed me on the events that took place down on the planet between him, Ngele, and the Orions. The Orion commander swore to him that all they were trying to do was to keep Commander Tucker from taking their prisoner, and that he was shot with a stun blast,” he told Archer softly. “Commander Tucker is definitely alive.” The intense relief that Archer felt at this news was tempered by his knowledge that unless T’Mir was successful in her attempts to gain information from the Romulan, Trip would likely not be alive for much longer…. and his death would probably not end up being at Romulan hands. He sighed. The shuttle had been a much lower risk target. I’ve put the entire ship at risk, he thought bleakly. I should have allowed T’Pol to… His jaw clenched. He couldn’t even complete the thought. No… if Trip had to die, it wouldn’t be T’Pol who gave the order. It was the least he could do for her after allowing Trip to talk him into joining the landing party in the first place. The whole situation was a nightmare of his own making. He’d known that Trip was too emotionally involved in the situation to think rationally, and he’d allowed him to go down to the damned planet anyway. “Once T’Mir has the information we need, I’ll need to see you, Agent Seven, and T’Pol in my ready room,” he replied tersely. “Until then, I’ll be on the bridge.” He turned on his heel and went to check on his first officer. He suspected that she would require some time off-duty to deal with her response to their current situation. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Agent Seven walked briskly down the corridor toward the brig with a padd in his hand. Two muscular and solemn faced security guards stood on either side of the entrance. The one on the right stepped forward to bar his way. “I’m sorry, sir. I have orders not to let anyone in here while the prisoner is being interrogated.” Seven suppressed a pang of alarm. What had T’Mir done? Allowing the Romulan’s interrogation would affect the timeline even more than it had already been affected. “Is Agent T’Mir in there?” he asked politely. “It’s vitally important that I speak with her immediately.” The two young men exchanged a glance, and then the one on the left retreated through the doors at his back. Seven stood nose to nose with the remaining guard. They stared at each other with bland expressions for all of twenty seconds before the second guard returned. “She’s in here, sir. It’s this way,” he said as if it had always been his intention to allow Seven entry. The temporal agent’s lips quirked upward just the tiniest bit. He walked through the doors. Both guards stepped aside and resumed their posts with unchanged expressions. Seven walked toward the holding cell, and T’Mir rose to meet him, giving him a puzzled look through the clear glass wall. The Romulan lay motionless on the floor. “I haven’t started yet. Is there something you need?” she asked him. Seven did a double-take from T’Mir to the Romulan and back to T’Mir again. “Do you mean to tell me that you actually intend to interrogate him?” he asked in disbelief. He lowered his voice. “I was afraid you’d already disposed of him.” He eyed her warily. He knew her opinion of Romulans after the experiences she’d had on Vulcan as a child. “Captain Archer needs information which will give him a definite advantage over the Romulan base ship. Would you prefer that I allow him to interrogate the prisoner?” she asked dryly. It was a rhetorical question. Seven ignored it with a smile and a shake of his head. Then he lifted his padd to eye level and began to enter a code which would allow top secret data retrieval. “When I reached my quarters and reviewed our mission parameters in order to decide how best to solve this problem without changing the timeline, I found this. It wasn’t there before our return to Kreptagh, so I must assume that the current timeline has been deliberately altered in some way.” He turned his padd around and pressed it against the glass. T’Mir leaned forward and read the screen. If the situation hadn’t been so dire, he would have found the sight of her jaw dropping quite amusing. “Two recruitments?! Why!?” she exclaimed in a voice so close to an appalled shout that it did make him smirk just a little. “The central office needs an agent to assist Ambassador Spock with reunification efforts on Romulus. It’s their assessment that this prisoner would be an ideal choice. As for the second one… well… our new parameters don’t say. Evidently the powers that be consider him potentially useful.” T’Mir closed her eyes and took several deep breaths before responding. She opened them again and replied in calm, even tones. “This prisoner just tried to shoot himself in the head when he realized that Captain Archer had no plans to kill him. I seriously doubt that he will be amenable to recruitment.” Seven finally allowed himself the luxury of a full-fledged grin. “Then you’ll just have to convince him, now won’t you?” he replied. He flipped the padd around and slipped it into his pocket. Then he turned on his heel. T’Mir stood looking after him with an expression of disbelief on her face. “Good luck,” tossed Seven over his shoulder as he walked out of the brig. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Complete bed rest, ladies,” insisted Phlox. “The fetuses are doing well, but the risk of miscarriage remains very high until replantation is complete. The uterine lining must be allowed to reintegrate.” He stood between Janice Hess and Elena Archer as they lay side-by-side on their biobeds. Elena nodded in reluctant agreement and sighed. Then she caught sight of the expression on her companion’s face. “I thought we were done with all this lying around,” protested Janice. “I’ve got work to do. With Commander Tucker gone, Rostov needs my help. I feel fine!” She sat up in bed, then, and swung her legs over the side. Before Phlox could say anything, Elena interceded. “I thought you’d decided you wanted to keep this baby, Jan,” she told her friend bluntly. Hess eyed her with a puzzled look. “I do!” she said. Elena rolled over onto one elbow and gave Janice a reproving look. “It sure doesn’t sound like it, querida,” she told the engineer. “It sounds like you’re ready to risk your son’s life just so you can get back to your job… a job that Mikhael Rostov and the rest of the engineering crew have been having no trouble performing for nearly the past two weeks without you.” Janice’s jaw tightened. So did her fists. Elena’s eyes narrowed. Phlox’s eyes widened in alarm, and he hurriedly stepped out from between the women’s biobeds. “I’ll leave you two to rest, then,” he said hurriedly over his shoulder as he got out of the way of the coming fireworks. Elena and Janice ignored him, staring each other down. “I’m an engineer, Elena… and a damned good one! My place is in engineering, not flat on my back in sickbay!” growled Janice. “The moment you chose to carry your son to term, your job became secondary to the life you’re carrying, Jan,” Elena retorted calmly. “Don’t be stupid. Get back in bed.” Janice blinked. She stared at Elena, and then the hostility seemed to flow out of her like the air from a deflated balloon. She grinned at Elena wryly. “How do you always know exactly what to say to make me see what an idiot I’m being?” she asked. Elena chuckled. “That’s what friends are for, sweetie. Now lie down and tell me what’s bugging you. You’re too smart to make such an issue of this.” Janice sighed, and then lifted both legs back into the bed and flopped back onto the pillow. She stared at the ceiling for several minutes before speaking. “It’s just that I owe him so much, you know?” she began enigmatically. “He’s been taken prisoner, and the captain is going to destroy the Romulan ship… and he’d be in engineering working non-stop right now if he were here… and now I’ll never have the chance to tell him about T’Mir even if I wanted to…” “Whoa, there… hold on!” laughed Elena. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Just start over from the beginning, okay?” And so she did. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Agent T’Mir sat on the floor of the holding cell studying the unconscious Romulan with a meditative expression. Seven’s news had changed her mission parameters dramatically. Instead of the mental smash and grab for information which had been her original intent, she now was faced with a seemingly impossible task. She had to convince the Romulan to trust her. T’Mir’s experience with Romulans wasn’t limited to anticipation of their combat tactics. During her years with her mother and the Vulcan resistance, she’d been in the presence of more than one Romulan soldier. The soldiers invariably destroyed themselves after capture if given even the slightest opportunity. They refused to answer questions of any kind. They most emphatically did not trust anyone. T’Mir settled her injured arm more comfortably in its sling and swathe, and then reached for the Romulan’s left temple with her left hand. She sat at his head looking downward into his swarthy face. The heather grey hood of his form-fitting suit still covered his ears and the prominent ridges on his forehead. A fringe of coal black arrow-straight hair peeked out from beneath the hood. In deference to the security cameras in the cell, she refrained from baring his head. There was no point in giving the humans more information than they required. His face was serene. His prominent cheekbones and chiseled chin made him resemble one of the native aboriginal inhabitants of the Americas she’d read about during her research on all things human after her recruitment by the Temporal Enforcement Agency. There was no arguing the fact that the man was esthetically appealing. He was also a fanatical member of a race responsible for destroying everything that her childish heart had held dear… but she was supposed to be above all that now. Her oath of loyalty to the Agency required her to set those feelings aside. It puzzled her that she was able to do so with such ease. Perhaps it had something to do with his accent. She’d always been partial to old pre-Surak Vulcan tragedies… the ones where the male lead characters fought in the Kunat Kalifee and killed, or