"Paradox: Undercover" By Distracted Rating: PG-13 Disclaimer: Paramount owns them. I let them out to play. Genre: Romance, Action-adventure Description: Here’s Episode 2 of Season Six, wherein we find out the identity of the person(s) responsible for the abduction of Hess and Elena and T’Pol tries to figure out what’s wrong with Trip. Hoshi has a lot of fun being large and in charge, and Malcolm has a lot of fun letting her. A/N: Romulan years are referenced “AS”… after settlement. I couldn’t find months so I made up a likely term. Here’s the Romulan dictionary I used. http://www.tos.net/empires/romulan/romdict.html August 2, 2156 (27 Ael, Year 1618 AS) The warbird Ra’kholh Centurion Arrhae steeled himself as the hypospray hissed into his neck. The discomfort of the administration was nothing, but he’d had sufficient experience of the pain that would follow as the medication took hold to last for a lifetime. “Do not assume your duty station until you are certain that the drug has taken effect. The prisoner will be revived this shift,” warned the stern-faced medic. Arrhae nodded, and then forced himself to relax his jaw as the headache began. It was a minor annoyance now, but soon the pain would be considerable. He had found that clenching his teeth only made things worse. Pain is an illusion. Honor is the only reality. He closed his eyes and focused on his duty. As a member of the hereditary servant class on his home planet, his mere presence on board a warbird assigned to such a critical mission was an unprecedented honor. He was singularly proud of his status as the officer in command of the elite security force assigned to guard their unimaginably dangerous prisoner. The fact that he’d attained his current position by being one of only a handful of security officers who’d been able to function at anything close to acceptable efficiency while under the influence of the experimental drug which now coursed through his veins was also a source of pride. His family had always been able to deal with pain and survive. Discipline methods in the early centuries After Settlement had been considerably harsher than current methods. He bore no ill will to the upper classes for their harsh treatment of his ancestors, however. It had been their privilege to do so, and firm discipline, he was convinced, created strength. The headache reached full intensity in a remarkably short period of time. Arrhae inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. “Request permission to return to duty,” he told the medic in a slightly softer but steady voice. He suppressed the wince that appeared at the medic’s carelessly loud response. “You are released, Centurion.” Arrhae left the medical bay at a slow but steady walk. Nausea welled as his footfalls disturbed the precarious truce he’d made with the now excruciating sensation he was experiencing in both temples, but he conquered it through force of will and presented himself to the ship’s holding cell for duty. He nodded to his very relieved-looked fellow security officer, and took over the man’s duty station. His predecessor staggered down the hallway toward the medical bay and a pain relieving hypo that would put him out for the next eight hours. Arrhae turned toward the viewing window of the cell. All he saw was the large stasis unit where the prisoner was stored between tasks, but the two scientists who’d brought it on board were working on reviving him. They were both Ferengi, non-telepaths, and willing to do anything for latinum. He was there to supervise them as much as the prisoner. He wasn’t too worried about the Ferengi, though. They were nothing but cowardly technicians. The prisoner, however, was another matter entirely. He watched the ugly little scientists pull the captive out of stasis. Despite all he knew, he remained surprised and more than a little disgusted every time he saw the man. He was nude, thin and pale, with a woman’s smooth and uncalloused skin. His shining black hair, greasy for lack of washing, fell to his shoulders in heavy ringlets. His face was delicate, truly beautiful, though it turned Arrhae’s stomach to think so, and his eyes… the eyes were what gave the Romulan pause. They were entirely black, like deep space without a single star in sight. The first time he’d seen them he’d been afraid that the man would capture his mind despite the protection of the drug. He’d been told that without the drug and its attendant discomfort, caused by the deactivation of the portion of Arrhae’s brain responsive to telepathy, this puny-looking, insignificant girl-man had the capacity to stop his heart with a single thought… or to force him to fire upon his own father with deadly accuracy. He hadn’t believed until he saw the eyes. The prisoner awakened, and immediately began to cry. His sobs were silent and pitiful. He’d apparently learned by now that he could achieve nothing with non telepaths but the acquisition of more pain for himself. All the Ferengi scientists had to do was wave their pain sticks in his direction, and he dressed himself with alacrity, gulped down the nutritional beverage they offered him, barely even grimacing at the taste, and climbed into the telepresence unit so that he could be linked once again to the small ship Arrhae’s superiors called Khellian. The hunter. Arrhae recalled clearly the day that the Betazoid prisoner had been brought aboard. He’d been granted the honor of subduing the little man for his initial trip into stasis. They hadn’t known his effective range then, and caution was, of course, warranted. The fellow had materialized into the holding cell dressed in a simple grey coverall. He’d actually had the audacity to look around him as if he were surprised by the precautions that had been taken. He’d given Arrhae an intense look initially, and seemed surprised at the Romulan’s lack of response. “You cannot affect me, Betazoid. I am protected,” Arrhae had told him. The slender man had seemed surprised at first, and then angry. “I am still the Monarch of Betazed!” he had insisted pompously. “You will address me with respect! Just because I agreed to this so-called rescue from unjust imprisonment does not mean that I will submit to being spoken to in such a fashion. Where is your commander? I insist on speaking with him! ” Then Arrhae had shot him… with a stun pistol, of course. The little man was a very valuable weapon, destined to win the war for Arrhae’s beloved empire. The Romulan had orders to take very good care of him. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The hooded figure stood just outside the cage. His voice was coarse and deep, obviously male. Elena craned her neck to catch a glimpse of the alien male who was preparing to take custody of both Janice Hess and herself. She couldn’t see his face in the shadow of the hood, and the language he spoke into the communication device in his hand sounded nothing like the gibberish the Orions were speaking. It was harsh and guttural, but somehow more fluid than the trade patois she’d heard for the past hour as they lay helpless on the concrete slab that formed the floor of their cell. One of their Orion handlers entered the cell and manhandled Janice into a sitting position. She was paralyzed from the chest down by the neural restraint fastened to the skin of her upper chest, but that didn’t stop her from giving the huge green fellow a look which told him that it was a damned good thing for his continued health that he’d decided to keep her helpless. The second Orion brought in a stretcher-like device with restraint straps for chest, hips, arms and legs, and the two of them lifted Janice into it and strapped her in. Elena tried to roll over to see where they were taking her friend. She soon realized that she didn’t have to worry about that when the two Orions brought in a matching stretcher for her. Within a few minutes, Elena and Janice were riding side-by-side in the dark and sweltering cargo compartment of a ground transport vehicle, on their way to an unknown destination. “The alien that bought us… did you recognize his species?” Elena whispered. “I really didn’t get a good look under that hood,” replied Janice softly, “but the language wasn’t familiar.” She paused for a moment. Elena could almost hear the gears working inside the woman’s concrete and practical mind. It gave her confidence. Janice was bound to come up with some way to get them out of there. “I don’t think it was a purchase, though,” Janice continued quietly, to Elena’s surprise. “No funds changed hands, and the alien didn’t even bother to inspect the goods,” she explained. “It’s as if he already knew what he was getting.” “What was it, then?” whispered Elena in a puzzled voice. “A delivery,” murmured Janice succinctly. “A delivery of goods he’d purchased previously.” She sighed. “I think the alien was ultimately responsible for abducting us from Enterprise, even if he wasn’t the one who actually took us. I think he’s a Romulan.” They stopped, and Elena heard the crunch of heavy footsteps approaching the back of the vehicle. The door opened, momentarily blinding her. The stretchers were hauled roughly from the ground car and pushed into the relative coolness of an air conditioned building. Once her eyes had adjusted, Elena blinked in surprise. This was no slave enclosure. Beings of several different species in matching pristinely white uniforms went briskly about their business in eerie quiet. The stretchers passed through a sensor arch manned by a large Orion male with a black uniform and a no-nonsense expression. He was armed, but the weapon remained holstered at his side as he waved the stretchers through. Elena craned her neck backwards. Two young-looking Orion males in white uniforms walked at the heads of the stretchers. The hooded fellow walked between them, close enough this time for her to get a shadowed glimpse of dark slanted brows, pointed ears, and a severe expression. If he hadn’t had a frown on his face, she would have sworn their new owner was Vulcan. He glanced downward and caught her looking at him, and his frown deepened. He pulled his hood more securely about his face and met her eyes with a considering look. Then he slowly ran his gaze down her helpless and partially clothed body, finally looking back at her face with a flare of his nostrils and a hungry expression. She shivered and hastily looked away. No. Definitely not like any Vulcan she’d ever care to meet. Elena looked over at Janice, who seemed to be occupied with a detailed study of every doorway and chamber that they passed on their way to wherever it was that they were going. They entered a large chamber through double doors, leaving their new owner in the hallway behind them. There were several other stretchers occupying bays along the walls. The stretchers all contained women of various species. Many had neural restraints in place, but others wore only slave collars and were attended by males who also wore such collars. One of them was attended by a young Betazoid male without a collar. He wore a safety orange dock worker’s coverall and was covered in spatters of engine lubricant. The youthful Orion female on the stretcher beside him was hugely pregnant. As Elena watched, she suddenly gasped in pain. Looking helplessly around the room for assistance, the young male grasped the arm of one of the white clad attendants walking the center of the room. To Elena’s surprise, she was able to understand him when he began to speak. Although she’d never had the chance to try out her skills, the weeks of cultural and language preparation that she’d done under Hoshi Sato’s guidance for their trip to Betazed had apparently paid off. She sighed. This was certainly not the way she would have chosen to discover that she was now conversant in the Betazoid language. “You don’t understand! Her owner said he’d let me buy her freedom! I’ve been making payments… she’s almost paid off. Can’t I bring her to the freeman’s hospital?” begged the boy. The attendant shook her head sympathetically. “I’m afraid not, sir. She’s still a slave. Slaves must be treated here,” she responded in the same language. It was heavily accented but recognizable. Elena wondered how the young man had gotten so far from home. There must be a substantial Betazoid population here if the attendant in the slave’s maternity ward speaks the language, she thought. Then she blinked in realization. That was where they were. It was obvious. That’s when she began to get really frightened. The dock worker gave the attendant a frustrated look. “Can I at least get her something for pain, then? I’ll pay for it myself!” The Orion woman… obviously a nurse of some sort… smiled at him indulgently. “She doesn’t need anything for pain, dear. Childbirth is a natural process. Besides… we have limited resources. We can’t waste pain medication on slaves. What if a freeman becomes injured? What if you became injured?” The pregnant young Orion wailed in pain. “Corin!” she called out piteously, trying to sit up in bed and reaching for the young Betazoid. He shot the nurse an accusing glance, and then returned to the girl’s side, murmuring soft words in her native language and rubbing her back soothingly as she labored. Elena also saw many women on stretchers in the room who did not appear to be pregnant. Most of them were restrained in some way. There seemed to be a steady flow of them going into a door at the far end of the chamber. After some time of observation, she determined that none of them were coming back out again. This must be a holding area of some sort, she thought. They must be going elsewhere after whatever happens in that room is done to them. The attendants seemed to be taking the stretchers in order according to time of arrival. Assuming that to be the case, and discounting the women who were actively in labor, who would likely be taken once their labor had progressed to its natural conclusion, there appeared to be at least five women ahead of them. As she watched, another stretcher was wheeled from its bay and through the door. Its female Orion occupant was fitted with a neural restraint, and was crying silently. Whatever was about to happen to her, she obviously knew what it was, and was not going willingly. Elena estimated that she and Janice had no more than an hour before they would be finding out for themselves exactly what was on the other side of that door. She glanced over at Janice, who had managed to get her upper chest restraint strap between her teeth and had begun to chew on it. Elena sighed. It was a valiant effort, but not very effective as escape strategies went. It looked like they were stuck. She closed her eyes and spoke mentally to her unborn children. Maria… Jon Jr… Mommy loves you both. I’m so sorry. It was only then that she began to cry. