|
"Paradox: Snatch and Grab"
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Just in case somebody doesn’t recognize them, Gary Seven and Isis are from TOS episode # 55, “Assignment: Earth”. I loved those two. I thought they deserved their own series, but hey, what did I know? I have been and always will be just a fangirl. : ) July 29, 2156 Enterprise T’Pol woke at 0600 feeling refreshed. She found it satisfying that she’d finally become accustomed to sleeping alone again. Although she would have greatly preferred other arrangements, the lack of a certain engineer in her bed no longer interfered with her ability to get a good night’s rest. The brief union of their katras a week before had provided her with seemingly limitless emotional control, which she promptly abandoned to mount a mental search for her husband, projecting all the desire for his presence that she had at her disposal. She heard a chuckle in her mind, and felt the distinct sensation of hot water sluicing over her unclothed body in response to her call, despite the fact that she remained fully clothed in the blue silk pajamas that Trip loved so much. Her mate was obviously in the shower. “Well, good mornin’, darlin’! Care ta join me?” responded Trip, blatantly returning her emotional need for him with his usual overtly sexual morning urge to merge. He projected a view of his surroundings. She was familiar with them, having occupied the interior of the shower in Trip’s quarters on quite a number of memorable occasions. “I don’t believe that would be wise,” she replied stoutly as she deliberately blocked the sensation of soft, fluffy toweling rubbing across heat-sensitized nipples. The fact that the nipples weren’t hers didn’t seem to make much difference. “You do remember the senior staff briefing at 0730?” T’Pol sensed mischievous amusement as the sensation of delicious friction moved downward toward her abdomen. He was doing it deliberately! “’Course I do, T’Pol!” came Trip’s oh-so-innocent reply. “Guess I’ll see ya at breakfast, then…” T’Pol sent back wordless exasperated acknowledgement and then blocked him out completely before he got even more creative with his towel. Then she entered the bathroom which she now shared with Lieutenant Sato. The shared bathroom arrangements between the two women, and also between Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Commander Reed, seemed to be tolerated thus far by all parties concerned. On this particular morning, however, T’Pol found herself missing the privacy of her own bathroom. At first, Lieutenant Sato had been careful to maintain the tidiness of their shared space. Within just a few days, though, the younger human had begun to become more comfortable with the idea of sharing a bathroom with her Vulcan senior officer. Comfort apparently spawned clutter, for the shower door now sported hangars from which hung several articles of clothing that the lieutenant evidently found either too delicate or too controversial to trust to the ship’s laundry. The latest addition to the collection was worthy of inspection. T’Pol paused to finger the material. The garment was deep black in color. It appeared to be fashioned of a type of washable synthetic animal skin, as it was still slightly damp from washing and had a buttery soft slightly napped texture on the inside, while the external surface shone with a high gloss finish. It was apparently designed to be fastened about the wearer’s torso very tightly, for there were no shoulder straps to hold it up. There were supportive cups superiorly which were much too small to completely cover the anatomy they’d been designed to hold. Inferiorly, the garment ended in four short straps. She’d seen that particular design before in other items of the lieutenant’s assortment of non-regulation clothing. They were intended to serve as attachments for nearly transparent leg coverings. Hanging with this most impractical piece of apparel was a minute triangle of a similar black material. A silken cord was fastened to each corner of the triangle, and the three resulting cords met in a “T” as they dangled from the hangar. Shiny silver buckles, zippers and studs provided contrast in every possible location. The ensemble looked… uncomfortable. “Do you like it? You can borrow it if you want,” said Hoshi in a sleepy voice as she entered the bathroom from the other side and stepped up to the double sink. She turned on the tap without looking at T’Pol, but T’Pol could see the comm officer’s amused smile in the bathroom mirror as she washed her face. She pulled her hand away from the item abruptly and stood a bit straighter, trying to look properly professional. The effect was marred a bit by her sleep tousled hair and her brief silk pajamas. “That won’t be necessary,” she replied calmly. She stepped away from the shower door and then paused for a second. “But I appreciate the offer,” she added belatedly, in an effort to be polite. Hoshi laughed. “Right! I could just see you in some of my dress-up stuff!” Hoshi said as she grabbed a towel to dry her face. She was grinning broadly. “Talk about make Commander Tucker sit up and take notice!” T’Pol raised a brow at that, but refrained from comment. She stepped up to her sink, picked up her toothbrush, moistened it, and loaded its bristles with a sphere of dentifrice precisely .5 centimeters in diameter. She paused before inserting it into her mouth, gazing thoughtfully at the woman beside her. Hoshi continued to brush her hair, seemingly oblivious to T’Pol’s scrutiny. T’Pol had until that morning refrained from discussing Lieutenant Sato’s varied wardrobe in an effort to respect the young woman’s privacy. Hoshi had in the past, however, discussed subjects of an extremely personal nature with her without evidence of embarrassment. The discussions had invariably provided T’Pol with a good deal of useful information about human sexual practices. Perhaps this was a topic which would be similarly useful. Finally, T’Pol gave in to her curiosity. “May I ask the purpose of such clothing?” she asked nonchalantly, looking into the mirror. Then she inserted the toothbrush into her mouth and began to mentally time herself for two minutes of brushing time. Hoshi glanced in the Vulcan’s direction and smiled as she applied powder to her cheeks. “Oh… just to spice things up a little,” she replied. There was silence for one minute and fifty-five seconds longer. T’Pol spat delicately into the sink and thoroughly rinsed her toothbrush. Then she picked up her hair brush. “I assume you mean to enhance your relationship with Lieutenant Commander Reed,” clarified T’Pol as she began brushing. “How does non-regulation clothing achieve that goal?” Hoshi lightly glossed her lips, inspected her face in the mirror, nodded in satisfaction, and then turned to T’Pol to explain. “I can’t speak for Commander Tucker, of course, but it’s been my experience than men crave variety in sexual relationships. After a while, even the most faithful man starts to get a little bored with ‘same old, same old’… so every now and then I like to surprise Malcolm and ‘become’ somebody else,” said Hoshi matter-of-factly. She gave T’Pol a satisfied smirk, and then turned toward her bedroom to get dressed. “And Mr. Reed seems to benefit from this variety?” persisted T’Pol. “Haven’t had any complaints yet,” called Hoshi over her shoulder as she shut the door behind her. T’Pol studied her own reflection in the mirror. It was the perfectly ordinary reflection of a perfectly ordinary Vulcan female. She looked the same as she always did. She wondered what Trip’s definition of “same old, same old” would be. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “There he is, Lieutenant Commander. A healthy male fetus,” Phlox announced triumphantly as he turned the scanner toward Janice Hess’ dismayed face. “I estimate a gestational age of roughly twelve weeks,” he continued with a cheerful smile. Hess gazed at the scanner image seriously. “I’d say more like ten weeks and five days,” she replied in a resigned voice. She exhaled heavily and ran a muscular hand through her closely cropped blonde hair. The one time in her life when she’d found a man who made her feel truly feminine, and this had to happen. At six-foot nine and nearly three hundred pounds, Milo Alonso was a literal giant of a man. There wasn’t much she could think of that might frighten him away… with the possible exception of what she was looking at right now. Their one night together had been like a dream. He’d treated her as if she were a fragile and precious thing. She’d felt protected and cherished, a feeling which was hard to come by for a woman nearly six feet tall and one hundred eighty pounds of solid muscle. They’d used protection, of course. She looked up at Phlox indignantly. “We used protection!” she protested. Phlox’s smile became sympathetic. “No reversible method of contraception is one hundred percent effective, my dear… and humans only require one male gamete out of several hundred thousand to do the job.” Hess shot the doctor an exasperated look before her green eyes returned to the scanner image. A small smile appeared on her face, and a wistful expression overtook her usual brisk and businesslike demeanor. Phlox remained silent as she admired the image of her unborn child. He seemed to be waiting for something. A moment later, Hess’ eyes widened, and she looked up again in dismay. “What am I going to do? I can’t have a baby now! We’re in the middle of a war, for God’s sake!” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Captain Jonathan Archer stood at the head of the table in his ready room. His wife Elena sat at his side. Every member of the alpha shift command staff was also present, seated around the table trying to look as if they had no idea why they’d been called together. Although the morning’s briefing was ostensibly for command staff only, no one in the room had batted an eye to see Elena sitting there. It seemed perfectly reasonable to all concerned that she was present for this meeting, since the reason for the gathering had long since been leaked to the entire ship’s complement… or, at least the rumored reason had been leaked. Apparently, one of the female crewmembers had encountered Elena Archer changing in the gym’s locker room several times over the previous weeks. Elena had begun the voyage with absolutely flat abs. There was already a pool running concerning the baby’s birth date and birth weight. “Now that everyone’s here, I’d like to clarify a few things,” Archer began. Trip grinned and exchanged a mischievous glance with Hoshi. “As I’m sure all of you are aware, Starfleet Command has called Enterprise back to Earth for debriefing following our most recent battle with the Romulans. A few of you have expressed curiosity and concern about the reason my wife didn’t remain at her assigned post with the Earth Embassy on Betazed.” He glanced down almost apologetically at Elena, who returned his gaze with a resigned smile. They’d had a long discussion about her desire to finish what she’d started on Betazed, but Archer had stood firm, and had enlisted the aid of Dr. Phlox to convince her of the danger she’d be in if she remained so far from the care of a physician with experience in treating humans for the delivery of her children. Archer’s will had eventually prevailed. He lifted his head and smiled proudly at his friends and crewmates. “I’d like to officially announce that Elena and I are expecting twins in roughly seven months. Phlox informs us that we have one of each on the way.” “Oh, my God!” exclaimed Hoshi, laughing. Trip began to chuckle, and started to clap. “Way to go, Cap’n!” he cried. Malcolm, Travis, and finally even T’Pol began to clap in congratulations. Trip rose and made his way to the head of the table to embrace first his friend, and then the woman he’d chosen for Jon himself, grinning proudly as if the babies were his own idea. Malcolm leaned toward Hoshi in the pandemonium and whispered, “I suppose we should start another pool. I choose 38 weeks and 3 days, and six pounds even for the second born. I hear that twins always come early,” he told her with a sly smile. Hoshi just shook her head and rolled her eyes. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Hey, Hess… you okay?” asked Trip in a concerned voice after his usually alert and efficient junior officer failed to respond… for the third time… to his question about the field emitter they were trying to repair. Hess jumped at the sound of his voice, and gave him a shamefaced look. “Sorry, Commander… got a lot on my mind today,” she replied apologetically. He smiled at her with an expectant expression. She ignored it and answered his earlier question. “Sensors aren’t picking up that section of the hull at all,” she told him, indicating the area in question on the schematic. The rest of the defense shield’s field emitters were all operating normally. There was simply a 40 by 40 meter section of the ship’s hull, including the field emitter installed on it, which registered as empty space to the sensors. The shield diagnostic program had flagged the problem as a missing field emitter, which was the only reason it had caught anyone’s attention. The shields in the area seemed to be functioning normally, so the emitter was very likely still working. It appeared to be a sensor problem rather than an emitter problem, but what could possibly cause such a localized sensor malfunction? Trip stuck his tongue firmly into one cheek as he stood studying the problem. “We’ll have to run diagnostics on the entire short range sensor array,” he announced reluctantly. Hess nodded in brisk agreement. “Rostov and I will get right on it, Commander,” she responded, and turned away before Trip realized that she’d never explained her lapse of attention. He exhaled heavily and watched her go. It bothered him when one of his people was obviously having difficulty and didn’t feel comfortable coming to him about it. He might have expected it of an awestruck junior crewman, but Hess knew better. Hell, Hess had run Engineering during his temporary stint as the head of the Warp Six Project engineering staff. She knew that he was there for her if she needed to talk. Trip turned to the console and pulled up the sensor logs, searching for the moment when the sensor glitch first appeared. As the computer ran the search, he began thinking about… need. It seemed like nobody really needed him lately. “His” department had become so self sufficient while he was gone that he sometimes felt like a figurehead. At first, he’d even caught a few of the junior crewmen looking to Hess to confirm his orders before obeying them… mostly the crewmen who had begun their tour of duty with Lieutenant Commander Hess as their commanding officer while Trip was away, but it still disturbed him. And now there was this thing with T’Pol. They’d been through so much… she’d been through so much… that when her control had returned so completely and unexpectedly after their mind meld a week ago it had been a relief at first. To the rest of the crew, T’Pol now seemed back to her old self again. No more wide-eyed fearful looks. No more irritable outbursts. And no more jokes. He saw a difference still. It had to be the bond that allowed him to see it, but it was there. When she’d first joined the crew of Enterprise, T’Pol had been severe and aloof, separated from her crewmates by choice and the vigorous suppression of all emotional response. She’d battled her emotions constantly and with great effort. Her exposure to Pa’nar syndrome and her difficulties with trellium-D had only made the situation worse. Now, although her outward demeanor was the same as when she’d first arrived, he sensed a difference within her. “Happiness” was too emotional a word. Perhaps the best description was “serenity”… maybe even “contentment”. Emotional control was effortless for her now. She wasn’t battling her emotions. She simply chose not to express them… most of the time. He’d sensed her deliberate abandonment of control on several occasions since their meld. Each time she’d been either alone with him or alone in her room and linked to him. The fact that she was capable of the choice gave him some comfort, but he missed the need that had previously driven her. They hadn’t been intimate since that time in the shower after the meld. He’d been afraid to approach her… partially because he feared upsetting her newfound equilibrium, and partially because he was half afraid she’d tell him no. They met nightly for meditation and to share the events of the day. For a week now their relationship had been calm, comfortable, and completely platonic. It was getting a little frustrating. He could sense that she felt his desire for her. He’d even tried a bit of flirtation just that morning, but she’d shut him down like an ice cold shower. A tone sounded, indicating that the computer had completed its search. The portion of the sensor log which included the appearance of the sensor glitch began to play on the screen. All thought of personal concerns left him as Trip watched with dawning horror. They had an invisible hitchhiker. As he reached for the comm to contact the captain, the tactical alert siren began to sound. Simultaneously with the siren, a shout came from the opposite end of Engineering. It sounded like Rostov. “Hess? What the! … Help! Somebody’s taken Hess!” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Captain Archer, Lieutenant Commander Reed, Commander T’Pol, and Commander Tucker all stood in the situation room clustered around the large sensor console in the center of the room. Archer was beside himself… red faced and hyperventilating. He was the one who’d ordered the tactical alert, immediately after watching his wife disappear via transporter from the biobed in Sickbay where she’d been waiting for Phlox to perform her weekly checkup. By the time he’d gotten to the bridge, the small Romulan shuttle, which had decloaked for mere seconds in order to transport the two women aboard, had recloaked and vanished without a trace. T’Pol had been in command, and had not even had time to utter an order to fire the weapons. “How the hell did this happen!” Archer demanded of Malcolm. “How could even a cloaked ship possibly get close enough to transport while we’re traveling at warp?” Malcolm swallowed. His face was a study in remorse. Then he brought up the sensor logs that Trip had discovered. “This is from a week ago, Captain, just as we left Betazed orbit and before we went to warp. Do you see this sensor gap as it approaches the hull of the ship? As best as I can determine, sir, this is a cloaked ship.” Archer eyed his security chief dubiously. “And how do we know this?” he asked. Malcolm exchanged a glance with Trip. T’Pol came to their rescue. “An inspection of this area of the hull reveals a continuous gap in sensor readings from the moment that the sensor gap joins with Enterprise in the Betazed system until the 2.15 second decloaking of the Romulan shuttle that appeared in exactly this area immediately prior to the abduction of Lieutenant Commander Hess and Mrs. Archer,” she related dispassionately. “Subsequently, you can see here that the sensor gap separates itself from the ship, and Enterprise’s entire hull is once again visible to ship’s sensors. It is only logical to assume that a cloaked ship attached itself to the hull of Enterprise as we departed the Betazed system, and then, for reasons unknown, decloaked, transported two of our crew aboard… an action which a ship of this size should not have been capable of, by the way… recloaked and departed.” “What do you mean, ‘should not have been capable of’?” asked Malcolm. T’Pol met his eyes squarely. “During my captivity with the Romulans, I was given the opportunity to study the interior of a standard Romulan shuttle. They are not capable of matter transport. This one was obviously modified to perform a specific task. It attached itself to our hull beneath our shields, allowing its occupants to perform scans of the interior of Enterprise for over a week. After the targets were identified and the desired information was gathered, it was a simple matter to beam the women aboard, detach, and depart. I saw no evidence of warp nacelles in the 2.15 second glimpse granted to us, so the shuttle is likely to be proceeding either to a rendezvous with a warp capable ship or to the nearest planetary system at impulse speed. Archer exhaled. T’Pol’s calm delivery of the facts allowed him to redirect his anger and channel it constructively… toward the perpetrators of the kidnapping. He gave her a brief nod of thanks, and then turned toward Malcolm Reed. “I can see how the ship would be nearly impossible to detect, Malcolm,” he reassured him. “Since there was no way for us to detect them beforehand, we’ll just have to figure out how to find them now that they’ve got her… I mean… them.” Malcolm met his captain’s eyes with determination on his face. “Yes, sir. We will,” he replied firmly. Trip spoke up then, with a very puzzled look on his face. “But why Hess and Elena? Why them and no one else? I can see the Romulans takin’ Hess if they were after strategic information, but Elena’s a civilian.” Archer shut both eyes then, looking vaguely nauseous. Then he opened them again and faced his junior officers. His next words made them realize why he’d just nearly gone off the deep end. “Phlox told me something when he found out that both of them had been taken. I was hoping that he was wrong, but I can’t think of any other explanation. For confidentiality’s sake, I need to ask that you not discuss this outside of this room, but Janice and Elena had only one thing in common. They were the only two pregnant women on board ship, and embryonic tissue is of tremendous strategic value in biological warfare research.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Stardate 3154.617 Temporal Enforcement Agency Headquarters Agent Daniels couldn’t help it. He was nervous. He’d met with the Director of Temporal Operations only once in his career, when he’d initially been recruited. She’d looked at him as if he were some species of exotic insect, and then nodded as if his continued existence required her approval. He had since come to realize the literal truth of that initial impression. Temporal agents were usually recruited from temporary timelines which were deliberately or accidentally created in variance from the true timeline. They were collected and implanted with temporal stabilizers prior to the eradication of their timeline of origin, a procedure that erased everything that they’d ever known prior to their service with Temporal Operations. After this eradication, it required only one order from the director to deactivate an agent’s temporal stabilizer. If that procedure was performed, the agent simply ceased to exist. Indeed… the agent would never have existed. It was the only way to ensure their loyalty. If the original home timeline of an agent still existed, he or she might be tempted to go back and “fix” personal mishaps, thereby upsetting the natural order. His home timeline had deviated only minimally from the true timeline. Rumor had it that the director’s timeline had been brutal, and that the main reason she’d held the title of director for the past 125 years, aside from her amazing longevity, was because of her ability to make seemingly heartless but necessary decisions to maintain the integrity of the timeline. He respected that. He also feared it… a lot. “Go ahead, Agent Daniels… she’s expecting you,” said the smiling, curly haired blonde youth seated at the desk in front of the imposing wooden doors. The director’s assistants seemed to get younger every year. Soon she’d be recruiting toddlers. Daniels smirked just a tiny bit as he reached for the old-fashioned doorknob. The director was just as notorious for her preference for handsome, blonde male assistants as she was for her preference for unprogrammable archaic mechanical locks and wooden doors. As far as he knew, she’d never been known either to make a physical advance toward one of “her boys”, as others referred to the succession of muscular golden haired young men… behind her back, of course… or to turn a key in the lock within the massive doors which barred the way into her office. Her idiosyncrasies seemed intended merely for her viewing pleasure. He turned the knob, pulled the door open, and broke out in a sweat as soon as he stepped over the threshold. The room felt like an oven. The dry heat sucked the moisture from his body, making him long for a drink of water almost instantly. He closed the door behind him and then turned. He gazed upward, feeling dwarfed by the sheer presence of history. The chamber was long and narrow, with a vaulted ceiling roughly four meters above his head. The walls were lined from floor to ceiling with shelves, and on the shelves were historical texts and works of literature of every description. There were leather-bound books, scrolls, clay tablets… even CD-ROM’s and data discs… all within stasis fields for preservation. The rumor was that the Director had actually begun her collection before her appointment as director of the agency, and now considered it her personal responsibility to preserve the writings and the history of every alternate timeline she was forced to decreate. One of the older agents that Daniels had worked with just starting out as a new recruit had once expressed the rather harsh opinion that the Director collected books in order to compensate for the millions of people she’d decreated in her career, because books were less trouble than people. They didn’t mess up her nice, orderly “approved” timeline. Daniels preferred to think that she did it because, like the rest of them, she had no choice when it came to preserving the truth, even if that preservation sometimes required her to make unpleasant decisions. Daniels turned toward the opposite end of the room. A diminutive woman with a cap of steel grey curls sat behind a modest desk set near the back wall. Her face was weathered like old leather, but she sat straight and strong in her chair. Ice-blue eyes met his. He could barely see the tips of her pointed ears peeking out from between the curls. “Come in, Daniels. I don’t have all day,” she said in a commanding tone. He nodded respectfully and approached the desk, wiping the perspiration from his brow with one sleeve as he came. The director’s lips twitched upward ever so slightly. Daniels stared. Was that a smile? “I apologize for the heat, Agent Daniels, but I’m an old woman. I get chilled very easily,” she said with deadpan seriousness. Daniels decided that the smile had to have been a figment of his imagination. “I’m fine, Madam Director,” he reassured her. He wiped his brow again with the other sleeve. He was still standing, mainly because the only chair in the room was behind the desk. “You sent for me?” he prompted. The director pushed a slim palm-sized padd toward him on the desk. “I need you to create