more often were killed, in very graphic and heroic ways. The characters in the ancient plays all spoke as he did… with “thee’s” and “thou’s” and references to honor. As a child, she’d often wondered whether she’d ever meet a male like that. Thus far, all the Vulcan males she’d ever met had seemed somehow lacking by comparison. She closed her eyes and entered a healing meld. Healing melds required special training. A truly skilled practitioner could enter a patient’s mind unnoticed, repair damage done from previous forced melds or emotional trauma, and encourage entry into a trance capable of accelerating the healing of physical wounds as well. She was not particularly skilled, but she was their only option. “My mind to your mind,” she whispered. “My thoughts to your thoughts.” She reached for his surface thoughts, expecting anger and resistance. She found only a sensation of peace. “Our minds are merging.” Lines of ancient script began to take shape in her mind. “Our minds are one.” She opened her eyes to the image of a wrinkled old woman holding a little boy in her arms. Neither of them took notice of her presence. Both of them were Romulan, but the language they were speaking was a High Ancient Vulcan dialect. The boy was perhaps six years of age, and he sat on the old woman’s lap. She traced a line of script on the yellowed parchment of the leather-bound book on the child’s knees as he read along in a high pitched, lisping voice. “And Surak said to the Declared Ones, ‘Go, therefore, and leave thy mothers and fathers. Take thy wives and children, and take flight amongst the stars, for thy spirits remain as those of the wild raptors, and cannot be tamed. I will not destroy thee, for even those that fly beneath the raptors’ wings are deserving of life, and when the time is right, there will be a need for thee. Go now, and take my blessings with thee.’” The child stopped reading then, and spoke to the old woman in the same language. His small face twisted in earnest puzzlement. “But Foremother, Father says the Vulcans are our enemies. Should we not hate them rather than hope to join with them?” The ancient Romulan female smiled at the child and embraced him tightly. With her chin resting on the top of his head, she said, “Thy father is a most intelligent, brave, and honorable man, little Arrhae. He has grown away from my counsel, however, and has lost sight of the heritage that I have tried to teach him. With thee at his side, perhaps he will come to remember what he has forgotten. Will thee promise to remind him, my brave boy?” The boy’s black eyes sparkled, and he grinned an irresistible gap-toothed grin. “I promise, Foremother. Father says that I’m his favorite boy. He’ll listen to me!” The old woman chuckled and kissed the child in the center of his forehead. Then she switched to the Romulan language. T’Mir spoke only a few words of Romulan, but here inside the captive’s head she understood every word. “Go on, then, boy. You’ve got a job to do,” she told him briskly. “I’ll expect a full report next week’s end!” T’Mir watched as the boy ran off without a backward glance, careless of formalities such as goodbyes as children often are. The scene faded. She found herself suddenly facing another version of Arrhae, this time one in the earliest stages of manhood, in the time before the growth of his body had quite caught up with the growth of his hands and feet. The boy’s voice cracked painfully as he confronted his father. “But Father, I don’t want to be in the military for life! I will serve my required years proudly when my time comes, but I want to stay in a civilian school! There’s so much about our people’s history that I’d like to learn! You know as well as I do that all I’ll get is official Separatist propaganda at the Academy! ” The stern faced Romulan that faced the boy had grey at his temples. His expression was hard and unyielding. “Arrhae, I have called in every debt of honor owed me in order to get you a position in the Academy. No one in our family has ever been offered the opportunity to become a commissioned officer. We have been stewards and caretakers… the servants who shined the officers’ shoes. This is an unprecedented honor that has been offered to us. I will not have you discard the honor of our family on a childish whim. You will enter the Academy. There will be no further discussion about this matter.” The events that followed flitted by like ancient still photographs in her mind’s eye… Arrhae at the Academy, tormented by the other boys for his humble heritage… Arrhae in earnest private discussions with the more open minded members of his class, debating the merits of Reunification as an intellectual exercise… Arrhae being called to task by the school administration about these debates, and deciding to protect his family honor by dropping the subject and becoming an ideal young officer... but it had been too late. His extensive knowledge of facts which had been kept from the Romulan people for centuries was just the clue that government authorities had needed to locate one of the last remaining copies of an ancient heretical text purported to contain the true story of the Declared Ones’ flight from Vulcan. Arrhae was given credit for providing the information leading to the book’s reclamation by the government. The book was promptly hidden away to prevent anyone else from reading it, and Arrhae’s father was imprisoned. He died there, and Arrhae became a perfect symbol for the masses, a faithful young officer, dedicated to the Empire without reservation. And now his career was over. T’Mir’s heart ached for him. No wonder he’d retreated to his foremother’s arms. “Arrhae?” she whispered to the little boy she’d seen sitting in his foremother’s lap. “It’s time to come back now. I have a job for you. You don’t have to die. You can live.” The figure of the small boy reappeared. He could see her this time. He cocked his head at her and grinned. “You’re a Vulcan!” he said with delight. “Foremother said you’d come!” T’Mir nodded solemnly, suppressing the almost overpowering urge to grin back at him. “Yes, Arrhae. We have need of you. Our peoples should be at peace with one another. You’re the only one who can help. Will you come with me?” The boy’s faced sobered immediately. He looked down at his right hand in concentration, and then raised it in a perfect V-salute. A triumphant grin immediately reappeared at his success. “I would be honored,” he replied with a heroic attempt at a serious expression. T’Mir opened her eyes. She found herself looking into the wide-open and very startled black eyes of the Romulan prisoner. She slowly removed her hand from his temple and pushed away from him before standing. His eyes never left hers as he rolled over and slowly got to his feet. His face was grim as he stalked her. The glass divider was abruptly at her back. She looked up at his glowering face as he towered over her by half a meter, pressing her back against the glass until she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hands remained at his sides. “What is this that thou hast done?” he growled menacingly. “What lies have thee placed within my head?” “None…” she stammered. “No lies. Only the truth! You have my word.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Commander Trip Tucker was awakened by pain. The pain was so generalized that it was very hard to tell exactly where it was coming from. Every muscle in his body hurt. Then he took a breath. The chest… definitely the chest, he thought with a grimace. He opened his eyes to a grey metallic ceiling. He was lying on a thin but serviceable mattress. His eyes scanned the walls as far as he could manage without moving his head. The script on what he assumed was an instruction label for the sanitary facilities built into the wall looked vaguely familiar. He rolled painfully to his side and to a sitting position with a groan. When he caught sight of a very familiar looking metallic door, undamaged this time, and the mirrored surface of a one way viewing window, he realized suddenly where he must be. He sighed. All these damned Romulan holding cells looked just alike, apparently. He looked down at the floor. He was on a top bunk, and the distance to the floor made his head spin. It definitely wasn’t time to climb down yet. Not only that, but he knew from experience that there was nowhere to go. So he put his aching head back down on the thin pillow, closed his eyes, and waited for everything to stop moving. In the silence, he heard someone else breathing. His eyes snapped open. There’s someone in the cell with me. It took only a second for him to realize who that someone must be. They were treating him like a prisoner, and these ships can’t possibly have more than a couple of holding cells. They must have had to double up. He sincerely hoped that his guess was right. He hated to consider the possibility that the Romulans might have captured two members of Enterprise’s crew. He patted himself down. His captors had removed his helmet and body armor, but they hadn’t removed his uniform. There it was… the armband that T’Mir had given him. He unbuttoned the pocket for easy access, but left it where it was. He’d need both hands to do this in his current condition. He tried his best to be quiet, but the thud when his unsteady legs hit the floor sounded much too loud to his ears in the small room. He held on to the foot of the bunk to steady himself and looked down on his cellmate’s unconscious form. Tolaris. The sadistic bastard. The Vulcan was sprawled over the lower bunk as if he’d been carelessly dumped there. His mouth was open. As Trip watched, his intended victim murmured something incoherently, smacked his lips, and ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth before rolling over onto his side to face the wall. Tolaris’ right arm flopped across his head to shield his face from the light. It was right in front of Trip… a tempting target. He pulled the armband from his pocket and disengaged the latch with one hand, hiding the device from prying eyes with his body. Re-engaging it activated the device. That much he knew. As far as exactly what would happen afterwards, all he had was T’Mir’s word on that. He didn’t care, just as