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Mistress Sato exited her shuttle with a small black feline in her arms. A scantily dressed male slave followed her, carrying her baggage. Jarron Carl smiled obsequiously and made a bow. “I’m your driver, Mistress. My name is Jarron,” he told her. His broad green face held an earnestly servile expression. Slaves were not trusted to drive on Kreptagh, but the status of drivers was a mere fraction above the status of a slave. This meant that although they were generally treated exactly like slaves by everyone they met, they still had to make a living to survive. It made men like Jarron Carl very eager to please. The female raised a haughty brow at him. Both she and her slave were of a species unfamiliar to him. She almost looked Betazoid, but the eyes were wrong. “Where is your vehicle?” was all she deigned to say. Her accent was unusual, but her words were clear. He bowed again and gestured toward a ground transport parked a short distance from the berth where the Dominatrix rested. As he began walking, Mistress Sato swept one arm out from beneath her red lined black cape and beckoned to someone within the shuttle. A pair of slaves cautiously stepped down the loading ramp. At first, they appeared to be holding hands, but on second glance, the contact was less substantial than that… two fingertips touching two fingertips. Jarron stopped to allow them to catch up. He had seen many forms of physical contact between members of many different species, but he’d never seen that particular gesture before. The pair were male and female… an older dark haired male in his prime who appeared to be of the same species as his mistress, and a frail appearing ethereally lovely young female with a serious expression and pointed ears. They were linked by a tandem discipline collar. Something about the male’s manner implied protectiveness toward the female. She appeared submissive and subdued. Her eyes remained fixed on the dock in front of her as if she were self conscious about her state of undress in public. Jarron felt a pang of pity for her. Then she raised her head and fixed him with a predatory stare. He blinked. Maybe she wasn’t as subdued as she seemed. He turned back around and, minding his own business, proceeded to lead Mistress Sato’s party to the vehicle. Like most public transport vehicles on Kreptagh, the taxi had separate cabs for freemen and their slaves. Mistress Sato seated herself on the padded leather seat within the luxuriously appointed front cab. She took her feline and, rather shockingly, also chose to have the slave that had been carrying her baggage accompany her. When the handsome young male took his place in the front cab, after depositing the luggage in the rear cab beneath the hard polymer seats… easily cleanable for convenience… he knelt on the floor at her feet and rested his head against her knees. She rested one hand on his head and one on the feline, absentmindedly stroking them both as she stared out of the opposite window. Jarron shut the door with a raised brow. Apparently, that slave did considerably more for Mistress Sato than carry her luggage. Jarron then went around to the cramped rear cab, and, after gesturing to the two slaves who occupied it to move their limbs away from the door, shut the door and locked it securely. The cab was so small that the female had to sit on the male’s lap. Curiously, although the female seemed completely unperturbed by the contact, the male’s expression was a bit strained. Jarron decided that the reason for this was none of his business, and took his place in the driver’s seat. “Go directly to the Medical Center. I have an appointment at the Fertility Clinic for a consultation in thirty minutes,” ordered the stern-voiced female. “Yes, Mistress,” responded Jarron. He complied without delay. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx After the departure of the rescue party, Agent Gary Seven activated the shuttlepod’s short range scanners. Lieutenant Sato had provided him with a sample of the transmission that had led the Enterprise to the Kreptagh system. It took mere minutes to find a match. The signal was so powerful that it was difficult to pinpoint. It seemed to the sensors to be coming from everywhere at once. He reduced their sensitivity and located the source of the transmission. It was coming from a transmitter, presumably on board a ship, in orbit around the third planet in the system, an uninhabitable gas giant. At this close range, the shuttlepod’s sensors were also able to pick up the faint return echo of a response from the transmission’s target. It was docked in a berth roughly 100 meters from the shuttle. Seven hacked into the Port Authority’s database to discover the identity of the ship. Not surprisingly, its configuration was familiar to him. In his era, while Romulus and Earth were by no means allies, they did have an uneasy truce which permitted the exchange of certain historical information. No one had paid him any notice when he’d gone to the Federation’s military museum in San Francisco in preparation for this mission and had shown great interest in outdated Romulan ship designs. Of course, no one who was not affiliated with the Temporal Enforcement Agency would ever dream that such information would ever have practical value. Seven pulled up the schematics of a Romulan shuttlecraft of the current era on his data padd and studied them closely. Although the vehicle a few berths away had been highly modified, Seven was betting on the fact that some of its systems remained unchanged. He transmitted the Romulan vehicle’s identification code, the coordinates of the source of the transmission, and a confirmation to proceed with the next step of the plan to Commander T’Pol on Enterprise. Then he exited the shuttlepod and engaged its security systems before joining the stream of orange clad hard-hatted dockworkers heading toward the Port Authority main office for the second shift. He lined up with the others to receive his assignment. The false ID he’d fabricated and a pair of contact lenses in unrelieved black completed his metamorphosis from human to Betazoid. A bored-looking Orion male scanned his ID, and then handed him a padd without a word. Seven put it in his right thigh pocket without looking at it, and then made a beeline for the berth next to the Romulan craft. He stood outside the security forcefield with an officious look on his face for several minutes before a thick limbed but youthful Orion male in a dockworker’s uniform arrived. The young man deactivated the forcefield and stepped forward to do an initial inspection of the ship. One of the less popular regulations insisted upon by the Kreptagh Port Authority was the right to do external inspections and internal explosives scans of every ship docked in Kreptagh Spaceport. Although extremely tolerant of activities which would be considered worthy of imprisonment in any other system, the Kreptagh authorities looked dimly upon anyone attempting to blow up their spaceport. As the young man rounded the rear of the vehicle, out of easy sight of the rest of the dock, Seven stepped briskly forward and rounded the corner of the angular shuttle. The young Orion only had time for a startled glance behind him before the temporal agent stunned him with his slender cylindrical weapon. He pulled the Orion’s padd from his limp fingers and used the access codes on it to open the loading ramp into the rear cargo bay. Then he dragged the hefty young Orion up the ramp, deposited him on the decking, and closed the entry hatch. Leaving the Orion in the tiny cargo bay, Seven pulled his own small data padd from his right breast pocket and used its decryption program to find the code to open the inner hatch. He’d been correct. Both the hatch and the code were standard for the time period. What he found on the other side of the hatch, however, was far from standard. The ship had no helm or navigation stations. There was a bulkhead on one end of the tiny “bridge” which had no exit hatch. The remainder of the ship appeared to be sealed to all access save matter transport, and was the only area of the ship with life support. He was limited to the air that he’d brought with him from the loading dock. The interior of the bridge was full of exposed circuitry, seemingly without regard for the safety of its occupants. This was not a surprise to Seven, for the bridge was quite obviously designed to be operated remotely, and would have no occupants during a typical flight. The original manual controls still existed beneath the tangle of power cables, however, and within a short period of time Seven had attained control of the shuttle’s sensors. Even more importantly for the safety of the rescue party, the matter transporter controls were also relatively simple to commandeer. Lacking a chair to sit in, he settled himself on the decking into the least uncomfortable looking corner of the stuffy chamber to wait. Less than five minutes later, the small ship began to vibrate. The engines were powering up. Seven stood and hurriedly brought the sensors online. He picked up the rescue party as they prepared to enter the medical center. Hurry up, Isis. It’s time to get out of here, he thought worriedly. He didn’t dare a communication, though. They were on their own until the women were found. He only hoped he would still be close enough to the planet and would still possess sufficient oxygen to be conscious when the time came to get them out of there. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Commander T’Pol, for the past hour acting captain of Enterprise, sat in the command chair staring out at the area of space where Shuttlepod Two had vanished. She wasn’t actually as attentive to empty space as she appeared. She was contemplating her mate’s extremely puzzling behavior. A chronological history of events played in her mind. First, there had been the Betazoid mind weapon which had stripped them of their bond. Trip had been her anchor, then. The loss of the bond had been disabling to her. She hadn’t realized until then how much her emotional stability depended on her mental contact with him. Despite his erratic and illogical emotions, he was her stabilizing influence… her port in the storm. Without him, the damage she’d done to herself with the trellium would have been insurmountable. She needed him, both for emotional reassurance and for the maintenance of her sanity. The meld after the return of their bond had been a confirmation of that need. Only contact with his mind had granted her anything close to a healthy level of control. Healthy, that is, for a Vulcan. At first, the return of control had been gratifying. Trip had seemed content, almost happy for her, for a few days at least. Then he’d become irrationally emotional. His desire to be “needed” was perhaps understandable, although somewhat illogical. Why would he wish a weak partner when he could have a strong one? His assumption that she no longer had need of him at a time when she was most dependent on his strength was most puzzling, however. T’Pol was beginning to realize that her mate had no comprehension of how much he was assisting her every waking moment of every day. She’d thought he understood… that he’d entered into their relationship willingly and with full knowledge of what she would be taking from him. She’d relied too much on their bond and not enough on verbal communication, she decided. And now she was drawing on his strength like a parasite, siphoning off his emotional stability and weakening him as she became stronger. It was an unacceptable situation. She had no idea how to correct it. “Commander,” said Ensign MacNamara, “I have an incoming encrypted message from the Kreptagh system.” The freckle-faced young officer’s face was puzzled. “The decryption program’s not having any trouble with this one, ma’am. It’s text only. Looks like a set of coordinates, a ship identification code, and the word “Go”. T’Pol nodded briskly. “Transmit the coordinates to the helm,” she commanded firmly. The time for personal concerns was over. She had a job to do. “Proceed to those coordinates, Mr. Mayweather, maximum warp.