an alternate timeline for me, Daniels,” she told him bluntly, “…one that will remain absolutely confidential.” The temporal agent reached down and picked up the padd, studying it for a moment. “Excuse me for asking, Director… but why not go through the usual channels with this?” he asked while reading. “It just looks like a typical agent recruitment mission to me…” his voice trailed off as he got to the parts that weren’t so typical. He looked up at the woman before him with a baffled expression on his face. “You plan to let this timeline run for eighteen years before you correct it!” he asked in an appalled tone of voice. “Do you realize the number of innocents that you’ll decreate when this timeline is eradicated?” The director’s jaw clenched, and she lifted her chin to gaze at him in challenge. Abruptly, Daniels remembered exactly who he was talking to, and gave her a sickly smile. “Um… no offense, of course, Madam Director,” he said weakly. The old woman exhaled heavily, giving Daniels a resigned look. “The number of innocents I’ll decreate pales in comparison to the number of beings who will suffer and die within this alternate timeline, Agent Daniels,” she admitted. “Unfortunately, it must be created because it already has been created.” Daniels paged forward through the mission specifications to discover the identity of the agent who was to be recruited, but he found no reference to the recruitment procedure in the document. He laid the padd back on the desk and pushed it toward the director. “This information is incomplete, ma’am,” he said politely. “I’ll need to know the identity of the agent candidate in order to retrieve him.” “That won’t be necessary. I will be responsible for retrieving the agent in question,” replied the director in a voice that brooked no argument. Daniels eyed her in frank disbelief. The woman before him hadn’t been on a field mission in over 100 years. He said nothing, but his opinion of her statement was obvious. Her lips twitched upward again. This time the movement was unmistakable. He’d definitely amused her. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing… or a very bad thing. “Don’t worry, Agent Daniels. I have concrete proof that the mission was successful,” she told him dryly. She pushed the padd back toward him, and her expression became deadly serious. “This must remain confidential, however. I cannot stress that enough. If our enemies get wind of this mission and discover the identity of the agent we’re recruiting with it, the fate of the entire organization… and with it, the fate of the entire approved timeline… will be in jeopardy. Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Madam Director… absolutely clear,” responded Daniels emphatically. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx January 25, 2155 Enterprise Sickbay She was dying. There was nothing Phlox could do. He’d searched every medical database at his disposal. His scanners told him that her Vulcan and human immune systems, both fully functional, were at war with each other, each recognizing proteins within her small body as foreign, and mounting vigorous immune responses. Her organs were shutting down. They were the battlefield, as immune complexes composed of competing immunoglobulins deposited in the microcirculation throughout her body. Her kidneys had been the first to feel the brunt of it. Continuous peripheral dialysis kept her alive for the moment, but the damage was progressive, and nothing could replace brain function when the damage there was done. Theoretically, the key, he knew, was to choose a side and help it win the war, but he knew of no way to do that without killing her. Anything which would destroy the function of her Vulcan immune system would also destroy her human one… and vice versa… and with no immune function at all she’d be just as dead as soon as she encountered her first cold virus. He exhaled heavily, and then entered the parameters for one last data search. The rhythmic “ping” of the beta shift feeding alarm sounded, breaking his concentration. Phlox pushed back from the work station where he’d been sitting for four hours now trying to solve an unsolvable puzzle and sighed, rubbing thumb and forefinger over suddenly moistened eyes. He struggled with an unfamiliar emotion, his usual ebullient mood marred by unaccustomed hopelessness. It was time for a break. His menagerie required feeding, even in the midst of tragedy. As Phlox rose to his feet and turned his attention to the array of animal cages in the rear alcove of Sickbay, a familiar figure silently materialized out of thin air behind him. While the doctor busied himself with his charges, oblivious to his newly arrived guest, Daniels took a data disc out of his right breast pocket, inserted it into the disc port at the console where the doctor had been working, watched the screen for a second until the desired information appeared, then removed the data disc and promptly disappeared, presumably back the way he’d come. The entire process took no more than ten seconds. Phlox returned to his console a quarter of an hour later to find the solution to his problem staring him in the face. It was a 250 year old article from Earth’s database entitled, “Bone Marrow Transplantation in the Treatment of Refractory Acute Myelogenous Leukemia.” The procedure described in the article was appallingly primitive and extremely dangerous, but it was a start. Perhaps the situation wasn’t so hopeless after all. He had the beginnings of a smile on his face as he pulled up DNA records on the child’s two most likely donor candidates. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Tenth Ta’krat, Stardate 2175.10 (Alternate Timeline 56A) Syrranite Resistance Headquarters, Romulan-Occupied Vulcan The young Vulcan woman knelt within the dimly lit crypt, her face shadowed within the confines of a hooded robe. A single meditation candle on the rocky floor before her did little to relieve the darkness in the recesses of the irregular natural chamber. She knelt beside the stone bier in silence for only a few moments before rising. Meditation was not providing her with the comfort she sought. Grasping the candle, she stood beside the bier and allowed the candle’s meager light to illuminate the face of the woman who lay cold and motionless upon it. A tremor rocked the chamber… a distant rumble. Debris and small rock fragments rained down upon her head from the ceiling, but she ignored them. She pulled the shroud away from her mother’s face and studied her features intently. T’Pol of Vulcan… a legend, or a notorious rebel… she had been both. And now she was dead. T’Mir had told her that she was too valuable to risk on patrol. As their leader, she should have been more careful of her personal safety. She didn’t listen. She never listened. T’Mir’s youthful face twisted briefly in grief, and then smoothed over once again. Now was not the time for such an unseemly display of emotion. She owed her mother at least that much respect. She would not allow her inconvenient human heritage to embarrass T’Pol yet again. She stretched out a hand and touched her mother’s cold temple. “I will continue the fight, Mother,” she whispered fiercely. Another impact shook the ground beneath her feet. The bombs were getting closer. It was time to go. “I grieve with thee, Elizabeth,” said a woman’s voice from the far side of the chamber. T’Mir raised her head and peered into the darkness. “Who’s there?” she challenged. “And why do you call me that name?” A hooded figure stepped out of the shadows. She was of the same height and build as T’Mir, but her face remained hidden. “It is your name, is it not?” replied the woman. She raised a wrinkled hand in the V salute. “Peace, and long life, Elizabeth T’Mir Tucker,” she said solemnly. “I chose to cast aside my human name when the Earthmen so shamefully surrendered to Romulan domination,” replied T’Mir. “You mean, after your father was killed along with the entire fighting complement of Starfleet and its allies in the Battle of Cheron, don’t you? You were five years old at the time, Elizabeth. Haven’t you realized by now that Earth had no choice, and that we Vulcans were partially to blame for providing aid which was both too little and too late?” countered the old woman. She pushed back her hood then, and blue eyes met blue eyes in challenge. “I am T’Mir. Do not call me by any other name,” replied the young woman petulantly. The floor of the chamber shook again, and a flurry of rocks the size of fists showered down upon the two women. “There isn’t much time,” said the old woman abruptly. “Listen carefully to what I have to say, and don’t interrupt,” she ordered. T’Mir’s lips opened as if to argue. “I mean it, young woman!” barked the older woman… in exactly the same tone that her mother had always used when correcting her as a small child. T’Mir’s mouth snapped shut as if by reflex. “The Romulans have located this stronghold. It will be destroyed in a thermonuclear explosion in approximately seven minutes.” T’Mir gave the woman an alarmed look and started for the door. She felt a viselike grip about her upper arm as she was forcibly restrained. “There is no time to warn them, child. I can’t explain further, but if you agree to come with me now, you may spare them the pain of slow suffocation, trapped within these caves.” T”Mir searched the old woman’s face. She didn’t appear to be insane. Deciding to suspend logic for the moment, she took the woman’s word at face value and asked, “Can you at least take the children with you?” Pain was evident on the woman’s wrinkled face as she shook her head and admitted, “You are the only one that I am permitted to take.” T’Mir looked back at her in puzzlement. “How will my going with you save the others?” Her eyes widened as she stepped away from her would be rescuer, pulling at the woman’s uncannily strong grip on her upper arm. “You’re a Romulan agent! That’s the only way you could know when the attack will come, and the only way that you’d have the power to save the others if I come with you, but I don’t believe you!” Rolling her eyes, the grey haired woman pulled a tiny cylinder from the folds of her robe, released her uncooperative recruit’s arm to avoid the backlash from the weapon, and then stunned her at point blank range. The girl would perhaps have expected a nerve pinch, but the futuristic weapon took her completely by surprise. She slumped bonelessly to the ground. Kneeling, the ancient woman pulled a device from her belt pouch and strapped it about T’Mir’s upper arm. A combination temporal stabilizer and time transport device, it would get her where she needed to go. She activated it just as the chamber shook violently once again. A huge stalactite hit the ground and shattered on the very spot where the young T’Mir had been lying a fraction of a second before. Sharp fragments pierced the director’s body and knocked her to the ground. She crawled beneath falling debris to the bier, and stood to shield the still figure on it… and to get one last glimpse of her well-remembered face. She didn’t even bother to try to activate her temporal stabilizer. One look at her mangled forearm and the exposed augmentation and circuitry beneath it confirmed what she’d known since she’d called Daniels into her office to create this timeline. This was a one way trip. Elizabeth T’Mir Tucker reached out the hand that still worked and touched T’Pol’s dusty face, stroking it gently. Tears tracked through the grime and blood on her cheeks, the tears of grief that she’d held inside for 150 years. She leaned down and kissed the forehead of the woman who’d given up everything to be a parent to her. “I love you, Mother,” she whispered. She felt only brief pain as the ceiling collapsed, and then all was peaceful as the entire timeline vanished. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx August 1, 2156 Enterprise It had been four days since the disappearance of Elena Archer and Lieutenant Commander Hess. The ship that had taken them could literally be anywhere by now. Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed stared glumly at the sensor logs once again, looking for something… anything… that could provide them with a clue as to the purpose of the abductions and the destination of the shuttle. Thus far, Dr. Phlox’s suggestion to head for the nearest medical facility with services advanced enough for embryo transfer and preservation was the only thing that made any sense at all… and it was a long shot. What if the shuttle had met a warp capable cloaked ship? The women could be on their way to the Romulan home world right now with no one the wiser. The captain was in a closed conference with Admiral Gardner at that very moment, trying to convince him to allow Enterprise to pursue this very tenuous lead. Starfleet Command was in desperate need of battle intelligence. The Romulan battle tactics information that the Enterprise had gleaned from recent encounters was not data to be sent casually by subspace channels. Even encrypted messages could be accessed by anyone sufficiently talented and motivated. Starfleet wanted them there, on hand for interrogation and interpretation of their sensor logs. Malcolm was getting very concerned. He didn’t think that Captain Archer would obey an order to return immediately to Earth and leave his wife to her fate, and refusing an order, especially in war time, and even with excellent reason, was treason. “Any luck?” asked Hoshi softly. She’d just come off duty and walked from her bridge station to the situation room to check Malcolm’s progress. She looked concerned, probably because she could tell just by looking at him that he hadn’t eaten in eight hours or slept in twenty. Malcolm still hadn’t gotten used to the way she could tell how he was feeling just by looking at him. She swore that she wasn’t telepathic, but sometimes he had his doubts. He ran a hand through his tousled dark curls and sighed. “Not yet,” he told her. He gave her a tired smile. “I assume you’re here to remind me that even a security chief must eat and sleep occasionally,” he quipped. She smiled back, raised a hand as if to touch his face, and then dropped it, maintaining a professional distance. “Of course not, Lieutenant Commander,” she returned teasingly. “You’re a grown man. You’re perfectly capable of feeding yourself and going to bed when you’re tired. I just wanted a dinner companion this evening after my cooking lesson, and I was wondering if you might be free at 1900 hours.” His smile broadened. He did have to eat, after all. He’d forgotten that it was Wednesday. “And where will dinner be served this evening, Lieutenant?” he asked with mock innocence. “In my quarters, as usual, Lieutenant Commander. I’m very eager to get your opinion of the latest recipe that Chef is teaching me.” Malcolm nodded a genteel acceptance, and stifled his grin. The entire ship was party to his role as taste tester… or rather, guinea pig… in Hoshi’s culinary experimentations. He’d been receiving some sympathetic looks from the crewmen naïve enough to believe the story. Everyone else just rolled their eyes and looked the other way. Actually, Hoshi was turning into not a half-bad cook… but that’s not why he’d volunteered to spend several hours in her quarters every Wednesday evening after her weekly cooking lesson. “I will be there with excellent appetite, Lieutenant. Thank you for the invitation,” he said politely. She winked at him, and then turned to leave, brushing by Captain Archer as he walked into the room. Archer looked like a storm cloud ready to unleash its fury. “Starfleet Command still hasn’t made a decision,” he fumed. Malcolm sat back and regarded Archer in surprise. “So, they haven’t ordered us to proceed directly to Earth at all speed?” he asked. The captain gave him an exasperated look. “No… but they haven’t given us permission to look for Elena and Hess either.” Malcolm cocked his head to one side. “So our original orders still stand… the ones instructing us to return to Earth, but allowing us discretion in pursuing possible Romulan incursions into our territory on the way,” he said in a thoughtful voice. Archer gazed back at Malcolm for a moment. “Lieutenant Commander Reed,” he said as he turned toward the bridge, flashing Malcolm a grin, “Remind me to discuss your very devious turn of mind as soon as I change our heading.” “Yes, sir,” Malcolm shot back with a smile. He was still grinning as he strolled out of the situation room to go get cleaned up for dinner. Behind him, he heard the captain giving instructions to the helmsman. They were going Romulan hunting. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol pressed the door chime and waited. It was unusual for Trip to take so much time to answer the door. Their bond generally warned him in advance of her arrival. Sometimes, just the intent in her mind to press the door chime was sufficient to prompt him to answer the door. She got the impression of fevered activity within the cabin, but he’d blocked his thoughts. What was he doing in there? The door swished open, revealing a slightly breathless Trip… dressed in a set of sky blue and navy Vulcan style robes and holding a rosebud in one hand, sans thorns. He smiled nervously at her, and then made his best attempt at Vulcan gravity, handing her the rosebud with a small nod and ushering her into the room. It was spotless. In the center of the floor were two meditation cushions facing each other across a fragrant pillar candle. She recognized the scent as an herb native to Vulcan which her mother had always found pleasant. She’d had candles made from it all over her house. T’Pol inhaled deeply, and suddenly the room felt like home. The scents of rose and herb mingled to create a unique scent, neither Vulcan nor human. She turned to her husband and raised a brow. “This is unexpected,” she told him softly. Her eyes searched his face. He smiled briefly, and then extended two fingers toward her. She reached out to touch his fingertips. The contact should have strengthened the bond between them, but all she sensed from him was his need for her approval. Puzzled, she followed him as he led her to the meditation cushions. She knelt facing him. He removed his fingers from hers briefly to light the candle, and then reached out to touch her again, saying nothing. She opened her mind to him, hoping that he’d do the same and clarify the situation. “You have taken much time and effort to win my approval, t’hy’la… and you have it,” she sent. He smiled. His relief was palpable. “It’s so hard to surprise you!” he returned. “I had to block all afternoon once I found out the quartermaster had my robes ready… but I decided to take advantage of how Malcolm’s dinners with Hoshi move our meditation sessions to my quarters on Wednesdays. Your mother gave me the candle after your wedding to Koss. I’ve been saving it. Do you really like it?” His thoughts tumbled out one after the other like the ramblings of an excited child, but still he seemed hesitant, almost fearful of her reaction. T’Pol decided that a more convincing demonstration of approval was required. She discarded her emotional control like a garment, and allowed Trip to see the feelings that he’d evoked… a sense of sorrow, to be sure, as she remembered her mother, but primarily a feeling of belonging….in this place, with him, to him. His eyes filled with unshed tears as he experienced her sending. “I cannot express in words how you have made me feel, t’hy’la, but why did you find this necessary? Are you afraid of losing me for some reason?” Her eyes met his with a puzzled look. “I don’t understand. We are bonded. You cannot lose me,” she reassured him. His tears spilled over, and he finally let down the last of the barriers he’d erected. The grief and regret he’d been suppressing over her improved emotional control came out first, and then came his guilt over the selfishness of those feelings. He‘d felt unneeded, but hadn’t been able to express that to her for fear that she’d think him callous and self-centered. And so he’d decided to support her in the only way he could think of… by behaving as he imagined a Vulcan would behave, sublimating his sexual feelings and making their meditation time together as meaningful as he could possibly make it. “You believe that I no longer need you, but nothing could be further from the truth,” sent T’Pol firmly. She reached out and wiped the tears from his face with both thumbs, and then rose up on her knees to kiss him on the mouth. His arms went around her roughly then, pulling her to the side and away from the lit candle as he lowered her backwards to the carpeted decking. Lacking the breath to speak aloud, T’Pol managed to get one final sending through before they were both too preoccupied for coherent thought. “The robes are beautiful, Trip. Remove them. Now.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “So… what did you do today, sweetness? Apart from turning your cabin bottom side up, I mean,” murmured Malcolm as he lay entwined skin to skin with Hoshi on her bunk. Hoshi chuckled and eyed the room. With the remains of chicken cacciatore, antipasto salad, tiramisu, and all of their clothing scattered about, her cabin did in fact look as if someone had turned it over and shaken it vigorously. “You helped, you know,” she protested with good humor as she squeezed his ribs. He grunted from the force of her embrace. “Very enthusiastically,” he wheezed in agreement, laughing. Hoshi wriggled closer and sighed. “Not much happened today,” she replied more seriously. “I picked up a strange subspace message... very strong, as if the source is local. It’s just static, but it looks like it could be carrying information of some sort. I had the computer do a search for similar message forms, and the best it could come up with was some other undecipherable gibberish we picked up during our battle with the Romulans in the Betazed system.” Malcolm pulled back to look her in the eye. “Do you think it’s Romulan, then?” he asked hopefully. Hoshi shrugged. “Probably so… but what good does it do us if we can’t decipher it?” “Do you think you could trace the message to its source?” asked Malcolm eagerly. Hoshi’s eyes widened. She was beginning to see where his thoughts were leading. “Maybe… if we send out a couple of sensor probes to give me some points to triangulate with,” she replied thoughtfully. “Do you think it would help if I tried?” Malcolm kissed her in the middle of the forehead and climbed out of the bed. “No time like the present to find out!” he announced. “Get dressed, and we’ll give it a go!” “Now!” protested Hoshi indignantly. “It’s 2200 hours!” Malcolm gave her a reproving look. “Will you be able to sleep before we find out if this idea of yours works?” he asked. Hoshi sighed. He knew her too well. She got up and got dressed. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Elena Sanchez-Archer was not a patient woman. After roughly four days stuck in an eight by eight meter holding cell with only one other human being for company, with time measured only in the number of meals that they were offered through a dispenser in the wall and the number of times the lights were dimmed for sleep, there were only two possible outcomes where she was involved… lasting friendship or terminal annoyance. Janice Hess initially had to make a conscious effort to be pleasant to the captain’s wife. It wasn’t that the woman was hysterical, exactly. She just didn’t respond well to being confined, was extremely vocal in her displeasure, and since their captor or captors had yet to make themselves known, the only person to whom she was able to express her displeasure was Janice herself. Janice, being most days the strong and silent type, at first found Elena’s constant verbal analysis of their situation, not to mention her constant slurs… in both English and Spanish… on the intelligence, personal hygiene, and sexual practices of their unknown captors, to be very irritating. It didn’t take long, though, with nothing else to do, before the peculiar humor of the situation began to get to her, and she began to find Elena’s unremitting flow of creative invective rather entertaining. She’d actually been a little disappointed six meal intervals into their captivity when Elena apparently ran out of things to say and stopped talking. Then she’d gotten worried when the woman said not a word for three meal intervals. She’d gotten her to open up again by talking about herself… about her time in Starfleet Academy, her duties on Enterprise, and finally about Milo and her unintended pregnancy. At that point, the names “Mrs. Archer” and “Lieutenant Commander Hess” ceased to have meaning for either of them. They’d spent the last two meal intervals sitting shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence on one of the two narrow bucks in the holding cell with their eyes closed. Janice found the physical contact comforting, and she was in need of comfort. She was beginning to get very worried about the whole situation. No one had attempted to interrogate them yet, which implied that the reason they’d been taken was not as sources of strategic information. They were being well fed, so whoever had taken them wanted them physically healthy, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. “Hey, Jan?” murmured Elena sleepily. “Yeah, ‘Lena?” “I’ve gotta go again.” Janice exhaled, and then groaned as she got up to stand with arms crossed facing the monitoring camera, blocking its view while Elena made use of the open sanitary facilities in the back of the holding cell. Elena tapped her on the shoulder then, and they switched places. They’d done the same each day with the small water ration that an automated voice had told them was for washing only. It wasn’t much as privacy went, but it was the best they could do under the circumstances. “You figured out why we’re here yet, ‘Lena?” asked Janice as she pulled up the loose fitting grey trousers they’d been provided five meal intervals into their captivity after a particular lengthy and vicious diatribe from Elena about how disgustingly filthy their captors must be to force someone to wear the same dirty underwear for two days in a row. She smoothed the matching grey tunic down over the pants. “I’ve got an idea. Can’t say I really like it, though,” sighed Elena. They both crossed the two meters of decking that separated the bunks from the toilet and sat back down again facing each other. Janice looked her new-found friend in the eye and didn’t like what she saw. She’d seen Elena angry… enough times now for a lifetime… but she’d never seen her quite this frightened. “Okay… what’s wrong?” she asked. “Have you thought about why they chose us and no one else… I mean, really thought about it?” asked Elena with a queasy expression. “What made us different from anyone else on board?” Janice stared at her for a moment, and then her eyes widened. Both of them leaned back against the wall of the cell then… sitting side by side, shoulder to shoulder, with their knees bent and both arms wrapped around their abdomens as if to protect the precious lives within. It can’t be that, thought Janice numbly. She’s wrong. Of course it isn’t that. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Stardate 3006.513 Temporal Enforcement Agency Headquarters Agent Gary Seven had a problem on his hands in the person of one diminutive half-Vulcan female with an attitude. He sat in his office facing his problem head-on with his changeable partner Isis on his lap, a situation which was not as shocking as it might have been had Isis not been currently in her favorite non-human form, that of a small short-haired black cat. “I don’t care if the Director himself pronounces you ready to run the whole agency all by yourself, Agent Trainee. You will not go on your first field mission unescorted!” Gary Seven’s usually bland, unremarkably average Caucasian appearance, which allowed him to blend so well into so many different eras of Earth’s history, was not in evidence that morning. In point of fact, his flushed cheeks and extremely agitated demeanor would have attracted attention just about anywhere. “Watch your blood pressure, darling,” chided Isis. Of course, since she possessed at that moment not only the body but the vocal organs of a cat, what actually came out of her mouth was something more along the lines of “Mroowrrmmm”, followed by a distinct purring sound. Agent Seven closed his eyes and exhaled in frustration. Women would be the death of him yet! “Thank you, Isis, for reminding me,” he told her ironically. He noticed that, unlike others who first encountered the spectacle of a grown man apparently talking to a cat as if it were capable of intelligent conversation, his newest trainee seemed to be completely unperturbed by the situation. “Agent Seven…” said T’Mir in tones of infinite patience, “I realize that you and your partner have reservations about my capability in the field after such a brief period of training, but I would like to remind you that I did, in fact, complete the entire four year course of study at the Temporal Training Academy with honors.” “In twenty-four months,” muttered Seven. This girl was just too damned smart for her own good. “It was the director’s decision to allow me an accelerated course of study after I demonstrated previous knowledge of field tactics, hand-to-hand combat, and weaponry. I did spend my entire adolescence engaged in guerilla warfare against superior forces, sir,” T’Mir pointed out blandly. “Perhaps he felt that my skills would be more useful in the field than in the classroom.” “That’s just my point, Trainee,” countered Seven. “This isn’t a combat mission. It’s going to require delicate negotiation skills, not hand phasers… and no trainee under my supervision goes out alone until I say they’re ready to do so.” T’Mir straightened her shoulders. Her face revealed nothing. “I have no desire to usurp your authority, Agent Seven, nor do I wish to endanger myself and others by assuming responsibilities for which I am not yet prepared. I merely wished to point out that I feel capable of performing this mission without assistance, thereby leaving you free to occupy your time with more important matters. If I was in error in this assumption, then I apologize. Please instruct me, sir.” After delivering this surprising speech, the slender young woman… who according to her dossier was 21 standard years of age, but looked more like 16… stood silently at attention with her eyes fixed on the wall behind Gary Seven’s right shoulder. Seven eyed her with a skeptical expression. Minutes before, she’d been arguing her point with vehemence… at least with as much vehemence as someone who espoused Vulcan emotional control was capable of… and now she was just going to blindly obey orders? It seemed too good to be true. He wished that he could be certain that her sudden capitulation was genuine, and not simply a ruse to get what she wanted. He studied her face. Her eyes were cornflower blue. Combined with her delicate features and the profusion of golden brown curls which she’d gathered at the nape of her neck by a cord, presumably to get them out of the way, she was the perfect picture of lovely, innocent girlhood… until the expression on her face registered. It was… “wary” was the first description that came to mind… like an animal waiting for the next predator to strike. The way she stood with hands open and slightly removed from her sides reminded him of the old gunslinger movies of the 20th century. She wasn’t armed, but if she had been, he had no doubt that she’d be quick on the draw. “Meworrrr”, remarked Isis, whose comment appeared in his head as, “She certainly looks capable enough.” Agent Seven sighed. Isis climbed off his lap and onto the desk in front of him, presumably so she could see the padd which contained the information necessary for their next mission. “Why don’t you have a seat, Trainee Tucker? Let’s look at these mission specifications again,” said Seven. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx August 2, 2156 Enterprise “Probe Two has picked up the signal. The computer is triangulating…” said Hoshi excitedly, her fatigue forgotten for the moment as they waited for confirmation of the origin of the strange transmission. She grinned at Malcolm across the situation room’s sensor display. He smiled back boyishly. Then the computer signaled its readiness. “It’s coming from the Kreptagh system. The same one Phlox flagged as having the closest full-service medical facility,” said Hoshi as she studied the computer display. She pronounced the Klingon name casually and without thought. To Malcolm it sounded like the combination of a spit and a sneeze. “It was originally discovered by the Klingons, who later abandoned it after they mined it to rubble. What’s left has become a fairly notorious Orion outpost,” replied Hoshi, after doing an information search. “The slave trade is the primary commercial venture there, according to the Vulcan database.” Malcolm looked over her shoulder. The screen was full of ornate Vulcan script. “Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” he quipped. She stuck her tongue out at him and grinned. “So what’s going on in here?” asked Jonathan Archer as he walked in to the situation room from the bridge. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept in days, but he was clean shaven and in a freshly pressed uniform, obviously up for the day. “Do you two realize that it’s 0700?” Malcolm and Hoshi exchanged surprised looks. Then Malcolm shrugged. What was missing one night of sleep compared to obtaining concrete evidence of Romulan activity? “Hoshi had a brainstorm, Captain. Let me show you what we found.” Archer stepped forward to the computer console. Now they had a legitimate reason to believe that Romulans were present in the system with the closest medical facility capable of embryo transfer. Starfleet Command couldn’t tell them no after this. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “The answer is no, Jon. Starfleet Command wants you and Enterprise to proceed directly to Earth with all due speed,” said Admiral Gardner with a sympathetic expression. “What about the information I just sent you?” Archer protested. “We’ve got proof, sir!” Gardner shook his head. “What you’ve got is a recipe for trouble if you start a battle with imaginary Romulans on an Orion outpost right on the edge of Klingon territory. Do you want everyone to declare war on Earth?” “But what about the women? We can’t just leave them!” Archer insisted. Gardner exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Jon… but nothing you’ve sent us has convinced the Starfleet military analysts that this was anything other than a random event. Perhaps the cloaked ship was collecting information, and then decided to take the women as well. There’s absolutely no evidence that your missing engineer and your wife are even in that unpronounceable system. Chasing after them is just not an efficient use of resources.” Jonathan Archer’s face twisted into a grimace of fury. “To hell with ‘efficient use of resources’, Admiral! This is my wife we’re talking about! I will not leave her to the Romulans!” Admiral Gardner’s expression became cold, distant, and brutally authoritative. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that, Captain. I’m going to end this transmission now. When you’ve had a chance to think this over and calm down, I want you to call me back and officially acknowledge receipt of your orders. You have three hours before I contact your First Officer directly and order her to take command of Enterprise in your stead. Gardner out.” Jonathan Archer sat blinking at the darkened screen. This was it… the end of his career… because he’d be damned if he’d abandon his wife and children, not to mention a young woman who trusted him to protect both her and her unborn child. His mind raced, trying to find a solution to his dilemma that wouldn’t take the entire ship and crew down with him. First he’d take Enterprise to this Orion outpost… just to within shuttle range… and then he’d take a shuttle, he decided. He’d resign his commission and rescue the women himself, but first, he’d order Enterprise to proceed to Earth without him. It was the only way. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Lieutenant Hoshi Sato was awakened from sleep by a vibration. It originated in the center of her chest… or perhaps on the center of her chest… right where a sensation of soothing warmth was located. She’d gone right to bed after trading shifts with McNamara. She’d never been capable of pulling an all-nighter and remaining functional afterwards. Sleep was a necessity for her, not an option, and she could tell already that she hadn’t gotten enough of it yet. She tried to ignore the vibration, but it seemed only to increase in intensity. Finally, it dawned on her that having a very loud, almost purring noise in the center of her chest was not a normal state of affairs, and curiosity forced her to open her eyes. A pair of vividly green eyes with vertically slit pupils stared out from a coal-black furry face roughly two inches from her own. She closed her eyes again. You’re still asleep and dreaming, she told herself firmly. There are no cats on Enterprise When she opened her eyes again, the non-existent feline said, “Meorrrrr mroeow” All Hoshi did was blink when this utterance immediately translated itself inside her head and became, “You’re awake, and you’re not dreaming, dear. I’m Isis”. Hoshi stared at the animal in sleepy puzzlement for a moment, and then carefully lifted it from her chest, rolled over to the edge of the bed, and deposited it gently on the floor. “Go away, imaginary cat. I’m sleeping,” she mumbled as she pulled the covers up over her head and shut her eyes again. Her hand dropped over the side of the bed. “Owww!” she cried two seconds later, and sat up, fully alert and cradling a hand with a full set of feline dental impressions on it. She inspected it. It wasn’t bleeding, but it sure hurt like hell. She looked at her guest with an indignant expression. “You bit me!” Isis regarded her with dignified superiority. Of course, being a cat, she was incapable of any other expression. “It got your attention, didn’t it?” was what Hoshi’s mind made of “rrrmeour”. She looked at the small black shorthaired cat sitting in the center of the floor of her cabin and asked the first question that came to mind… in an extremely puzzled tone of voice. “How am I having a conversation with a cat?” The lengthy growl-rumble-purr that came out of the cat’s mouth became, “I’m not a cat, you silly girl, I’m a temporal agent, and you can understand me the same way you understand every other language the first time you hear it, or didn’t you know that you’re a latent telepath?” In addition to the words, Hoshi also picked up distinct annoyance and impatience from her small visitor. She shook her head in vehement denial. “My translation skills come from years of study and from the systematic analysis of the structure of language,” she protested. “This has never happened to me before!” “Well, obviously!” purred Isis, “Since you’ve never met b me /b before!” Hoshi sensed self-satisfied complacency. It was very annoying. “Be annoyed on your own time, little Miss Sato. We don’t have time for it now. We need your language skills to accomplish our mission, or your captain may end up being imprisoned or executed for treason in wartime. We’ve tried to deal with these Orion slave traders using a UT. All it does is mark us as legit, and they won’t deal with us. Criminals don’t use UT’s,” growled the insufferable little animal. Hoshi sighed, and then shook her head. This was getting entirely too bizarre. “All right, cat…” The animal bared her teeth and hissed. No translation except the distinct feeling of wounded pride came through. “Okay… Isis,” Hoshi conceded. The cat fell silent, but seemed to be sulking. Hoshi rolled her eyes. “Agent Isis, ma’am…” she said ironically, “Will you please explain to me what the hell is going on?” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx After Admiral Gardner’s unsettling call, Jonathan Archer lay on the bed in his quarters doing the same thing he’d done for most of every off-duty shift since his wife had been taken from him… not sleeping. Phlox had given him a hypospray to be used in case of insomnia two days before, but he had yet to use it. He kept hoping that somehow they’d come across a lead to the whereabouts of the missing women, and when that happened, he wanted to be thinking clearly. Unfortunately, events were progressing to the point that sleep deprivation itself was beginning to affect his clarity of thought. He’d just decided to get up and administer a dose of the hypospray when an ordinary looking guy appeared in his cabin by obviously extraordinary means. He sat up immediately and reached for the comm to signal an intruder alert. The fellow pointed a small hand-held device at him and said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The gadget looked like a writing stylus with a tiny pair of silver antennae sticking out of it, and didn’t look like any weapon Archer had ever seen, but considering the man’s method of arrival, he thought it best to play it safe. He pulled his hand away from the comm and raised both hands over his head. “I’m Agent Gary Seven of the Temporal Enforcement Agency,” said Archer’s unexpected visitor. Archer dropped his hands and pointed an accusing finger at Seven. “Is this another one of Daniels’ temporal mess ups? Because I’ve done my share of his dirty work, and I don’t have time for his shit right now!” Seven raised a brow in an unperturbed manner, closed the pen-like device and slipped it into a pocket protector in his breast pocket, and then pulled a small padd from his left hip pocket. “Daniels”, he murmured into it, and then regarded the display with some interest. He raised his eyes to Archer’s irate face. “Your friend Daniels will apparently be a very busy fellow in about 100 years my time… but no, this has got nothing to do with Daniels,” he said blandly. “What it does have to do with is this little excursion in a shuttlepod that you’re planning to take. You do realize that this is about the most suicidal hare-brained scheme in the history of suicidal hare-brained schemes, don’t you?” Archer’s jaw clenched as he exerted tremendous effort to be polite to a man who had just very probably been holding a deadly weapon on him. He failed miserably. It didn’t help that the guy looked like the boring bureaucratic type. “You are the second pompous paper-pushing asshole who’s tried to convince me to abandon my wife in the past hour,” he told Seven in a menacing tone of voice. “It didn’t work the first time, and it’s not going to work now. I suggest you leave before I call security.” Agent Seven seemed a bit taken aback by Archer’s vehemence. “Captain, don’t misunderstand me. I have no intention of preventing you from rescuing your wife,” he protested mildly. “In fact…,” he paused, pulled a slender stylus from his pocket protector, used it to activate several keys on his small padd-like device, and raised his brow in dismay at the results, “…there is a greater than 85 probability, if the Romulans retain possession of fetal tissues provided by your wife and female crewmember, that they will devise a biological agent which will be responsible for the eradication of all human life on Earth within the next ten years,” he reported clinically. Archer just stared at the man in shock. “I’m here to help you, Captain,” continued Seven. “If you get yourself killed trying to do this alone, you won’t be any good to anyone… and Earth won’t be much good to anyone either. The tricky part will be to salvage your career in the process. You can’t become president of the Federation if you’re living in a military penal colony.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol yielded the conn to the beta shift bridge officer, and then stepped into the turbolift, headed toward her quarters. It was 1700 hours, and she had plans to meet her husband for the evening meal at 1800 hours. There was just enough time for an evening treadmill run and a quick shower if she didn’t delay. On the way to her quarters, she reflected on Trip’s surprising revelations the evening before. His insecurities regarding their relationship had been unexpected. Marital relationships between Vulcans were probably much simpler, she decided. One simply behaved in a manner which facilitated coordinated effort and unity of purpose. Emotional issues such as “need” and “love” didn’t enter into the equation… at least, that’s what she’d heard. She contemplated the differences as she entered her cabin and changed into clothing more appropriate for sustained physical exertion. She decided that, after having experienced the Vulcan version of marriage, however briefly, with Koss, she much preferred the human version. She was fairly certain that among her people there was no such thing as “make up sex”. As she turned toward the door, intending to proceed directly to the gym, she caught movement in the corner of her eye from somewhere in the far side of the room. Without hesitation, she lunged toward the comm to sound an intruder alert, and found herself abruptly face down on the carpeted decking with a knee in the small of her back. Her right arm was twisted behind her with the elbow pushed up between her shoulder blades. A soft female voice whispered calmly into her ear. “Do not struggle, Commander. I have no wish to injure you.” “It would serve no purpose for me to struggle while in this position. You have the upper hand,” replied T’Pol with a slight grimace, her face pressed into the floor. Despite the discomfort of her current predicament, she sensed oddly intense emotions from her captor… triumph, as if her attacker had not expected to vanquish her so easily… a feeling of concern over injuring her in any way… and possibly even admiration for her, as impossible as that was to believe. T’Pol abruptly realized that the woman who’d so effectively immobilized her was a fellow touch telepath… probably Vulcan from the “feel” of her thoughts and emotions… and considered herself to be T’Pol’s ally. “If I release you now, will you allow me to explain before alerting the entire ship to my presence?” asked the intruder. T’Pol sensed a childlike need for approval mixed with a clear sense of purpose from her mysterious visitor. It was a very puzzling combination. “It appears that I have no choice, as you would be perfectly capable of restraining me again should the need arise,” said T’Pol ironically. The painful pressure on her arm was gone, then, and the weight vanished from the small of her back. The perplexing emotions were gone as well in the absence of physical contact. She rose from the floor to meet her attacker and was faced with an adolescent Vulcan female who looked not a day over 20 years of age. She was dressed in a regulation Starfleet coverall without insignia. Despite the girl’s typically Vulcan complexion and ear shape, there was something about her appearance that didn’t seem quite right. Perhaps it was the way her brown hair formed ringlets beneath the cord that tied it back, or maybe it was the eyes. Blue eyes were not a Vulcan trait. “I wouldn’t presume to attempt to restrain you again, Commander,” replied the girl politely. “Events would likely not go as smoothly without the element of surprise. One of us could be injured.” The young woman paused then, as if in surprise, and gave T’Pol an appraising look. Her lips twitched upward slightly in what was, for a Vulcan, a most unseemly show of amusement. “I was not aware that such revealing clothing was required dress on a Starfleet vessel of this time period,” she said in an almost teasing tone of voice. T’Pol raised a brow, and then looked down at the skin tight sweat pants and midriff-baring T-shirt that she wore. “These are cooler and more comfortable than standard Starfleet sweats when exercising,” she replied with just a trace of defensiveness. She also enjoyed Trip’s reaction when he saw her dressed in them, but that was none of this child’s business. And what did she mean, “of this time period”? T’Pol eyed the girl. This situation was beginning to sound familiar, and she was in no mood to deal with Daniels again. In a tone which brooked no argument, and still spoke of her annoyance over the young woman’s disrespect for her clothing choices, T’Pol said, “Explain.” The girl stiffened, as if caught in a serious error, and a faint greenish flush appeared on her cheeks. She straightened noticeably. “Excuse me, Commander…” she stammered a bit, “…I’ve just never seen you dressed so… I mean… a Vulcan dressed so…“ Her voice trailed off. T’Pol looked at her with one brow raised, considering. The young woman’s obvious embarrassment confirmed the niggling suspicion that T’Pol had harbored ever since her first glimpse of blue eyes. This child was part human! “Adopting human modes of dress and behavior can occasionally be the most logical option when one is surrounded by humans,” remarked T’Pol. “Now… what exactly did you mean by ‘of this time period’?” she clarified. The girl’s eyes met T’Pol’s with a rather shamefaced expression, like a child caught in a transgression by a parent, and then she inhaled deeply, deliberately regaining her composure. The next words she uttered came out sounding well-rehearsed. “Commander T’Pol, I am Agent Trainee T’Mir of the Temporal Enforcement Agency. I have come to assist you and your captain with the recovery of your kidnapped crew members, and I have much to explain in a very short period of time. Although I am fully aware of the fact that the Vulcan Science Directorate currently deems time travel to be impossible, the agency which employs me is based approximately 950 years in the future, and I have traveled into the past with the other members of my team to prevent the destruction of all human life on Earth.” T’Pol paused to digest this rather dramatic statement for a moment. Her first instinct was to be skeptical of the entire affair, but the child’s earnest expression and obvious readiness to divulge information… a readiness which Daniels had never demonstrated… served to convince her of the seriousness of the situation. “And just how do you and the members of your team propose to do this?” asked T’Pol curiously. Agent Trainee T’Mir, who’d paused with her mouth open as if prepared to argue the existence of time travel with the members of the Vulcan Science Directorate itself, closed her mouth again with a snap and stared. T’Pol gave her a complacent look. T’Mir regained the power of speech and replied, “We know precisely where the women are being held, and we intend to assist your captain with their recovery in a way that will prevent him from being incarcerated for treason, thus preventing the Romulans from developing a genocidal weapon and ensuring the future of the Federation.” T’Pol nodded. “An admirable goal,” she said calmly. She then motioned to the chair next to the desk in her cabin, indicating that her guest should take a seat. T’Mir complied with a quizzical look on her face. T’Pol seated herself on the edge of her bunk. “So, how may I be of assistance, Agent Trainee?” she asked matter-of-factly. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Two hours and thirty-five minutes later, the members of the away party were assembled in shuttle bay two. Captain Jonathan Archer, Lieutenant Hoshi Sato, and Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed, who was looking a bit glassy-eyed after greater than 36 hours without sleep, boarded the shuttle accompanied by the young Vulcan temporal agent and buckled themselves in. Malcolm had managed to keep the presence of their guests from the rest of the crew through the simple expedient of ordering the corridors evacuated “for security reasons”… after a thirty minute briefing in Hoshi’s quarters which involved a lot of animal noises and the suspension of disbelief. He still seemed to be having a considerable amount of difficulty believing in Hoshi’s newly acquired feline translation skills. Agent Gary Seven stood at the shuttlepod hatch with his antennae-adorned cylindrical silver device in one hand and Isis comfortably tucked in the crook of the other elbow. Commander Tucker was following his every word with fascination. “It’s self-activated, Commander, but it has more than one setting, so please don’t tinker with it before you beam it to the coordinates I gave you,” said Seven. Trip gave him a disappointed look. “Will ya at least explain how it works?” he asked plaintively. Agent Seven handed him the device with a stern look. “I’m afraid that’s classified,” Seven replied. He turned to enter the shuttlepod, but paused before closing the hatch. “By the way, Commander… the device can be reset if it’s exposed to enough EM radiation, so I wouldn’t try to scan it, either. You could destroy the ship… or possibly even alter the space-time continuum in this entire sector of space. That would probably be a bad thing,” said Agent Seven dryly. Trip rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I’ll be sure ta keep that in mind!” he shouted as the engines revved and the hatch swung shut with a solid “thud”. Seven ignored Malcolm’s amused glance as he buckled in. “Archer to the bridge. Shuttlepod Two requesting permission to launch.” “Permission granted, Shuttlepod Two,” replied T’Pol’s voice over the comm. There was a beat of silence, and then, “Please return safely, Captain. I have no wish do your job for you any longer than necessary,” she continued blandly. Archer’s intensely grim face relaxed for just a moment, and the corner of his mouth quirked as he exchanged glances with Malcolm and Hoshi, who were both stifling grins. “Acknowledged, Commander. Please tell Commander Tucker that I expect him to make your job much easier while he’s acting First Officer. Feel free to exercise your authority,” replied Archer. Hoshi clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle her giggles. T’Mir sat belted in her seat as the shuttle pod launching arm extended. The shuttle jerked sharply, and then smoothly separated from Enterprise as Archer finished his statement. T’Mir gazed with a puzzled expression at each of the three Enterprise crew members in turn as if she didn’t quite know what to make of their antics. Agent Seven had a small amused smile on his face. He held Isis securely in his arms and absently stroked her as she purred. “Mrouuur?” inquired Isis. Seven chuckled. “No, Isis,” he murmured, “Vulcans don’t usually have a sense of humor.” He raised his voice slightly so that it was clearly heard by everyone in the confines of the shuttle. “All right, Captain. We should be approaching the coordinates now.” “Archer to Enterprise,” announced the captain, “Energize.” The occupants of the shuttle all had their eyes fixed on the forward viewscreen. At first, there was nothing to see. The tiny silver pen-like device that Agent Seven had modified and then handed over to Commander Tucker for safekeeping was much too small to see as it materialized a few kilometers ahead of them. After a pause long enough for everyone to hold their breaths and brace themselves, the screen lit up with a blinding flash, which then transformed itself into an irregular glowing gash in space. The starfield through the anomaly seemed unchanged. Of course, star positions wouldn’t change noticeably in only four days. Archer piloted the shuttlepod directly into the center of the anomaly. It disappeared, headed hopefully toward a rendezvous with the occupants of a Romulan shuttle which had been four days’ travel ahead of them until the timely aid provided by Agent Seven and his team had given them the chance to catch up. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The wake up tone sounded and the lights in the cell brightened. Elena Archer had counted six such cycles since they’d materialized within the cell. She had no idea whether the sleep/wake cycles imposed upon her and her companion had any relation to the standard 24 hour “days” to which she had become accustomed while on Enterprise, but they seemed to be close enough. She rolled over and rubbed her eyes. She would have preferred to remain in bed a while longer, since, as usual, there didn’t seem to be anything really pressing to do that day, but her body had other ideas. Although the babies were still less than a centimeter in size each, they had an effect on her bladder capacity already which defied their small size. Janice was suffering from the same condition by the sound of it. By necessity, they’d become less self conscious about using the cell’s sanitary facilities as time progressed. “What the hell is this?” Janice Hess’ voice was indignant. “What’s wrong, Jan?” Elena sat up and swung her legs over the edge of her bunk. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the items Janice was holding up for her inspection. Her cell mate had shed the disposable grey clothing that she’d been issued the day before, the exact same uniform that both of them had been given daily since the second day of their captivity, placed it into the recycler, washed up for the day, and had then reached into the clothing dispenser for a fresh set as usual. What she’d pulled out bore no resemblance to the comfortable loose fitting garments they’d been issued up to now. In one hand Hess held a harness-like halter top with an incorporated collar made of a shiny black material. In the other hand was a pair of skimpy briefs in a similar material. The outfit looked both revealing and quite chilly for the cool environment of their cell. “There’s no way I’m wearing this,” said Hess emphatically as she stood there in all her bare and muscle-bound glory. Elena rolled her eyes. “Looks like you don’t have much choice,” she replied. “Besides…” she gave Hess a closed-lipped wry grin, “…I’m sure you’ll look a hell of a lot better in that get-up than I will.” Hess grinned back despite herself, and shook her head. She exhaled heavily, turned around, and put the ridiculous looking outfit on. Then she turned to face her cellmate with an embarrassed expression. “Satisfied?” she asked. Elena began to clap and whistle in admiration. Hess rolled her eyes. “Shut up and come change,” she told her. “If you think I’m gonna let you get away with staying in yesterday’s clothes, you’re crazy.” She turned her back for privacy’s sake as Elena rose reluctantly from her bunk and immediately went to answer nature’s call. After washing up, Elena made an attempt to retrieve fresh clothing from the dispenser without discarding her used uniform. As always, the dispenser was empty. Evidently, their captors had limited resources. Either that or someone was afraid that they’d find a way to harm themselves if they had enough fabric to make ropes with. In either case, it was apparent that, as usual, Elena would be required to dispose of her old uniform before receiving fresh clothing. “Maybe I should put the old one back on?” attempted Elena hopefully. “Don’t you think it might be a good idea for one of us to remain fully dressed?” Hess turned around and gave her a disgusted look. She said nothing, but simply stood there with her arms crossed, waiting. Elena sighed, and then stuffed her dirty clothing into the recycler. There was a click and a hum, and then she reached into the clothing dispenser and pulled out an outfit identical to the one her cellmate was wearing. She put it on, faced Janice with an ironic eyebrow raise, and then spun around like a runway model for her friend’s inspection. Hess gave her an envious grin. “Well… you certainly have more cleavage than I do,” she quipped. “You’ve got cleavage!” protested Elena. “Only when I flex!” joked Janice, and proceeded to demonstrate in a manner that gave her “cleavage” to the base of her neck. Elena’s belly laugh in response was cut short by the hum of the matter transporter as the two women vanished from the cell in a cloud of particulate haze. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx On day three of Shuttlepod Two’s impulse speed journey to the Kreptagh system, the shuttle’s self-appointed beta shift… appointed primarily because they were the first to need sleep in the aftermath of the small vessel’s four day trip backwards in time… rose from their bunks. Captain Jonathan Archer, whose insomnia had miraculously resolved the moment he’d embarked on a mission to rescue his wife, a much-refreshed Lieutenant Commander Malcolm Reed, and Lieutenant Hoshi Sato relieved Agents Seven and T’Mir. Agent Isis had her own sleep schedule. She slept whenever and wherever her heart desired. It was one of the perks of being a cat. “At our current speed and trajectory we will arrive at our destination in approximately six hours and thirty seven minutes,” reported T’Mir to Archer, who was relieving her at helm. Archer just looked at her oddly for a moment, and then shook his head as he took his seat. For a moment, T’Mir’s voice and demeanor had been the image of T’Pol’s. “Once we arrive, reduce speed to one quarter impulse and wake the rest of us,” T’Mir continued. “That’s providing I can learn enough Orion Trade dialect to fool them into letting us into the system,” put in Hoshi, rolling her eyes. She grimaced and held up one of the temporal agents’ tiny little pads. “I’ve been studying, but you people certainly haven’t given me much time!” Archer grinned at her. “And we all know you’re capable of doing it, Lieutenant, so stop griping about it and study. If you need a break, you can always join Mr. Reed and me in a little firing practice.” With the shuttle basically on autopilot until their arrival at the Orion outpost, Archer and Reed had spent several hours of each duty shift running a virtual simulation of a hand weapons’ exchange on the front view screen. Archer wasn’t sure he liked the fact that the clothing they’d have to wear going undercover as slaves requiring medical treatment was too skimpy to conceal a hand phaser. They were having to learn to fire the slender cylindrical weapons the agents used in close quarters. The tiny things were surprisingly difficult to use. The shooter sighted along his or her own forefinger while gripping the stylus-like weapon in the palm of the hand. It looked ridiculously like playing “gunfight” with pointed fingers. Malcolm had tried his best to convince Agent Seven to explain exactly how a device that small could possibly be capable of all of the things he’d seen it do so far. The best explanation Seven was willing to give was that “only part of the device is actually in this timeline.” “Lieutenant Sato’s command of the language is of pivotal importance to this mission, Captain,” T’Mir broke in seriously. “She should not be distracted by unnecessary tasks.” Archer and Sato exchanged amused glances. “Don’t worry, Agent T’Mir,” replied Hoshi. “I won’t let them distract me.” The serious-faced Vulcan agent nodded in brisk approval, and then joined Agent Seven in the rear of the shuttle. Hoshi sat down at the navigator’s station with her padd, a breakfast ration bar, and a beverage rather loosely called “tea” from the shuttle’s ration packs, and began conjugating verbs. Archer sat at the helm, absently watching the star field in front of them through the forward viewscreen as he crunched his own breakfast bar. Malcolm busied himself on the floor beside Hoshi’s chair at the access panel controlling the alternate functions of the forward viewscreen, changing the settings on the hand weapons’ trainer to give them a more challenging training session. After a good thirty minutes of silence, Hoshi glanced up surreptitiously from her padd, and then leaned forward to whisper into Malcolm’s ear. “Are they asleep yet?” she breathed. Malcolm eyed the bunks in the rear of the shuttle. Even the cat was curled up on Seven’s pillow. “Looks like it,” he whispered back, looking up at her from the floor with a quizzical expression. Hoshi grinned irrepressibly. “Just look what I found. You’re not gonna believe this,” she murmured back excitedly. She used her stylus to enter a single word into the padd that Agent Seven had given her to study. He’d taken great pains to allow access only to the information on Orion Trade dialect that she needed to learn for the mission. Being Hoshi, she’d taken on figuring out his password as a challenge. She bit her lip as information appeared on the screen, and she passed the padd to Malcolm for his perusal. She watched his face as he read the service record on the small screen. The photograph was an old one. The Vulcan looked about sixteen. The record was minimal. She really was a trainee. Just a date of graduation from something called the “Temporal Training Academy”, a “Date of Retrieval”, whatever that was, and a commendation for accelerated study and exemplary performance in the classroom… and a name. Malcolm’s jaw dropped. “Elizabeth T’Mir Tucker!” he squeaked in a stage whisper. He met Hoshi’s delighted expression with one of his own. “She’s their descendent?” Jonathan Archer swiveled in his chair and stood to stretch. He caught sight of the two officers whispering together like children planning a prank, and walked over to investigate. Without saying a word, he hunkered down beside Malcolm with a questioning look on his face. Malcolm exchanged a wry smile with Hoshi, and then handed Archer the padd. After a moment, Archer began to chuckle. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T’Pol watched Shuttlepod Two vanish into the temporal anomaly with some trepidation. Despite her attempt at levity with Jonathan Archer, she really did have some reservations about the away mission that the captain was undertaking. He was placing a tremendous amount of trust in people he’d just met. T’Pol herself was not entirely certain why she believed the story told by the young woman who’d appeared in her cabin a mere three hours before. There was no logical way to confirm that she had been telling the truth. T’Pol had only what Trip would call “gut instinct” to guide her. Her internal organs were telling her that she could trust this girl with her life, if need be, and with the lives of her friends. It was an unsettling sensation. “Well, are they off, T’Pol?” asked Trip rather impatiently inside her head. T’Pol started in her seat and gathered her scattered attention. She activated the comm. “The transport was successful, Commander Tucker. The shuttle is on its way. You may return to your duties,” she said brusquely. “Thank you, Trip. I’m sorry that you had no time to study the device before you were forced to destroy it,” she sent gently. She could sense his disappointment and his concern over the safety of his friends. Not to mention the fact that they hadn’t even invited him to come along. He’d be in a mood tonight. “Oh, I’ll get over it,” he sent back grumpily. “See ya at dinner, darlin’.” Then he blocked her, presumably so that his bad mood wouldn’t impair her judgment. T’Pol exhaled slowly. His consideration for her was admirable, but it concerned her that he remained so protective of her emotional state. “Commander, there’s an incoming encrypted message from Starfleet Command,” said Ensign MacNamara at comm. T’Pol’s jaw tightened. Now we’ll find out if Lieutenant Sato is as good as everyone says she is, she thought. “I’ll take it in the ready room,” she told the red-haired ensign. As she stood, she said, “Hold your position, Mr. Mayweather. Mr. Mitchell…” She turned to the alert young man at tactical. “Monitor the location where the shuttle disappeared. Alert me if there’s a change.” “Yes, Commander,” chorused the three. “Ah… Commander?” said MacNamara hesitantly. T’Pol paused on the threshold of the ready room. “Yes, Ensign?” She turned to look enquiringly at the young man. He gave her an embarrassed grimace. “The decryption software has another glitch in it, ma’am.” T’Pol raised an eyebrow at him and waited. “It happened last week, you see…” he explained earnestly. “Lieutenant Sato fixed it in about five minutes, and it was working perfectly. She was working on it again about an hour ago, though, right before she left, so it must have happened again.” “Can you repair it?” asked T’Pol blandly. MacNamara scratched the back of his head and looked at her doubtfully. “Well… that’s the thing…” he began. “Ummm… the lieutenant fixed it the last time by rewriting a few bits of the decryption program from memory, Commander. I could try to do the same thing… but it’ll probably take me a couple of hours.” “Proceed, then, Ensign,” replied T’Pol. “Should I send acknowledgement and inform Starfleet that we’ll answer their message as soon as we can read it?” asked MacNamara. “Yes, Ensign, that would be prudent.” T’Pol walked back to the command chair and sat back down. She had no doubt that the message contained an order from Admiral Gardner that she had no desire to obey. She hoped that Lieutenant Sato’s creative tinkering had bought them enough time. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Elena Archer and Janice Hess materialized inside an open-air barred cage in the center of absolute pandemonium. As soon as she realized that they’d arrived at their destination, Janice moved instinctively to stand back to back with Elena. Elena did the same, gazing wide-eyed at the assortment of alien faces and forms surrounding the cage on all sides. Two enormous, muscle-bound green Orion males entered the cage, each carrying a staff with a capture loop on one end. The lead male made no attempt to communicate with either of them, but simply lunged forward abruptly with his stick and caught Elena around the neck with the cord. Janice grabbed the cord as it descended over her companion’s head and insinuated both sinewed forearms inside the loop. Elena ducked and escaped, scrambling to the opposite corner of the cage. The second Orion followed her, while the first one tightened his noose like a tourniquet around Janice’s forearms. Then he did something to his staff which electrified the end of it, knocking Janice to her knees. She was too stubborn to stay down, though. Gritting her teeth against the pain of the stun stick, Janice struggled to her feet again and put all of her weight against the huge male who restrained her. The Orion grunted at her, struggling for control, and jerked his head toward the corner of the cage to call her attention to Elena’s predicament. Elena was clawing frantically at the loop around her neck. Her face was turning purple from lack of venous return. The Orion male who handled her grinned at Janice suggestively and then deliberately tightened the loop. Janice clenched her jaw, and then stepped back and lowered her bound forearms, opening both hands and lowering her head in a gesture of submission. She raised her head slightly and stared meaningfully at Elena. The first Orion barked something unintelligible at the second, who then reluctantly loosened the noose around Elena’s neck just enough for her to breathe. Elena fell to her knees, gasping. The first Orion pulled an unresisting Janice toward him by the noose around her arms and reached out to slap a flat pentagonal badge-like device to her upper chest. She winced a bit as it adhered and dug in, and then she went completely limp and fell to the ground, unable to do anything but breathe and move her eyes. Only then did the huge green alien remove the noose from around her forearms. The second Orion did the same to Elena, and then pulled the noose from around her neck. They stepped out of the cage then, leaving the two women helpless on the ground. “You okay, ‘Lena?” wheezed Janice apologetically. She’d failed to protect her friend. There just wasn’t anything she could do. “I’m so sorry.” “I’m all right, querida,” responded Elena in a painful whisper. “Next time, don’t worry about me. If you get another chance, just get yourself out of here.” “Oh, shut up, ‘Lena,” growled Janice. “I’m not going anywhere without you. Get used to it. It’s not happening.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Jonathan Archer exchanged an embarrassed grimace with Malcolm Reed, and then pulled his shiny black briefs up a bit more securely. The action caused the cold metal cylinder of his stylus-like weapon to shift position. He winced. “It’s not so bad when the bloody thing warms up,” murmured Malcolm. Archer rolled his eyes and stuck a finger under the black leather band around his neck. Both he and Malcolm were dressed in matching leather sandals, briefs, and collars… and absolutely nothing else. He eyed Agent Seven at helm with an envious expression. “I still don’t see why he gets to stay dressed,” he griped. The temporal agent wore a dock worker’s safety orange coverall and a hard hat. “You’re the one who insisted on going after the women yourself, Captain,” Malcolm retorted. “We could have been decently dressed if you had…” His voice trailed off as he gazed over Archer’s shoulder with his mouth open. Archer turned to see what had caught Malcolm’s attention. He managed to keep his mouth shut, but he was certain that his eyes must have bugged out for a moment before he recovered his composure. He looked back at his security officer. Malcolm had eyes only for Hoshi, who admittedly was looking fetchingly domineering in her knee-high stiletto heeled boots, leather pants, black corset and blood-red satin lined black velvet cape. Archer, on the other hand, was feeling mortified by his inadvertent reaction to the young Vulcan. She’d shed the loose coverall, and wore a black leather halter top with an incorporated collar and a pair of briefs which matched his own. The skimpy clothing served to accentuate an attribute that Archer hadn’t noticed previously… her very strong physical resemblance to T’Pol. Of course, the golden brown ringlets which tumbled over her shoulders and her arresting eye color didn’t help much either. He averted his gaze to the deck plates. You’re a dirty old man… that’s what you are, he told himself reprovingly. A dirty old married man. “Our roles are that of a breeding pair, Captain Archer. You will at the very least have to be able to look at me and pretend that you find me physically attractive,” said T’Mir ironically. Archer raised his head to protest her interpretation of his behavior and found himself looking directly into a pair of vivid blue eyes. He swallowed. Think pure thoughts. She’s a child. Sweet little T’Mir. Just the spitting image of great-great-umpity-great grandma T’Pol, he told himself. The picture of a cute pointed eared little girl in a nightgown and bunny slippers appeared in his head for some reason. Just call me Uncle Jon, he said to the imaginary little girl. The mental image helped. He gave T’Mir a determinedly paternal smile. “I’m old enough to be your father, young lady, but I can play whatever role you need me to play in order to get my wife back.” T’Mir raised a brow at him, and then handed him a leather strap roughly two meters in length. “Attach this to your collar,” she said. It had what looked like a data input plug on each end. He found the port on his collar and plugged it in. “A leash?” he asked her in puzzlement, holding up the opposite end. She took it from him and plugged it into her own collar. “A tandem discipline collar, used to control slaves in pairs,” she reported emotionlessly. Her eyes met his in a matter-of-fact manner. “Lieutenant Sato has control of it… to lend a sense of realism to our portrayal. I have instructed her to use it if either of us breaks character prematurely. I have it set on the lowest intensity possible, but its effect will nevertheless be unpleasant. It will affect both of us, so please act your part with diligence,” she told him. Archer just blinked at her for a moment. “Is all this really necessary?” he asked in a disbelieving tone. T’Mir cocked her head at him. “The instruments which will be used to scan us at the medical center would detect an inactive slave restraint and sound an alarm,” she said with an unspoken question in her eyes. Her expression conveyed her doubts about his readiness for the mission ahead of them. He gave her a reassuring smile. “I guess that’s all right, then,” he told her lightly. He jerked his chin toward Hoshi. “It’s not like she’d ever use the thing.” Hoshi seemed acutely embarrassed by the whole situation. Malcolm had his arms around her, evidently providing reassurance. She had tears on her heavily made-up cheeks that the security officer was gently wiping away. “You’re the only one who speaks the language. You can do this. I know you can,” Archer heard him say. “But this is different, Malcolm,” Hoshi protested. “This is for real.” Archer raised a brow. Now, what did she mean by that? he wondered. Then Malcolm did something which made Archer’s jaw drop. Lowering himself to his knees, he fixed his eyes on the decking in front of him. His entire demeanor changed. He seemed softer… more subservient. He bent his head forward and rested his forehead on the toe of Hoshi’s right boot. “I beg you to command me, Mistress,” he pleaded. Hoshi giggled through her tears. She wiped her eyes carefully with the sides of her forefingers to avoid smearing her heavy eyeliner, and then straightened. Her face sobered and became cold… almost cruel. Then she tipped Malcolm’s head up by lifting his chin with the toe of her boot, reached down and grabbed a handful of his hair in her fist, and yanked him back up to a kneeling position by his hair. Their eyes met. His expression was worshipful. She stared into his eyes with contempt… and desire. Archer swallowed. This was a little more than he’d bargained for. The incoming call tone sounded. The message was translated for everyone by the on-board UT. “Kreptagh Port Authority to incoming unidentified vessel. Please identify yourself and state the nature of your business, or be fired upon. This is your only warning.” The speaker was thin for an Orion male, and had a bureaucratic air about him. Hoshi’s head came up, her lip curled in annoyance. She shoved Malcolm roughly out of the way and approached the comm. Agent Seven backed away from the video pickup. Hoshi activated the comm, still completely in character. Agent Isis jumped down from the top of the console where she’d been napping and curled up in Hoshi’s lap. Hoshi ignored her. “This is the private vessel Dominatrix out of Risa. I am Mistress Sato. The nature of my business is none of your concern. I will require a berth for my vessel, and lodging for myself and three slaves,” replied Hoshi in an authoritative voice. The Orion portmaster’s eyes widened a bit when he caught sight of her. “I’m afraid the regulations require that I record a purpose for your visit, Mistress Sato. Is it business or pleasure?” asked the Orion politely. Hoshi sighed petulantly. Malcolm, by this time, had crawled to her side and began rubbing his head against her thigh like an animal asking to be petted, in full view of the port official, who seemed to find his eccentric performance quite fascinating. Hoshi absentmindedly ran her fingers through Malcolm’s curls as she answered. “Oh… very well,” she conceded. “If you must know, I have a breeding pair of slaves that I’m bringing in for a fertility evaluation at the medical center. The physicians on Risa refused to treat them without their consent,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Can you imagine?” she added in exasperation. The Orion gave her a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “Business, then,” he confirmed, and entered the information into the console where he sat. “I am sending the coordinates of your assigned berth. Welcome to Kreptagh. May your stay be a profitable one,” he said automatically, with his eyes still focused on his console. The comm screen went dark. Malcolm lifted his head and whispered something into Hoshi’s ear. She smiled broadly, then, and was abruptly transformed into the person that Archer knew as Hoshi Sato. Malcolm pulled her to her feet, displacing the cat, and embraced her. “I knew you could do it!” he said proudly. Jonathan Archer just stood looking at the two of them with a dumbfounded expression on his face. T’Mir seemed to be completely unaffected by the couple’s transformation. Agent Isis curled up on top of the console again and went back to sleep. Agent Seven took the helm, following the coordinates given to them by the Port Authority. Archer sighed. I’m getting too old for this, he thought in resignation. Then something else occurred to him that made him smile. I wonder how Elena would look in black leather? End (of Episode One) The story continues in Paradox: Undercover. |
Like it? Hate it? Just want to point out a typo? Join the discussion now.
Disclaimer: Star Trek in all its various forms and its characters are the property of CBS/Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended by the authors of this site, which is solely for the purpose of entertainment and is not for profit. This site is owned by CX and was opened to the public in February 2008.