long as the piece of shit was never allowed to hurt anyone else ever again. He let go of the bed frame, dropped down to his hands and knees on the decking with the opened armband coiled in his fist, and began to crawl stealthily from the foot of the bed along the floor at the side of the mattress where Tolaris lay snoring. Just as he reached the head of the bed, the Vulcan suddenly moved again. Trip froze. Tolaris’ arm flopped over the side of the bed, right in front of his eyes, narrowly missing his head by inches. The Vulcan had turned to face him. His features, relaxed in sleep, appeared deceptively innocent. Trip found himself wondering whether Tolaris’ parents knew that their son was a monster. Then he gritted his teeth and reached for the wrist dangling in front of his face. He was not a cold-blooded killer, but it had to be done. As his fingers closed around the Vulcan’s lean forearm, Tolaris’ eyes snapped open. He was playin’ possum! was all Trip had time to think before he was rolling on the floor with the Vulcan’s steely fingers around his neck. Trip dropped the armband and clawed at the hands that were throttling him. As his vision began to go grey, he heard a faint hiss. He’d been in this situation before. He knew what the sound meant. Forcing himself to go completely limp, he stopped fighting to breathe and deliberately held his breath. He shut his eyes to limit mucus membrane exposure to the anesthetic gas, and groped blindly beneath his body for the armband. He had only a second to shove the armband back into his pocket before Tolaris’ fingers went slack from around his neck. Despite his best efforts, at the sudden release of pressure Trip’s traitorous body took a deep reflexive gasp, inhaling enough anesthetic to put him out for the count. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Now look at the projections for the timeline created by insuring that the Romulan Empire wins the current war,” T’Mir said matter-of-factly. She handed Arrhae her padd with the data highlighted for easy reference. Written Vulcan had changed over the centuries, but an ancient-to-modern Vulcan translation program took care of most of the discrepancies. The Romulan’s spoken Vulcan had even improved after she’d shown him the proper modern pronoun structures. Arrhae took the padd from her and studied it intently. They sat side by side on the bunk in the holding cell. Despite his initial angry outburst, the Romulan had been surprisingly easy to reason with. He wasn’t quite convinced yet of the advantages of cooperation, but at least he was no longer attempting to kill himself… or her, for that matter. “Reunification does not occur,” he murmured broodingly. He paged forward, and then his brow shot up beneath his hood in a surprisingly Vulcan-like expression of astonishment. “Civil war destroys us from within!” “Exactly. Without the lessons of temperance and reason learned through contact with the Vulcans, your people’s violent past catches up with them.” She took the padd from him and brought up another page. Then she handed it back to him. “Now look at what happens to my people,” she said softly. He met her eyes with a questioning expression as he took the padd from her hand. She ignored the sensation that traveled up her arm as his fingers touched hers and watched his face closely as he read. “The birth rate drops to unsustainable levels,” he said in a puzzled voice. He looked up at her again. “It takes much longer… but in three thousand years your people will be nearly extinct as well. What happens?” She colored a faint green and looked away. “Without the ability to learn from your people’s… interest…. in the more tactile and emotional aspects of life, those who survive the years of Romulan occupation and constant warfare on Vulcan will prove unable to repopulate our planet with sufficient numbers to preserve our culture. Logic was our salvation in the time of Surak, but it is destined to destroy us unless we can overcome our reluctance to reproduce.” He cocked his head at her. “So, what you’re saying is that unless the Empire loses this war and interacts with Vulcan peacefully and not as an occupying force, both of our cultures will pay the price.” T’Mir nodded. Her brow wrinkled as she stared at him. His reasoning skills were surprisingly sound for a Romulan. She wondered if he truly believed her, or if he was simply humoring her. He was impossible to read. “Assuming that these projections are correct… and I am not ready to concede that point quite yet… how do you propose to prevent them from happening?” he asked with detached curiosity. T’Mir blinked. There was no emotion in his voice. He might as well have been Vulcan. She found herself staring at him. He raised a brow at her in what looked like amusement. “Ah… well… um…,” she replied, a little flustered by his regard. Then she abruptly reached out and took the padd from him again, focusing her attention on the device to hide her transient confusion. “You’ll see that the formation of a multi-system alliance called the Federation of Planets at the end of the current war will be instrumental in initiating peaceful contact between your people and mine, despite the fact that Romulus won’t be an official member for four centuries yet. The captain and several members of the crew of the starship Enterprise, the ship we are currently aboard, play pivotal roles in the formation of this alliance. My current mission is to retrieve vital personnel from on board the Romulan vessel which is now in orbit about the gas giant in this system. Following the successful completion of that mission, I have been instructed to offer you a position as a liaison agent between Vulcan and Romulan contingents on Romulus during a period approximately one hundred and thirty years from this date. Once you are trained, you will be assigned to assist a Vulcan ambassador by the name of Spock who is… or rather, will be… an important link in the reunification process.” She avoided looking at him directly. It felt too much like blackmail. “And if I refuse?” countered Arrhae. She exhaled heavily, and eyed him. Under cover of their bodies where they sat side by side, she pulled a silver cylinder from her hip pocket, twisted it to extend tiny antennae, and then began speaking softly but intently, with her eyes fixed on his. “This device scrambles the audio signal from the human’s monitoring equipment. I don’t have much time, so listen carefully. I cannot afford to have you fall into the hands of Starfleet, and you know too much about the temporal cold war to allow you to return to your people. You have two choices… cooperate with me voluntarily, or I will use the technology at my disposal to remove you from this timeline involuntarily. I cannot promise how you will be treated if I am forced to bring you in as a prisoner. Our agency prefers volunteers, but dangers to the timeline are neutralized without mercy.” Then she put away the cylinder. Her words were harsh, but her eyes pleaded with him to cooperate. His black eyes studied her coldly. “And so you would have me betray my shipmates and assist in their destruction, all based on information which may well be a computer generated fantasy,” he replied acidly. “I was anticipating that perhaps, with your assistance, it might be possible to retrieve our target without loss of life. If we possessed the shield codes, a matter transport rescue would be possible, and indeed greatly preferable. If we also possessed information allowing us to temporarily incapacitate the Romulan ship, Enterprise could then safely leave the system without being forced to destroy it.” Arrhae bristled. “I wouldn’t assume that my ship would be vanquished in such an encounter… and my captain will pursue this ship when he is able. Honor will require that he do so.” T’Mir shook her head ruefully. “Enterprise possesses an advantage that your ship does not. The Temporal Enforcement Agency will not allow this ship to be destroyed. Every agency resource is at my disposal, and if I am eliminated, another agent will be assigned to take my place. Your ship will not be victorious. Such a victory would disturb the approved timeline.” Arrhae crossed his arms and stared meditatively at his interrogator-turned-job-recruiter. He said nothing. There was really nothing to say. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The impact of a sharp blow to his face, one of several from the feel of it, aroused him from his drug induced state. Tolaris opened his eyes and breathed deeply. Pain radiated from his nose and from the center of his chest peripherally in all directions with the inhalation, so he did it again… deliberately. The deep burning ache seemed to simultaneously cleanse and focus him. His wrists and ankles were in restraints and strapped to railings on either side of the bed on which he lay. He turned his attention to his surroundings. The harsh lights of the medical bay illuminated the stern face of Subcommander Arek, the newly promoted commanding officer of the warbird Ra’kholh. “Explain yourself, Vulcan,” said the subcommander in a quietly menacing tone. “It would have been difficult to obtain useful information from a dead Starfleet officer, don’t you think?” Tolaris turned his head and swiped his temple against the upper part of his right sleeve, leaving a green smear. Then he sniffed back his nosebleed and looked at Arek with a sullen expression. “The human attacked me as I slept. I was simply defending myself.” “Defending yourself? From a phase-pistol stunned and unarmed human possessing less than one third of your strength? A rather extreme reaction under the circumstances, Tolaris… and very stupid. You are of no use to us if there is no one to interrogate, and I, for one, am growing tired of your ineptitude. My predecessor actually trusted you… to his eventual detriment. I’m not that gullible. ” Arek crossed his arms over his chest and stared at Tolaris moodily. “If I allow you back into the holding cell, will you at least interrogate him before you try to kill him again, or should I just dispose of you now? There are effective ways of obtaining information without the use of mind melds, you know. They’re just messier.” Tolaris felt his heart rate accelerate at the