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Hoshi Sato extended one stiletto-heeled boot-clad leg and exited the ground car. She still held Isis in her arms. She forced herself to look haughtily about her while the others unloaded. She caught sight of Malcolm out of the corner of her eye as he offered a hand to assist Agent T’Mir from the captain’s lap. The terrain was rocky, without a trace of vegetation in sight. The medical center was part of a huge complex of buildings that appeared to have once been the administrative offices and living quarters of a mine that was now tapped out. The double entrance doors of the medical center were directly in front of her. Through the glass she could see a uniformed security guard standing next to a sensor arch. Are they here? Can you tell? she asked the temporal agent in her arms. The cat let out a barely audible purr which became, Let me down and I’ll find them for you. Hoshi would have none of that. She gripped Isis more firmly. Animals aren’t allowed to run free in any hospital that I’ve ever heard of. The guard wouldn’t let you more than a few feet past the front door. It’s too dangerous! she insisted. Isis’ amusement over Hoshi’s protectiveness transmitted itself clearly. You’re forgetting that I’m not an animal, dear, she responded indulgently. And while I’m touched by your concern for my safety, I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Trust me… and relax. Hoshi released the breath she’d been holding, and then loosened her grip on the being in her arms. Isis leapt easily to the ground and disappeared behind a rock formation. “Would you like me to get the feline for you, Mistress Sato?” asked Jarron helpfully from a few inches behind her left shoulder. Hoshi jumped, and then recovered her equilibrium. She reached within her bodice and removed a slender data card, offering it to Jarron for confirmation of payment. He took it eagerly. “That won’t be necessary,” responded Hoshi coolly. “She is a very independent animal. She’ll be fine out here until we return from our appointment.” She turned to Jarron then, making eye contact with him for the first time in their brief acquaintance. “I will, of course, require you to remain here to drive us to our accommodations following this appointment. I have no desire to spend another night on board ship when a more comfortable room is available. I’m trusting you with my baggage while I’m inside.” Jarron inserted her data card into a padd he carried at his waist for that purpose. His eyes widened at the size of her credit balance. “Of course, Mistress Sato. I will be most pleased to wait for you!” he said with a wide smile and a groveling bow. She said nothing, but merely extended a hand. He placed the data card into it, and she tucked it between her breasts again for safekeeping. Then she strode forward without looking back. Malcolm followed behind, by all appearances riding herd on his two reluctant fellow slaves. Archer and T’Mir, for their parts, did their best to look like a bonded couple trying not to show their fear of what might happen next. Hoshi paused at the double doors when she heard Isis’ voice in her mind. Don’t look down. Enter through the doors and pause for a count of three on the threshold. Then go in. I’ll contact you when I find them. Hoshi did precisely as she was instructed, and strode proudly and purposefully to the doors. They swished open, and she paused on the threshold. She must have been quite a dramatic sight in black leather, red satin, and black velvet, because the security guard’s attention was entirely focused on her for a moment. As the others caught up to her, she finished her count and stepped forward into the foyer, making it through the sensor arch without a hitch. It was evidently not a metal detector, as her clothing contained enough metal buckles and studs to trigger an alarm had that been the case. She glanced around her, looking for the cat. Instead, she saw an ordinary looking black beetle scurrying down the hallway along the juncture of wall and floor. Isis? Is that you? she sent incredulously. Ignore me, you silly girl, or I’m squashed! responded Isis in exasperation. Hoshi averted her gaze immediately. And then the alarm went off. Hoshi turned to see the security guard holding a weapon on a pair of very frightened looking Orion women wearing slave collars. They each carried a basket. Malcolm, Archer, and T’Mir had passed through the arch without incident. Hoshi caught Malcolm’s eye and tilted her head in the direction of the hallway. They proceeded down the corridor, guided by signs that only Hoshi could read, toward the Women’s Clinic Annex. Hoshi couldn’t help but wonder what the women had had in their baskets that had set off the alarm. There was no telling on this crazy planet. Maybe the guard had just been hungry. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx It had taken Enterprise only sixty-seven minutes to reach the Kreptagh system at warp six, a trip that had taken the shuttlepod three days and a trip back in time to accomplish. “Slow to impulse, Mr. Mayweather,” ordered T’Pol. She turned to Mitchell at tactical. “Bring the modified sensors online.” Before the departure of the rescue party, T’Pol and Lieutenant Sato had altered both the long range and short range sensors to respond to the presumed Romulan transmissions. The modifications limited the sensors’ ability to pick up ships that weren’t transmitting on a similar frequency, however, and so T’Pol had refrained from bringing them online until they were virtually on top of the coordinates they’d been given. Mitchell nodded, looked back down to his console for a moment, and then looked back up again with an urgent expression. “The target has moved from the coordinates we were given, Commander. There’s a ship that was invisible with standard sensors accelerating directly toward us. I can’t tell what type of ship it is, but I’d be willing to bet it’s a cloaked Romulan,” said Mitchell. T’Pol nodded. “Tactical alert. All personnel to battle stations,” she said in a firm but calm voice. The tactical alarm siren began to sound. T’Pol turned toward the viewscreen. Kreptagh system’s huge gas giant loomed large before her. There was nothing else visible. Abruptly, a Romulan warbird appeared directly in front of them. As soon as it decloaked, it fired disruptors. “Fire at will! Evasive maneuvers!” announced T’Pol with an increase in the volume of her voice for emphasis. Her face remained impassive. The ship rocked beneath her feet as the impact of the Romulan’s disruptor fire combined with Lieutenant Mayweather’s creative evasion tactics challenged the ship’s artificial gravity. “Shields are holding, Commander!” announced Mitchell. He had a grimly pleased expression on his face as the torpedoes he’d fired from the forward weapons array impacted on one of the Romulan ship’s broad wings, causing debris to shower in a slow arc as the ship, deprived of its expected surprise attack, abruptly changed directions and recloaked. T’Pol gazed at the now Romulan-free viewscreen in consternation. This ship was not behaving as expected. The activities these Romulans were engaged in were evidently important enough in the larger scheme of things to justify what would otherwise be considered dishonorable behavior. No Romulan in her experience would ever run from a fight. It was inconceivable. “Is the ship still detectable?” she asked Mitchell. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I don’t think they know we can see them, Commander. They didn’t go far. They’re back in orbit around the gas giant.” He gave her a cocky grin beneath a cowlick of unruly auburn hair. “I blew a pretty big hole in their ship. I guess they’re planning to stop here for repairs.” T’Pol raised a brow at him, and then faced the viewscreen again and addressed the bridge crew. “Silence the alert siren, Mr. Mitchell, but keep the weapons online. We will hold position here unless the Romulans begin to move out of sensor range. Be alert for another encrypted communication, Mr. MacNamara. It won’t be long now.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Janice Hess had barely creased her restraint straps with her teeth in a last desperate attempt at escape when the white-clad attendants came for Elena. She watched helplessly as Elena craned her neck to maintain eye contact until the last possible moment. Tears streamed down the woman’s face, but she was uncharacteristically quiet. Only her eyes begged Janice to save her. Janice watched her disappear through the door at the far end of the room, and suddenly her own eyes, previously kept dry through sheer fury and force of will, filled with salty tears. “Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT!” She hated feeling weak and helpless. The reason she’d taken up weight training as a teenager was because she’d gotten tired of her Neanderthal brothers pushing her around. Janice clenched her teeth in fury and began to struggle valiantly against her bonds. It wasn’t a very impressive struggle, as she was still completely paralyzed from mid-chest down thanks to the neural restraint. She gave up after only a few minutes, and simply lay there, numbly listening to the moans and screams of the women in labor around her. At least she wouldn’t have to go through that without so much as an aspirin. Although if the sickos who were in the back room would somehow agree to leave her son where he was, she would gladly go through anything, even the part with the moans and the screaming, just to see him healthy. Janice closed her eyes when the attendants came for her. She opened them again when she heard the door close behind the stretcher. The appearance of the dreaded room was anticlimactic. It looked like a perfectly ordinary treatment area. A doctor in a white coat faced the medical scanner in the back of the room. Janice found herself beginning to relax despite herself, until the figure in the white coat turned to face her with a snaggle toothed smile. A Ferengi! The ugly little man walked to the stretcher and laid a medical scanner against her abdomen without saying anything. His manner was brusque and businesslike. He didn’t make eye contact. Janice felt her anger erupt again without warning. “Who said you could touch me with that, you slimy little pissant?” she asked with cold vehemence. He ignored her. He took his handheld medical scanner to the back of the room and pushed it into a slot apparently designed for that purpose in an unfamiliar looking console. The controls next to the scanner’s plug-in were vaguely familiar, though. They resembled… “No! You can’t!” shouted Janice in a panic as the hideous travesty of a doctor grasped the controls and pushed. She immediately felt an odd “humming” sensation in her lower abdomen. There was no pain. The doctor scanned the small black stasis box on the counter with his medical scanner, walked over and rescanned her abdomen, and then nodded to himself in satisfaction. Then he walked over to the door on the opposite side of the room and pressed a buzzer. Two attendants entered the room. The Ferengi handed the stasis box to one of them. The other one wheeled Janice’s stretcher through the door. A transporter! thought Janice in despair. She felt deceived. How could technology betray her like this? She was an engineer because technology was supposed to fix things. She was supposed to fix things. She turned her head as the attendant wheeled her into a stretcher bay in a room identical to the chamber that she and Elena had been held in before, only in mirror image. Elena looked back at her from the stretcher next door. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Janice gave her a sad, sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry…” she mouthed. Elena’s lips quirked pitifully despite her tears. “Me too, querida,” she whispered. “Me too.” They stared at each other sadly. There was nothing else to say. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx At first, he had paced while waiting. Then he realized that everyone in the room was looking at him. He hated it when they did that. Everyone was always looking at him… judging him. So he stopped pacing and sat down. When the impatient drumming of his fingers garnered an annoyed stare from the huge Orion male sitting in the seat next to him, he stood up again. He walked over to the wall next to the double doors leading into the next room and leaned casually against it, pulling his hood farther over his face. He forced himself to be still despite the nagging feeling that time was running out. The communicator beeped for his attention… again. He pulled it from his belt with an irritated scowl and flipped it open. “What?” he growled gutturally. The annoyingly fawning voice of one of the disgusting little Ferengi answered… quite loudly. “Excuse me, sir… but the commander wanted me to remind you that the prisoner is awake and ready to retrieve the Khellian just as soon as the cargo is aboard.” The hooded man lowered the volume on his communicator and then fiercely whispered into it. “Watch what you say on an open channel, you idiot!” He exhaled angrily and paused to control his temper. He continued in a more controlled tone of voice. “You may tell the commander that he will have his cargo just as soon as I have my payment, and not one second before.” There was a pause. The slightly wavering voice of the Ferengi responded. “Ummm… sir? Are you certain you want me to say exactly that? I mean, I understand where you’re coming from… believe me, I do. But if I say that, don’t you think he might…?” “Just tell him I need a quarter of an hour,” responded Kreptagh’s newest slave owner in exasperation. Then he closed the communicator. His anger was overwhelming, so much so that it was threatening the success of his mission. Where was the logic in that? Despite what his Romulan friends kept telling him, sometimes he had fleeting doubts about his own sanity. The Vulcans had called him insane. He shook off the memory. Of course he was sane. He just had a gift. It was a gift he was now selling to the highest bidder, and these Romulans had bid very high indeed. He was in a crowded room filled predominantly with professional slave handlers waiting for their charges to be discharged from the gynecological surgery post-op observation ward. He wasn’t generally a patient man, and now his time was running out. Of course, it never occurred to him to ask politely if he would be allowed to enter the ward. He just walked to the door, forced it open, and then locked it behind him. When one of the attendants tried to bar his way in, he reached for the junction of the woman’s neck and shoulder and pinched. She slumped to the floor. When he approached the stretchers, he saw that the stasis containers were not with the women. His eyes scanned the room. There they were on a back table, and conveniently labeled with species identifiers as well. He walked over and scooped them up, one in each fist, and then turned back to his charges. His hood had fallen completely away from his face, exposing it for the first time. The blonde, muscular human female was looking at him with a strange expression. He smiled at her grimly. The bitch actually recognized him! He hadn’t counted on that. It would make the next part of his mission so much more deliciously satisfying. He could feel her fury from across the room. He walked over to her stretcher, put the stasis containers down on the floor, and rubbed his hands together. She pulled her head back as far as she could manage, but she was helpless to escape. Her eyes blazed with both anger and helpless terror. As he placed his fingers in position on her temples, she mouthed a single word before he gained control of her mind. “Tolaris!” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx As the modified Romulan shuttle’s engines abruptly transitioned from stand-by mode to pre-launch countdown, Agent Gary Seven suddenly became a very busy man. His first action when he saw the Romulan numerals begin to count down on the console display screen was to open the inner hatch. He knew that he had mere seconds to refresh his atmosphere and get rid of his unwanted passenger, but he’d waited until the last minute to avoid attracting unwanted attention should the Orion awaken before he was ready. Fortunately, the young but hefty man was still sleeping the sleep of the innocent. Seven opened the outer hatch and rolled him down the loading ramp with a valiant heave. The poor fellow ended up sprawled on the dock over a meter from the base of the ramp, safely out of the way and none the worse for wear, except for the headache that invariably followed being stunned by a Temporal Agency multi-tool. He would also be missing roughly five minutes of memory, the five minutes preceding the stun blast. It was a handy little function. Having thus disposed of his inconvenient passenger and renewed his air supply, he closed both hatches again and moved back to the bridge’s sensor console to check on the rescue party at the medical center. The small ship rumbled, and an automated voice requested a departure vector. Kreptagh Port Authority responded, and the ship was halfway to a stable orbit by the time Gary Seven had located the rest of his team. It was now or never. Although there were only six humans in the entire medical complex, the shuttle’s sensors were not sophisticated enough to reliably distinguish them from the dozens of other species present. He’d have to wait until he received the signal. Fortunately, he was fairly certain that the remote operators of this small ship were also waiting for a similar signal from their operative on the surface. It was just a matter of beating them to the punch. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “It’s just ahead,” whispered Hoshi as she led her small procession down the hallway. She walked briskly, trying to look like she knew exactly where she was going. The corridor was filled with slave handlers and their slaves. Their small rescue party fit right in. Hoshi led the way into a large room that looked like a waiting area. As they walked through the door, a figure in a hooded robe was forcing his way through the doors at the opposite end of the room. The subsequent ruckus pulled every security guard toward that end of the room. No one was guarding the staff entrance to the recovery room that Isis had found. “Go through there,” indicated Hoshi with a tilt of her head. She lifted her wristband and deactivated the tandem discipline collar. T’Mir and Archer slipped by her, pulling their connecting “leash” loose as they came. Hoshi took it from T’Mir’s fingers as she passed and plugged it into Malcolm’s collar with a sly grin. Malcolm raised a brow at her, but gave her a look that said that he was game for anything. She then stood directly in front of the door and proceeded to create another distraction… by pulling Malcolm forward by his leash and kissing him enthusiastically. Protected by not one, but two effective distractions, it was a fairly simple process for T’Mir and Archer to gain access to the recovery room. Upon entering the room, the first thing that caught Archer’s eye was his wife, strapped to a stretcher and made helpless with a neural restraint. “Elena! Thank God!” he cried. He ran toward her. “Jon! Watch out!” was all Elena had the chance to exclaim before he was blindsided and tackled to the floor. His assailant was tremendously strong. Archer clawed at the steely fingers around his neck and came face to face with his attacker. The Vulcan’s face was twisted in fury. Archer’s eyes widened in surprise as he gasped soundlessly for air. “You!” Tolaris spat vehemently. Then he smiled a truly evil smile. “I will enjoy killing you!” His fingers tightened, and Archer’s vision began to go gray. Suddenly, Tolaris jerked, and the strangling pressure was relieved. Archer pushed the limp body off of his chest and lay gasping and wheezing. He looked up at T”Mir, who was holding her multi-tool in her right palm and along her right forefinger… firing position. “Thanks!” he told her with an embarrassed grin. T’Mir simply raised a brow at him for his stupidity in charging blindly into an unsecured room. At least, he was pretty certain that’s what she was thinking, since it had been pretty damned stupid. He sat up and rubbed his neck gingerly, eyeing the downed Vulcan with a puzzled expression. Where the hell had he come from? The last he’d heard, T’Pol’s attacker had been locked up in a Vulcan mental hospital! Then Archer heard a pounding from beyond the locked main doors of the chamber. The solution to this most perplexing question would have to wait. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the stretchers. There were two stasis cases on the floor between them. T’Mir had already briefed him on the likely fate of the fetuses, so the sight of them was actually a relief. At least the children were alive for now and not in Romulan hands. T’Mir had already begun to unfasten Janice Hess’ restraints, so he concentrated on Elena’s. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back. “Jon… the babies…” she began in a tearful whisper. “Shhh… don’t talk now. Phlox can check the babies when we get back to Enterprise,” he reassured her. He undid the final strap and lifted her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. T’Mir had done the same for Hess, who was deeply unconscious, with very little apparent effort despite the fact that the woman easily outweighed her by fifty pounds or more. She had a black stasis case in her free hand. Archer hurriedly grabbed the other case with its precious cargo. Abruptly, the doors burst open, and three huge Orion security guards entered the room with phasers firing. T’Mir shoved Archer to the side with one shoulder and took a blast to the forearm she had wrapped around Janice Hess’ thighs. She staggered, but didn’t drop the larger woman, and even had the presence of mind to keep hold of the stasis case as she activated her implanted transmitter with a deliberate clench of her teeth and gasped the one word that would get them out of their predicament. “Energize.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was beginning to think that Hoshi had plans for a live sex show by the time Isis, newly returned to cat form, exited the door behind them and began to weave her way in and out of Hoshi’s legs. Their audience was cheering them on, and several spectators laughed and applauded when the animal arrived. He looked up from where he knelt paying homage to the fingers of Hoshi’s right hand and pulled the fifth finger out of his mouth. She leaned forward and grasped his leash, whispering urgently, “Isis says they’re safe. Let’s get out of here!” She was a consummate actress, but he could tell that she was more than a little embarrassed by the public display. Malcolm, on the other hand, was having a wonderful time. No one he’d ever meet again in his lifetime was present in the room. The experience was liberating. “Whatever you say, Mistress,” he whispered back teasingly. Then he dropped to his hands and knees and began to crawl toward the exit, waving his black leather-clad posterior temptingly in the air as he did so. Hoshi followed with Isis in the crook of her elbow, leading him on the leash like a large dog. The laughing crowd of slave handlers parted to let them pass. Hoshi laughed as well, playing along, and playfully swatted Malcolm as hard as she could on the nearest place she could reach with the palm of her free hand. He jumped and feigned a wounded look. A large and flamboyantly effeminate Orion male in the audience gave a high pitched giggle. “I’ll give you three times what you paid for that one, girl!” he told her. Hoshi shot him a protective glare. “If he were yours, would you sell him?” she asked the Orion challengingly. Then they headed for the exit as fast as Malcolm could crawl. The Orion, who was dressed in nearly transparent flowing floral robes and a metallic gold g-string, just shrugged and smiled good-naturedly. Hoshi breathed a heavy sigh of relief as they entered the corridor. Malcolm stood up, gave her a lopsided smile and an equally relieved look, and then they both walked briskly toward the exit. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “We have an incoming encrypted transmission, Commander. It appears to originate from a ship somewhere in orbit around Kreptagh Prime, but I can’t locate the ship,” said Ensign MacNamara helplessly. He sounded discouraged. The “software glitch” that had taken Lieutenant Sato only minutes to fix had now occupied his time for over three hours. Admittedly, there’d been a space battle in the middle of there somewhere… a very short space battle… but T’Pol could see the boy’s dissatisfaction over his performance all over his freckled face. She wasn’t very adept at encouragement, but she gave it her best effort. “That’s to be expected, Ensign. The source is cloaked,” she replied gently. Then she paused to collect her thoughts and looked the young man directly in the eye. ”Just put the transmission on screen, and then you may feel free to return to your repairs. You are a capable communications officer. I am certain that you will be successful very shortly,” she told him as reassuringly as she could manage. He eyed her doubtfully for a moment as if her were unsure of her sincerity, and then smiled hesitantly. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you,” he replied disbelievingly. She nodded briskly, and then turned toward the main view screen without another word. MacNamara had an amused grin on his face as he put the message up for all the bridge crew to see. Agent Gary Seven’s face appeared on the screen. The picture was grainy but recognizable. There was considerable static in the audio. “I have your missing crew members, Commander, and your captain. The rest of the rescue party will arrive by shuttlepod shortly. This transmission is being affected by the cloaking device, but if I deactivate the cloak too soon I’ll risk destruction by the Romulan base ship. I don’t have control of this ship’s propulsion system, but in order to return to the base ship we’ll have to pass within transporter range of Enterprise. Be prepared to transport every life form on board this vessel on my signal,” said Seven in a businesslike tone. “Understood,” replied T’Pol. The transmission abruptly ended. T’Pol raised a brow. This temporal agent was more Vulcan in his mannerisms than his Vulcan trainee. Either that, or he was just extremely impolite by human standards. It was difficult to determine which. T’Pol closed her eyes and reached for her spouse. He was blocked, so as not to disturb her, and seemed fully focused on whatever he was doing. His emotional state still seeped into the bond despite that focus. Under usual circumstances, assigning Rostov or some other lower ranking engineering officer to the transporter room for the retrieval of personnel would have been the most appropriate decision, leaving the chief engineer to perform his duties unmolested. Trip’s worry over the fate of his friends had been gnawing at her through the bond for several hours now, however, and so assigning him to the transporter room was now the more acceptable choice. At least, it was the choice that would make him feel better faster, and so it seemed the logical choice. Was her decision logical if it was prompted by emotion? The issue was quite confusing, so she stopped thinking about it and just activated the comm. “Bridge to Commander Tucker… please report to the transporter room and await my signal to retrieve personnel,” she said. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Elena Archer lay on a familiar bunk in a very familiar holding cell awaiting the return of feeling and circulation to limbs made stiff and numb by prolonged immobilization. The knot of grief in her chest over the loss of her babies was still fresh and painful, but she pushed it aside. Jon obviously didn’t know they were gone based on what he’d told her during the rescue, and she wasn’t about to tell him until they arrived on Enterprise. He had enough on his mind just getting them back to the ship. As soon as the rescue party had arrived back on what Elena assumed to be the newly commandeered Romulan shuttle, the Vulcan woman who had assisted Jon with their rescue had removed the neural restraints from both of the captives. Elena glanced over at the opposite bunk with a worried expression. Janice had been unconscious ever since the pseudo-Vulcan had done whatever he’d done to her. She turned her head to ask if Janice would be all right, and found her husband providing first aid to a mostly naked and very nubile young Vulcan female. Her eyes narrowed. At first, she’d thought the woman was Commander T’Pol in costume. The resemblance was that strong. Jon was holding the girl’s hand gently in his and wrapping a burn dressing around her forearm. The wound looked deep and extremely painful, but the young woman’s expression was neutral and stoic. “Will you need something for pain? There’s a hypo in the field kit Seven sent us,” he told the girl softly. His expression was concerned, almost paternal. The observation puzzled Elena. Jon was a man, not a saint. A half dressed gorgeous woman shouldn’t normally inspire fatherly feelings. “I would prefer to remain alert, Captain, but thank you for your concern,” replied the Vulcan in a slightly strained voice. Her control isn’t perfect, then, thought Elena. She’s really in pain. She studied the girl. Although she seemed barely more than a child in her facial features, she’d performed during the rescue like someone who’d had military training. The ringlets and blue eyes seemed out of place as well. “Jon…” called Elena softly. Her husband released the Vulcan’s hand and smiled at her sympathetically before walking the few steps to Elena’s side. The Vulcan girl walked over to the bunk where Janice lay and began scanning her with a small hand-held device. Elena reached out and took her husband’s hand as it reached for hers. “Will Janice be all right?” she asked. Jon smiled at her reassuringly. “She’s just unconscious,” he told her. “T’Mir can’t find anything wrong with her, so she’s just monitoring her until she wakes up.” He gave Hess a puzzled look. “We don’t know why she’s out and you’re awake, though…” He turned back to Elena. “Did you see what happened to put her out?” Elena shook her head. “Not exactly, but it seemed to happen right after the Vulcan-looking alien who attacked you touched her head. He wasn’t rough with her or anything… he just touched her.” Jon’s eyes widened in alarm. “Like this?” he asked, placing splayed fingers on Elena’s left temple. She nodded. Jon went silent for a moment with his jaw clenched, obviously disturbed by the news. “What’s wrong? What did he do to her?” asked Elena in distress. Her husband gave her a soothing look. “I don’t know yet, sweetheart, but whatever it was, I’m sure Phlox will know what to do,” he told her. His expression was half-heartedly sincere, though, and his worried eyes returned to the still figure on the opposite bunk. “I should have checked him to be certain he was dead,” he murmured to himself. Then his gaze shifted to his wife. “He didn’t touch you, did he? Because if he did, I’m damn well going back down there to make sure he’s dead!” Elena exhaled and shook her head with a tolerant expression. “Your little Vulcan friend blasted him before he had the chance… and by the look of her she’s perfectly capable of immobilizing you if you even think about doing something as stupid as going back down there!” she told him firmly. He exhaled right back at her in exasperation, but refrained from arguing with her. Elena smirked. This invalid business had its advantages, she decided. “Who’s our guardian angel?” she asked with a small smile. He looked at her quizzically for a second, and then his expression cleared. “Oh! You mean T’Mir!” he responded. He gave Elena an uncomfortable look, and gestured at his bare chest and tiny black leather briefs. He’d already removed the collar. “It’s not what it looks like, Elena… we had to dress like this to get into the medical center, you see… and Hoshi had to be the slave mistress because she spoke the language… and we needed a reason to go to the clinic, so T’Mir and I had to pretend to need… um… medical services….” Elena reached up and placed her fingertips on his moving lips to silence them. “I’m sure it’s a very exciting story, querido, but don’t you think it would be polite to make introductions first?” she said with an indulgent smile. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Isis lounged on the helm console of the shuttlepod watching the two young humans run through the shuttle launch sequence with painstaking care. Although it was impossible for them to tell by outward appearances, as cats generally don’t smile, she was enjoying herself immensely. “Next, you power up the maneuvering thrusters,” said Hoshi, reading from a checklist on the padd in her hand. Malcolm took the padd from her with an exasperated look. “I can read, Hoshi. Just give it to me,” he told her. She looked at him sheepishly. “Sorry… I just thought I’d help you, since you’re new at this and everything,” she said. “I’m not ‘new at this’,” he insisted, his eyes fixed on the display screen with the total concentration of someone practicing a skill for the first time in a very long while. “I did emergency pilot training with everyone else at the academy. I just haven’t had to use the information recently.” Hoshi eyed him doubtfully. “I thought you didn’t fly because you get motion sick, and you thought it was too dangerous to pilot a vehicle when just riding in it makes you lose your lunch?” Malcolm exhaled heavily. He handed her the headset. “I don’t… I do,” he responded, a bit incoherently. “Now, would you please request a departure vector and leave me alone so I can pay attention to what I’m doing?” Hoshi rolled her eyes at him and took the headset. Within a few moments, the shuttle was airborne and headed toward orbit. Isis found the interplay between the two humans very entertaining. She’d become fond of Hoshi in a maternal sort of way, and could sense that the girl’s relationship with Malcolm Reed was a beneficial one. Her interaction with the armory officer was obviously more than just the interaction of subordinate with superior, or even of friend with friend. They complemented each other well. Isis could feel Hoshi’s emotions quite clearly. It really was a shame that the young linguist had not yet realized her telepathic potential. Perhaps she never would. Her life now revolved around Enterprise and her duties there. The training that she would require to be able to really use her abilities would take years away from friends and family… perhaps on Betazed or Vulcan. Isis doubted that Hoshi would be willing to give up that much time for something she might even consider a liability. Isis knew from bitter experience that a known telepath has few friends. Friends were precious commodities. She’d spent centuries without them in her youth, traveling from place to place over her adopted planet in the ancient manner of her people. After leaving her parent for the first time, she’d spent a century on the banks of the Nile, speaking to the latent telepaths who lived there. They’d called her a goddess, but soon tired of her and moved on to more ethereal beliefs, leaving her with no one to talk to. She’d mimicked the hinds, seals, and foxes of the celtic lands. Malcolm’s ancestors had called her Sidhe and Selkie. She’d become a wolf among the Slavic tribes, and her name had been Leszi. Tengu and Kitsune had been her names among Hoshi’s ancestors, depending on whether she’d been in the mood that day to fly or to run. She swam in the ocean off the coast of the western continent as a dolphin, and the natives there christened her Encantado. She’d traveled north after a decade or two to the grassy plains of North America. The Lakota there had called her PtesanWi. With the beginnings of industry on Earth came the loss of the sense of wonder and magic, that quality she so enjoyed in her short-lived human brothers and sisters. She’d spent two centuries just existing until she’d found her sweet Gary, the only human who’d been able to speak with her and still believe that he was sane in over two hundred years. For him, because he enjoyed stroking warm fur, she’d returned to the first form she’d tried in her youth, and became Isis. He wasn’t from the century he’d found her in, but that made no difference to her. She’d had nothing to keep her, no family, no possessions. So she’d followed him one thousand years into the future. He was her friend. Isis glanced over at the lieutenant commander. He was gamely holding his own, and he’d managed to get the shuttle out of planetary orbit and into an intercept course with the coordinates that Enterprise had sent them. No one was risking verbal communication until the ship was out of communication range of the planet. The shuttle’s cover as Dominatrix was still intact, and Hoshi had left the planet in good standing with the authorities after “selling” her unsuccessful breeding pair, or so she’d told the port master. The existence of a believable alter ego able to do business with Kreptagh was an asset that they’d do well to keep. It would be at least an hour before communication with Enterprise would be safe. The other half of the team was probably on board by now, or nearly so. Gary would take very good care of them. He was such a wonderfully capable human. Isis yawned. The day had been tremendously tiring thus far. She decided that it was a good time for a nap, so she rested her head on her forepaws where she lay curled up on top of the helm console and went to sleep. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx At the same moment that Agent Isis had chosen for her nap, supremely confident in her partner’s skills as she slept, Agent Gary Seven sat on the icy cold deck of the Romulan shuttle’s tiny bridge attempting to reprogram its internal sensors with fingers that were completely numb and roughly as nimble as ten breakfast sausages. He’d been worried about having sufficient oxygen to make it to the rendezvous with Enterprise. He needn’t have been so concerned. He’d misjudged the rate of heat loss. The area of the shuttle he occupied apparently had less insulation to make room for the additional wiring required by the remote sensors and other cobbled together modifications. At this rate, he was going to be dead of hypothermia long before lack of oxygen became a problem. The issue was the decloaking of the shuttle, which had to occur before Enterprise could bring them aboard. Once the shuttle reached sensor range of the Romulan vessel, and it would do so just about the time that it was time to beam aboard Enterprise, any drop in the cloak would reveal their presence within the shuttle to the Romulan warbird waiting in the wings. Seven couldn’t take the chance that the person or persons controlling the Romulan shuttle would then decide to move it out of range of transport to Enterprise, or, even worse, decide to cut their losses and destroy it. He had to make the decloaking look like a glitch, and the interior of the Romulan shuttle had to appear to contain only the cargo it was supposed to contain… two small stasis cases and one rogue Vulcan with classified information in his head. He was working with very recent information, as Captain Archer had just notified him of the identity of the Romulan agent not five minutes before, and now he had to get creative. Mimicking the presence of the stasis boxes was easy. Caught between heartbeats, the tiny humans within the cases registered as inanimate biomatter to ship’s sensors. Faking a Vulcan male’s biosigns was a bit harder, but he had the data in his possession that would allow him to do it. It was useful to be able to mimic another species’ biosigns. He’d used the technique on several occasions to get himself out of some really tight spots. The shuttle’s proximity alarm, set to go off when they reached the outer extremes of transporter range from Enterprise, sounded with piercing volume in the small compartment. He reached a hand over his head and blindly slapped the console until he silenced the alarm. His legs were heavy and he couldn’t feel his feet, so standing up to do it wasn’t an option. As he sat waiting for the onboard computer to upload the biosign mimicry program, his eyelids grew heavy. It would be so nice just to take a nap… He jerked awake as the proximity alarm sounded again. He felt sluggish. He wasn’t cold anymore, though. In fact, the room seemed nice and warm. His gaze fell on the computer display at the work station in front of him. It registered a successful upload. He blinked slowly and thought hard for several seconds. There was something else that he had to do before he could go to sleep. If only he could remember what that thing was… Oh, yeah. Now I remember, he thought muzzily. He reached over his head and slapped the controls again. His hand was completely numb, so he couldn’t actually feel what he was doing, but the computer screen in front of him indicated that the shuttle’s cloak was disengaged, and that it would automatically re-engage in 30 seconds without further prompting. Then he activated the comm. He licked his lips, and after two unsuccessfully mumbling attempts, managed to get one word out before he lost consciousness. “Energize.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Commander Trip Tucker stood at the transport console, waiting for orders and still trying to decide whether he should be angry with T’Pol for ordering him there without so much as a by-your-leave. For the past three and a half hours she had been acting captain, and so technically she was perfectly within her rights to order him to do whatever she pleased within Starfleet regulations without explanation, and he was obliged to obey. He had no right to object to the fact that she’d removed him from his department and assigned him to a duty normally performed by a lower ranking officer. He wasn’t even essential to the efficient running of the department. Rostov was perfectly capable of overseeing the minor repairs necessary after their recent brief skirmish with the Romulan vessel, the same vessel with which they were now playing hide-and-seek. He was even fairly certain that he knew why she’d done it… to make sure that he was the first to see the landing party come aboard. Was she afraid he’d leave his post to see for himself that they were all right? That was perhaps the question that irked him the most. Did she trust him not to go off half-cocked emotionally while on duty? It certainly seemed like ever since his meltdown in her quarters the night before that she’d been more than usually solicitous of his emotional state. She hadn’t said anything in public, of course. She wouldn’t do that. Ninety-five percent of the ship’s complement still didn’t know that the two of them were married, and they both preferred things to stay that way. Serving on two separate ships was simply not an option. He could still feel her worry, despite the barriers he’d erected, and through her carefully constructed Vulcan control. And he was beginning to think that she was right to be concerned. He’d never fall apart while on duty, of course. He had too much riding on the respect that he’d earned from the men and women under his command. He’d noticed, though, that for the past week he’d been on edge. It wasn’t just the weird crying jag with T’Pol. He was irritable with everyone, snapping at Rostov, angry over things which shouldn’t matter. He was always exhausted as well. Lately he’d slept in, making it to breakfast barely on time to grab a cup of coffee. It hadn’t made him late for his duty shift yet only because he didn’t have the appetite for breakfast. He’d been going to bed early, but tossing and turning in his bunk. Even neuropressure hadn’t helped much. Maybe I’m gettin’ sick, he wondered. He decided that he’d see Phlox about a checkup just as soon as the doc had had a chance to check out the new arrivals. “Bridge to transporter room. Energize,” came T’Pol’s voice over the comm. His full attention immediately on the console in front of him, Trip activated the controls. The captain materialized first, with Hess lying limply in his arms. He gave Trip a grim nod of thanks and stepped off the platform on the way to sickbay. The way he was dressed… or rather undressed… barely registered before Trip realized that all of them were dressed the same way. This Kreptagh place must be really warm, thought Trip ironically. Then T’Mir appeared, supporting a shaky-looking but conscious and upright Elena Archer. Two small black stasis cases appeared in the transport circle next to her. Lastly, Agent Seven materialized. T’Mir caught sight of him, and handed Elena over to Trip as she bent over her fellow temporal agent with a medical scanner. The man’s lips were blue. His skin was frosty white, and his eyes were closed. He was curled in a fetal ball on the transporter platform. Trip couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not but, ominously, he wasn’t shivering. Trip supported Elena until she could grab the control console to support herself and then slapped the comm. “Transporter room to Sickbay. Medical emergency!” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Phlox met with a concerned group after spending nearly an hour stabilizing the most critical members of the rescue party. Archer, Reed, Sato, and T’Mir had managed to find coveralls to clothe themselves in the interim. They were all still confined to Sickbay, however, until the doctor had the chance to clear them for duty. “I’ve managed to get Mr. Seven’s core body temperature up to reasonable levels,” Phlox reassured them. His eyes cut to the hyperbaric chamber where the temporal agent lay in an oxygen enriched and very warm environment. Lieutenant Sato had been quite insistent about allowing Isis to enter the chamber when they’d arrived. Her presence seemed to be beneficial. Although Seven was not yet conscious, his vital signs had stabilized almost as soon as his partner had curled herself up on the pillow beside his head. “I’ve scanned Lieutenant Commander Hess and Mrs. Archer, and apart from certain post operative changes…” he eyed the captain with some discomfort, but Jonathan Archer simply clenched his jaw and stood there stoically, waiting for him to finish his report, “… and some minor superficial abrasions, they appear to be uninjured.” “So why is Hess still unconscious?” asked Archer in a brusque voice. Phlox gave him an uncertain grimace. “I’m really not sure. There are some neurotransmitter changes, but it’s possible that her mind has simply retreated from the trauma of the mental attack that she suffered. I’ll have to review Vulcan medical literature on the subject before I can give you a prognosis.” Archer nodded with a stern expression on his face. “On a more hopeful note, the fetuses seemed to have made the transfer to stasis without significant damage,” continued Phlox almost cheerfully. “Once the ladies have recovered a bit, there is an excellent chance that the physicians on Kreptagh will be able to place them back where they belong. We should consider doing this within the next day or two, as the uterine environment will be the most favorable for reimplantation.” Phlox was surprised by the general consternation that his announcement provoked. “We’re going to have to go back?” protested Hoshi plaintively. “Why can’t you do it?” “That’s out of the question, Phlox… I won’t allow those butchers anywhere near my wife again!” announced Archer angrily. Phlox gave them both a puzzled look. “I see no evidence of ‘butchery’ here, Captain. Removing these fetuses without harm either to them or their mothers required considerable skill… and the use of technology which I do not at this time possess. Although using the procedure on unwilling patients is certainly reprehensible, if the physicians on Kreptagh are willing to remove live fetuses for a price, don’t you think that they would be both willing and able to reverse the procedure?” Archer blinked, his anger suddenly dissipated by the doctor’s logical argument. He gave his friend a wry smile. “You’re starting to sound like T’Pol,” he told him. Phlox raised a brow mockingly at him. “One does one’s best to avert excessive emotionality, Captain,” he replied ironically. “Otherwise, one might be tempted to do something stupid.” Archer rolled his eyes, and then nodded in wry agreement. His eyes fell on T’Mir as she stood stoically cradling her right forearm in her left. “You ought to let Phlox take a look at that arm now,” he told her. “It’s nothing, Captain. I’m sure that the doctor has more important things to attend to,” replied the girl impassively. Phlox turned to look at her… and then took a really good look for the first time. Under the Vulcan mask she wore, was that fear he saw in her eyes? He approached her with a medical scanner. She backed away warily. He smiled at her reassuringly, and then stepped backward to a free biobed. He pulled open the privacy curtain. “I’ll see each of you in turn, privately,” he announced to the group. Extending a hand, he beckoned to the young Vulcan with a smile. “Ladies with injuries first, Agent T’Mir…” The girl darted a glance around the room at all of the expectant faces. She exhaled in resignation, and, finally giving in, stepped forward. The doctor closed the curtain behind them. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Jonathan Archer stepped out of the turbolift and onto the Bridge, into a scene of quiet efficiency. The viewscreen showed nothing but the vivid colors of Kreptagh system’s gas giant, about which Enterprise was now in orbit. T’Pol was in the command chair with her attention fixed on the security display in the arm of the chair. Ensign MacNamara was very busily programming something into his console. Travis was at helm as usual. Ensign Mitchell looked up from his work station and caught sight of the captain. “Captain on deck!” he announced, snapping to full military attention. Archer smirked a little at the young man’s enthusiasm. “As you were,” he told him in an amused voice. Mitchell grinned and relaxed, returning his attention to his console. T’Pol stood to meet Archer as he approached the command chair. “All ship’s systems are in order, Captain. Our Romulan counterpart remains in orbit with us, and is still invisible to standard sensors. Our modified sensors remain online at present. The Romulan ship has just brought its shuttle aboard,” she reported. “Thank you, T’Pol. It’s nice to see you, too. We’re all fine,” replied Archer dryly. T’Pol raised a brow at him. “Obviously,” she said blandly, “Otherwise, you would still be in Sickbay, and I would still be in command.” “Captain, I’ve corrected the decryption glitch. I’ve got a message from Starfleet Command waiting, sir,” broke in Ensign MacNamara. Archer gave the young man a look of resignation, and then turned to T’Pol. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to take this call for me, could I?” he asked hopefully. She regarded him expressionlessly. “I wouldn’t presume to do so, Captain, but I’m quite willing to, as Commander Tucker would say, ‘keep the chair warm’ for you while you’re gone.” Archer paused for a moment as he digested that comment, and then just turned and walked to his ready room, shaking his head with a grin on his face. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Trip Tucker entered Sickbay to check on Lieutenant Commander Hess. Rostov had come to him a few minutes after his return to duty from the transporter room to ask after her. Within the first hour of his return, every member of the engineering staff had found a reason to approach him and do the same. Finally, he’d decided that the efficient operation of his department was being compromised by a lack of information about Janice Hess’ health, and he’d left Engineering to remedy the problem. As he entered, he found Dr. Phlox at his laboratory work station, absorbed in the study of what looked to Trip very much like the same type of DNA scans he’d used to confirm Lorian’s parentage nearly three years before. Trip remembered them very clearly, because Phlox had been painstaking in his descriptions of exactly how he could tell that Lorian was, in fact, their son. “Whatcha studyin’, Doc?” he asked curiously. Phlox nearly jumped out of his skin. “Ah… Commander Tucker!” replied Phlox with a guilty smile, minimizing the screen as he turned to greet the chief engineer. “Nothing important,” he told Trip evasively. Trip shrugged and grinned. “Okay, if you say so,” he said. He turned his head toward the biobeds, searching for a familiar cropped blonde head. “How’s Hess?” he asked. Phlox smiled a half-smile. “She’s resting comfortably, Commander, but still unconscious. I’ll let you know when she’s ready to receive visitors,” he said. Trip nodded his thanks. He paused, looking down at the floor, trying to decide whether it was the time to approach the doctor with his problem. “Is there something else I can help you with, Commander?” prompted Phlox. Trip gave him a slightly uncomfortable smile. “Well… yeah, Doc, I guess there is,” he began. “Can ya check me out? I’ve been kinda tired lately, and… well…” his voice dropped to an embarrassed murmur, “T’Pol’s worried somethin’ might be wrong.” Phlox chuckled and waved Trip over to an empty biobed, pulling the curtain closed. “We mustn’t worry the little woman, now, must we?’ he teased quietly as he grabbed his hand-held bioscanner from the side table and began a slow and methodical scan of his patient. His cheerful smile held out until he got to the cranial scan. His expression became puzzled, and then sober as he repeated it. Trip watched the doctor’s face. He was beginning to get worried. “Somethin’ wrong, Doc?” he asked. Phlox sighed and studied the readings more closely. Then he fixed Trip with an inquisitive stare. “Tell me, Commander, have you had difficulties with motivation lately? Difficulty getting up in the morning, perhaps, or lack of appetite?” Trip cocked his head at the doctor and stuck his tongue in his cheek. “Yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. Phlox persisted. “What about your mood? Are you easily angered… easily upset?” Trip exhaled heavily and nodded with a rueful expression. “And have you had thoughts about harming yourself, or feelings of terrible sadness?” continued Phlox gently. “No! Of course not!” Trip denied vehemently. Phlox just looked at him with an understanding smile. Trip stared back at him defiantly, and then his face fell. “Well… I guess the sadness part is true,” he admitted, “… but not the other. I’d never do that,” he said with emphasis. Phlox exhaled heavily and nodded. “Commander, you’ll be pleased to know that I’ve discovered the problem. An imbalance of neurotransmitters is present in your brain which wasn’t present at your last scan.” He lifted the bioscanner and tapped it against the heel of his hand. “Since that scan was less than a month ago after the incident with the telepathic weapon on Betazed, I’m at somewhat of a loss to explain the drastic changes that have occurred in your brain chemistry,” he continued thoughtfully. He put the bioscanner down on the side table and pulled the isolation curtain back to walk to the pharmacy. Trip remained sitting on the biobed, watching as the doctor retrieved a hypospray and returned with it. “This is your first week of medication,” said Phlox briskly. “By that time we’ll know if it will be effective.” He pressed the hypospray to the side of Trip’s neck and delivered a dose. “If this is the correct medication for you, it will normalize your brain chemistry. The effects you experience should be positive ones, but be sure and report any adverse reactions you may have,” he continued. Trip smiled a hopeful smile. “Thanks, Doc,” he said with almost his usual enthusiasm. Phlox smiled back, and gave the engineer an encouraging nod. As Trip slipped off the biobed and turn to leave, Phlox picked up the bioscanner again and stared at the readings with a puzzled expression. “Commander?” called Phlox, stopping Trip in his tracks. He turned to give the doctor an inquiring look. “Ask Commander T’Pol to come in for an evaluation as soon as she is free, please. I’d like to make certain that she is unaffected by this,” said Phlox, his eyes still fixed on the screen in apparent fascination. Trip gave him a strange look. “Sure thing, Doc!” He waited for Phlox to acknowledge him, but the doctor was still absorbed in his bioreadings. Finally, Trip shrugged and left Sickbay to head back to Engineering. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Jonathan Archer sat in his ready room spinning tall tales to his superior officer. The immediate risk of court martial seemed to be decreasing as the conversation progressed, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “Yes, sir. Our decryption program is back on track,” Archer said with a smile. “I’d like a program update with our overhaul when we arrive at Jupiter Station, though.” “That shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Admiral Gardner brusquely. “Now, what about your orders, Captain?” “The locals were very helpful, Admiral. My wife and Lieutenant Commander Hess were back on board within hours as soon as the Kreptagh authorities realized who they were,” lied Archer through his teeth. Garner sighed in relief, and gave Archer a smile. “I’m very pleased to hear that, Captain. I’ll expect Enterprise to arrive at Jupiter Station in another four weeks, then.” Archer sighed and faced Gardner squarely, finally able to tell the complete truth… almost. “There might be a problem with that, sir. While she was in Romulan custody, Hess was subjected to a telepathic assault. She’s still unconscious, but we have to assume that any knowledge she possessed at the time of her kidnapping is now in the possession of the Romulans. We know where her attacker is, and we’re sharing orbit around a planet with the Romulan warbird that’s his base of operations. We have a chance to retrieve the information before it’s disseminated, but only if we remain here and take advantage of this opportunity.” He paused and waited for Gardner’s response. The admiral just stared back at him in consternation for a moment, and then shook his head. “All right, Jon, you win. You’re absolutely right. It’s stupid to leave classified information in the possession of the enemy if you know precisely how to retrieve it without loss of life or excess expenditure of resources.” He cocked his head and raised a brow. “You do know how to retrieve it, don’t you?” Archer smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, Admiral. We’ll retrieve it all right. I can’t promise about the loss of life, though. The guy that attacked Hess might just end up having an unfortunate accident.” Gardner gave him a reproving look. “Our boys in Starfleet Intelligence would love the chance to interrogate a Romulan agent, Jon.” Archer exhaled, nodding in acquiescence. “I’ll keep that in mind, Admiral. I’ll do my best.” xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Agent T’Mir Tucker was aroused from her meditation by the murmur of voices. The noise was quite disruptive. After several hours in Enterprise’s Sickbay, she’d come to the conclusion that sleep was impossible and a meditative state barely attainable in the midst of constant vocalizations by humans and animals alike. The pain medication that the doctor had given her was effective for her pain, but wasn’t helping her mental state. She felt relaxed and euphoric, but somewhat cloudy of mind. She glanced down at the dressing wrapped around her right arm from fingertips to elbow and tried not to think about what was beneath it. The phaser damage extended to bone on the volar surface of her forearm. Her hand was now dusky, immobile, and insensate. Phlox seemed confident that his scientifically sound though somewhat unappetizing treatment combining medicinal maggots to debride the wound of devitalized tissue and medicinal leeches to encourage distal blood flow through heat coagulated vessels had a good chance of saving her hand. T’Mir herself estimated that there was a greater than 95 chance that she would retain inadequate function of the hand to perform her duties, and that replacement of the hand with a biotechnological substitute would eventually be necessary. The technology to perform the procedure was not available in this era, however, and she still had a job to do. The doctor’s treatment would most likely prevent gangrenous changes and keep her functional until her work was done. For that, she was grateful. She was also indebted to the doctor in other ways. His discovery of her parentage had been inevitable the moment he’d utilized a medical scanner to evaluate her injury. She’d been fearful of the consequences, but thus far he’d said nothing to anyone. He was a man of admirable honor and discretion. The voices continued their discussion. Although she had no intention of eavesdropping, there was no way that she could avoid the conversation taking place next door. “How are you feeling, sweetheart?” came Captain Archer’s voice, in a gentle tone that T’Mir had never heard come out of the grim and determined man. “Better… now that I know the babies are alive,” responded Elena Archer in a serene whisper. There was a rustling of fabric, and when Archer’s voice responded, it originated from the same location as his wife’s had earlier. “Mmmm… I missed this,” he whispered. With a hot flush to the tips of her ears, T’Mir realized that the captain had just climbed into the biobed with his wife. These humans were shameless. Were they going to engage in sexual activity right here in Sickbay? Elena Archer’s deep throaty chuckle sounded slightly muffled. “Me, too, querido, but if you stay here long, you’ll have Phlox beating you off with a stick,” she teased. “Who? Me? I’m just giving my wife a little emotional support. You’re the one with the dirty mind, woman!” replied Archer lightly. “Oh… just shut up and hold me,” replied Elena sleepily. There was silence then. T’Mir attempted to return to her meditation, and found it impossible to do so. The memory of another inadvertent instance of eavesdropping disturbed her equilibrium. Temporal agents do not resort to deadly force when less permanent means are available to them, she reminded herself. She couldn’t help but wonder, though, whether the fact that Lieutenant Commander Hess’ assailant was Vulcan had had anything to do with her decision to stun him rather than kill him when he so viciously attacked Jonathan Archer. Archer’s conversation with his wife in the Romulan shuttle had disturbed her tremendously. Mind melding was a sacred and very personal ritual. To use it to wrest information from someone against their will was obscene. No sane Vulcan would do so. Hess’ assailant was therefore insane… dangerously so. He would need to be captured or eliminated, and the task was her responsibility, for she was the one who had allowed him to escape by failing to kill him when the opportunity presented itself. Captain Archer’s superiors would no doubt prefer a live Romulan agent to a dead one, but providing them with a subject to interrogate who might be willing to reveal the link between Vulcans and Romulans… for the right price… endangered the approved timeline. Humans would not discover the link for over a century, and its premature revelation could very well alter the course of the war by driving a wedge between Vulcans and humans, interfering with even the minimal aid that the Vulcans were destined to provide. T’Mir had had personal experience with the events that would follow should the Romulans win the war. She had no intention of risking that outcome. She was going to have to kill the Vulcan. There was no other logical alternative. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Centurion Arrhae stood at rigid attention, mentally counting down the minutes until the end of his shift and relief from the pain that he’d endured now for over seven hours. He was watching the Ferengi pull the exhausted Betazoid from the telepresence unit and force him beneath the cold spray of the utility shower when a general announcement came over the comm. It was the voice of Subcommander Arek, the ship’s first officer. “A tenth-hour ago, Commander Nei’rrh was placed under arrest and confined to quarters by order of the Praetor,” began the subcommander. Arrhae sighed. That didn’t take long, he thought in resignation. Honor had to be satisfied. Someone had to take responsibility for the ludicrous decision to trust a mentally unbalanced Vulcan with the retrieval of such valuable strategic resources. Nei’rrh was his commanding officer, to be obeyed without question. He was also an idiot. “I am now officially in command of this vessel and of this mission,” continued Subcommander Arek. “All members of the command staff are to report to the war room in one quarter-hour for their new orders. Long live the glorious Romulan Empire!” Arrhae sighed again. The security team of which he was a part took equal shifts with the prisoner, but as the highest ranking officer on the team, he was technically in command. It looked like his day wasn’t over quite yet. He watched as the two ugly little Ferengi scientists forced the naked and shivering ex-monarch of Betazed back into stasis. There was no need to wonder what the subcommander’s plan would be. The double-crossing Vulcan kllhe was still on Kreptagh, probably attempting to sell the cargo he’d already been partially paid for to the highest bidder. Arrhae had no doubt that his new commanding officer had plans for a hunt. Arrhae smiled thinly despite the pain in his head. He enjoyed a good hunt. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Phlox passed a bioscanner over the crown of Gary Seven’s head to complete his scan of the temporal agent. For a man who had been so near death only hours before, he was in remarkably good health. The only residual effects of his close call appeared to be a few areas of rather painful second degree frostbite on his hands, feet, ears and nose. Phlox studied the readings with a puzzled expression, and then shrugged. “I was planning to keep you overnight for observation, Mr. Seven,” he said with a smile, “But as you seem determined to sleep in the bunk in your assigned quarters instead of in one of my comfortable biobeds…” Seven raised a brow with an almost Vulcan expression and interrupted dryly, “Comfort is relative, Doctor… and I could hear your menagerie at feeding time even from inside the hyperbaric chamber. There are times when quiet outweighs comfort.” Phlox chuckled and nodded in agreement. Then he reached for a hypo. “This should relieve your pain until the morning,” said Phlox as he pressed the hypo into the side of the agent’s neck. “Do you need an escort to your quarters?” “Mreow,” said Isis. Phlox looked down with a startled expression. He’d forgotten she was there. She sat on the floor by the biobed, looking up at Seven with eyes that were entirely too intelligent to be those of an animal. Seven smiled down at her, and then looked up at Phlox. “No need, Doctor. Isis knows where our quarters are.” Then he slipped down from the bed and, limping a little in his disposable shipboard slippers, followed Isis out of Sickbay. Phlox watched them go with a bemused expression. As they passed out of the Sickbay doors, Commander T’Pol walked in with a long-suffering expression on her face. She approached the doctor to within arm’s length, and spoke softly so as not to be overheard. “Commander Tucker insisted that I come in to see you this evening,” she told him. She didn’t appear pleased. “He seemed to believe that it was urgent, and would not agree to begin our meditation session until I came in.” Her tone implied that she wasn’t in agreement with her mate’s assessment. Phlox smirked, and then suppressed his smile. “I’m happy to see you, Commander,” he told her in equally quiet tones, “I’m afraid I was the one that asked Commander Tucker to send you in, so if you have to be upset with someone, feel free to be upset with me,” he volunteered pleasantly. T’Pol returned his smile with a neutral expression. “I am not upset,” she said emphatically. “I simply have other things that I would prefer to be doing this evening.” At Phlox’s knowing grin, her ears flushed a faint green. Phlox stepped back and directed her to an empty biobed, still smiling broadly. She walked to the bed and sat on it in a dignified manner, completely ignoring the grin on Phlox’s face. He reached for his bioscanner. “Did Commander Tucker tell you why I asked you to come in this evening?” asked Phlox nonchalantly as he scanned. “He told me that you’d found a ‘chemical imbalance’ in his brain which you were at a loss to explain, and that you are giving him medication to correct it,” replied T’Pol uncomfortably, avoiding the doctor’s gaze. “He seemed to think that you might find an explanation by scanning me. I told him that he was correct, and that I was the cause of the problem. He refused to believe me without proof from a medical scan. He said that he knew that I ‘wouldn’t do this to him on purpose’ and that he ‘trusted me not to hurt him’. I told him that perhaps he shouldn’t trust me, as I seemed unable to prevent myself from harming him. That’s when he insisted that I come in.” Her eyes were focused on a distant corner of the room as she confessed this to Phlox. Phlox stopped scanning and looked at her in surprise. “Are you certain that the changes are caused by something you did?” he asked her softly. She still refused to meet his eyes. “Yes, Doctor, I’m certain of it. His emotional difficulties began immediately following our last mind meld,” T’Pol confirmed with forced dispassion. “Not only am I certain that I’m the cause, I’m also certain that the effect is continuing.” Her eyes met the Doctor’s reluctantly. He could see sorrow on her face despite her efforts at control. “I am harming him, Doctor, and I don’t know how to stop,” she whispered. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Gary Seven lay on the bunk in his assigned guest quarters on Enterprise with his head in Isis’ lap. Her slender fingers stroked his hair gently. The pain medication that Phlox had given him for his frostbitten hands and feet had him in a state of pleasant euphoria. With his head pillowed on his partner’s soft thighs, he felt as if he were a child again, being coddled by his mother. Isis’ ministrations were soothing and maternal, and not sexual in the least. They never had been in the five years that the two of them had been working together. Somehow, she knew that he wasn’t interested in her in that way. Some of it, he was certain, was her telepathic skill. They’d never actually discussed it. The few times that he’d allowed his needs to overtake his better judgment and had come home ashamed of himself for giving in, smelling of alcohol and cheap cologne, she’d just been there for him without questions or recriminations. His profession didn’t allow for long term stable relationships, and transient ones were potentially life-threatening during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, the time periods his superiors seemed to think he was best suited for. What it basically amounted to was a very lonely existence. Isis made it bearable. “You almost died in that shuttle, you stupid, stubborn man,” she whispered reprovingly in her exotically accented English. He looked up at her with a loopy grin on his face. Even upside-down, in her human form she was beautiful. With her long, thick midnight black hair, deep brown eyes and caramel colored skin, she was the veritable image of an ancient Egyptian princess. “And you would be the only one who cared if I did,” he replied half jokingly. He reached a hand up to stroke her face. His expression sobered. She smiled at him. “The captain told me that the crew plans to have a welcome back gathering when this mission is completed. You ought to go. You miss human company.” He returned her smile. “I have human company, Isis,” he told her softly. “I’ve scanned you in this form. There’s no difference between you and any other human woman. You could even bear children if you wanted to.” The unspoken question hung between them. Why did she stay? Isis closed her eyes and shook her head as if he’d spoken aloud. Perhaps to her he had. She stopped stroking his hair and looked down at him in puzzlement. “I was thinking all this time that you held back from me because you considered me alien,” she said in a thoughtful voice. She cocked her head at him for a moment as if she were trying to understand a new concept. “My inherent form is pure energy, Gary. I chose to incarnate as female because I’m vulnerable to injury in corporeal form, and your male ancestors had a tendency to attack first and ask questions later when I appeared as a rival. A desirable female, on the other hand, was less threatening.” She smiled at him teasingly. “There were some tense moments over the centuries, mostly involving burning bonfires and accusations of witchcraft, as I recall… but for the most part it was a good decision.” Gary chuckled. “You’re amazing, you know that? Humans have probably tried to kill you in dozens of different ways, and yet here you are, still helping us and keeping us safe.” Isis smiled at him. He felt an odd ripple beneath him as the surface his head was pillowed upon became warmer by several degrees and much firmer. He looked down, startled by the sensation, and when he looked up again, the square jawed face of a honey-skinned young man with chocolate colored eyes looked down upon him. Long, strong, and sinewy arms gathered his head to a smooth and muscular chest. “I’m keeping you safe, darling,” said the young man in a rich baritone voice, with a loving smile on his face. Gary Seven just blinked in amazement. Then he gave his partner a frustrated look. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do this?” he asked in exasperation. Isis raised a brow at him. “You never asked,” he replied. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The door chime rang, and Trip Tucker groaned. He rolled reluctantly out of bed. It was only 2100 hours, but all he’d wanted to do lately was sleep. “This had better be important!” he mumbled to himself. He was halfway to the door before the fear leaking through T’Pol’s barriers told him who was on the other side. He exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. He was too tired for another argument, but he couldn’t just leave her standing in the hall. People would talk. Her face showed none of the emotion he was sensing in the bond when he opened the door. She held a padd in one hand and was still in uniform, as if she’d come to consult with him about an engineering problem. He stepped aside and let her in without a word. Then he closed the door behind her and searched her face for a hint of explanation. Her barriers were like a brick wall. Shame and sorrow oozed like fresh mortar from between the cracks. It didn’t look like her visit with the doctor had gone very well. “So… what did he say?” Trip ventured hesitantly. T’Pol’s eyes roamed the room before settling on his face. She put her hands behind her back and straightened into full Vulcan mode. “He said that the areas of my brain that were damaged by the trellium- D still appear to be damaged, but that something is stimulating increased neurotransmitter activity in the areas which previously had the most severe deficits.” Trip smiled. “Well, that’s good news!” he said with forced enthusiasm, trying to cheer her up. She remained unaffected by his efforts. “I asked him whether my improvement was related to your condition,” she continued. “He is unable to determine whether these changes are a result of our katra meld or simply a coincidental improvement in my condition corresponding with a stress induced neurochemical imbalance in your brain.” She took a deep breath. “I believe such a coincidental occurrence to be extremely unlikely.” Her chin came up, the way it always did when she was getting ready to dig her heels in about something. Uh-oh. Here it comes, thought Trip with a sinking heart. “Although the doctor is of the opinion that the only precaution necessary is to avoid mind melds until we have documentation of improvement in your condition, I don’t think that’s sufficient. I believe that we should abstain from all mental contact until you have completely recovered,” said T’Pol rigidly. Her barriers strengthened with her resolve. Now he sensed nothing at all from her. He didn’t like it one bit. “Now come on, T’Pol! Phlox is the doctor. Don’t ya think that…” “Phlox cannot sense our bond,” interrupted T’Pol firmly. “Phlox cannot feel how many times each day I’m forced to draw strength from you.” Her eyes met his, and he could see her struggle. They were moist. “Trip, you can’t even feel it when I take what I need from you,” she told him almost pleadingly. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to prevent myself from using your strength, but erecting barriers on both sides might protect you from me.” Trip exhaled heavily, and then reached out to grasp her by both shoulders. He looked her straight in the eyes with a serious expression. “T’Pol, I don’t need to be protected from you. You won’t hurt me. I know it,” he told her emphatically. He shook his head and gave her a half smile. “Besides, do you remember how bad you got when we didn’t have any mental contact at all? That’s what probably caused the problem to begin with. You got frantic and got a little too enthusiastic with the meld. Do you really wanna risk that again?” T’Pol raised a brow at him. “I hadn’t considered that,” she told him thoughtfully. She stared off into the corner of the room for all of ten seconds, and then met his eyes again. “Very well,” she said briskly. “We will maintain our barriers at full strength until our meditation period, at which point we will engage in a controlled sharing of the day’s events.” Trip eyed her doubtfully. “No bondspeak at all the whole day? That’ll be a pain!” “We will simply have to communicate orally, just like everyone else,” T’Pol replied. Trip gave her a disappointed look. “Well, I don’t like it,” he sighed. “But if it’ll make you feel better and worry less, I guess I can put up with it for a couple of weeks.” He shook a finger at her. “But as soon as Phlox says I’m fine, you’d better let me in again.” T’Pol cocked her head at him and raised a brow. “Agreed.” Trip smiled and began to run his hands lightly over her shoulders and down her arms. Then he pulled her to his chest and pressed his lips with feather-lightness behind her left ear. She didn’t resist. “What are you doing?” she asked in a throaty whisper. “Just because I’m gonna have to mentally ‘abstain’ doesn’t mean I wanna do the other kind of abstainin’,” he replied softly, with a smile on his face. “If ya want me to stop, you’ll have ta tell me, now… ‘cause I can’t feel it.” His lips returned to their exploration of the side of her neck, and his hands went to the zipper of her uniform. She wrapped her arms around his neck and made no complaint at all as he pulled the zipper down. End (Of Episode 2) The story continues in Paradox: The Hunt.

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