thought. To have the human screaming… bleeding… pleading for mercy. The idea was intoxicating. But if he obtained the information the Romulans needed via physical torture, it was only a short step to the realization that mind melds were unneeded, and that he, in turn, was unnecessary. “If your men had restrained him properly in the first place, none of this would have been necessary. You would already have your information,” Tolaris sulked. “Mind melds are a delicate business. I cannot work if I’m constantly being physically threatened.” “You will be pleased to know, then, that the human officer that you find so threatening has been bound hand and foot and remains unconscious in the holding cell. He is, of course, still quite frightening, but I am confident that you will be courageous enough to overcome your terror,” replied Arek in a voice dripping with sarcasm. He addressed himself to the security officer standing at Tolaris’ bedside. “Release his restraints and escort him back to the holding cell.” He turned his attention to Tolaris. “I want useful information within the hour, Vulcan, or I will personally escort you out an airlock without benefit of a pressure suit.” Then he turned on his heel and walked out. Tolaris eyed the subcommander’s rigidly erect posture with trepidation as he left. Had Arek been human or Vulcan, Tolaris might have thought that his statement was just an empty threat, but the subcommander was Romulan. Romulans didn’t make threats. He’d meant every word. The security officer unlocked his ankles, and then moved up to his wrists. Tolaris looked up into the guard’s unrevealing face. There was no way to tell what he was thinking, but Tolaris could guess. He was a witness to the groveling the Vulcan had been forced to do. He probably feels contempt for me, thought Tolaris bitterly. He likely believes himself superior to me. The guard motioned for him to get up from the bed and indicated that Tolaris should precede him down the corridor. He didn’t even pull a weapon. I wonder if he’d still feel that way if he were a puling infant between the ears, thought Tolaris viciously. His fingers itched to grasp the guard’s head in both hands and rip every memory he’d ever dreamed about having from his self-righteous Romulan brain. Instead, he walked meekly ahead of the guard and back into the holding cell. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Commander T’Pol and the rest of them are waiting for you in your ready room, Captain,” said Norfleet. Jonathan Archer rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger. He was exhausted. The previous twenty-four hours had taken their toll on him, both emotionally and physically. His wife was finally safe. Their children were as safe as medical science could manage. He couldn’t help feeling guilty about the fact that he might very possibly have exchanged the safety of his family for the safety of everyone on board Enterprise. He certainly felt remorse about Trip. I should have known he’d do something stupidly heroic, thought Archer. Trip had been ready to kill Tolaris with his bare hands. And now he was as good as dead. When Archer had entered the bridge to relieve T’Pol of command, she’d been icily and eminently Vulcan in her correctness. There had been no reproach in her eyes. As a matter of fact, there hadn’t been anything at all in her eyes. She’d treated him as if he were an utter stranger. He hadn’t expected that. It was much more painful than any other response could possibly have been. Archer nodded and slowly rose from the command chair. “You have the con, Ensign. Call me if there’s any change.” “Aye, sir,” responded Norfleet briskly. Archer’s lips quirked upward in reluctant amusement as he paused at the door of his ready room to watch the eager young man walk solemnly to the command chair and gingerly take his seat. His youthful face broke into a broad grin for just a second before assuming an appropriately authoritative expression. Archer shook his head minutely before exiting the bridge. It had been a long time since such a small thing as sitting in the command chair had given him any joy. The members of the team he’d requested to assist him in coming up with a plan to retrieve Tucker and Tolaris from the Romulans sat around the conference table in the ready room. T’Mir and Malcolm sat side by side with Isis lounging on the table facing them. Archer raised a brow. It was the first time he’d ever had any animal besides Porthos in his ready room. The presence of a cat on Enterprise was difficult to stomach. Archer hated cats. They were impossible to train and entirely too aloof for his liking. Lieutenant Sato had insisted that this one was different… intelligent, self-aware, and fully capable of contributing to their planning session. He trusted her judgment, but he didn’t have to like it. Lieutenant Commander Reed was deep in discussion with T’Mir. She had a padd in front of her on the table. Hoshi stood behind them, but her attention seemed focused more on the cat than on the padd. She bent down to whisper something to Malcolm, almost as if she were receiving briefing instructions from the cat and was then translating them for the others’ benefit. Archer wasn’t sure what to make of Hoshi’s claim that she could understand the animal. T’Mir, Seven, and even Malcolm seemed to accept her assertions at face value, so he’d decided to suspend his disbelief for the time being. T’Pol sat next to Agent Seven, facing the rest of them across the table. Both of them were watching the younger team members as they eagerly discussed the plan that they were hatching. T’Pol’s face was drawn and severe. He tried to meet her eyes, but she refused to make eye contact. “It looks like you’ve all started without me,” said Archer as he pulled up a chair and sat down at the table. He addressed T’Mir. “What have you got for us, Agent T’Mir?” he asked brusquely. His expression reflected his determination not to let the questionable ethics of its method of retrieval prevent him from making full use of the information he expected to receive. “Agent T’Mir has come up with a plan to retrieve Commander Tucker and Tolaris without loss of life, Captain,” put in Malcolm. “Look at this.” He pushed the padd toward Archer. Archer picked up the padd and studied it. It appeared to be a diagram of the interior of the Romulan ship. There were two holding cells, both on the same deck, one to starboard and one to port. “Agent T’Mir has confirmed that the starboard holding cell was already occupied when Commander Tucker and Tolaris were brought on board. Our Romulan prisoner has informed her that the original plan was to place Tolaris in the port cell. She believes that both of them are in that cell. All I’ll have to do is get Dominatrix close enough to beam them out of there. That way, the only personnel endangered will be the away team. Enterprise itself will remain out of reach,” said Malcolm. “That’s easier said than done,” remarked Archer. “How do you propose to get the shuttle close enough without being destroyed…not to mention penetrating the shields for a beam out?” T’Mir finally spoke up. “I have the Ra’kholh’s shield codes and a way to disable the crew without killing them,” she told Archer evenly. “Isis and I will ensure that there will be no resistance.” Archer’s brow went up. The interrogation must have gone very well. “Let’s have it, then… tell us the plan,” he told her. She exchanged a glance with Seven. “That is the plan, Captain,” said Seven calmly. “Revealing any more information than we have already revealed would alter the approved timeline.” Archer gazed from one to the other of them with a puzzled expression. Then he looked at Malcolm in amazement. “Did you know about this, Malcolm? Are you actually willing to go along with this without knowing what the hell is going on?” Lieutenant Reed exchanged a glance with Hoshi, and then gave Archer a sheepish shrug. “I’ve got no reason to suspect that Agent T’Mir is incapable of doing what she claims, Captain. I can accept the fact that sometimes information is provided on a ‘need to know’ basis. Evidently, the Temporal Enforcement Agency doesn’t think we need to know.” “So you’re going to take an away team in an unshielded shuttle to within point blank firing range of a Romulan warbird and just trust that a Vulcan teenager and a cat will be able to disable the ship and prevent your destruction,” said Archer sarcastically. Hoshi bit back a grin. Malcolm sighed, and looked back at Archer in resignation. “Do you have a better idea, Captain?” he asked ironically. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Trip awakened to the sensation of pressure in his head. It was a familiar feeling, and his barriers were already up at full strength in an instinctive response honed by months of “sneak attack” training sessions. T’Pol had been very thorough in her training regimen. He opened his eyes, and looked directly into Tolaris’ angry face. The Vulcan was perspiring, and his fingers were splayed claw-like over Trip’s temples. Trip grinned. “Mornin’ sleepyhead!” he announced brazenly. “Surprise!” The squeezing feeling at his temples abruptly increased in intensity. Trip clenched his teeth, but kept his face smooth and untroubled. “Ya might as well give up now, Tolaris. You’re not gettin’ in. I’ve been trained by the best,” he told the Vulcan from between his teeth. Tolaris exhaled explosively and released him, slamming Trip’s head down on the mattress as he did so. He sat back on his heels at the head of the lower bunk and looked at Trip with an angry and frustrated expression. Trip grinned at him in triumph, and then he realized that his hands and feet were bound. He was trussed up like a prize pig headed to market, in fact. “What’s the matter, Tolaris? Afraid of a puny ol’ human, are ya?” he taunted. Tolaris’ face darkened, but still he said nothing. His eyes studied the human coldly. “It makes no sense for you to attack me barehanded, human,” he murmured, almost to himself. “The guards must be missing something.” Trip’s eyes widened in alarm as Tolaris suddenly leaned over him and began to search his pockets. He tried his best to appear unconcerned when Tolaris pulled the coiled black strap adorned with a small rectangular badge from his left breast pocket. “What is this?” hissed Tolaris, hiding the device between his body and Trip’s before secreting it in his own shirt pocket. “You had it in your hand… I saw it!” he whispered harshly. “You were going to use it on me!” Trip cocked his head and smiled enigmatically at the Vulcan. On the inside, he was scrambling frantically for a plausible story. All of a sudden, one occurred to him. “I was gonna use it on both of us, you moron!” he whispered back in an exasperated tone. “It’s a transport device! I wasn’t sure if you’d go willingly at first… but look at you, man! Our guys would treat you a thousand times better than these Romulans do!” Tolaris fingered his lacerated lip. His left upper eyelid was blue-green and nearly swollen shut. He eyed Trip warily. “A transport device?” “Yeah!” replied Trip disingenuously. “It’s meant for one, but it’ll take two in a pinch. We just hafta be practically on top of each other when we activate it, that’s all.” “’In a pinch’?” echoed Tolaris in puzzlement. “ Just means in an emergency… since there’s a small risk of pattern mixing if we go together,” explained Trip helpfully. He crossed his fingers. He hoped that Tolaris was as quick on the uptake as he was twisted. The Vulcan didn’t disappoint. “Pattern mixing,” repeated Tolaris in a flat voice. He stood up and backed away from the bed. “Yep,” confirmed Trip complacently. Tolaris raised a brow and eyed the human craftily. “How is it activated?” he asked. Trip grinned. “Oh, that’s simple. You just put it around your arm and push the clasp shut.” Tolaris blinked at Trip for a moment, fingering his swollen and lacerated lower lip. He seemed to be worrying at it deliberately, like an animal with an infected wound. Green blood began to flow down his chin. Then he pulled the armband from his pocket, wrapped it around his forearm and pulled the clasp together, stopping just short of pushing it home. There was a grating sound as the cell door began to open. Someone had obviously been watching the interrogation. Tolaris’ eyes burned into Trip’s. His face twisted in manic fury. “I will tell her you died begging for mercy, human. She will turn to me for comfort, and I will give it! Remember that! She’ll be mine when you’re dead!” he cried viciously. Then he pushed the clasp closed and vanished. The Romulan guard entered the cell with his disruptor drawn and gazed about him in puzzlement. The human was the only occupant of the cell. He had restraints securely around both his arms and his legs… and a very satisfied smile on his face. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “So you won’t be going on the away mission?” whispered Elena hopefully. She lay on one side of the biobed with her head pillowed on Jon’s shoulder. His arms were wrapped securely around her hips, and hers were around his chest. She snuggled in. She felt Jon’s lips pressed to the top of her head. “The general consensus seems to be that I’m too valuable to risk. I’d argue the point, but I never win an argument when T’Pol, Malcolm, and Hoshi all gang up on me… and if I pull rank, I’ll still have T’Mir and Seven to deal with,” he replied in a resigned voice. “Well, I’m glad you’re not going,” Elena replied softly. “Maria and Jon Junior need a live father, not a dead hero.” Her husband sighed heavily. She could sense his discomfort with the situation. He wasn’t a man who could easily stand by and watch while others risked their lives. “Is T’Pol going?” she whispered. She hoped that the answer was no. It would kill him to lose both of them. “No. She’s requested medical leave and removed herself from the chain of command. I can’t say that I agree with her reasons, but Phlox says she needs time to adjust.” “Maybe she just needs someone to be her friend, Jon,” Elena replied. “If you were taken prisoner by the Romulans I’d be a basket case.” There was silence. “She doesn’t want me as a friend, Elena… it’s my fault Trip’s gone,” whispered Jon bleakly. “But you said that both temporal agents are confident that they can help you rescue him, so he’s not “gone”, Jon… just in need of help,” Elena protested. “It doesn’t matter. She still blames me. You should have seen the way she looks at me… as if I were some stranger she’d just met and didn’t particularly care for,” he replied sadly. He sighed. “Maybe another Vulcan could get through to her. I suppose I could ask Agent T’Mir to speak with her.” Elena chuckled. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall during that conversation. It’s a good idea, though. Finding out she has family might give T’Pol some hope.” Jon pulled back and looked down at Elena with an astonished expression on his face. “Where did you find out that T’Mir is their descendent?” Elena’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement. Then she grinned at him. “’Descendent’? That’s a strange way of putting it, Jon. Do you plan to refer to our children that way, too?” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol knelt on the floor of her quarters dressed in pale blue silk pajamas and a matching robe. The pillar candle on the floor in front of her was burned to a four centimeter stub. Leaves and flower petals ringed the candle stub in an irregular fringe. The haphazard appearance of the candle gave her a most illogical sense of comfort. She found herself wondering whether Lianna had missed her. She decided that the child had likely moved on with her life. Small children did not dwell on the past. T’Pol closed her eyes again, remembering instead of meditating. The way that Trip’s face had always lit up when telling Lianna a story played through her mind. I should have resigned my commission then, and offered to bear his child, she mused. I have waited too long, and now it might be too late. She didn’t place much confidence in the temporal agents’ claims that Trip was in no danger. She’d been a prisoner of the Romulans. She knew what they were capable of. She’d tried to contact her mate repeatedly since he’d been taken captive. His barriers had been solidly up the last time she’d attempted it. All she’d been able to sense was his determination not to drop them… and a vague impression of the mind that was attempting to violate the bond between them. A vague impression was all that had been necessary. Tolaris was on that ship. Now she had two excellent reasons to kill him. Her instinctive reaction had been the final straw that had prompted her decision to request medical leave. She refused to risk being forced to take command while in the grip of such murderous rage. Her emotional responses were incapacitating her. She was not fit for duty. The door chime sounded. She ignored it and attempted to meditate. One inhalation. One exhalation. One inhalation. One exhalation. The chime sounded again. Her eyes snapped open. I am on official medical leave and off duty… what else must I do to be left alone? she thought in frustration. “T’Pol! It’s Jon. Open the door,” came a quiet muffled voice from the corridor. She closed her eyes again and sighed. Of course, it had to be him. I can’t face him now. I’ve betrayed his trust. I’ve endangered the ship, she thought wildly. She rose from the floor and approached the door without opening it. “I am meditating, Captain, and not dressed for visitors. Please return in the morning,” she called softly through the door. “Please, T’Pol. Don’t force me to make it an order. I need to talk to you.” His words were harsher than his tone of voice. She’d never heard him plead with her before. He sounded distressed. She wondered why he wasn’t with his wife. “Go and talk to your wife, Captain. It is inappropriate for you to be here,” she told him. “I just left Sickbay, T’Pol. Elena convinced me to come.” T’Pol sighed. Then she opened the door. Jonathan Archer stood in the corridor with a hesitant expression on his face. She stood aside to let him enter. He preceded her into the room, and she closed the door behind them. He turned to face her, looking as if he were at a loss for words. She expected anger. He must blame her for their current predicament. If she’d done her duty and destroyed the shuttle, they’d be on their way back to Earth with a Romulan prisoner, their mission completed. The words that finally came out of his mouth were unexpected. “I came to tell you I’m sorry, T’Pol. I should never have let him go down there. It’s my fault.” There was no anger in his voice, and no blame except self-recrimination. “You always say that you don’t experience anger, but I can tell there’s something wrong when you look at me. Would it be too much to ask for your forgiveness, or do Vulcans not do that either?” He smiled sadly, as if he expected her to refuse him and send him on his way. His attitude reminded her of the way Trip had once been, when there had been only friendship between them. Misunderstandings did not require romantic interest, it seemed. Friends were just as capable of destroying each other with a single word. She gazed at him in silence, and then walked to the window to gaze at the stars. She spoke, finally, without looking at him. “It is illogical of you to claim responsibility for the decisions of another, Captain. I have reviewed Lieutenant Commander Reed’s tactical logs. It is my assessment that Commander Tucker was in complete possession of his faculties when he chose to join the away team, and that he made a reasonable risk/benefit decision when he attempted to retrieve Tolaris. The fact that he was unsuccessful in his attempt does not change the facts. You are not to blame. I, on the other hand, made a serious tactical error when I failed to destroy the shuttle. In doing so, I placed the entire ship in danger. I cannot now be trusted to command this ship. When we reach Earth, I plan to resign my commission and return to Vulcan.” T’Pol felt a hand upon her shoulder. She turned from the window to face the concerned face of her captain and friend. “What are you talking about, T’Pol? I gave you a direct command not to destroy that shuttle! You obeyed the orders of a superior officer. No one could possibly fault you for that,” protested Archer. She raised a brow at him. “I suppose I should thank you for that, Jon… but you know as well as I do that by the time you gave that order, I had already delayed so long as to make the direct hit on the shuttle engine required for its complete destruction highly unlikely. The Romulans were closer to the shuttle that we were at that point, and would have had the opportunity to retrieve the shuttle occupants by matter transport. I had already failed in my duty.” Archer’s puzzled expression cleared. “And you think it was your relationship with Trip that prevented you from destroying the shuttle,” he stated flatly. She didn’t answer. The answer was self-evident. Archer eyed her with a frustrated expression. “No commanding officer can remain completely unattached, T’Pol. No one expects you to behave like a Vulcan officer. You’re in Starfleet. Some emotional response is expected of a Starfleet officer,” he told her. She remained unconvinced. The regulations were clear. Emotional attachments were disruptive. Romantic relationships were expressly forbidden between officers on board the same ship precisely for that reason. “Let me put it this way…,” he continued, “… and don’t tell me the answer because I don’t really think I want to know.” His lips quirked wryly. “Ask yourself whether you would have destroyed the shuttle without a thought if it had been me, Malcolm, Travis, Hoshi, or Phlox on board that shuttle instead of Trip.” T’Pol stared at the captain for a moment. What would she have done if faced with the need to destroy a friend in cold blood? Would she have hesitated? Would the logical tactical advantage of such an act have overcome her newly acquired ability to form friendships? Vulcans formed social bonds… acquaintanceships, if you will. The concept of “friendship” had been alien to her when she’d arrived on board. It was no longer an unfamiliar concept. She realized suddenly that in the absence of an eminent threat to ship’s safety requiring an immediate protective response, she would undoubtedly have hesitated to destroy the shuttle no matter which of her friends had been aboard. The realization stunned her. Contact with humans had altered her much more than she’d ever realized. This must be what human commanding officers dealt with daily, this constant weighing of personal versus professional concerns. “I will need some time to research this,” she conceded. She still wasn’t sure she was capable of command in view of her recent emotional instability. Archer nodded. He seemed to accept her response at face value. Thankfully, he dropped the subject. The next topic he brought up, however, was no improvement. “The away team is leaving in less than an hour,” he told her solemnly. She eyed him expectantly, waiting for him to finish. “I wasn’t going to tell you until afterwards, but Elena pointed out that there’s a possibility that their plan won’t be successful…” He paused, and then hastily reassured her with a less than convincing smile, “… not that T’Mir and Isis aren’t capable of what they claim… I’m sure everything will be fine… but Elena thought that if I don’t tell you now, you might never forgive me for depriving you of the opportunity to say goodbye,” he continued in a rush. T’Pol crossed her arms across her chest in a very Trip-like manner. “Captain… please make your point,” she said dryly. Archer exhaled, and then took a deep breath. He looked like a man with a burden to unload. “T’Mir’s full name is Elizabeth T’Mir Tucker. She’s from an alternate timeline, in the same way that Lorian was. She’s your daughter… and Trip’s.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx He woke naked and shivering, as usual. A pair of rough hands pulled him from the stasis chamber and shoved him under a cold water spray. Moments later, the same hands perfunctorily toweled him off and pulled a coarse tunic over his head. He clutched it about himself, abjectly grateful for the warmth. His keeper shoved a spouted cup into his face, and he grasped it with shaking hands, latching on to it like an infant with a bottle. It was hard to believe that he’d once disliked the nutrient beverage. It filled his mouth and belly, so satisfying in its richness, so delicious. “You have a job to do, Elren,” said the small jagged-toothed being who was both his savior and his tormentor. The expression on the alien’s face was sympathetic but patronizing, rather like an owner with a favorite pet. The Betazoid drained the last of the drink with relish, and then turned, looking for the telepresence unit. He located it and began to walk unsteadily toward it with his eyes focused on his feet. His keeper grabbed his arm. “No, boy. Not today. Today you get to do something different.” Elren blinked and looked up in puzzlement. The alien laughed and exchanged an amused glance with the second big eared and bulbous nosed fellow who was busy cleaning the stasis chamber. “I think the discipline collar’s fried his brain!” he said. Elren stared at him. Was there something wrong with him after all? He tried again to make telepathic contact. He was so starved for somebody to link with. The two little men were deaf and dumb telepathically. He’d thought all along that that was why he couldn’t link with them without touching them, but maybe it was him. Maybe there was something wrong and he’d never link again. All he needed was to touch one of them on the temple to see. He used to be able to link with anyone by touch… and some without even touching them… and affect them. He struggled to remember. Wasn’t there something he could do? Something that he’d wanted to do? He reached out a hesitant hand. The big eared alien scrambled out of the way and pressed a button at his belt. The pain forced him to his knees. He’d forgotten about the collar… but the agony was unforgettable. “Oh, no you don’t, boy. Keep those hands to yourself!” admonished his keeper. Tears filled Elren’s eyes. I just want to link. Please link with me! I’m so lonely…. His misery was so apparent that even his tormentor felt sorry for him. He felt a hand on the top of his head. He ignored it. Someone had answered him… finally. He smiled a childlike smile of pure joy. “Elren, we need you, dear. We’re coming to save you,” said a gentle voice faintly in his mind. “Just do exactly as I ask, and you’ll be free very soon. I promise.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Sitting across from her fellow temporal agents on the only chair in the cabin that Gary Seven shared with Isis, T’Mir watched Isis’ face as she communicated with their secret weapon on board the Romulan warbird. It was the first time she’d had the opportunity to study the shape changing agent’s human form up close. Her dusky complexion and almond-shaped eyes suddenly brought the Romulan prisoner to mind. T’Mir’s attention was drawn to Gary Seven’s absorbed expression. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one who found the combination aesthetically appealing. Isis opened her eyes. “They’ve removed him from stasis,” she said briskly in her unidentifiably exotic accent. “He’s willing to cooperate.” Seven eyed her dubiously. “Can we trust him? He could report our impending mission to the Romulans. The man’s a megalomaniac with delusions of godhood.” Isis cocked her head at him. “Our link was tenuous, but he seemed as harmless as a child, though incredibly powerful telepathically. I believe he might even be able to approach my mental range when properly trained,” she said. “He doesn’t remember what he did. The months of sensory deprivation and the discipline collar have driven him into a dissociative state.” Seven exhaled heavily and shook his head. “I certainly hope the top brass know what they’re doing with this one,” he said ruefully. He turned to T’Mir and gave her a thoughtful look. She braced herself for what was coming. She’d known it would come down to this since the first moment she’d seen their new orders. The timeline they were in at that moment had been altered. Literally anything was now possible. “The recruitment is our primary mission, Agent Trainee,” said Seven warningly. “Anything else is secondary. Are you prepared for that?” T’Mir’s jaw clenched. “Yes, Agent Seven. I understand.” The comm sounded. Lieutenant Sato’s voice rang out loudly in the small room. “Lieutenant Commander Reed is ready for you in shuttle bay one. He asked me to inform you that he’s ready to leave whenever you are.” Seven rose from his seat on the bunk to answer the comm. His voice was calm and pleasant when he replied, “We’re on our way.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol reached shuttle bay one slightly out of breath. She’d waited until the last minute, very nearly too late because she’d had to meditate to recover her equilibrium after the captain’s bombshell. Lieutenant Commander Reed was inside the open shuttle completing the preflight check. The temporal agents were not yet present. She hesitated at the door, debating the wisdom of her decision to confront T’Mir at a time when the young woman should have her entire attention focused on the upcoming mission. She’d turned to leave when she caught sight of the three temporal agents walking down the corridor. Three? She studied the strange woman who accompanied Agents Seven and T’Mir with puzzlement. She was small, roughly T’Pol’s own height, and moved with a sinuous grace that reminded T’Pol of an animal. T’Pol looked into the woman’s almond shaped black eyes in puzzlement. “Yes, Commander. It’s me… Isis,” sent Isis with an amused smile. T’Pol started in ill concealed surprise. “Why the cat form, Agent Isis? And why conceal your ability to communicate with others besides Lieutenant Sato?” returned T’Pol with a mistrustful expression. The agents arrived at the entrance to the shuttlebay and found their way blocked by a very implacable Vulcan. Isis spoke in heavily accented English. “I am most comfortable as a cat, Commander. The form is more useful than this one when I wish to remain unobtrusive.” T’Pol eyed the agent’s face and body objectively, and was forced to admit that the form she was currently in would undoubtedly attract attention. “As for the telepathy… I have concealed nothing. I have simply chosen not to communicate with anyone else.” T’Pol raised a brow. “The elaborate charade of communication through Lieutenant Sato was a ruse, then?” Isis laughed lightly and shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t communicate with anyone telepathically who doesn’t have at least a rudiment of telepathic ability. Most humans are deaf to my sendings. Vulcans are not.” T’Pol stared at her for a moment. Perhaps the temporal agents had a chance of rescuing Trip after all. “Are you familiar with the defense developed by the Betazoids against telepaths and all those with rudimentary telepathic ability?” she asked. Isis smiled broadly. “Ah… now you begin to see the possibilities,” she replied. Her eyes met T’Pol’s squarely. “Never fear, Commander. When this mission is complete, all will be as it should be. You have my word on it.” T’Pol returned the agent’s gaze, and then her eyes slid past the woman’s dark face to fall upon T’Mir. She’d almost forgotten why she’d come to the shuttlebay in the first place. Now that she knew, the resemblance was blatantly obvious. Those were his eyes. There was no doubt. “Do I have your word as well, my ko-fu?” she asked the girl matter-of-factly. The conversation came to a halt as the Vulcan word for “daughter” hung in the air between them. T’Mir’s look of slack jawed astonishment was a bittersweet echo of her father’s most memorable expression. T’Pol felt a momentary pang of emotion, and regretted her words. The child had enough to worry about. Isis and Seven exchanged a glance, and then pushed past T’Pol without a word to enter the shuttlebay, leaving the two Vulcan women gazing levelly at each other. They were precisely eye-to-eye, of equal height and build. Hazel eyes met blue. “Were you ever going to tell me of your own accord?” asked T’Pol softly. T’Mir looked away. “There was no logical reason to do so. Telling you would not have increased the chances of mission success, and it would have violated agency policy. I am not allowed to discuss alternate timelines with uninvolved parties,” she replied stoically. Her eyes shone with unshed tears. T’Pol could see the girl’s struggle for control written plainly on her face. It was grief that she was battling. “I am hardly an uninvolved party,” protested T’Pol. “You are not my mother,” countered T’Mir sadly. Her eyes met T’Pol’s regretfully, taking the sting out of her words. Her obvious distress made her look even more like her father. T’Pol felt a sudden urge to take the girl into her arms, human fashion. She refrained out of respect for T’Mir’s dignity, contenting herself with resting a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “What happened to your mother… my counterpart in your timeline?” T’Pol asked gently. T’Mir winced. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. Her voice shook just a fraction. “She died. I could not save her,” she said. T’Pol gripped the girl’s shoulder tightly. T’Mir shed no tears, but reached up to grasp T’Pol’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “Your plan is a good one. You will save Commander Tucker,” T’Pol told her firmly. They exchanged a look of understanding, and then T’Pol released her, stepping back. “We will speak more of this when you return,” she said stiffly. T’Mir straightened and nodded. T’Pol stepped aside to allow the girl entry into the shuttlebay. The corridor was deserted. As T’Mir passed, she paused. T’Pol, who was gazing stoically at the back of the young woman’s head as she passed, noting with abstraction the golden highlights within T’Mir’s auburn curls, was surprised to suddenly find herself embraced by a pair of strong young arms. “I will bring him back to you,” whispered T’Mir fervently. T’Pol closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to fill them and wrapped both arms around the young woman. It was an odd sensation. She had never embraced another female other than her own mother. An unexpected affection for the girl filled her. Her arms tightened. “Be careful. I expect both of you back safely,” she whispered. They stood there locked together for several seconds in silence. Within the shuttlebay, the shuttle engines began their start-up sequence. T’Mir was the first to pull away. They both looked down in sudden discomfort as they stepped away from each other. T’Pol cleared her throat. T’Mir met her eyes, and then nodded a wordless farewell. T’Pol returned the gesture, and watched as the young temporal agent turned and walked briskly toward the open shuttlepod door. She stepped inside without looking back and closed the door firmly behind her. The warning klaxon began to sound within the shuttlebay as the shuttle prepared to launch. T’Pol stepped back and allowed the airlock doors to seal. Compelled by a most illogical impulse, she watched through the viewport in the airlock door until the shuttlebay was empty, and then returned to her quarters to contemplate the complexities of emotional attachments. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Subcommander Arek stood at the observation window of the port holding cell watching his chief of security and his chief medic getting absolutely nowhere with the human prisoner. The human was drugged to the point of near-insensibility and sported several garishly and unnaturally red splashes of color on his shirt front from the new security chief’s first overly enthusiastic attempts at interrogation. Arek sighed in frustration. Human language translation programs existed, but had not been given to the Ra’kholh, being in short supply. His ship had been provided with only Vulcan, Orion and Klingon programs. None of the strategists could have predicted the situation in which they currently found themselves. This human apparently knew only a few words of Vulcan, and absolutely no Orion or Klingon. The problem wasn’t that he refused to talk. The drugs had him talking all right. The problem was that ninety percent of what he said was gibberish, and the other ten percent… well… his knowledge of Vulcan was evidently highly specialized. “I claim thee as mine…,” slurred the human in strangely accented Vulcan, “… parted and yet never parted…” Arek raised a brow. When prompted to speak only Vulcan, the prisoner seemed limited to what sounded almost like… wedding vows? “Get the Betazoid,” said Arek in a resigned tone. The security guard standing at his side gazed at him with widened eyes. “But… Subcommander… no one remains who can tolerate the drug!” he protested in a terrified voice. Arek turned to the guard and raised an imperious brow. “I have been assured by his handlers that the Betazoid is now quite tamed. The drug is no longer necessary. Do as I command.” The guard swallowed, and then bowed his head, crossing his right arm across his chest with his fist tightly clenched. “Yes, Subcommander,” he said. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx He was floating in a haze of images… of memories. He tried to grasp one, but it slipped away. He felt as if he were inside a goldfish bowl looking out at the images running through his conscious mind, able to catch glimpses of them but never quite able to touch them. The drug. They must’ve given me some kinda truth serum, Trip thought. He heard a voice spouting nonsense… poems he’d memorized in college, the periodic table of the elements… even his Vulcan wedding vows… but he felt disconnected from it. He knew objectively that the voice was his own, but part of his brain remained walled off and able to think… if not clearly, then at least more coherently than he sounded from the outside. The barriers. T’Pol’s lessons are working. He could feel his body lying motionless on the bunk in the holding cell. He could even feel his nose, which was very likely broken, and the throbbing of his swollen face. His hands were intact, thank God. They hadn’t managed to get enough information from him to realize that threatening to maim his hands would have been a more useful means of getting him to talk than what they were doing. An engineer can’t function without his hands. He tried his best to think of something else, fearful that the drugged and nonsense spouting half of his brain would pick up on the thought somehow and broadcast it for all to hear. He felt a tentative touch on his temples. “Are you in there, Mister Starfleet Officer?” The voice was male and inquisitive, almost hesitant. Trip tried to strengthen his barriers, but they were already at full strength. The probing, curious mind had gotten around them somehow, instead of attempting to force through them as Tolaris had. Trip tried his best to calm his mind into a state of absolute quiet. Maybe he could convince his mental visitor that no one was home. “They want me to hurt you, but I don’t want to. If you talk to me just a little, maybe they’ll let me stay with you. My friend will be coming for me soon. I could ask her to take you with us. You could be my friend, too,” cajoled the mental voice. Deep inside his fortress, Trip did the mental equivalent of a double take. Is this guy for real? What am I dealin’ with, a four year old? He opened his eyes. The black, pupil-less eyes of a Betazoid telepath stared back at him. His nonsense spouting stopped abruptly as he took in the man’s appearance and processed it. He recognized him. Elren… the damned Hitler of Betazed! Trip knew what Elren was capable of. In terms of sheer volume of destruction, this monster had Tolaris beaten a thousand fold. He shut his eyes again and slammed every barrier closed, retreating as far into his subconscious mind as he could manage. Despair welled within him. He was afraid for the first time that his defenses wouldn’t be enough… that the Romulans would get the information they wanted from him after all, but he had to try. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Isis sat at the navigation/transport station of the modified shuttle watching as Lieutenant Commander Reed piloted the vehicle to an orbit around the gas giant opposite the cloaked and shielded Romulan ship. Hidden behind the massive planet, the Dominatrix held position. “I’m ready for a final approach once the Romulan ship has been incapacitated,” announced the human. He turned to look expectantly at Agent Seven. Seven turned to Isis with a subtle smile. “Are you ready?” he sent, rising from the copilot’s chair to join her in the rear of the shuttle. She returned his smile, and then turned to T’Mir. “It is time,” she sent. The Vulcan nodded, and rose to join them. The three linked hands, allowing Isis to unite their disparate mental abilities into a powerful telepathic probe whose goal was to contact and join with the one being on board the Romulan vessel capable of accomplishing their task. Isis felt Gary and T’Mir’s almost rudimentary telepathic abilities supplementing her own. She felt Elren’s mind mesh with hers. It was a mind of infinite potential power, held in check initially by the small mindedness and selfishness of its owner. Unwilling to share his secrets willingly with another being, Elren had unwittingly limited his power to a fraction of its potential. Now, his only limitation was his innocence. The Betazoid’s mind was wiped nearly clean. He had no idea of his capabilities. “Elren, I’m here,” she sent. “It’s time.” She felt the Betazoid’s childlike joy at the contact. Then she showed him what to do. The telepathic pulse that emanated from their joined minds sought out every rudimentary telepath on the Romulan ship, dropping them in their tracks. Isis sent her approval to him, and was rewarded with a wave of pure and unadulterated happiness in return. She had a smile on her face when she broke the link. She opened her eyes and faced Gary Seven and T’Mir, both with dazed expressions on their faces. “That was the ex-dictator of all Betazed?” sent Seven in amazement. Isis smiled wryly. “Still think he’s not recruitment material?” she returned. “The combination of discipline and sensory deprivation appears to have been quite effective,” remarked T’Mir. “Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” asked Lieutenant Commander Reed from the pilot’s chair. Isis turned to reply as T’Mir moved forward to take the copilot’s chair. “Take us around the planet, Mr. Reed. We have a rendezvous to keep,” she said. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol opened her eyes and stared at the meditation candle on the floor in front of her. It had been three minutes and forty-five seconds since her last attempt to contact Trip. His barriers were still up. The implications were disturbing. He is under attack, she realized. There was no other explanation she could think of for refraining from contact. The potential usefulness of exchanging information about his captors and their vulnerabilities had to be outweighed by something significant to cause him to close himself off so completely. They are torturing him, she thought. Her jaw clenched as she struggled with overwhelming anger. She wanted to take command of Enterprise and attack the Romulan vessel. She wanted to destroy it utterly… to destroy the ones that were hurting Trip. There was no logic in it. Her husband was still alive. Doing what she was contemplating would kill him along with everything else on the alien vessel. The desire for revenge burned within her nonetheless. She wrestled it down, breathing deeply, restoring her sanity. Then she reached yet again. “T’hy’la. Trip. Lower your barriers. Talk to me. Don’t be afraid.” She sent her message forcefully, with every bit of desperation, longing, and thwarted anger at her disposal. There was no response. Not at first. Then a strangely curious presence entered her mind. There were no words initially, just a sense of profound wonder. It spoke, finally. “Are you the one who’s coming for me? I’m waiting. I’m ready to do what you said.” T’Pol got the impression of extreme youth, or maybe it was simply innocence. For a moment, the presence reminded her of Lianna. It was nearly as powerful as the little girl had been, but seemed to be lacking something vital. It was male, though. That she was certain of. “Who are you?” she asked in return. “You’re not the one,” came the disappointed response. “She knows my name. She calls me Elren.” T’Pol could feel her mental visitor losing interest and beginning to pull away. “No! Wait!” she sent hastily. “I’m searching for someone. Have you seen him?” She hazarded a guess, since the Romulan ship was the only ship in the vicinity and the gas giant was unlikely to harbor any form of intelligent life that she was familiar with, that the mental voice belonged to someone on the Romulan ship. She sent an image of Trip as she’d last seen him, standing there in the black uniform of the Kreptagh security forces before boarding the shuttle that had taken the away team to Kreptagh Prime. “Yes!” returned the voice in sudden pleasure. A picture of Trip’s face, evidently from Elren’s point of view, filled her mind. He was battered and bloodstained, but very much alive. “I’m with him now, but he won’t let me in,” said the voice wistfully. “Will you ask him to let me in? I need to tell him something.” Elren, T’Pol mused. I know that name. “Elren of the Fifth House, the deposed Monarch of all Betazed?” she asked in puzzlement. She sensed sudden confusion from the innocent young mind. He thought about her question for several minutes, as if he were trying to make sense of it, and then finally gave up. “I think I’m just Elren, now,” he replied hesitantly. “Can you help me convince the human to talk to me?” “Why must the human talk to you, Elren?” asked T’Pol warily, reluctant to believe that this mental child was who she suspected he must be. Wasn’t Elren of the Fifth House in a mental rehabilitation facility on Betazed? Not only that, but this innocent could never have been responsible for the atrocities committed by the ex-Monarch of Betazed. That man was a self-absorbed monster, willing to sacrifice his people and his planet for personal gain. The mind linked to hers was simple and transparent. There was no guile in it. She felt a sudden rush, as if her awareness of her surroundings had just been increased a thousand-fold. She could see the vacuum of space around her, and the mental energies of the life forms within both of the starships in range of her newly expanded senses shone like pinpoints of light in the darkness. “Elren?”, she called into the void, suddenly feeling herself set adrift in blackness. “She’s here!” he returned excitedly. “She’s come for me. I have to do what she says now. You should shield yourself….” T’Pol felt herself carried along with the tide of the immense power now emanating from the joined minds of Elren and his rescuer… or was it rescuers? She strained to sense the others, and touched a familiar presence. “T’Pol? Is that you, darlin’?” Trip’s barriers dropped entirely as the augmented linkage of minds carried her to him and then pulled away, leaving her unlinked to anyone save her mate. She felt an ominous sensation of imminent danger as he joyfully opened his mind to hers. The clues finally clicked into place. The conversation she’d had with Isis outside of the shuttlebay… the Betazoid on board the Romulan vessel… “Trip! Barriers up! Now!” she send urgently… but it was too late. The oh-too-familiar lancinating pain of a strike directly to the telepathic centers of her brain drove through her head like a white-hot spike. She cried out, sensed Trip’s echoing cry from several thousand kilometers away, and fell insensate to the deckplates in her quarters beside the flickering meditation candle. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Malcolm Reed stared at his console in disbelief. The sensors picked up an unshielded and uncloaked Romulan warbird only three thousand kilometers from their current position. It was in stable orbit and showed no signs of weapons activation. “What did you do?” he asked T’Mir. She raised a brow. “Precisely what we discussed, Mr. Reed. After we successfully incapacitated the crew, I used the override codes given to me by the Romulan prisoner to lower the shields and decloak the ship. As soon as we reach transporter range, we should be able to lock on to our targets, beam them aboard, and leave without further incident.” Malcolm looked very impressed. “Remind me to discuss interrogation techniques with you sometime, Agent T’Mir.” “That would not be productive, Lieutenant Commander, as my methods are classified,” she returned blandly. Malcolm shook his head and grinned, returning his attention to the helm. The girl was entirely too much like T’Pol. The resemblance was positively uncanny. The shuttle remained silent for several moments, as none of its occupants were particularly disposed to small talk. “We’re within transporter range now, Agent Seven,” announced Malcolm. Seven turned to the short range sensors. After a moment, he looked up with a troubled expression. “I see no human life signs on board the vessel,” he said reluctantly. T’Mir’s expression became grim, and she rose from the copilot’s seat to join Seven, peering over his shoulder. She pointed with her one good hand at the screen. “Could this be Commander Tucker?” Isis looked over Seven’s opposite shoulder. “The computer identifies those as Betazoid life signs,” she said softly, giving T’Mir a sympathetic look. T’Mir ignored it. “Well, that’s got to be an error,” piped up Malcolm from the helm. “I say just lock on to that one and beam it aboard. Betazoids are very close to humans in their vital sign parameters. It’s probably just a sensor glitch.” He turned to look back at the three temporal agents. All three of them looked less than pleased with the turn of events. Seven looked up at him. “As you wish, Lieutenant Commander,” he said, and activated the transporter. A frail-looking and emaciated man with skin so pale it was nearly transparent, wearing only a coarse burlap shift and sporting a head of coal black curls down to his shoulders, materialized on the transporter pad. He was seated on the pad with Commander Tucker’s head in his lap. Trip had crusted blood around his nose and ears, and the garment where his head rested was saturated with blood. His body was motionless. The man cradled Trip’s head like an infant’s and raised a tear-stained face to Malcolm. His eyes were the black on unrelieved black of a Betazoid telepath. “He was going to be my friend, but he won’t wake up,” said the Betazoid piteously, sniffing back the tears that ran freely down his cheeks. “Can you fix him?” TBC in Episode 5 The story continues in Paradox: A Time to Mourn.

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